The Hidden Evil

by Barbara Cartland

  Yes, undoubtedly there was an eye watching her.

  To whom could it belong? Who was there? Who dared to spy in such a manner on the Duchesse?

  Sheena felt quite sick at the discovery. There was something horrible about it, something that made her want to run away. And then, as she stood there indecisive, her fingers twisted together in agitation, the door opened and she looked round to see that the King stood there.

  “Where is the Duchesse?” he asked, speaking as if she was a chambermaid so quick and imperious was his tone.

  “She – she is in the next room, Your Majesty,” Sheena replied.

  As if the King suddenly remembered his manners, he smiled and said in a very different tone of voice,

  “’Tis Mistress McCraggan, is it not? I am afraid I did not recognise you for the moment. You say that the Duchesse is in the next room?”

  “Yes, Sire.”

  “Do you know who she is engaged with?”

  “Her Grace mentioned a jeweller, Your Majesty.”

  “Why, yes, I know now who is there.”

  He strode across the room and flung open the door that, Sheena decided, obviously led into the Duchesse’s dressing room. There was a sudden murmur of voices and then he too had disappeared, leaving Sheena alone again.

  ‘I believe he was jealous,’ she thought suddenly. ‘I think he came back from the tennis court to find the Duchesse because he hated playing without her being there to watch him.’

  What rubbish the Marquis was talking – and, yet, how could she be sure? What a topsy-turvy world this was, with spies everywhere even with their eyes looking down at her from the ceiling!

  Should she go? Sheena asked herself or should she stay?

  She was still in an agony of indecision when the dressing room door opened and then the King came into the room again.

  “The Duchesse will not be long now,” he told Sheena with almost a note of joyfulness in his voice. “And then Her Grace promised that she will bring you to the tennis court.”

  “I would not wish to incommode Her Grace – ” Sheena began only to be then hushed into silence by an imperious wave of the hand.

  “That is what Her Grace wishes,” he said. “And who are we mere mortals to question her commands?”

  He smiled at Sheena as he spoke and then suddenly she took courage. Let the spy above listen if he wanted to, she thought.

  This was her opportunity and she must take it.

  “I wonder, Sire, if I might say something to you?” she began and in as low a voice as she dared.

  “What is it?” the King asked a little testily.

  “Before I left Scotland, Your Majesty,” Sheena carried on quickly, afraid that he would prevent her saying it, “my father told me that Mary, Queen of England, was in ill health. She is not expected to live long. Should she die, they believe that the English will attempt to place her sister, Elizabeth, on the Throne.”

  “She has no right to it,” the King said gruffly. “No right at all. The French Crown Jurists have decreed that, as Henry II himself insisted that his marriage to Anne Boleyn was a union with no legal foundation, this makes Elizabeth illegitimate and therefore not the rightful heir to the Throne of England.”

  “Scotland thinks the same. Your Majesty,” Sheena said, “and, of course, believes, as you do, that Mary Stuart should be crowned.”

  “So she should. So she should. And, as my future daughter-in-law, I shall insist that she shall be acknowledged Queen of England.”

  “You will send arms and soldiers to fight for her?” Sheena asked a little breathlessly.

  No one could fail to notice the way that the King’s manner changed.

  For the moment he did not speak and then in a very different tone of voice he said,

  “I have already instructed our heralds to get out a design showing the entwined Arms, the Royal Arms of England and Scotland, surmounted by the Crown of France,”

  “But supposing that the English offer the Throne to Elizabeth?” Sheena insisted.

  The King turned away from her.

  “Mary Tudor is not yet dead, my child. It may be the will of God that she will live for many years longer.”

  With a sense of hopelessness Sheena watched him leave the room. He did not look back at her and, although she curtseyed, she knew that he was unaware of it.

  She was well aware too that she had achieved nothing by her conversation except the uneasy feeling within herself that whatever happened the King did not intend to fight for the little Queen of Scotland.

  Perhaps he thought that the questions coming from her had just been impertinent, Sheena thought to herself. And yet in her heart she knew as if she could now see into the future, that, while Henri II of France would proclaim his daughter-in-law to be the Queen of England, he would not send ships, men and guns to place her on the Throne.

  Sheena shut her eyes. She knew what a terrible blow this would be to the men planning and plotting in Scotland not only for the Throne of England but to the survival of their own land.

  ‘I must be wrong. Naturally he would not tell me anything,’ she told herself.

  And yet a clairvoyance within her heart told her that she had stumbled upon the truth.

  She felt as if it was almost unbearable. She knew in that moment that her country had been deserted in an hour of need and that there was nothing she could do about it.

  Without thinking it might be rude and without wondering even what the Duchesse would feel about it, she turned and then walked blindly from the room, unconsciously retracing her steps towards her own Apartments like a child who runs to cry out its misery in some familiar place.

  She reached her own bedchamber. Maggie was still there sitting by the window sewing a gown that was a little too long in the bodice. She looked up in astonishment as Sheena came bursting into the room, closing the door behind her and stood leaning against it as if she had hardly the strength to carry herself across the room.

  “What is the matter? What has happened?” Maggie enquired anxiously.

  Sheena shook her head.

  “Nothing, nothing at all,” she answered untruthfully.

  She could not bring herself even to tell Maggie what she had learned. Besides she tried to reassure herself it might not be true. Why should the King tell her, an insignificant child, his plans either for Scotland or Mary Stuart.

  “There is somethin’ wrong,” Maggie insisted.

  “No, no, it is nothing,” Sheena answered. “I just felt tired and a little faint perhaps.”

  “I will fetch you a glass of water,” Maggie suggested practically.

  As she poured it out from a cut-glass bottle encrusted with the Arms of France, Sheena forced herself back to a state of composure.

  “It must be the sudden heat,” she said, “or perhaps I ran too fast up the stairs.”

  For the first time she wondered what the Duchesse would think when she came back to find her gone. It was rude, terribly rude, to run away in such a manner.

  Quickly Sheena decided to make reparation.

  “Maggie, will you go at once to the Duchesse de Valentinois’s maid or Lady-in-Waiting and say that I apologise deeply for not waiting for her as she requested, but I felt indisposed and am lying down on my bed?”

  “The Duchesse de Valentinois! And what would you be a-doin’ with her?”

  “She asked to see me,” Sheena answered.

  Maggie sniffed. It was the expression of a deeply respectable woman who was affronted by the licence of her own sex.

  “I wonder what she wanted with me?” Sheena said. “Perhaps now I shall never know.”

  “From all I hear, if her Grace wants anythin’ she’ll get it sooner or later,” Maggie told her.

  “I am sure that is true,” Sheena said. “And, Maggie, do you by any chance know who has Apartments on the second floor above the Duchesse? There are so many staircases and The Palace is built in such a strange way that I never know where I am, but I just wondere
d if you could find out.”

  “There’s no need to find out anythin’ as simple as that,” she replied. “I ken well enough who is above the Duchesse’s Apartments. And plenty of talk there is about it, I can tell you, as to why those particular rooms were chosen.

  “Who occupies them?” Sheena asked.

  “The Queen. And there’s some say she could have had any room she liked to choose in any part of The Palace, but she demanded that floor and so the King, not to gainsay her, let her have her way.”

  “She sleeps in the room above the Duchesse?” Sheena asked in a shocked voice,

  “Exactly above,” Maggie replied a little grimly and watching Sheena’s face.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Comte Gustave de Cloude was becoming insistent and Sheena, feeling it was more and more difficult to keep him safely at arm’s length, slipped away from him through the formal gardens.

  She was escaping at the same time from the gay crowd of revellers who were dancing under the light of the summer moon augmented with one thousand Fairy lights hung amongst the trees and bushes.

  It was a sight such as Sheena had never dreamed of seeing in the whole of her austere quiet life in Scotland. Here music and the chatter of voices seemed only part of the magic of flashing jewels, gowns of silk and satin and lace and gentlemen so resplendent in their velvet doublets and glittering sword-hilts that Mary Stuart had declared they were so ‘like peacocks parading before us to show off their finery’.

  It was the little Queen who had suggested this rout. Sheena had learned by now that any excuse served for a party to amuse the jaded tastes of the Court and arouse enthusiasm among the bored Courtiers who had far too little to do.

  The King was always busy and so was the Duchesse de Valentinois on matters of State. But for the rest the days passed slowly by with only intrigue, gossip and scandal to whet their appetites and to send Ladies-in-Waiting or the gentlemen hurrying between the rival factions ready to make trouble if only it served to pass an idle hour.

  But to Sheena, unused to luxury and the extravagance of a rich Court, everything was a delight, the silver and golden vessels that graced the table of the King, the flowers, the music from experienced orchestras and musicians, the art treasures that every room was decorated and embellished with and last of all the people themselves.

  She could not help being fascinated by everyone. The quiet meek Queen, the beautiful all-powerful Duchesse, the reserved almost sombre King over whom they fought an endless if undeclared battle. And most fascinating of all, as far as Sheena was concerned, was the little Queen of Scotland, whose marriage to the Dauphin it was now decided should take place next year.

  Mary Stuart loved a party.

  She could dance like a piece of thistledown and wanted always to take the lead in one way or another. Occasionally she recited poems in Latin or in French and had delighted the King, but tonight she was dancing wildly with all the best-looking men at Court and, Sheena had to add a little ruefully, flirting outrageously with them.

  ‘If only I had her poise and confidence,’ Sheena thought to herself for the hundredth time as she watched the child behaving like a woman three times her age and managing, without the least affectation, to be entrancing, desirable and coquettish all at once.

  It was hard at these parties to keep track of anyone. All too soon Sheena found herself being pursued by Gustave de Cloude and finding it very difficult to think of anyone but him. He had had a great deal to drink, as had all the other young men, and soon she realised that unless she escaped from him all her prevarications and evasiveness would be undone.

  This was not the hour of night, she decided, to plead for friendliness and so, when he was engaged in momentary conversation with the Comtesse René de Pouguet, who was glittering with jewels as she walked by on the arm of the Duc de Salvoire, Sheena slipped away.

  It was quieter and not so brilliantly lit in the part of the gardens she found herself in, but it seemed to her even more beautiful with the moon climbing high over The Palace, casting a silver light on a fountain, which flung a diamond cascade up towards the sable sky and let it fall down into the deep curved bowl where goldfish swam amongst water lilies.

  She stood watching the fountain for a while and then she turned towards a rose-covered arbour where a marble seat was invitingly spread with silk cushions.

  She had almost reached it when out of the shadows stepped a man. His appearance was so unexpected that she gave a little startled gasp of fear before he spoke and then she realised who he was.

  “I have been watching you,” he said. “You looked very lovely in the moonlight.”

  The moonlight also made him appear more handsome than usual and, as she curtseyed to the Marquis de Maupré, she wondered why he was alone here instead of being in attendance on some of the beautiful women grouped around the Queen and the Duchesse de Valentinois.

  “I came to catch my breath,” Sheena explained almost as if he had asked her why she was alone. “There was such a crowd.”

  “I think you were running away,” he said with a faint smile on his lips. “I thought young Gustave de Cloude looked a little too possessive earlier in the evening.”

  Sheena looked embarrassed. She had no desire to discuss the young Comte, whom she liked, with the Marquis.

  “I think now I had better go back,” she said, hoping to end the conversation.

  “There is no hurry,” the Marquis responded. “Sit down for a moment and tell me about yourself. We so seldom have the opportunity to be alone.”

  Because she felt that it would be rude and rather gauche to refuse point-blank, she seated herself as he suggested inside the arbour.

  “I must not stop long,” she said primly. “Her Majesty may be needing me.”

  “The little Queen needed no one when I have last seen her,” the Marquis replied. “If her expression was to be believed, she was having a most enjoyable time. But then she is, thank God, young enough to be able to enjoy herself and not be afraid to show it.”

  “I think everyone must enjoy a party like this in such surroundings,” Sheena remarked.

  “I wish that was true,” he replied. “Unfortunately most people are far too eaten up with enmity and malice to do anything but hate their neighbours.”

  “Surely you are not cynical as well?” Sheena said and then blushed as she realised that she had been comparing him in her mind with the Duc de Salvoire.

  “Who else is cynical?” the Marquis asked instantly.

  Sheena tried to retrieve her slip.

  “So many people here,” she, answered evasively.

  “But not you,” he said. “You are different. So fresh, so unspoilt and your heart is free. Is not that a very wonderful and unique thing?”

  “Yes, my heart is free,” Sheena said quickly. “Pray do not let us speak of love. I find it a boring subject!”

  “That is not true,” the Marquis said. “No woman, if she is a true woman, which I am sure you are, could possibly be bored with love. But I will not speak of it in the way I did before. That was a mistake, I know that now. Instead I will talk of myself if you will allow me.”

  “I doubt if I could stop you,” Sheena said with a smile. “But I think, my Lord Marquis, that I should be returning to the dancing.”

  “Not yet,” he said. “Please, not yet. Not until I have had time to tell you that I love you.”

  “You love me!” she said in tones of utmost astonishment. “What can you mean by that?”

  “Exactly what I say. I love you. I love your little pointed face, your tiny disdainful nose, the wonderment of youth in your eyes and, most of all your mouth, which is made to kiss.”

  He bent towards her as he spoke and Sheena sprang to her feet.

  “I think, my Lord, you mock me. Last time you told me that the King was in love with me, which was palpably untrue and now you say that you, yourself, have a tenderness for me. Either you are deranged or making fun of me.”

  “I am not
crazed,” the Marquis stated in a deep voice. “I love you, Sheena. Give me a chance to prove my love. Listen to me sometimes and let us find occasions when we can be together. For how can I ever convince you of my devotion or make you care for me if we never see each other?”

  “I don’t know what you mean by such a request,” Sheena said. “We meet in the Court and we meet at other times.”

  “You have to believe me,” the Marquis insisted. “I have to show you what love means and all that it means to a woman.”

  “I am sorry, but I am not interested.”

  “That is because you are so innocent. Let me teach you a little about love.”

  Before she suspected what he was about he had swept her into his arms. He held her very close and before she could struggle or cry out his lips were on hers.

  It was the first time in her whole life that she had been kissed and for a moment she was paralysed by the warmth and possessiveness of his mouth that held her prisoner.

  And then in a sudden fury at his impertinence and at her own submissiveness she fought against him, struggling to be free of his arms.

  “How dare you?” she cried as at last his lips no longer held her captive. “How dare you? Let me go.”

  “Sheena,” he pleaded and then an icy voice from beside them came,

  “Forgive me if I interrupt this very touching scene.”

  As the Marquis’s arms slackened, Sheena made a last effort and was free of him.

  Dishevelled and panting she turned round to see clearly in the moonlight the expression of cynical contempt on the Duc de Salvoire’s face.

  “Have you no tact?” she heard the Marquis ask angrily.

  “I am but obeying orders,” the Duc replied and the steel in his voice seemed to Sheena like a naked rapier. “Your Queen has been asking for you, Mistress McCraggan.”

  “Then I must go to her at once,” Sheena said.

  “If you will permit me to come with you, I will show you where Her Majesty is waiting,” the Duc said formally.

  He turned on his heels with a look at the Marquis which would have annihilated a man less confident of his position and then he and Sheena moved away side by side towards the entrance to the garden.