Chapter 24
Elspet Balfour
IT’S LATE BY THE TIME they leave Kitty to her dwale nightshade sleep. Elspet follows Jean to the inner chamber where Dorothea, Beatrix and Margaret wait for news.
Dorothea, eyes fixed on the door, springs up as they enter. Beatrix is stretched out, dozing in the green velvet-cushioned armchair by the fire, while Margaret sits, inscrutable, in her favourite upright chair against the tapestry-clad wall.
‘How is she?’ Dorothea asks.
‘The wounds are not as bad as they first appeared – and the bleeding has stopped now,’ Elspet says.
Exhausted, she sits down heavily in the armchair opposite Beatrix, who opens her eyes and stretches.
For the first time since her arrival at Dunrobin, Elspet feels comfortable in the opulence of Lady Jean’s sitting room – she’s too weary to be concerned about where she should sit, how she should behave.
She relishes the stillness, the warmth, the satisfaction of having done her duty and helped poor Kitty.
‘All thanks to your impressive skill, Mistress Balfour.’ Jean brushes her grey hair out of her face where it’s come loose.
She sits down, pours herself a cup of wine and picks up her pipe, setting the tobacco inside alight with a long inhale.
‘I can’t say I’m thrilled to have Kitty Muirhead in my home, but you did the right thing in bringing her here.
I can see the reputation of your countrywomen is not for naught. ’
‘I learnt much from you too,’ Elspet says. You were right about the yarra – just as good as bucksthorn for stopping the blood flow. I’ve never used it before.’
Margaret clears her throat. ‘Did Kitty say anything? Anything that could help identify her mystery assailant?’
‘What do you mean?’ Dorothea asks. ‘She was attacked by wolves.’
‘There was more to it than that, Mother,’ Beatrix says sleepily before recounting the dreadful scene in the kirkyard.
‘What nonsense,’ Dorothea scoffs. ‘That’s impossible.’
‘I’m afraid not,’ Margaret says stiffly. ‘On this occasion, Beatrix is not exaggerating. In much the same way the marshal of the hunt draws the beasts near with his howls, this man communicated with the animals.’
‘Enticing the beasts into the hunt is completely different from compelling them to attack a woman,’ Lady Jean says sceptically.
‘Nevertheless, that is what happened,’ Margaret insists, with an air of finality.
‘And, in the kirkyard, before she fainted,’ Beatrix sits up straighter on the armchair, ‘Kitty told us the man was Jamie Bogge – this devil who presides over the dreadful kirkyard gatherings.’
‘The man who leads the plot against the King,’ Dorothea whispers.
‘She said she knows his real identity,’ Elspet says quietly. ‘That she met him here at Dunrobin.’
Lady Jean raises her eyebrows. ‘Really? What I’d give to get my hands on him – to put a stop to this wickedness on my lands.’
‘You said the wolves have been digging up bodies in the kirkyards,’ Elspet says slowly. ‘I think it may have been Jamie Bogge and his followers.’
‘How dreadful,’ Dorothea says. ‘And she says she met this man here, at Dunrobin Castle. That hardly seems likely. That a man conducting rituals in a kirkyard is an aristocrat.’
‘I don’t see why he’s less likely to be an aristocrat than any other sort of a person,’ Beatrix says. ‘You can’t think we’re immune from bad behaviour.’
‘When you’re an aristocrat, it’s not classed as bad behaviour, my dear,’ Lady Jean says with a wry smile.
‘Devilry is always bad behaviour,’ Margaret says sharply, ‘but more to the point, so is any form of witchcraft. Especially now – even an aristocrat can fall foul of the King’s campaign, as your Earl of Bothwell discovered.’
‘He is most certainly not my Earl of Bothwell,’ Lady Jean shoots back. ‘Besides, who’s to say she meant he’s an aristocrat? We have plenty of servants and other sorts of people around the castle.’
‘Possibly,’ Beatrix says. ‘But that’s not all she told us. Kitty also said Jamie Bogge is the father of her unborn child.’
There is silence as Lady Jean and Dorothea absorb the news.
Even for Elspet, who was there and heard what Kitty said, it remains shocking.
She’s been focusing on treating Kitty’s wounds, getting her back to Dunrobin, caring for her; there’s been no time to consider what Kitty told them.
Elspet’s mind whirls with everything they’ve seen, and Kitty’s revelations.
‘The man who you say set these wolves on her,’ Dorothea says, ‘is the same man who . . . who fathered her baby?’
‘It would appear so,’ Margaret says.
Jean shakes her head. ‘It’s clear he wants nothing to do with her or the child – perhaps it’s a risk to him for her to remain alive.’
‘If she knows his true identity, he may be afraid she’ll reveal it,’ Elspet whispers. She looks into the dancing flames of the muckle fire. It’s the height of summer but she’s glad of its warmth; a chill passes through her at the thought of Jamie Bogge and all he’s done.
‘Who is he?’ Jean demands, slamming her hand down in frustration on the peedie burdis table at her side.
‘We must discover the truth so we can root out this dreadful behaviour. I will not stand for it on my estate.’ Pangs swirl in Elspet’s belly.
As well as the attack on Kitty, this man is responsible for stoking the fires of hatred that drive the campaign against so-called witchcraft.
Women like her whose calling is to help and heal are figures of suspicion because their work is conflated with the terrible acts of folk like Jamie Bogge.
She wants to understand who he is and why he’s carrying out his infernal rituals.
‘If we are the ones to tell the King the identity of this man,’ Dorothea says slowly, ‘then he will look more favourably upon us.’
Margaret nods. ‘Indeed. If Mistress Balfour is able to show she’s helped to expose the Sutherland devil who plots against his rule, he’s less likely to suspect her of anything nefarious.’
‘There is wisdom in that,’ Jean says.
If getting this information out of Kitty means Elspet is more likely to succeed in her mission to help the Queen, she must try – but something doesn’t sit right with her. She doesn’t want to use that poor woman who was already been used by a terrible man.
‘Enough tiptoeing around then.’ Margaret stands. ‘Kitty should be made to tell us.’
‘That won’t be possible at the moment,’ Jean says, inhaling deeply from her pipe. ‘She’s sleeping and won’t wake for quite some time. We gave her some dwale nightshade for the pain.’
‘The most pressing question, then,’ Dorothea says, ‘is what will happen to her now. We return to court tomorrow.’
Beatrix looks at her mother and scowls. ‘What if she isn’t safe here – that man is determined to kill her. I know she doesn’t have the best character, but I do feel like we owe her some sort of protection.’
‘Why?’ Dorothea asks.
Beatrix shrugs. ‘Perhaps because we found her today. It was dreadful, Mother. She’s had such an ordeal.’
Jean sighs heavily. ‘She can stay here with me at Dunrobin until she’s well enough to return home. I will question her about this man Bogge’s identity when she is awake again.’
Beatrix looks up sharply. ‘Will she be safe?’
‘Whatever do you mean?’ Jean asks.
‘Well . . . I mean . . .’ Beatrix flounders. Elspet’s never seen her this flustered – Beatrix is an open book but she’s hiding something now.
‘Whoever Jamie Bogge is,’ Beatrix continues, ‘he’s here in Sutherland.’
‘Well, she’ll have to reveal his identity, and then he can be dealt with,’ Margaret says. ‘It’s the only way she can be sure of her own safety.’
But Elspet knows it’s not that simple. A woman like Kitty Muirhead, a woman she has more in common with than any of the fine wealthy ladies in this room, can never be sure of her own safety. Someone so short of agency will use information as currency – and who can blame her?