Chapter 18
1600
Alexander flung open the door to my chamber and bounded in. The first thing I noticed was the smile on his face, which was unusual. Whatever could have prompted that?
“Lilias, there is such news.” He sat down by my bed and raised his chin as if about to make a proclamation.
“It’s the Queen.” He beamed.
“Oh, has she had her baby?”
“Not just a baby, Lilias. A prince. She has delivered a male child, their second son. Prince Charles. There is no better news in the land.”
“How is the Queen? It’s not long since the princess, her own little Margaret, passed away.”
He shrugged. “That matters not, Lilias. The King now has a second heir, should anything happen to Prince Henry.” He leant back against the chair, beaming with such overt delight, it was as if he was the little prince’s father. I knew what would be coming next.
“So all we need to make this joy complete is for you to deliver a boy. How many days does the midwife say it is now?”
“It could be any day now, Alexander. Pray God you will be happy with your new child.” I could not bear to utter the word “son”.
He bounced up from the seat. “Indeed. And now I am going to begin preparations for my journey to Dunfermline Palace to pay respects to the new royal prince.” He raised a finger. “I shall have to consider a gift. Do you have any suggestions?” 85
I bit my lip. “Could we ask the silversmith to fashion something special? Though there is perhaps not quite enough time to commission him if you plan to leave soon.”
“Also I believe the royal family might have enough silver spoons, Lilias. Never mind, I shall put my mind to that.”
He headed for the door then stopped. “Oh, what was that pie from Fyvie that I told you the King enjoyed during my visit to them at Dalkeith Palace?”
“Was it the spiced venison pie?”
He shook his head.
“Perhaps the partridge pie with ginger?”
He nodded vigorously. “That was it. Good girl. I shall have Cook make some of these today.”
Good girl? I was nearly thirty years old. I sighed then realised he was about to leave so I raised my hand.
“Alexander, will you not stay for my delivery?”
“No, there is no need. Besides, as well as passing on my respects to the new royal baby, I will journey on to Edinburgh where I must continue the King’s work as patron of the arts. I have artists and writers to see on behalf of His Majesty. He has been called ‘a bright star of the north’ by nobles at the English court. I must continue this work for him.”
He looked down at my enormous belly and smiled. “But do have news sent when our son is born.”
And with that he turned and strode out the door, without even a backward glance.
Another dull day stretched long before me. I was meant to waste it lying in bed with not even the joy of my three girls to cheer me up. Mama spent much of her time in the nursery with them, 86 ignoring my requests to see them. She said she agreed with Nurse that a visit from two rowdy girls and one lively toddler would not be conducive to my taking full advantage of bed rest. But I did not want bed rest, I wanted company.
I twirled my dull, brittle hair around my finger in ringlets, wishing Aunt Marie was here to work her magic as a coiffeuse. The cinnamon oil she had made up for my hair was so beneficial the maid still makes it for me, but in pregnancy it has little effect, it’s so dry. She had such a knack of making my hair look pretty. Indeed, when she did it for the portrait of me Alexander had commissioned just before our wedding, she entwined pearls through it and even my husband commented on how well it looked.
I pulled back the covers and swung my swollen ankles onto the rug. I then hobbled over towards the armoire and opened the bottom drawer. Underneath a pile of woollen and linen chemises and lace handkerchiefs was the box. I slipped it out and went over to the window where a cold blast chilled my bare feet, but I did not have the energy to retrieve the shawl from the bed to cover them. After the conversation with Alexander about my parure, I had removed it from my jewellery box and hidden it in the bottom drawer amongst my undergarments, knowing he would not dare venture there. I was sure that at some stage he would insist I hand it over to him to hide in his secret place in the Charter Room, but for now, hopefully, he had forgotten about it in his excitement over the Queen’s delivery.
There was a low November sun emerging through the grey clouds to the east. I sat down on the window seat and placed the velvet box on my knees. Leaning over my huge belly, I took out the pieces, one by one. First of all were the drop earrings, heavy with pearls, the two largest encircled with tiny emeralds. I held them both up to the window where the pearls shone and the tiny 87 rubies gleamed, while the emeralds sparkled in the light. The emerald green was exactly the same colour as the green dress I continued to wear when my husband was away from home. I had of course had similar gowns made over the years to fit my expanding figure, but the material was always the same rich green. I sometimes had the dressmaker liven it up with some brocade around the neckline. How I loved that emerald colour.
I put the earrings back down and picked up the quatrefoil brooch. In the centre there was an oval cabochon ruby in a rectangular gold setting surrounded by four claw-set natural pearls, and four enamelled red beads mounted in an intricate gold scroll work frame. I gazed at this for a while, smiling, holding it up to the window before replacing it and lifting up the necklace. Throughout the elaborate chain, several snake links in translucent dark green enamel coiled perfectly around large pearls and there were gold scrolls set with rubies. I was dazzled, not only from the glint of gems and pearls in the full sunshine, but also by the memories and emotions caught up with it. This was given to me by my dear friend Marie Seton, and ever since she had left, I had had no one nearby to confide in.
I wiped the tears from my cheeks as I stared at this most perfect and unique piece of jewellery. Here were the rubies and the same circles of tiny emeralds around the pearls as there were in the other pieces. But in the necklace, there was such intricate craftsmanship in the gold scroll work, it was as if the necklace were telling a story, the tale unfolding all around the gold strand through its ornamental coils. I sat there for some time marvelling at its beauty, feeling more calm than I had for some time.
Aunt Marie had insisted I take the parure the day before she left for France fifteen years before. She said that she had grown so very fond of me, she wanted me to have it and to think of her when I wore it. And I always did. Sitting here at Fyvie on a bleak, 88 overcast day, I tried to think only of happy times and of our friendship. But as I put the jewels carefully away in the box, that familiar cold feeling of dread came upon me once more.