The Gowrie Conspiracy Read online

  ‘Weel, weel, no matter.’ Another Latin tag which left Anne bewildered. Speaking only French and her mother tongue, she had had to learn to interpret the Doric dialect of the Scots.

  Noting her confusion, James obligingly translated, ‘All’s well that ends well.’

  She wished he would go away and not just stand there. ‘We thought you had a cupbearer, James,’ she said weakly

  A cough this time. ‘Aye, that is so,’ he said trying not to sound impatient at her temerity in bringing this fact to his royal notice and thus involving him in lengthy explanations. ‘We thocht it a suitable reward for Master Eildor saving our life.’ He paused. ‘And as it seems he is a servant of yours – ‘

  Anne knowing Tam Eildor – well, as much as any did – shook her head. ‘Alas, sire, you are misinformed.’

  ‘He serves in your household,’ James insisted.

  ‘Only indirectly, in as much as Mistress Scott’s apartments are under our jurisdiction.’

  James bristled at the mention of the woman Scott. ‘Surely ye have the right to command – ’

  Anne shook her head stubbornly. ‘Nay, sire. Mistress Scott’s servants are her own concern. You must take it up with her.’ And so saying, she gave a great yawn, closed her eyes wearily and patted her large stomach in a clear indication that the interview was over and it was her time to rest.

  James glared at her. ‘We will that – aye, indeed we will,’ and, thwarted once more, he stormed out of the room.

  Unaware of the great honour that the king wished to confer upon him, Tam gathered together his fishing rod and basket and, in some trepidation, mounted the white stallion the king had graciously bequeathed to him.

  As they headed towards the Castle in the heavy rain the horse, much to Tam’s surprise, did not make any resistance to his inexpert horsemanship and behaved in an agreeably docile manner. Almost as if he knew that his rider had saved him from the king’s vengeance and was suitably grateful.

  Relieved by the sight of the Queen’s stables, Tam saw the stallion settled and handed over the somewhat meagre results of his morning’s catch to the royal kitchens.

  Changed into dry clothes he was soon comfortably seated in Tansy Scott’s lodging overlooking the Queen’s apartment, regaling her with the tale of the king and the runaway horse.

  Tansy sat in the windowseat, surrounded by a great spill of silks and satins. Laying aside her embroidery frame, she laughed. ‘Her Grace will be delighted. Another score settled.’

  Tam nodded. ‘I suspect that the mares will be overjoyed at the presence of such a handsome newcomer too.’

  Tansy smiled. ‘And talking of handsome newcomers, we must find you some wedding clothes.’ At his surprised expression, she said, ‘I have just had a message that we are to go to Gowrie House. There is a wedding – one of my husband’s kin – in Perth next week. This will be an opportunity for you to get acquainted with my adopted family – my mother and brothers – John the eldest is the present Earl, then Alexander, Master of Gowrie. You still have to meet Beatrix, she has been given leave to visit Dirleton Castle in East Lothian –’

  And Tam, listening to her, found it difficult, as she did also, to think that he had been part of her life for such a brief period.

  *****

  It had been a hot afternoon in late July when Tansy had found a strange young man seated in one of the secluded arbours in the Queen’s garden. He was fast asleep.

  At her approach, he opened his eyes and smiled as if this was no first meeting but a continuation of an encounter begun long ago.

  Even as he rose to his feet and bowed over her hand, murmuring apologies, she smiled and said,

  ‘You are welcome, Tam Eildor.’

  A bewildered glance, another bow. ‘You have the advantage over me, madam.’

  Her smile was triumphant. ‘But I have been expecting you, Master Eildor.’ And, indicating the place beside him, ‘May I?’

  Once seated, she introduced herself and said, ‘Lady Janet Beaton was my granddam. She told me to look out for you.’

  Tam frowned. Janet Beaton. The name was familiar. A distant echo of some other time…

  ‘How did you know my name?’

  Tansy laughed. ‘That was easy. I recognised you instantly from her description. She told me all about you just before she died.’

  ‘So?’ he asked cautiously.

  ‘She said that one day you would come back and that I was to be ready to look after you.’

  ‘What else did she tell you?’

  Tansy looked around sharply as if fearing they might be overheard. ‘You met her, you must have known she was a witch. I have always believed in her magic powers.’

  At that she stood up and smiling down at him, she held out her hand. ‘Now that you are here, you must be hungry,’ and pausing, she gave him a candid glance and added softly, ‘I suspect that you have come a long way, that this is end of a long journey.’

  Following her across the garden, Tam asked the date. The question did not surprise her. ‘It is the year 1600, the end of July and you are in the grounds of Falkland Palace in Fife.’

  As she led him up the turnpike stair into her lodging, Tam was relieved that he had found someone well prepared for his unexpected arrival. Especially a young woman as attractive as Tansy Scott. Tall and slender, with red-gold hair and sparkling blue eyes. As he tried in vain to recall her grandmother, a Janet Beaton whom he had obviously encountered some years ago, Tansy asked,

  ‘Can you tell me anything – about yourself, where you came from?’

  Tam shook his head. How could he begin to tell her that the rules for time-travellers were inviolate. Access to memories relating to earlier quests or any memory of the present that he had temporarily abandoned was forbidden to him.

  ‘My granddam hinted that you were from the future, oh – hundreds of years hence,’ Tansy said helpfully, ‘when machines and men flew in the air like birds and carriages moved without horses. When men, by the turn of a switch, could see what was happening in other lands and planets. See and talk to people across time and space through a tiny box held in the palm of their hand –’

  She paused as if waiting for confirmation and, when there was none, she added triumphantly, ‘Even your name – Tam Eildor – by rearranging the letters Janet Beaton worked out that it spelt “a time lord”.’

  Tam could not tell her a great deal more than that. How to explain that he did indeed come from a future where men had not only conquered space travel but also time itself?

  There were no longer any unsolved mysteries except those of ancient history, but once on a mission a time-detective was bound by the laws and methods available in the Earth-time of his chosen period. In effect Tam had only his own wits and resources with no more facilities than were available to the persons and criminals he was investigating. Nor could any action of his change the course of recorded history.

  Since Tam was similarly cut off from the present he had just left, he was unable to provide Tansy with any useful information. His only certainty was that he was on the threshold of some momentous event that had baffled historians. An event about which he was in total ignorance – as much as those living in Falkland Palace at the end of July 1600. He must wait and see, be vigilant, and patient.

  Before the episode of the runaway horse and his first meeting with King James, Tam had a chance to familiarise himself with his surroundings and get to know Tansy Scott and, through her, become acquainted with Queen Anne and the trying conditions of her royal marriage.

  He found favour immediately in the Queen’s eyes as an agreeable young man who was kin to her broiderer Mistress Tansy Scott, the latter having quickly invented a cousin from the Borders to explain his presence there.

  The queen, never one to be curious about those who served her, accepted this fiction and merely agreed that there was indeed a strong family resemblance. ‘Cousins, indeed,’ she said. ‘You could be brother and sister – twins even.’

&nb
sp; Out of Her Grace’s presence, Tansy laughed and standing with Tam before a looking-glass they could see sense in the royal observation.

  Apart from one having red hair and the other black, their features were undoubtedly alike. The same bone structure, firm chin and wide eyes, the same mouth, especially as Tam was beardless unlike the court fashion of the time.

  They were also of a similar age. Tam, regardless of his travels, remained in his mid-thirties. Tansy born in December 1567 was eighteen months years younger than the king and had been married at fifteen, a dynastic marriage to a Ruthven neighbour.

  Walter Murray of Tullibardine had been twice Tansy’s age. Childless, she had rebelled against his cruelty and the privations of her life, relieved when estate interests took him across the Borders. There he found a mistress who presented him with a son and heir and where he was presumably content.

  ‘If only he would divorce me – as a barren wife, he would have just cause,’ said Tansy, ‘then Will and I could marry.’ And Tam learned that Tansy had a lover, the natural son of James Hepburn, Earl of Bothwell, who was briefly Queen Mary of Scot’s third husband.

  Tam hoped he would have a chance to meet William Hepburn who had been raised by his paternal grandmother Lady Morham and, on her death, inherited a small estate in Perthshire, neighbour to Ruthven Castle. Unmarried, approaching forty, Tansy Scott had for many years been the one and only love of Will’s life.

  Hoping Will was worthy of so great a prize, Tam also encouraged Tansy to talk about her granddam – the remarkable woman and witch Janet Beaton, aunt of Marie Beaton, maid-in-waiting to the Queen of Scots who had followed her into exile.

  ‘My granddam was the trusted friend of His Grace’s mother, you know, she was present at his birth,’ Tansy said proudly. ‘The queen had great faith in her herbs and, I do not doubt, in some of her magic spells,’ she added in a matter-of-fact manner, as if such knowledge was readily available to all.

  Tam regarded her anxiously. Aware of the king’s merciless treatment of witches, he felt that Tansy, having already exhibited some of her granddam’s powers, should be more discreet.

  Even as Tansy was informing Tam of Will’s imminent arrival to escort them to Perth, and in the Queen’s apartments the royal couple argued over King James’s wish to elevate Tam to the role of cupbearer, Mistress Agnew, huddled in her borrowed cloak against the rain, was hurrying across the courtyard on her way to Tansy’s lodging.

  From her vantage point in the windowseat, Tansy paused to wave to her.

  ‘At last,’ she sighed. ‘Her Grace has made up her mind about the right colours. That has been delaying me.’

  And studying him she frowned. ‘But what shall you wear for the queen’s Masque, Tam?’

  Tam shuddered. ‘None of these slashed and padded breeches, if you please, Tansy. I am not a man of fashion.’

  Tansy regarded him shrewdly. ‘I agree. I cannot for the life of me see you in such a role. I think a scholar’s gown would best become you,’ and, eyeing him narrowly, ‘yes, a good velvet cloak and a modest cap – black perhaps.’

  ‘Have I then to visit the royal wardrobe?’ asked Tam, having already decided to keep as much distance as would be acceptable without suspicion between himself and any future contact with King James.

  Tansy smiled. ‘I shall put you into Will’s capable hands. He has an excellent wardrobe but shares your scorn for the fripperies of court fashion. I am sure he will provide you with something suitable for grand occasions, especially as he is much of your height and complexion.’

  Pausing, she frowned. ‘But where is Agnew? What has become of her? She is taking a very long time to climb the stair –’

  Tansy opened the door where only the top of the spiral was visible. ‘Margaret,’ she called. And again, ‘Margaret!’

  Her answer was a banging door left open out of sight at the foot of the stair, a sound like a moan…

  She gave Tam a startled glance and together they ran down the stair. At the base lay a crumpled shape wreathed in a rain-blackened cloak.

  ‘Margaret, my dear, are you hurt? What has happened?’

  As Tansy put her hand on the cloak, it came away with a sticky wetness. Not of rain but of blood. Gently, Tam turned the woman over. Her eyes opened and flickered for the last time as her head rolled back and he saw the dagger, the knife thrust to her heart –

  Even as Tansy screamed her name they saw how she had met her death. Mistress Margaret Agnew had been murdered.

  And for Tam the wheel had begun to turn.

  Chapter Three

  In the dim recess of the turnpike stair, Tam and Tansy bent over the dead woman.

  ‘Who could have done such a thing,’ whispered Tansy. ‘Agnew never harmed anyone. She was such a sweet person; everyone trusted her, came to her for her herbs –’

  Tam said nothing. This was the usual response on discovery of a murder victim. Only to reveal, as investigations proceeded, at least one person, more often than not a member of the family circle or a close and trusted friend, with a secret motive for murder.

  ‘What shall we do, Tam?’

  ‘I presume the Captain of the King’s guard is the man to deal with this,’ said Tam, moving into the light.

  Tansy jumped to her feet. ‘Then I am coming with you.’

  Tam hesitated. The dead woman had just drawn her last breath as they arrived. Someone ought to remain with her still warm body in case her killer returned with the grim intention of making certain that she was dead.

  As if Tansy interpreted his glance at the crumpled form of Mistress Agnew, she shook her head, shivered. ‘Please, Tam. Do not ask me to … to stay here. I could not –’

  Tam took her arm. ‘I would not permit you to do so.’

  He did not add that it might be dangerous. Considering his logical conclusion that the killer was still lurking nearby, Tansy might well become the next victim.

  ‘Come then, we will go together,’ he said allowing Tansy to lead him in the direction of the royal stables.

  Tracking down Lord Fotheringham was more difficult than they had imagined.

  The Captain was not in the guardroom. It was deserted apart from a bored young groom yawning and hastily concealing a flagon of wine under the table.

  Somewhat reluctant to rise to his feet and salute the newcomers, slurring a little he informed them that the royal guards were out on their inspection of the Palace. They should be returning within the hour.

  ‘Exactly where might they be located at this moment? This is a matter of some urgency.’

  Tam’s stern demand penetrated the groom’s somewhat wine-ridden haze.

  He shook his head. ‘This is a routine inspection, sir. Twice a day around the royal apartments and the gardens.’ And, tapping the side of his nose in a gesture of confidence, ‘The Palace is under constant guard against strangers and interlopers.’

  Pausing, he darted a sudden suspicious look at Tam as if he might well be slotted into either or both categories.

  Interlopers but not apparently killers, thought Tam grimly. Whoever killed Mistress Agnew had by now slipped their particular net.

  ‘Your business with the Captain is urgent then, sir?’ said the groom, anxious to be rid of them as he darted a fond glance in the direction of his wine-flagon.

  ‘I have already said so,’ Tam responded shortly.

  ‘Of the utmost urgency,’ Tansy added.

  The groom, suddenly aware of her pale face and agitated manner, recognised the pretty lady who was obviously a close confidant of the Queen, since he often saw them walking together in the gardens.

  ‘A woman has been killed at the door of Mistress Scott’s lodging,’ said Tam. ‘One of Her Grace’s servants, Mistress Agnew.’

  The groom whistled softly. ‘I ken her well, sir. We all do, she will be sorely missed. Her herbs have cured many a sore head from an excess of wine-bibbing here in the guardroom –’

  And other less pleasant excesses common in the guard
room too, thought Tam, interpreting his doleful expression. Doubtless Mistress Agnew’s popularity arose from her confidential cures for the pox, much in demand among the courtiers and lesser mortals.

  Tam sighed. Here was another complication. As many visited the midwife secretly, both highborn and low, tracking down her killer was going to be even more difficult. Mysterious and unexplained deaths were not all that uncommon in the court where King James was known to be a dangerous man to cross. Offences were dealt with swiftly and terminated with unpleasant and often fatal results for the misguided wrongdoer.

  On the other hand, Mistress Agnew’s death might be related to a marital disorder, since women who were midwives had skills in bringing about convenient abortions or miscarriages.

  ‘An accident, was it, sir?’ the groom was asking.

  ‘I think not. She died violently.’

  Clearing his throat, remembering his manners, the groom struggled to his feet, dragged on his bonnet and came to attention. ‘A servant of Her Grace’s household too. This is an official matter for Lord Fotheringham himself to investigate,’ he said sternly.

  ‘Then go in search of him, tell him to proceed immediately to Mistress Scott’s lodging where I will await him.’

  The groom bowed and set off purposely, staggering only a very little in the direction of the gardens where the distant sound of trotting horses indicated the imminent return of the king’s guard.

  Queen Anne was upset by the sudden death of her midwife, although Tansy had tried to break it to her as gently as possible, saying only that Mistress Agnew had met with a fatal accident outside her lodging.

  There was nothing personal in the queen’s distress. It was not for the unfortunate woman’s sad demise but for the inconvenience of her absence, the loss of her soothing hands and the healing herbs that she had come to rely on.

  Tansy preferred to evade such questions as she could see forming on Her Grace’s lips. Curtseying, she said quickly that she must return to her lodging where she had left Master Eildor to deal with the situation.