The Gowrie Conspiracy (7 page)

‘No need for that, minister. I will look in again.’

‘It is no trouble, sir,’ the minister urged. ‘If you leave me your name I will tell him.’

Aware of the minister’s curiosity regarding his identity, Tam thanked him kindly and left before any further questions were put to him.

As he walked quickly towards the Palace he was full of foreboding and a growing certainty that the killer of the queen’s midwife had also cut short the life of the minister’s scribe.

He had been too late. Tam was certain that David Rose would never be seen alive again.

Tansy had returned and was in her sewing-room surrounded by bright silks, satins and velvets; costumes for the queen’s Masque.

At the end of Tam’s account of his visit to David Rose’s home in the village she frowned. ‘’Tis curious about those parchments. As you know, Mistress Agnew kept her door locked. She was a very private person and her herbarium was part of the royal apartments.’

She paused. ‘I spent evenings with her sometimes and she had a press where she kept goblets and so forth. There were also rolls of parchment, books which she said contained her recipes. I went to her room, expecting the door to be locked.’ She paused. ‘It was open.’

‘So someone had removed the key from her body,’ said Tam.

Tansy nodded. ‘It seems so. All her possessions, the
contents
of the press, had vanished. The room was so empty, as if she had never existed.’

Again she paused. ‘What do you think, Tam? Is it not strange that the man she visited in the village has also disappeared?’

‘And his house has also been searched, his documents
carefully
examined,’ said Tam grimly. ‘All this is too much of a coincidence.’

Tansy looked fearful. ‘A very sinister connection by the sound of it.’

‘I am certain that the link, the key to this mystery, lies in the missing documents. Documents, we can conclude, that were the object of their search.’

‘But we do not know who,’ Tansy whispered.

Tam shook his head. The speed with which matters had
been carried out pointed to some person who had an effective and very efficient organisation at his command.

King James fitted that category admirably.

Sounds of mirth outside erupted into the arrival of six young women who were very interested in seeing the
breeches
they were to wear at the queen’s Masque. Tansy laughed at Tam’s puzzled expression. ‘The queen has commanded that ladies wear men’s attire and the gentlemen wear court
dresses
.’

‘That should create some problems,’ said Tam drily.

‘And a lot of merriment,’ said Tansy.

One of the ladies, introduced as Matilda, held up a pair of padded breeches and sighed. Such a style would do her ample hips no favours.

‘Is it not a comical sight? Quilted doublets, so unwieldy and uncomfortable – stuffed, bombasted so that men can
neither
work nor yet play in them.’ And to Tansy ‘Who on earth invented such an absurdity?’

‘The Italians, about a hundred years ago,’ said Tansy. ‘The slashings were meant to display to the world the wearer’s ability to obtain undergarments of fine linen, by cutting slits in the outer costume and pulling a contrasting colour through. Like so,’ she demonstrated, on the garment being held up for examination.

‘But the custom was thought to have begun with the
mercenary
soldiers who kept their good clothes under their
fighting
rig. Sleeves and doublet were first, colours ran riot and, as slashing became more popular in other regions, the tops of breeches were literally cut to ribbons. Huge padded sleeves to give balance across the shoulders, then the codpiece – cod meaning bag as you know– a flamboyant addition in dress whose emphasis is masculine virility.’

‘Men,’ said Matilda contemptuously, handing the breeches back to Tansy with a sigh, her sad shake of the head echoed by her companions.

Then, looking approvingly towards Tam, a silent listener in
modest unadorned garb, she asked, ‘What think you, sir?’

‘I agree with you. It is certainly not the garb in which one can comfortably play – and win – a game of tennis.’

‘Tell us more, Master Eildor.’

But at that moment, the door opened again to admit a maid who staggered in and set down on the table an armful of ruffs, a fashion that had evolved in France from frills formed by the drawstrings fastening men’s shirts and ladies’ shifts at the neck.

‘And every one of those to be starched! groaned Tansy. ‘For that we have to thank Mistress Dinghem, wife of Queen Elizabeth’s Dutch coachman who brought the art of starching over to England in the ‘60s.’

Tam listened fascinated, as Tansy continued: ‘Made her
fortune
by taking in pupils and charging five pounds sterling each to teach them the secrets of white and yellow starches, the additional stiffening provided by silk-covered wire.’

Tam laughed. ‘Which accounts for that look of hauteur.’

‘As well as very long and painfully aching necks!’ said Tansy and leaving the ladies privacy to try on the various
garments
she ushered Tam into the parlour. ‘What did you think about the royal game of tennis?’

‘I did more than think. I took part – at His Grace’s
insistence
.’

‘You played with him?’ asked Tansy wide-eyed.

‘No. My opponent was John Ramsay.’

‘You mean that the king matched you against his favourite, his star player! How embarrassing. Did you lose?’

‘On the contrary. I won. By twelve points.’ At her shriek of delight, Tam added modestly, ‘But Ramsay, I fear, was
hindered
by his padded breeches and doublet.’

Tansy shuddered. ‘On such a day. In all this heat. Tell me what happened.’

Briefly Tam described the match and then added, ‘But that was not the end of it. His Grace now commands that I move into the royal apartment.’

Tansy stared at him. ‘Your game must have been very impressive, since it would appear that you have usurped John Ramsay in the royal favour.’

‘And if I accept, then I fear the next step will be up into His Grace’s bed,’ said Tam dolefully.

Tansy shuddered. ‘Poor Tam, what a very unwholesome predicament.’

‘It is indeed, especially as I have no taste for kings who
seldom
wash, or for young lords and ambitious pages.’

Tansy smiled sadly. ‘Fashionable in the royal court, I am afraid, like the absurdity of slashed breeches and codpieces.’ And regarding his solemn expression, she asked softly, ‘So where does your taste lie, Tam Eildor?’

‘I thought you had guessed that already, Mistress Tansy Scott.’ His voice was gentle, his tender smile held her eyes.

She blushed and shook he head sadly. ‘No, Tam, you must not love me – I beg you – it could never – ’

Tam leaned over, put a restraining finger against to her lips. ‘Do not say it.’ And a stern warning. ‘Even had you been free, I cannot commit myself. I know nothing of what your
granddam
told you about me…’

He paused awkwardly and she touched his hand,
whispered
, ‘The man without a memory of – from whence you came – ’ Then looking at him curiously, she said lightly, ‘You have no memory at all of Janet Beaton?’

‘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.