Текст книги "The Captive Queen of Scots "
Автор книги: Jean Plaidy
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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 33 страниц)
“It was a grave mistake, I fear,” he told her, “to have allowed the English to interfere in this matter. This reconciliation which we all fervently hope will come about, should be a matter between you and Scotsmen, and should be achieved without meddling by the English. I fear Your Majesty has many enemies and they will do all within their power to defame your character.”
“Alas, I fear you are right. But I rejoice to hear from Lady Scrope that her brother, the Duke of Norfolk, has been appointed one of Elizabeth’s Commissioners. I know him to be my friend. I have had friendly messages from him, which have been delivered through Lady Scrope. And with you and my friends to represent me and yet another good friend at the head of the English Commissioners, I do not see how the verdict can fail to be in my favor.”
“Sadler will do his best for Moray against Your Majesty.”
“But it will be necessary for one of his standing to listen to a noble Duke,” replied Mary complacently.
Lesley was less confident. Sir Ralph Sadler was an able and cunning man, and he was unsure of the ability of the Duke of Norfolk to stand up against him.
However they must make the best of a bad business, and Lesley gave himself up to the task of advising the Queen.
THE CONFERENCE OPENED at York early in October when Mary’s Commissioners began by complaining, on her behalf, of those of her subjects who had conspired against her and imprisoned her in the Castle of Lochleven. They accused Moray of taking over the Regency and ruling in the name of Mary’s baby son, while he took unlawful possession of her personal effects such as her valuable jewels, as well as the arsenals of Scotland. Mary wished these rebel subjects to confess their faults and restore the throne to her.
Moray, Maitland and Morton were disturbed. The prevarication of the Queen of England made them unsure of what help they could expect from her. Moray had already sent to Elizabeth, asking whether the power to proclaim Mary guilty of murder should lie in the hands of the Commission. Unless it did so they were reluctant to make the accusation. Elizabeth replied that everything which took place at the Conference was to be made known to her and that judgment was to be given according to her orders.
Moray was at a loss to know how to proceed. He was eager not to offend Elizabeth who might object to the public accusation of murder and adultery against a Queen. Therefore his answer to Mary’s statement was that Bothwell had murdered Darnley, had raped the Queen and kept her captive at Dunbar until he had divorced his wife, and a so-called marriage had taken place between him and Mary; and that he, Moray, and the Scottish lairds had taken up arms to protect Mary from this tyrant.
Meanwhile Moray had in his possession translations of those letters which Mary was reputed to have written to Bothwell in French, and he was wondering how best he could use them.
He began by showing them privately to Norfolk, who had been appointed president of the Conference.
When Norfolk read those letters, with their suggestion of great passion and abandon, he felt more than ever attracted to the Queen of Scots. If she had written them she was a murderess and adulteress, but what an exciting wife she would be! He had seen her and he knew her to be beautiful; to him she had seemed generous and ready to be affectionate. He had not been unaware of the fire beneath the kindly exterior. Norfolk was a man of great vanity, and he believed that he would succeed with Mary where Darnley and Bothwell had failed.
If the letters were not genuine—and Mary would most certainly declare they were not—she was still the most attractive woman he had ever met, and it would be piquant to endeavor to discover the truth of what had happened in Holyrood House and Kirk o’ Field during those eventful days.
Norfolk’s desire for marriage with the Queen was intensified. He would not look too far ahead, but he was certain that she would through him regain the Scottish throne. And what of England? He was related to Elizabeth, on her mother’s side. And Elizabeth was no longer a young girl; she had not married; and there were many who said she never would. What if there were no heirs to the English throne? Mary would be next in the line of succession.
The prospect was even more dazzling after reading those erotic letters. Not only would he have a wife who could bring him a crown—perhaps two—but a voluptuous mistress skilled in the arts of love.
MAITLAND OF LETHINGTON sought out Norfolk. Maitland had his own reasons for not wishing the circumstances of Darnley’s murder to be brought into the light. Darnley had been no friend of his, for it was due to Darnley that at one time his life had been in danger; and but for Mary’s intervention he might have lost it. Mary would never forget that he was the husband of Mary Fleming—one of the four Marys who had shared her childhood—and for his wife’s sake, if not for his, she had done everything possible to save him. Therefore Darnley’s murder had been something he would not have moved a step to prevent; indeed he was strongly suspected of being in the plot to murder. Much better, thought Maitland, not to delve into the matter.
Moreover, although a shrewd statesman, he was deeply in love with his wife and he knew that she was concerned about the Queen’s plight because she was constantly imploring him to do what he could for Mary.
Maitland believed that he could serve himself best by preventing the accusation of murder being brought against the Queen; and he saw that the man who could be most useful was Norfolk.
He summed up Norfolk immediately: Vain in the extreme, arrogantly aware of his position as premier peer, eager for power, anxious to add another heiress to the three he had already married and from whose estate he had benefited.
“My lord,” said Maitland, “I have come to talk to you in secret. I believe you to be the wisest of your Queen’s Commissioners, and as you are the most highly born I am of the opinion that the plan which I shall suggest may not seem impossible of achievement.”
Norfolk was alert.
“The Queen of Scots is a young woman, who has not yet celebrated her twenty-sixth birthday. She is inclined to frivolity and needs a husband to guide her.”
“I believe you to be right,” answered Norfolk.
“I am sure that there is not another more fitted for the role than yourself.”
Norfolk could not hide his elation. That his secret ambition should be suggested by one of the most powerful Scots might have been astonishing to one less vain. But Norfolk could immediately explain to himself: But it is true. She does need a husband. And who is more suitable to be the husband of a Queen than the premier peer of England?
“The project is not distasteful to Your Grace?” asked Maitland.
“Distasteful! Indeed not. I have seen the Queen and thought her most comely. And I agree with you that she is in need of a husband to look after her. She is delightfully feminine . . . and, you say, she is inclined to frivolity . . . in urgent need of a guiding hand.”
“Let this matter remain a secret for a while,” suggested Maitland, “but I would have you know that I shall do all in my power to further it.”
Norfolk nodded. “I shall not forget your friendship,” he said a trifle pompously. “There is of course . . . Bothwell.”
“There would be no difficulty about that. A divorce could be arranged. There are many who believe that the marriage was no true marriage.”
“And the Queen?”
“Will be ready enough to rid herself of Bothwell forever at the prospect of marriage with Your Grace.”
“You believe this to be so?” Norfolk was smiling; he believed it wholeheartedly. His sister Margaret had told him frequently that Mary enjoyed talking to him, and had asked many questions about him. With Margaret to help him at Bolton, and Maitland of Lethington secretly in favor of the match, what could prevent it?
“I do indeed. I believe too that we should proceed with care in this inquiry. It would be well if the case brought against the Queen were merely her hasty and unseemly marriage with Bothwell. I do not think it would be wise to continue with this charge of murder. If the Queen’s innocence were not proved it could well be that the Scottish right to succession might be endangered, and that could of course be harmful to the Queen’s future.”
“I see that you are right in this,” replied Norfolk readily.
Maitland smiled. “We must work together in this matter, Your Grace, and, I repeat, in secret. Others may not see the great good which could come of the success of this plan.”
Norfolk smiled his agreement.
He was well pleased.
MAITLAND ’S NEXT TASK was to see Moray.
“I have sounded Norfolk on a possible marriage to your sister,” he said.
“And the young coxcomb is delighted at the prospect of being husband to a Queen?”
“That is so. And a good prospect it is, for it provides a solution to our problems. Married to Norfolk she would reside in England and it would be necessary to appoint a Deputy to take charge of matters in Scotland.”
Speculation was in Moray’s eyes.
It was a way out. He was determined to cling to his position of Regent; but he did need peace in Scotland. While the Queen was a prisoner in England there would be factions in her favor springing up throughout the length and breadth of Scotland. But if she were kept out of the way through marriage, that would be a different matter.
“It would be necessary to suppress the more vile charges against her,” said Maitland.
Moray was disappointed. He had looked forward to the wide circulation of those “casket” letters.
“Norfolk could scarcely marry a murderess, even though she is a Queen,” insisted Maitland.
Moray was thoughtful. There was a great deal in what Maitland suggested.
LADY SCROPE was beside herself with excitement. She had heard from her brother that certain of the Scottish lairds were in favor of his marriage with Mary. In that case she believed there could not fail to be success.
She was preoccupied with thoughts of the coming child; and Mary, although being with Lady Scrope reminded her poignantly of her own little James whom she had lost, threw herself wholeheartedly into the plans for the new baby.
She was with Lady Scrope in the nursery, inspecting the cradle, the clothes which were being prepared, and listening to details of preparations which were being made for the lying-in, when Margaret whispered: “Who knows, perhaps ere long Your Majesty will be making similar preparations.”
“Ah, who can say,” replied the Queen; and she thought of those months when she had been expecting James. What sad, violent months they had been! She remembered sitting at the supper table, with David Rizzio singing and paying his lute . . . and how his murderers had stormed into the room and dragged him from her side to plunge their knives into his quivering body. Poor David! And that had happened during the months of waiting for little James!
But how different it would be to wait in serenity as Margaret Scrope waited . . . thinking of nothing but the coming of the child and the possible romance of her brother and a captive Queen.
Yes, such serenity was enviable. Would it ever be her lot? she wondered. And wondering she found a yearning within her. She was weary of her loneliness. If this marriage ever came about she would welcome it.
A servant came to them and announced that Lord Herries wished to see the Queen immediately.
“It is news of the Conference,” said Mary to Margaret. And to one of the servant: “Bring him to me without delay.”
One look at Herries’ face told Mary that he was far from pleased.
“What news, my lord?” she demanded.
“It is simply this, Your Majesty. The Queen of England is not pleased with the manner in which the Conference has gone at York, and she is disbanding it. There is to be a second, which will take place next month at Westminster.”
“I see,” said Mary slowly.
“She is not pleased that those vile accusations were withheld, I fear,” said Herries.
Mary’s eyes narrowed. “If there is to be a conference at Westminster,” she said, “and accusations are to be made against me, I wish to go in person to answer them.”
Herries did not reply, but continued to look sadly at his mistress.
SIR FRANCIS KNOLLYS found the Queen taking exercise in the ground of the castle, and asked if he might join her. She gave him her gracious permission and told him that he was looking a little anxious lately.
“My wife is ill,” he said. “I am worried about her.”
Mary was immediately all concern.
“But you must go to see her. I am sure she would like to have you with her at such a time.”
“Alas, I cannot do that.”
“But . . . ” began Mary and stopped, There was a silence for a while and then Mary went on: “So your Queen refuses to allow you to leave Bolton?”
“She feels that my duty lies here at this time.”
“But that is heartless.”
Knollys was silent, and Mary lapsed into thoughts of her own. She felt that, although she was not allowed to come face-to-face with the Queen of England, that woman’s character was gradually being unfolded for her. Had she known more of Elizabeth, would she have been so eager to ignore the advice of so many of her friends and take that trip across the Solway Firth?
She was sorry for Knollys who, in addition to having this rather objectionable task thrust upon him—and she was sure it was objectionable, for he was not a natural jailor—was not allowed to visit his sick wife.
He seemed eager to change the subject, and Mary said: “Do you think that it is your Queen’s intention to have another conference?”
“Indeed yes. It is to be held at Westminster.”
“And do you think she really wishes to see me reconciled with my subjects?”
“It is Her Majesty’s desire that this should be so. Your Majesty, I pray you forgive my asking this question . . . but . . . would you consider a proposal of marriage?”
Mary was silent for a while. She immediately thought of Norfolk as he had been at Carlisle. Young, handsome, ardent, he had implied that he would be her staunch ally; and she believed he was. She was certain that the reason the conference at York had gone so much in her favor was due to him.
Knollys went on eagerly: “If a proposal came from a close relative of the Queen of England, would that be to Your Majesty’s liking?”
Mary smiled faintly. “I would not greatly mislike it,” she answered.
She did not realize that Knollys was not thinking of the same man who was in her thoughts. Both Norfolk and George Carey were related to Elizabeth through Anne Boleyn, for Lady Elizabeth Howard had been Anne’s mother; and George Carey was the son of Mary Boleyn, Anne’s sister.
Knollys was delighted with the reply. It was invigorating to plan for his family; it took his mind away from the anxieties about his wife.
When he left Mary he went to his own apartments and there wrote at once to his brother-in-law, Lord Hunsdon, and told him that Mary Queen of Scots was very favorably disposed toward his son George, and a royal marriage for George could be changed from a possibility into a certainty.
IT WAS THE 25TH NOVEMBER before the Conference was opened at Westminster. Elizabeth had refused to allow Mary to appear in person; and the atmosphere of the court was quite different from that of the one which had taken place at York, for Elizabeth intended this to be a criminal court and was determined that Mary should be tried for the murder of her husband. The Earl and Countess of Lennox, Darnley’s parent, had been begging her to see justice done, and her desire was to find a legitimate excuse to keep Mary her prisoner, to avoid meeting her, and to sustain Protestant Moray in the Office of Regency.
Elizabeth could not forget that there were many Catholics in England who did not believe she was the legitimate daughter of Henry VIII, and, if this were indeed the case, the true Queen of England would be Mary Queen of Scots. This doubt of legitimacy which had hung over Elizabeth all her life—especially so in her youth, when with sickening regularity she had been in and out of favor, never certain what was going to happen next—made her suspicious of any who might contest her right to the throne.
She would never forget that Mary had called herself the Queen of England while she was in France. That was reason enough in Elizabeth’s opinion to send her to the scaffold. Elizabeth could not however send her to the scaffold . . . yet; but he could hold her prisoner. That was what she determined to do.
Therefore she would intimate to Moray, who dared not disobey her, that every means at his disposal was to be used to defame the Queen of Scots. She heard most of what was going on; she had alert spies. She had those ministers to whom she playfully referred as her Eyes, her Lids, her Spirit . . . . There was her dearest Leicester whom she would always trust. There were shrewd Cecil, and Walsingham who served her so ardently that he had a spy system, which he maintained at his own expense, and it was all in order to preserve her safety.
It was not surprising therefore that she heard that two bridegrooms had been proposed for Mary Queen of Scots: George Carey and Norfolk!
She was furious, being determined that Mary should have no bridegroom. Unlike Elizabeth Mary was no virgin—all the world knew that; and Elizabeth could well believe that the lecherous creature yearned for a man. Well, she should have none; she could be as celibate as her cousin Elizabeth because this state for them both was the choice of Elizabeth.
She sent a sharp note to Hunsdon expressing her deep displeasure that he should have thought fit to scheme for marriage between his son and the Queen of Scots. She was considering whether it smacked of treason.
She sent for Norfolk, and shrewdly looking him in the eyes asked bluntly if he were planning to marry the Queen of Scots.
Norfolk was terrified. He remembered how his father, the Earl of Surrey, had lost his head for the flimsiest reason by the order of this Queen’s father. Ever since, he had determined to walk warily; and now he saw himself caught in a trap.
He promptly denied that he had any desire to marry the Queen of Scots and that he knew anything of such a plan; and if Her Majesty had heard rumors of it, then it was put about by his enemies.
“Would you not marry the Queen of Scots,” asked Elizabeth artfully, “if you knew it would tend to the tranquillity of the realm and the safety of my person?”
Norfolk, feeling he was being led to betray a desire for Mary and the marriage, replied vehemently: “Your Majesty, that woman shall never be my wife who has been your competitor, and whose husband cannot sleep in security on his pillow.”
This remark appeared to satisfy the Queen, and she dismissed Norfolk with a smile. She even allowed him to resume his presidency of the Conference.
Norfolk was in a cold sweat when he left her presence. He had decided not to dabble in dangerous affairs again. He must be careful during the Conference not to give an impression that he cherished tender feelings for Mary.
KNOLLYS WAS ALARMED. Mary sensed it. And it was not only his wife’s illness which disturbed him. Margaret Scrope had told her that he had had a sharp reprimand from the Queen because he had been too ambitious for his nephew George Carey. Knollys was afraid he was out of favor, and that could be a dangerous thing at Elizabeth’s Court.
“I have not heard recently from my brother,” went on Margaret. “I’ll warrant he is busy on your behalf at Westminster.”
Letters had been coming frequently from George Douglas in France, where he was longing to gather together another army for Mary’s defense.
She thought of him tenderly and often wished that he were with her. But she was glad that he was in France. There he would be leading a more normal life than he could in captivity with her; and she knew that her uncles would make it a point of honor that he was given every chance.
She wished that she could do the same for Willie. Then an idea occurred to her.
She sent for the boy.
He came into her apartment still wearing the sword which no longer looked quite so incongruous as it had when they had escaped across the Solway Firth, because Willie had grown considerably in the last months.
“Willie,” she said, “you are no longer a boy.”
Willie gave his grin. “I’m glad Your Majesty recognizes the fact,” he said.
“And I have a mission for you.”
She saw the pleasure leap into his eyes.
“A dangerous mission,” she went on, “but I trust you to complete it.”
“Oh ay,” said Willie.
“You are going to France, taking letters from me to George and my uncles.”
Willie’s eyes sparkled.
“First it will be necessary for you to obtain a safe conduct from London. So you must make your way there. Send word to me through the Bishop of Ross when you have received it. Then I shall know that you will shortly be in France. And I shall wish to hear from you and George that you are together.”
“And am I to bring back letters to Your Majesty?”
“We shall see. First go to George. He will give you your instructions.”
“We’ll get an army together,” cried Willie. “Ye’ll see. We’ll come and win England from the redheaded bastard and give it to Your Majesty.”
“Hush, Willie. And pray do not speak of a royal person in such a manner in my hearing.”
“No, Your Majesty, but that won’t alter my thoughts. When do I start?”
“I leave it to you, Willie.”
She knew it would be soon. She saw the desire for action in his face.
He left next day. She watched him set out, and she felt very sad.
“Yet another friend has gone,” she said to Seton.
“If it saddens Your Majesty to lose him, why let him go?”
“I think of his future, Seton. What future is there for any of us . . . in this prison?”
“But we shall be back in Scotland one day.”
“Do you think so, Seton?” She sighed. “If you are right, the first thing I shall do is send for George and Willie and try to recompense them in some measure for all they did for me. In the meantime, I like to think of them . . . over there . . . making their way in the world. Because there must be one prisoner, that does not mean there have to be hundreds.”
Seton was silent, thinking: She is melancholy today. She is wondering what is happening at the Conference. Knollys’ depression affects her.
She looked out of the window and saw that the snow had begun to fall.
THIS WAS A SPECIAL DAY. Twenty-six years before, in the Palace of Linlithgow, a baby had been born. That baby was Mary, Queen of Scotland and the Isles.
Mary opened her eyes to see her women around her bed, all come to wish her a happy birthday; she embraced them one by one.
They had presents for her which delighted her—little pieces of embroidery mostly, which they had managed to hide from her until this morning.
There were tears in her eyes as she cried: “The best gift you can give me is your presence here.”
But it was a birthday, even though it must be spent far from home in a castle which was a prison. For today, thought Mary, she would forget everything else but the fact that this was her birthday. They would be merry.
They would have a feast. Was that possible? She was sure her cook could contrive something; they would invite everyone in the castle. They would all wear their best gowns and, although she had no jewels to wear, Seton should dress her hair as she never had before. They would dance to the music of the lute, and they would forget that they were in Bolton and imagine they were dancing in those apartments which in Holyrood House had been known as Little France.
So the happy day progressed. It was too cold to go out, and a great fire was built up to warm the apartments. Everyone in the castle was eager to celebrate the birthday, and there was an air of excitement from the cellars to the turrets.
Seton dressed her mistress’s hair by the light of candles, and the face which looked back at Mary from the burnished metal mirror seemed as young and carefree as it had before the days of her captivity had begun.
It was her duty, Mary told herself, to throw off gloom, to forget her exile from her own country, that little Jamie was being kept from her, that in London a Conference was being held and perhaps the most evil charges were being brought against her.
The meal was prepared; she heard the laughing voices of her servants as they scurried to and fro; she smelled the savory smells of cooking meats.
And when the table was set in her apartments the whole household assembled there, and she received them like a Queen in her own Palace.
She sat at the center of the table and Knollys insisted on handing her her napkin; Lord Scrope and Margaret looked on with pleasure.
Margaret was getting uncomfortably near her time, and her husband was anxious that she should not tire herself, but she declared she was happy to be there; and when the meal was over, she sat with the lute players and watched the Queen lead the others in the dance.
Mary, flushed with the dancing, her chestnut hair a little ruffled with the exertion, seemed like a very young girl in her excitement.
Knollys watching her thought: How easy it is for her to forget. She was meant to be joyous. When will this weary business end?
It was while they were dancing that messengers from Elizabeth, delayed until now by the bad weather, arrived bringing letters for the jailors of the Queen of Scotland.
Knollys and Scrope went down to receive them. Knollys was startled when he read the letter which was addressed to him; he could only read it again, hoping he had been mistaken.
Elizabeth was displeased with Mary’s jailors. They had shown too much leniency toward their prisoner; and had indulged in schemes for her marriage. Elizabeth therefore proposed to deprive them of their duties, and they were to prepare to conduct the Queen of Scots to Tutbury Castle, where the Earl and Countess of Shrewsbury would be her new keepers.
“Tutbury!” he murmured. And he thought of that bleak Staffordshire castle which was one of the most comfortless places he had ever seen, lacking the chimney tunnels which were a feature of Bolton Castle and which had helped so much to make the large apartments bearable during this bitterly cold weather.
Knollys was filled with pity for the Queen of Scots who was so surely at the mercy of the Queen of England; he was even sorrier for himself. He had offended Elizabeth, and who could know where that would end! How could he have guessed that she would have taken such a view of his attempt to marry his nephew to Mary? George Carey was a kinsman of hers, and she had always favored her relations—particularly those on her mother’s side, for those on her father’s might imagine they had more right to the throne than she had.
There was a postscript to the letter. He was not to leave Bolton until he did so with the Queen of Scots. It would be his duty to conduct her to Tutbury and place her in the hands of the Shrewsburys.
He thought of Catherine, his wife, who was so sick and asking for him.
He let the letter drop from his hands and sat staring ahead of him; then he noticed that Scrope was as agitated as he was himself.
He tried to thrust aside his personal grief and said: “But Tutbury . . . in this weather! We could not travel there while the blizzards last. It is too dangerous.”
“Tutbury . . . ” said Scrope as though repeating a lesson.
“Yes, I suppose she tells you what she tells me . . . that we are to be relieved of this task, and that it is to be handed to the Shrewsburys?”
“Yes,” said Scrope as though dazed, “she tells me that. But . . . how can I move her? How could she go now?”
“We shall have to wait until the weather has improved a little,” said Knollys. “She will be reluctant. Remember how difficult it was to remove her from Carlisle.”
“I was thinking of Margaret . . . .”
“Margaret!”
Scrope tapped Elizabeth’s letter. “The Queen orders that Margaret is to leave Bolton without delay. She expects to hear that she has gone before Christmas.”
“But in her condition!”
Anger blazed in Scrope’s eye. “She suspects Margaret of meddling to make a match between the Queen of Scots and Norfolk; therefore she says, pregnant or no, Margaret is to leave Bolton without delay.”
“But where . . . ” began Knollys.
Scrope spread his hands in desperation. “I do not know. I cannot think. But unless I am to displease the Queen still further I must set about finding a lodging for Margaret without delay.”
Outside the wind howled. Knollys was thinking of his wife, who was dangerously ill and asking for him; Scrope was thinking of his, who would very shortly bear their child. Elizabeth was telling them that their personal affairs must not be put before their duty to her. Not that they needed to be reminded of how implacable could be the wrath of a Tudor!
They did not return to the birthday party.
Knollys said quietly: “There is no need to tell her tonight that she is to be moved to Tutbury. Tomorrow will suffice.”
“TUTBURY!” cried Mary, looking from Scrope to Knollys. “I cannot go to Tutbury in weather like this!”
“Those are our Queen’s orders,” said Scrope. Mary noticed that his expression was blank, his face gray, and she believed that he was afraid because this meant that he had failed and for this reason the charge of her was being transferred to others.
“I shall refuse,” retorted Mary. “I think there are occasions when your Queen forgets that I am the Queen of Scotland.”
Knollys looked at her dully. What did rank matter to Elizabeth! All she cared was that her desires be gratified.
“We can make the excuse of the bad weather for a while,” answered Scrope. “But we should begin to make our preparations.”
“I have heard that Tutbury is one of the bleakest places in England and that Bolton is full of comfort in comparison.”
“Doubtless much will be done to make Your Majesty comfortable.”
“I refuse to consider making the journey until the winter is over,” said the Queen.
Neither Scrope nor Knollys attempted to advise her; they were both thinking of their personal problems.
Later that day Mary discovered the reason why, when one of Lady Scrope’s attendants came to her and asked if she would go to her ladyship’s apartment as she was too unwell to come to her.
