The Captive Queen of Scots - Plaidy Jean - Страница 41
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“So you see,” said Mary, “I am not so deserted as you . . . and perhaps your Queen . . . have thought me to be?”
“No, Madam,” answered Scrope grimly. “I see that you are not.”
SCROPE SAID TO KNOLLYS: “You see what intrigue goes on under our noses. Why, it would not be impossible for her to be carried back into Scotland before we could prevent it. Huntley and Argyle writing to her thus! Do we see the letters? We do not! Yet it is our Queen’s command that we see all letters which pass into the hands of the Queen of Scotland, and all those that she sends out.”
Knollys shook his head. “I would to God we had never been given this task.”
“I confess to certain misgivings. But perforce we have this task, and perform it we must . . . or be in trouble ourselves.”
“What new rules do you propose to put in force?”
“Firstly I shall write to Cecil and suggest that Carlisle Castle is too near the Border for my peace of mind. There is my castle of Bolton . . . ”
“Ha! A fortress if ever there was one.”
“I should feel happier there with this captive of ours than I do in Carlisle. Then I like not all these servants about her. I believe that none of the men of her court should be allowed to sleep in the castle but should find lodgings outside. The rooms leading to her bedchamber should be filled with our guards—and perhaps ourselves—rather than her friends. The castle gates must be kept locked through the night and not opened until ten of the clock in the forenoon and closed at dusk. Then it might be difficult for Huntley and Argyle to whisk her away without our Queen’s consent.”
“Ah,” sighed Knollys sadly, “little did she know when she escaped from Lochleven that she was changing one prison for another.”
THERE WAS NO NEWS of Herries, no news of Fleming. That boded ill, for Mary knew that if they had succeeded with their missions she would have heard from them. She was beginning to suspect the goodwill of Elizabeth, and was wondering whether the shadow of Elizabeth of England would darken her life now, as that of Catherine de’ Medici had her childhood.
One day a certain Henry Middlemore called at Carlisle on his way to Scotland with dispatches from Elizabeth to Moray and, hearing of his arrival, Mary asked that he be brought to her.
The demeanor of this man should have been enough to show Mary the hopelessness of her case with Elizabeth, for he treated her with a deliberate lack of respect.
“Have you brought me news of when your mistress will grant me an interview?” asked Mary passionately.
“Madam,” was the answer, “I can only tell you what you know already. The Queen of England cannot receive you until you have cleared yourself of suspicion of murder. And that you have not done, and facts are black against you.”
“How dare you say such things to me?” demanded Mary.
“Because they are the truth, Madam. Her Majesty, my mistress, asks you to prevent those Scotsmen in Dumbarton and other places in Scotland from accepting help from France should it be sent.”
“Why should I prevent others from helping my cause when your mistress refuses to do so?” asked Mary.
“You have put yourself in my mistress’s hands and if, when she has judged your case, she finds you guiltless, doubtless she will help you. I go to Scotland now to ask the Earl of Moray to suppress all signs of civil war in Scotland at the request of the Queen of England.”
Mary was slightly mollified at this and Middlemore went on: “Her Majesty believes you would find better air away from Carlisle and that it would be to your advantage to go to some other castle which shall be placed at your disposal.”
“Does the Queen of England intend to have me taken there as a prisoner or for me to go of my own free will?” Mary asked.
“I am sure the Queen of England has no wish to make you her prisoner. She will be happy if you accept her plans for you without demur. It would please her if you were lodged nearer to herself. That is the main reason why she wishes you to move from Carlisle.”
“Then if that be so, let me go to her without delay. Let me have apartments next her own at Windsor or Hampton Court. She could not then complain of the distance which separates us.”
Middlemore ignored this. He said quietly: “Her Majesty had in mind the Castle of Tutbury in Staffordshire . . . a goodly place, Madam, and one which you would find convenient.”
Convenient, thought Mary hysterically. Conveniently far from the Border, conveniently far from Hampton Court! What was the Queen of England planning against her? And where were Fleming and Herries now?
Middlemore took his departure and Mary could only ease her disquiet by writing a long letter to Elizabeth in which she passionately demanded justice, an opportunity to see her, a chance to assure her good sister and cousin of her innocence. She asked that Lord Herries be sent back to her as she needed his good counsel, and she would like to have news of Lord Fleming.
When she had written the letter she sat at her table staring moodily before her. As each day passed hope seemed to fade farther and farther away.
Meanwhile Middlemore went on his way into Scotland, where the Regent Moray and Lord Morton were preparing translations from the original French of those letters which they alleged were found in a casket under Bothwell’s bed when he fled to the North.
These translation would prove to Elizabeth, and the world, that Bothwell and Mary were lovers before Darnley’s death, that Bothwell had raped the Queen, and that since then she had no desires for any man but him; that they had plotted together to murder Lord Darnley, the Queen’s husband, so that marriage between Mary and Bothwell might be possible.
IN SPITE OF the vigilance of Scrope and Knollys more men from Scotland arrived at the castle. Mary was walking in the grounds with Seton when she saw George Douglas coming toward her.
He bowed low and his earnest eyes were on her lovely face as she gave him her affectionate smile. She was thinking: Poor George, what life is this for a young man! If I am to remain a prisoner, what will become of him?
“Your Majesty,” he said, “I have a packet of letters which have been stolen from Moray’s secretary. I believe you would wish to see them. One of the new arrivals brought them and gave them to me that I might pass them to you at an opportune moment.”
“You have them with you, George?”
“Yes, Your Majesty, but I fear we may be watched.”
“You are right. They watch me here even as they did at Lochleven. We will go into the castle and, when Seton has taken me to my apartments, she shall come out to you again. Could you be at this spot and hand them to her? They do not watch her as they watch me.”
“I will do that, Your Majesty.”
With that the ladies turned and went back to the Queen’s apartments, and soon afterward Seton returned to the grounds where George was waiting for her.
When Seton went back to Mary’s chamber, the Queen eagerly seized what she had brought. It was a packet of letters from Moray’s secretary, John Wood, to Elizabeth’s ministers; and as she read them, Mary’s indignation was fierce for there was no doubt that Elizabeth’s advisers were in league with Moray against her, Mary; and that their main objects were to prevent her receiving help from France and to keep her a prisoner in England that Moray might rule in her stead.
Even now it did not occur to her that Elizabeth was a party to this scheme, and she believed that the reason she was being kept from the Queen of England was because her ministers, in collaboration with Moray, were preventing the meeting.
Without consulting her friends she sat down and penned an impulsive note to Elizabeth.
She told her of the letters which had come into her possession and wrote:
They assure him that I shall be securely guarded, never to return to Scotland. Madam, if this be honorable treatment of her who came to throw herself into your arms for succor I leave other Princes to judge. I will send copies of these letters, if you permit it, to the Kings of France and Spain and to the Emperor, and will direct Lord Herries to show them to you, that you may judge whether it be right to have your council for judges, who have taken part against me . . . .
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