Текст книги "Royal Road to Fotheringhay "
Автор книги: Jean Plaidy
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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 28 страниц)
THREE
TWO YEARS AFTER THE DEATH OF CHASTELARD, MARY WAS still unmarried. During that time there had been no lack of suitors; but it seemed that a royal marriage was indeed difficult to arrange. There were so many watching Mary. So the suitors were proposed and dismissed, over those two years.
Mary had suffered one great loss in the death of her uncle François de Guise who had been assassinated at Orléans by a young fanatic, Poltrot de Meroy. The Cardinal wrote often and as affectionately as ever, but he was continually pointing out the advantages of a match with Charles, the Archduke of Austria. This she could not understand. She was hoping for the grandest of marriages with Don Carlos of Spain; and yet she had come to understand—with the help of David Rizzio—that the Cardinal was not working for that match but against it, and it seemed incredible that her uncle should be opposed to that which could bring her so much honor.
“There must be some reason for it, David,” she said.
David knew the reason, and it shocked her deeply.
“Madam, the Cardinal is your uncle and you feel great affection toward him, but he works not for your good and your happiness. He works for the power of the Guises in France. A marriage with Don Carlos, while bringing great honor to yourself and to Scotland, would serve to strengthen Spain. France would be less powerful than of yore and, with France, the Guises. No, your uncle as we now know has exerted his strength against the Spanish match for that reason. Now, Madam, a Catholic Scotland with yourself and the Archduke as its rulers would be deemed a firm ally of France, but would in fact be a dependant of that country; there would be a strong France to stand against a weakened Spain. That is the Guisian policy. True, it would do you no good; but your uncle’s first concern is not with yourself, Madam, but with the Guises in France.”
“But my uncle has done everything for my good… always.”
“When your good was his also, Madam.”
This was a tragic discovery, and yet she knew it to be true. She remembered now with humiliation those tender scenes between herself and the Cardinal. Always he had been subduing her will to his, not because he wished to help her, but because he wished to use her in order to increase the power of himself and his family.
David had shown her this as he had shown her the falseness of her brother James; and she knew that David was right.
She stood alone now with no one but David to help her; strangely enough the thought strengthened her. She would cease to listen to the advice of the Cardinal, as she had already to that of James. With David to help her she would arrange her own affairs.
Maitland of Lethington had been back and forth during the past years with messages to and from the Queen of England. Maitland was that politician most likely to find favor with the English Queen. He was possessed of suave manners, good looks and a clever tongue; and all those qualities appealed to Elizabeth. Now James Melville was also at the English Court and was sending her regular dispatches giving accounts of the state of affairs there.
There was one young man who was in the minds of several people as a possible suitor for the Queen of Scots. This was Henry Darnley, a tall, slim youth of nineteen. He was handsome and graceful, with large blue, rather prominent eyes, a fair complexion and beardless face which made him seem younger than he actually was. He had the additional advantage of royal blood, being a direct descendant of the Tudors. Elizabeth liked him since he was handsome, a good musician and dancer, but she never—or rarely—allowed her personal dislikes to override her political judgment.
She made an open declaration that she would be much against the marriage of Mary and Darnley, but alone with Cecil who shared some of her secrets, she was less emphatic. Although she declared her desire to see Marys country living in peace and prosperity, that was far from her wish. An internally peaceful Scotland was a threat to England, and Elizabeth would never forget that Mary had dared to display the arms of England, suggesting thereby that Elizabeth was a bastard and had no right to the throne. In their secret sessions, Elizabeth and Cecil were not at all sure that a marriage between Mary and Darnley would be a bad thing for England after all, for they knew Henry Darnley to be a weak, vain and dissolute young man who would not help—but rather hinder—Mary in the governing of her country. But Elizabeth’s policy was to make a display of benevolent friendliness toward her cousin over the Border.
Darnley remained at the English Court and, though his ambitious mother, who resided in England where Elizabeth could seize her if she wished, and his equally ambitious father, who had recently been allowed to return to Scotland where he had regained his estates, had high hopes of their son’s future, Elizabeth outwardly frowned on these hopes.
There was another young man whom Elizabeth was prepared to offer to Mary. She would not at first disclose his name. Indeed, she declared, she could not bring herself to do so. She offered this man because she loved the Scottish Queen so devotedly and wished to do her so much good, for the man she had in mind was the most perfect man she, Elizabeth, had ever set eyes on, and she could not bear to contemplate his leaving her Court.
But at last she was constrained to whisper the name of this man to Melville, and Thomas Randolph was given instructions to tell it to the Queen of Scots.
When Randolph sought an audience, David Rizzio was with Mary. She had given him more and more work to do, and he was constantly at her side. The Englishman looked askance at the small stunted figure of the Piedmontese, but Mary said: “You may speak, Master Randolph, before my secretary.”
Randolph then showed her a list of possible suitors suggested by the Queen of England and, on reading the last name on the list, Mary raised her eyebrows and looked full into the Englishman’s face.
“Lord Robert Dudley!” she exclaimed.
“The same, Madam.”
“But this man is…”
Randolph’s look silenced her. He greatly feared she was about to make some indiscreet observation concerning his mistress.
“But this is a man with whom the Queen of England would not wish to part,” said Mary firmly.
“My Queen bids me tell you that she is so desirous for Your Majesty’s happiness that she has set herself the task of finding for you the most perfect man she knows. This is Lord Robert.”
Mary was aware of David’s eyes upon her; he was pleading: Do not show anger. Do not show that you regard this as an insult. The Queen of England is offering you one who, many would say, is her discarded lover but, Madam, I beg of you, show no anger.
How well she was beginning to cooperate with David. How she delighted in following his lead! He was right, of course. David was always right.
“There are times, Master Randolph,” she said, “when I think of my dead husband. Although several years have elapsed since he died, the memory of him is still too strong for me to consider remarriage.”
“But, Madam, a handsome living husband would help you to forget one who is dead.”
“I do not know. There has been too much talk of marriage. Sometimes I think I will follow your Queen’s example and remain unmarried.”
“That would entail a grievous loss to Scotland, if you will forgive my saying so, Madam. My Queen assures you that if you marry Lord Robert she will then fix the succession. On her death you or your heirs would be rulers of England if my Queen should die without heirs of her body.”
“It may be that I shall not outlive your Queen, Master Randolph. It is true that I am some years younger, but she is possessed of the better health.”
“My Queen enjoys good health and I thank God for it; but it is to Your Majesty’s interest to consider this important matter of the succession.”
“Indeed, yes. It is a matter near my heart. I must consider my marriage since it involves so much. But there are other suitors mentioned here by your Queen. I should be loath to rob her of one in whom, I have heard, she takes great pleasure. Moreover, I am a queen, the daughter of kings, and I should have to consider whether I demean myself by marriage with a commoner; and, for all the excellencies which your Queen knows Lord Robert to possess, he is, alas, of no royal blood. Your Queen, I see, mentions also Ambrose Dudley, the Earl of Warwick, Lord Robert’s elder brother.”
“Yes, Madam. She says what an excellent thing it would be if you might have Warwick, and she Lord Robert; although she admits Warwick lacks the beauty and perfection of his brother. She says there could be only one Lord Robert, and if she were not determined to remain a virgin she would marry him herself; but as she is fixed in her determination, she offers him to you.”
“And my lord Robert—what says he?”
“My lord Robert, realizing the honor this match would bring him, is eager for it.”
“You must give me time to ponder it, Master Randolph. I should have to give the matter much thought.”
Randolph acknowledged his dismissal and, begging her to let him have her answer as soon as she found it conveniently possible, retired.
When he had gone, Mary let loose her anger.
“How dare she! The insolent woman! Her horse master! Her paramour! Her confederate in murder! They murdered his wife… why did she not then take him as her husband? But she did do so … of course… without the ceremony! And now… tired of him… she dares to pass him on. It’s an insult. David, I should have told Randolph. I have demeaned myself by even pretending to consider this match.”
“Madam, I beg of you to be calm. This is but a trick of the English Queen’s. She will not part with him. It is a scheme to cover up some other plot. She has someone else for you, I vow. She wants to make you furious over Dudley, so that you will the more readily turn to the one she wishes you to have.”
“How can you know this?”
“Because, Madam, that woman never follows a straight course. She is full of lies and deceits; she makes a pretense of running in one direction, when all the time she intends to go in another. Be calm, I beg of you. Pretend to consider this match as she herself has pretended to consider so many. We will wait and shall soon see whom the Queen of England really wishes you to marry.”
“I believe she wishes to mock me. He was her lover, is now no longer, and she wishes to rid herself of him, so she offers him to me … to me.!”
“Nay, Your Majesty. She dotes on him as she ever did. Shortly you will be hearing from England that she has greatly honored him. He is now Earl of Leicester and, during the ceremony of bestowing the Earldom upon him, she could not resist putting her fingers between his ruff and his neck and tickling him there before them all. Does that indicate that she has tired of him?”
“Surely she would not be so indiscreet.”
“She is the most indiscreet woman in the world, and the most wily. That is why she succeeds. She hesitates at times; she is reckless at others; therefore she is unaccountable. She covers great schemes with frivolous chatter. Beware of her, Madam. Do not again offend her vanity; you have already done that by assuming the arms of England. That must be lived down. Therefore, thank her for her consideration, pretend to consider Dudley, play her game of coquetry and indecision. It will work as well for Your Majesty as for her.”
“David, you are my wise man. I know it. How did you know that Lord Robert is now Earl of Leicester? How did you know that she tickled his neck?”
David smiled. “Madam, I took the precaution of sending a servant of mine to the English Court. He went in the role of servant to Melville, and none knew that he worked for… us.”
“I cannot imagine what I should do without you.”
“I pray to the saints, Madam, that you will never have to, for if I were dismissed from your service there would be no reason for me to live.”
“One does not dismiss those one trusts,” said Mary emotionally. “One does not dismiss those one loves.”
A few days later she dismissed her French secretary, Raulet, from her service. David had discovered that he was writing to her uncle, the Cardinal, of matters outside French concerns. The man was a Guisian spy, working against the match with Spain on instructions from the Cardinal of Lorraine.
Mary decided that now she would trust only one man—David.
So Rizzio became closer to the Queen; and there were some at the Court who declared that he was fast becoming the Queens most influential adviser.
IT WAS ONE of those rare quiet moments when the Queen was sitting alone with Flem while they stitched at their embroidery.
Flem took the opportunity to speak of a matter which had occupied her mind for some time. It concerned the Earl of Bothwell.
Flem had been slightly fascinated by the man. It was something in his courage and manliness which had appealed to her. She knew that he was a rogue, a man of whom to beware, yet she could not help admiring him.
Flem liked to believe that her mistress tempered justice with mercy. Bothwell, she insisted diffidently, had had something less.
Mary raised her eyes from her needle and said: “How so?”
“Well, first, poor man, he spent four months in Edinburgh Castle, put there on the charge of a man who, we all know, was suspected then of being mad and is now proved to be.”
“Do you not think that there was a real plot to kidnap me?”
“It existed only in mad Arran’s brain. And Bothwell, being accused by him, has been made to suffer as though guilty.”
“Has he suffered so? He has escaped from his prison.”
“And why should he not, dear Madam, being wrongfully imprisoned?” Flem laughed. “Imagine his breaking the bars with his bare hands and swinging down the Castle rock on a rope!”
“It was a bold thing to do, I grant you. I wonder if he has changed. It is a long time since we saw him. Perhaps we shall never see him again.”
“He would give much to return to Court, Madam.”
“We would give much to keep him away.”
“Yet he was not guilty.”
“Flem! Why do you plead for him? Are you in love with the man and unfaithful to Maitland? You speak so favorably of this Border rogue.”
“I do not like it to be said that injustice has been done in your name.”
“You concern yourself too much with those who are unworthy, Flem. Think of his good fortune. How did he manage to make his way to France, do you think? With the help of women! Janet Beaton is one, that Danish woman another; and there are countless others to whom he is a passionate lover for a night, before he passes on. He escaped in a boat, and was shipwrecked on the English coast before he reached France. And how, I wonder, did he fare at the hands of the Queen of England? We know he was her prisoner in the Tower of London. Did he seduce his jailor’s daughter? Flem! You put your reputation in jeopardy by pleading leniency for such a man!”
“Well, Madam, he is now far away in France, and he asks a favor of you.”
“Ah! I thought there was a plea in this. How does it come to you?”
“Through his great-uncle, the Bishop of Moray.”
“That old libertine of Spynie?”
“He is a libertine, it is true, Madam; but he is at least fond of his great-nephew. I think we should remember that Bothwell spent a great part of his life in the Bishop’s palace, and it was there mayhap he learned to indulge his passions freely. Madam, we have had the advantage of a happy childhood. Should we judge those who have been less fortunate?”
“My dear Flem, if he was allowed to indulge his passions freely, I have no doubt that is what Bothwell would call a happy childhood.”
“Yes, but it has made him the man he is.”
“So the Bishop has been sounding you, has he?”
“He has spoken to me. He tells me that Bothwell is in dire poverty. He has mortgaged his lands to raise money; he reminds me that he has ever been faithful to Your Majesty.”
“Faithful to me… when he planned to kidnap me and force me to marry Arran?”
“A madman’s fancy, Madam.”
“How can we be sure of that, dear Flem?”
“At least we know that Arran is mad now. He is put away from the world on account of his madness.”
“And because of this you think Bothwell’s sins should be forgiven and he should be invited to return to Court?”
“No, Madam, I do not think that, but… the Scottish Captain of the Guard in France has recently died. That post is vacant.”
“And you suggest Bothwell would comfortably fill it?”
“At least it would help him to live, Madam. His finances are in a poor state. He is an exile from his own country.”
“Flem dear, ask someone to bring David here.”
Flem rose. She thought: Nothing is done now without the sanction of this David. The Piedmontese is becoming more powerful than Moray, or my dear lord Maitland.
Rizzio came at once to the apartment. How grand he looked these days! His clothes were as magnificent as anyone’s at Court. How polished were his manners, and how subtly he flattered the Queen!
“Davie,” said Mary, and all her affection for the young man was in the Queens voice as she said his name, “I have received a request.” She smiled at Flem. “It is that Bothwell should be given command of the Scottish Guard in France. In your opinion would that be a worthy appointment?”
Rizzio considered this gravely. Bothwell was regarded as a dangerous man by Moray, and Moray was David’s enemy. Moray did not know as yet how deep David Rizzio was in the Queens counsels, but he was beginning to learn. The very fact that Bothwell was an enemy of Moray seemed to Rizzio a good enough reason for his receiving this sign of the Queen’s favor.
“Madam,” he said, “this is a brave man, whatever else may be said of him. His bravery makes him stand ahead of his fellows, even in this warlike country where courage would seem to come to men as naturally as breathing. He will do you no discredit as Captain of the Scottish Guard.”
So James Hepburn, Lord Bothwell, found his fortunes taking a turn for the better. He was no longer obliged to borrow money, and, although still an exile from his country, he enjoyed some standing in France as Captain of the Scottish Guard.
MORAY WAS displeased by the appointment. He discussed it with Maitland. They both agreed that it had probably been made at the instigation of David Rizzio, and they were becoming more and more disturbed by the presumption of the Italian and the favor shown to him by the Queen.
But at the moment their main concern was with Bothwell.
“You can depend upon it,” said Moray, “that man has friends in Scotland still. ’Tis witchcraft, I’ll swear. He has but to look at a woman, and she’s a willing victim. He seduces her and rides away, and if he should return she is ready to be his slave. How could he have got out of the country in the first place, if there had not been a chain of women ready to feed him, offer him a bed for the night—and a bedfellow too—as well as food, money and horses, to speed him on his way!”
“He has friends in the Queen’s circle,” admitted Maitland. “That much is evident.”
“What manner of men are his servants?” asked Moray.
“A parcel of rogues,” replied Maitland.
They smiled at each other. There was no need to say more.
THE CAPTAIN of the Scottish Guard was not in his house that night. He was, his servants believed, sleeping in the lodging of his latest light-o’-love.
They sat around the table whispering together, listening all the time for his footsteps, though they did not think it likely that he would be home before dawn.
A pity! they all agreed. They had planned the deed for this night.
But was it a pity? In the guttering candlelight, relief showed plainly on every face.
They pictured him, their master. Taller than most men, loud of voice, stronger than two men, his lightest cuff would send any one of them sprawling across the room, and would leave a bruise that would last for days. They feared him and admired him, for he was every inch a man; he was more than a man, they believed. There was magic in him—or some witchcraft. And because he towered above them in all manner of ways, they were conscious of envy; and because of envy they had agreed to carry out instructions which had been given them. Greed too played a part in their willingness, for they would be well paid for their work.
French Paris regarded the Scotsmen about the table. There was Gabriel Semple, Walter Murray and Dandie Pringle. Paris had no great liking for the task, but he had been drawn into it by the others.
Dandie was in charge of operations. He had arranged with his lordships barber—who was also in on the plot because he understood something of poisons—that the powder should be mixed with his lordships wine. There was the wine, already poured in the goblet, and mixed with it was the poison; but his lordship, as though Fate had intervened, had not come home that evening.
That was what made superstitious Paris tremble.
“Mayhap he knows!” he muttered, his teeth chattering.
“How could he know, man?” demanded Dandie. “Unless you’ve told him.”
“I have told him nothing, but he is no ordinary man.”
“We shall see,” said Dandie Pringle with a sneer, “where he is so much mightier than ordinary men as that the barbers poison will not affect him. Now, Gabriel, when you take up his lordships goblet to offer it, you must behave as you always do. You must show no sign that the wine you offer is any different from that which he drinks every day of his life.”
“N-No,” stuttered Gabriel.
“Would this night’s work were done with!” said Murray.
“’Twill soon be over,” promised Dandie, “and then we shall all go back to bonny Scotland where we belong; and there we’ll live our lives in luxury for this night’s work.”
“I tell you,” said Paris, “our master is no ordinary man.”
“Is he not then?” sneered Dandie.
“He is not,” persisted Paris. “You have seen what a way he has with the women. There’s none can resist him.”
“There is one I know of,” said Dandie. “The Queen herself! Did he not ask her if he might go home, and was he not refused?”
“The Queen, so says the master, is but half a woman,” declared Paris. “She and the Queen of England between them would not make one woman, so he says.”
“He says that,” put in Murray, “because they are two who did not immediately invite him to their bedchambers.”
“And he, feeling himself to tower above all men, is therefore piqued,” laughed Dandie.
“He says,” went on Paris, “that, when she was in France, the Queen was the mistress of her uncle the Cardinal.”
“Nor would it surprise me,” said Dandie, “for Cardinals are but human behind locked doors. Hark! He returns.”
It was true. The outer door had been flung open and a well-known voice shouted: “Is no one at home? Where are you? Paris! Semple! I am returned… and hungry.”
There was a second’s silence, and all eyes were fixed on the goblet in which was the poisoned wine.
“Take it to him, Gabriel,” said Dandie.
Paris had hurried to his master.
“Not abed then!” said Bothwell. “How comes it that you are abroad at this hour? Have you quarreled with your kitchen slut?”
“Nay, master,” stammered Paris. “But I thought you might return, and so waited.”
Paris was trembling under his master’s gaze. Bothwell was looking at him as though he knew something unusual was afoot.
“Then bring me food. Bring me wine. I’ve a thirst that needs quenching.”
“Yes, master… yes, master….”
Paris hurried into the room where the others waited. Dandie thrust the goblet into his hands, but Paris was trembling so violently that some of the wine was spilled.
“For the love of God, you’ll betray us all!” hissed Dandie. “Here, Gabriel. You take it.”
Gabriel cried: “N-No… no. I dare not. I tell you he will know. He knows such things. He has special powers. That is why he has returned this night.”
The door was flung open and Bothwell himself stood on the threshold looking at his servants.
“What is this?” he demanded. “A late night session! Some conspiracy, eh? Or just a friendly feast? And not one woman to enliven the company. Is that wine you have there, Semple? Give it here, man. Did I not tell you I had a thirst?”
Gabriel trembled so much that the wine spilled on his hand, as it had on those of Paris. All the servants watched Gabriel.
“What ails you, Gabriel?” demanded the Earl. “You’re trembling like a virgin nun when the soldiers are about her. What is it, man? I say… what is it?” His great hand gripped Gabriel by the wrist and the wine spilled on the man’s doublet.
“’Tis… ’tis nothing, my lord.”
“’Tis nothing… and you shake like a leaf! You’re plotting something, man. Out with it. What is it? Out with it, I say.”
“’Twas nothing, my lord. ’Twas just that I spilled the wine—”
“Give me the goblet.” He took it, and as he did so he looked from it to the faces of his servants. Then slowly, he put his lips to the goblet, still watching them. Paris gave an audible gasp.
Bothwell sniffed the wine. “It has an odd smell,” he said. “I like it not. How dare you serve me such filthy stuff! How dare you, you varlets!” He threw the remaining liquid into the face of Gabriel, and the goblet at Dandie Pringle’s head. Dandie cried out with the pain as the goblet struck his head, and the Earl laughed.
“Now, you rogues,” he cried, “bring me good food and good drink. And do not dare serve such stuff to me again. If you do, you’ll wish you had never been born, every man of you. I’ll see that you’re boiled in cauldrons over slow fires. I’ll have you cut into collops. I’ll make you wish you had never been born to serve another instead of me. Remember it. And Semple … go and wake that kitchen girl and bid her bring me food. You know the one—plump, ripe Jeanne—and keep your lecherous hands off her; you understand? Go and wake her and bring her to me.”
Gabriel was glad to escape and, during his absence, Bothwell remained eying the others who stood wretchedly before him.
He was no ordinary man, and they knew it. He had uncovered their treachery. That in itself was bad enough; but they understood they had betrayed themselves by their clumsy behavior. It was not that they lacked the courage to carry out this murderous plan, nor that their master had discovered their treachery, which was so alarming; it was his complete indifference to their power to harm him. They were in no doubt that he had witchcraft to aid him, and they knew that they would never dare make an attempt on his life again.
Gabriel returned with the girl from the kitchens. She was young and comely, and Bothwell’s eyes lit up as they rested on her.
“I am returned hungry, girl,” he said. “Bring me food and drink … at once. Let no hands touch it but yours. You understand, my girl?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Well, hurry and bring plenty, for my hunger is great. Bring it yourself. And hurry … I am waiting for you.”
Then he turned and left them—four guilty men and an excited and expectant girl.
IT WAS FEBRUARY, and that winter was bleak. Even in the far south the weather had been rigorous. The Thames had been so frozen that people could walk across it in safety. The bitter wind buffeted the staunch walls of Wemyss Castle on the Firth of Forth whither the Queen had come to stay with her brother, the Earl of Moray.
The Queen was growing more and more uneasy in her brothers company. She knew that he was against her marriage, either with Don Carlos or one of the French Princes, because neither marriage would serve his plans. He was all for her marrying an Englishman; he was working for Elizabeth and the Protestant Faith.
He had told her that a marriage with Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester, would be desirable. If Mary married Leicester, he pointed out, the Queen of England would declare Mary and her heirs successors to the English crown.
Did he not see that the idea was ridiculous? Elizabeth’s cast-off lover! It was meant to be an insult. Whom else did Elizabeth favor? Mad Arran? Robert Dudley’s brother, the Earl of Warwick? Mary smiled to remember the English Queen’s comments on Warwick. He was not, of course, as handsome as his incomparable brother, declared Elizabeth, but he was by no means ugly. Nor was he ungraceful. It was only when compared with Robert that he might seem so. If one did not set him side by side with Robert, one would find him a husband worthy of a great princess. Clearly Elizabeth meant to be insulting.
There was one other who was a possible husband. That was Henry Stuart, Lord Darnley; but Elizabeth, being against the match, would not let him come to Scotland. Yet Lord Lennox, Darnley’s father, who was in Scotland, continually hoped for a meeting between his handsome son and the Queen; so did Darnley’s mother, Lady Lennox, who was in England and at the mercy of Elizabeth.
Mary herself was beginning to wish for the meeting, and she was excited when Lord Lennox sent a message to her.
“My son, Lord Darnley,” ran the message,
has arrived in Scotland. He had the greatest difficulty in leaving England. The Queen however at last gave her consent, though grudgingly, and my son left at once, fearing to be detained once more before he could make his escape. It seems that no sooner had the Queen given her consent than she regretted it and sought means of detaining him, but my son, greatly desiring to see Your Majesty, had already slipped across the Border. He greatly desires to pay his loyal homage to his gracious Queen, and we shall follow this messenger with all speed to wait upon Your Majesty.
Mary smiled. So at last she would see this young man of whom there had been so much talk. She vaguely remembered seeing him at the Court of France, but he had been a boy of fifteen then. Now he was nineteen—a man.
She called to her women.
“Come! What shall I wear? What is most becoming? It is a long time since my Lord Darnley and I met. I would not wish him to think that time had wrought havoc with my looks.”
“Madam,” all four Marys assured her, “time has but enhanced your beauty.”
And, looking into the Venetian mirror brought from Fontainebleau, she believed they were right.
MEANWHILE Henry Stuart, Lord Darnley, was riding with his father at the head of his retinue on the way to Wemyss Castle.
