Kindred Spirits: Royal Mile

by Jennifer Wilson

  “If you would arrange it, Janet, I should like pen and paper brought to one of the private rooms above the café. Between us, shall we work out a plan of action for my coming days and weeks?”

  “Of course, Your Grace, give me ten minutes?”

  Mary nodded, and made her way over to the café entrance with William, as Janet crossed into the gift shop. This early in the morning, Janet knew that if she was quick, she would be able to collect the pen and paper and carry it openly across the courtyard to their agreed meeting place. Only belongings the spirits had gathered in the immediate aftermath of their deaths could take on the physical state of the wearer, and many a ghost had been caught out trying to carry objects, dropping them suddenly when the living had spotted ‘floating’ items mysteriously travelling about the place. On the other hand, plenty of ghosts took advantage of the ruse to aid their haunting. Today though, Janet would be safe enough. Pen and paper could easily be dropped onto the floor on a dry August day, if an early tour group did make a sudden appearance.

  Within the allotted ten minutes, the three of them were ensconced in the small upper room, not open to the public, leaning over a makeshift table created out of storage boxes and a noticeboard. Heads down, they started preparing Queen Mary’s plan. Each time she came to Edinburgh, Mary tried to visit each of the main residencies along the Royal Mile, to ensure that nothing untoward had been taking place in her absence, and that all was as well as could be with such a mix of ghostly residents. After dark, on some nights, she would hold court at either the Castle or Holyrood, taking over the great hall of each respective palace, back in her place at the centre of city life, just as she once had been. As they had done during her lifetime, people from all walks of life would line up to petition their Queen, each with an argument to be settled, or a request to make of her. It may not have been the most enjoyable activity during her visits, but compared to some of the unruly places she had visited during her many trips away, it meant that Edinburgh had one of the most orderly groups of ghosts she had ever encountered. Which was not a bad achievement, considering some of her mortal enemies were present at least once every visit.

  “I wonder, Your Grace, whether you wouldn’t prefer to have everyone physically come and see you during these audiences, rather than you having to go out and see everyone in their locales?” asked William, as the list of places for Mary to visit grew every longer.

  “Thank you for your thoughts, William, but in truth, I do enjoy physically getting out of the Castle, getting the chance to speak to people in their own homes, as it were. You remember court life – however courageous they are feeling, even the grandest noblemen in the land can sometimes feel out of place; imagine how it must be for those of a lower station?”

  “And for so many, Your Grace, your visit is the highlight of their year. It is the Royal Progress all over again, as so many of them remember, from one reign or another,” interjected Janet, thinking back to the times her own family had had the honour of hosting the court during the Progress. Yes, they tended to bleed the house and surrounding area dry of funds and food, but it was a great feeling to know that yours was one of the honoured families that time around. And it was an excellent way to show that whatever any rumours may have been spread around court, you were still in favour with the King or Queen.

  “Yes, exactly. Thank you, Janet. Your concern is appreciated, William, but I shall continue my habit of annual visits. And, as I have already mentioned to Janet, I think I shall go on a longer Progress this winter – brighten up the festive period by being out on the road, travelling around some of the houses further afield.”

  “As you wish, Madame, an excellent idea I am sure. I will be glad to accompany you, as always, and can provide a contingent of soldiers from the barracks if you wish.”

  Mary closed her eyes, imagining the scene: herself, Janet and William, together with a few others of the noble ladies and gentlemen who still inhabited Edinburgh, all escorted by a trail of soldiers. It would be magnificent sight. And a particularly odd one, if they chose to make themselves visible at any point. The Forth Road Bridge would be a spectacular location for a mass-haunt, she thought. But no, she argued with herself, shaking her head to dispel the image. Too many people at too great a risk of driving over the edge and into the water. She might enjoy the company of plenty of ghosts, but she did not wish to go about creating new ones. Not like that. But she would arrange for them to appear at a few grand banquets in great halls up and down the country, and perhaps a few inns on their route, or the odd market square – nothing too risky for the living or the dead.

  “We shall go on Progress; I shall enjoy planning it later in the season. But I shall wish to be back for Hogmanay. As a starter, shall we say we depart after Hallowe’en, and return for Christmas?”

  “As you wish,” said William, making a note on his own notepad, squirrelled away in the room for meetings such as this. “And should we start getting people lined up for this now, or wait until nearer the time?”

  “Leave it for a while. It is only August, and it is not as though we take up space or food these days! We shall work out an itinerary sometime in September, and send soldiers out accordingly to pass it on. Now, back to my plans for the next fortnight.”

  For over an hour, they pored over the paper, scribbling notes, with Janet and William reporting to the Queen the basics of the problems and arguments which had taken place since her last visit. Finally, all was in place, and Mary sat back in her chair, rubbing her side out of habit. The pain which had troubled her in life may no longer have been a real one, but whenever she had been seated for any length of time, she found herself remembering it, as though it was still as real as it had ever been.

  “Well, that is done. Thank you both. I think I shall leave you for a short while, and reacquaint myself with the Castle, to see if anything has changed since my last time here. I cannot believe it is almost six months.” She rose from her chair, and without another word, drifted down between the floorboards into the café below.

  “I think I should leave too, my Lady,” said William to Janet, pushing himself up from his own chair, before moving to help her from hers. “I'll wander down the Mile, ensure that those the Queen has decided to visit tomorrow are ready. We know how quickly her temper can turn if she is kept waiting.”

  “We do indeed, Sir William. Well, if I have some time to myself, I think I too shall go visiting. I have not seen Queen Margaret for some time; she should be warned, if she is in town.”

  Chapter Five

  St Margaret's Chapel, perched on a small hill in the middle of Edinburgh Castle, is the oldest surviving building in the city, and home, on and off, to the titular St Margaret herself. At not even fifty, she was hardly old by modern standards, but in 1093, even getting close to a half century, especially having survived the ordeal of multiple births, was no mean feat. The lady was now content to travel sedately back and forth by train between Edinburgh and Dunfermline, where, centuries before, her body had been laid to rest.

  “My Lady? Your Grace?” Janet called into the small, vaulted building, peering around. She was glad that for now, the single-roomed chapel was empty of tourists.

  “Lady Glamis? Is that you?” The softly-spoken reply was heard before the lady was visible, rising from the dais at the front of the room, behind the altar, before perching on one of the seats which lined the walls. “Did I hear that Mary is returned to the city?”

  “She is, Your Grace, but I shall advise her not to come here, if you would like, until you move on. If, that is, you intend to move on?” Janet sat beside the older lady, adjusting her skirts around herself. The difference in fashion between their eras was plain to see, yet with their skirts, and Queen Margaret’s thick fur coat, they still took up more than half the length of bench along one wall of the chapel.

  “I think that would be wise. I shall return to Dunfermline within the week, and perhaps go and do some visiting on the way. I still have nothing to say to that w
oman, digging up my head like that, just to parade it around. I am not a relic. I am a living person. Or at least I was. I am not to be treated in such a way.”

  Janet sighed inwardly. She had heard this before down the centuries, more times than she cared to remember, but never had the heart to cut the old lady off in the middle of her complaint. St Margaret's dislike of Queen Mary was notorious in the Castle, with the former doing her utmost to stay away from the latter, despite Mary's frequent and genuine attempts to befriend her. In the days of her confinement with James VI, Queen Mary had called for the head of St Margaret to be brought from Dunfermline to Edinburgh Castle, to soothe James' passage into the world, and Mary's passage through childbirth. After all, it was his destiny and duty to grow up and become King, and it was hers to survive and provide a string of other boys (to back up the dynasty) and girls (to marry into foreign lands, strengthening Scotland's ties with the royal families of Europe). At least one of those aims had come true: James had become King, and not just of Scotland. And had Mary not inadvertently lost her husband and her throne, perhaps there would have been more princes and a string of princesses to follow. Who knew? All that was certain was that St Margaret had not been thrilled when her head was carried away from her body, even temporarily.

  The older lady was still talking. Taking her hand gently, Janet drew her attention. “I will speak to Queen Mary, and ensure she remains absent from the chapel until I know that you are gone. Will you send word to me, by one of the soldiers?”

  “I will do, thank you, Janet. Now, I must attend to my daily rituals.” Without another word, she slipped away through the wall, leaving Janet alone with her thoughts. Could she ever have imagined, she wondered, when she had worshipped in this very chapel, that she would be sitting talking to the Saint herself? It was too ridiculous for words. Needing to distract herself, she rose and sauntered back towards David's Tower, where William Douglas, the Sixth Earl of Douglas, and his younger brother David were just coming out of the vaults, blinking in the sunlight.

  “Are you only just rising?” Janet asked them, suddenly curious as to how she hadn't noticed they were missing from Mary's gathering that morning. She’d expected St Margaret not to attend, but in spite of their history with the royal family, the Douglas boys did not usually show offence to the Queen.

  “He'll tell you,” said David, shrugging his shoulder towards his older brother.

  “But not now. Later,” said William, marching away from Janet, towards the main gate.

  Shaking her head, Janet returned to her day.

  It took three weeks, but finally the ‘Three French Queens’, as the small group was commonly referred to, gathered beneath Froog’s Gate in the Castle, at Mary’s request. Marie de Guise and the sixteen-year-old Madeleine de Valois had never been the most extrovert of Edinburgh’s resident spirits, but in the last couple of centuries they had become more and more retired, with Marie rarely appearing beyond the occasional conversation with her beloved daughter, on whose behalf she had reigned Scotland for so many years, whilst the young Queen Mary, for her own safety, was being brought up in France.

  That young Queen was now a grown woman, and needed their presence and advice as much as ever, to help cheer her father – the husband that Madeleine and Marie had shared. James had barely seen either of them since his own death, despite the best efforts of both women, combined and apart.

  “You are right, ma petite, he is even worse this year,” said Marie, as she linked arms with her daughter.

  “Have you visited him, Madeleine?” Mary asked the lady she had come to regard almost as a younger sister since her death, and having seen the close relationship which had existed between the two queen consorts since their own departures from the land of the living.

  “We went together, to see if some discussion between the three of us might distract him from his melancholy,” replied Madeleine. “But it was no use – he seems determined to be miserable. Such a waste of time, being miserable. Look at me – less than a year in this country, plenty to be sad about, and yet did I waste my death sitting in my tomb and moping? No. I got out, I met people. I have more friends here in death than I ever did in life! Even if I do see them only occasionally. And briefly.”

  Mary smiled at her optimistic words, and looked around the Castle as the three ladies made their way to the Redcoat Café, to perch on one of their outdoor tables. Madeleine was right – if she were honest, she too knew more people now in death than she had in life; she certainly had more close, personal relationships with people she could trust. Funny how things turned out.

  “About my father,” said Mary, pulling them back onto topic. “I have decided enough is enough. I have a plan, but will need your help to bring it to fruition, if you are willing?”

  The two queen consorts nodded their agreement. Pleased that things were finally going to start happening, Mary smiled, and lead the way as the three royal ladies sat at the nearest table, and watched the final visitors of the day start to drift slowly back towards the main gate.

  “So, what is your plan, and who else are you thinking of involving?” asked Marie, warily. There were plenty of Scotland’s nobles present in Edinburgh who she wouldn’t relish having to work with, and knew that the feeling would be mutual.

  “I am still at the thinking stage, if I am honest, but I think both of you and Rizzio, on the whole, not many people at all really. Perhaps one or two of the older, more serious soldiers, to act as a guard for you.” Mary leaned back and closed her eyes against the warm evening sun, wishing she could feel the heat through her bones. Wishing she had bones with which to feel anything at all. Even when fully visible, such sensations were difficult to fully embrace. “I intend to go and see Rizzio as soon as possible – I have abandoned him for too long, I fear, after promising I would visit as soon as possible. I never imagined things would be so busy up here at the Castle, and on my other visits, I just never made it back to Holyrood.”

  “A sensible plan, daughter. He is a good man, from what I gather. I am sure he will help you,” said Madeleine, gazing across the city’s skyline.

  “Then it is decided. I will come to you when I have more of a plan.” With that, Mary rose, and left Marie and Madeleine to the rest of the day. With nobody else around whose company they sought, the two women left together, making their way slowly back to the Royal Palace, and their usual, quiet days.

  Chapter Six

  The next morning, Queen Mary decided that she had spent enough time listening to the reports of her various subjects – three weeks’ worth of complaints and bitterness were quite enough for now. After a relaxing half hour people-watching with Janet, she made her way slowly down the Mile to Holyrood, and began to look for her former secretary.

  It had been one of the most horrifying days of her reign, the day he was stabbed to death, right in the middle of her chambers. A quiet, private supper. That had been her intention. Good food, and good conversation with good company. And her husband Darnley nowhere in sight. She shuddered at the memory of the men barging into her small supper room in Holyrood, of Rizzio clutching at her skirts, of the man brandishing a pistol and pointing directly at her stomach. She had been seven months pregnant with James, and for days after the ordeal, was terrified that events would lead to her miscarrying the child. Rizzio had been dragged off her, pulled into her outer chamber and stabbed so many times that all she could see when he was left was blood and metal.

  It took her an hour to find him, even having sent word in advance that she would be visiting him that morning. Eventually, she found him loitering at the infamous ‘blood stain’ on the floor of the room in which he was killed.

  “David, you shouldn’t be in here, you know it upsets you,” she said kindly, placing her hand on his shoulder.

  He turned to her, before dropping into a deep bow, sweeping his hat dramatically behind him. “Your Grace, it is an honour to see you,” he said, his rich Italian accent still heavy after all these centuries.
<
br />   “It is good to see you too, David. Are you well? I heard you were wanting to speak to me? I can only apologise it has taken me so long to get to you.” Mary pulled his arm towards her, and steered him towards the staircase at the far end of the room.

  “I am well, as well as can be, but yes, I was looking to speak with you. It is Darnley,” he said, as they reached the foot of the stairs, and entered the large inner courtyard. “It is always Darnley,” he muttered, shaking his head.

  “Darnley. I should have known. Trouble in life, and trouble in death. What has he been doing now?”

  “The usual. He still will not believe that you and I were not…” Rizzio struggled for the most appropriate word, “…intimate.”

  Mary shook her head. “The man is a fool. The only bigger fool in Scotland at that time was me for marrying him.” She thought back to the terrible arguments which had eventually become the mainstay of their marriage. “I should have married Bothwell to start with. After all, then nobody would have bothered murdering that useless fop.”

  “And, forgive me my selfishness, nobody may have bothered murdering me.”

  “But of course. You could have continued being my valued secretary. And my friend. I will speak to him, if you think that would help? But, I warn you, even after three weeks I feel as though I have only just arrived, and seeking him out so soon is not very high on the list of things I want to do.” By now they were out in the garden, strolling between the flower beds. “How about this? I will get one of the men to speak to him. Perhaps Sir William, with a nice group of my hardest, roughest-looking soldiers to back him up. They were once friends of a sort, so he may still listen to him – especially with, shall we say, a little persuasion. If that doesn’t work, I will meet with him myself, and warn him off.”