Chapter 56
THE FOLLOWING DAYS PASS IN a state of numb routine.
When Elspet tells Margaret the Earl of Orkney is at court, she goes in search of him.
‘He believes my great fortune will be his,’ Margaret says afterwards.
‘It’s strange, he was at pains to convince me he won’t give you away.
He looked almost frightened. His need for my fortune must be even more desperate than we thought.
I believe you’re safe from him – at least for now. ’
Despite Margaret’s reassurances, Elspet spends her time in a state of high anxiety, imagining Patie will appear in every room, every corridor she walks down. But he doesn’t.
Lady Dorothea Ruthven has been sent away from court, no longer one of the Queen’s ladies.
And Atholl and Mary have made themselves scarce, taking off to Perthshire to live a quiet life for a while after the rebellion came to naught.
Beatrix is more subdued than usual; Elspet sometimes catches her staring into the middle distance with a look of confusion, like she’s still trying to understand her mother’s betrayal.
Schoner splits his time between the palace, and the Edinburgh townhouse where Kitty’s bairn is installed. ‘He’s well, he’s feeding, the boy has good colour to his cheeks,’ he reports back.
‘He’d better not grow too big,’ Margaret snaps, ‘or we won’t be able to pass him off as the Queen’s newborn.
’ Elspet isn’t too concerned about this – bairns vary so much in size, she’s seen some born the size of an average one-year-old.
The challenge will be getting him into the Queen’s birthing chamber unseen.
If they can manage that, they don’t need to worry about presenting a strapping lad as the King’s son.
Given the man’s ego and insecurity, he’ll be pleased.
The Queen is well, despite the hugeness of her belly and her difficulties moving around. Knowing Kitty’s bairn is safely stowed away seems to have brought her a sense of peace in these final days. She still takes her daily walks in the garden, but slowly now, and not for long. They are all waiting.
It is the day before they are to travel to Stirling, and the morning is grey and dreich, the air full of fine cold rain. The Queen goes back inside after only five minutes of walking, accompanied by Margaret and Beatrix.
Elspet stares up at Arthur’s Seat, just visible through the misty air.
She can’t resist. Her eyes fixed on the tall crags, she strides out of the garden and uphill, away from the city.
The gorse has died back now – it’s the coldest part of winter.
In Orkneyjar there’d barely be any light at this time of year, a day made up of just a few hours of grimplins.
A time for stories around the hearth, her children in her lap.
Soon, she will be reunited with her bairns, telling them tales of selkies, trows and dancing giants by the fireside.
The exertion of the climb upwards pushes all thoughts away. One foot in front of the other, breathe in and out, in and out, the relief of an empty mind.
It’s only when she’s almost reached the summit that she sees the figure ahead, standing on a rocky outcrop, dressed head to toe in black with a hood over his head. She knows who it is immediately. What is he still doing here? Shouldn’t he be as far away from court as possible?
She should avoid him, turn around and go back the way she came. But she doesn’t.
‘Mistress Balfour,’ Bothwell says as she approaches. His face is drawn and gaunt, the bags under his eyes darker than ever, his beard unkempt. Despite herself, she feels a flicker of sympathy.
‘Are you waiting for me?’ she asks. ‘Did you know I’d be here?’ There’s no way he could’ve done, of course; she didn’t know herself until a few minutes ago.
‘Barclay said he’d seen you walk up to the seat before,’ he says. ‘I can see why. Gives a different perspective on things, doesn’t it? I thought you might come again.’
Barclay had been watching her that day. Bothwell is here now. Elspet feels a surge of anger at the constant surveillance in this place, and a longing to be back in Orkneyjar, where she can go wherever she wants unobserved. ‘Is there nowhere in this place I can be alone?’
‘Sometimes this city is the best place to be alone,’ Bothwell says with a wry smile.
‘I’m surprised to see you. Your rebellion against the King failed. Shouldn’t you be in hiding?’
‘You know me,’ he says. ‘Not one for hiding. And I wanted to see you. I want you to know, I had nothing to do with Kitty Muirhead being arrested.’
‘I know you didn’t,’ Elspet says, surprised he cares what she thinks.
‘She’ll be executed, though?’ he asks.
Elspet nods, tears gathering in her eyes. She looks out over the city.
‘There’s something else.’ He clears his throat awkwardly, his usual swagger nowhere to be seen. ‘You don’t need to worry about Patie. I heard our friend was back in town so I paid him a visit. Your identity is safe at court, Mistress Balfour.’
He looked almost frightened, Margaret had said. Suddenly this makes sense.
‘What did you say to him?’
‘There are some advantages to my reputation, you know. I may have failed to overthrow the King, but there’s no doubt I could cause trouble for him in those islands he loves to pillage. I’m sure you know the man’s a coward – one vague threat of violence and he was quaking.’
‘But why?’ She stumbles over her words. ‘Why would you . . .’
‘I probably just like the idea of you owing me a favour,’ he says, waving a hand, attempting a show of arrogant bluster.
‘I hope our paths will cross again one day. And I’ll be honest, you mainly have Lady Margaret Livingston to thank.
Patie is in dire need of money. I mean, aren’t we all?
As long as he believes he’ll get his hands on her fortune, I doubt he’ll do much to risk that.
But you are playing a dangerous game. He is not a man who will take humiliation lightly if it comes to light she’s been deceiving him about her intentions. ’
She kens he’s right. Bothwell’s threats and Margaret’s promises have brought her temporary safety from Patie – but that can’t last forever.
‘Kitty Muirhead is dead.’
A man has been sent from Edinburgh to deliver his four-word message about Kitty’s fate and then leave.
The pain in Elspet’s stomach is so great she finds herself doubled over.
She knew this was coming – but it still hits her like a blow.
That woman so full of life and defiance, executed.
Her dissent against the lot assigned to her in life, her refusal to submit to what folk thought she should be, it’s all gone – burnt on a pyre on the Castle Hill.
They’ve moved to Stirling Castle in readiness for the birth. Kitty’s bairn and his nurse are installed nearby, ready for Schoner to fetch them at the right moment. The stage is set.
Perhaps Kitty was in the wrong place and the wrong time, desperate and driven to Culmaily kirkyard at the dead of night to find herself the brunt of Bothwell’s dreadful schemes. Then here in Edinburgh, caught up in this perilous plot.
What hurts the most, though, and what has her doubled over in the Queen’s chamber, is that Elspet kens this is her fault.
Kitty trusted her, asked for her help more than once, help she is duty-bound to give.
And instead of giving her that help, she used her like an animal to bear a child because they needed one, then abandoned her.
Elspet may have grown to feel sympathy and even affection for the Queen of Scotland, but the truth is, she’s acted with selfish intentions.
Queen Anna is a powerful woman and Elspet needs her protection from the Earl of Orkney; that is what this is all about.
She’s allowed these terrible things to happen to Kitty in order to ally herself with the Queen and get herself back to her family in Orkneyjar.
Meanwhile, Kitty has been humiliated, mistreated and now killed.
A wave of self-recrimination floods her entire body.
She’s never despised herself as she does in this moment.
She hears a moan and realises it’s her own voice. Then Beatrix is there, a hand on her shoulder. ‘I know,’ she says simply, tears running down her face too. ‘I know.’
Margaret, sitting on a chair next to the fire, looks stricken but resolute. ‘There was nothing we could do.’
‘That’s not true though, is it, Margaret?’ the Queen whispers. ‘We made a choice – a choice to protect ourselves, to ensure we could take her child without attracting undue attention to ourselves.’
Margaret gives a nod of acknowledgement. ‘You’re right. Of course, you’re right. But would you make a different choice now, if you could?’
A sob escapes the Queen. She brings a hand up to her mouth. ‘No,’ she cries. ‘I wouldn’t.’ Elspet kens she wouldn’t either. And that hurts more than anything.