The Captive Queen of Scots - Plaidy Jean - Страница 39

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“I am sure my mistress will receive this gift with pleasure.”

And as they came nearer to Carlisle Castle Herries’ spirit sank still further. It seemed to him that the arrival of Knollys and Scrope confirmed what he had always feared; it had been a mistake to expect help from the Queen of England.

MARY RECEIVED SCROPE and Knollys in her apartments in the tower of the castle. She was wearing the red brocade dress, having no other, but Mary Seton’s work on her hair had transformed her appearance. She looked very beautiful, and Knollys to a large degree, Scrope to a lesser, felt a sudden loathing of the part they had to play.

Rumor had certainly not lied about the Queen’s appearance; and the sweetness of her expression and the gracious way in which she received them made them understand why so many of her servants had wished to come to England to be with her.

“Well,” she said, “I trust you bring me news of my good sister.”

“The Queen of England sends affectionate greetings to Your Majesty.”

“I hope soon to thank her for them with my own lips.”

Knollys and Scrope hesitated, and Mary said sharply: “Do you bring me an invitation to her Court?”

“No, Your Majesty.” Scrope was leaving Knollys to explain. “Your Majesty will understand . . . . You come to England under a sad suspicion.”

“Suspicion?” cried Mary.

“Your Majesty, your second husband died mysteriously, and rumor has it that, since you married so quickly after his death . . . .”

Mary lifted a hand. In that moment she was very regal and almost forbidding. “Say no more,” she said. “All who know me are certain of my innocence in that matter, and I have not come to England to defend myself.”

“Your Majesty, the Queen of England is jealous of her reputation.”

“She has need to be,” answered Mary promptly.

“As a virgin Queen she is eager that no scandal shall attach to her name, as might be the case if she entertained at her Court one who . . . ”

Mary laughed. She wanted to say: It is not so long ago that Robert Dudley and the Queen were concerned in a similar matter. But she did not mention this, because she understood that one of the reasons why Elizabeth was so eager to protect what she called her good name was because there must be many who remembered the Amy Robsart mystery and were asking themselves if that name was so spotless, if the Queen, who so eagerly proclaimed herself a virgin, was not too emphatic on this matter.

But she was hurt, and the tears of anger momentarily gleamed in her eyes.

Knollys felt his pity touched by the sight of her, and he said gently: “Our Queen is sorry that she cannot do you the honor of admitting you to her presence as yet. But the time will come when Your Majesty is purged of this slander of murder. But the affection of our royal mistress toward Your Majesty is very great and you may depend on her favor. But she would not be pleased if you brought strangers into Scotland. If you do not do this she will use all her means to make you comfortable during your stay in her realm.”

“But do you not see,” persisted Mary, “that I have come here for a temporary refuge, that I hope for help to regain my kingdom? If the Queen will not see me, how can I hope to make her understand my case?”

“Her Majesty of England will admit Your Majesty of Scotland to her presence when you are cleared of the slander, which we all trust you will be ere long. To show her friendship Her Majesty has sent you a gift.”

Lord Scrope said: “My servants will bring it up at once.”

Knollys felt sick with shame. He did not know what was in the box, but Elizabeth had sent for him and Scrope and told them that she was eager to know exactly what the Queen of Scotland’s reactions were on opening the box; and because of the malicious smile which had been on Elizabeth’s face when she had said this, he was apprehensive.

The box was brought in and Mary called for Seton to come and help unpack it.

While this was done Knollys and Scrope stood by.

Seton gasped as she lifted out two shifts that were frayed at the edges and in holes. Mary looked with astonishment from these garments to Scrope and Knollys, neither of whom could meet her gaze. There were some pieces of black velvet almost rusty with age; there were shoes scuffed at the toes and almost falling to pieces; and undergarments badly in need of patching.

“Is this what the Queen of England sends me for my wardrobe?” asked Mary, and the quietness of her tone betrayed to those who knew her what restraint she had to exercise to subdue her anger. She had had a vision of herself at the Court of France in blue velvet and gold, and the courtiers and the King of France with Madame de Poitiers, and young Francois telling her that she was the loveliest girl at the Court; that she had a way with a gown which transformed it into a thing of beauty when it clothed her form. Then she heard the cheers of the crowds as she rode through the streets of Paris. “Long live the Dauphine! Long live the Queen of England!”

How careless she had been then! What had her redheaded rival in England said of her, thought of her, when she had heard that in Paris she, Mary, was being called the Queen of England? Was she determined on revenge? Was this that revenge? Two pieces of mangy velvet, patched shift, worn out shoes! Was this a symbol of the help she must expect from the Queen of England?

She scarcely glanced at the things in the box and Knollys began to stammer: “The Queen of England understood that your maids were in need of clothes. These were intended for them.”

“Perhaps she intended them for my scullions,” said Mary sharply. “But do you know, when I had my own Court, I wished to see my lowest servants decently clad.”

She signed that the interview was over, and Knollys at least was glad. He felt ashamed.

Scrope eyed him warily. That remark about the contents of the box being intended for the maids was extraordinary. Was Knollys, like so many others, about to become a victim of the fascinating Queen of Scots?

SHORTLY AFTER Knollys and Scrope had left her, and before she had recovered from her anger, the Lords Herries and Fleming were asking for an audience.

She admitted them at once and saw from their grim looks that their fears equaled her own.

She smiled wanly at Herries. “You do not say, my lord, that you warned me not to come to England. But I remember that you did.”

Herries shook his head sadly. “Who can say what would have befallen us if we had tried to reach France, Your Majesty?”

“Nothing worse than that which could happen to us in England. Why, my lords, I feel almost as much a prisoner here as I did in Lochleven. Remember how long I have been here. I have made no progress through England at all. I have merely changed Lochleven for Carlisle.”

“We have a suggestion to put to Your Majesty,” said Fleming. “Someone must plead your cause with Queen Elizabeth and, since it cannot be yourself, we propose that one of us should go to London and try to obtain an audience with her.”

Mary looked from one to the other.

“I should go, Your Majesty, with your permission,” Herries told her.

“I shall miss you, my good and faithful counselor.”

“You have a bigger retinue than when you came—all faithful friends,” said Herries. “I can now leave Your Majesty with confidence, knowing that you have about you those who will protect you with their lives.”

“God bless you,” Mary replied emotionally. “When do you propose to set out?”

“Immediately.”

Fleming said: “I have come to ask Your Majesty’s permission to go to France . . . if that is possible.”

“To France!” Mary’s eyes widened. “Ah, that is where I should have gone when I left Scotland. I see it all now. The King of France would have been a good friend to me. He is older now and, it may be, not so completely under the control of his mother. And you will go to him, my lord Fleming, and tell him of my plight.”

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