Текст книги "The Captive Queen of Scots "
Автор книги: Jean Plaidy
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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 33 страниц)
IV
Carlisle
THE ENGLISH COAST WAS IN SIGHT. For four hours the fishing-boat in which were the Queen and her sixteen followers, together with four sailors, had been on the Solway Firth endeavoring to battle its way against a strong breeze. There had been an occasion during the trip when Mary had thought that they would be blown out to sea; in which case she knew that her friends would have taken that as an omen that their destination should have been France.
But now they were within a few minutes of landing, and already the inhabitants of that stretch of coast had noticed the ship and were coming down to the shore to see who was descending upon them.
These simple people stared in astonishment at the strangers, and immediately all eyes were focused on the tall woman who carried herself with such dignity and whose beauty, in spite of her tattered and soiled gown and the fact that her hair was escaping from her coif, was such as to startle them.
It was Herries who spoke. “This is the Queen of Scotland. Who is the lord of these parts?”
While some of the people pointed to a mansion on an incline a little distance from the coast, one or two of the younger men began to run in that direction, and with satisfaction Herries understood that they were going to acquaint someone of importance of the arrival.
Livingstone came to stand beside the Queen. “Perhaps we might walk toward the house,” he said. “It is not seemly for Your Majesty to remain here among these staring people.”
The others agreed and Herries announced: “We will go to your master’s house. Lead us thither.”
The people continued to stare at the Queen, but some of their number were ready to lead the way and the little party set off.
A strange manner, thought Mary, for a Queen to travel. And she thought of other journeys with the pomp and richness of royalty all about her.
Before they had arrived at Workington Hall, its owner, Sir Henry Curwen, now having been warned of her approach, came out to meet the party.
When he reached the Queen he bowed and bade her welcome to Workington. Then he led the way into a wooded park, and Mary felt a great relief as the gracious mansion with its castellated towers and turrets loomed before her. As she passed through the embattled gateway Sir Henry’s wife and mother were waiting to greet them.
When the younger Lady Curwen had made her curtsy she told the Queen that Workington Hall was at her disposal for as long as she wished and that, having heard of Her Majesty’s arrival, he had immediately ordered that the finest apartments in the house should be made ready for her.
“We are sixteen,” said Mary with an apologetic smile; “and we come unannounced. But I know you will feel pity for us when you hear of our misfortunes.”
“Let me conduct you to my own rooms while yours are being prepared,” said Lady Curwen. “There perhaps I can help you with a change of linen and a clean gown while food is made ready.”
“You are very kind.”
“We count it an honor to have the Queen of Scotland under our roof,” said Sir Henry.
“I am sure,” put in the Dowager Lady Curwen, “that our good Queen would be most displeased if we showed aught but warm hospitality to her kinswoman.”
“I hope soon to be with her,” Mary answered. “Then I shall tell her how happy I was to be so warmly received as soon as I stepped on her soil.”
Lady Curwen led the way to her own rooms, and, while water was brought and Mary and her ladies washed the stains of the journey from their persons, clothes were sent in for them.
For Mary there was a gown of crimson brocade slashed with white satin; it was fortunately loose, which helped to hide the fact that the fit was not perfect. Jane Kennedy combed the long chestnut hair back from the high forehead and a small round cap was placed at the back of Mary’s head, over which was a veil, edged with gold; this draped gracefully over her shoulders.
When she was dressed in these garments Mary felt almost gay. The worst was over, she told herself; the next step would be the meeting place Elizabeth suggested—and then, with England’s help, would begin the regaining of her throne.
There were clean clothes for her female attendants and, when they had changed, they felt their spirits rising. It was only three days since the defeat at Langside, but those had been spent in almost continual travel, frequently by night, and it was a great relief to put on clean garments.
When Mary went to the apartments which had been prepared for her she found food and wine waiting for her there because, explained Lady Curwen, her servants were endeavoring to prepare a repast which would, they hoped, be more worthy of their royal guest.
Mary’s warm-hearted thanks immediately won the friendship of the Curwens, and when they had made sure that the Queen had everything she needed and was resting in her apartments they left her to concern themselves with arrangements for her entertainment.
It was a few hours after the Queen’s arrival at Workington Hall and while she was still resting, when a messenger came riding into the courtyard demanding to be taken with all speed to Sir Henry Curwen.
When Sir Henry received the messenger he was informed that the man came from the Earl of Northumberland, the lord of the district.
Northumberland had heard that the Queen of Scots had arrived in England; he was not as surprised by this as Sir Henry Curwen had been, because he had heard from Sir Richard Lowther that Lord Herries had written to him asking for Mary’s safe conduct. He was therefore on the alert; and he knew his duty. He did not wish the Queen to know that she was again a prisoner, but this was what she must be until instructions were received, in the name of Elizabeth, as to what was to be done with her. Northumberland’s commands were that on the following day Curwen’s royal guest was to be conducted from Workington Hall to Cockermouth Hall. Northumberland, not being in residence at his Castle, could not entertain her there, and it was for this reason that she was to be lodged at Cockermouth Hall, the home of Henry Fletcher, a rich merchant of the district. He was sending guards who, the Queen must be made to believe, were to protect her on the short journey and to conduct her thither; actually they would be there to make sure she did not escape.
Curwen, listening to these instructions, was indignant, but he dared not disobey Northumberland; and when the Queen appeared for supper he told her that the Earl of Northumberland had heard of her arrival and wished to entertain her in his castle. Unfortunately he was not in residence, but invited her to go to Cockermouth, where she would be entertained until he could reach her.
Mary was not displeased and without suspicion. She knew that Northumberland was a Catholic, and therefore she believed he would be an ally.
“But,” she said, “I shall be very sorry to say goodbye so soon to you and your family, Sir Henry. You have made me so welcome and I shall never forget that you were my first friends in England.”
It was a merry supper which was eaten in the dining hall at Workington. Mary looked very beautiful in her crimson brocade; and when Lady Curwen brought her a lute, she played and sang a little.
She was full of hope and high spirits when she retired to her apartments. She slept long and deep. The nightmare of Langside and the three days of exhausting travel seemed to have happened a long time ago.
I was right, she thought, to come to England.
THE RISING SUN awakened her and it was some seconds before she realized where she was.
She raised herself and looked out of the window. England! she thought. This time yesterday she had been in Scotland, and already she had good friends here, in the Curwens and Northumberland. Soon she would be calling Elizabeth her friend.
She would write to Elizabeth; then she was sure there would be no delay. She would receive a warm invitation to ride south with all speed, and how wonderful it would be to meet the Queen in that Hampton Court of which she had heard so much! How long would it be? She was impatient for the meeting.
She found that the writing materials for which she had asked had been set out on a table and, rising from her bed, she sat down and wrote to the Queen of England.
I entreat you to send for me as soon as possible, for I am in a pitiable condition, not only for a Queen but even for a gentlewoman, having nothing in the world but what I had on my person when I escaped . . . .
She sighed and looked at the crimson brocade almost lovingly. Soon, she believed, she would have some clothes becoming to her station. She had a feminine interest in them and had enjoyed adding little touches to make them entirely her own, and if she could only have some of her own clothes sent to her she would feel more like herself.
. . . I hope to be able to declare my misfortunes to you if it pleases you to have compassion and permit me to come and bewail them to you. Not to weary you, I will now pray God to give you health and a long and happy life, and to myself patience, and that consolation I await from you, to whom I present my humble commendations. From Workington this 17th of May. Your very faithful and affectionate good sister and cousin and escaped prisoner,
Mary R.
She sealed this letter and went back to her bed to await the arrival of her attendants.
THE SUN WAS HIGH in the sky when Mary left Workington Hall for Cockermouth. The distance the cavalcade had to travel was only six miles but it was across country which enchanted Mary. She saw the winding Derwent and the English mountains with the peak of Skiddaw, dominating all others, stretching up to the blue sky, while her own Scottish mountains rose like grim guards on the other side of the Solway.
She was confident. She had received such kindness from her hosts; Sir Henry and his son rode with her now and the people of Workington had come out of their houses to see her ride by. They gave her a cheer and stared in admiration now that she was in red brocade and flowing veil.
Cockermouth Hall was as pleasant a residence as Workington Hall and its owner, Henry Fletcher, who was as eager to make her welcome as Sir Henry Curwen had been, was waiting to receive her. He bowed low and told her that he had had apartments made ready for her on the first floor, where the most spacious rooms in Cockermouth Hall were situated. He considered it an honor to entertain the Queen of Scotland in his house and if there was anything she lacked he begged her to make him aware of this.
Mary thanked him and her gracious charm had the same effect upon him as it had had on Sir Henry Curwen. Her pleasure was increased when she found that she had been given three large rooms, leading from each other, which would be her antechamber, presence chamber and bedchamber.
Henry Fletcher, who conducted her thither, expressed a hope that they would suffice during her brief stay on her way to Carlisle Castle, where she would be lodged in a manner more fitting to her estate.
Mary thanked him and added that she could not have been more comfortable in any castle; and if only she had some of her own clothes she would feel completely at home.
Fletcher bowed himself from her presence and Jane Kennedy and Lady Livingstone set about examining the apartments more closely in order that they might make their mistress comfortable.
While they were thus engaged there was a knock at the door and a servant entered with a large parcel which he set on the bed, with the words that it came with the compliments of his master.
When he had gone the women gathered round while Mary unwrapped the parcel; and there were exclamations of delight as thirteen ells of scarlet velvet cascaded over the bed.
Henry Fletcher had sent a note with this in which he expressed his hopes that the Queen had good seamstresses in her party who would be able to make a gown for her.
Mary stood for some seconds holding the rich material against her, her eyes filling with tears because she was deeply affected, as always, by the kindness of people toward her.
Then she burst into laughter instead of tears and, flinging the velvet about her, embraced Lady Livingstone and Jane Kennedy.
“You see how we are treated by the English!” she cried. “They are kind, as I knew they would be. And all the consideration I am now given by Elizabeth’s subjects is but a foretaste of what I shall receive from my good sister.”
She watched Jane Kennedy fingering the material and speculating as to how the gown should be cut; and she was happier than she had been since that morning in Castlemilk when she had looked from the battlements and seen the gathering forces of her enemy.
THE STAY AT COCKERMOUTH was as brief as that at Workington had been, but before she left Mary had the pleasure of meeting some of the noblest ladies of this district. These, led by Lady Scrope, who was the Duke of Norfolk’s sister and therefore one of the noblest ladies in England, called at Cockermouth Hall to pay their respects to her; and Lady Scrope told the Queen that she would accompany her to Carlisle Castle and act as a maid of honor to Her Majesty of Scotland. Mary had only one regret at this meeting; there had not been time to make the thirteen ells of velvet into a gown, and she was forced to greet the ladies of England in her borrowed red brocade.
However, her natural beauty and queenly bearing stood her in good stead, and in spite of their fine garments Mary stood apart, undoubtedly Queen, undoubtedly the loveliest creature any of the ladies had ever beheld.
But during the journey to Carlisle Castle Mary’s spirits were temporarily dashed, for on the road she met the French Ambassador to Scotland who, hearing that she had escaped to England, had followed her there.
Eagerly she asked for news of Scotland, but he could tell her nothing for her comfort. Many of her friends had died and others were in danger of losing their lives and possessions because they had befriended her.
Sobered, Mary continued the journey with the French Ambassador riding beside her and as they passed under the portcullis of the red stone castle of Carlisle, Herries glanced at Livingstone and he saw concern on the latter’s face similar to that which he himself was feeling.
They had no need to express their thoughts. This was a fortress indeed. They were as far north as they had been on the day they arrived in England.
If the Queen of England was eager to see her sister of Scotland, should they not be traveling south?
They could not share Mary’s elation as they entered Carlisle Castle.
SIR RICHARD LOWTHER, Deputy-Governor of Carlisle, to whom Lord Herries had written, arrived at Carlisle Castle to see the Queen. It had been on his instructions that she had been lodged there for, on hearing that she had arrived in England, he had immediately dispatched a messenger to Elizabeth and her ministers asking for instructions. In the meantime he had decided that it was his duty to hold Mary in his custody.
He was courteous to Mary and told her that he hoped soon to receive instructions from his Queen; until that time he would give orders that she should be made comfortable in the castle.
Mary’s apartments there were indeed comfortable with the May sunshine warming the place. In winter it would be a different story, but the winter was a long way off and by that time, Mary believed, she would either be living in luxury at Elizabeth’s Court or, better still, would have regained her throne and be back in Edinburgh.
Her spirits had been considerably lowered by the news of the suffering which must be endured by her faithful friends who had remained behind in Scotland. She must not allow George or Willie Douglas to go back until she had regained her throne; as the two who had delivered her from Lochleven, their lives would doubtless be forfeited.
But her hopes were still high as she sat in the seat of her window in the tower and looked out at the pleasant meandering River Eden.
One of her first visitors to Carlisle Castle was Thomas Percy, Earl of Northumberland. Mary was delighted to receive the Earl because she believed that, as a good Catholic, he would be eager to give her his support against Protestant Moray.
The Earl bowed low and told her that it gave him great pleasure to meet her, but that his pleasure was tempered with sadness because of the reason for her presence in Carlisle.
“I am very eager to meet the Queen of England,” she told him. “I have been treated with great kindness by all in England, but I do find the delay irksome and I wonder why I must wait in this manner.”
The Earl replied: “Your Majesty, if I were in charge of your comfort it would not be so.”
“Then, my lord, how I wish that you were in charge of my comfort.”
“I will see what can be done in the matter,” he told her, all his chivalry aroused by the plight of this beautiful creature.
“Then,” said Mary softly, “it would seem that each day I become more indebted to Englishmen.”
When Northumberland left her he went to Sir Richard Lowther and said in a somewhat arrogant manner: “Your duties toward the Queen of Scots are now ended. I will take over the charge of her.”
Lowther answered: “No, my lord Earl, you forget that, as Lord Warden, that duty is mine.”
“I disagree. As chief magnate of this district the task of the Queen’s safe custody should be in my hands.”
The two men faced each other. It was true that Northumberland was the lord of the district, but Lowther knew that he himself would be responsible for the Queen of Scots to the Queen of England. Moreover Northumberland, on account of his religion, was no great favorite of Elizabeth and her ministers. Northumberland was a simple-minded man; he was unusually lacking in political ambitions; but being utterly devoted to the Catholic Faith, he felt it his duty to aid the Queen of Scots with all his power. As a Catholic he doubted the rights of Elizabeth herself, and it seemed to him that Mary was not only the Queen of Scotland but had a very strong claim to the throne of England also.
Lowther was aware of this, so in spite of his adversary’s rank he remained adamant.
He drew Northumberland to the window and showed him the troops stationed outside. “They obey my orders,” he said. “It would go ill with any—noble earl or not—who sought to prevent me from doing my duty.”
Northumberland’s face turned a dull red as he glared down at the soldiers.
“You varlet!” he cried. “You are too low a man to pretend to such a charge.”
“It is true,” answered Lowther, “that I am not a noble earl, but noble earls have been known to part with their heads on the scaffold for disobeying their Sovereign’s orders.”
“And how do you propose to prevent my taking charge of the Queen?”
Lowther knew that Northumberland was no strategist.
He said coolly: “By putting you under guard and sending you to London.” He nodded toward the courtyard. “There are my soldiers . . . waiting. Attempt to take my charge from me, and you are the Queen’s prisoner.”
Northumberland, turning away, muttered: “It’s a sorry day for England when low-bred varlets threaten noble earls.”
So might it have been, thought Lowther grimly, but he had won the day. The Queen of Scots remained in his charge.
IT WAS A FEW DAYS after the visit of Northumberland, when Mary was eagerly awaiting a summons from Elizabeth, that she was surprised and delighted to receive a visit from the Duke of Norfolk.
He had good reason for being in the district; his sister, Lady Scrope, was with the Queen, and what more natural than that he should call on her. Moreover, his third wife, who had recently died, had been the daughter of Sir Francis Leybourne of Cunswick Hall in Cumberland and widow of Lord Dacre. He certainly had business in the North.
Having heard a great deal about the charm and beauty of the Queen of Scotland he wished to discover whether these reports had been exaggerated. He saw at once that they were not, and he was enchanted.
Mary bade him sit beside her while she told him how eagerly she waited for a message from the Queen of England.
“It will come,” he told her. “All in good time. The Queen has always expressed great interest in Your Majesty’s affairs and doubtless will be most eager to meet you.”
“I had thought to be well on my journey south by now. I cannot understand why it should be considered necessary for me to stay so long in Carlisle Castle.”
“Has Your Majesty suggested that you should move south?”
“Why yes,” she told him. “Sir Richard Lowther is very courteous but he is firm on this matter. He asks me to be patient until he has commands from his Queen.”
“He does well to wait.”
“Of a certainty he would not wish to offend his mistress, but . . . since as you say she is eager to meet me . . . and I most certainly am to meet her, it is hard to stomach this delay.”
“Ah, our Queen has a high temper. Lowther will be remembering that. Doubtless he will receive a reprimand for not speeding your journey to the English Court.”
“I shall make a point of telling my cousin how kind he has been in every way; and I am sure the delay is only due to his desire to obey her wishes in every detail.”
Norfolk’s mind was busy. How gentle she was! How forgiving! And what a beauty! He was an ambitious man; he was also the premier peer and richest man in England. The Howards were of course a noble family and a rich one, but his marriages had been wise ones and, although he was now only thirty-two, in a little more than ten years he had been thrice widowed. His first wife, Lady Mary Fitzalan, had been the heiress of the Earl of Arundel. She had died when only sixteen, leaving him a son Philip who had inherited his grandfather’s title of Earl of Arundel. His second wife had been Margaret, heiress-daughter of Lord Audley; that marriage had lasted five years and had ended in the death of Margaret. In a little over three years later, early in 1567 he had married once more; this time Dacre’s widow, who had died before the year was out. These heiresses had added to his own considerable fortune; but as Elizabeth Dacre had had a son and three daughters when she married him and he was eager to keep the Dacre fortune in the family he was endeavoring to arrange marriages between his own children and his stepchildren.
He had not found great favor at Elizabeth’s Court since he had resented her friendship with the Earl of Leicester, but even the Queen could not ignore the premier peer who was also the richest man in the country.
As he talked pleasantly with Mary a certain speculation entered his mind. She was undoubtedly marriageable. It was true her husband Bothwell was still living. What had happened to him? There had been many rumors, and the fellow would never dare to return to Scotland if he valued his life.
There could be a divorce. A dispensation from the Pope might be obtained.
His three wives had been heiresses. Well, here was an heiress of another kind—the greatest heiress of them all, if she regained what was hers.
These thoughts made Norfolk’s eyes shine and the gallantries trip from his tongue. Mary found pleasure in them particularly as they could mean that this powerful Englishman was ready to be her friend.
The visit was all too brief, and when Norfolk departed he kissed her hand with a certain emotion which was significant.
There had been numbers of men in love with Mary. She was not yet twenty-six years old, but she had felt very old during the last weeks and burdened with responsibilities.
The Duke of Norfolk had made her feel young again and she was grateful to him.
THERE WAS EXCITEMENT in the castle because of new arrivals from Scotland. The Queen had been sitting in her window looking out over the countryside and had seen them approaching; she had called Jane Kennedy and Lady Livingstone to her side, and they had all stood watching until as the party came nearer they recognized familiar faces.
“It is!” Mary murmured. “I really believe it is!”
Jane cried out: “That’s Bastian and his wife Margaret Cawood. I remember the night they were married . . . .”
She stopped. Bastian, the valet, had been married to Margaret Cawood, the maid, on the night when Darnley was murdered.
Mary said, as though she had not heard: “There are Lord and Lady Fleming . . . and yes . . . Marie Courcelles and my dear . . . dear Seton.”
Mary could wait no longer; she went down to the courtyard to greet the newcomers.
There had been no mistake; she was almost weeping with joy. She would have no ceremony; she took these dear people one by one into her arms and embraced them all.
“Your Majesty is not more happy to see us than we are to come,” Seton told her.
“My dearest Seton!” cried Mary. “How can I tell you all how much I love you!”
Now it seemed that he had a suite worthy of a Queen. There were twenty-eight people in her entourage, for they had brought with them a cook, a pantler and a pâtissier.
“There will doubtless be more coming to your service,” Marie Courcelles told her, “for when it was known that we proposed to follow you to England, there were many who wished to join us and announced their intention of following in our wake.”
“If this were but one of my own palaces I should order a banquet such as I never gave before,” Mary told them.
“The welcome you have given us brings us more pleasure than aught else could ever do,” Lord Fleming replied on behalf of them all.
It was wonderful to sit with Seton and Marie Courcelles and hear news of Scotland. The first subject they discussed was Lochleven and what had happened when Mary’s flight had been discovered. Seton told of the rage and despair of Sir William and how Lady Douglas could not help showing her pride in George who had had a hand in it all, and while condoling with William was obviously hoping that George would not suffer because of the help he had given the Queen.
“Nor shall he,” murmured Mary fervently, “if I can prevent it.”
It had been some time before Sir William noticed the loss of his keys and gave the alarm; by that time Mary was on the mainland. The commotion in the castle had been tremendous. Sir William’s great concern had been how to break out and give the alarm, and to send guards in search of the escaping party.
“As for Will Drysdale,” went on Seton, “when he returned he swore that if George and Willie Douglas ever fell into his hands he would cut them into collops and wash his hands in their hearts’ blood.”
Mary shuddered. “I must make sure they never do,” she answered.
There was little good news Seton had to impart, so she changed the subject of what was happening in Scotland and expressed her displeasure at the Queen’s appearance.
“Your Majesty’s hair!”
“Yes,” Mary agreed. “It has suffered without you. I know you are the best busker in Scotland—and, I doubt not, in England also. Seton, when we go to Hampton Court you must not let Elizabeth lure you from me.”
“As if anyone could ever lure me from Your Majesty!”
“They say she is very vain, Seton. She will doubtless envy me my busker.”
“Then she may envy all she wishes. I should like to get to work on your hair at once.”
“All in good time, Seton. You must not let Jane Kennedy notice your contempt though. She believes herself to be a very good busker. So we must have a care.” Then Mary sighed. “Why do I talk of frivolous things when my heart is so full? But I must go on or I shall weep. So Seton, how will you dress my hair? What are you going to say when you see that I have but one red brocade dress, given me by Lady Curwen who took pity on my poverty? And thirteen ells of red velvet . . . also a gift of pity. How shall we make up those thirteen ells . . . eh, Seton?”
Then Mary took her closest friend in her arms and they laughed and cried together.
THE NEXT DAY, sitting alone with the Queen, Seton spoke of Bothwell.
“There is news of him,” he told Mary, “and I have been wondering whether it would grieve you to hear it.”
“It may grieve me,” said Mary, “but I must know it.”
“He is alive.”
Mary was silent. Speaking of him brought back such vivid memories; and yet she was not sure that she wished to see him. Her experiences since Carberry Hill had changed her so much; how could she know what the woman she had become would feel toward the bold Borderer?
“And,” went on Seton, “the prisoner of the King of Denmark.”
“A prisoner! That will not please his bold spirit.”
“Moray has made efforts to have him sent back to Scotland.”
“That he might kill him,” said Mary expressionlessly.
“I have heard that the King of Denmark is a little inclined in his favor because Bothwell wrote to him after he had been seized, saying that he was on his way to him to lay before him and the King of France the wrongs you had been forced to suffer, and to ask their help. He assured the King of Denmark that he had been acquitted of the murder of Darnley; therefore that King would not send him back to Scotland, but satisfied himself by keeping Bothwell in prison.”
“He will suffer in prison,” Mary murmured. “I believe he would endure death rather.”
“I heard too that he had promised the King of Denmark the Islands of Orkney and Shetland in return for his liberty.”
“Ah! He would risk his life for freedom, I am sure, so should we be surprised that he offers the islands? And the King of Denmark?”
“Doubtless he knows that it would be too difficult to hold those islands. So Bothwell remains a prisoner. It is said that he has now been moved to a new prison at Malmoe—to one from which it would be well nigh impossible to escape.”
Mary was silent thinking: Tonight I shall dream of him. It will be as though he is beside me, as though we are back in the days before Carberry Hill.
Thus it had always been when others had talked of him with her, and she believed that she would never escape from her memories as long as she lived. But that night she did not dream of Bothwell. She dreamed of arriving at Hampton Court and being embraced by Elizabeth who said: “Give me Mary Seton to dress my hair and I will return your kingdom.”
She awoke laughing.
Then she knew that she was indeed changed. She had escaped from the spell of James Hepburn, Earl of Bothwell.
