Page 28 of The Changeling

The pantry was a treasure trove of delights. Tall cones of golden sugar, ginger roots, pyramids of oranges, sacks of nutmegs and cinnamon bark. I wanted to smell and taste everything, to experiment and play, but there was no time for that. I picked out what I thought a queen might like to eat after a day of sorrow, put it in a basket and heaved it back to her rooms so I could cook it fresh upon her fire.

Mary’s room was dark, the curtains drawn about the bed. I knelt by the hearth, cracked and separated six eggs, then beat the yolks with freshly grated cinnamon. I cut petal shapes from fine white bread, dipped them in the beaten eggs and fried them, then scrambled the egg whites. I arranged it all on the plate so it looked like daffodils blooming from snow.

‘That smells absolutely delicious,’ the queen said, drawing aside her bed curtains. ‘Good morrow, Caitlín. I wondered if it was you I heard. What have you made for me today?’

I brought her the meal and she gave a cry of delight. ‘How pretty! Thank you.’

I tidied up and shuffled backwards out of the room. The queen ate one of the golden flowers and closed her eyes in bliss. I smiled.

‘Well done,’ Mistress Gowland said. She had obviously been waiting outside, listening and watching. ‘You are free now. Go and break your own fast, and then take your hound for a walk. You need some roses in your cheeks.’

I dumped the dirty pots in the scullery, grabbed a heel of bread and my new cloak, and limped outside with Carlin bounding ahead, both of us glad to escape. It was a miserable day. Mist hung over the tower spire, and rain blew sideways. I led Carlin towards the abbey and found a wall to shelter behind, while Carlin squatted and relieved herself.

A baby wailed nearby. It sounded desperate. Carlin stiffened, one paw raised, staring intently into the shadowy ruins. Suddenly the crying cut short. A rush of icy air past my face, a swirl of white mist, an overwhelming feeling of doom. Death was near, I could feel it. My chest hurt with the cold; I shivered all over as if doused in ice water.

Carlin put her nose to the ground and began to run, following some invisible yet imperative trail that led straight into the ruins. For once, she did not heed me when I called her, and so I had to follow her through a broken archway and into the nave of the old church. Ahead, a great arched window, mist floating through the empty stone tracery that once would have glowed with coloured glass. Shattered columns, smoke-stained walls, and what looked like empty stone coffins, their lids wrenched away or cracked asunder.

A flicker in the corner of my eye. A black hooded shape hurried away through a low doorway. I was so cold and shivery already, I could not tell if it was a ghost or a shadow or someone living who did not wish to be seen. My heart skittered, and I halted, not wanting to go any closer. But Carlin ran to a corner where old damp leaves and broken branches had been piled, and began to scrabble with her paws. I pulled her away, quickly scuffling dirt and leaves over the hole with my boot. She tugged against my hand, wanting to go back to it, and it took all my strength to drag her away.

‘Bad dog,’ I told her. ‘You come when you are called.’

Holding on tightly to her collar, I led her out of the ruins and back towards the palace, wondering what I had just seen. A phantom from the past or just someone sheltering from the weather?

I did not know, but it had unsettled and frightened me.

Three days later, Mary celebrated her nineteenth birthday with a party held upon the wintry sands at Leith. Lavishly dressed in a black cape lined with ermine, the queen was in high spirits. She won the archery contest, and laughingly awarded herself the prize of a diamond ring, then watched with interest as men raced each other on horseback and competed to be the first to hook a ring upon their lance. Lord James won, and she gave him a cairngorm brooch to pin his plaid.

The master of ceremonies then announced a singing contest. Monsieur de Châtelard, the young Frenchman who had been riding with the queen the first time I met her, sang a sentimental love song, with many a trill and languishing glance at Mary. She laughed and chatted as he sang, then turned and beckoned to me to bring over the tray of quince comfits I had made.

Lord James gave me a sharp glance as I approached, and I knew he had recognised me. Both the queen and her half-brother were strikingly tall, and I had to lift the heavy tray high so they did not need to stoop. He said in mock-stern tones, ‘Madam, you are too soft-hearted! Must you fill the royal court with fools and dwarves?’

Heat flamed up my face. But Lord James was gesturing towards a short man with bowed legs, gaudily dressed in a slashed doublet and pumpkin-shaped breeches, who was mincing across the sand in high-heeled red shoes, carrying a lute.

‘Hush,’ Mary said reprovingly. ‘Do not be so unkind. Wait until you hear Signor Rizzio sing.’

He strummed his lyre and launched into a song in which the only words I recognised were ‘O Rosa Bella’. His voice raised goosebumps on my arm. So deep, so resonant, so true. Mary leaned forward, listening intently, then applauded enthusiastically when he had finished.

‘Signor Rizzio, indeed you are a marvel,’ she cried. ‘I do hope you will stay here in Edinburgh when your master returns to Italy. I need a voice like yours in my service. Here is a small token of my appreciation.’ She held out a sapphire ring to him, and he bowed theatrically and thanked her with one hand to his heart.

It reminded me of my mother’s blue charm-stone that she always wore about her neck and which I had always loved. Every day something made me think of home, and never failed to hurt me. I turned away so no-one would see me scrub away tears, and noticed Châtelard was staring at the queen with the oddest expression on his face, as if he hated her. He glanced at Rizzio, his eyes narrowed, then quickly rearranged his face into a smile, and bowed deeply to the queen. ‘Ah, madam, I laid my heart at your feet and you have trod it into the dust!’

‘Then you had best pick it up and brush it off and put it back where it belongs,’ the queen said merrily. ‘I’d hate to trip over it on my way to dance!’

She rose and beckoned to her ladies to join her.

As Châtelard bowed, his jaw set, Rizzio pretended to bend and search in the sand. ‘Are you sure you dropped your heart here, monsieur? It must be very small and shrivelled, for I cannot see it anywhere.’

Mary laughed and swept away, leaving Châtelard scarlet with fury behind her. He begged leave to return to France that very evening, and I for one was pleased. I had not forgotten how he had wanted to nail my tongue to the pillory.

The following morning, Lord James sought an audience with the queen, looking cold and stern.

‘Your Grace, I bring most unwelcome news. A terrible discovery has been made.’

‘What kind of discovery? James, you frighten me, looking so grim.’

‘I am sorry to say the body of an infant has been discovered.’

I turned to stare at him.