1602
I lay in bed, pulling the covers around me in an attempt to get warm. I had had to use the chamber pot again and even sitting there for two minutes had chilled me. It was a bitterly cold March night and the wind battered against the window, and the branches of the trees creaked as the storm continued to howl.
It was the second disturbed night I had endured all alone in this dark, cold room. I was not used to being by myself at night. My husband was away at Court on important matters of state and would not be back for another week. How I missed him; but he would soon return, and I could not wait to guide his hand to my belly where I could now feel the wonderful movements of our baby son – here an elbow, there a knee. It was the only thing that gave me strength as I lay there in bed, cold and scared.
I had always hated the dark and had never slept alone all my life. Invariably I had one of my sisters with me and then as they all left to get married, I had the maid sleep in the room. I had considered asking my maid here at Fyvie, Jeannie, to sleep with me tonight, but her attitude towards me was not improving at all, even after I’d had to admonish her for not treating me with the respect I deserved in my position as Lady Fyvie. I told her that day that, if she mentioned her old Mistress, Lilias, one more time, I would ensure she left my employ upstairs and went back to where she came from, downstairs in the kitchen, washing pots. I had hoped that would teach her, but although she never mentioned that woman’s name again, she was still constantly surly.
I was fair with the staff, but I had a feeling that some of them, 173 because of my age, did not respect me the way they did my husband. They revered him, bowing whenever he was near, pandering to his every desire. But I always had to ask for things; they never seemed to be able to anticipate my needs or offer their services willingly.
When I told two of the servants downstairs to remove the portrait of Lilias from the top of the Great Stair and hang it instead in one of the unused rooms in the Preston Tower, they were silent. When I repeated my request, stipulating that it was sanctioned by my husband, one of them – that sullen old man, John – said then why did we not just wait until His Lordship was back. I stamped my foot and said I wanted it done while he was away since my portrait was nearly finished and I needed them to clear the wall in readiness of hanging it for his arrival home. I could see them giving each other conspiratorial looks, but eventually, after some clearly audible mutterings, they began the process.
Only yesterday, the artist said my portrait was finally finished and I was keen for it to be on display when Alexander returns next week. When he showed me the painting, I was at first surprised, for I didn’t think it looked quite like me. He had managed to achieve the likeness of my shapely figure, before my belly began to grow, of course. And my hair looked rather lovely and my eyes were the most perfect shade of blue and the gown I wore matched them well. But there was something about my expression that I did not feel was right. There was a suggestion of a sneer in the smile, so I asked him to correct that. My smile, according to my husband, is the most sweet and charming he has ever seen, and so I asked the artist to alter it for me to view again today.
If only I could get back to sleep, but it was so cold and the wind was still whirling outside, so I opened my eyes and saw only black. The fire had faded hours ago and there was no moon outside to shine through the window. I lay there, staring upwards at the 174 canopy above the bed, which I could just make out in the gloom. I began to think of our son and what my husband might want to call him. I had mentioned James would be a good name, after my father and also of course the King. But I think he preferred Charles as that was not only the royal prince’s name, but also a Seton family name.
I sniffed the air and looked around. Was that roses I smelt? I had told the maid I did not want rosewater used in my toilette as my husband said he did not like the scent. So it couldn’t be that, and it was too early for roses to be in the vase upon the table. I breathed in deeply now and was sure the smell was still there. It was a honeyed, sweet aroma that now permeated the night air. I pushed myself up onto my elbow and looked all around. I wished it was not so dark. I wanted my husband with me, I really did not like being alone.
Then, in amidst the black I saw something green, a luminous shape that was the same colour as the emeralds in my parure. I slipped down under the covers and peeked out, trying to see what the green could be – a reflection of something from outside or from my glass? But there was no moonlight to reflect. The green seemed to move across the room from the window and hover at my dressing table. Too terrified now to move, I placed both hands on my belly, compelling the baby to be still. The radiant green seemed to drift around the dressing table, perhaps in the shape of a gown, perhaps in the shape of a creature. Had God sent a spirit down to castigate me for becoming Protestant when I married? Well, I hardly had any choice since that is my husband’s faith.
I was frozen with fright but something in me, perhaps a maternal instinct, a desire to protect my baby, made me thrust out my hand, grasp the bell on the table and ring it and ring it and ring it again. My heart was thumping as I watched the green flicker, and soon I heard footsteps outside rushing towards my room. The 175 door flew open and I turned to see Jeannie standing there, in her nightdress, a candle in her hand. I have never been so glad to see another human.
I sat bolt upright and looked towards the table. There was nothing there.
“Come over here, Jeannie. I need you to look around the room. I thought there was something or someone here.” Saying nothing, she moved over towards the table and lowered her candle.
“I thought I put your parure back in its box last night, My Lady, and shut the clasp tight.”
“You did. Why?”
“The box is open.”
Shuffling to the end of the bed, I looked to where she held her candle low and I could see the gold and emeralds of the necklace gleaming in the light.