Lyle stepped back again and turned to face Mary. A person appeared with a chair and Mary sat, her hands on her knees, her attention up on Lyle.
The words he used were things I’d heard before. You are tired. You are sleepy. You will do as I say. The power of suggestion seemed to work quickly, and within only a minute or so Mary’s chin was down toward her chest and her eyes were closed.
“Are you Mary?” Lyle asked.
“I am,” she mumbled.
You could feel the tension in the room as everyone worked hard to keep quiet. Except for the woman on Rosie’s other side. She leaned forward and looked at me.
“Are you two related?” she whispered as she nodded toward Mary.
“No,” I said just as quietly.
“Gracious.” The woman stared for another moment.
I pulled up the collar on my jacket a little higher and wished I’d worn a hat. Fortunately, Lyle garnered everyone’s attention again.
“Mary, I would like for you to take some steps back in time. Are you willing to do that?” Lyle asked.
“Yes.”
“Very good. Here we go. Let’s go all the way back to when you were a child. What can you tell me about that?”
“I can see the wash,” Mary said with a happy tone. “Momma put the wash out on the line. It’s pretty in the breeze.”
“Okay, let’s go back even further if that’s okay. Is that okay?”
“Yes.”
“I’d like for you to go back to a time before you were born into this life you are living as Mary Stewart. I’d like for you to travel far, all the way back to when you were living in castles. Can you do that?”
“I think so.”
“Let’s travel together. Tell me what you see as you look backward. I am right here with you and you are safe. These are only memories we are looking at and nothing in them can hurt you.”
“I understand.”
“Tell me what you see as you venture through your memories.”
“I see horses. There’s a bridge. Birds, beautiful birds.”
“Keep going. Just stop when you see castle walls, maybe walls you didn’t want to be locked behind. You might have been there against your will, but you aren’t to worry. Just go there today and we’ll remember together. You are safe.”
Mary nodded, her chin tapping her chest. “Oh! There, yes, there’s a castle.”
She lifted her head then, though her eyes remained closed. Inside the room, there were a few tiny gasps, but still no one else spoke.
“Are you inside the castle?”
“No, no, it’s there in the distance. I see it though. It’s so lovely.” Mary’s face fell. “Lovely from this view. I’ve run away, you see, and I know I can’t stay away long. But the freedom! Oh, the fresh air. It smells so sweet. The sky is blue today. It’s not so blue very often, but today it is.”
Her voice was younger, even younger than mine, like it came from someone in her early twenties. As if reading my mind, Lyle asked, “How old are you, dear?”
“I’m twenty and one,” Mary said, though she still seemed bothered.
“Mary, please remember that you are safe. These are only memories. All right?”
“Oh. Aye. All right.”
“I need to ask, Mary, are you the queen of Scotland?”
“Aye, certainment,” she said after a brief pause, now using a French word and accent.
“Thank you for speaking with us, your highness.”
“Je suis heureux pour la distraction. L’homme m’a tellement dérange.”
“En Anglais, s’il vous plaît.”
“I’m happy for the distraction. The man has so bothered me,” she said as, with eyes still closed, she turned her face toward the audience.
“The man?”
“Oui, the man who was under my bed on St. Valentine’s Day. I forgave him the trespass then, but no longer. He was there in my bedchamber tonight as I was readying for bed. I told the earl to use his dagger on the villain, but he didn’t obey. I was so angry and upset that I ran away.”
“Do you know the identity of the man in your room?”
“Bien sur,” she said. Of course. “The poet! He thought his way with words would woo me. His book of poetry would wind its way into my heart. He was mistaken! He shall be hung, if I have my way. And I am the queen, I will have my way. I’m désole that my brother didn’t do as I commanded. I shall have to deal with him too.”
“Your brother?”
“The Earl of Moray, my bastard brother.”
“Ah, aye, your closest advisor.”
My eyebrows went up at the mention of the name, the same one Joshua had said in an ominous tone, the one who had potentially been involved in deceiving the queen.
“Well, yes, but I am angry, do not misunderstand,” Mary said.
“I understand completely. Can you tell us the poet’s name?”
“Pierre de Bocosel de Chastelard. His passion for me is untoward. I shall have him tried for treason in the morning. He will be found guilty.”
“I have no doubt. Your highness, if you aren’t in a hurry, may I ask you a question about something from a time ago?”
“If you must.”
“I would like to ask you about your first husband.”
“My first husband?”
“Aye. Your husband Francis. I want to know if you remember him.”
“Oh, I loved him,” she answered immediately. “No one thought I would. Everyone thought we wouldn’t care for each other. We did. Perhaps we didn’t have enough time to care for each other as we should have, as a husband and wife should have, but we got along so very well. I miss him. I miss my sweet friend.”
“I’m sorry.”
Mary nodded sadly. “I don’t, however, miss his mother. I’m glad to be rid of her.”
“The former queen of France, Catherine de’ Medici?” Lyle looked out toward the audience.
“Oui.”
“The two of you didn’t get along.”
“Mais, non, but she wouldn’t have been kind to anyone who married her son, the future king. Between you and me, she’s quite the wicked woman.”
“I see. I’m sorry you had to put up with her.”
Mary waved away the concern.
I was suddenly struck by the way she held her body, even as she sat in the chair. There was an unmistakable nobility to her posture.
Or this was all a bunch of parlor tricks and I was falling for them.
“I have struggled, I must admit,” Mary said. “I lived in France for so long. This new world, this place where I am queen was foreign to me. I have had to learn much.”
Lyle paused as if in thought and then nodded. “Mary, can we go forward in time now, to when you are a little older?”
I was hoping we’d get to the part where the queen’s second husband was murdered; perhaps that’s where Lyle was directing her to go.
“Oui … non! I must take leave. The constable has arrived. I must see to it that the poet is locked away.”
“Are you sure we can’t just move past this?”
“Non, non, non! I must go! Please, I’m afraid!”
“All right. Mary, when I count down from three, you will wake up, refreshed and unconcerned about these memories. They all took place long ago, in the past. Three, two, one.” Lyle snapped his fingers.
Mary’s eyes popped open and she smiled at Lyle and then at the audience.
“How do you feel?” Lyle asked.
“Fine.”
“Do you remember what we discussed?”
“I do. I knew about the poet, but I’ve never had those memories before. You didn’t ask me about the weather on the castle grounds. I was quite chilled. You should have offered me a wrap.”
Mary and Lyle laughed lightly. The crowd, having become captivated, followed along a few seconds later with some laughs of their own.
“I apologize,” Lyle said.
One person in the audience began clapping enthusia
stically, the rest of us followed behind. Except for Rosie. She didn’t clap. She kept her doubtful gaze forward.
Amid the applause, Tia walked back onto the stage and whispered something into Lyle’s ear. He pulled back and sent her some tight eyebrows before he turned to look at Mary again. I looked too. Mary didn’t look well, at all. She was pale now, and her cheeks seemed to have become even more sunken.
Lyle turned back to the crowd as Tia went and stood by Mary.
“Ladies and gentlemen, that’s all for this evening. I wish we’d been able explore further, but when it’s time to go, it’s simply time to go,” Lyle said.
No one was happy to hear this news. I didn’t know what everyone expected, but they all wanted more of something. Weren’t there more royals in the audience? Maybe not.
“I have a question!” a voice rose above the discontent.
Lyle looked doubtful for a moment. He looked at Mary who nodded at him.
“All right,” Lyle said.
A woman stood from the middle of the crowd. I put my hand up to my mouth to quiet the gasp that traveled up my throat. I knew her. One of Tom’s former girlfriend’s, she was a reporter with one of the alternative Edinburgh newspapers.
Rosie looked up at me. “Is that Brigid?”
“I think so,” I said.
“Mary, I’d like to know if you have any memories of killing your husband, either back in the 1500s or the one who was killed earlier this week.”
Mary sighed as she stood. She didn’t wobble at all as she put her hand on Lyle’s arm before he could voice a protest.
“I’m prepared to answer,” Mary said. “In fact, I should have begun the evening with a statement. It’s only fair that it’s asked, and it’s only right that I say what I need to say.”
She looked at Lyle. He wasn’t happy but he nodded her on.
Mary stepped forward, and I sensed this still might be part of the script, that Mary had either hoped someone would ask her about her husband or had told someone to. Maybe she’d planted Brigid in the audience. I wouldn’t put such collusion past the pretty blond who used to date my husband.
“The history has been scandalized over time. Like any good story, we only want to hear the juicy bits,” Mary began dramatically.
I couldn’t take my eyes off her, so I didn’t look at Rosie, but I sensed she rolled her eyes.
“I did not participate in either murder of either husband. If you look closely you will see that the queen’s life was on course to improve. She was about to receive a new treaty from Elizabeth. Things were going well, and killing Darnley would only harm the friendlier path that was being forged. I didn’t participate in any way in killing him. Unfortunately, my sister queen didn’t believe me, of course.”
Many years later, Mary was ultimately tried for treason and executed. Darnley’s murder was the beginning of the end, even though the end came almost twenty years later, I thought. Inwardly I kicked myself for not yet taking the time to study the history better. I should have at least read more Wikipedia by now.
“And of course I had no reason at all to kill this Henry.” Mary’s voice caught as she put her fist to her chest and seemed to steel herself. “I loved him. I loved him ever so desperately. I will miss him forever.”
My throat tightened as she spoke. I cleared it and stole a look toward Rosie. Even she looked less suspicious and more sympathetic.
“That is all I have to say.” She paused, but only briefly. “No, no it isn’t. I’m here tonight because doing this was a commitment I made and being here helps me too. Helps me think less about myself. And…” She first looked pointedly at Brigid before she scanned the rest of the audience. “Think about it, I am certain I have lived other lives. Many of you here feel the same, so you should understand that there might someday be another way to have Henry in my life. Or at least the light of the spirit he carried with him.”
With that, Mary turned and disappeared behind the trifold divider. Lyle frowned a nod at the audience and then followed her.
I kept my eyes on Brigid. I wanted to talk to both Mary and Lyle, but Brigid even more so. “I’m going to try to catch her,” I said to Rosie. “I’ll meet you out front, next to the lamppost on the corner.”
“Aye,” Rosie said as she shooed me away.
It wasn’t too difficult to watch Brigid’s blond curls as they wove through the crowd and then out of the room.
“Brigid!” I said as I stepped outside and saw her walking hurriedly away.
She turned and spotted me. She tried not to look too put out, but her efforts were wasted. When I’d first come to know her, a part of me thought we might be friends if the circumstances had only been a little different.
“Hey,” I said as I caught up to her. “How are you?”
“I am fine, and not surprised in the least to see you tonight. Are you and Mary Stewart related?”
“No, but the resemblance is uncanny, huh?” I said with a smile.
She didn’t return the smile. “Yes, uncanny. So, I hear the deed is done. You married Tom.”
“We got hitched, yes.”
“Congratulations.” She didn’t sound like she meant it.
But I wasn’t here to talk about that. “Thanks. Hey, I heard your question in there.”
“Aye, that means you heard her answer too.”
“I did, but I was wondering if there’s more to it. Do you think she killed her husband?”
“Which one?”
“Fair question, I suppose. This one.” I didn’t much care about who killed Darnley, but I was going to research him at some point.
Brigid bit the inside of her cheek and fell into thought. “I really don’t know. But someone killed him, and the spouse is usually suspected.”
“So, that’s all your question was based upon, the usual suspect? I was under the impression there was more.”
“Sure, there’s more. These past-lifers are a weird group and I wonder if some of them don’t use their ‘stories’ to justify their actions of today. Mary, Queen of Scots, was ultimately beheaded because she was found guilty of treason, but suspicions about her involvement in his death stayed with her. Darnley was a complete louse by the way.”
“The queen’s husband was a bad guy?” I’d heard this from Joshua too.
“Sure. Opportunistic, mean, a narcissist who didn’t like that Mary wouldn’t crown him, even though she gave him equal power to reign in Scotland.”
“What about the queen’s lover? I heard he might have been the killer.”
Brigid shook her head. “The queen claimed there was no other romance when Darnley was alive, though ultimately she did marry the suspect, Lord Bothwell. He was rotten too and probably did whatever he did at Queen Elizabeth’s bidding. That’s my interpretation.”
“You think Mary should have been queen of England?”
“Yes. Elizabeth should never have ruled. Mary had the legitimate claim to the crown.” Brigid took a deep breath. “Goodness, why anyone would let themselves get all worked up about something that happened four hundred years ago is ridiculous, but many of us do.”
“Do you think that Henry’s death has anything at all to do with Mary claiming to be a reincarnation of the queen? Do you suppose his job as a councilor to the Lord Provost might have had something to do with his murder?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t found anything substantial yet.”
I did a quick, silent debate with myself. Should I tell her?
“What if I give you a lead?” I finally said.
“That would be quite rummy of you, Delaney, but why would you do that?”
“You’ll understand once I tell you what it is. It’s a bit self-serving, which might not be a surprise.” She shook her head. I continued, “I’d like not to be named.”
“An anonymous source?”
“Yes.”
“I guess I can do that.”
“Henry wanted some businesses to be shut down.”
“What?
” Even in the glow from the streetlights I could see Brigid’s doubt.
“Yes. One of the businesses was The Cracked Spine.”
Brigid looked at me a long moment and then laughed once. “I’ve heard about the Burgess Tickets, but I didn’t pick up on using them to shut down any specific businesses. I sense you’re telling me it might have been something deeper.”
“I am. I think.”
“So, you’re telling me this why? You do realize that this makes you and everyone who works at The Cracked Spine possible suspects, right?”
“But I know we’re all innocent.”
“Hmm.”
“Okay. Look, Brigid, I know what that looks and sounds like. You can either believe me or not. Even though I know that none of us at the shop killed Henry, the reason I’m telling you this is to give you another angle to explore. The Cracked Spine was not the only business on Henry’s hoped-for chopping block. The Burgess Tickets were part of his plans, but there was more, even if I can’t quite understand what all the more was.”
“Ah, I now see the self-serving part.”
I shrugged. “I’m being as up front with you as I can be.”
“Aye.”
“You can look into things better than I can, that’s for sure.”
“And you’d like me to let you know what I find.”
“Actually, I’d like for you to also let the police know what you find.”
“Well, it doesn’t exactly work that way, but I hear what you’re saying.”
“If you found a killer, I’m sure you’d do the right thing.” I wasn’t. Not even close, but getting her on my side seemed like the way to go.
“Thanks for the info, Delaney. I’ll be in touch.”
Brigid turned and walked away, her curls bouncing haughtily. She turned around again. “It is definitely uncanny how much you look like her.”
“I know,” I said. I didn’t want to tell her about my recent meeting of Mary or the dinner party. It felt like too much information. The more I needed her, the more she might not want to help. I was keeping it as simple as possible.
“Talk to you later, Mrs. Shannon,” she said before she turned one more time.
The Stolen Letter Page 14