Текст книги "The Captive Queen of Scots "
Автор книги: Jean Plaidy
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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 33 страниц)
Mary smiled. She was picturing that meeting. Her cousin whom she had never seen, but who she knew was red haired, occasionally arrogant, sometimes gay, at times frivolous, loving to dance and be flattered, holding her little court of favorites to whom she liked to give the impression that they could become her lovers, seemed a very human person.
Mary endowed Elizabeth with the more pleasing characteristics which were her own—generosity, impetuosity, eagerness to help those in distress.
Thus she made one of the most ruinous mistakes of her life when she said: “I will write to George and tell him to disband his men; I will tell Argyle, Huntley and Fleming the same. I will put my trust in Elizabeth and do as she suggests.”
NO SOONER HAD MARY agreed to fall in with Elizabeth’s wishes than misgivings beset her.
She heard of George Douglas’s bitter disappointment whet he was forced to disperse his little army. Argyle, Huntley and Fleming were shocked beyond expression, but there was nothing they could do since the Queen ordered them to disband their forces. In the decision of a moment Mary had destroyed all that her friends had been carefully building up since the defeat at Langside. She was no match for her wily enemies.
She had written to Elizabeth telling her that as she had given her consent to the plan, she believed she should have Elizabeth’s own agreement in writing. She was sure the Queen would instruct Secretary Cecil to write to her confirming the offer which Herries had delivered orally.
Each day she waited for the Queen’s reply; but none came; yet she heard that Moray and Morton were preparing the case against her, and that it was accepted that she had agreed to have her case tried in England.
Sometimes she cried out in anger: “Who are these people to judge me? I will answer to one judge only and that judge is God, before whom I shall not be afraid to stand and declare my innocence.”
But it was too late to protest. Copies of the casket letters had already been translated, and Moray and Morton, in collusion with Cecil and his friends, were building the case against her.
Her friends in Scotland deplored this state of affairs. There was a little brightness in the immediate future however. Although she never went out unless accompanied by guards, and although the castle gates were carefully locked at night, Scotsmen were still allowed to come and go; and this meant that news could be brought to her from the world outside Bolton Castle.
While Herries walked with Mary in the grounds one day he said: “I think we have been too trusting.”
Mary nodded. “No word from Elizabeth. Do you think her ministers are preventing her from putting in writing what she told you?”
Herries was thoughtful. It was difficult to imagine the woman he had seen, taking orders from her ministers. She had appeared to him in the role of compassionate friend of his mistress, but he could not forget the demeanor of her courtiers, the docile manner in which they—and her foremost ministers—never failed to speak to her, as though she were a goddess. Could such a woman be waiting on the word of ministers who were so clearly preoccupied in discovering new ways of flattering her and winning her approval? Herries had begun to wonder whether he had been duped by the English Queen.
In any case while Mary was in England she was to a great extent at the mercy of Elizabeth; and knowing that ten thousand Scotsmen had rallied to Huntley’s banner, and that Frenchmen had been ready to come to her defense, he had been considering that if Mary were in Scotland she might have a better chance of bargaining with Elizabeth.
That was why he was thoughtful now. A scheme had been put before him. It was simple as he believed all good schemes should be. What could have been more simple than the escape from Lochleven? It could work.
“Your Majesty,” he said, “I and others of your friends begin to think that we could more likely win Elizabeth’s help if you were not her prisoner. And let us face it—although she calls you her guest, you are in fact her prisoner.”
“You mean, if I were back in Scotland it would be easier to bargain with her.”
“I believe that to be so now, Your Majesty.”
“What would happen if I told Knollys and Scrope that I intended to return?”
“Your Majesty would be very politely and courteously prevented from doing so. That in itself should make us realize how necessary it is for you to return.”
“I see that you are as disturbed as I am because the Queen of England has not put her offer to me in writing, and has announced my willingness to have my case judged in England, without making it known what concessions she promised if I should do so. Oh yes, my dear Lord Herries, you are right, as you so often have been in all this wearisome business.”
“I fear I put too much trust in the Queen of England.”
Mary laid her hand on his arm. She understood how he had done that; she herself had been failing all along by putting her trust in those of whom he should have been wary. It was not in her nature to reprove others for faults which she herself possessed in greater measure. Nor would she have blamed any who made mistakes, if their intentions were good.
“So Your Majesty will perhaps listen to a plan for your escape,” went on Herries quietly.
“With pleasure,” she answered.
“Your servant, the Laird of Fernyhirst, has suggested that if you could cross the Border his castle would be at your disposal. Everything is being prepared to receive you there . . . providing you could leave Bolton Castle.”
Mary’s eyes began to sparkle. The thought of action after so much inactivity was inviting. Moreover she was weary of having to make continual requests to the Queen of England, who either ignored them or made promises which it seemed she was reluctant to keep. That box of worn-out shoes and rusty black velvet was not easily forgotten.
“How could I leave Bolton Castle?”
“Only after dark.”
“But there are guards at the doors.”
“The only way to escape would be through one of the windows of your apartments. If you could slip through the coppices, and down the hill, we could arrange for horses to be waiting there; and then . . . we are not so many miles from the Border.”
“Then let it be done,” cried Mary impulsively.
“There must be few in the secret, and few to go with you. Perhaps Mary Seton . . . Willie Douglas . . . myself . . . For a number of us to leave might mean our betrayal. Others could follow you once you were safely away. I am sure there would be no wish to detain them after you had gone.”
“Then let us decide how it shall be done.”
“First we will stroll around the castle to that window of your apartments which looks down on the grounds.”
They did this and, without appearing to pay much attention, carefully noticed the distance from window to grass below.
“You see,” said Herries, “it would be possible, once you reached the ground, to slip out through the coppices and if the horses were in readiness at the bottom of the hill you would be away in a matter of five or ten minutes.”
“What of the guards, and Scrope and Knollys?”
“They will be fast asleep in the ante-rooms. They will not think it possible for anyone to descend through that window. As long as the affair is conducted quietly you could be almost at the Border before the alarm is given.”
“Willie Douglas will doubtless have ideas of how this can be accomplished.”
“I had thought to enlist his help, Your Majesty. In spite of his achievement at Lochleven he is not taken seriously here; which is doubtless what he intends in order to be ready for an occasion like this. He is a smart young fellow. Strutting about with his sword, showing that disrespect for people in high places, amuses everyone. Yes, Willie can help in this. I thought of sending him away to procure the horses. He is less likely to be missed than anyone else for, as Your Majesty knows, he sometimes goes off into the country and stays away for hours. We will send him off to find horses immediately.”
“Immediately?”
“Why not, Your Majesty? Fernyhirst is ready and waiting. As soon as you are safely in his castle he will send word to Huntley and the rest. I do not think that we shall then have to concern ourselves greatly about the conscience of the Queen of England.”
“I will take Seton with me,” said Mary.
“But no other maid. The entire success of this venture depends on its simplicity.”
“And you will be waiting for me with Willie and the horses.”
“I . . . or Livingstone . . . or one of us who can most easily be there. It matters not as long as you are away. You must make for the North without delay.”
Silently they continued their walk. Each was thinking of the plan.
It was so simple, they were sure they would succeed.
THE QUEEN HAD RETIRED for the night, and her faithful women who shared her chamber were alert. Mary did not undress. Instead she helped Jane and Marie who were knotting sheets together. They did not speak, for each knew the importance of making this appear to be like any other night the Queen had spent in Bolton Castle. In the next room Scrope and several of his men were sleeping. The low murmur of voices which had reached the waiting women had now ceased, and this meant that the moment had come, for the earlier the escape could be made the more time there would be for putting distance between the fugitive and Bolton Castle.
The window was high in the thick wall and a stool was silently brought so that the Queen could stand on it to climb to the scooped out aperture. Marie Courcelles firmly tied the knotted sheet about Mary’s waist. Jane Kennedy tested it and nodded.
Then the escape began. Mary reached the window and peering down saw a dark figure below. Herries? She said nothing, but as silently as possible clambered out of the window.
Behind her the sheet was held firmly by her waiting women; then she was swinging in mid-air, only her skirts protecting her from the rough castle wall as she was lowered.
She was seized in a strong pair of arms and with a rush of triumph, felt her feet touch ground.
Hastily she untied the sheet about her waist. There was no time for more. Then she and her companions were running toward the coppices, down the slope to where Willie was waiting with the horses.
Willie grinned at her and helped her into the saddle. She felt a great joy surge over her as she whispered to her horse: “Away!” And the gallop through the soft night air began.
As they started off she thought she heard a shout from the castle; then there was silence.
She heard Willie’s chuckle beside her and for a few moments there was no sound other than that of the thudding of horses’ hoofs.
IT WAS SETON’S TURN to follow. She knew that she had to catch up with the others, for the plan was that there was to be no waiting; and as soon as Mary reached the horses she was to mount and ride away.
“Quickly!” cried Seton. The knotted sheet were hauled up, but as this was done one of the women fell backwards, and in her fall, taking the stool with her, went crashing to the floor.
There were a few seconds of shocked silence as she lay there. Then Seton said: “Hurry. There is no time to lose.” Marie Courcelles was tying the sheets about Seton’s waist, when the door opened and Lord Scrope stood on the threshold of the room.
He took it all in at a glance: The knotted sheets and Seton preparing to descend through the window. Then his dismay was apparent, for he had noticed the absence of the Queen.
He said nothing, though he must have guessed that had he come in a few minutes earlier he would have caught the Queen in the act of escaping.
He went back to the ante-room, and the frightened women heard his shouted orders.
MARY LOOKED over her shoulder.
Where was Seton? She should have been close to them by now, because it took only a few moments to descend from the window.
Willie shouted: “She’ll catch us up. If not in England, in bonny Scotland. We’ll almost be there by morning.” They thundered on; but when they had ridden some two miles there was still no sign of Seton; but the night was dark, Mary told herself, and it might well be that Seton was not far behind.
They had reached a gap in the hills and, as they were about to pass through this, a horse and rider confronted them.
Mary thought: Seton! Then she must have come by another road to the gap.
But almost at once she saw that it was not Seton.
Lord Scrope said: “Well met, Your Majesty. Had you told me you wished to take a midnight ride, I should have arranged for a suitable escort to accompany you.”
Mary was speechless with dismay. She heard Willie let out an oath.
“And,” said Lord Scrope, “your descent from your window must have been very uncomfortable.” He laid his hand on her arm. “It shall be my pleasure now to escort you back to the castle.”
Mary had rarely felt so mortified. Her companions said nothing as the three of them, surrounded by the guards whom Scrope had brought with him, were conducted back to the castle.
SCROPE DID NOT retire to his bed on returning to the castle. He went to Knollys’ bedchamber and, awakening him, told him how he had prevented the Queen’s escape.
Knollys started up from his bed in consternation.
“You may well look alarmed,” said Scrope grimly. “If this plan had succeeded—as it so nearly did—it could have cost us our heads.”
He hastily explained what had happened. He had had an intuition that all was not normal in the women’s chamber and consequently he had not dropped off to sleep quickly, as he usually did. He had thought the women were whispering together and this was followed by a too sudden and unnatural quiet; then when he had heard a stool overturned and gone to investigate he had discovered the knotted sheets and that the Queen was missing.
Knollys congratulated him on his speedy action.
“I can tell you,” said Scrope, wiping his brow at the memory, “I had some uneasy moments.”
“What have you done now?”
“Posted guards at the door of the Queen’s chamber and others below her window. In future we shall have to make sure that she is guarded in every possible way. I cannot imagine what will be said when our Queen knows of this.”
“It is my belief that she will take the Queen of Scots from our care and place her in the custody of someone else.”
“I have heard Tutbury mentioned in this connection, and that would doubtless mean that she would pass into Shrewsbury’s care. He would be more than welcome to her.”
“What do you propose to do?”
“Write to Secretary Cecil without delay. He has asked for a full account of all that happens here. He must be told of this attempt. It clearly indicates that some action must be taken sooner or later, because there will be other attempts to free her.”
There was a knock at the door at that moment and, to the astonishment of both men when Knollys called “Come in,” Lady Scrope entered.
She had wrapped a loose gown about her and had clearly come straight from her bed.
She cried: “What is this? I was awakened by the commotion, and now I am told that the Queen almost escaped.”
“That is so,” her husband replied. “And you should return to your bed. You will catch cold. Remember your condition.”
“I am not cold,” answered Lady Scrope, “and as our child is not expected until the end of the year you need have no qualms about my condition. But I have qualms on another matter. Tell me what measures are you going to take?”
Knollys said: “Pray sit down, Lady Scrope.” And Scrope brought a stool for his wife, who sat down near the bed.
“We are doubling the guard of course,” her husband told her.
“But you must not let it be known that she almost eluded you!”
“My dear,” began Lord Scrope indulgently, “you do not understand . . . .”
“Do not understand Elizabeth!” she cried.
Both men looked uneasily toward the door, and Lady Scrope acknowledged their furtive glances by lowering her voice. “What do you think Her Majesty will say when and if she hears of this night’s doings?” she went on. “Two members of her Privy Council, and as many men as they care to employ, to guard one woman—and they almost fail! Do you think she will say ‘Well done!’ If you do, you do not know Elizabeth. I know that if you had allowed the Queen of Scots to escape, the Tower of London might very well be your destination. As you prevented that calamity . . . but only just . . . you might avoid the Tower, but you would not win Her Majesty’s approval, I do assure you.”
Both men were silent. There was a great deal in what Lady Scrope was saying. Naturally she was agitated; she had no wish to see her husband fall into disgrace.
“This must be hushed up,” she said. “If you are wise you will certainly not write to the Queen or her ministers about what has taken place tonight. You will stop the news being spread. The fewer who know, the better. As for the extra guards you intend to put on duty, do so, but let it be done with stealth. If you value Elizabeth’s good opinion and her favor, for the love of God do not let her know that you almost failed in your duty.”
Scrope came to her and laid a hand on her shoulder. “You must not allow yourself to become too excited,” he cautioned.
“I shall only recover my serenity when you tell me that you will take my advice in this matter.”
Scrope was looking at Knollys, and Margaret Scrope was clever enough to know that her words were being considered. She guessed that both men realized the wisdom of them.
“We are thinking of this matter,” Scrope told her.
And the gallant Knollys added: “And we should always consider your advice, which we know of old is sound.”
Margaret sighed. “Then I will return to my bed satisfied that at least you will consider this matter.” She rose and Scrope led her to the door. She hesitated there, and looked back at Knollys who was a little discomfited to be in his bed. “Thank you both,” she said. “I feel at ease because I know that when you consider this matter you will see that I am right.”
Back in her own room Margaret Scrope threw off her robe and lay down on her bed.
They had understood that this attempt to escape from Bolton Castle should be hushed up. That was well, for if Elizabeth decided to move Mary to Tutbury and take her out of the charge of Scrope and Knollys what chances would Lady Scrope have of furthering a match between Norfolk and the Queen of Scots?
That was something Lady Scrope had set her heart on; and she believed that her visit to Knollys and her husband had prevented the destruction of this cherished plan.
ALTHOUGH there was now a stronger guard at the castle, both day and night, Mary’s attempt to escape was never openly mentioned, although it was whispered about among the guards and serving men and women; and the spot where she had been intercepted by Lord Scrope became known as “The Queen’s Gap.”
The friendship between Mary and Lady Scrope was growing fast, and one day when they were stitching their tapestry together, Lady Scrope asked Mary if she had ever seriously considered the Protestant Faith.
Mary replied that she had been born a Catholic and that during her childhood and girlhood, which had been spent in France, she had been brought up among Catholics and had therefore always been led to believe that that was the true faith.
“Yet there are many good men who are Protestants, Your Majesty,” Lady Scrope reminded her.
Mary agreed that this was so. “My own Lord Herries is a Protestant; so is George Douglas. Indeed yes, I have much for which to be grateful to Protestants.”
Lady Scrope’s eyes sparkled. Her brother, the Duke of Norfolk, was a Protestant, having had John Foxe as tutor; and if there was to be a marriage between them, it would be wise if they both conformed to the same religion. Norfolk had written to his sister, suggesting that if Mary could be induced to change her religion she would find it easier to regain her throne, because one of the biggest grudges many of her Protestant subjects bore against her was that she was a Catholic.
“I could answer Your Majesty’s questions on the subject as far as I am able,” Lady Scrope continued. “I also have books which might interest you.”
Mary was enthusiastic about the project. It would be one way of occupying her mind and making her forget, temporarily, to wonder what sort of morass she was falling into, for since her attempted escape had been foiled, there could be no doubt whatever that she was Elizabeth’s prisoner.
So now those occasions when they sat over their tapestry were enlivened by discussions between Mary and Margaret Scrope; others of the ladies joined in; and soon it became known throughout Bolton Castle that the Queen was considering becoming a Protestant.
WHEN SIR FRANCIS KNOLLYS heard the rumors he was delighted. As a stern Protestant, it pleased him that the Queen should be considering conversion to what he believed to be the true religion.
He himself offered to give her instruction, and soon Mary was reading the English prayer book with him.
He was persuasive, and Mary was enjoying her lessons.
While they read together Knollys, acutely aware of her charms, thought how sad it was that she should be in her position. He would have liked to see her back on the throne; she would need a husband to help her rule, and he did not see why she should not have an English husband.
He grew excited, believing he knew the very man for the position. This was his nephew, George Carey, a handsome young man who was surely eligible because of his relationship to Queen Elizabeth. Knollys’ wife was first cousin to the Queen, and her brother, Lord Hunsdon, was the father of George Carey. It was true that the relationship came through Anne Boleyn rather than the royal house; nevertheless the ties were there.
He could not refrain from mentioning his young nephew to her, and immediately began to plan a meeting between them.
“I look upon my nephew as my own son,” he told Mary. “He will shortly be in the district and will wish to call on his uncle.”
“Naturally,” Mary agreed.
“And if he should come to Bolton Castle, have I Your Majesty’s permission to present him to you?”
“I should take it ill if you did not,” Mary told him; and Knollys was satisfied.
GEORGE CAREY KNELT before the Queen of Scots. He was young and extremely personable, and when Mary told him that she was pleased to see him, she was speaking the truth.
“I pray you be seated,” she went on. “Have you news from the English Court?”
“None, I’ll swear, that Your Majesty does not know already,” answered the young man.
“But I know so little. Tell me, is my sister and cousin in good health?”
“Her health is excellent, Your Majesty.”
“And did she, knowing you were about to visit your uncle and therefore would come to my lodging, give you any message for me?”
“She gave me none, Your Majesty.”
Mary was despondent, but only momentarily; it was such a novelty to have a visitor, and such a charming young man, who could not hide his admiration for her, was very welcome.
“Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth is displeased with Scotsmen at this time,” she went on. “I have had complaints that on the Border some have been carrying out raids on English territory. I am sorry for this, but she must realize that at this moment I am in no position to enforce my rule.”
“Her Majesty would know that, I am sure,” answered George.
“I wonder if you would be good enough to carry a message from me to the Queen?”
“I could take a message to my father who would see that it reached her.”
“Then tell him that if any border robbery has been carried out by any of my followers I could have them punished. If their names are sent to me, my friends would see that, since they injure my cause, they should be suitably dealt with. But if they belong to my enemies—which I think certain—it is beyond my power to prevent their ill conduct.” She went on confidingly: “You will have heard talk of me.”
“I have, Your Majesty.”
“And much that is ill has been said of me, I’ll swear.”
George flushed slightly and then said vehemently: “I would never again believe aught against Your Majesty.”
She smiled ruefully. He had told her so much in that remark; she guessed that gossip, concerning Darnley’s murder and her hasty marriage to Bothwell, was rife and that the scandal touching herself was boundless.
“Ah,” she said, “it is sad when evil stories are spread regarding a lonely woman who has no means of defending herself.”
“I shall assure all I meet of your innocence,” he told her.
“Which has not been proved to you,” she reminded him.
“But it has, Your Majesty. Ever since I came into your presence I have known those tales to be false. I know that your conduct could never be aught but good and noble.”
Here was adoration similar to that which she had received from George Douglas. Her spirits were raised. George Carey would be her good friend—even as that other George had been.
She told him of her adventures since she had arrived in England. “It is August now, and it was May when I came south. I thought to go straight to Hampton Court that I might meet the Queen and lay my case before her. Alas, here I remain—the guest of the Queen of England, but in truth her prisoner.”
“If there were aught I could do . . . ” began George passionately.
“You could speak with your father who I believe has some influence with the Queen of England.”
“I will do this. And if there is aught else I can do to serve Your Majesty . . . ”
When Sir Francis Knollys asked permission to enter the Queen’s apartments and found his nephew still in her company, he was well pleased.
He could see that it had been an excellent plan on his part to bring the young man to Bolton Castle.
DURING THOSE late summer days bad news came to Bolton Castle. Rumors of Mary’s possible conversion to Protestantism had reached Moray and filled him with panic. Nothing could have caused him greater disquiet.
The Queen a Protestant! If that were indeed true, before long there would be a clamor for her return. The only reason why so many had flocked to his banner was because he was of their religion and the Queen was not.
Moray never delayed when he thought action was necessary. The greatest boon he could ask for was that Mary should remain Elizabeth’s prisoner, an exile from Scotland.
This was indeed a blow. And he must take immediate countermeasures. So the result of Mary’s brief flirtation with the Reformed Faith was that a vicious attack was made on her supporters in Scotland; and the Regent’s forces seized their lands and possessions so that those who might have rallied to Mary’s aid would not be in a position to do so for a very long time.
ALL THROUGH SEPTEMBER Mary waited to hear news of when the Conference, at which her future would be decided, was to take place.
She knew that some of her friends deplored the fact that she had allowed matters to go so far in such a direction. Seton was one who believed that the Queen of Scotland should never have put herself in such a position as to allow herself to be judged by a court set up by the Queen of England and her ministers.
How right Seton was! thought Mary. And yet, what could she do? When she had fled to England she had placed herself in Elizabeth’s power.
Lady Scrope, now far advanced in pregnancy, came to her one day with news that Elizabeth had named her Commissioners.
The Earl of Sussex was to be one, and Sir Ralph Sadler another.
Mary was horrified to hear that the latter had been appointed. Sadler had been one of Cecil’s agents, and she knew that he had long been engaged in negotiations with Moray. Cecil was her enemy and sought to keep her in England, she knew, so that Moray might hold the Regency. And this man—who was assuredly one of her most bitter enemies—had been appointed a Commissioner of the Queen!
Why therefore was Lady Scrope—who had always shown herself to be a friend—looking so pleased?
“There is one other who has been appointed with these men,” Margaret Scrope explained. “It is natural that he should be. Even the Queen must realize that he is the premier peer of England.”
A smile was slowly spreading across Mary’s face. “You mean?”
Margaret nodded. “His Grace the Duke of Norfolk is also among Elizabeth’s Commissioners, and Your Majesty may be sure that he will apply himself to your cause with all the zeal of which he is capable.”
In her relief Mary embraced her friend. Margaret smiled, well content.
She was certain that a marriage between them would not be displeasing to Mary.
NOW THAT MARY HEARD that Elizabeth’s Commissioners were chosen she decided on her own: Lord Herries should be one, and he, with Livingstone and Boyd, should be assisted by Sir John Gordon, the Laird of Lochinvar, Sir James Cockburn of Skirling and Gavin Hamilton, the Abbot of Kilwinning.
There was one other whom she was anxious to consult—the Bishop of Ross, John Lesley—and she lost no time in sending a messenger to London, where she knew he was, asking him to come to her with all speed.
Lesley arrived at Bolton Castle during early September, and as soon as she talked to him Mary realized what a grave view he took of her case.
He had been endeavoring to obtain permission from Elizabeth for the Duke of Châtelherault to come to England that he might be present at the inquiry; but Elizabeth had made continual excuses not to grant this.
Lesley shook his head sadly. “The reason being of course that she fears the appearance of one of royal blood at the hearing might sway opinion in your favor.”
“You believe then,” said Mary, “that it is the Queen of England’s desire that I should appear guilty?”
Lesley lifted his shoulders noncommittally, but he continued to look grave and Mary went on impulsively: “But this hearing of the case is being conducted that the disobedient lairds shall answer before the Queen of England’s Commissioners for their ill-treatment of me. When they have admitted their offenses, it is agreed that they shall be forgiven, and we shall all be reconciled and I regain my throne.”
But Lesley, a man of wider experience than Herries, was not so easily deceived by Elizabeth; and he did not believe in evading the truth for the Queen’s comfort.
