The Captive Queen of Scots - Plaidy Jean - Страница 69

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Seton, close to her, whispered: “Your Majesty, do not despair.”

“It is this place, Seton. I loathed it from the moment I entered it. I loathe it even more now that we have returned to it.”

“Let us hope there will be another move, ere long.”

“We can always hope.”

“Who knows what will happen, Your Majesty? The Duke has had to retire from Court, but there are still your friends in the North. Perhaps they will come marching to Tutbury and carry you away.”

“Who knows? Meanwhile we stay here. Oh . . . this smell, Seton! It makes me feel so ill. And what of Margaret? How is she? How did she endure the journey? Is she resting now? She should.”

“Before the child is due we shall be away from here,” soothed Seton. “Have you noticed we never stay anywhere long?”

“It may be that I shall be carried from here in my tomb.”

“Your Majesty, it is unlike you to despair so soon.”

“Blame the stench, Seton. But listen, you see who our jailor is. I shall never feel safe while he is here. He is a claimant to the throne of England. Why, if Elizabeth were to die without heirs, I believe he would try to take the crown. And here am I at his mercy. What do you think, Seton? Will it be the poison cup? Or a dagger while I lie abed?”

Seton saw that the Queen was near hysteria and she wondered how to comfort her. Secretly she was cursing the walls of Tutbury which she hated as fiercely as Mary did.

“There is someone at the door,” she said.

“Go and see who is there and say that I am too weary to be seen this day.”

Seton went, and Mary heard her say: “Her Majesty is indisposed and wishes to rest . . . .”

But Seton was thrust aside and when the Countess of Shrewsbury came into the room, Mary gave a cry of pleasure. Nothing could have pleased her more than to hear that the Earl and his wife were reinstated in their old posts and that the Earl of Huntingdon was to be dismissed.

“Your Majesty,” said Bess, curtsying.

“It gives me pleasure to see you,” Mary told her. “I trust this means that Huntingdon is returning to London.”

Bess grunted angrily. “Oh no. He is to remain here. He is to be our jailer. The Earl and I are his prisoners even as Your Majesty is. Have you ever heard the like! We are prisoners in our own castle!”

Mary was speechless. Not so Bess.

“I shall not allow it, of course. I will tell Huntingdon that neither the Earl nor myself will stomach any interference in our doings. I shall keep a sharp eye on Master Huntingdon. I believe he begins to understand that.”

“You are, like myself, out of favor with the Queen,” said Mary.

“I displeased her by saving my husband’s life.”

Mary was smiling; it was surprising how the gloom of the last half hour was being dispersed by the dynamic Bess.

“We shall stand no nonsense from him!” went on Bess. “Nor should Your Majesty.”

“I shall certainly not do so.”

Bess smiled. “If there is aught Your Majesty requires, I pray you make your wishes known to me. I shall do my best to see that they are carried out.”

“I pray you be seated,” said Mary. “I would hear news of the Earl’s sickness and recovery.”

Bess sat down and they talked; and as they did so Mary realized that now she had a firm ally in the castle. Bess intimated that she would be watchful of Huntingdon, and she warranted that if two clever women put their heads together they had nothing to fear from meddling Earls.

When Bess had left, Seton noticed how the Queen’s demeanor had changed.

MEANWHILE ELIZABETH had summoned Norfolk to appear before her at Windsor. She sent similar summonses to the Earl of Arundel and Pembroke, Lord Lumley and Sir Nicholas Throckmorton, whose names had been given her by Leicester, those noblemen who, with himself, had banded together to bring about Mary’s marriage to Norfolk.

Norfolk, who was at Kenninghall, wrote to Elizabeth pleading sickness which prevented him from traveling. Meanwhile Arundel, Pembroke and their friends, having obeyed the Queen’s summons, were promptly arrested and conveyed to the Tower, where they were questioned in the hope that they would incriminate the Queen of Scots in treason against the throne of England.

They assured their questioners that Mary had had no designs on Elizabeth’s crown and that the suggestion of marriage with Norfolk had not come from her.

Meanwhile Elizabeth had sent a peremptory order to Norfolk. Sickness or no sickness, he was to present himself to her without delay.

In great trepidation Norfolk set out, was arrested on the way and taken straight to the Tower.

When the news of his arrest was brought to Elizabeth she showed grim satisfaction. She was going to teach the premier peer of England a lesson. But there was one other at whom she longed to strike. Ever since she had heard that Mary had allowed herself to be called Queen of England she had been watchful of her. She had attempted to capture Mary on her return from France to Scotland; she would never be at peace while Mary lived; and when fate (in the shape of the folly of the Queen of Scots) had delivered Mary into her hands she had been exultant.

She longed to sever that beautiful head from those graceful shoulders. She hated the Queen of Scots for many reasons. Mary was beautiful, infinitely desirable, and men were ready to risk their lives and fortunes for her. They said the same of Elizabeth; every day there were courtiers to tell her she was the most beautiful woman in the world. She was their Gloriana, the mistress of her male subjects, all of whom groveled at her feet and capped each other’s flattering comments. Yet, thought Elizabeth in one of those rare moments when she faced the truth, how many would be prepared to worship her if she were the poor prisoner in the castle of a jealous enemy?

That was one reason why she wished to be rid of Mary. A poor reason, admitted Elizabeth the Queen. The true reason was not that of the vain and simpering woman. It was a Queen’s reason: She threatened the crown. She could be a figurehead to Elizabeth’s Catholic subjects. Those who questioned the legitimacy of the marriage between Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn might call Mary, not Elizabeth, the true Queen of England: therefore Mary must die.

But there must be a good reason for her death. It was not wise to set a precedent for the murder of Queens. Royalty must be respected. A case must be proved against Mary; and even then Elizabeth would not happily sign the death warrant.

She went to her council and there railed against the perfidy of Norfolk.

Timidly her councilors pointed out that in negotiating for marriage, Norfolk had done nothing in law to incur a severe penalty.

She had become suddenly furious with them. “What the law cannot do,” she cried, “my authority shall effect!”

Then because she suspected she might have shown her fears of Mary too openly, which would have been unwise, she played the emotional woman, pretending to faint so that the councilors brought vinegar and restoratives to revive her.

But she always knew when she had gone far enough. Recovering from her “faint” she graciously told her courtiers that she feared at times she was but a weak woman, and she thanked them for the good counsel on which she knew she could always rely.

She left the Council Chamber wondering how she could bring about the destruction of her enemy without seeming to have played a part in it.

LESLEY, BISHOP OF ROSS, was disturbed by these events. He knew that the prisoners would be questioned, and he wondered how deeply they would incriminate Mary.

It was while he was in his lodgings, brooding on these matters, that his servant came to tell him that a gentleman was without and asking to see him on urgent business. Lesley commanded that he be brought to him without delay, and the man was ushered in.

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