The Captive Queen of Scots

by Jean Plaidy

  I was right, she thought, to come to England.

  THE RISING SUN awakened her and it was some seconds before she realized where she was.

  She raised herself and looked out of the window. England! she thought. This time yesterday she had been in Scotland, and already she had good friends here, in the Curwens and Northumberland. Soon she would be calling Elizabeth her friend.

  She would write to Elizabeth; then she was sure there would be no delay. She would receive a warm invitation to ride south with all speed, and how wonderful it would be to meet the Queen in that Hampton Court of which she had heard so much! How long would it be? She was impatient for the meeting.

  She found that the writing materials for which she had asked had been set out on a table and, rising from her bed, she sat down and wrote to the Queen of England.

  I entreat you to send for me as soon as possible, for I am in a pitiable condition, not only for a Queen but even for a gentlewoman, having nothing in the world but what I had on my person when I escaped . . . .

  She sighed and looked at the crimson brocade almost lovingly. Soon, she believed, she would have some clothes becoming to her station. She had a feminine interest in them and had enjoyed adding little touches to make them entirely her own, and if she could only have some of her own clothes sent to her she would feel more like herself.

  . . . I hope to be able to declare my misfortunes to you if it pleases you to have compassion and permit me to come and bewail them to you. Not to weary you, I will now pray God to give you health and a long and happy life, and to myself patience, and that consolation I await from you, to whom I present my humble commendations. From Workington this 17th of May. Your very faithful and affectionate good sister and cousin and escaped prisoner,

  Mary R.

  She sealed this letter and went back to her bed to await the arrival of her attendants.

  THE SUN WAS HIGH in the sky when Mary left Workington Hall for Cockermouth. The distance the cavalcade had to travel was only six miles but it was across country which enchanted Mary. She saw the winding Derwent and the English mountains with the peak of Skiddaw, dominating all others, stretching up to the blue sky, while her own Scottish mountains rose like grim guards on the other side of the Solway.

  She was confident. She had received such kindness from her hosts; Sir Henry and his son rode with her now and the people of Workington had come out of their houses to see her ride by. They gave her a cheer and stared in admiration now that she was in red brocade and flowing veil.

  Cockermouth Hall was as pleasant a residence as Workington Hall and its owner, Henry Fletcher, who was as eager to make her welcome as Sir Henry Curwen had been, was waiting to receive her. He bowed low and told her that he had had apartments made ready for her on the first floor, where the most spacious rooms in Cockermouth Hall were situated. He considered it an honor to entertain the Queen of Scotland in his house and if there was anything she lacked he begged her to make him aware of this.

  Mary thanked him and her gracious charm had the same effect upon him as it had had on Sir Henry Curwen. Her pleasure was increased when she found that she had been given three large rooms, leading from each other, which would be her antechamber, presence chamber and bedchamber.

  Henry Fletcher, who conducted her thither, expressed a hope that they would suffice during her brief stay on her way to Carlisle Castle, where she would be lodged in a manner more fitting to her estate.

  Mary thanked him and added that she could not have been more comfortable in any castle; and if only she had some of her own clothes she would feel completely at home.

  Fletcher bowed himself from her presence and Jane Kennedy and Lady Livingstone set about examining the apartments more closely in order that they might make their mistress comfortable.

  While they were thus engaged there was a knock at the door and a servant entered with a large parcel which he set on the bed, with the words that it came with the compliments of his master.

  When he had gone the women gathered round while Mary unwrapped the parcel; and there were exclamations of delight as thirteen ells of scarlet velvet cascaded over the bed.

  Henry Fletcher had sent a note with this in which he expressed his hopes that the Queen had good seamstresses in her party who would be able to make a gown for her.

  Mary stood for some seconds holding the rich material against her, her eyes filling with tears because she was deeply affected, as always, by the kindness of people toward her.

  Then she burst into laughter instead of tears and, flinging the velvet about her, embraced Lady Livingstone and Jane Kennedy.

  “You see how we are treated by the English!” she cried. “They are kind, as I knew they would be. And all the consideration I am now given by Elizabeth’s subjects is but a foretaste of what I shall receive from my good sister.”

  She watched Jane Kennedy fingering the material and speculating as to how the gown should be cut; and she was happier than she had been since that morning in Castlemilk when she had looked from the battlements and seen the gathering forces of her enemy.

  THE STAY AT COCKERMOUTH was as brief as that at Workington had been, but before she left Mary had the pleasure of meeting some of the noblest ladies of this district. These, led by Lady Scrope, who was the Duke of Norfolk’s sister and therefore one of the noblest ladies in England, called at Cockermouth Hall to pay their respects to her; and Lady Scrope told the Queen that she would accompany her to Carlisle Castle and act as a maid of honor to Her Majesty of Scotland. Mary had only one regret at this meeting; there had not been time to make the thirteen ells of velvet into a gown, and she was forced to greet the ladies of England in her borrowed red brocade.

  However, her natural beauty and queenly bearing stood her in good stead, and in spite of their fine garments Mary stood apart, undoubtedly Queen, undoubtedly the loveliest creature any of the ladies had ever beheld.

  But during the journey to Carlisle Castle Mary’s spirits were temporarily dashed, for on the road she met the French Ambassador to Scotland who, hearing that she had escaped to England, had followed her there.

  Eagerly she asked for news of Scotland, but he could tell her nothing for her comfort. Many of her friends had died and others were in danger of losing their lives and possessions because they had befriended her.

  Sobered, Mary continued the journey with the French Ambassador riding beside her and as they passed under the portcullis of the red stone castle of Carlisle, Herries glanced at Livingstone and he saw concern on the latter’s face similar to that which he himself was feeling.

  They had no need to express their thoughts. This was a fortress indeed. They were as far north as they had been on the day they arrived in England.

  If the Queen of England was eager to see her sister of Scotland, should they not be traveling south?

  They could not share Mary’s elation as they entered Carlisle Castle.

  SIR RICHARD LOWTHER, Deputy-Governor of Carlisle, to whom Lord Herries had written, arrived at Carlisle Castle to see the Queen. It had been on his instructions that she had been lodged there for, on hearing that she had arrived in England, he had immediately dispatched a messenger to Elizabeth and her ministers asking for instructions. In the meantime he had decided that it was his duty to hold Mary in his custody.

  He was courteous to Mary and told her that he hoped soon to receive instructions from his Queen; until that time he would give orders that she should be made comfortable in the castle.

  Mary’s apartments there were indeed comfortable with the May sunshine warming the place. In winter it would be a different story, but the winter was a long way off and by that time, Mary believed, she would either be living in luxury at Elizabeth’s Court or, better still, would have regained her throne and be back in Edinburgh.

  Her spirits had been considerably lowered by the news of the suffering which must be endured by her faithful friends who had remained behind in Scotland. She must not allow George or Willie Douglas to go
back until she had regained her throne; as the two who had delivered her from Lochleven, their lives would doubtless be forfeited.

  But her hopes were still high as she sat in the seat of her window in the tower and looked out at the pleasant meandering River Eden.

  One of her first visitors to Carlisle Castle was Thomas Percy, Earl of Northumberland. Mary was delighted to receive the Earl because she believed that, as a good Catholic, he would be eager to give her his support against Protestant Moray.

  The Earl bowed low and told her that it gave him great pleasure to meet her, but that his pleasure was tempered with sadness because of the reason for her presence in Carlisle.

  “I am very eager to meet the Queen of England,” she told him. “I have been treated with great kindness by all in England, but I do find the delay irksome and I wonder why I must wait in this manner.”

  The Earl replied: “Your Majesty, if I were in charge of your comfort it would not be so.”

  “Then, my lord, how I wish that you were in charge of my comfort.”

  “I will see what can be done in the matter,” he told her, all his chivalry aroused by the plight of this beautiful creature.

  “Then,” said Mary softly, “it would seem that each day I become more indebted to Englishmen.”

  When Northumberland left her he went to Sir Richard Lowther and said in a somewhat arrogant manner: “Your duties toward the Queen of Scots are now ended. I will take over the charge of her.”

  Lowther answered: “No, my lord Earl, you forget that, as Lord Warden, that duty is mine.”

  “I disagree. As chief magnate of this district the task of the Queen’s safe custody should be in my hands.”

  The two men faced each other. It was true that Northumberland was the lord of the district, but Lowther knew that he himself would be responsible for the Queen of Scots to the Queen of England. Moreover Northumberland, on account of his religion, was no great favorite of Elizabeth and her ministers. Northumberland was a simple-minded man; he was unusually lacking in political ambitions; but being utterly devoted to the Catholic Faith, he felt it his duty to aid the Queen of Scots with all his power. As a Catholic he doubted the rights of Elizabeth herself, and it seemed to him that Mary was not only the Queen of Scotland but had a very strong claim to the throne of England also.

  Lowther was aware of this, so in spite of his adversary’s rank he remained adamant.

  He drew Northumberland to the window and showed him the troops stationed outside. “They obey my orders,” he said. “It would go ill with any—noble earl or not—who sought to prevent me from doing my duty.”

  Northumberland’s face turned a dull red as he glared down at the soldiers.

  “You varlet!” he cried. “You are too low a man to pretend to such a charge.”

  “It is true,” answered Lowther, “that I am not a noble earl, but noble earls have been known to part with their heads on the scaffold for disobeying their Sovereign’s orders.”

  “And how do you propose to prevent my taking charge of the Queen?”

  Lowther knew that Northumberland was no strategist.

  He said coolly: “By putting you under guard and sending you to London.” He nodded toward the courtyard. “There are my soldiers . . . waiting. Attempt to take my charge from me, and you are the Queen’s prisoner.”

  Northumberland, turning away, muttered: “It’s a sorry day for England when low-bred varlets threaten noble earls.”

  So might it have been, thought Lowther grimly, but he had won the day. The Queen of Scots remained in his charge.

  IT WAS A FEW DAYS after the visit of Northumberland, when Mary was eagerly awaiting a summons from Elizabeth, that she was surprised and delighted to receive a visit from the Duke of Norfolk.

  He had good reason for being in the district; his sister, Lady Scrope, was with the Queen, and what more natural than that he should call on her. Moreover, his third wife, who had recently died, had been the daughter of Sir Francis Leybourne of Cunswick Hall in Cumberland and widow of Lord Dacre. He certainly had business in the North.

  Having heard a great deal about the charm and beauty of the Queen of Scotland he wished to discover whether these reports had been exaggerated. He saw at once that they were not, and he was enchanted.

  Mary bade him sit beside her while she told him how eagerly she waited for a message from the Queen of England.

  “It will come,” he told her. “All in good time. The Queen has always expressed great interest in Your Majesty’s affairs and doubtless will be most eager to meet you.”

  “I had thought to be well on my journey south by now. I cannot understand why it should be considered necessary for me to stay so long in Carlisle Castle.”

  “Has Your Majesty suggested that you should move south?”

  “Why yes,” she told him. “Sir Richard Lowther is very courteous but he is firm on this matter. He asks me to be patient until he has commands from his Queen.”

  “He does well to wait.”

  “Of a certainty he would not wish to offend his mistress, but . . . since as you say she is eager to meet me . . . and I most certainly am to meet her, it is hard to stomach this delay.”

  “Ah, our Queen has a high temper. Lowther will be remembering that. Doubtless he will receive a reprimand for not speeding your journey to the English Court.”

  “I shall make a point of telling my cousin how kind he has been in every way; and I am sure the delay is only due to his desire to obey her wishes in every detail.”

  Norfolk’s mind was busy. How gentle she was! How forgiving! And what a beauty! He was an ambitious man; he was also the premier peer and richest man in England. The Howards were of course a noble family and a rich one, but his marriages had been wise ones and, although he was now only thirty-two, in a little more than ten years he had been thrice widowed. His first wife, Lady Mary Fitzalan, had been the heiress of the Earl of Arundel. She had died when only sixteen, leaving him a son Philip who had inherited his grandfather’s title of Earl of Arundel. His second wife had been Margaret, heiress-daughter of Lord Audley; that marriage had lasted five years and had ended in the death of Margaret. In a little over three years later, early in 1567 he had married once more; this time Dacre’s widow, who had died before the year was out. These heiresses had added to his own considerable fortune; but as Elizabeth Dacre had had a son and three daughters when she married him and he was eager to keep the Dacre fortune in the family he was endeavoring to arrange marriages between his own children and his stepchildren.

  He had not found great favor at Elizabeth’s Court since he had resented her friendship with the Earl of Leicester, but even the Queen could not ignore the premier peer who was also the richest man in the country.

  As he talked pleasantly with Mary a certain speculation entered his mind. She was undoubtedly marriageable. It was true her husband Bothwell was still living. What had happened to him? There had been many rumors, and the fellow would never dare to return to Scotland if he valued his life.

  There could be a divorce. A dispensation from the Pope might be obtained.

  His three wives had been heiresses. Well, here was an heiress of another kind—the greatest heiress of them all, if she regained what was hers.

  These thoughts made Norfolk’s eyes shine and the gallantries trip from his tongue. Mary found pleasure in them particularly as they could mean that this powerful Englishman was ready to be her friend.

  The visit was all too brief, and when Norfolk departed he kissed her hand with a certain emotion which was significant.

  There had been numbers of men in love with Mary. She was not yet twenty-six years old, but she had felt very old during the last weeks and burdened with responsibilities.

  The Duke of Norfolk had made her feel young again and she was grateful to him.

  THERE WAS EXCITEMENT in the castle because of new arrivals from Scotland. The Queen had been sitting in her window looking out over the countryside and had seen them approa
ching; she had called Jane Kennedy and Lady Livingstone to her side, and they had all stood watching until as the party came nearer they recognized familiar faces.

  “It is!” Mary murmured. “I really believe it is!”

  Jane cried out: “That’s Bastian and his wife Margaret Cawood. I remember the night they were married . . . .”

  She stopped. Bastian, the valet, had been married to Margaret Cawood, the maid, on the night when Darnley was murdered.

  Mary said, as though she had not heard: “There are Lord and Lady Fleming . . . and yes . . . Marie Courcelles and my dear . . . dear Seton.”

  Mary could wait no longer; she went down to the courtyard to greet the newcomers.

  There had been no mistake; she was almost weeping with joy. She would have no ceremony; she took these dear people one by one into her arms and embraced them all.

  “Your Majesty is not more happy to see us than we are to come,” Seton told her.

  “My dearest Seton!” cried Mary. “How can I tell you all how much I love you!”

  Now it seemed that he had a suite worthy of a Queen. There were twenty-eight people in her entourage, for they had brought with them a cook, a pantler and a pâtissier.

  “There will doubtless be more coming to your service,” Marie Courcelles told her, “for when it was known that we proposed to follow you to England, there were many who wished to join us and announced their intention of following in our wake.”

  “If this were but one of my own palaces I should order a banquet such as I never gave before,” Mary told them.

  “The welcome you have given us brings us more pleasure than aught else could ever do,” Lord Fleming replied on behalf of them all.

  It was wonderful to sit with Seton and Marie Courcelles and hear news of Scotland. The first subject they discussed was Lochleven and what had happened when Mary’s flight had been discovered. Seton told of the rage and despair of Sir William and how Lady Douglas could not help showing her pride in George who had had a hand in it all, and while condoling with William was obviously hoping that George would not suffer because of the help he had given the Queen.