Chapter 60
1610
I sat in the chapel for quite some time after I’d met my nephew, attempting to make sense of what he said had actually happened. I tried to convince myself that what he had told me was true, that it had all been some terrible accident, a miscommunication, but none of it seemed plausible. I forced myself onto my sore knees and prayed for guidance, for God to show me the truth.
Then I hobbled along to my room, shut the door and laid the bundle on my bed. I wanted to enjoy this moment. Until Alexander had brought all those presents for me, I had not received a gift from anyone for so many years. Indeed, I hadn’t had any visitors. I struggled speaking English again, but my nephew understood me even when I reverted to French.
I untied the package from its heavy woollen cloths, thinking the material would keep my knees warm when I sat outside in the cloisters. There was a letter in Margaret’s beautiful hand, but first I was keen to open the present; I felt as excited as a child. I removed the fine cloth around a black box and as soon as I saw it, I gasped, for I knew what it was. Before I even lifted the lid, I smiled, then I opened it and gazed inside.
The necklace was just as beautiful as ever, the rubies sparkled in the light when I raised it up to the window. I held up the earrings I’d always adored and marvelled at how the pearls gleamed and the emeralds shone. And the brooch, how could I have forgotten how stunning this was; look at the detail, the craftsmanship of the intricate gold work. I felt my emotions rise and I tried to control them but soon I was weeping as I remembered the day the Queen 293 gave them to me, the joy I had wearing them and then of course the delight I felt giving them to dear Lilias.
I have no idea how long I wept, but when I was able to stop, I put the parure back in the box, but kept the lid open so I could see the jewels as I began to read the letter.
Chère Tante Marie,
I hope this finds you in good health.
This parure belongs to you and to no one else and so I hope you will accept it. My maid Jeannie told me that Grizel’s life was perhaps not as happy as it might have been and she had hidden it.
No one knew where it was for several years, but Jeannie located it for me. I knew it must be returned to you, for though it has been on loan to the Ladies of Fyvie for some years, it is yours. And I hope that you have joy, perhaps if not wearing it, simply by enjoying the sight and the touch of it and the memories it will evoke.
I do not have very long until my third baby is due and so I shall write again once he or she is born. Indeed, by the time you read this letter, I might already be mother to three little ones.
Your dear friend,
Margaret
“Thank you, dear Aunt, for agreeing to see me again. I was not sure you would want to receive me after my last visit. Will you believe me if I tell you I have done little else but pray for forgiveness since we met? I have not even gone to see Monsieur Gosset yet, that is for tomorrow.”
“When shall you leave for Scotland?”
“In three days’ time.” 294
“I see.”
“I have news from home, that should bring you joy.”
“What is that, Alexander?”
“Margaret was delivered of our third child, a baby girl.” He smiled. “Praise be to God, the baby is hale and hearty.”
“Praise God indeed.” I looked directly at him. He looked exhausted, as if he had not slept in a while. Perhaps he was indeed contrite.
“I have decided that the child shall be named after her dear great aunt.” He cleared his throat. “Her name shall be Marie Seton and my only hope is that she grows up to be as kind and devoted and faithful as you, dear Aunt.”
His voice was cracking and I found myself feeling rather emotional too. “This is wonderful, dear nephew. But what of your wife? She might not be happy with your choice of name.”
He smiled. “Even before I received the news of her safe delivery, I had decided a baby girl would be called after you. Then in the letter from Fyvie was a note to say that Margaret wanted the baby to be called Marie. It was meant to be; this child is our special gift.”
I felt a tear run down my cheek and as I wiped it, I felt my nephew’s hand on mine. “Thank you, dear Aunt.”
I nodded and with that I felt, if not forgiveness, but somehow understanding, as if my nephew and I had come to some sort of accord. The gift of his child was his apology, his petition to me and to God for forgiveness.
He rose from his chair. “I can call back in two days’ time if you like, dear Aunt, to say farewell?”
I stood very still for a moment as I considered this, for this would be the very last time I ever saw him before I died; I knew that. “Yes, thank you. Perhaps I shall have time to write a letter for you to take back to your wife.”
“That is kind. And I shall deliver it to her with pleasure.”