1601
Dear Sister Marie,
Thank you for your letter. I am sorry you have not heard from my brother-in-law. I presumed he would have written to you, but I suppose he has been very busy at Court, and also with his impending nuptials.
I have spent the past five months wondering why my nephew has not had the good grace to inform me of his dear wife’s demise. And now I read in Lilias’s sister’s letter that he has also omitted telling me he is about to remarry. Is that not rather indecently soon?
But first I must tell you the news you have been waiting for. My account is immeasurably sad and I must say it has taken me these few months to try to come to terms with it. For my beloved sister, Lilias, is dead.
I don’t know if you knew but Alexander had taken Lilias on a journey south to Fife in early January when fortunately the weather was unseasonably fine. She was very much looking forward to it as it was not long after her fifth confinement and she was still rather fatigued. The intention was to stay with the Earl and Countess of Morton at Loch Leven Castle for a few days, during which time my brother-in-law was to attend Court nearby in Dunfermline Palace.
The first time we knew something was not right was when they did not come home after a month, but the weather had changed and we presumed it was due to that. Then two months later, Papa received 157 a letter telling him Lilias was gravely ill and had been infirm for a while, with a terrible digestive illness that meant she could not keep any food down. Alexander said he was with her as often as possible and had employed a physician but thus far no medication was helping. He said we should prepare for perhaps worse news. Of course, Mama and I wrote to him saying that we would travel together to nurse her, or that my sister Jean who was nearer could go to her at once, but that letter went unanswered.
But also, we simply could not believe this of our robust, healthy Lilias. And to be honest, none of us worried too much as Alexander was prone to exaggeration and we all assumed she would be back at Fyvie Castle very soon, brimming with health. You can imagine the shock then when the next letter came to Papa and he and Mama had to go to Fyvie and tell her darling children that their beloved mama had died. It was heart breaking; the girls even now ask for her. Then when Alexander arrived home in the month of May he told us he had decided to bury her in Fife and not Aberdeenshire, as the Queen wished to pay her respects at the grave after the funeral. So she was laid to rest in the nearby kirkyard of St Bridget’s in Dalgety Bay. None of her own family, therefore, were able to mourn at her grave.
I took a deep breath. So she had a decent burial near to Loch Leven and even had a royal person to mourn her passing. Well, that was something, I suppose. The more I had thought about the entire matter, the more I’d become convinced that Alexander could not possibly have planned her death, though I was still bewildered by the cause of the horrors I’d witnessed.
We are all trying to get on with our lives and thankfully we ladies are always busy with households to run, and the children, while the men go about their normal business of hunting and looking after the estates. But on the few occasions I have met Alexander, I have tried 158 to snatch a look at him to see if he, like us, is still suffering. Thus far, he seems to be hiding his grief well.
And indeed the other news is that he is very soon to marry my stepdaughter, Grizel Leslie. She is nearly sixteen and therefore of marrying age. My husband, her father, is pleased at the match and the girl herself is overjoyed as she has always wanted to have a title. And now she will become Lady Fyvie.
I was going to end my letter here, dear Sister Marie, but I know that my sister confided in you, so I hope you don’t mind my doing the same, for there is no one else I can speak to or write to about my misgivings. And though they do concern your nephew, I feel I must put our family’s side to you.
I had begun to wonder about Alexander and his feelings about the death of his wife, my beloved sister. When we were all at Fyvie last month to celebrate his betrothal with Grizel, I heard him telling his eldest daughter, Anne, to cheer up. I was within earshot and could hear her tell him that she did not want him to marry Grizel and he turned on her and demanded, in an urgent whisper, to know the reason. When the poor girl said she did not want another mother, that she was still sad about her real mama’s death, he only shook his head and walked away.
I went over to her and put my arm around her and she started to cry. She is so young to have lost her beloved mother.
I tried to comfort her, stroking her hair as I told her things would turn out fine. I said that hopefully she would end up becoming best friends with her papa’s new wife as they were so close in age.
She turned her tear-stained face towards me and told me quite clearly that Grizel didn’t like her, nor indeed any of them; she only liked her papa.
I told her that was nonsense and wiped her tears away as Grizel herself approached. As usual, her father had agreed to buy her a new gown, again in the same colour as her remarkable blue eyes. 159
Her thick dark hair was hanging loose around her bare shoulders. I had suggested to her before we left Rothes that she have her maid put her hair up or wear a small cap, but she said she had all the time in the world after her wedding to wear her hair in a fashion suitable for a wife. I should have known; she never listened to advice. You were always so talented at hairdressing, dear Sister Marie, and you will understand why I thought loose hair around her shoulders inappropriate.
I nodded. Loose hair means loose morals, Old Johnnie Knox would have said.
Anne was silent so I decided to speak to them both. “Grizel, I was very much hoping you and Anne will be friends when you marry her father. You are so close in age.”
Because I had lived with this rather conceited girl for so many years, I could read the expression that first spread across her face, even though she had then covered it with one of her charming smiles.
“Well, if that is my husband’s desire,” she said, looking down at poor Anne, “then of course.” She held out her hand as a Queen would to a subject. Anne had no choice but to take it and they stood there holding hands, Anne self-conscious, Grizel revelling in the power she would soon wield.
Mon Dieu, Catherine was not disguising how she feels about this girl.
You will detect from my choice of words that I am not overly keen on the choice of second wife for my brother-in-law; sadly this is true and I must say I was surprised to hear my opinion of her confirmed by her father. For later that day, once we were home and my husband and I were alone, I asked him what he thought of Grizel’s future husband’s character. 160
“Most noble, wonderful, committed,” he had said, looking up from his supper, before enquiring why I was interested.
I told him there was no particular reason, it was just that men often saw a different side when conversing with other men. Then I added that presumably he had no worries about Alexander being a good spouse for Grizel?
He took a while to respond then I am sure he smirked as he told me he thought Alexander had met his match. When I asked James what he meant, he said, “You know how my daughter can be headstrong and, if I may suggest, a little self-centred?”
I was dumbfounded, dear Marie, at this response. It really was a revelation, for it was the first time James had ever criticised his favourite daughter. And he continued. “So I believe that Alexander may be able to tame her a little, while indulging her fancies. And of course, he will make her Lady Fyvie; Grizel would never be one to turn down a title at her young age.”
He smiled then put his head down and I knew that was a sign there was no more discussion on the subject and now I should let him finish his supper.
I will leave this letter here, but I do hope all this news does not leave you too sad. I am only sorry you had to hear so long after my dear sister died. I shall write again soon, if I may.
Your friend,
Catherine Leslie