Chapter 39
‘YES,’ THE QUEEN REPLIES WITHOUT hesitation before Beatrix has even finished explaining.
Elspet clenches her hands. Listening to Beatrix, the idea sounds preposterous, deranged.
What was she thinking? Margaret is right – this is treason.
She’s adding to a long list of crimes she could be killed for.
She hadn’t expected the Queen to agree, and certainly not so quickly.
But Queen Anna nods with conviction as she speaks.
She has slept well and is recovered from the night of the masque, cheeks flushed and eyes bright.
‘Your Majesty?’ Margaret says. ‘You cannot think this is a good idea! Think of the child, all they would be denied.’
‘It is my elskling I think of above all when I say this,’ the Queen replies decisively. ‘There is no dilemma here. If it is possible, then we must do it. I would think this was a fine idea even if the King were not so set against moving the baby to Stirling.’
‘I must protest,’ Margaret insists desperately.
Queen Anna turns to her. ‘You know what it’s like for him, Margaret, you see what happens here – the perils and the betrayals among these feuding nobles. Nobody is safe, and the King less than anyone.’
Panic rises in Elspet. What has she set in motion? ‘Perhaps it is not possible – I was speaking foolishly. I don’t understand the complexities of court.’
‘Indeed,’ Margaret says. ‘Not only would we be robbing the child of his birthright, it’s logistically impossible – there are too many obstacles.’
‘It is a curse to be a King – or a Queen,’ the Queen returns. ‘We’d be giving them the greatest gift I can imagine.’
Elspet is silent – she feels a dreadful responsibility for this reckless, impossible plan. And it is all the more terrifying now the Queen is keen – before, it was madness, something that would be dismissed as absurd. Now they’re in the unthinkable position of trying to put it into practice.
Beatrix puts a gentle hand over the Queen’s. ‘There are many details to be worked out, Your Majesty. We have not come to you with a fully formed plan.’
Margaret rolls her eyes. ‘We haven’t even come to you with a half-formed plan. There are not details to be worked out, Beatrix, there are reasons – excellent, intractable reasons – why what we’re talking about is impossible.’
But the Queen ignores her and leans towards Beatrix. ‘What must we work out?’
‘Who is due to be present at your childbed?’ Beatrix asks. ‘We should start there.’
A look of understanding passes over the Queen’s face – she’s grasping something of the challenge they face.
But then her expression shifts to a frown of concentration.
‘It will not be easy. The King insists I will give birth at Stirling, so the child can immediately be handed over to the care of Mar’s mother.
Schoner will be there of course, that insufferable man, and Primrose the surgeon, and Alexander Barclay the apothecary. ’
Beatrix smiles and claps her hands down into her lap. ‘Well, let’s start with Primrose. He will be easy to dispense with, I’m sure. The man clearly enjoys more wine than is good for him. I’m sure we can use that to our advantage.’
‘Even if that were possible,’ Margaret says, ‘there is no possibility of fooling Martin Schoner. He may be conceited but that man is as sharp as a knife. How do you propose to swap babies right under his nose?’
The Queen nods. ‘You have a point, Margaret. He’s certainly no fool.’
‘And what of the apothecary, Alexander Barclay?’ Margaret asks.
‘He’s clever too,’ the Queen says. ‘Eyes everywhere, always looking.’
‘I’m sure there’s more than one way to get a man out the way,’ Beatrix says.
‘Really, Beatrix, you sound quite ruthless,’ Margaret says.
‘We shall have to be ruthless,’ Beatrix says fiercely, ‘if we are to succeed.’
Margaret rolls her eyes again. ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake.’
‘And what of the substitute baby?’ Queen Anna says. ‘The child who will be King. The mother you say will let her child be brought into the palace and swapped for my own. Why would she agree to this?’
‘Kitty Muirhead is a peasant and a thief. She has no interest in keeping her baby,’ Margaret says. ‘Indeed, she’s determined Mistress Balfour will help her end the pregnancy altogether.’
The Queen winces, her face a picture of shock. ‘Are things so bad for her?’
‘Her life is difficult,’ Elspet says, ‘and the man who fathered the child is intent on harming her.’
She tells the Queen what happened in the kirkyard at Culmaily, about the wolf attack and the mysterious figure, Jamie Bogge, directing the beasts.
The Queen’s expression turns from shock to distress. ‘But this is unimaginable. And you still don’t know the identity of this man, her assailant?’
‘Well,’ Beatrix begins. ‘Mistress Balfour and I saw the Earl of Sutherland being brought back to his bed one night, raving and raging. And he owns many strange dolls called poppets which are used in spells.’
‘Beatrix, I must protest,’ Margaret says. ‘We do not know the Earl of Sutherland is Jamie Bogge.’
‘Well, whoever is responsible,’ the Queen says, ‘Kitty Muirhead has endured more than could be borne by most. I will pay her handsomely, of course.’
‘Mistress Balfour should speak to her,’ Beatrix says firmly. ‘The way you treated her wounds after the wolf attack was marvellous. I believe she’s learnt to trust you.’
Elspet feels the weight of yet more responsibility falling onto her shoulders.
Margaret steps forward, her hands raised in a pleading gesture.
‘Stop. I beg of you all. Speaking to Kitty Muirhead takes this from being a dangerous and mad idea, but one that is contained among the four of us, to something bigger. You must see that we cannot possibly trust this woman with such an idea – it could be the downfall of us all.’
‘You don’t think Kitty Muirhead can be trusted?’ Beatrix asks.
‘Oh, come on, Beatrix, we know she can’t be trusted,’ Margaret says, clearly frustrated.
There’s a moment’s silence as the Queen takes this in. ‘I can see the wisdom in what you say, Margaret. This poor woman has endured such dreadful things, it will have left a scar on her heart. She must be shown kindness – but I see we cannot tell her the extent of this plan.’
Beatrix nods. ‘We can ask her if she might be willing to carry the baby to term, for a good price.’
As if I don’t have enough to worry about, Elspet thinks, keeping my identity hidden, keeping the Queen safe and well, and now I must ask an angry, disturbed woman if she will sell her bairn.
But she also understands something the other women in this room do not.
It may be vulgar to talk of money, let alone to talk of selling a child.
When you’ve never known the ache of a hungry belly, the caal of a home with no fire, it’s easy to see money as something that shouldn’t be discussed.
But for poor women like Kitty Muirhead, like Elspet herself has been at times in her life, it is everything.
The difference not only between a hungry belly and a full one, a warm night’s sleep and a night of shivering wakefulness, but also between life and death.
She knows how irresistible this offer is likely to be.
She takes a deep breath. ‘I’ll talk to her.’
Margaret sighs deeply. ‘And where will Kitty Muirhead stay all this time?’
‘Mother will allow her to stay at New-Frater House,’ Beatrix says.
‘Are you sure about that?’ Margaret shoots back. ‘She hardly seemed thrilled to have her there.’
Beatrix nods determinedly. ‘Leave Mother to me.’
Margaret stands in silence, shaking her head.
‘Thank you,’ the Queen says, reaching out and taking Elspet’s hand.
It is peedie, cool and dry in Elspet’s perspiring palm.
‘I am grateful, especially to you, Mistress Balfour. I can’t pretend I’m not disappointed that you’re unable – or unwilling – to perform the binding spell I ask of you.
But I see you understand my predicament.
And I’m impressed at your daring with this scheme. ’
Daring is the last thing Elspet feels. She’s terrified at the thought of what she’s set in motion. But there’s also a question that’s been playing on her mind since Margaret and Beatrix first arrived at her home.
‘There is one thing I want to know,’ she begins tentatively. ‘How did you came to hear of me – and of what Mormor did that day, with the man who died. I was the only other person there. How could you know of this?’
‘Ah.’ Queen Anna smiles. ‘You have trusted me with much, Mistress Balfour – I will trust you with one of my own secrets.’
She sits back, with a faraway look on her face.
‘You and your grandmother were not the only people there, of course. There was the man.’ She pauses for a moment.
‘My father, King Frederick of Denmark, told me about you and your grandmother when I was a young girl. Said you were a line of spae-wives so powerful you could bring a man back from the dead.’
‘I know of only one time Mormor did that,’ Elspet whispers.
The Queen’s eyes light up. ‘What do you remember?’ she says eagerly. ‘Please tell me.’
Elspet reaches back into her memories. ‘He was a nobleman called Gudbrand, a Dane. He became unwell while visiting Orkneyjar and was brought to Mormor for treatment, but died shortly after. Mormor . . . performed a ritual that brought him back to life.’
The Queen holds onto Elspet’s hands, her face shining. ‘My father would often travel to the islands in disguise. There was much political sensitivity around their ownership, so he didn’t want word to get back to Scotland that he was visiting them.’
‘Gudbrand was the King of Denmark?’ Elspet says with wonder as the pieces fall into place. ‘I helped Mormor care for him. He visited us many times after that, always bringing gifts. He loved to sit with Mormor and talk long into the night.’
‘He never told us exactly what had happened,’ Queen Anna says, ‘but he spoke highly of your grandmother, and of you.’
‘Mormor said she knew there was something special about that one,’ Elspet says. ‘She was no admirer of royalty – pardon me – but she knew she couldn’t let him die.’
The Queen smiles. ‘Your grandmother saved my father’s life.’
‘You are Gudbrand’s daughter,’ Elspet says slowly. They clasp each other’s hands, both caught in the extraordinary realisation.
A huff breaks the spell of silence. Margaret is watching them, arms crossed and one eyebrow raised. ‘Well, it’s clear he wasn’t dead. Forgive me, Mistress Balfour, I’m sure your grandmother was a good woman, but it’s impossible to bring a man back from the dead, as you well know.’
Elspet remembers the thornapple smoke, her grandmother beating hard on Gudbrand’s chest. Perhaps Margaret is right – but Mormor’s skill was the stuff of legend in Orkneyjar, and clearly even further afield it seems.
‘He spoke of your mormor to me and my brothers and sisters many times,’ Queen Anna says. ‘How she was passing her knowledge to her gifted granddaughter. When I found myself here in Scotland in such a dreadful predicament, I knew I must send for you.’
Elspet looks at the Queen, searching for any resemblance to that strange, tall man who would sit and drink tea with Mormor, his long legs stretched out before the fire, listening to her tales, rapt. She feels a pang of affection for this young woman, his daughter.
Suddenly, the thick oak door of the Queen’s chamber swings open to reveal the Earl of Bothwell, standing with a jug of wine in one hand and a large bowl in the other. The sweet smell of cinnamon wafts into the room with him.
The Queen springs up at the interruption.
‘I didn’t mean to alarm you, Your Majesty,’ Bothwell says, striding in. ‘There was a new batch of cinnamon bread from the kitchen and I insisted I must bring some to you immediately.’
How long has he been standing out there? Elspet thinks. What has he heard?
Margaret steps forward, takes the bowl of bread from him, and places the jug of wine on a table. ‘I must insist you knock before entering the Queen’s chamber.’
‘It is very kind of you, though,’ Beatrix says, reaching for one of the rolls marbled with brown cinnamon.
Bothwell holds up his hands in a gesture of surrender. ‘Lady Margaret is quite right, as always. I have been too bold.’
The Queen recovers herself. ‘We’ll forgive you this time, Bothwell. I do love cinnamon bread.’
Bothwell picks two of the rolls from the bowl in Margaret’s hand, passing one to the Queen and one to Elspet. It is still warm, and smells delicious and sweet. There is a nervous lump in her throat and pangs churn in her belly. She feels his gaze on her but can’t look up and meet his eye.
She’s reeling from the revelation that the calm, kind man, a friend of Mormor, was Queen Anna’s father, the King of Denmark himself.
The Queen may be demanding and unreasonable, but she is a child a long way from home, separated from her family.
Gudbrand is no longer here to take care of his child, so Elspet must do the best she can in his stead.