Текст книги "The Captive Queen of Scots "
Автор книги: Jean Plaidy
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She remembered now that there had been several occasions when she had come upon Eleanor in the Earl’s rooms. Of course the woman might well be there on some duty, but was it not a little strange that it should always be Eleanor whom she saw there?
She found the Earl in one of his relaxed moods, and she remembered that these were now frequent occurrences. He seemed to be pleased with himself in some way—how could she describe it? Self-satisfied? She remembered that mood from the early days of their marriage.
It is not possible! she told herself. Shrewsbury and a serving girl?
She was furious at the thought. Had it been the Queen, she would have been angry, because Bess would always be angry if deceived, but at worst the woman who had supplanted her would be a Queen.
Could it possibly be that a serving girl had supplanted Bess of Hardwick in her husband’s affections?
BESS WAS NOT ONE to let such a matter pass. She determined to find out if her suspicions regarding the Earl and Eleanor Britton were justified and kept a sharp watch on Eleanor. One day she saw the serving woman making her way to the Earl’s bedchamber, and hastily secreted herself in an ante-room from which she could gather what was taking place.
From the moment Eleanor entered the chamber, she knew that her fears were going to be confirmed. Suppressing her rage she waited; and when she believed they would be so absorbed in each other that they would not hear the quiet lifting of the latch, she opened the door a few inches and peeped around.
Her impulse was to dash upon them and beat them with the nearest object. But she hesitated, reminding herself of the scandal which would inevitably ensue if this were known. And how could she avoid its being spread if she made a fuss about it? She imagined Queen Elizabeth’s laughter and coarse jokes with her courtiers for Elizabeth would be the first to enjoy a joke at the expense of Bess of Hardwick. What an undignified position! She, the Countess of Shrewsbury, deceived by her husband and a serving girl!
Bess quietly shut the door and crept from the ante-room. Her face was white with rage; her eyes afire with the force of her fury. “You’ll be sorry for this, George Talbot,” she murmured; and she began to plan her revenge.
JANE KENNEDY and Seton were discussing the hideous rumor they had heard concerning their mistress.
“Do you think we should tell her?” asked Jane.
“I think it would be better for her to hear it from us than through any other source.”
“But it is so . . . ridiculous . . . so monstrous!”
“She has suffered from many lying rumors. I think we should tell her at once. It will come better from us.”
So Seton and Jane Kennedy went to Mary’s apartments and told her what was being said of her at the English Court.
Mary listened, wide-eyed. “But who could have started such a rumor? Shrewsbury and myself . . . . lovers! With Bess to keep him in order. What next will they say of me? And I have borne him two children! How could I have done this in secret?”
“It is horrible,” said Seton with a shudder. “What can we do to prevent this foul rumor spreading further?”
“I will tell the Countess,” answered Mary. “I feel sure that she will be as anxious to stop it as I am, and she has far more power to do so. Ask her to come to me at once, and then leave us together.”
When Bess was alone with her, Mary told her what she had heard and how angry this had made her.
Bess’s reception of the news astonished Mary, who had expected the Countess to be as angry as she herself was. Instead Bess laughed heartily.
“I never heard anything so ridiculous in my life,” she said at last. “Your Majesty should put the matter from your mind, because I am sure no one will believe such a silly rumor.”
“I do not like it,” Mary pointed out.
Bess snapped her fingers. “Your Majesty should laugh at it. Of all the absurd things which were ever said about anyone, this is the most ridiculous. Who of any sense is going to believe it?”
“There are many who are always eager to believe the worst.”
“Even they cannot believe this.” She asked permission then to send for her husband, and Mary readily gave it.
When the Earl appeared it was Bess who told him, amid laughter, what had been said.
The Earl looked grave and said he shared Mary’s view of the matter; but the Countess laughed at them both.
“When slander is carried too far,” she assured them both, “it becomes absurd and no one believes it.”
She was watching her husband closely. How embarrassed he was! Embarrassed to be suspected of carrying on a love affair with a Queen! Yet he was delighted to do so with a serving wench!
Ah, George Talbot, she said to herself, you are going to be very sorry you ever deceived Bess of Hardwick. This is only a beginning.
What would these two say if they knew that the rumors concerning their scandalous conduct had been started by her?
This was the beginning of her revenge. She was going to expose George Talbot as a lecher; but never should it be known that he had so demeaned his wife by preferring a serving girl. His infidelities must be with a Queen already notorious for her fascination and her scandalous life.
When they returned to their apartments she twitted the Earl with references to “his love, the Queen”; and although she knew this increased his embarrassment she continued to plague him.
But of course that was only a beginning.
THE COUNTESS WAS IN DISPUTE with her husband. She had hoped that, in view of the unpleasant rumors concerning him and the Queen, and her lighthearted treatment of them, he would have been disposed to grant her this little request.
All she was insisting on was the passing over of certain properties to her sons, but the Earl was adamant, being weary of the demands of the family she had had by a previous husband.
“Very well,” said Bess, “if you will not show me a little consideration, why should I bother to help you in your difficulties? Why should I pretend not to believe these stories of your lechery?”
“Pretend not to believe them!” cried the Earl aghast. “But you have clearly said that you do not.”
“Of course I said it. What else did you expect? That I wish to tell the world that you are carrying on an adulterous intrigue under our own roof?”
“So . . . you believe that of me . . . and the Queen of Scots!”
Bess faced him and looked unflinchingly into his face. “My lord, I know you to be an adulterer. Pray do not think to deceive me on that point.”
She was glad of his perturbation. He was going to pay for all the stolen pleasures with that serving woman. Eleanor Britton indeed. She wanted to shout at him: If it had in truth been Mary I would have more easily forgiven you, but since it is that slut I never shall!
But no. She would remain calm. She was going to turn this situation to advantage. It was more than revenge on Shrewsbury that she sought. She was going to discredit the Queen of Scots at the same time. A Queen who had borne two or three children to Shrewsbury would not gain the support that a virtuous Queen would receive. There would be few to pity one who could behave so during her imprisonment. And if Elizabeth should die and Mary should have become unpopular, Arabella might have a very good chance of reaching the throne.
Bess had two great desires now: to take revenge on Shrewsbury and, even greater still, to sweep Arabella Stuart to the throne of England.
So she was going to see that the whole country heard of this scandal. It was necessary to soothe her own vanity which had been so outraged by Shrewsbury’s intrigue with a serving girl, and to help Arabella on her way to the throne.
She knew the way to make everyone aware of this matter.
“I shall no longer live under the same roof as you and your paramour,” she said. “I am leaving at once for my own house of Chatsworth.”
With that she left him, and before the day was out had made her preparations and departed.
THE QUARREL between the Earl and Countess of Shrewsbury was the main topic of conversation, not only in Sheffield Castle but at Court.
From Chatsworth Bess had started a suit in Chancery against the Earl, and had written to Elizabeth telling her of what she called his lewd and unhusbandly conduct.
Shrewsbury also wrote to Elizabeth. His wife, he feared, was a malicious and wicked woman; the scandals she had uttered concerning him and the Queen of Scots were undoubtedly without foundation; he was sure Her Majesty would understand that in the circumstances he must beg to be relieved of his duties, and he prayed that she would appoint another guardian of the Queen of Scots to take his place.
Elizabeth was annoyed. Shrewsbury had been Mary’s jailor for so long and had proved himself to be a good jailor; she knew full well that the cost to him of such a task had been tremendous, but he was rich enough, she consoled herself. Elizabeth was parsimonious by nature; it was a habit learned in her days of poverty, when she had had to scheme with her governess to procure some trifling garment or a new ribbon for a gown. She was always delighted when she could pass on some responsibility to one of her nobles—letting him shoulder the cost; and this for many years Shrewsbury had been doing very satisfactorily.
She replied firmly that she was not yet ready to relieve Shrewsbury of his task and that if he were going to take every rumor seriously he was indeed a fool.
Nevertheless she sent for Bess.
They eyed each other shrewdly and, for a few fearful seconds, Bess believed that the Queen was seeing through her motives. If it occurred to Elizabeth that the Countess had any thought of promoting young Arabella Stuart, she, Bess, had better tread very warily; it was a very short step from the moment of understanding to the Tower, and an even shorter one to the block.
“What’s this I hear about the Queen of Scots and Shrewsbury?” the Queen demanded.
“It is a rumor, Your Majesty, spread by their enemies.”
“Poof!” Elizabeth’s gaze did not leave the Countess’s face. “Your trouble is over these estates which you are trying to get for Cavendish’s children. You don’t believe these rumors, do you?”
Bess lowered her gaze and tried to look troubled.
“It’s nonsense,” thundered Elizabeth. “You are too clever not to have seen at once if any such thing was going on under your roof. I refuse to believe anything but that. And what is more, I shall write to Shrewsbury and tell him so.”
Bess was relieved yet disappointed. But she would not return to Sheffield. She went back to Chatsworth and Elizabeth wrote to Shrewsbury quoting what she had said to Bess.
It was her way of telling Shrewsbury he was to remain at his post despite scandals.
FROM CHATSWORTH Bess pursued her plans with her usual energy, and so widespread were the scandals concerning Shrewsbury and the Queen of Scots, and such appealing letters did Elizabeth receive from the latter, that she was at last convinced that she must remove Mary from Shrewsbury’s care.
She had heard that Mary’s health had deteriorated rapidly since she bore the additional burden of this scandal, and she gave permission for her to visit Buxton.
Mary’s sojourn at the Spa had its usual beneficial effect and when she had returned to Sheffield Castle Elizabeth wrote to Shrewsbury telling him that she had at last decided to relieve him of his duties.
She was appointing in his place three gentlemen—Sir Ralph Sadler, Sir Henry Mildmay and Mr. Somers.
Shrewsbury received the news with mixed feelings. It was impossible, he knew, for him to continue as the Queen’s guardian when such rumors were rife. It was fifteen years since Mary had come under his charge, and the relationship between them had grown cordial. They understood each other, and parting in such circumstances must necessarily be painful.
He decided that he would not break the news to her at once, for he knew that she did not like Sadler, and would be distressed at the thought of a new jailor of any kind.
He came to her apartments and told her that he had news.
“I am to go to Court,” he said, “where I shall endeavor to plead your cause with Her Majesty.”
Mary impulsively held out both hands to him and he took them.
“I shall miss you when you are away,” she told him.
“Have no fear that I shall not do my best for you while I am there. In the circumstances . . . ”
Mary broke in: “My lord, what has happened has distressed us both, but you more; I am accustomed to insults. And you have lost your wife.”
Shrewsbury said bitterly: “It was no great loss, I come to believe, Your Majesty.”
“It is always sad that there should be such quarrels. I begin to think that not only am I cursed but that I bring bad luck to all around me.”
“Your Majesty should be of good cheer. I doubt not that you will now have a new lodging.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. Sir Ralph Sadler, who will be with you during my absence, thinks that you should stay at Wingfield Manor, while some other lodging is made ready for you.”
“So it is Sadler!” She smiled ruefully. “I shall pray that you soon return. It will be strange to leave Sheffield after so long.”
“I sincerely hope that you will find a lodging more to your liking.”
“You might ask the Queen if I could lodge at Low Buxton. I verily believe that if I could do so I should quickly regain my health.”
He looked at her sadly. He felt it was wrong to deceive her, yet he could not tell her yet that he was in fact saying goodbye.
XVI
Tutbury Once More
THE CORTÈGE MADE ITS WAY SLOWLY along the rough roads. It would not reach its destination before nightfall, but there was not one member of the party who was eager to reach Tutbury Castle.
Seton, riding beside her mistress, noticed a certain alertness in her face. Mary was always mildly excited at the prospect of moving. Did she still dream that a band of gallant friends would waylay the party and free her at last from the captivity of years? Seton believed that she did; that in spite of encroaching age and even more unwelcome infirmity, Mary would always hope for what now seemed the impossible.
Seton moved painfully in the saddle. She was even more crippled with rheumatism than her mistress. But how could one live for years in drafty castles, never being allowed to take enough fresh air, without becoming infirm? They should be thankful perhaps that they were as healthy as they were.
The last months had not been easy, and in desperation Mary had sent Jacques Nau to London to plead with Elizabeth for her liberty. The seeds of scandal which Seton was sure had been scattered by the revengeful Bess of Hardwick, had taken root here and in France and Spain. Mary tried to vindicate herself in Elizabeth’s eyes by suggesting that none was safe from Bess’s evil tongue and hinting at the scandals the Countess had whispered to her concerning Elizabeth; but no sooner had she done this than she regretted it. Elizabeth, however, wisely chose to ignore both Mary’s hints and Bess’s gossip.
Was there no end, Mary asked herself, to the tribulations she must endure? And now that she had new jailors in place of the Shrewsburys, Mary was learning how free she had been in the charge of the Earl.
Seton could not help feeling a certain satisfaction because Sir Ralph Sadler had suffered from the rigors of the Queen’s prison and had found Wingfield and Sheffield so bad for his health, that in a few months he had become almost crippled with rheumatism and was restive to be released from his duty.
“Poor Sir Ralph,” Seton whispered to the Queen, “he at least suffers with his limbs as we do.”
Mary turned to look at her friend and in the harsh light noticed how worn her face was . . . worn with pain, anxiety and frustration. Poor Seton, thought Mary. When I look at her it is as though I look into a mirror. My pain and anxieties are marked on my face even as hers are. If she could have married Andrew; if she could have been the mother of healthy children . . . But what was the use of entertaining such thoughts? They were two women, unlucky in love; doomed, it seemed, to be prisoners for the rest of their lives.
So must it be for her. But it need not be so for Seton.
Mary said: “Seton, I shudder to think of Tutbury. Of all my prisons that is the worst.”
“It will be better when the spring comes . . . .”
“And the smell grows stronger . . . .” murmured the Queen. She turned almost angrily to Seton. “I must endure this life, Seton. But why should you?”
Seton sighed. “Because, as I have told you before, my place is at your side.”
“Nay, Seton. You should go away while there is time.”
“And leave you!”
“I never had patience with those who suffered unnecessarily.”
“It is only if I were separated from you that I should suffer.”
“Look at your hands. Your knuckles are enlarged with rheumatism. Do you think I cannot see how painfully you walk? You are in a worse state than I am, Seton. Why do you not go to France?”
“Ah, if we could both go . . . ”
“Let us indulge ourselves, Seton. Let us think about it.”
They were silent, thinking of those early days when they had ridden lightheartedly in the chase, when they were young and their days were carefree.
“There is no reason why you should not go, Seton,” whispered the Queen. “I could arrange for you to go into a convent with my aunt Renée. She would receive you with pleasure, knowing you to be my dearest friend. Dear Seton, go, while you can still walk.”
Seton shook her head.
“How obstinate you are!” sighed Mary. “There will come a day when I shall have to nurse you. You suffer more than I.”
“Do not ask me to leave you,” pleaded Seton. “While I can still walk I wish to serve you.”
They were silent for a while; then Mary said: “I knew Jacques Nau would do well at Elizabeth’s Court.”
Seton nodded. “She has an affection for all handsome men.”
“And Jacques is very handsome. I could not have chosen a better advocate.”
“Let us be thankful that he has persuaded the Queen that you are innocent of the Shrewsbury scandal.”
Mary laughed. “It all seemed so ridiculous, did it not? Yet there were so many ready to believe. But now, thanks to the good work of my French Jacques, the Countess and her sons have been made to swear I have been slandered.”
Seton nodded, but she was less sure than the Queen. She was thinking that scandal, once sent on its rounds, could live on forever.
“It would seem,” said Mary, “that we are arriving at a house. What is it?”
Seton looked ahead to the gabled mansions. “It is Babington Hall, Your Majesty. We are to rest here for the night, I believe.”
“Babington . . . the name seems familiar.”
“That is very likely. Your Majesty will remember Anthony.”
“Anthony Babington . . . why yes. He is that earnest and handsome young man who called on me at Sheffield and was so eager to serve me.”
“A Catholic gentleman,” murmured Seton; “and Your Majesty is right, he is a handsome one.”
“A charming person,” replied the Queen, as the cortège rode up to Babington Hall.
SIR RALPH SADLER was not going to allow Mary to forget that she was a prisoner; he immediately set his guards about the house and, summoning the chief citizens of the town, told them that Queen Elizabeth would be ill pleased if they allowed her prisoner to escape while lodging in their district. So the citizens posted their own guards in the streets of the nearby town as well as about the house.
The housekeeper, an old widow named Mrs. Beaumont, came forward to greet the Queen on behalf of her master and mistress.
Mary graciously embraced her, kissing her on both withered cheeks, a gesture which enchanted the old lady.
“My master will be delighted that Your Majesty has honored his house,” she said.
“You must tell your master that I remember him well and think of him often,” Mary answered.
Sir Ralph, watching suspiciously, demanded that the Queen be taken to her apartments; and the widow nodded, saying she would lead the way.
It was not easy to have any communication with strangers while Sir Ralph was near; but Mrs. Beaumont did manage to speak to Mary. She told her that if there were any letters the Queen wished delivered to her friends she could safely leave them with her. Her master was the Queen’s most ardent servant and he would think ill of his housekeeper if she did not serve her in every way possible while she was under his roof. He would be sorry that he was absent from his home during the Queen’s visit; but he was at this time abroad. Mrs. Beaumont knew, though, that he lived to serve the Queen.
That night in Babington Hall, while the noise of her guards below her window prevented her from sleeping, Mary thought of handsome young Anthony Babington; and she felt young again because hope had come back to her.
TUTBURY was even more unpleasant than Mary remembered it. Robbers had entered it since she had last stayed there, and much of the furniture and bedding had been stolen.
The cold was intense; the foul odor more pronounced.
Mary went to her old apartments and saw at once that many of the hangings with which her servants had once covered those walls, were missing.
Seton came in looking doleful. “There are scarcely any blankets in the place; and there are only nine pairs of sheets. I’ve counted them myself.”
Mary shivered. “And how many of us are there?”
“Forty-eight. They have even stolen the feathers from many of the bolster cases. I fear we are going to be most uncomfortable until we can obtain supplies.”
Sir Ralph Sadler came into the Queen’s apartment looking worried. There was no need for him to say that he was heartily weary of his task. He longed to pass over the guardianship of the Queen to someone else. He had quickly realized that it was a dangerous and thankless task.
“I will write to Lord Burleigh at once,” she told Sadler. “If we are to stay here, either he or the Queen must send us some comforts.”
Sadler agreed with her. Every day he was revising his opinion of Mary, for previously he had believed her to be fractious and demanding; now he realized all that she must have been made to suffer over the years.
During the next weeks his attitude toward her changed still more. She was a Catholic—a fact which he, a stern Protestant, deplored; she was a danger to his Queen; but at the same time he had to admire the patience with which she bore hardship and her unfailing concern for those who served her.
Soon after their arrival Mary became ill; as for Seton, she was scarcely able to move; both women bore their infirmities with fortitude; but when one of Mary’s oldest servants, Renée Rallay, a Frenchwoman who had come with her when she left France, fell sick and died, Mary’s grief overflowed, and she demanded of Sadler how long the Queen of England intended to keep her in this state.
Sadler decided then that when the spring came he would allow her to ride out with him and watch the hawking. He saw no harm in that, provided she was surrounded by guards.
SO ONCE MORE with the coming of more clement weather Mary’s health improved; and it was a great pleasure to be allowed to ride out even in the company of Sadler and Somers, and accompanied by guards.
With her on these occasions rode Bessie Pierpont, now a blooming beauty of sixteen.
It was one day when they returned from such an excursion that they found Jacques Nau was in the castle, having come straight from Elizabeth’s Court.
Mary was so delighted to see him that she did not notice the flush of pleasure which rose to Bessie’s cheeks, nor did she intercept the ardent looks which passed between the girl and the secretary.
“My good friend,” cried Mary, “how it delights me to see you.”
Jacques kissed the Queen’s hand, but even as he did so he could not prevent his eyes straying to the lovely young girl who stood beside Mary.
“Pray come to my chamber with all speed,” said Mary. “I can scarce wait to hear your news.”
As they made their way there, Bessie walked close to him and when his hand reached out for hers, and pressed it, Bessie could have wept for joy. She would tell him when they were alone that she had lived in great fear that he would have met some fair lady at the English Court who would have made him forget all about simple little Bessie Pierpont. But it did not seem so, and she was exultant because she believed that Jacques was as pleased to be with her as she was to see him.
At the door of the Queen’s chamber, Bessie must leave them, but the look which Jacques cast in her direction told her that soon he would be seeking her out.
When they were alone together Mary complimented Jacques on the manner in which he had accomplished his mission. She saw at once that there was a change in the young man’s manner. There was a new air of confidence; she believed she understood. Elizabeth had a fondness for handsome young men, and Jacques was undoubtedly handsome. Elizabeth would have been enchanted by his French manners, for there was no doubt that Jacques knew how to turn a pretty compliment. Yes, the visit to the English Court had changed Jacques in some way. He was full of assurance having become an ambassador, whereas before he had been a mere secretary.
“Jacques,” said Mary, “I have to thank you for the manner in which you dealt with my affairs. But for you, I am sure, the Countess of Shrewsbury would have been allowed to go on repeating her scandals.”
“It was a great pleasure to me,” Jacques replied, “to achieve an apology in the presence of the Council.”
“You found the Queen of England fair and just?”
“I did, Your Majesty.”
Ah, thought Mary, if only I could see her. If only I could have a chance of talking to her.
Failing that, it was comforting to have someone such as her good and loyal French secretary to look after her affairs.
But there was one other piece of news which Jacques must break to her. He knew that it was going to cause her sorrow and he dreaded telling her. Since he had entered the castle and seen young Bessie Pierpont, he was yearning to be done with business and be with her. He was surprised that he could feel little else but this great need to be with Bessie.
“I have news of Your Majesty’s son.”
The Queen’s expression changed; she clasped her hands together.
Jacques did not look at her as he said: “His Majesty of Scotland finds it difficult to act as joint sovereign with yourself. He has therefore entered into a treaty with the Queen of England as sole sovereign of Scotland.”
Mary looked at her secretary as though she had not heard him. Slowly the implication of what this meant came to her. So he is repudiating me! she thought. At last my enemies have succeeded in taking him from me utterly. He . . . my own little Jamie, now finds his mother an encumbrance. He tells me that I am, in his opinion, no longer Queen of Scotland.
She said slowly: “Is this indeed so?”
Jacques answered gently: “I fear so, Your Majesty.”
Mary covered her face with her hands.
“Your Majesty would wish me to leave you?” whispered Jacques.
The Queen nodded.
BESSIE WAS HOVERING near the door of the Queen’s apartment, and as he came out she threw herself into his arms.
“It has been so long . . . .” she whispered. They were kissing, exploring each other’s faces with their lips.
“Bessie . . . my Bessie . . . .” murmured Jacques.
“You can have no idea how desolate this place is without our secretary Jacques.”
“Can it be as desolate as the English Court without Bessie Pierpont?”
“Oh Jacques . . . what shall we do . . . ?”
“There is one thing we must do . . . and that quickly. Marry.”
Bessie laughed. “I hoped you would say that.”
“Do you think they will allow us to?”
“The Queen never refuses me anything.”
“What of your grandmother?”
“I believe I am a little like her. I am going to do the deed and tell afterward . . . as she did in the case of Arabella’s parents.”
Jacques was thoughtful. He had to remember that he was after all only a secretary. He wondered what action would be taken by the Shrewsburys if he married their granddaughter. He was passionately in love with this charming young girl, but he had to think for them both. It would be disastrous if for the sake of a brief week or so of passion they allowed their entire future to be jeopardized. Jacques was really in love for the first time in his life, but ardently as he desired Bessie, he could yet consider the years ahead of them. Bessie was not only to be his wife, but the mother of his children. This was no sudden blazing passion; he had watched Bessie grow since she was a child of four, and the happiest moments of those long ago days had been when she sat beside him, the tip of her little pink tongue showing at the corner of her mouth as she bent over a Latin exercise with which he was helping her. He had loved her then, and now that she was a woman he desired her as he had never desired a woman before; but the tenderness, the longing to protect had remained; and this he knew to be love in all its aspects.
Thus when he had danced at the English Court, when he had paid the gallant compliments expected of a Frenchman, he had never ceased to dream of young Bessie Pierpont, and all other women could be nothing but passing fancies to him.
He took her face in his hands and kissed her gently.
“My Bessie,” he said, “my true love Bessie, I shall love you until I am laid in my tomb.”
“And I you, Jacques,” she declared solemnly.
“And because I love you as I do I will curb my need of you until that time when I can be sure that in taking and sharing the delights which must surely be ours, I can assure myself that no harm shall come to you.”
“There is no time like this moment, Jacques,” cried Bessie. He embraced her with such fervor that she cried out in her ecstasy. But he released her suddenly and shook his head.
“First there shall be marriage,” he said. “It is how it must be, since you are Bessie my only love. But there will be obstacles and, because I will not have you hurt, we must be patient. Little Bessie, from this day we shall begin to make our plans.”
SIR RALPH SADLER was dismayed. He had often heard of the schemes which had harassed Shrewsbury during his term as jailor; having been with the Queen, and perceiving her patience, he had been inclined to believe most of them to be exaggerated. “All that happened in the early days of her captivity,” he told Somers. “Now she is too old and ill to think of escape. We should be grateful for that.”
