1601
I lay dozing on the bed one afternoon some days later, drifting in and out of dreams. Sometimes I was back home at Drummond Castle, sometimes at Fyvie. In one dream I was running all around the grounds of Fyvie wearing my green dress and scattering roses wherever I went; I could almost smell the fragrant petals. I then awoke and looked down, remembering that I was now wearing the green dress constantly, since I had become so thin. Before this living nightmare I now inhabited, I would have thought it was progress that I’d squeezed my post-childbirth body into this, my favourite gown, but now it was merely admission of impending doom.
Sometimes I didn’t know if I was dreaming or if I actually heard footsteps on the stairs, even though Kenneth did not unlock the door. Was he watching me through the keyhole? I shivered at the thought. Though what was there to see: a lady fading away through lack of food, of course, but also lack of humanity.
I scratched at my dry face. My skin was flaking and my constant clawing at it to relieve the itchiness was making it bleed; my nails were like birds’ talons now. I used to have neat, perfect nails – and such good, clear skin, but like the rest of my body, troublesome things were happening to it and I no longer felt in control of anything. My hair too was dull and hung down, limp, without its usual bounce. I was beginning to think I was going mad; often I was so restless, I wanted to move around the tiny room, but my increasingly frail body would not permit much movement. Soon I would be like Great Aunt Marjorie, alone and delirious and sad; 129 not that I could be any more sad.
Even when my dreadful keeper leers at me, looks me up and down, I now feel neither repulsion, as I did earlier on, nor fear, simply an acknowledgment of my fate.
I was twisting my brittle hair round and round my finger, rocking a little in time, when I bent my head to one side and listened. What was that noise? Were those voices I could hear outside? Yes, they were. Very slowly, I turned over on the bed and forced myself onto my feet, frail and light-headed as I was in this constant state of dazed stupor, which presumably was caused by hunger. I now kept the poker beside the bed to use as a walking stick to help me walk. I hobbled over to the chair under the window, like some ancient old woman, not a young lady of thirty years old. I sat down and tilted my head to try to hear better. It was two men’s voices; one I think was Kenneth’s. Was it Alexander come to take me away?
I got to my feet and took a slug of water. I must get up on the chair to try to look out. I held onto the chair back and dragged my legs up then shifted my negligible weight to position my feet on the seat. I grasped the window ledge, feeling lightheaded, and rested my chin there, both as support and also to listen better. I could see nothing, as presumably the conversation was taking place at the postern gate, where I had come to all those days or, more likely, weeks ago. Since it was directly underneath the tower I was in, but three floors down, I could not see anything apart from the sun sparkling on the loch and the shadows of the reeds on the distant shore. But I could now hear quite clearly.
“I don’t see why you won’t let me come ashore, Kenneth,” an unknown voice said. This man, though not a gentleman, was far less gruff in his speech than my barbaric guard.
“I’ve told you before, Willie, I can’t.”
“But the Countess wanted me to collect something from her 130 chambers. When they left for Aberdour last autumn, she had forgotten to take all her things.”
There was a pause and I strained to hear.
“I won’t be long, I promise I’ll be in and out. It’s just a tapestry she wants, from her bed chamber in the Tower House.”
“The castle now belongs to Lord Fyvie, as you know, not to the Earl of Morton. So I can’t allow you to come in.”
There was another silence while I watched a swan waddle into the water and drift away, head high in the air as if ignoring these irritating humans.
“So now will you let me in, Kenneth? There’s a lot of money here in this pouch.”
Another pause then the familiar, rough voice replied. “Well, if you must. Yes, I’ll take that. But you must go straight to the bedchamber. In fact, I’ll come with you. Now hurry up. Throw me the rope, we’ll tie up the boat.”
Then I heard footsteps, fading into the distance as, doubtless, the two men crossed the inner courtyard towards the Tower House.
So there was another man inside the castle. My heart raced as I considered what I could do. It was obvious that he had bribed Kenneth with money – clearly far more than I could offer by means of my pearls.
I climbed down, unsteady, and sat down with a thump on the chair. What could I do to attract attention? I looked around and thought I could make use of the poker and the pearls. I listened at the doorway, then, when I thought I heard footsteps coming back across the courtyard, I began to whack it against the wooden door with as much strength as I could. But I was so weak and feeble, it made hardly any noise at all. When I once again heard the voices down below, I knew the other man, Willie, was climbing back into his boat. So once again I hoisted myself up onto the chair, a little 131 at a time, cautiously, taking in short shallow breaths as I pushed my puny body upwards. I laid my chin on the window ledge then clenched my string of pearls up in my fist.
“Well, farewell, Kenneth. I shan’t be seeing you again, I don’t imagine. Enjoy your solitude.”
“Aye, I always do, Willie.”
“You won’t change your mind and come and see your old mother?”
“No, I’m too busy here. She’ll be fine, always has been.”
“She can’t live forever, Kenneth.”
“She’s lived till now and she doesn’t need to see me.”
“Well, I shall tell her you are well and were asking for her.”
Then there was a splash as if the oar was in the water and the man was starting to row. I strained to look out and suddenly I could see the boat with a grey-haired man rowing. I yelled as loud as I could. “Help! Help!” I cried again and again, before thrusting my pearls up through the window, swinging them with as much strength as I could muster as I shouted and shouted as loud as my faint voice would allow.
But the man was facing the other way and the wind clearly did not carry my feeble voice, for he did not turn around as he rowed across the water. Then, about halfway across the loch when my voice had given up on me completely, I thought he glanced backwards so I tried to yell once more but my voice was husky and weak. I thrust my hand through the narrow opening and tried one last time to swing the pearls, which would hopefully glint in the afternoon sunlight.
But I watched him turn back around and continue to row to the shore. My last vestige of hope disappeared as he reached the reeds then dragged his boat onto the shore and tied it up.
As I clambered down from the chair, disconsolate and hoarse, I did not even have the energy to go to the bed. I just collapsed onto 132 the floor and lay there, on the cold stone slab, sobbing silently as tears flowed down my cheeks. This had been my last hope. I had been given one attempt and I had failed again. Like everything else in life, I was a failure. I curled up into a ball and prayed to God that I would die.