A Symphony of Echoes (25 page)

‘Dr Peterson, can your Pathfinders narrow down the co-ordinates? We don’t have a lot of wiggle room and we don’t want to arrive with less than 24 hours to the deadline. And we’ll need them to locate a secure site outside the city where the pods won’t be noticed.

‘Everyone get themselves off to Wardrobe to start getting kitted out. Those wishing to grow a beard should note they are fashionable for men only.

‘In addition to our forged papers, Dr Dowson has produced detailed briefing notes for 16th century Scotland, together with a simple vocabulary. Study this carefully. Many words have changed their meaning over time. For instance, apprehensive pertains to the word apprehend – to understand – rather than our under current understanding of the word. Geek means to look at, and does not refer to any member of R&D. There are many words for whore, including guinea hen, harlot, and drab. Nicked and knackered mean exactly what you think they do. Don’t say
thee
and
thou
unless you want to be laughed at as old-fashioned and anyone uttering the word ‘forsooth’ in my hearing will be consigned to Professor Rapson to play the lead role in his “How many times could the Druids actually wind a person’s entrails around a sacred oak tree?” experiment. Also included are words or gestures that should
not
be used. There’s enough conflict in our lives without inadvertently insulting anyone’s mother.

‘In addition, we have notes on royal protocol, forms of address, polite manners, etc. And an Istanbul background as well, in case some smart-arse starts asking questions. Speaking of which, does anyone have any?’

‘Not at this stage,’ said Peterson, speaking for everyone. ‘Maybe later.’

‘OK then,’ I said. ‘We’ll meet here at 0930, the day after tomorrow for updates and briefings. Miss Lee will distribute the minutes this afternoon. Thank you everyone.’

Chapter Seventeen

What an entrance we made; months of hard work finally paying off. Beautifully attired and mounted on the best horses Peterson could find, we entered Edinburgh in triumph.

Markham led the way on foot, banging a drum for reasons known only to himself and shouting, ‘Make way, make way,’ in English, French, Latin, and some incomprehensible dialect he said was Geordie.

People did scatter, but any ill-will caused by his multi-lingual high-handedness was easily assuaged by the handfuls of coins he carelessly tossed around him. Small fights broke out.

Farrell came next, with Peterson beside him, both doffing their caps and waving to passers-by, who, despite having no clue what was going on, cheered with enthusiasm. We had ‘money’ written all over us. I could imagine the local merchants’ eyes glistening with anticipation.

Schiller and I followed on. I rode a dainty cream mare, spirited, but easy to control. She arched her neck and pranced, showing off like the rest of us. I pushed back my hood and made sure to smile.

Behind us rode a surprisingly dashing Major Guthrie, and Randall and Weller brought up the rear, driving a heavily laden wagon bearing the fruits of Mrs Enderby’s labours.

People shouted – for various reasons – my little mare neighed, dogs barked, Markham banged his drum. Oh yes, we had arrived.

There was the house and there were the two eagles over the door. The one on the right had a broken wing, just as Leon had described to me that rainy afternoon in my office. I caught Peterson’s eye and he smirked. He had found exactly the right house.

Leon stared up at it for a brief moment. He was seeing his nightmares come true. I smiled reassuringly as he helped me dismount. He formally offered me his arm and we mounted the steps to the front door. Markham flung one last fistful of money – Thirsk was going to have a fit – gave us one final dramatic drum roll and followed us up the steps and into the house. The door closed on all the clamour.

Now everyone knew where we lived.

Like most houses at the time, the front door opened directly into the main parlour. A screen protected us from draughts. Two large oak settles either side of the fireplace had to be more comfortable than they looked. A battered chest stood under the windows and a big, ornate cabinet affair loomed in a corner. All were of oak and beautifully made. A number of stools stood against the walls. Every room was panelled. The wooden floors glowed gently in the light of two very whiffy oil lamps. Some of the windowpanes were glazed, but others contained an opaque substance Schiller said was horn.

At the back, the kitchen was nearly as large and dominated by a big scrubbed table in the middle. Two benches stood against the wall and a series of mismatched wooden cupboards containing earthenware crockery ran down one side. I yanked open a badly fitting drawer containing spoons and knives. No forks. Another settle was pulled in front of the huge hearth, which bristled with irons, spits, stands, cauldrons, and other items of a dubious and culinary nature. I was reminded of the Spanish Inquisition.

The stairs were really not something you wanted to gallop up and down in a long dress bearing only a flickering candle.

Schiller and I shared the bedroom at the back and I saw my first tester bed – a four-poster with a red canopy overhead. It was small for two people and lacked matching hangings, but the feather mattress was unstained and looked quite comfortable. We dropped the sleeping bags we’d brought with us and looked around. Another chest stood at the foot of the bed. There was no wardrobe, but pegs hung around the walls for our clothes. Farrell and Peterson were in the front room, similarly furnished, and a small room leading off that would be where we stored the Queen’s gifts until required.

We had truckle beds, but Guthrie and his people preferred to sleep downstairs.

‘Just in case,’ he said.

We started to unpack, bustling about, feet clattering on the wooden floors until we laid down some carpets. We hung two or three on the walls where they could impress any visitors. Peterson had fires going in all the rooms and the place smelled of wood smoke, cloves, and warm wood, with not so pleasant undertones of tallow and burned fat.

I made a mental note never,
ever
to set foot in the backyard privy. Or even the backyard itself. I could feel my colon assuming a defensive posture.

‘It’s not so bad,’ said Peterson, cheerfully. ‘At least it’s in our own backyard. Most people have to trudge down to the midden by the stables.’

I made a mental note never,
ever
to trudge down to the midden by the stables.

He became aware of the silence.

‘Fine. There are buckets in the bedrooms. Just empty them into the privy as and when.’

Rampant constipation is not always a bad thing.

‘And then,’ he continued, ‘we can just empty the ashes from the fire over the top and it’s all nice and neat and there’s no smell. Cutting-edge hygiene, eh?’

‘Dear God,’ said Guthrie. ‘How are you people still alive? Did our last misadventure in Alexandria teach you nothing about methane?’

We stared at him.

He sighed.

‘I’ll keep it simple for the historians. There’s a pit, full of … effluent. Things build up. Some idiot tosses in a bucket of hot ash and maybe a glowing ember or two. No prizes for working out what happens next. I’ve been showered with shit once. It’s not happening again.’

We stared at him.

‘OK,’ said Peterson. ‘Scrub round the ash thing. Just chuck in your bucketful and retire immediately.’

Oh, the romance and glamour of time travel.

We established the date – mid April. We had just under a month. Less time than I would have liked, but it could have been worse.

Two days after our arrival, Chief Farrell, Major Guthrie, and Peterson went to the palace. Weller and Randall went with them. Markham stayed behind with us, practising his conjuring tricks. The curtains remained unignited. There was nothing more we could do except wait for their return, so we decided to keep busy. Not that we had much choice. Just keeping the house going took up all of our time. No wonder everyone had so many bloody servants.

For a start, water had to be brought in and lugged up the stairs. After a particularly wet incident involving an ascending Mr Markham and a descending Mr Randall, we decided to wash in the kitchen. Schiller and I went first, then the boys. Then a water carrier turned up at the door looking for business and Markham nearly married him on the spot.

After washing, we donned what seemed an enormous number of garments. A shift, hooped underskirt, petticoat, another velvet underskirt, an overdress, sleeves, hose, shoes and headgear. Schiller got away with a bum roll, but I was cursed with what Mrs Enderby had assured me was a very moderate farthingale. I had four dresses: two court dresses, a travelling outfit, and a supposedly more comfortable woollen dress to wear around the house.

Once we’d eased each other into our clothing, there was breakfast to sort out. We’d brought some food with us, but that was kept for emergencies. Weller and Randall would return from the market with bread, cheese, and baskets full of mud-covered objects that apparently were vegetables. Turnips figured prominently. However, Weller’s father had been a butcher and therefore, he knew one end of a rabbit from the other. Farrell assumed charge of the cooking and I was relegated to unskilled labour – chopping, peeling and, occasionally, stuffing. It all took hours. As did the clearing away afterwards.

Then there was the house to tidy, fires to lay, buckets (!) to empty – it just went on and on. How the hell did these people ever find the time for war, adultery, cattle-rustling, sheep-shagging, and all the other traditional pastimes of a bygone age?

The three of them arrived back in the early evening, having been gone for hours. They parked the horses, came quietly through the back door, and dropped, exhausted onto the benches. Markham passed them some beer, although how that would help was a bit of a mystery to me.

Farrell was last man in. He stood just inside the doorway, a strange expression on his face. I looked around. Guthrie was wet and shaking out his cloak. Peterson, sitting at the table, turned to greet him. Schiller sat with me by the fire. The sudden draught from the door blew out one of the candles. Smelly smoke drifted across the room. I knew what this was. He was seeing the scene he had described to me in my office.

I said, ‘It’s fine. Come on in.’ My voice broke the spell and the moment passed.

I was desperate to know what had happened, but made myself give them a minute first. Guthrie drained his cup, peered dubiously into the bottom, and pushed it away from him.

I couldn’t stay quiet any longer.

‘How did it go? Did you see her? What did she say?’

The correct procedure is to say, ‘Report’. However, you can’t always remember everything.

Farrell sighed. ‘We never saw her.’

‘What? All that time and you never saw her?’

This had been a fear of mine. That we would turn up, day after day after day and she couldn’t or wouldn’t see us and we’d never get access and time would roll on and soon it would be too late …

‘It’s not all bad,’ he said, wearily. ‘They did take our papers. We were well treated. They knew who we were.’

‘And?’

‘They’ll get back to us.’

This was awful. I’d envisaged (and planned for) death, disaster, or discovery, but never that they would just ignore us.

‘The place is packed,’ he said, sensibly not quite draining his cup. ‘There are queues of people seeking an audience. She couldn’t possibly see them all. This is just some sort of weeding process. They’ll get back to us.’

Time to take the initiative.

‘Right,’ I said. ‘Tomorrow, we’re out on the streets. We’re going shopping. We’ll buy everything in sight. Don’t worry about payment. We’re gentry. No one ever expects them to pay for anything. We’ll have to leave it all behind when we go, so no one’s really losing by it. Mr Markham, you can do the money-slinging thing. And your conjuring tricks. Play with the kids. Tim – smile at the ladies. I’m going to flirt with everyone. Even their horses if I have to. Chief, you’ll be decisive, commanding, and radiate wealth. Major …’

‘I know,’ he said, resigned. ‘We’ll be making sure none of you get mugged, murdered, or molested.’

We strode out around noon, leaving Weller behind to mind the shop.

Farrell and I led the way through the muddy streets. Small boys and dogs followed on behind us. Markham swung into action. Peterson, a little apart from us, bowed and smiled his way through the crowds.

We stopped at a trinket stall. Farrell bought every item I admired. I don’t think the stallholder could quite believe his luck.

Following the smell of cooking, we entered a small inn. The landlord made a private room available. We enjoyed a roast bird and a pastry stuffed with dried fruit. Drink flowed. Farrell ruthlessly over-tipped everyone.

A small crowd waited in the street, all with invitations to visit their brother’s inn/shop/stall/whatever and possibly buy their sisters.

Markham and Randall were slowly weighed down with our purchases, which included several pairs of soft gloves, ribbons, a length of lace (‘Oh good, more lace!’), some honey cakes, a couple of small and very shrivelled lemons, a birdcage complete with songbird occupant (who was released around the very next corner), a packet of needles (which would be very useful should any of us ever learn to sew), a small pillow stuffed with herbs (to ensure my ladyship’s peaceful repose), a copper bracelet (to ward off painful joints), and a pot of honey.

Farrell was measured for a pair of boots he was assured would be ready on the morrow and even Guthrie was sorely tempted by a small Italian dagger, complete with worn leather sheath.

Peterson divided his time between young girls (who giggled and blushed) and old women (who made him giggle and blush).

It felt as though half the town was following us from stall to stall and I suspected a good number of them were from Holyrood. Eventually, as it began to get dark, Guthrie called a halt.

We returned home, tired, muddy, and hungry. We could do no more. It was all in the lap of the gods now. Or History herself.

I went out the next day, walking around town with Schiller and Markham, getting our bearings and planning possible escape routes back to the pods which were located about a mile outside town, and so we missed it When we got back to the house, everyone was upstairs, frantically lugging down bolts of cloth and all the other bits and pieces. While we were out, the Queen’s messengers had called. We were summoned to the palace the next day. To present ourselves to the Queen. All of us.

My restlessness that night was not completely due to the fleas in the mattress. I hardly slept at all, running over everything in my mind. Beside me, Schiller tossed and turned as well.

We were downstairs early, sitting around the table, drinking tea (our one luxury – we’re St Mary’s – we run on tea) and eating bread and cheese. There wasn’t a great deal of conversation. We all knew what we had to do; there was no point in banging on about it.

Schiller and I disappeared upstairs to start dressing. We had decided that, for our first appearance, I’d go for something a little different. I had two court dresses. One was magnificent but conventional, in black and gold. However, the second was of a glorious turquoise, a colour that would not be widely known in this country until around 1573. For the purposes of this assignment, we were calling the colour Celeste. We’d chosen it specifically because it looked spectacular with red hair and Mary Stuart had red hair.

In common with the English court, fashion here followed the Spanish tradition, with dark, heavy colours and wide sleeves. Mrs Enderby had dressed us in the lighter Italian and French styles, hoping they would appeal to an exile from the French court. Schiller fastened my exquisite lace ruff and we bundled my hair into a jewelled net.

Farrell and Peterson looked magnificent, in similar outfits of black and silver. Guthrie wore dark red and even the security team looked good. We’d dressed them in the richest fabrics allowed in an age where your rank clearly defined the clothes you wore.