1601
I had just returned to my room after compline and was going to get ready for bed when I thought, once again, of Lilias. I’d been suffering with feelings of apprehension since receiving her last letter, telling me, with such excitement, of their trip south from Aberdeenshire to Fife and to Loch Leven Castle. Now, nearly three months later, I had still heard nothing. Thoughts had been swirling around in my head about why on earth my nephew would take his wife to an island castle that had been used as a prison in the past. And presumably the William Douglas she mentioned had been the same who had agreed to the Queen’s imprisonment. I could not forget that a kinsman of William Douglas had been executed for his part in the murder of Lord Darnley, my Queen’s first husband and father of King James.
Lilias had asked me whether Loch Leven Castle was where I stayed with the imprisoned Queen. Before I could reply that yes indeed it was, she had presumably gone. It was strange that her husband hadn’t told her that was where the Queen and I had spent eleven months some thirty-four years ago, the first of her many years as a prisoner. And now there was nothing but silence from Fyvie.
The situation worried me greatly. It made me think back to the time I spent there with the Queen. It was often hard to bear, being marooned on a tiny island in the middle of a deep loch, miles away from Edinburgh. I remember William Douglas’s mother Margaret did everything she could to make our time there unpleasant; she had never forgiven the Queen for usurping her son’s claim to the 106 throne, since she had borne Mary’s father James V an illegitimate son whom she of course had called James.
The irony about Loch Leven Castle was that on the Queen’s first visit, in 1563, they had feted her and treated her in true regal manner during her meeting with John Knox, which William Douglas had so carefully organised. But only four years later, she was held there in captivity, and under such diminished circumstances, with poor food, a reduced wardrobe and so few distractions.
We were kept at first in a small place called Glassin Tower, which was the first tower that could be seen when alighting from the boat at the shore. It had three floors, each containing a tiny, cramped room. We stayed in the middle floor, the first floor, which had a slightly bigger window than the top floor and so was a little brighter. After some weeks there, we were then moved to the larger Tower Hall across the castle courtyard, for greater security presumably.
But it was in the Glassin Tower that the Queen lost the twins, Bothwell’s babies. What a sad day that was. I was the only one who knew she had been expecting again and so when the pains arrived, I tried to find help, but it ended up such a tragedy as there was nothing anyone could do and there was no physician to hand. The other hardship was that we still never knew where they buried them. The Queen kept asking to see their graves but that request, among so many others, was never fulfilled.
I looked out the window at the tall tree, already in bud in this unusually mild spring, and checked to see if the crows were there, but they were not. Perhaps they were making their presence felt nearby, somewhere else in Reims, cawing as usual with lusty voice. I shook my head, trying to shift that memory of the day the Queen lost the babies; there had been so much blood, we could hardly scrub away all of the red stains. We never spoke of that day 107 again, and remembering it now caused me heartache once again.
I went to the desk and dipped my quill in the ink. I knew I had no choice but to write to Alexander. He would surely feel obliged to reply to me, his only remaining aunt, and tell me why I had not heard from Lilias. I would not, however, mention the fact I had been told they were to visit Loch Leven Castle; I would simply enquire after her health.
Perhaps she had become ill and been unable to write her monthly letter to me. Perhaps one of her children was unwell. I thought back to when her little Margaret was ill then so sadly died and she had been heartbroken. Perhaps she had too many tears to write to me if a second tragedy had befallen another of the children. I am sure there will be some explanation. My nephew must surely furnish me with this. And soon.