1980
A whole day of research stretched before me. It was my first day off in ages and I was looking forward to staying in my room to study. I’d had a long letter from my mum, so planned to walk into the village in the afternoon to post a letter back. But till then, it was time to get into the books.
I’d reached the stage where Margaret Hay had married Alexander Seton in 1607 and very quickly had a son named Charles and then a daughter named Grizel. I still thought it so weird that both second and third wives had agreed to name their first daughters after the last wife. Or perhaps they had no choice. Margaret Hay seemed to be active in helping the poor in the village and in renovating the old church where they worshipped. So those ruins where I’d seen the engraving MS in the old chapel to the south of Seton Tower were surely very old, before the family converted to Protestantism in the early 1600s. Unless they just decided to bury some family members here anyway; surely it couldn’t be Mary Seton as she was presumably buried at her French convent. Perhaps it was Lilias’s daughter Margaret who died as an infant.
I wanted to pop into the church in the village to see if there was anything about the Seton family there. I’d discovered that the Earl and Countess of Dunfermline had commissioned what has become the second oldest communion cup in Scotland for Fyvie Church and that it was still in use. Presumably this would not be on display as it was obviously so valuable, but perhaps I could call at the manse and ask the minister about it. 250
I was scribbling down notes on Margaret Hay and was surprised to find out she assisted her husband with administrative matters, which was unusual in those days. There was a knock at the door and I went to open it. There was Mrs MacPherson, holding a mug of coffee; well, this was unexpected.
“Good morning, Miss Hay. I was making coffee and thought you might appreciate a cup.”
“Thank you,” I muttered. “That’s really kind of you.”
She continued to stand there. I took the mug from her and smiled. It was not as if I could invite her in, my room was tiny.
“Mr David was telling me you were interested in the Seton parure.”
“Yes. Do you know what happened to it?”
“No, no one does,” she said, “but as you know, there’s a secret chamber in the Charter Room and it’s thought that it could be there.”
“Not Lilias Drummond’s bones then?”
She smirked. “That might be what Andrew and Silvia tell the visitors on their tours, but we know that can’t be true, she’s buried in Fife.”
I nodded. Why on earth was she here telling me this?
She cleared her throat. “Mr David is away for a few days, but he left me instructions. He said that your questioning him about the parure made him wonder again if it is indeed in the secret chamber. He is obviously keen to find it, but of course there’s the curse. You know all about that I presume?”
“Remind me. It’s something that visitors ask about from time to time when we’re in the Charter Room.”
“Well, the curse states that should a laird of Fyvie attempt to open the chamber, he’ll die and his wife become blind.”
I grinned. “Oh that? Superstitious nonsense.”
“You might not say that if you were one of those two lairds 251 whose early deaths occurred soon after attempting to open the secret chamber. Their wives then had eye problems, one going blind.”
“It’s medieval folklore, all superstition.”
“Mr David is superstitious, as are his entire family. Even though he’s not the laird – that’s Mr Charles – he is wary. He believes his uncle tried to open it just a week before his fatal heart attack, though he never told the family he was going to attempt it. Mr David’s aunt, though she didn’t go blind, began to show the devastating effects of dementia soon after.”
Where was this going?
“Mr David wonders if, while he is away, you could try to open the chamber and see what, if anything, is in there.”
“Me?”
“Yes, since you’ve no ties to the family and your work here will be over in a couple of weeks.”
This was so extraordinary, I had to smile. “So if I die, no one need know why?”
She tutted.
“I’m joking. Of course, I’ll give it a try. All by myself?”
“He suggested Andrew is in the room with you in case you require any assistance, but he will not do the actual opening of the chamber.”
I shrugged. “Yes, I’d love to. When?”
“Mr David is away until Sunday so perhaps Friday evening, after the last tour is finished?”
“Fine by me, I don’t ever do much in the evenings,” I laughed.
She nodded and turned to leave when a thought occurred to me.
“I presume Mr Charles’s wife’s okay, so there’s no danger of anything happening to her?”
Mrs MacPherson’s lips pursed. “As far as I know, she is in good 252 health.”
After she left, I chuckled. Whether or not this would be an amazing revelation or nothing of interest at all, I found it amusing that an entire family – one born into such privilege – held such irrational, superstitious beliefs. I couldn’t wait to tell Mum – and indeed Dr Birkett. What on earth would she think of this?
I thought back to the portrait of Mr David’s Aunt Ethel wearing the parure and wondered, perhaps, if he wasn’t lying about it as I’d suspected, and he actually had no idea where it went after his aunt wore it for that portrait. Or perhaps this was all a strange ruse. Whatever was behind it, I had some challenge ahead of me.