Kindred Spirits: Royal Mile

by Jennifer Wilson

  “I think you’ll find nothing was agreed with us, sir. So make your report to Queen Mary, please do, and include within it, that if she wants to plan hauntings which include our patch, to do us the decency of letting us know first.”

  “Naturally, kind sir, naturally. But, as you’ve made your point nice and clear, we shall be on our way. We wish you a good night’s haunting.”

  Once back in the relatively safety of his own group, Sir Thomas relaxed. “Her Grace will need to hear of this,” he said to the young soldier standing nearest to him. “And I would not like to be this lot when she does, not after things have been going so well with them.”

  Despite the soured tinge to the night from the Covenanters, the group collected themselves, and by the time they all reconvened on the Heart, with midnight striking throughout the city, Sir Thomas had decided, whether for good or bad, that he would not report the antics of the Covenanters’ leader to Queen Mary. For one thing, she seemed in far too good a mood after an evening of good haunting, that to spoil it would benefit nobody – least of all him, for being the bearer of bad news.

  One by one, the groups of tourists drifted back to the start of their route, most ready for the safety and sanctuary of their hotel rooms and soft, warm beds, whilst a hardy number made ready to hit the bars, looking for spirits of a different kind. Now wholly invisible to the visitors, the ghostly groups also made their decisions about what to do for what was left of the night. Clara, taken by the charms of one of the young soldiers (a former guardsman to Queen Mary herself, until he’d been struck down during the Lang Siege), allowed herself to be directed towards the quiet gift shop of St Giles, and wooed by the young man’s tales of adventures and heroics, both in life and death. Most made their way in dribs and drabs back up to the Castle, stopping here and there to haunt the occasional ghost-watcher still out and about at that hour, with nothing particular to do.

  “Do you know, I think I shall pop into the next tavern which looks welcoming,” declared Sir Thomas, without warning. “It’s been too long since I enjoyed a swig of good ale.”

  “And you won’t enjoy one now, my dear Thomas,” Queen Mary reminded him, gently, slipping her arm through the crook of his elbow, as he stood and assessed the nearest drinking house options.

  “No, you’re right there, Your Grace, as always,” he said, shaking his head sadly. “But, tell me why I shouldn’t wander in anyway, and enjoy an evening of pleasant overhearing, learning the news of the day?”

  Mary smiled and squeezed his arm. “That I cannot do, my dear man. Although, by this time, I doubt the news of the day is forming the basis of too many conversations. Still, you go ahead and enjoy yourself. Gentlemen,” she gestured to the rest of the group, which had paused around them, “please feel free to go and join Sir Thomas, if you wish, and ladies, you too. I am retiring for the evening, but shall be perfectly fine making my way home from here, so please, all be at ease.”

  The rest of the ghosts hovered, unsure of how serious their monarch was about being ‘fine’ left alone. The notion of a Queen being out completely alone was an odd one, even after so many years.

  “I mean, it, go! What exactly can happen to me, as a ghost? Do, please, explain that to me,” Mary said urging them into the bar. Finally, they took their leave, and as the rest of the group moved in, Mary turned away from them, and made her way back to the Castle. If she knew her friends rightly, Lady Janet and Sir William would still be around, making sure that all had gone well on their haunting trip.

  As she reached the Castle’s main entrance, she saw that she was correct, and smiled at the scene which awaited her. Lady Janet was indeed waiting with Sir William, sitting on one of the benches just inside the entrance. But the night had clearly been too long for her; her head rested on the knight’s shoulder, dozing peacefully. Seeing Sir William notice her arrival, Mary motioned to him to stay where he was, and mouthed that she was absolutely fine.

  With her two closest companions clearly ready to call things a night, Mary was suddenly unsure of her own plans. Yes, it was late enough already, practically early again, and she knew the sensible thing would be to stroll with Sir William and Lady Janet back up to the higher reaches of the Castle, but she had had too good a night for that. Besides, she had nothing to rise for in the morning.

  Reinvigorated, she nodded at Sir William, and signalled her intention to return to the city. There was still plenty of good haunting to be found.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Cheered and enlivened by the good evening’s haunting, and despite her own intentions, Queen Mary rose early the next morning, and had arrived at Holyrood, with a single guard trailing in her wake, before anyone had noticed her missing at the Castle. Whilst Lady Janet and Sir William hunted for her, she was looking for Rizzio, glad to have arrived well before the crowds started gathering, even before most of the staff.

  She finally found him in the Palace’s great hall, looking up at the series of portraits of Scottish monarchs.

  “A motley-looking crew, don’t you think?” she said, approaching him.

  “Ah, Your Grace, but they have captured you so beautifully,” David said with a smile, turning and sweeping her a deep bow. “How may I be of service today?”

  “I was hoping to talk more about the idea of cheering up my father, and see if you’ve had any further discussions with anyone.”

  “I have indeed. Your mother and Queen Madeleine have both proved incredibly kind and supportive, and are delighted to help. It will be of great use, having their backing for our scheme.”

  Mary nodded, and moved along the hall, looking up at her ancestors and successors, every one painted as part of a great set. As they meandered along the room, a member of staff arrived to set up the interactive displays in opposite corners of the room.

  “Not long until the finale of the Festival – I think we’ll manage it. The biggest challenge will be getting him there; once he’s there, I do believe he’ll genuinely enjoy himself.”

  “Quite, Your Grace. As well as the Queens, I have the services of the smartest soldiers that Sirs Thomas and William can muster; nobody threatening or controversial, everyone on their best behaviour.”

  “Excellent. At least we still command some respect and desire to work for us, whatever has happened in the interim. Well, I shall leave things to you in the main, but if you need my help to talk to my father, do let me know. I am hoping for a quiet week or so ahead of the finale, so won’t be up to much. You know where to find me.”

  The conversation moved on to more trivial matters as they made their way backwards along the visitors’ route through the Palace, through state rooms, dining rooms and ending at the grand staircase.

  “I’ve always liked a good staircase,” mused Mary, as they looked down into the grandeur of the space.

  “I don’t think it has quite the same effect these days, with you women going for smaller dresses, trousers even. I understand the logic and logistics of it, of course, but you can see when we have a particularly grand event, the ladies in their grand gowns; there’s still something about sweeping up or down a staircase like this.” David thought back to all the events which were still held in the Palace every year, and could see Mary’s mind was also drifting back to such events held in her own lifetime.

  “You’re right. Narrow, spiral staircases might have been a nightmare, but give me a grand set of stairs, and a large door through which to make an entrance, and – as they say today – I’d happily have attended the opening of an envelope.”

  Mary stuck to her word in the final week leading up to the Festival’s finale, letting the rest of the Mile’s ghostly residents get on with their own ‘lives’, as she enjoyed the relative peace of visiting old friends, catching up with those she knew in life, as well as those she only grew close to in death. In her absence, Lady Janet and Sir William watched over proceedings, ensuring that nothing too rowdy occurred in the run-up to what was probably Edinburgh’s second biggest party night of
the year.

  Eventually, the day of the Festival finale arrived. As happened every year, the crowds seemed bigger than ever to the residents of the Mile.

  “I think it’s been a good year,” said Sir William to Queen Mary, as they made their way around the battlements of the Castle, inspecting the fireworks set out in place for the evening’s display.

  “Yes, certainly a busy one,” Mary agreed. “And everyone has seemed so happy. Are we all set for this evening, with the guard of honour I requested?”

  “We are, Your Grace. Sir Thomas is in town, and has agreed to lead them, and Lady Glamis has agreed to stay well away from your father. With the greatest respect, I do not think she would still wish him harm now, after all this time.”

  “Oh, William, you do not need to convince me – she hasn’t attempted to cause him any harm since he arrived here. A bit of haunting when he was alive and she was – well – not; that has been the limit of her revenge. She is not a petty-minded woman. But it is good of her to stay away this evening. Besides, you get a better view from down on the Mound. Is that where you intend to view the spectacle from?”

  “It is, Your Grace, I will be there all evening, keeping an eye on things, ensuring you ladies are not disturbed in your viewing. We have large numbers attending this evening.”

  “Thank you. You know, I think there are more fireworks than last year – I shall make sure the soldiers keep everyone away; the last thing we want is anything going wrong.”

  Mary shuddered at the thought of so much gunpowder in one place at one time. With her own son having been the intended victim of the Gunpowder Plot, she still had a fear of the stuff, and had watched one of the young ladies of the Castle have to leap into action years ago, when a clumsy tourist had thrown a cigarette carelessly over a wall, not realising what lay beyond. Thanks to quick thinking and swift action, the light was safely extinguished, but blowing Edinburgh Castle to kingdom come would not have been beyond the realms of possibility had nobody noticed. Certainly, there had been nobody from the land of the living anywhere in sight.

  With nothing else to be done, the day passed slowly. The ghosts of the Castle and the rest of the Mile took things relatively easy, as people hurried about, making the most of the last full day of Festival activities. Taking advantage of the quiet day, Queen Mary and Lady Janet took the opportunity to visit the young former kitchen boy of Queensberry House, now incorporated into the Scottish Parliament buildings. He had not had the easiest of lives, and certainly not the easiest of deaths, being roasted alive – then partly eaten – by the young Lord Drumlanrig. Now, apart from the odd sighting in the Parliament’s kitchens, he stayed away, preferring the calm of the Museum of Childhood, just up the road.

  “Robert? Robert, are you here?” Mary called out in the main gallery on the first floor, as she stood among the glass cabinets, filled with toys of childhoods past. A movement caught her eye, as one of the puppets began to move its hand, waving at her, before raising its other hand in a perfect salute. “You are getting good with those dolls, my dear boy. Are you well?”

  Materialising through the glass, the boy appeared in front of the two ladies, and dipped into a clumsy but well-intentioned bow. His clothes were still in rags, but he was at least clean these days, having been taken in hand by the women on the Mile, who insisted on mothering him. “Your Grace, my Lady, I am quite well, thank you. Captain MacDonald visited me yesterday, to check that all was still well here, and that nobody had been disturbing me.”

  “Very good, I am glad to hear it.” Mary crouched down so that she was at the same height as young Robert. “Are you coming to the fireworks this evening? Lord Drumlanrig will be nowhere in sight; you know he doesn’t come out these days. You will be perfectly safe.”

  His face cleared as she allayed his main fear. Even in death, the young boy was tormented by the Lord, although most believed the young Marquess hadn’t even realised what he was doing. A troubled and violent young boy of ten, Drumlanrig had been kept locked up for his whole life. But following the signing of the Act of Union in 1707, whilst his guards were away from their posts either partying or rioting, he had escaped – and was found in the kitchen a couple of hours later, with poor Robert dead and half-eaten. Those who had met Drumlanrig in death reported he was just as disturbed now as he had been in life, once they’d told him exactly what he had done.

  “I should like to attend, if I may stay with you and your ladies? The soldiers are good to me, but they make me nervous.” He looked down at his feet, hoping the Queen would agree.

  “But of course; you shall be our page for the evening. You shall keep us all company, and ensure that no uninvited men join our group. He can do that, can he not, Janet?”

  “It would be a welcome service for you to fulfil, Robert,” said Janet, also crouching in front of the boy. “Will you come up to the Castle, and meet with us in the great hall, just before the evening begins? If you come at seven o’clock, that will give us time to sort ourselves out, and find the best spot to stand and see everything.”

  Mary smiled at Janet’s gentle approach with Robert, knowing that the woman saw him as a son. In truth, so did most of the women of the Mile, whether Robert liked it or not. Luckily, the presence of the likes of Sirs William and Thomas meant he had sufficient male supervision to keep himself on track.

  “Very good. Well then, we shall see you this evening.” The Queen pulled herself up on the edge of a nearby chair, wincing as she did so, her hand clutched to her side.

  “Mary?” In an instant, Janet was by her side, easing her down into the seat, royal etiquette out the window. “Are you in real pain? You should rest.”

  Mary shook her head, cross at herself. “I shall return to the Castle, and rest for the remainder of the day. I do not see how a pain that is not real can trouble me so. But please, do not let me stop you enjoying your day. I will be alright on my own.”

  “No, Your Grace, it is not a problem. Robert, we will see you this evening, as the Queen says; take care of yourself for the rest of the day.”

  Without another word, the two women drifted through the floor of the museum, and out through the front window back into the street. Mary was still shaking her head at herself.

  “I wish this would stop. There is no pain, there is nothing there. And yet, it is as though I can still feel it, a numbing presence, at times like that. How is it possible?”

  “I don’t know, Your Grace, I don’t know. But come, we shall get you rested; you need your full strength to help your father this evening.”

  Keen to ensure her plan did not fail, Mary nodded, and they returned to the Castle.

  Chapter Fourteen

  After spending the rest of the day resting in a quiet storeroom, well away from anyone either living or dead, Mary was thankful that the imagined pain in her side had subsided sufficiently for her to rise and be able to enjoy the evening as she had planned. Just before seven, she made her way down to the great hall, now peaceful again, with the last visitor having left a couple of hours earlier. As the first to arrive, she took a moment to herself, vanishing against the walls of the huge room, ensuring that any other early arrivals wouldn’t disturb her few moments of silence and solitude. The things that room had seen; the things this Castle had seen. Births and deaths of Kings, Queens, nobles and peasants, there were so many tales the walls could tell if they put their minds to it.

  As Queen, Mary had so rarely been alone, whether it be whilst growing up in Scotland and France, reigning as Queen of Scotland on her return to the country, or even when imprisoned in the various great houses where Queen Elizabeth I and Bess of Hardwick chose to send her; there was always somebody either waiting on her or watching her. Yes, she loved the ceremony of it all from time to time, but in death, she had finally started to understand what true privacy meant. She overheard so many conversations from tourists, complaining about shared bathroom facilities. They knew nothing! In her day, even as Queen, it was commonplace to relieve yours
elf in a chamberpot whilst your maids still fussed around the rest of the room. A locked door and a private bathroom, even one shared with others, would have been the ultimate luxury.

  Slowly, groups of ghosts started to drift into the Hall; appearing through the great doors, locked and sealed against the living for the night, or the walls, always a more entertaining mode of entry for the younger ghosts. In groups of two or three, they gathered for the evening’s festivities, so that they could decide as a group where everyone should go. If there were too many ghosts in one place, then people in the crowd would be bound to notice something; in high numbers, it was nigh-on impossible to avoid passing through a living person. That tell-tale shudder was fun now and then, but to subject large crowds to it, on a night which was meant to be about pure enjoyment, seemed a little unfair.

  Realising they would be waiting for her, but not wanting it to be obvious that she had been there the whole time observing the other ghosts, Mary drifted through the wall, and returned, her cloak lifted over her head for dramatic effect. Once she was back at the centre of the room, she removed her hood, and opened her arms.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, it is that time again, the last night of the Edinburgh Festival, and I do believe that it has been the best year ever. As it always is.”

  A ripple of laughter rose from the group; it was true, every year did seem to be the best year ever, whatever artists, acts and performances appeared.

  “And so, it is time for us to make our way down to view the show. As some of you will know, my father is attending the concert in the Gardens, and it would be much appreciated if numbers in that area could be kept low, so that he is not too disturbed. However, as for the rest of the city, there are no rules, other than the usual requirement of no overly large groups, and limited haunting for the duration of the performance. As always, after the performance, the night is your own. Shall we go?”