The Captive Queen of Scots - Plaidy Jean - Страница 97
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But Shrewsbury could be determined when he made up his mind. He would not allow Mary to eat any food which was not prepared by her own faithful servants. He dropped hints to Seton who was doubly watchful; so no harm came to Mary through the visit of Borgarucci; and Shrewsbury seized an early opportunity to have the man sent from Sheffield.
How zealous he is to preserve Mary’s safety! thought Bess. Rarely have I seen Shrewsbury bestir himself so much.
She wondered then if he were in truth enamored of Mary. She did not greatly care if he were. All her thoughts were becoming more and more centered on the future of little Arabella.
SETON WAS PREOCCUPIED, Mary noticed, and she believed she knew the reason why. Andrew Beaton was continually seeking opportunities to be in her company; at first she had repulsed him; now she did not do so. But neither Seton nor Andrew Beaton behaved like two people in love.
Mary thought of them often. If Seton were in love she should marry and go away from here. This could be arranged. Andrew might go to Scotland or, if that was too dangerous, to France. Seton, like herself, thought Mary, had not thrived in these damp and drafty castles which had been their homes for so long. Seton suffered from pains in her limbs similar to those which affected Mary; and a few gray hairs were beginning to show. No one could live in this captivity and not show the effects of it. Mary thought with a start: In a few years’ time, if we go on like this, Seton and I will be old women.
It was characteristic of Mary that, although she herself was unable to escape, and although Seton was her dearest friend, she should consider Seton’s happiness rather than her own.
Seton must marry Andrew Beaton and she, Mary, would do all she possibly could to give them a chance of happiness.
She tackled Seton as they sat at their needlework alone.
“Seton, what of Andrew Beaton?”
A hot flush spread across Seton’s pale face. “What of him, Your Majesty?”
“I think he is in love with you. Are you with him?”
Seton shrugged her shoulders. “If I were, it would be of little consequence.”
“Of little consequence! Seton! What are you saying? I think love is of the greatest consequence. If you are in love with Andrew and he with you you should marry.”
“My family would never permit the match. You know Andrew is only a younger brother.”
“Nonsense!” cried Mary. “I do not believe you yourself are affected one little bit by such a consideration. The Beatons are a noble family. You are seeking excuses. And I tell you this, Seton, that if you decided to marry Andrew, I would, as far as I am able, bestow some title upon him which would make the Setons quickly change their opinion.”
Seton shook her head.
“Seton, you are not refusing Andrew on account of someone else?”
“No other man has asked me to marry him.”
“I did not mean a man. You have some foolish notion that your duty lies with your poor mistress.”
Seton turned to Mary and threw herself into her arms. “Do you think I could ever leave you?”
“Oh Seton, Seton, this is unlike you. You must not weep. My dearest friend, do you think I could be happy knowing that I had stood between you and your happiness?”
“My happiness is with you.”
“No, Seton. It is with Andrew. Do you think I am blind?”
“I have vowed to stay with you forever.”
“Such a vow can be broken.”
“It never can!” cried Seton vehemently.
“It is going to be. I am going to command you to break it.”
“It is not as simple as you think. I have taken a solemn and sacred vow to devote myself to a life of celibacy. This could never be broken.”
“It could be broken if you had a dispensation. We will send Andrew to his brother the Archbishop who is now in Paris, and ask him to tell us the best means of securing this dispensation. He can bring us new silks for our embroidery while he is there and perhaps some clothes. Seton, will you agree that I send for Andrew at once?”
Seton’s eyes were filled with tears. “How could I ever leave you?”
“But you love Andrew.”
“I love you both.”
“Then, my friend, you must leave me to decide for you.”
Mary then sent for Andrew Beaton and in the presence of Seton told him of the conversation which had taken place between them.
“Go to Paris, Andrew,” she said. “Come back with your brother’s advice on how this foolish friend of mine can be released from her folly.”
Andrew turned to Seton, and as she smiled he strode toward her and took her into his arms.
Mary stood watching their embrace, smiling tenderly, praying that Seton would now enjoy the happiness she deserved, wondering whether the future might not hold some similar joy for her.
VERY SOON after that interview Andrew Beaton set out for Paris. It soon became known throughout the castle that when he returned he and Seton would be married. Mary brought out all the materials which had been sent to her from France and there was activity in her apartments. Several of the women, with Mary in charge, were working on Seton’s wedding dress which was to be beautifully embroidered. Caps and sleeves were designed and stitched, and each day there was speculation as to whether this would be the one on which Andrew returned.
Seton looked younger every day, and Mary was sure that she had made the right decision for her. When she has children, Mary thought, she will thank me for insisting that she take a husband and renounce her foolish vow to serve me.
Yet Seton’s happiness was clouded because that friendship, which had lasted all their lives, would never be quite the same again after she was married. The Queen had been her first consideration for so long, and Seton wondered how Mary would fare without her.
So they stitched through the summer days until the coming of autumn; and the main topic of conversation was Seton’s coming wedding.
IT WAS A DULL AUTUMN DAY when the messenger came to Mary. She took the letters he brought and, when she read the contents of one of these, she sat as though stunned. She could not believe it. It was too cruel. It seemed to her then that all those who loved her were as unlucky as she was.
She wondered how she could tell Seton; yet she knew that she must be the one to break the news.
One of her women came in and asked her what ailed her, if there was aught she needed; she could say nothing, only shake her head.
The woman went to Seton and said: “I fear the Queen has had bad news. She is sitting at her table, but she seemed bewildered.”
“I will go to her,” said Seton, knowing that in the hour of disaster they belonged together. What will she do if I am no longer here? Seton asked herself. How can I ever be happy—even with Andrew—away from her?
Seton went to the Queen and laid an arm about her shoulders. Mary turned and looked up at her. “Oh, so it is you, Seton?”
“You have had bad news?”
Mary nodded.
“Do you wish to tell me, or shall I help you to your bed and bring cool scented kerchiefs to lay on your head?”
“I fear I must tell you, Seton, because it concerns you even as it does me.”
Seton said in a whisper which was only just audible, “It is Andrew?”
“My dearest Seton, what can I say to comfort you?”
“Tell me, please.”
“He is dead. He died of a fever when he was on his way home to us.”
Mary put the letter into Seton’s hand. Seton read it and let it flutter to the table. But Andrew had been so young, so full of health and vigor!
Mary stood up suddenly and the two of them clung together wordlessly.
Mary thought: She did not wish to choose between us, and now fate has made the choice.
THE YEARS WERE PASSING, each day so like another that Mary lost count of time. News came to her now and then. Her uncle, the Cardinal of Lorraine, had died—one more friend lost to her. George Douglas married at last—not his French heiress but a certain Lady Barery, a rich widow of Fifeshire, and he appeared to have settled down with her on her estates close to Lochleven. Willie was with him, she believed. They were always the Queen’s men; and if opportunity occurred for them to aid her, she knew they would seize it. Lady Lennox died suddenly and Queen Elizabeth took a marked interest in little Arabella Stuart. Mary had been allowed to go to Chatsworth and been brought back again to Sheffield; because of the continued strife in Scotland Mary trembled for the welfare of her son. There was a rumor that Elizabeth was trying to have him sent to London that she might marry him to his cousin, Arabella Stuart. But James remained in Scotland and, although he wrote to his mother, his letters were rarely allowed to reach her.
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