Текст книги "The Captive Queen of Scots "

Автор книги: Jean Plaidy

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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 33 страниц)

She paused and listened. There was no sound from the adjoining chamber. She thought of those days at the Court of France when she had heard that Mary of England was dead and when her uncles, the Guises, and her father-in-law Henri Deux had insisted that she claim the title of Queen of England. Elizabeth would not be very pleased about that. Yet she could not hold it against her now. She must understand that it had been no wish of Mary’s to claim a title which was not hers.

. . . I implore you, on receiving this letter, to have compassion on your good sister and cousin, and believe that you have not a more affectionate relative in the world . . . .

When she had finished the letter she signed it “Your obliged and affectionate good sister and cousin, Mary R.”

She sealed it and, carefully putting away her writing materials, went quietly back to her bed, noticing that her jailors were still sleeping.

When Christian came to her she would give her the letter, and Christian had promised that it should be smuggled across to the mainland and given to a trustworthy messenger.

Would the English Queen be so incensed by the indignity done to royalty that she would offer help? Or would she smile and say: This was the woman who once called herself the Queen of England!

Mary, who quickly forgot grudges she had once borne, gave Elizabeth the credit for sharing her forgiving nature. So she was hopeful on that sunny May morning.

Later in the day when she walked with Seton down to the lake’s edge she saw a boy near the boats, and as she approached he looked up giving her a frank grin.

Mary cried in sudden pleasure: “Why, it’s Willie Douglas.”

“Back now in the castle, Your Majesty,” said Willie, looking about him searchingly. He went on: “Walk on, Your Majesty, and don’t appear to be talking to me. But I have something to say and I’ve been waiting the opportunity. But pass on, please, and come back. When you do, I’ll be lying in this boat and no one will see me. Stop close by and listen to what I have to say.”

The Queen and Seton walked on. Willie watched for a second or two and then busied himself with the boat. After five minutes or so the Queen and Seton came back to the spot. Willie was now lying in the boat and out of sight from the castle.

“Is there anyone within earshot?” he asked.

“No,” answered Seton.

The Queen sat down on the grass and Seton sat with her.

“Listen,” said Willie. “We’re going to free you any hour now. You must be prepared for when I come for you. Lord Seton and Lord Semphill are on the other side of the lake . . . . and George is with them. All I have to do is to get you out of the castle.”

Mary said: “Now . . . ?”

“No, no. If you as much as stepped into a boat you’d have the garrison out. You’re being watched at this moment. You’re never out of their sight. We wouldn’t stand a chance. You must not stay here too long or they’ll be suspicious. Rise now and stand for a few minutes looking at the mainland while I tell you the plan. It’ll be tomorrow. I shall try to get the keys while they’re at supper. You will be dressed as one of your maids . . . . I shall come to you. The boat will be ready . . . I can arrange that, now that the boatman is injured. You will follow me out of the castle. I shall lock the gates behind us. I will give you the word. Be prepared.”

“But how can it be done, Willie?” demanded Mary desperately.

“Only while they are at supper. It is the only time they are not on guard. I must find some means of getting the keys from Sir William. If I could do that we could be out of the castle before they realize it. And once on the mainland, your friends will be waiting with fleet horses. They are waiting now. I have come back to do this. I have sworn I can do it, and I will.”

“If only you can!”

“I must do it soon . . . while the boatman is sick. If only Drysdale were sick too! He is the one I fear. Do not linger here any longer. Walk on now. It would be the end of the plan if they began to watch me too closely now.”

“Come, Seton,” said Mary. “Bless you, Willie. I will be watchful . . . and ready when you come.”

When they had left Willie lying in the boat, he stared up at the blue sky, his light eyes screwed up in concentration. He must do it. He had boasted to George and all those grown-up lords that he would. But how was he going to spirit those key away from Sir William?

He waited on him at table, and so had those keys under his eyes all the time the company was at the meal. Sir William kept them by his plate so that every second he could assure himself of their safety.

How could he get those keys into his possession while the guards were at table? When he had heard the plan it had not seemed an insuperable difficulty. How different was the reality.

NOW THAT WILLIE had inspired her with hope, Mary’s optimism had returned. She knew that, across that small strip of water, friends were waiting for her. Surely it was not impossible to slip across to them.

At any moment Willie might be ready for her. She must be prepared. This time there must be attention to detail. When she thought of how easily she might have escaped with the laundresses she was ashamed of her inability to play her part for such a short time.

She sent for Will Drysdale. She had an idea of luring him away from the castle, which might possibly work. There was one thing she had noticed about Will Drysdale, and that was his love of gambling. Therefore, she reasoned, money would tempt him. He was loyal to his masters so bribery was no use. She must use other methods.

When he came to her presence she said: “I called you because, although it may seem strange to you, I am grateful to you. You have been appointed commander of this garrison which keeps me prisoner, but I do not hold that against you because in your dealings with me you have always been kindly and respectful.”

Drysdale bowed; he was a little under the spell of the Queen and he often regretted that his duty made it necessary for him to have her watched so closely.

“I want to reward you with a small gift. It is not as much as I would wish but, as you doubtless know, many of my possessions have been taken from me.”

“Your Majesty is good to her humble servant.”

“I have no money here, but if you will take this draft to my state treasurer in Edinburgh he will honor it. And I have a list here of articles of which I am in dire need. Good Master Drysdale, would you please bring these to me with as much speed as you can muster?”

Drysdale’s eyes gleamed. It was pleasant to have the money and do a service to this beautiful woman at the same time.

He bowed. “Your Majesty can rest assured that I shall do my utmost to bring you what you desire as quickly as possible. And I thank you for your kindness to your servant.”

Mary gave him a dazzling smile and he bowed himself from her presence.

She was delighted less than an hour later to hear him giving orders to his men, and from her windows she saw him rowing across the lake to the mainland. Will Drysdale had left for Edinburgh, and he would consequently be absent from Lochleven for some little time.

Willie too had seen the departure of Will Drysdale and heard from some of the men that their commander was making a trip to Edinburgh.

The boatmen incapacitated; the commander absent from the castle; assuredly the moment had come.

But how make Sir William so bemused by wine that his keys could be stolen from him? That was the question.

SIR WILLIAM WAS dozing in his chair. He had eaten well and the sun was warm. In his pocket were the keys of the castle; even though the guards were on duty he kept one hand on them as he slept.

“Sir William?”

He opened his eyes; Willie was standing before him.

“What is it?” asked Sir William.

“Sir William, I want your permission to give a feast.”

“What!” cried Sir William.

“To everyone in the castle . . . everyone,” explained Willie. “I’ve been away and now I’m home again. It is something I rejoice in, and I would have everyone rejoice with me.”

Sir William’s mouth twitched slightly. In spite of an effort to repress his feelings he could never quite do so where this boy was concerned, and he was secretly delighted to know that he was back in the castle. The page who had waited on him at table was a clumsy oaf, he always said; he was more critical of him than he might have been because he missed Willie.

Now he said: “You give a feast? How would you manage that?”

“I have money, Sir William. George gave it to me when he said goodbye.”

“And when do you propose to have this feast?”

“Today.”

“On a Sunday!”

“A good day for a good deed,” said Willie raising his eyes piously. “I have already had meat and vegetables brought from Kinross, and with them several bottles of good wine which would not offend even your palate.”

“And suppose I give you permission to hold this feast, whom will you ask? The Queen, I suppose.”

“I shall ask everyone, Sir William. The Queen, Sir William, Lady Douglas . . . everyone who cares to come. It is to be a banquet equal to that which the Queen has enjoyed at Court, and I shall be the Lord of Misrule.”

Sir William burst out laughing. “And Willie Douglas will do all this?”

“Willie Douglas will.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“Then I must prove it!” Willie stood back a few paces and bowed low.

“I thank you, Sir William, for your permission. I offer you a formal invitation to Willie Douglas’s feast.”

Sir William was laughing.

It’s good, he thought, to have the young rogue back in the castle.

THE FEAST TOOK PLACE in the early afternoon. Mary was present; so were Sir William and Lady Douglas; in fact all who could be spared from their posts were at the great table. Willie presided, plying his guests with wine; aping the manners of the nobility in such a manner that he had the entire company laughing at him. He minced about the room; he gave orders in arrogant tones; he was gallant to the ladies, his freckled face wrinkled in simpering admiration; and all the time his alert eyes were on Sir William, who kept his keys in his pocket and, although he drank heavily and complimented Willie on his good wine, was none the worse for the amount he took.

Willie was also watching the Queen. He was eager to get a message through to her. He wanted her to be ready to leave during supper this evening. He knew that she was expecting some signal, but how difficult it was when he could not find an opportunity to have a word with her.

The company was becoming drowsy and the feasting could not be prolonged, so Willie suddenly announced that he was going to take advantage of his position as Lord of Misrule. Picking up a green branch which he had acquired for the occasion he approached the Queen.

“I am the Lord of Misrule,” he chanted. “I touch you with my rod. This day you must follow me whither I command.”

Mary answered: “Lord of Misrule, this day I will follow you wherever you lead me.”

Willie danced into the center of the room and beckoned the Queen, who rose from her chair and made to follow him.

Willie tripped from the room, with Mary behind him.

When they were outside, Willie turned and whispered: “It must be during supper tonight. Be watchful.”

“Willie . . . are you sure?”

Willie shook his head and laid his fingers on his lips. Lady Douglas was coming toward them.

“I’m a little weary after the revelry,” said the Queen. “I think I will rest awhile.”

Lady Douglas’s eyes were alert. She had not forgotten the part Willie had played in the laundress scheme. “I will accompany Your Majesty,” she said.

Willie returned to his guests while Lady Douglas went with the Queen to her own apartments.

Mary lay on her bed; she was too tense to feel tired; she closed her eyes, pretending to sleep, and Lady Douglas seated herself by her bed. It was clear that she did not trust Willie and had been made suspicious by the feast. Mary knew that Willie had hoped to lure all the guards to the feast and during it manage to steal the keys: he had been disappointed in that, and all he seemed to have done was arouse suspicion.

Lady Douglas bent over the bed to see if she were asleep, and Mary gave no sign that she was aware of this. She heard Lady Douglas sigh deeply and go to the door.

Someone said: “My lady, I felt I should tell you without delay.”

“What is it?”

“My lord Seton was seen close to the lake on the mainland. He rode by with a party of horsemen.”

“Was that so?”

“I thought I should tell you.”

Mary did not recognize the voice which was speaking, but she guessed it to be that of one of the kitchen maids.

“You did right.”

“And, my lady, it is said that Master George has not gone to France, but is with my lord Seton in Kinross.”

“Is that so?” said Lady Douglas slowly. “Then . . . off with you. You will awaken the Queen.”

Mary’s heart was beating so fast that she was afraid Lady Douglas would notice. But the older woman gave no sign of this and returning to the bed continued to sit beside it. It seemed a long time before she rose and went to her own apartments.

THE AFTERNOON was coming to its close when Mary rose from her bed and declared that she was rested from Willie’s revelry and would take a walk. She put on a cloak and went out of the castle in the company of Seton.

“This suspense is becoming intolerable,” she whispered to Seton. “I am afraid they are too suspicious of us. We expect too much from Willie. He is after all only a boy.”

“I am sure his plan was to do something during his feast. Now it is to be while supper is in progress.”

“We are being followed now,” said Mary.

Lady Douglas came up with them and as she fell into step beside them they were startled by the distant sound of horses’ hoofs, and looking up saw a party of horsemen on the mainland.

Lady Douglas watched them intently and with some misgiving; Mary guessed she was eager to report what she had seen to Sir William, and she felt dejected; for after Willie’s unusual behavior, the gossip of the kitchen-maid and the actual appearance of horsemen on the mainland, she felt that it must be obvious that some plan was in the air.

She sought to turn Lady Douglas’s thoughts from what she had seen by complaining bitterly of the way in which Moray had treated her.

Lady Douglas could never bear to hear her favorite son attacked. When this happened she immediately forgot all else in her defense of him.

“His one thought,” she insisted, “is the good of this land.”

“His one thought,” retorted Mary, “is to rule this land.”

“Your Majesty wrongs him.”

Mary then began to enumerate all that he had done against her, and Lady Douglas grew warm in his defense.

All was now quiet on the mainland and it seemed that Lady Douglas had forgotten what a short while ago she had seen there to disturb her. She talked in glowing terms of the cleverness of Moray, how like his father he was, and therefore a little like Mary. “For, Your Majesty, I see your father in you.”

Lady Douglas was back in her glorious past when she had been a King’s favorite mistress. So that the suspicious activity on the mainland completely slipped from her memory.

She was still talking when Sir William appeared.

“The Queen’s supper is about to be served in her chamber,” he said. He bowed to Mary. “May I escort you there?”

She went into the castle with him, and never had the place seemed so gloomy, never so much a prison as it did on that Sunday evening.

She went to her room and took her supper.

For a short while she was alone with her friends whom she could trust: Seton, Marie Courcelles and Jane Kennedy. Jane said suddenly: “If Willie can procure the keys, it is still possible.”

“How can Willie procure the keys?” Mary asked. “Yet we must be prepared. I will change clothes with you, Seton, for you are more my height than the others. And I will do it now, for if the moment should come, we must be ready.”

They changed clothes.

“I will keep my veil,” said Mary, “because I must wave this from the boat as a signal, so that my faithful defenders may know I am on the way.”

So in Seton’s gown and cloak, with her own white veil with its red and gold border and red tassels, Mary waited tensely for what would happen next.

SIR WILLIAM was feeling drowsy. The wine Willie had provided at his feast had been very potent. He could go to sleep there on the dais. All was well. The guards were at supper with him and the rest of the household; the castle gates had been carefully locked; and beside his plate lay the keys, without which no one could leave the castle.

Lady Douglas was talking indignantly of the Queen’s accusations against Moray, and defending him; but Sir William had heard his mother on the perfections of Moray before, and it added to the soporific effect of the wine.

Behind Sir William’s chair stood Willie, ready to fill his plate or his goblet. It was good to have Willie back in place of that clumsy oaf who had served him during the boy’s absence.

As for Willie, he could not take his eyes from that bunch of keys which were lying on the table. His fingers itched to seize them. He had to resist an impulse to snatch them and run—which would of course be the utmost folly.

Sir William was yawning and Willie poured more wine into his goblet. On and on went Lady Douglas. And Willie stood, only half hearing what was said, his impatient fingers pulling at the napkin in his hands.

The meal would soon be over and then it would be too late. Shortly Drysdale would be back; the boatman might be well enough to take over his duties; and there would never be an opportunity like this. Now the boat was ready, the oars in place, and how could that possibly have been prepared unless Willie had charge of the boats!

Yes, he must spirit those keys away five minutes before it was noticed that they were gone . . . enough time to go to the Queen’s apartment, to bring her out, to hurry down to the castle gates, unlock and lock them again; then down to the boats and away. But he must have the keys.

Willie leaned forward to remove Sir William’s plate and, as he did so, he let his napkin fall over the keys. When he picked up the napkin and Sir William’s plate, the keys were no longer on the table.

This was the most difficult part—to walk out of the hall holding the plate, the napkin and the keys, unhurried and without concern, knowing that at any moment the absence of the keys might be noticed. If so, he would be stopped, all would be discovered and that would be the end of Willie Douglas’s hopes of saving the Queen—and perhaps the end of Willie Douglas.

Past the long table, past the noisy soldiers and the servants . . . and out.

Willie was taking the stairs two at a time. He unlocked the room which led to the Queen’s apartment. He was standing before her. He did not speak but held up the keys.

Now Mary was following him down the stairs and out of the castle.

Jane Kennedy, who it had been arranged should go with her, had been putting on her cloak in the ante-chamber when Willie had arrived and, as there was no time to lose, Mary had started after Willie without Jane.

It was a glorious feeling to be in the fresh air and the short distance to the castle gates seemed one of the most exciting journeys Mary had ever made. Willie ran ahead. He was unlocking the gates, holding them for her to pass through; then he locked them again behind them.

At that moment Jane Kennedy emerged from the castle. Mary looked back, but Willie shook his head. They had overcome the biggest obstacle. They were outside the castle and everyone else was locked inside. He was not going to run any risks by unlocking the castle gates. At any moment the loss of the keys might be discovered and the hue and cry would start. Those soldiers would find some means of coming after them.

The plan had not yet succeeded.

Willie ran ahead to where the boat was ready and waiting. Mary stepped into it, Willie took the oars, and they were slipping away from Lochleven.

“We have succeeded!” cried the Queen.

“We have to reach the mainland yet,” Willie grimly reminded her.

“We will,” replied Mary, and she took an oar and began to row with him.

There was a sudden splash in the loch close by, and to her horror Mary saw a dark figure swimming toward them.

“Why,” she cried, “it’s Jane! Stop, Willie. It’s Jane Kennedy swimming after us.”

Jane had gone to one of the castle windows from which she had jumped into the loch and encumbered by her clothes was making slow progress toward the boat. But Willie would not stop even for her. Eventually however she reached them and Mary eagerly leaned over the side of the boat to help her scramble in.

“I could not let . . . Your Majesty . . . be without one of us to serve you,” she panted.

In a few seconds she had recovered her breath and ignoring her dripping garments, insisted on taking the oar from Mary, and she and Willie pulled with all their might for the shore.

Each stroke took them farther and farther from Lochleven and nearer to freedom. Mary took off her veil and waved it and when she heard a shout from the mainland and the clatter of horses’ hoofs she believed she had rarely been so happy.

The boat touched ground and someone had come forward to kneel at her feet.

“Why, George,” she said, “so you are the first to welcome me back to my kingdom.”

Now others were crowding around her. Horses were waiting and it would be unwise to stay in Kinross.

Friends were with her now: Seton, Semphill, John Beaton, George Douglas and the humble people of Kinross who had sheltered the Queen’s loyal subjects secretly in their houses awaiting this great day.

The horses were ready. Mary was helped into the saddle. Willie watched her, grinning with delight as he turned and threw the keys of Lochleven into the middle of the lake.

Then he took the horse which was waiting for him; and so the Queen escaped from her prison of Lochleven.