Chapter 51
1609
We sat at the breakfast table, the servants fussing around my husband as they were wont to do. It was a beautiful summer’s day and yet as usual it was gloomy inside, with all the candles alight. I looked over at Alexander and realised that over the past two years since our wedding, it’s always early in the morning, and no matter how dark or bright the light, that I notice how very old my husband is. In bed, thankfully, it is dark so I cannot see his saggy, lined flesh, but here I gaze at his wrinkles and deeply furrowed brow and silvery flecked ginger beard. Perhaps his appearance becomes better as the day wears on, but I notice the difference in our ages especially at our morning meal. I am now seventeen but he must be fifty-three or fifty-four? To be honest, I have no idea his precise age and don’t really want to know.
He sipped his ale then looked towards me adoringly. I was never regarded as beautiful when I was growing up, for my mother sensibly never paid heed to appearances, even though of course we all had to dress in a manner befitting our status. And even now, as Countess of Dunfermline and Lady Fyvie, I seldom have the maid do anything to my hair other than comb it with my ivory comb. Not for me those high elaborate coiffures like all the ladies are wearing now, trying to emulate the Queen.
But my husband often tells me how alluring I am, which I find neither wonderful nor offensive, simply odd, since such words of praise are still unfamiliar to me. And even though I am now fatter than I was when expecting my first child, our darling little Charles, Alexander still seems to find my expanding belly attractive. He 245 really is a strange old man, both arrogant and self-assured, and yet somehow dependent on me, his very much younger wife. He is becoming more needy emotionally; and in truth, he is also now less able in practical tasks, because of his failing sight. So I have begun to help him in some administrative matters that he says he simply does not have time to do, but I know it is actually because he is no longer as adept as he was in younger years, nor can he see as well for the finer details of letter writing. I intended to write to his aunt, Marie Seton, this week again too, to tell her the news of the next child due to be born at Fyvie Castle.
I looked up at Alexander as he cleared his throat.
“Margaret, my dear, I do not wish you to ride your horse today. Or indeed any day while you are expecting our second child.”
I smiled. “Your concern is most welcome, dear husband. But I shall be fine, I always am. I have ridden since I could walk.”
He frowned and his brows furrowed even more. “No, I have made a decision. I am not happy about this; indeed, I forbid it.”
I tilted my head to one side, smiled at him once more and stood up. The servants rushed to pull back my chair.
“I shall see you later, Alexander. Let me know if you would like my assistance in the Charter Room with your correspondence. I shall be in the nursery this afternoon with little Charles, then hopefully I shall take the girls out to the gardens if the weather continues fine.”
He mumbled some reply and turned back to his beer. I nodded graciously then proceeded downstairs and out through the pend to the courtyard.
There I called over to the stables. “Saddle my horse, Billie. I am going out riding.”
The grooms used to try to suggest that my husband might not be happy if I rode while in my state, but they have given up now, since I simply shrug and tell them the physician prescribed fresh 246 air and gentle exercise to keep me healthy. And what harm would a gentle trot do?
Billie helped me up onto the mare and I patted her soft neck, whispered in her ear then trotted out through the pend towards the west. Once I was out of view of the castle, I settled firmly into the saddle, bent my head low and tightened the reins. Then I sped off in the morning sun across the castle dale at full gallop.
“Here he is, My Lady, just woken up from his nap.” Nurse handed me the snuggly bundle and I clasped my son towards me, inhaling the heady scent from his warm body.
“Thank you. I am happy to be here with him for a while. The girls are arriving soon but I can easily supervise him myself.” I smiled. “It must be time for you to have your dinner?”
Nurse bowed. “Thank you, that would be most helpful, My Lady. Are you sure you will be fine with all the children? I won’t be long.”
I shrugged. “Yes, of course.” I loved children. I used to enjoy playing with all my nieces and nephews at home and now I was able to have fun with the girls here, even though they were not mine.
Lilias’s eldest two girls of course were now both married and living in splendour elsewhere in Scotland, much to my husband’s delight. But the younger two, Margaret and Sophia, are very much part of my life here at Fyvie; they are both such a joy. Grizel’s two little girls, Lilias and Jane, are coming on nicely too, though always rather more diffident. But they are fit and healthy, which is surely the most important.
As I made funny faces at my son and watched him crinkle up his face in glee, I wondered about my next child. It was only about 247 four months till he or she was to be born. My husband of course wanted another boy, but I told him we already had a boy, so perhaps a sister would be lovely. He did not agree, but he was not the one to have to go through the pain of childbirth.
In fact, I had already decided that we would call a girl Grizel, as the more I heard about her, both from Anne and Isobel, and also from Jeannie my maid, the more I realised what a hard life she must have had. She very kindly allowed her first daughter to be named after Lilias, and so I shall call my first daughter Grizel.
Jeannie can be wonderfully indiscreet at times and recently told me that Grizel had been perhaps more than a little difficult as a Mistress at first, but then, as tragedy struck, when her son died as an infant, she became more and more queer, in a state of constant agitation. Jeannie believed she was unbalanced and deranged towards the end. Her life really was rather tragic.
Jeannie said she would tell me soon about Lilias and what they (the servants) thought happened to her; it sounded as if she too became demented. But there was so little time to chat with the servants, much as I enjoy doing that, with my role as Lord Fyvie’s wife and mother to all these children. I also like to look after the poor in the village and have Cook send pies and broths to those living in the filthy hovels we pass on our way to church.
In addition, I have a project I am trying to persuade my husband upon. Fyvie Parish Kirk is old, dating from the twelfth century, the minister told me during our last visit. There are therefore many repairs that need funding. I have almost persuaded Alexander that we ought to become benefactors and I am already planning the commission of a large silver communion cup for the church, as a mark of our commitment, just like my own father did for Yester Kirk. My husband is slowly coming around to the idea, yet keeps trying to insist it should be less grand and elaborate than the one I have in mind. Slowly but surely, however, I am 248 persuading him. He simply needs to believe it was his idea in the first place.
The door flung open and in rushed Margaret, the three other little girls behind. They all raced towards me to coo over their brother, baby Charles. Jeannie stood at the door and beamed. “You said you wanted to take the girls out to the garden, My Lady. Shall I stay here with the baby?”
“Thank you, Jeannie. Nurse shouldn’t be long.” I turned to the girls. “Who wants to go to the bowling lawn?”
They all jumped up and down with excitement.
“Let’s go and ask Donald to set it up for us. Come along,” I said, kissing little Charles and handing him over to Jeannie.
“Will they need bonnets on, My Lady?”
I looked out the tiny window. “No, it was mild when I was out earlier, I’m sure it will be even warmer now.”
“Were you out on the horse, My Lady?” She frowned.
I shrugged. “What if I was, Jeannie?” I said, beaming. She shook her head and began to dandle Charles on her knee as I took two of the little girls’ hands and headed for the door.