The hall seemed full to capacity. Champagne flowed, the music got louder, the dancing wilder, the guests merrier; so much to observe, Mary wanted to see it all. She thought the costumes were the best ever. If she were a guest she would be Mary Queen of Scots (she had thought about this often) with her pale complexion and red hair perfect for a start, and ok she was not 6’ 2”, but she had a perfectly good pair of platforms under her bed, she was halfway there! Historically there wasn’t much she didn’t know about her heroine. It was ironic really, that if Mary Queen of Scots, with her vast train of servants and expensive habits were alive today, she would have fitted in to this scene perfectly, in fact she would probably be more outrageous and original. I mean; do you know anyone who washes her face with vintage wine every day?

True to form, tonight’s Mary Queen of Scots was holding court. The small group of friends stood around one of the log fires, glasses in hand, hanging on to her every gossipy word, oblivious to the festivities going on around them.  What they didn’t know wasn’t worth knowing.  Despite their varied costumes (I wonder how many impromptu, wine-fuelled, get-togethers were held to discuss who was wearing what, for there were no duplicates!) these women lacked individuality, surprise and warmth.  Mary Queen of Scots would either be turning in her grave, or having a wee chuckle to herself.  Yes, she too would have had her followers, but no one would have dared to emulate her!  As the night progressed the clones formed a tighter group, totally excluding all others. Their botoxed expressionless faces had a superior air – definitely ensuring no one asked them to dance!  By contrast Mary looked young, fresh, happy and alive.

So it was no surprise then when she was whisked off her feet, on to the dance floor!  He was tall, handsome and looked important…  royalty perhaps?  Not much older than her though.  He wore a quilted doublet and breeches with great pleats.  A black ostrich feather bonnet, and small cape completed his outfit.

She knew this could end up with her losing her job but she had no say in the matter, did she? And he was much stronger than her, what could she do?  And would anyone notice her anyway?

He enveloped her with his strong body often lifting her off her feet and ‘burling’ her round and round like a whirling dervish.  The music stopped and he led her away from the throng to a quiet corner beside the large stained glass window.  He gave her a glass of champagne.  It went straight to her head of course, as she had had nothing to eat since lunchtime.  It was as if she was in a trance. Even when she was talking to him, it was like an out of body experience, as if she were up in the minstrel’s gallery looking down.  How long had they known each other?  Conversation was so easy. He seemed really interested in everything she said, asked her many questions. In return, he told her about his life, which, compared to hers was quite privileged; but you would never have suspected it. It was no surprise when he kissed her. This is the kind of thing you read about in stories she thought.  I must be dreaming!  They danced again, closer this time. How much time had passed? She seemed now to know everything about him and had told him her innermost secrets. Never had she opened up to anyone like this before. When the tears rolled down her cheeks he silently gave her his hankie to mop them up. He held her hand, his eyes looking straight into hers as he told her his name was James. They might as well have been totally alone in that great hall for she noticed nothing else.

Alison Hyslop