Royal Road to Fotheringhay - Plaidy Jean - Страница 11
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Francois’s brow cleared. Charles was no fool. No fool indeed! If he himself was Frances greatest soldier, Charles would be the country’s cleverest diplomat.
“I feel,” said Francois, “that you should watch over her education carefully, and that the Marechal and Madame d’Humieres should not be given too free a hand. The governess, Fleming, is no danger, I suppose?”
“The governess Fleming is just a woman.”
“If you wish to seduce a royal lady of Scotland, why not…,” began Francois.
The cynical mouth turned up at the corners. “Ten years ago your suggestion would have interested me. The Fleming will be a worthy lover. Very eager she will be. She is made for pleasure. Plump and pretty, ripe, but of an age, I fear, for folly, and the folly of the middle-aged is so much more distressing and disconcerting than that of youth. But there are hundreds such as the Fleming. They are to be found in every village in France. Nay, I’ll leave the Fleming for some callow boy. She’ll bring him much delight.”
“You could, through the woman, keep a firm hand on Mary Stuart.”
“The time is not yet come. Mary, at the moment, is the playmate of the Dauphin, and as such shares the governor and governess of young Francois. That is enough for the moment. Let her strengthen that attachment. That is the most important thing. The Dauphin must be completely enslaved; he must follow her in all things. He is willing to do so now, but she must forge those chains strongly so that they can never be broken. He is his father all over again. Would Diane have caught our Henri so slavishly if she had not caught him young? ‘How charming!’ they say. Madame Diane says it. His Majesty says it. ‘Was there ever anything more delightful than for two children who are destined for marriage to be already such tender playmates?’ These Parisians! They are not like us of Lorraine. They talk love and think love. It is their whole existence; it is an excuse for everything. It is typically Valois. But we must be more clever; we must see farther. We know that this love between our niece and the King’s son is more than charming; it is very good for the House of Guise. Let us therefore help to forge those chains, chains so strong that they cannot be broken, for depend upon it, sooner or later the Montmorencys—or mayhap our somnolent Bourbons—will awake from their slumbers. They will see that it is not a pretty little girl who has made the King-to-be her slave; it is the noble House of Guise.”
“You are right, Charles. What do you suggest?”
“That she remains at present as she is. The chattering Fleming will be useful. She—herself the slave of love—will be delighted to see her mistress installed in the heart of our Prince. She will chatter romance; she will foster romance; and she will do no harm. Leave things as they are, and in a few years’ time I shall take over Mary’s education. I shall teach her to be the most charming, the most accomplished lady in France. None shall be as beautiful as she, none shall excel her at the dance, at the lute; she will write exquisite verses, and all France—but most of all the Dauphin—will be in love with her. Her mind shall be given to the art of pleasing others; and it shall be as wax in the hands of the uncles who will love and cherish her, for their one desire will be to keep her on the throne.”
Francois smiled at his elegant brother.
“By God!” he cried suddenly. “You and I will conquer France and share the crown.”
“In the most decorous manner,” murmured Charles. “Through our little charmer from the land of savages.”
THE DAYS flew past for Mary. At lessons she excelled; she played the lute with a skill rare in one so young; she was a good horsewoman. In the royal processions she was always picked out for her charm and beauty. The King often talked to her. Diane was delighted with her. When she rode out with the Dauphin she would watch over him and seize his bridle if he was in any difficulty. He would be uneasy if she was not always at his side.
All the great chateaux which had been but names to her she now saw in reality. She thought less and less of her native land. Her mother wrote frequently and was clearly delighted with her daughters success. She had had letters from the King, she said, which had made her very happy indeed.
Mary’s four namesakes were now with her, but they had to take second place. The Dauphin demanded so much of her time. She explained this carefully to them for she was anxious that they should know that she loved them as dearly as ever.
They listened to gossip, and there was plenty of that at the French Court. Now the talk was all about the Queens coronation which was about to take place. The King had already celebrated his coronation shortly after the death of his father, and now it was Catherine’s turn.
The celebrations were lavish. Mary had never seen anything quite so wonderful. Even the dreamlike pageants which had accompanied her uncle’s wedding seemed commonplace when compared with those of the Queen’s coronation. Even the Queen looked magnificent on that day. As for the King he was a dazzling sight, resplendent in cloth of silver; his scabbard flashed with enormous jewels, and his silver lace and white satin hat were decorated with pearls. The sheriffs of Paris held over him a blue velvet canopy embroidered with the golden lilies of France as he rode his beautiful white horse.
Mary would never forget the display of so much beauty. She was, she told Janet Fleming, only sorry that it was not her beloved Diane, instead of Queen Catherine, who was being crowned.
“Well, let her enjoy her coronation,” said Lady Fleming. “That’s all she’ll get.”
“All! A coronation all! Dear old Fleming, what more could she want?”
“She wants much more,” said Lady Fleming. “Whom do you think the King has presented with the crown jewels?”
“Diane, of course.”
Lady Fleming nodded and began to laugh. “And she wears them too. She insists. The King is pleased that she should. What a country! The old Marechal Tavannes complains that at the Court of France more honor is done to the King’s mistress than to his generals. Who is the real Queen of this country, tell me that!”
“Diane, of course. And I am glad that it should be so, for I hate Queen Catherine.”
“She is not worth the hating. She is as meek as a sheep. Look at this. It is one of the new coins struck at the coronation and should bear the heads of the King and Queen. But see! It is Diane riding on the crupper of the Kings horse. It means that although he has been forced to marry Queen Catherine and make her the mother of his children, there is only one Queen for him—Diane.”
“And more worthy to be!” cried Mary. “Queen Catherine is not royal. She has no breeding. She is vulgar. I wish she would go back to her Italian merchants so that the King could marry Diane.”
They looked up sharply. The door had opened so quietly that no one had heard a sound. They were relieved to see that it was not Catherine who stood there; it was Madame de Paroy.
“Yes, Madame de Paroy?” said Mary, immediately assuming the dignity of her rank. “What is it you want?”
“To ask your Majesty if you would wait on Queen Catherine.”
“I will do so,” said Mary. “And, Madame de Paroy, when you come to my apartments will you be so good as to be announced?”
“I could find none of your pages or women, Your Majesty. I am sorry that, as you and Lady Fleming were enjoying such mirth, you did not hear me.”
Madame de Paroy curtsied and retired. Mary looked at Lady Fleming who was trembling.
“Why are you afraid, and of what?” demanded Mary.
“I am afraid that she will tell Queen Catherine what she heard you say.”
Mary tossed her head. “Who cares for that! If Queen Catherine were unpleasant to me I should ask Diane to protect me.”
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