The Gowrie Conspiracy Page 8

  ‘None whatever.’

  ‘Oh Tam, that is so sad. Such a waste. And each day I see you, I wonder if this will be our last day together. And if you will remember me.’

  Tam laughed. ‘Have no fear, Tansy. I suspect you will have me for some time yet. I will know when it is time to go and I promise to give you as much warning as I can.‘

  They were interrupted by sounds of giggling from the sewing-room.

  Matilda’s face appeared around the door. ‘We are ready, Mistress Tansy. I think we will make interesting and pretty young men. As for our court dresses, I long to see what the courtiers will make of them.’

  ‘They will no doubt enjoy the experience,’ said Tansy as Tam bowed and indicated that he was leaving.

  As for Matilda, she curtseyed and took the opportunity to quiz them both. In hushed tones, she confided, ‘There are whispers about the court that you are brother and sister.’

  Tansy exchanged an amused glance with Tam. ‘You must put an end to that rumour, Matilda.’

  ‘But you are so alike,’ Matilda protested, disappointed at having anticipated some rare piece of gossip of brother and sister separated at birth in tragic circumstances, or some such romantic nonsense.

  Tam merely shook his head, bowed and left Tansy to deal with the situation, anxious to return to the village and continue his search for the missing David Rose.

  Tam hurried across the courtyard, carefully skirting the area overlooked by the windows of the royal bedchamber. Determined to take avoiding action at all times, he resolved that the less he encountered King James during his quest, the better he would be pleased. So taking a longer more circuitous route through the gardens, thinking he would be safe, he was soon cursing his choice and ill-luck.

  Danger was close at hand. The sound of loud male voices and a jester’s raucous singing indicated that the king and his courtiers were walking on the other side of the high hedge.

  Doubling back on his tracks and hastening through the gatehouse, once again Tam emerged on the main street. Praying that he would find David Rose at home or in the minister’s realm, against all the evidence of his earlier exploration, he hoped that he was not too late, his gloomy misgivings the product of an overwrought imagination.

  Once again the door was ajar. As he remembered closing it behind him he had an ominous feeling that in the interval there had been a second visitor.

  There was no answer to his summons and, belief in finding Davy fast dwindling, his fears were confirmed when he cautiously opened the door.

  The room was empty. The documents still scattered on the floor beside the open press were enough to convince him that Davy had not returned. And that he never would.

  The one link that might have led him to the reason for Mistress Agnew’s murder, and the apprehension of her killer, was gone forever.

  He took a final look around the room then, about to leave, he had reached the door when he heard a noise.

  Another sound, a stifled sneeze. And again, louder.

  ‘Hello, who is there?’

  There was no reply, no sign of anyone lurking in the room’s darker corners.

  But there was someone in the vicinity. The only place to hide could be the bed. Not in it but underneath where another sneeze confirmed a human presence.

  Realising that it must be a very small person to take cover in such a small space he said, ‘Come out. I will not harm you.’

  A childlike hand, tiny and very dirty appeared, then a head of curls, two bright but terrified eyes.

  Their owner was a small girl who wriggled her way out with some difficulty, puffing and panting with the exertion of having been confined in such a tiny space.

  She remained kneeling on the ground beside the bed and, her thin body trembling, gazed imploringly up at Tam.

  ‘Please, sir, do not hurt me, I beg you. Uncle Davy will kill you if any harm comes to me,’ she added in solemn warning.

  ‘Stand up, child,’ said Tam, helping her to her feet, so thin and waif-like, he felt that if the door had been opened she might have been blown away like thistledown.

  ‘I mean you no harm. Come sit by me – ’ he patted the bed ‘– and tell me about your Uncle Davy. Where is he – was he expecting you?’

  Still trembling, the child shook her head. ‘He was not expecting me, and I do not know where he is. I expected to find him here – I came all the way from Edinburgh.’

  As she paused and took a gulp of air, Tam said, ‘That is a very long way for a little girl.’

  ‘Oh I wasna feart,’ she said bravely, ‘an’ I got lifts from tinkers and their carts. And – and – ’ But, suddenly overwhelmed by fatigue, hunger and fearful memories of that long journey, courage faded and tears flowed.

  Such a sorry spectacle, such a tiny creature to have travelled such a distance alone, Tam’s heart was touched.

  He put a gentle arm around her thin shoulders and said, ‘There there now. Don’t cry, child. You are quite safe. No one is going to harm you.’

  Still sobbing, she nestled against his shoulder and gazed up at him tearfully.

  ‘What is your name?’ Tam asked.

  ‘Jane, sir.’

  ‘How old are you, Jane?’

  ‘Thirteen come Martinmas.’

  Tam smiled. She looked no more than ten, but he continued, ‘Have you no family, Jane?’

  She shook her head, her eyes flooded with tears. ‘No one now. Only Uncle Davy. After my ma died I bided wi’ a neighbour in St Mary’s Close but her man – he – he – ’ Shuddering she took a deep breath.

  ‘He quarrelled with you?’

  ‘Nay, mister. He wanted – he liked – to touch me. I was feart, I didna’ like him, but there wasna’ ony place to hide from him. Six other lassies in the hoose, but it was me he wanted. And Ma’s friend, who was so guid to her when she was sick, loved her man Bart and would have thocht that I was telling lies. I would have been beaten for that, so I ran away.’

  A sorry tale, thought Tam. And he could not leave her here.

  ‘Come with me.’

  ‘Where are you taking me, mister?’

  ‘To a very kind lady who will give you something to eat and some clean clothes. And she will know what to do for you.’

  The child hesitated. ‘She willna’ sent me back to Bart?’

  “I can assure you that she will never do that.’

  Again she hesitated. ‘You – you will no’ be like him. Wi’ me, I mean?’

  ‘That I do promise, Jane. Mistress Scott will look after you until we can see you safely back with your Uncle Davy.’

  As they left the house, she asked where they were going.

  ‘Just across the street. There.’ He pointed across at the palace.

  ‘Is that where you live?’ she whispered in considerable awe as they approached the gatehouse.

  ‘For the moment,’ Tam said. Once he got her settled with Tansy, his hopes resurged that she might throw some light on the relationship between David Rose and Mistress Agnew.

  And whatever document it was that those who searched his house had failed to find.

  Chapter Eight

  In Edinburgh’s Lawn market, Will Hepburn was enjoying a glass of excellent claret with Martin Hailes, once Lady Morham’s lawyer.

  After death terminated her guardianship, Will was content to let affairs relating to income and estate remain in his elderly cousin’s hands. True, it would have been more convenient to employ a Perth lawyer when Martin Hailes retired at seventy and was reluctant to make the long journey from Edinburgh. Will, however, disliked changes and despite Martin’s urging was too lethargic to take his affairs elsewhere. Besides he had another reason, the excuse for an enjoyable visit to the bustling city.

  In good weather he made an occasional nostalgic visit to Morham Castle, his home for many years. Despite James Hepburn’s lamentable failings as his father, Will was proud of being a Borderer. Without having ever struck a blow or raised a sword in anger, ballads from hi
s childhood roused memories of steel-bonneted warriors who called at Morham and stirred the pride of race that was in his blood.

  ‘Somewhat unruly and very had to take,

  I would have none think that I call them thieves.

  The freebooter ventures life and limb,

  Good wife and bairn and everything.

  He must do so, or else must starve and die,

  For all his living comes of the enemy.’

  Morham had passed to other hands long ago, to other cousins who he hardly knew and none who would care to meet him. But the old lawyer, aware of William’s remarkable recollection of his childhood, the way he could recall events in precise detail, always encouraged him to reminisce, as well as enjoying in return the latest gossip about Falkland Palace.

  Unfailingly polite, his first question to William was, ‘And how is Mistress Scott?’

  ‘She is well, sir.’

  Martin nodded. ‘Excellent, excellent,’ was the correct reply, having striven through the years to hide his disappointment in young William’s choice of the woman with whom he wished to share his life.

  Not that Martin had anything personal against Tansy Scott. On the several occasions when they had met, he had been agreeably surprised by her charm, her kindness and outstanding good looks. His reason was more practical. Simply that her presence in William’s life had put an end to him ever marrying and raising a family of his own.

  He could never quite understand why the lad, the bastard son of an infamous but undoubtedly attractive father, had chosen from all the women who would have made excellent wives, the estranged wife of a Fife laird. Estranged for the reason that she was barren, the shaming and unforgivable curse of womanhood, the death knell of queens.

  The years had passed since Martin raised the subject of a suitable wife. If Walter Murray divorced Tansy, he knew that William would marry her at once. But still no bairns, a sterile marriage. The thought aggravated Martin, since forty was still an age of virility for men. Twenty years a widower, with eight living children, Martin had already been a grandfather at that age.

  Sighing, he remembered his efforts to produce expensive supper parties through the years, inviting eligible Edinburgh young ladies for William’s benefit and seduction. Ladies, he suspected, who would have been more than eager for his amorous attentions, with parents who would have rejoiced and welcomed an eligible bachelor, bastard son of Queen Mary’s notorious third husband.

  Martin’s secret but scandalous hope was still that the lad might be compromised and forced into marriage. Sadly for him, William obviously had not inherited James Hepburn’s promiscuous and irresponsible attitudes toward women either.

  Nor did Martin’s plan deceive him. ‘You are a poor matchmaker, cousin Hailes,’ Will laughed, with a stubborn shake of his auburn curls. ‘You are wasting your time and money on lining up prospective brides for me. If I cannot have Tansy Scott, then I will remain unwed for the rest of my life. And that is my final word on the subject.’

  Today however, William’s next words afforded his cousin a small gleam of hope. ‘Tansy has a distant cousin staying, from the Borders.’

  ‘And what is this lady like?’ Martin asked, daring to hope.

  Will laughed. ‘You never give up, do you! This lady, cousin, is a bachelor, young and very handsome,’ he added with a teasing glance.

  ‘How old is he?’

  ‘Thirty-six.’ Again Martin’s hopes soared for a very different reason. A handsome cousin, thirty-six. Perhaps his prayers had been answered, and he had come to sweep Tansy Scott off her feet.

  ‘His name is Tam Eildor,’ William was saying. He frowned. ‘Do you know, something very strange happened when we first met.’

  He hesitated for a moment and Martin asked, ‘Indeed. How so?’

  William looked at him, bewildered. ‘You see, I thought I remembered him. From a visit at Morham long ago – ’

  As he went on to describe that meeting in some detail, Eildor with two of the queen’s Maries, Seton and Fleming, himself sitting on his grandmother’s knee, aged four, Martin shook his head.

  ‘You must be mistaken. The man you met would now be as old as I am.’

  Will shook his head. ‘However old he is, he looks exactly as he did thirty-six years ago.’

  Martin studied him for a moment. ‘You must be mistaken, William. Border families often have a strong likeness. Inbreeding, you know, and the wrong side of the blanket.’

  ‘That is what Tansy is saying.’

  ‘I am sure she is correct in that.’ Pausing he glanced at Will. ‘But you are not convinced.’

  Will frowned, shook his head, and Martin hoping to change the subject asked, ‘How goes it in the royal palace? Any new scandals?’

  ‘Only a new murder.’

  ‘A murder!’ Martin whispered, waiting for details.

  ‘The day I arrived, Tansy was very upset. There had been a serious accident – the queen’s midwife and constant attendant had been killed. She lodged with Tansy.’

  ‘Where was her cousin when all this happened?’ Martin demanded suspiciously, his mind racing ahead.

  Tam smiled. ‘He was with Tansy. They discovered the woman dying – of a stab wound – on the turnpike stair. Mistress Agnew was a friend of Tansy. Similar backgrounds. As you know, Tansy was orphaned early and brought up by her granddam, Lady Beaton.’

  Martin suppressed a grimace. This was another connection he would have preferred William’s chosen partner to be without. Janet Beaton, Lady Buccleuch, had been a powerful and remarkable woman suspected of witchcraft.

  ‘Mistress Agnew had also been orphaned and brought up by her granddam, who, like Lady Beaton, was also in attendance at James’s birth.’ Pausing, he added, ‘I expect you remember that, cousin.’

  Martin nodded. ‘I remember hearing about it. It was a bad time for Scotland and there were ugly rumours concerning his birth. As he grew older rough townsfolk used to shout after him; ‘Ye son of Davy Riccio.’

  ‘Was it true, do you think?’

  Martin shook his head. ‘Who knows what murky deeds the past conceals. Certainly on the rare occasions when I have observed King James riding past in Edinburgh, he has not inherited the outstanding good looks of either his father or mother. But I cannot imagine the lovely young queen with her ugly little secretary who I saw only once.’ With a sigh, he continued, ‘She preferred stronger men – ’

  ‘Like my father,’ said Will bitterly.

  ‘Indeed. That was the tragedy of both their lives.’ Martin frowned, stroking his beard. ‘Rumour whispered another explanation concerning James’s birth. Concerning a document – ’

  ‘Tell me,’ Will insisted.

  At Falkland, the minister hurrying past on his way to church observed Tam leaving David Rose’s house accompanied by a beggar’s child.

  He stopped, blinking in astonishment as this ragged apparition was introduced as David Rose’s niece. ‘Come to visit him, minister. Should he return imminently, tell him Jane awaits him at Mistress Scott’s lodging, by the queen’s apartments.’

  And bowing, Tam marched the small girl firmly across the road before any further questions could be raised, leaving the minister staring open-mouthed after them.

  Tansy Scott’s reactions were identical at the sight of Tam with a ragged small girl clinging to his hand.

  Quickly he explained, while Jane, wide-eyed, clutched his arm like the lifeline to a drowning mariner.

  Taken aback, Tansy surveying the terrified child and hoping that a benevolent smile was assurance of a warm welcome, rang the bell that summoned Martha, her serving-woman, who was instructed to bathe, feed and provide the child with some suitable garment.

  The latter suggested a problem, then, with a moment of inspiration, Tansy scooped up a small gown of satin and lace from the sewing-table.

  ‘The very thing,’ she said to Tam. ‘This is a court dress for one of Her Grace’s female dwarfs.’ And holding it up against Jane, she smiled. �
�A little inappropriate, but adequate.’

  Warm-hearted, kindly Martha, quite unfazed, put a protective arm around Jane who, even in the presence of such friendly people, continued to tremble and look apprehensive.

  Martha had encountered and endured great poverty in her time and the child before her was not the most advanced example of suffering and neglect.

  Examining the elaborate garment with its low cut neckline, she frowned.

  ‘This will have to do for the moment, Mistress Scott.’ And smiling down at Jane she went on, ‘My lassie has a bairn about your age, my pet. She will find you something more comfortable, never fear.’

  But only the promise of good things to eat in Martha’s kitchen overcame Jane’s reluctance to be parted from Tam.

  Watching the door close on them, Tam explained the circumstances of his rescue.

  ‘I thought you might give her a home until the situation is resolved.’

  As Tansy nodded agreement, there was no doubt in her mind or in Tam’s that Jane had little hope of a happy outcome and of being reunited with her uncle.

  ‘I was hoping that she might provide us with some information about Mistress Agnew,’ said Tam.

  ‘A forlorn hope, I fear,’ was the reply. ‘Surely you do not imagine that her uncle would confide in a child seldom seen any details of an illicit relationship?’ And always practical, Tansy continued, ‘Have you considered having taken her into your care, what is to become of her if her uncle does not return? – if he is dead, as you fear.’

  Tam sighed. ‘We cannot send her back to Edinburgh, orphaned and friendless.’

  Tansy glanced at him sharply. ‘I think you mean that I cannot – or more correctly, will not – send her back to a brutal foster-father, orphaned and friendless.’

  When Tam smiled, she said wryly, ‘How well you know me in our short acquaintance, Tam Eildor.’ And with a sigh, ‘We shall see what talents she has, if any, perhaps find her suitable employment in the palace here.’

  But Tansy had few hopes regarding the success of introducing the waifish child Tam had deposited on her charity into the queen’s household.