Kindred Spirits: Royal Mile

by Jennifer Wilson

  “Surely, Your Grace, you aren’t thinking…” Janet’s voice trailed away, as, with relief, she saw the jest in Mary’s eyes. She tutted, shaking her head. She loved these times, when she was able to speak with the Queen in an almost sisterly manner, with nothing beyond the standard respect a monarch was due.

  “Queen Mary!” The almost headmasterly tone of a man’s voice, breaking through the hustle and bustle of city life, brought the ladies’ laughter to an immediate halt. “It is not becoming for you to be out thus, without a chaperone.” John Knox stood before them, on the steps of St Giles, clinging to his Bible as though his life depended on it. As in death…

  “Ah, Mr Knox, what an unpleasant surprise,” said Queen Mary, deliberately emphasising her French accent, with the roll of her tongue. “It is not like you to disturb my pleasure time. To what do I owe the misfortune? Has somebody parked on top of your grave?” She made no attempt to move towards him; if he wanted to conduct their conversation in anything other than shouts, he would have to come to her.

  Realising his predicament, and refusing to be drawn into her scheme, the churchman glared at her, silently. Seeing no change in her bland expression, his expression changed to fury, as he shook his head and stormed back inside the cathedral, muttering to himself. The two women remained silent for a moment then, meeting each other’s eyes, burst into fits of giggles as bad as any schoolgirl’s.

  “Why, Your Grace, you should have shown him more respect,” chided Janet, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

  “Oh, but Lady Glamis, you are right. I should honour the man who treated me so well in life, and served me so well in death.” Mary kept smiling, but an anger crept into her eyes. John Knox – one of the leading lights of the Scottish Reformation. The man had been nothing but a thorn in her side on her return to Scotland. She had tried so hard to keep the peace between her warring religious factions; she had followed her own beliefs in private, worshipping behind closed doors, but that still hadn’t kept him happy. Along with so many of her nobles, he had turned on her, forcing her to make decisions she was not happy with, and, ultimately, forcing her abdication. No, whatever happened to her, this was a man she would never have any respect for.

  She took several deep breaths, straightened her back, and turned back to her companion. “Janet, I am no longer interested in the entertainments this section of the Mile has to offer. Would you object to perhaps taking a walk over to the New Town, and visit Madame Jane a little earlier than intended?”

  “But of course, Your Grace, I’m more than happy to spend some time over there – we can seek her advice, and hopefully she will work her usual magic when she comes back to the Castle.”

  Relinking their arms, the two ladies made their way further down the Mile, and across the bridge to the New Town.

  ***

  From his vantage point, only several paces behind them in the crowd, Henry Stuart, Lord Darnley, watched his former wife as she returned to the laughing soul she had been before bumping into John Knox. He had followed her at a distance since she had met with Rizzio in the Palace grounds, keeping a watch on where she had gone, who she had spoken with. He knew of the complaints against him, and he was not going to let Rizzio get away with it this time.

  For now, though, he bided his time, following Mary, waiting for the chance to see her alone, properly, without either that wretched Janet, the idiotic Sir William, or any of the others loitering about her. Even at the end of the day, guardsmen willingly stationed themselves outside her door, monitoring the rooms and passageways for even the slightest trace of an unwelcome guest. And sadly, for now, that definitely included him. But out on the streets there was nothing she could do. He was just another of the many ghosts of this city, trying to make the best of his afterlife.

  Only, he thought, most of the rest of them hadn’t been brutally slaughtered on the wishes (if not the actual commands) of half the noblemen in the kingdom. Kingdom. The word itself was a joke – she had never truly let him be King of Scotland, his right, by his birth and their marriage, whatever the wording of the official decrees. He knew she would have to see him sooner rather than later; he could bide his time, on this visit as on every occasion she visited Edinburgh. Always trying so hard to ignore him, but eventually, she had to speak to him.

  Suddenly, Darnley felt a hand on his shoulder.

  “Sir, I think it best if you return to Holyrood, don’t you?”

  Darnley spun on his heel. “Kirkcaldy,” he spat. “How dare you place your hand on your King?”

  “Very easily, Sir – you are no longer any King of mine, not in anything more than title, I assure you. Friend, once, I’ll give you that; liege lord, and husband to my sovereign. That is all. And even that is debatable.”

  Darnley shrugged off the older man’s hand. “I am still your better. Just because you cosy up to my wife now, we remember what you did. I was here the whole time. You betrayed her.”

  “And I returned to the rightful side, and I gave my life in her service, trying to keep this city for her. I served her with the last breath in my body, and I would do so again. You, on the other hand, were nothing but a waste of this glorious country’s fine resources, and I cannot think of many who grieved your passing. As I believe I may have mentioned to you before. So,” William continued, meeting Darnley’s eye and holding his gaze, “why don’t you leave our dear Queen be, and return to Holyrood? If she chooses to meet with you, I am sure she knows her way to the end of the Mile – it is her own Palace, after all.”

  “You will regret this, Kirkcaldy. Every time you are rude to me is an occasion I shall remember when I am returned to my rightful place.” Without giving William time to reply, Darnley turned and marched back in the direction of the Royal Mile.

  “Your rightful place is on the sole of my boot,” murmured Sir William, under his breath, before pulling up straight at the sight of the two women he had been trying to protect, standing directly in front of him. Mary stood, still linking arms with Janet, her head tilted to one side. “Your Grace, Lady Glamis, forgive me. I was unaware of your presence.”

  Mary smiled at him. “Clearly. And serving me not only with the last breath in your body, Sir William, but past it as well. Thank you – I was not aware that he had been following us. We will continue with our day as planned, but I would appreciate it if you could advise the soldiers this evening to keep an eye out for Darnley. As you say, if I wish to see him, I will seek him out. I do not wish him to come looking for me.”

  Sir William nodded, and made his way back towards the Castle.

  Chapter Nine

  Refusing to let the incident rattle her, Mary relinked her arm through Janet’s, and continued on their original path, down the hill towards Princes Street. There was less evidence of the Festival happening down away from the Mile, fewer street performers making their presence on the city’s busiest shopping street, but the women enjoyed people-watching as much as the living did, and ducked in and out of the shops and cafes, keeping their presence to themselves, taking their time on their way to George Street. As they sat in Jenners’ café, overlooking the street below, Janet finally plucked up the courage to ask about the previous event.

  “Your Grace, forgive me, but, are you alright? The incident with Darnley?”

  “All will be well, Janet, although I wonder whether Sir William’s approach will prove a help or a hindrance in the long-term.” She bundled her skirts together, as the two women shifted along to make space for a young couple with their sandwiches and iced tea. This was not a time for being noticed.

  “I know he means well, and I think it will keep Darnley away for a little while, but I do think you should consider keeping a soldier with you, when you leave the Castle I mean. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him up at the Castle, but outside the walls, you simply never know what he is going to do next. I’m sure we would all feel more comfortable if there was somebody guarding you.”

  Mary nodded. Once again, her decision to marry the v
ain, self-centred and childish Darnley haunted her, as his spirit was trying to do now. She had been so entranced by his looks, his charm, his apparent adulation of her, not to mention his claim to the English throne. This, inherited from his grandmother (Margaret Tudor, daughter to Henry VII), would have been incredibly useful on the death of Elizabeth I. But he had not loved her; that became apparent within months, even weeks of their wedding day. He loved the power and the crown, and as she gradually stripped both away from him, any semblance of a happy marriage rapidly vanished. Shaking her head to clear the memory, and confusing Janet by her seemingly changing opinion on the situation, she laughed.

  “I shall take your advice when I leave the Castle, and ensure that there is somebody at least nearby who could deal with Darnley if he makes himself known. For now, though, shall we make our way along to George Street, see what we run into along the way?”

  “Yes, a good plan. And then, after, according to this leaflet, there’s a showcase of new talent up on the Mount. How does that sound? Something a bit different – you never know who we’ll see, and what will become of them in the future.”

  That was true enough. The ghosts of the Mile had seen so many comedians, actors and musicians pass through the various venues during August and beyond. Some had one good season and were never heard of again, but some came back to bigger and bigger audiences, eventually becoming headline stars, and helping others to get a footing on the slippery ladder of show-business.

  “Celebrity is a little like court, don’t you think?” mused Mary, as they left the café and made their way back out onto the street, and around to George Street. “I mean, everything is so precarious. You can have fortune and fame, or end up with nothing at all. And all on a whim.”

  “Ladies, a pleasure to see you this fine day.”

  The two women halted in their path, their attention drawn by the young man before them.

  “Robert! Robert Fergusson, what a lovely treat to see you out of the kirkyard,” said Mary, offering her hand for the handsome young writer to kiss. Seeing the smile on her monarch’s face, Janet followed suit, smiling slyly sideways at the queen, a lady still always keen for the attention of a handsome male face.

  “Are you here alone today?” asked Janet, as the three fell into step, one lady either side of the young Scottish poet, taken far too early from the world at only twenty-four.

  “Yes, although Rabbie did send word that he would be along at some point before the end of September,” Robert replied cheerfully. Rabbie Burns had been an idol of the young man, and, following Fergusson’s death, Burns had paid for his headstone on the Royal Mile out of his own pocket, as a token of his returned respect. In death, the pair could often be found together, when Burns was in town, attending some of the many poetry events in the city.

  “You must both come up to the Castle and put on a performance of your works for us; that would be a lovely treat for all of us,” declared Mary, linking her arm through his, and laughing at his surprised response.

  “Nothing would give me more honour, Your Grace. Once he has arrived, we shall arrange the date. Now, however, I have heard of a lovely little spoken word venue down one of the Closes – can I interest you in accompanying me back over to Old Town?”

  “We would love to, my dear, but at this very moment, we are on our way to visit Madame Vernelt; we do want to be at our best for this evening’s entertainments. But I promise you we will see you very soon.” Queen Mary nodded graciously to the young man, before he went on his way, leaving the two women to their plans.

  As they had expected, Madame Vernelt was more than willing to accompany the ladies back to the Castle, to help them, and others, select their outfits and accompaniments for the evening’s entertainments. Jewels were distributed, ensuring that everyone would look their finest, although Mary was careful to ensure none would shine brighter than her.

  A good, kind, sharing queen, yes, but still a queen, thought Janet, as she was handed Mary’s second-best chain, which she had salvaged from her belongings, to place around her neck, carrying a pendant of rubies and pearls. It did indeed look stunning, as she glanced in the mirror of the cloakroom they had commandeered for the occasion. A quick glance at Queen Mary, though, made her smile. Mary also wore rubies and pearls, but ever so slightly larger, ever so slightly more perfectly round in their shape, and of course, ever so slightly better framed in the most luxurious diamonds Janet had ever seen. Even in death, Queen Mary literally shone in any light. The crystals and jewels on her studded sleeves glistened even in the half-light of their ramshackle changing room. Tonight, with the spotlights, she would glow.

  After several hours of preening and prepping themselves for the evening, the ladies were ready.

  “You will join us, Madame?” asked Queen Mary, as the last of the ladies made their way from the room, leaving Mary, Madame Vernelt and Janet alone.

  “Your Grace, it would be a true honour, as it is every year,” Jane Vernelt replied, dipping into a low curtsy.

  “Excellent. But see, we have done our usual trick – taken all your time, so you will have almost no time for your own adornment. We apologise, as always, so please, enjoy the rest of your day, and we shall see you this evening.” With a dip of her head, Queen Mary dismissed the dressmaker, who turned and made her way through the door, down the stairs and out into the courtyard, blinking in the early evening sunshine.

  As she reached the cobbled pathway to make her way out of the Castle, she felt a tug on her sleeve.

  “Madame? May we trouble you for a moment?”

  Jane Vernelt smiled. She had known this would be coming. For the last few years, it hadn’t simply been the women who were keen to look their best for the grandest ghostly outing of their calendar. Sir William Kirkcaldy pulled his hand back from her sleeve, and stepped back into the small group of senior soldiers and gentlemen gathered behind him.

  “Gentlemen, how lovely to see you again. And yes, of course you may trouble me, and for as long as is required.” Taking Sir William’s arm, she let him escort her into another small room, in which the men’s own adornments had been gathered. Nothing in comparison with the ladies’ collection, but the sheer number of swords and jewelled belts was impressive enough as a start.

  “We promise you, that within an hour, perhaps two, we shall be escorting you back to your own premises, with plenty of time for your own preparations.”

  “Oh, Sir William, I don’t believe you for one moment. Luckily for you, I know how these days work; I have had my finest gown and jewels hidden safely away in the gatehouse for the last month. I shall not let anything get in the way of enjoying my great evening’s entertainment.”

  “Madame! You surprise me – do not let Queen Mary know that you have outstripped her in terms of planning; she will never forgive you if she thinks you have the measure of her.” Sir William chuckled to himself at the thought of Queen Mary being outflanked, especially on this most glittering of evenings.

  “Ah, my Lord, my secrets are my secrets; I shall ensure they remain so. And now, shall we prepare you and your gentlemen?”

  Chapter Ten

  Later that evening, the ghosts gathered once more in the great hall, ready to make their way together down to the Esplanade and take their places amongst the audience of the Tattoo. Custom (and Queen Mary) dictated that no ghost was permitted to distract any of the performers in the middle of their act, or the audience, whilst they were watching the show, but once it was finished and all the performers had left the stage, everyone was fair game. Nobody wanted a repeat of the bayonet-throwing act, which for one soldier, convinced he had seen a headless man walking amongst the crowds, had very nearly ended in another addition to their ranks. These days, they enjoyed the performances as much as any ticket-buying audience member. It was also their greatest opportunity to display their finery; Madame Vernelt’s afternoon of work had not gone to waste. She stood amongst the group, smiling to herself at how grand everyone could look on an evening l
ike this. Death was by no means an excuse not to be at your finest for such an occasion.

  “Now, not that I should need to remind anyone, but there is to be no haunting during the performance – are we all clear on that?” Mary’s voice brought the hall to silence, following by mumbled agreement. “Shall we go down?”

  The Esplanade was buzzing, as the light began to fade around the city, leaving the Castle as a beacon of multi-coloured lights, shining out above the rest of twilit Edinburgh. As Sir William accompanied Lady Glamis down the hill, the pair walking just behind Queen Mary, he smiled at the sight. He loved Festival season. Edinburgh was lively enough during the rest of the year, but August was different; there was a hum about the city, whether you were living or dead. Queen Mary’s presence played its part, of course; it was hard to ignore the Monarch when she was in town, whether you liked it or not. During the months she was absent, Lady Glamis was mistress of Edinburgh Castle, and Sir William a deputy, of sorts, with the pair keeping things at peace between them, yet falling instantly back into their roles as royal servants on her return.

  As though reading his thoughts, the said Lady Glamis squeezed his arm, and smiled up at him. Strange, he thought to himself, that he could be happier sometimes in death than he had been in life. His wife and children had never shown themselves in the city, and, a century after his death, he had reached the conclusion that they had moved on, as he had hoped they would. If they had done so, then why shouldn’t he, all these years later?

  “Are you looking forward to the show, William?” asked Janet, as they reached the main gate, currently a hive of activity, as performers were gathering, making last-minute adjustments to costumes, hair and make-up, getting into their positions for the opening act. The Tattoo was about to begin.

  As the lights shifted onto the court of the Esplanade, surrounded on all sides by banks of seating, the ghosts filtered into gaps between scaffolding.