Текст книги "The Captive Queen of Scots "
Автор книги: Jean Plaidy
сообщить о нарушении
Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 33 страниц)
NEWS CAME TO THE CASTLE that Queen Elizabeth was sending two trusted noblemen to the Queen of Scotland that she might be assured of her dear sister’s comfort. These were Lord Scrope and Sir Francis Knollys.
When he heard that they were coming, Lord Herries discussed the meaning of their appointments with Livingstone and Fleming.
“I do not like the sound of this,” said Herries.
Fleming and Livingstone agreed.
“The delay is too long,” added Fleming. “Something is afoot. I would I knew what.”
“At least we know,” put in Livingstone, “that if the Queen attempted now to go back to Scotland, she would be prevented from doing so.”
“And therefore,” went on Fleming, “she is virtually a prisoner. Carlisle is a little more pleasant than Lochleven, but it is imprisonment all the same—even though the Queen is unaware of it.”
“We can only say that she appears to be a prisoner,” said Herries. “Do not let us make her aware of our suspicions until we know them to be justified. She has suffered so much already, and is hoping for so much from this interview with the Queen.”
“Why do you think Scrope and Knollys are being sent?” asked Fleming.
“To replace Lowther who has offended the Queen by allowing Norfolk to visit Her Majesty.”
“Elizabeth is notoriously jealous of our Queen,” said Livingstone. “She does not wish her to receive the gentlemen of England in her apartments. It may be that Norfolk has prated of her beauty. Oddly enough that could upset Elizabeth more than anything else.”
“I feel sure it is the reason for Lowther’s dismissal from his post as jailor,” Herries said. “I suggest that I go out to meet them. If I can have a quiet talk with them before they arrive, it may well be that I can discover the true state of Elizabeth’s feelings toward the Queen.”
The others agreed that it would be an excellent idea if he set out at once and made contact with the new jailors before they reached Carlisle Castle.
LORD HERRIES MET Sir Francis Knollys and Lord Scrope about six miles from Carlisle Castle. He introduced himself and told them that if they were willing he proposed to make the journey back with them, as there were certain matters he wished to discuss on the way.
Both Knollys and Scrope were uneasy. They had their instructions direct from Sir William Cecil. They were to keep watch over the Queen of Scots and prevent her slipping back over the Border to Scotland; they were to intercept all letters which came to her; they were to report any remark which might be used against her and give the Queen and her ministers an excuse for holding her a prisoner; they were to prevent her seeking help from foreign powers; and while they performed these duties it was considered desirable to make her believe that she was not being held prisoner.
It was by no means an easy task, and both men would have been happy to avoid it.
Sir Francis Knollys was a favorite of Elizabeth, partly because he had married her maternal cousin, Catherine Carey; she had made him her vice-chamberlain and he was a member of her Privy Council.
Henry Scrope, Baron Scrope of Bolton, was also a man of whom Elizabeth had a high opinion; he had been an intermediary between Elizabeth and Moray and was aware of facts not known to many. He also was a member of the Privy Council.
Herries regarded these men anxiously, wondering what their arrival was going to mean to his mistress; but they greeted him cordially and told him that they appreciated his coming to meet them.
“You will find my mistress in a sorry state,” Herries told them. “She has been treated with great disrespect and has been accused of crimes of which she is innocent.”
Neither Knollys nor Scrope offered comment on this, but replied by saying that they were eager to meet the Queen of whose beauty and charm they had heard much.
“I and her friends are hoping that you bring her an invitation to the English Court.”
Herries was looking eagerly into the faces of the men as he asked this important question.
Knollys answered: “There are matters which have to be settled before such an invitation could be given.”
“How so?” demanded Herries. “Should not these matters be settled between the Queens at their meeting?”
“There have been evil rumors concerning the Queen of Scots. She has been accused of playing a part in her husband’s murder.”
“Lies! Calumnies! The Queen is completely innocent.”
Scrope said: “Our Queen is jealous of her reputation.”
Jealous of her reputation! It was all Herries could do to stop himself shouting: I seem to remember a little matter in which your Queen was concerned. Her lover, Dudley, had a wife who was found dead at the bottom of a staircase. Oh, she did not marry Dudley then . . . She was too wise. Too cold, too hard, too determined to stay on the throne. But is she in a position to question what part the Queen of Scots played in the murder of Darnley while there is a doubt as to what part Elizabeth of England played in the mysterious death of Amy Robsart?
But he must be careful. To alienate the sympathies of Elizabeth and her subjects now could be fatal to Mary’s cause. Of one thing he was certain. There was going to be no easy way for Mary to reach the English Court.
Knollys went on: “It might be necessary for the Queen of Scots to clear her name before the Queen of England could receive her.”
“I must go to the Queen of England as soon as it can be arranged,” said Herries. “I must myself make her understand the innocence of my Queen.”
“That might be an excellent plan,” admitted Scrope, looking at Knollys. And Herries wondered: Are they eager for me to be gone? Do they want to see me out of the way? And what would happen to me when I reached London? Should I be sent to a lonely cell, there to regret my zeal for what they hope to make the lost cause of the Queen of Scots?
“Our mistress has heard that her cousin of Scotland has need of garments. We have with us a box of clothes—a present to the Queen of Scotland from the Queen of England.”
“I am sure my mistress will receive this gift with pleasure.”
And as they came nearer to Carlisle Castle Herries’ spirit sank still further. It seemed to him that the arrival of Knollys and Scrope confirmed what he had always feared; it had been a mistake to expect help from the Queen of England.
MARY RECEIVED SCROPE and Knollys in her apartments in the tower of the castle. She was wearing the red brocade dress, having no other, but Mary Seton’s work on her hair had transformed her appearance. She looked very beautiful, and Knollys to a large degree, Scrope to a lesser, felt a sudden loathing of the part they had to play.
Rumor had certainly not lied about the Queen’s appearance; and the sweetness of her expression and the gracious way in which she received them made them understand why so many of her servants had wished to come to England to be with her.
“Well,” she said, “I trust you bring me news of my good sister.”
“The Queen of England sends affectionate greetings to Your Majesty.”
“I hope soon to thank her for them with my own lips.”
Knollys and Scrope hesitated, and Mary said sharply: “Do you bring me an invitation to her Court?”
“No, Your Majesty.” Scrope was leaving Knollys to explain. “Your Majesty will understand . . . . You come to England under a sad suspicion.”
“Suspicion?” cried Mary.
“Your Majesty, your second husband died mysteriously, and rumor has it that, since you married so quickly after his death . . . .”
Mary lifted a hand. In that moment she was very regal and almost forbidding. “Say no more,” she said. “All who know me are certain of my innocence in that matter, and I have not come to England to defend myself.”
“Your Majesty, the Queen of England is jealous of her reputation.”
“She has need to be,” answered Mary promptly.
“As a virgin Queen she is eager that no scandal shall attach to her name, as might be the case if she entertained at her Court one who . . . ”
Mary laughed. She wanted to say: It is not so long ago that Robert Dudley and the Queen were concerned in a similar matter. But she did not mention this, because she understood that one of the reasons why Elizabeth was so eager to protect what she called her good name was because there must be many who remembered the Amy Robsart mystery and were asking themselves if that name was so spotless, if the Queen, who so eagerly proclaimed herself a virgin, was not too emphatic on this matter.
But she was hurt, and the tears of anger momentarily gleamed in her eyes.
Knollys felt his pity touched by the sight of her, and he said gently: “Our Queen is sorry that she cannot do you the honor of admitting you to her presence as yet. But the time will come when Your Majesty is purged of this slander of murder. But the affection of our royal mistress toward Your Majesty is very great and you may depend on her favor. But she would not be pleased if you brought strangers into Scotland. If you do not do this she will use all her means to make you comfortable during your stay in her realm.”
“But do you not see,” persisted Mary, “that I have come here for a temporary refuge, that I hope for help to regain my kingdom? If the Queen will not see me, how can I hope to make her understand my case?”
“Her Majesty of England will admit Your Majesty of Scotland to her presence when you are cleared of the slander, which we all trust you will be ere long. To show her friendship Her Majesty has sent you a gift.”
Lord Scrope said: “My servants will bring it up at once.”
Knollys felt sick with shame. He did not know what was in the box, but Elizabeth had sent for him and Scrope and told them that she was eager to know exactly what the Queen of Scotland’s reactions were on opening the box; and because of the malicious smile which had been on Elizabeth’s face when she had said this, he was apprehensive.
The box was brought in and Mary called for Seton to come and help unpack it.
While this was done Knollys and Scrope stood by.
Seton gasped as she lifted out two shifts that were frayed at the edges and in holes. Mary looked with astonishment from these garments to Scrope and Knollys, neither of whom could meet her gaze. There were some pieces of black velvet almost rusty with age; there were shoes scuffed at the toes and almost falling to pieces; and undergarments badly in need of patching.
“Is this what the Queen of England sends me for my wardrobe?” asked Mary, and the quietness of her tone betrayed to those who knew her what restraint she had to exercise to subdue her anger. She had had a vision of herself at the Court of France in blue velvet and gold, and the courtiers and the King of France with Madame de Poitiers, and young François telling her that she was the loveliest girl at the Court; that she had a way with a gown which transformed it into a thing of beauty when it clothed her form. Then she heard the cheers of the crowds as she rode through the streets of Paris. “Long live the Dauphine! Long live the Queen of England!”
How careless she had been then! What had her redheaded rival in England said of her, thought of her, when she had heard that in Paris she, Mary, was being called the Queen of England? Was she determined on revenge? Was this that revenge? Two pieces of mangy velvet, patched shift, worn out shoes! Was this a symbol of the help she must expect from the Queen of England?
She scarcely glanced at the things in the box and Knollys began to stammer: “The Queen of England understood that your maids were in need of clothes. These were intended for them.”
“Perhaps she intended them for my scullions,” said Mary sharply. “But do you know, when I had my own Court, I wished to see my lowest servants decently clad.”
She signed that the interview was over, and Knollys at least was glad. He felt ashamed.
Scrope eyed him warily. That remark about the contents of the box being intended for the maids was extraordinary. Was Knollys, like so many others, about to become a victim of the fascinating Queen of Scots?
SHORTLY AFTER Knollys and Scrope had left her, and before she had recovered from her anger, the Lords Herries and Fleming were asking for an audience.
She admitted them at once and saw from their grim looks that their fears equaled her own.
She smiled wanly at Herries. “You do not say, my lord, that you warned me not to come to England. But I remember that you did.”
Herries shook his head sadly. “Who can say what would have befallen us if we had tried to reach France, Your Majesty?”
“Nothing worse than that which could happen to us in England. Why, my lords, I feel almost as much a prisoner here as I did in Lochleven. Remember how long I have been here. I have made no progress through England at all. I have merely changed Lochleven for Carlisle.”
“We have a suggestion to put to Your Majesty,” said Fleming. “Someone must plead your cause with Queen Elizabeth and, since it cannot be yourself, we propose that one of us should go to London and try to obtain an audience with her.”
Mary looked from one to the other.
“I should go, Your Majesty, with your permission,” Herries told her.
“I shall miss you, my good and faithful counselor.”
“You have a bigger retinue than when you came—all faithful friends,” said Herries. “I can now leave Your Majesty with confidence, knowing that you have about you those who will protect you with their lives.”
“God bless you,” Mary replied emotionally. “When do you propose to set out?”
“Immediately.”
Fleming said: “I have come to ask Your Majesty’s permission to go to France . . . if that is possible.”
“To France!” Mary’s eyes widened. “Ah, that is where I should have gone when I left Scotland. I see it all now. The King of France would have been a good friend to me. He is older now and, it may be, not so completely under the control of his mother. And you will go to him, my lord Fleming, and tell him of my plight.”
“Herries and I have talked of this matter,” Fleming went on. “I shall tell Your Majesty’s Uncles, the Duke of Guise and the Cardinal of Lorraine, what is happening to you in England. I shall explain to His Majesty of France that we do not trust the English and I shall ask for their help and advice.”
“We can trust them, I know,” said Mary. “They are indeed my friends.”
“It will be necessary for the Queen of England to give me a safe conduct,” Fleming pointed out.
“Which she will not do if she believes you are going to ask for French help,” added Herries. “The last thing she wishes to do is to bring the French into Scotland. It would not be a difficult matter then for them to cross the Border.”
“My plan, Your Majesty,” went on Fleming, “is to tell the Queen of England that the King of France has offered help—which he has—but that as you are not yet in a position to receive it you wish, while thanking him to ask if you may call on it later if and when you should be in a position to make use of it.”
“You think she will believe that?” asked Mary.
“We must hope that she will,” answered Herries. “We must take some action. If we do nothing we may be here for months.”
“You are right,” Mary told them. “We must act—even if by so doing we merely discover the true nature of Elizabeth’s feelings toward me.”
Shortly afterward Herries and Fleming set out for the English Court.
SIR FRANCIS KNOLLYS was more pleased than he admitted to himself to see five small carts arriving in the courtyard accompanied by heavily laden packhorses. He went down to make a closer inspection, although he guessed whence these came.
“You come from Lord Moray?” he asked one of the drivers.
“Yes, my lord. With these goods which are for the use of the Queen-Mother of Scotland.”
“Then unload them with all speed,” ordered Sir Francis.
While this was being done, he made his way to Mary’s apartments and asked that he might see her.
She received him immediately, hoping that he brought news from his royal mistress; he was smiling and she began to believe that he would have been pleased to help her.
“I see that travelers are with us,” said Mary. “I trust they come from Queen Elizabeth.”
“No, Your Majesty, they come from Lord Moray in Scotland.”
Mary’s expression changed. “Then they can bring no good to me.”
“Yet I do not believe Your Majesty will be displeased when you see what has been brought.”
“I cannot conceive of any good coming to me from my bastard brother.”
“I have asked that these articles be sent to Your Majesty,” said Knollys. He smiled. “I have a wife, and I know how important such thing can be.”
“Do you mean that some of my possessions have been returned to me?”
“I sent word to Moray, asking him not to withhold your clothes but to send them to you here that you might have the pleasure of wearing them.”
“That was good of you, Sir Francis; but you remember that, the last time such a request was made, he sent me only things which I had long discarded . . . ruffs and coifs which were quite out of date, and dresses which were almost in rags. Indeed, what Moray sent me was only slightly better than those which your Queen sent . . . to my maids.”
Knollys looked uncomfortable for a few seconds, then he brightened. “I do not think you will be disappointed this time. May I have the articles brought to you?”
Mary’s smile was dazzling. “At least,” she said gently, “I rejoice that one of my jailors has a kind heart.”
“You must not think of me as such,” insisted Knollys.
“Nor shall I, when I receive my invitation to your Queen and we travel south,” was the answer. “When that will be, who shall say? So in the meantime let us content ourselves with seeing what my bastard brother has sent from my wardrobe.”
Mary summoned Seton, Jane Kennedy, Lady Livingstone and Marie Courcelles, and the packages were brought to the apartment.
This time they were not disappointed. Having received a request from an Englishman of such importance Moray had thought it wise not to ignore it.
The women cried out with pleasure as they unrolled eight ells of the finest black velvet, and thirty each of gray and black taffety. There were twelve pairs of shoes and four of slippers as well as stitching silk and jet buttons.
“Now,” cried Seton, “we shall be busy.”
IN SPITE OF the absence of Herries and Fleming, Mary had a larger retinue than she had had since leaving Scotland. Now and then some Scotsman would arrive at the castle with the request to be given a place in her household, in preparation for the day when he would return to Scotland to fight for her crown.
George Douglas, with Willie, was constantly on guard; she told them that she felt safe when they were near, and that constantly in her thoughts was the memory of what they had done for her at Lochleven. She now had her own two private secretaries, Gilbert Curle and Monsieur Claud Nau, as well as carvers, cupbearer, cook and scullions. A little Scottish Court was rapidly being formed in Carlisle Castle.
One day Sir Nicholas Elphinstone arrived at the castle with letters to Scrope and Knollys from Moray. This caused great consternation throughout Mary’s retinue, for Elphinstone was notoriously antagonistic to the Queen.
George Douglas swore that if he came face-to-face with Elphinstone he would challenge him and nothing but combat would satisfy him; Willie was brooding on a scheme for taking Elphinstone prisoner; and several of the lairds declared their intentions of challenging him to a duel.
Scrope, disconcerted, went to Knollys and was a little reproachful.
“You see what is happening. You have shown too much friendship toward the Queen of Scotland. You have allowed her to collect this entourage which is almost like a small court about her. Therefore, when a messenger from one with whom we have no quarrel arrives, they behave as though Carlisle Castle belonged to them and they had the right to say who should or should not be entertained here.”
Knollys saw the point of this and, as he was afraid that complaints might be made to Elizabeth, and as he knew that her chief feeling toward Mary was jealousy, he realized that he must in future act with more caution.
In the company of Scrope he went to her apartments; and Scrope opened the attack by protesting at the conduct of people like George Douglas, who had challenged a peaceful messenger who came to the castle.
“Your Majesty must remember that you are the guest of the Queen of England, and that you have no power to order who shall or shall not venture into the Castle of Carlisle.”
Mary haughtily replied: “This man is a Scotsman, and one of my subjects.”
“Your Majesty forgets,” went on Scrope, “that all Scotsmen do not call you their Queen.”
Mary flushed hotly. “This state of affairs shall not be allowed to last.”
Scrope looked doubtful, Knollys uncomfortable, and Mary went on in the impulsive way which was characteristic of her: “You do not think this so, my lords. I see from your expressions that you believe Lord Moray to be the ruler of Scotland in the name of my son. It will not long be so. Huntley, Argyle and others are with me. They assure me that very soon I shall be back in Edinburgh, the acknowledged Queen of Scotland. Ah, I see you do not believe me.” Determined to prove the truth of this statement she crossed the room and opened a drawer of her table. “Look at these, my lords. Letters, you see, from my friends. Huntley has the whole of the North behind him. I can picture him now . . . planning my return. I’ll swear his Highlanders are already marching to the lilt of the bagpipes.”
She was thrusting papers into their hands, and Knollys would have liked to warn her, but Scrope was scrutinizing the letters.
“Interesting,” he murmured. “Very, very interesting.”
“So you see,” said Mary, “I am not so deserted as you . . . and perhaps your Queen . . . have thought me to be?”
“No, Madam,” answered Scrope grimly. “I see that you are not.”
SCROPE SAID TO KNOLLYS: “You see what intrigue goes on under our noses. Why, it would not be impossible for her to be carried back into Scotland before we could prevent it. Huntley and Argyle writing to her thus! Do we see the letters? We do not! Yet it is our Queen’s command that we see all letters which pass into the hands of the Queen of Scotland, and all those that she sends out.”
Knollys shook his head. “I would to God we had never been given this task.”
“I confess to certain misgivings. But perforce we have this task, and perform it we must . . . or be in trouble ourselves.”
“What new rules do you propose to put in force?”
“Firstly I shall write to Cecil and suggest that Carlisle Castle is too near the Border for my peace of mind. There is my castle of Bolton . . . ”
“Ha! A fortress if ever there was one.”
“I should feel happier there with this captive of ours than I do in Carlisle. Then I like not all these servants about her. I believe that none of the men of her court should be allowed to sleep in the castle but should find lodgings outside. The rooms leading to her bedchamber should be filled with our guards—and perhaps ourselves—rather than her friends. The castle gates must be kept locked through the night and not opened until ten of the clock in the forenoon and closed at dusk. Then it might be difficult for Huntley and Argyle to whisk her away without our Queen’s consent.”
“Ah,” sighed Knollys sadly, “little did she know when she escaped from Lochleven that she was changing one prison for another.”
THERE WAS NO NEWS of Herries, no news of Fleming. That boded ill, for Mary knew that if they had succeeded with their missions she would have heard from them. She was beginning to suspect the goodwill of Elizabeth, and was wondering whether the shadow of Elizabeth of England would darken her life now, as that of Catherine de’ Medici had her childhood.
One day a certain Henry Middlemore called at Carlisle on his way to Scotland with dispatches from Elizabeth to Moray and, hearing of his arrival, Mary asked that he be brought to her.
The demeanor of this man should have been enough to show Mary the hopelessness of her case with Elizabeth, for he treated her with a deliberate lack of respect.
“Have you brought me news of when your mistress will grant me an interview?” asked Mary passionately.
“Madam,” was the answer, “I can only tell you what you know already. The Queen of England cannot receive you until you have cleared yourself of suspicion of murder. And that you have not done, and facts are black against you.”
“How dare you say such things to me?” demanded Mary.
“Because they are the truth, Madam. Her Majesty, my mistress, asks you to prevent those Scotsmen in Dumbarton and other places in Scotland from accepting help from France should it be sent.”
“Why should I prevent others from helping my cause when your mistress refuses to do so?” asked Mary.
“You have put yourself in my mistress’s hands and if, when she has judged your case, she finds you guiltless, doubtless she will help you. I go to Scotland now to ask the Earl of Moray to suppress all signs of civil war in Scotland at the request of the Queen of England.”
Mary was slightly mollified at this and Middlemore went on: “Her Majesty believes you would find better air away from Carlisle and that it would be to your advantage to go to some other castle which shall be placed at your disposal.”
“Does the Queen of England intend to have me taken there as a prisoner or for me to go of my own free will?” Mary asked.
“I am sure the Queen of England has no wish to make you her prisoner. She will be happy if you accept her plans for you without demur. It would please her if you were lodged nearer to herself. That is the main reason why she wishes you to move from Carlisle.”
“Then if that be so, let me go to her without delay. Let me have apartments next her own at Windsor or Hampton Court. She could not then complain of the distance which separates us.”
Middlemore ignored this. He said quietly: “Her Majesty had in mind the Castle of Tutbury in Staffordshire . . . a goodly place, Madam, and one which you would find convenient.”
Convenient, thought Mary hysterically. Conveniently far from the Border, conveniently far from Hampton Court! What was the Queen of England planning against her? And where were Fleming and Herries now?
Middlemore took his departure and Mary could only ease her disquiet by writing a long letter to Elizabeth in which she passionately demanded justice, an opportunity to see her, a chance to assure her good sister and cousin of her innocence. She asked that Lord Herries be sent back to her as she needed his good counsel, and she would like to have news of Lord Fleming.
When she had written the letter she sat at her table staring moodily before her. As each day passed hope seemed to fade farther and farther away.
Meanwhile Middlemore went on his way into Scotland, where the Regent Moray and Lord Morton were preparing translations from the original French of those letters which they alleged were found in a casket under Bothwell’s bed when he fled to the North.
These translation would prove to Elizabeth, and the world, that Bothwell and Mary were lovers before Darnley’s death, that Bothwell had raped the Queen, and that since then she had no desires for any man but him; that they had plotted together to murder Lord Darnley, the Queen’s husband, so that marriage between Mary and Bothwell might be possible.
IN SPITE OF the vigilance of Scrope and Knollys more men from Scotland arrived at the castle. Mary was walking in the grounds with Seton when she saw George Douglas coming toward her.
He bowed low and his earnest eyes were on her lovely face as she gave him her affectionate smile. She was thinking: Poor George, what life is this for a young man! If I am to remain a prisoner, what will become of him?
“Your Majesty,” he said, “I have a packet of letters which have been stolen from Moray’s secretary. I believe you would wish to see them. One of the new arrivals brought them and gave them to me that I might pass them to you at an opportune moment.”
“You have them with you, George?”
“Yes, Your Majesty, but I fear we may be watched.”
“You are right. They watch me here even as they did at Lochleven. We will go into the castle and, when Seton has taken me to my apartments, she shall come out to you again. Could you be at this spot and hand them to her? They do not watch her as they watch me.”
“I will do that, Your Majesty.”
With that the ladies turned and went back to the Queen’s apartments, and soon afterward Seton returned to the grounds where George was waiting for her.
When Seton went back to Mary’s chamber, the Queen eagerly seized what she had brought. It was a packet of letters from Moray’s secretary, John Wood, to Elizabeth’s ministers; and as she read them, Mary’s indignation was fierce for there was no doubt that Elizabeth’s advisers were in league with Moray against her, Mary; and that their main objects were to prevent her receiving help from France and to keep her a prisoner in England that Moray might rule in her stead.
Even now it did not occur to her that Elizabeth was a party to this scheme, and she believed that the reason she was being kept from the Queen of England was because her ministers, in collaboration with Moray, were preventing the meeting.
Without consulting her friends she sat down and penned an impulsive note to Elizabeth.
She told her of the letters which had come into her possession and wrote:
They assure him that I shall be securely guarded, never to return to Scotland. Madam, if this be honorable treatment of her who came to throw herself into your arms for succor I leave other Princes to judge. I will send copies of these letters, if you permit it, to the Kings of France and Spain and to the Emperor, and will direct Lord Herries to show them to you, that you may judge whether it be right to have your council for judges, who have taken part against me . . . .
She paused and looked out of her window from which she could see the blue hills of Scotland. If only she could go back to Langside, if only she had listened to the advice of the good Herries and her friends, she would not be here now. She would be with her friends in France; and although Catherine de’ Medici might be her enemy, there would have been powerful uncles to help her, and the King of France who had been so desperately in love with her would surely not have failed her.
