The Captive Queen of Scots - Plaidy Jean - Страница 60
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“My poor Willie! I had evil dreams of you. I knew something fearful had befallen you. That was why I asked the French King to command his ambassador to discover what had become of you. You must have spent many weeks in that prison.” She thought: But for my French friends it might have been for the rest of your life, and that, for Willie in those conditions would not have meant more than a year or so.
“I used to lie there thinking of how I could get out,” went on Willie. “There didn’t seem any way, but I went on trying to figure something out. Then it got so that I couldn’t walk very well and I could only think of when I was going to get my next portion of bread and water.”
“I fear you have suffered much for my sake, Willie.”
He gave her a return of the old grin. “Oh ay,” he murmured.
But she knew that he would never be the same jaunty urchin he had been before he set out for London. Willie had grown up considerably since they had last met.
LORD HERRIES ARRIVED at Tutbury from London with those who had been acting as her Commissioners at the Conference. They were very grave, realizing fully how Mary’s position had deteriorated since the Conference.
At the little council meeting held in those evil-smelling apartments, Herries said: “We cannot go on in this way. We should try to bring Your Majesty out of England. I do not think that any good purpose can be served by your remaining here.”
“But how can I leave?” Mary wanted to know.
“Only by a demand from your Scottish nobles that you should do so. I do not think Elizabeth would risk war. Moray is her ally; we must depose him and his party and, once that is done, there can no longer be an excuse for keeping you here.”
“What do you propose?”
“That I return to Scotland with my brother-in-law, Cockburn.”
“Then I shall lose two of my most faithful friends.”
“Not lose them, Your Majesty. But merely allow them to be of greater service to your cause. Livingstone and Boyd will be here to advise you; and the Bishop of Ross can act as your envoy at the Court of Elizabeth. I am of the opinion that we could not serve you better.”
“I am sure you are right,” she told him. “Oh, my dear good friend, one thing I ask you, help to bring me out of this noisome place, for I believe that I shall not stay here long. I must either leave it soon on my two feet or be carried out in my coffin.”
Herries begged her not to despair, but he himself was very anxious, for he could see how the place was affecting her; and she had not recovered yet from the long journey through the ice-bound country from Bolton.
Herries and Cockburn left within a few days. Mary watched them from her window until they were out of sight. Herries, who had been her trusted friend; and as for Cockburn, his mansion and his village of Skirling had been completely destroyed by Moray in vengeance on one who was the very good friend of the Queen of Scots.
MARY WOULD SIT at her tapestry with her women; occasionally she would sing or play the lute. But each day she was more easily fatigued, and her friend watched her with misgivings. The Earl spoke to the Countess. “I am anxious,” he said. “Her health does not improve and she might well fall into a mortal sickness.”
“Nonsense,” retorted Bess. “She has but to adjust herself. What does she do all day but amuse herself! Look at me. Think of what I do. I am years older than she is.”
“I fear the rigors of Tutbury ill suit her.”
“We live at Tutbury, do we not? I’ll admit it is not the most sweet of our houses—but there is nothing to harm in a stink. If she had more to do she would be well enough.”
There was a knock at the door and, when Bess commanded whoever was there to enter, Eleanor came in.
She looked fearfully at the Countess but she was very much aware of the Earl.
“Well, girl?” said Bess sharply.
“My lady, there is a messenger below. He is asking for the Earl.”
“I will see him without delay,” said Bess. “Send him to me.”
Eleanor curtsied and retired, returning shortly with the messenger.
Bess imperiously held out her hand for the documents he had brought.
“Take this man to the kitchens and see that he is refreshed,” she commanded Eleanor who, curtsying once more, caught the eyes of the Earl on herself and flushed deeply.
Bess was too eagerly examining the documents to notice the demeanor of her serving-maid.
“Orders from the Queen,” she said, and the Earl came to stand beside her and look over her shoulder.
“Ah!” went on Bess. “So her friends are suspected of planning her escape. You see what you have done by showing your desire to pamper her. You have aroused our Queen’s suspicions. Depend upon it, George Talbot, we have to tread very warily if we are not to find ourselves in disgrace along with Scrope and Knollys.”
“What does Her Majesty require?”
“That Boyd and the Bishop are not to be allowed to remain with her or come to see her. They are to be banished at once to Burton-on-Trent.”
The Earl sighed. Poor Queen Mary! he was thinking. Here was another blow.
THE EARL MET ELEANOR BRITTON on the staircase near the Queen’s apartments.
She flushed and curtsied.
“Do you serve the Queen of Scots then?” he asked.
“I help her servants, my lord.” She added quickly: “It is the order of the Countess that I should do so.”
He nodded. “Poor lady, I fear for her health.”
“She is not happy at Tutbury Castle, my lord.”
“She has told you so?”
“We have all heard that it is so, my lord.”
There was the briefest of silences, and each felt drawn to the other through their sympathy for the Queen of Scots. This young girl, thought George Talbot, is aware of the Queen’s charm as Bess never could be. But then, of course, Bess never saw people or circumstances through any but her own eyes; it was an impossibility for her to put herself in any other’s place.
“I wish she could be moved to a healthier place,” he said, as though speaking to himself.
“Yes, my lord.” The girl was looking at him with an odd expression in her eyes. Was she telling him that he was the lord of Tutbury, the first guardian of the Queen? She made him feel strong, more powerful than he had felt for a long time . . . surely since his courtship of Bess of Hardwick.
He passed on, but he could not dismiss the maid from his thoughts. She was so young, scarcely more than a child, without doubt a virgin. She would not remain so long, perhaps. Even Bess could not prevent the men servants and the maidservants frolicking together.
He felt angry that a young girl should be exposed to such contamination.
Strange, this preoccupation with a serving girl—and a Queen. It was having an odd effect on him. He went straight to his private apartments and there wrote a letter to Elizabeth of England, in which he told her that he feared for the life of Mary Queen of Scots if she remained at Tutbury. Would Her Majesty agree to a removal to his nearby seat of Wingfield Manor where he felt sure the health of the Queen of Scots would be improved.
This he dispatched, telling Bess nothing of what he had done.
BESS STORMED into her husband’s apartment, and with an angry wave of her hand dismissed his servants.
When they were alone she held up a letter and cried: “Her Majesty writes that, in answer to your letter, she is agreeable that the Queen should be removed to Wingfield Manor until further notice.”
“Ah, I am glad. It is what Queen Mary needs.”
“So you wrote to Elizabeth?”
Although he had rehearsed this scene many times, knowing it was inevitable, now that the moment had come to face Bess, he found it difficult to do so.
He stammered: “I thought she would be ill pleased if the Queen were to die of her malady soon after coming under our care.”
“Die!” snorted Bess. “She has many years left to her.”
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