1606
Chère Tante Marie,
I do hope this finds you well. Here, the winter has taken a tight hold and we have been snowed in for some ten days now. Fortunately, with the recent renovations I have been undertaking, the castle is now well insulated, which means that inside, with our roaring fires, we are quite warm. We simply cannot travel anywhere. One of the grooms saddled up a horse yesterday but the poor beast could not even get out of the stables, the snow was up to his flank.
Yet I feel there is something welcome about heavy snow and it gives me more time to write letters. Since I last wrote to you about dear Lilias, so much has happened, both in matters of state and also here at Fyvie Castle. But these are poor excuses for my lack of communication, dear Aunt. Do please forgive me. I have always enjoyed receiving your news, though your last letter addressed to Grizel I had to read by myself. For once again, I must convey bad news.
Mon Dieu, what has happened now? I raised the letter a little towards the light, my eyes struggling to read his handwriting. I really must address my failing sight, but at sixty-five there was surely little that could be done. I moved my chair towards the window and continued.
Since Grizel was in correspondence with you, you will no doubt have been aware of the tragedy we suffered, losing our firstborn, our precious son Charles. We heard the news just as we arrived at Court to deliver Prince Charles to the King and Queen in Northampton, 232 and I decided to curtail our stay there in order to start the long journey back north to Fyvie. We buried little Charles here in the small chapel at the end of the inner garden. You will recall this sanctuary is only for the family, not even distinguished guests.
So perhaps those rumours I’d heard that my nephew was now worshipping at the Protestant church in the village were untrue. Surely they must be, for even though Alexander is a confidant to the Protestant King, he must undoubtedly be adhering to his Catholic faith. I clasped my crucifix tight in my hand and read on.
So now I can visit his grave and pray. And as I contemplate, I consider how blessed I am to have had a son, if only for two precious years. I am convinced that I shall not only have one but more sons in the future. But on this matter, there is the other sad news to convey. I do not know if Grizel told you she was expecting her third child: a girl was born six months ago. The baby was and is hale and hearty and resembles little Lilias who is now not only walking, but also speaking some words, though I understand nothing she says. The baby is called Jane, another Seton family name as you of course are aware.
Grizel suffered greatly, both in the final stages of her confinement and also during the long, gruelling labour. Not long after she delivered the baby, sadly she passed away. There had been too much blood loss and she was simply not strong enough. The tragedy has affected everyone here badly, for she was only twenty years old. She had, however, lived a wonderful life, having been able to meet the King and Queen and enjoy the privilege of assisting in the guardianship of the little Prince. She also died a Countess, for she will have no doubt told you that the King honoured me with elevation to the title of Earl of Dunfermline. 233
I shook my head. I was never keen on that girl, for I somehow felt she was instrumental in Lilias’s death, but it vexed me that the poor thing died so young and, as so often happens, in childbirth. God rest her soul. But I could not hide a wry smile as I thought of my nephew now as an Earl. How he will be rubbing his hands in glee, since all he ever wanted was a noble rank; and of course a son. What was he to do now?
I must tell you that I am betrothed once more. Do you recall James, Lord Hay of Yester? His father visited Seton Palace on occasion when I was young and so perhaps you too met him and his family? His wife, Lady Margaret Kerr, is the daughter of the Earl of Lothian, so they are a very well-connected family. Their daughter, Margaret Hay, is fourteen now and therefore eligible to marry, and I am delighted that soon I shall take her for a bride. Her father and I have set the wedding date for early next year when she becomes fifteen.
Well, well. My nephew hardly waits till his wives are cold in their graves before marrying another. I think he must forget how old I am now for, though I do remember James Hay’s father, he was only a lad when I saw him at Seton Palace, but I remember his grandfather William better. My brother George was always keen that Willie Hay and I should become betrothed, but I would have none of it, and then fortunately I was called to serve my Queen first in France and then in Scotland. He was not at all to my taste: I seem to recall a short stout man with pockmarked skin. But who could possibly have been to my taste in those days, I was only a child. And then when I eventually found love, it was all too late.
I hope this might be my last marriage for I am tired of forcing myself to become acquainted with the foibles and ways of young girls once more. She is younger than my two eldest daughters, both 234 of whom I am in the process of marrying to eminent men. Anne will marry Viscount Fenton and Isobel is betrothed to the Earl of Lauderdale. My nuptials, however, shall come first. I am now nearly fifty-two, dear Aunt, can you imagine how difficult it is to engage with a spouse thirty-seven years younger than me?
Alexander, I find it much more difficult trying to imagine how a young girl aged fifteen must feel marrying a man so much older. I tried to recall how it felt to be that age and shuddered at the thought. For it was not only the fact of giving up everything – one’s own family and home – to marry a man, any man, but when it entailed the union of two bodies, one so ancient and withered and one so fresh and young, I felt queasy. I trembled as the thought of the bedroom flashed through my head and I turned back to the letter in my hand.
I shall write again after the wedding and give you news then. Also, depending on how long His Majesty requires me at Court, my intention is to travel to France in the next couple of years, to see my wine merchants while I deal with matters on behalf of the King. I shall endeavour to visit you, dear Aunt, perhaps even with my new wife. Since my parents have now departed, you are my only relative of their generation and I am eager to see you before too long.
You mean, before I die? I presume you know I have no money or anything to leave, so there is no point hoping for anything at all in my will. Besides, I am not sure I could face meeting anyone who took Lilias’s place. Yet, as I twisted my ruby ring around my thumb, it occurred to me that it could be an interesting encounter with my nephew, for at last I might come to understand a little of what happened on Loch Leven. 235
Until then chère tante, stay well.
Your loving nephew,
Alexander
There was so much news, I could hardly take it all in. Alexander was to marry for the third time, in the hope once more of having sons. Well, let’s hope this new girl Margaret is able to fulfil her role and then he might actually pay more heed to his wife and not think only of himself. I should so love to visit Scotland again, but even though it was some time ago, I cannot forget how long it took me to recover from my traumatic last visit. So if Aberdeenshire is able to come to me, then so be it.
I put the letter away in my drawer and tightened the belt around my waist, preparing myself for Vespers. I forced my shoulders back and stood up tall. I might be old and arthritic, but I would not stoop. My Queen never did; they said not even at the end. And I, her loyal servant, never would.