The result was that two of the men were wounded in their thighs, so what had begun as a game turned out to be a serious matter.
Mary, who had been watching from her window, immediately sent her French apothecary down to see what he could do to help.
The two wounded men were carried into the castle and their wounds dressed; but when the apothecary returned to his mistress he was thoughtful.
“A sorry end to their play,” the Queen remarked.
The apothecary grunted.
“It would seem you do not agree with me?” went on the Queen, astonished.
“Your Majesty,” answered the apothecary, “I noticed that one of these men is he who is in charge of the boats.”
“He is badly wounded?”
The man lifted his shoulders. “His wound will incapacitate him for some time, Your Majesty.”
Mary understood his meaning and she sighed. It might have been important when George and Willie had been in the castle. They might have devised some plan. But now, who was there to help her? Sir William had redoubled his precautions. There were always soldiers on guard except at meal times when she was locked in her apartment and the castle gates were also kept locked; and Sir William never let the keys out of his sight.
That accident to the boatman might have been significant and advantageous when George and Willie were in the castle.
A few day later Willie returned to Lochleven.
IT WAS THE FIRST of May. This should be a joyous time of the year. In the past Mary had ridden out with her courtiers dressed in green to go a-maying. Such occasions only served to bring home more bitterly the plight to which she had been reduced.
The sun shone into her room and, rising from her bed, slipping on her robe, Mary went to her prie-Dieu and there knelt, with her hair streaming about her shoulders while she prayed for what now would seem like a miracle.
When she rose she felt exhilarated and, as those members of the Douglas family who shared her bedchamber were still sleeping, she went into the small ante-room and, cautiously taking out her writing materials from where she had hidden them, began to write.
This letter was addressed to Elizabeth of England, and she was making an appeal for help.
From Lochleven the first of May, [she wrote] Madame, my good sister, the length of my weary imprisonment and the wrongs I have received from those on whom I conferred so many benefits are less annoying to me than not having it in my power to acquaint you with the reality of my calamities and the injuries which have been done to me in various ways. Therefore, I have found means to send you a line by a faithful servant . . . .
She paused and listened. There was no sound from the adjoining chamber. She thought of those days at the Court of France when she had heard that Mary of England was dead and when her uncles, the Guises, and her father-in-law Henri Deux had insisted that she claim the title of Queen of England. Elizabeth would not be very pleased about that. Yet she could not hold it against her now. She must understand that it had been no wish of Mary’s to claim a title which was not hers.
. . . I implore you, on receiving this letter, to have compassion on your good sister and cousin, and believe that you have not a more affectionate relative in the world . . . .
When she had finished the letter she signed it “Your obliged and affectionate good sister and cousin, Mary R.”
She sealed it and, carefully putting away her writing materials, went quietly back to her bed, noticing that her jailors were still sleeping.
When Christian came to her she would give her the letter, and Christian had promised that it should be smuggled across to the mainland and given to a trustworthy messenger.
Would the English Queen be so incensed by the indignity done to royalty that she would offer help? Or would she smile and say: This was the woman who once called herself the Queen of England!
Mary, who quickly forgot grudges she had once borne, gave Elizabeth the credit for sharing her forgiving nature. So she was hopeful on that sunny May morning.
Later in the day when she walked with Seton down to the lake’s edge she saw a boy near the boats, and as she approached he looked up giving her a frank grin.
Mary cried in sudden pleasure: “Why, it’s Willie Douglas.”
“Back now in the castle, Your Majesty,” said Willie, looking about him searchingly. He went on: “Walk on, Your Majesty, and don’t appear to be talking to me. But I have something to say and I’ve been waiting the opportunity. But pass on, please, and come back. When you do, I’ll be lying in this boat and no one will see me. Stop close by and listen to what I have to say.”
The Queen and Seton walked on. Willie watched for a second or two and then busied himself with the boat. After five minutes or so the Queen and Seton came back to the spot. Willie was now lying in the boat and out of sight from the castle.
“Is there anyone within earshot?” he asked.
“No,” answered Seton.
The Queen sat down on the grass and Seton sat with her.
“Listen,” said Willie. “We’re going to free you any hour now. You must be prepared for when I come for you. Lord Seton and Lord Semphill are on the other side of the lake . . . . and George is with them. All I have to do is to get you out of the castle.”
Mary said: “Now . . . ?”
“No, no. If you as much as stepped into a boat you’d have the garrison out. You’re being watched at this moment. You’re never out of their sight. We wouldn’t stand a chance. You must not stay here too long or they’ll be suspicious. Rise now and stand for a few minutes looking at the mainland while I tell you the plan. It’ll be tomorrow. I shall try to get the keys while they’re at supper. You will be dressed as one of your maids . . . . I shall come to you. The boat will be ready . . . I can arrange that, now that the boatman is injured. You will follow me out of the castle. I shall lock the gates behind us. I will give you the word. Be prepared.”
“But how can it be done, Willie?” demanded Mary desperately.
“Only while they are at supper. It is the only time they are not on guard. I must find some means of getting the keys from Sir William. If I could do that we could be out of the castle before they realize it. And once on the mainland, your friends will be waiting with fleet horses. They are waiting now. I have come back to do this. I have sworn I can do it, and I will.”
“If only you can!”
“I must do it soon . . . while the boatman is sick. If only Drysdale were sick too! He is the one I fear. Do not linger here any longer. Walk on now. It would be the end of the plan if they began to watch me too closely now.”
“Come, Seton,” said Mary. “Bless you, Willie. I will be watchful . . . and ready when you come.”
When they had left Willie lying in the boat, he stared up at the blue sky, his light eyes screwed up in concentration. He must do it. He had boasted to George and all those grown-up lords that he would. But how was he going to spirit those key away from Sir William?
He waited on him at table, and so had those keys under his eyes all the time the company was at the meal. Sir William kept them by his plate so that every second he could assure himself of their safety.
How could he get those keys into his possession while the guards were at table? When he had heard the plan it had not seemed an insuperable difficulty. How different was the reality.
NOW THAT WILLIE had inspired her with hope, Mary’s optimism had returned. She knew that, across that small strip of water, friends were waiting for her. Surely it was not impossible to slip across to them.
At any moment Willie might be ready for her. She must be prepared. This time there must be attention to detail. When she thought of how easily she might have escaped with the laundresses she was ashamed of her inability to play her part for such a short time.
She sent for Will Drysdale. She had an idea of luring him away from the castle, which might possibly work. There was one thing she had noticed about Will Drysdale, and that was his love of gambling. Therefore,
she reasoned, money would tempt him. He was loyal to his masters so bribery was no use. She must use other methods.
When he came to her presence she said: “I called you because, although it may seem strange to you, I am grateful to you. You have been appointed commander of this garrison which keeps me prisoner, but I do not hold that against you because in your dealings with me you have always been kindly and respectful.”
Drysdale bowed; he was a little under the spell of the Queen and he often regretted that his duty made it necessary for him to have her watched so closely.
“I want to reward you with a small gift. It is not as much as I would wish but, as you doubtless know, many of my possessions have been taken from me.”
“Your Majesty is good to her humble servant.”
“I have no money here, but if you will take this draft to my state treasurer in Edinburgh he will honor it. And I have a list here of articles of which I am in dire need. Good Master Drysdale, would you please bring these to me with as much speed as you can muster?”
Drysdale’s eyes gleamed. It was pleasant to have the money and do a service to this beautiful woman at the same time.
He bowed. “Your Majesty can rest assured that I shall do my utmost to bring you what you desire as quickly as possible. And I thank you for your kindness to your servant.”
Mary gave him a dazzling smile and he bowed himself from her presence.
She was delighted less than an hour later to hear him giving orders to his men, and from her windows she saw him rowing across the lake to the mainland. Will Drysdale had left for Edinburgh, and he would consequently be absent from Lochleven for some little time.
Willie too had seen the departure of Will Drysdale and heard from some of the men that their commander was making a trip to Edinburgh.
The boatmen incapacitated; the commander absent from the castle; assuredly the moment had come.
But how make Sir William so bemused by wine that his keys could be stolen from him? That was the question.
SIR WILLIAM WAS dozing in his chair. He had eaten well and the sun was warm. In his pocket were the keys of the castle; even though the guards were on duty he kept one hand on them as he slept.
“Sir William?”
He opened his eyes; Willie was standing before him.
“What is it?” asked Sir William.
“Sir William, I want your permission to give a feast.”
“What!” cried Sir William.
“To everyone in the castle . . . everyone,” explained Willie. “I’ve been away and now I’m home again. It is something I rejoice in, and I would have everyone rejoice with me.”
Sir William’s mouth twitched slightly. In spite of an effort to repress his feelings he could never quite do so where this boy was concerned, and he was secretly delighted to know that he was back in the castle. The page who had waited on him at table was a clumsy oaf, he always said; he was more critical of him than he might have been because he missed Willie.
Now he said: “You give a feast? How would you manage that?”
“I have money, Sir William. George gave it to me when he said goodbye.”
“And when do you propose to have this feast?”
“Today.”
“On a Sunday!”
“A good day for a good deed,” said Willie raising his eyes piously. “I have already had meat and vegetables brought from Kinross, and with them several bottles of good wine which would not offend even your palate.”
“And suppose I give you permission to hold this feast, whom will you ask? The Queen, I suppose.”
“I shall ask everyone, Sir William. The Queen, Sir William, Lady Douglas . . . everyone who cares to come. It is to be a banquet equal to that which the Queen has enjoyed at Court, and I shall be the Lord of Misrule.”
Sir William burst out laughing. “And Willie Douglas will do all this?”
“Willie Douglas will.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“Then I must prove it!” Willie stood back a few paces and bowed low.
“I thank you, Sir William, for your permission. I offer you a formal invitation to Willie Douglas’s feast.”
Sir William was laughing.
It’s good, he thought, to have the young rogue back in the castle.
THE FEAST TOOK PLACE in the early afternoon. Mary was present; so were Sir William and Lady Douglas; in fact all who could be spared from their posts were at the great table. Willie presided, plying his guests with wine; aping the manners of the nobility in such a manner that he had the entire company laughing at him. He minced about the room; he gave orders in arrogant tones; he was gallant to the ladies, his freckled face wrinkled in simpering admiration; and all the time his alert eyes were on Sir William, who kept his keys in his pocket and, although he drank heavily and complimented Willie on his good wine, was none the worse for the amount he took.
Willie was also watching the Queen. He was eager to get a message through to her. He wanted her to be ready to leave during supper this evening. He knew that she was expecting some signal, but how difficult it was when he could not find an opportunity to have a word with her.
The company was becoming drowsy and the feasting could not be prolonged, so Willie suddenly announced that he was going to take advantage of his position as Lord of Misrule. Picking up a green branch which he had acquired for the occasion he approached the Queen.
“I am the Lord of Misrule,” he chanted. “I touch you with my rod. This day you must follow me whither I command.”
Mary answered: “Lord of Misrule, this day I will follow you wherever you lead me.”
Willie danced into the center of the room and beckoned the Queen, who rose from her chair and made to follow him.
Willie tripped from the room, with Mary behind him.
When they were outside, Willie turned and whispered: “It must be during supper tonight. Be watchful.”
“Willie . . . are you sure?”
Willie shook his head and laid his fingers on his lips. Lady Douglas was coming toward them.
“I’m a little weary after the revelry,” said the Queen. “I think I will rest awhile.”
Lady Douglas’s eyes were alert. She had not forgotten the part Willie had played in the laundress scheme. “I will accompany Your Majesty,” she said.
Willie returned to his guests while Lady Douglas went with the Queen to her own apartments.
Mary lay on her bed; she was too tense to feel tired; she closed her eyes, pretending to sleep, and Lady Douglas seated herself by her bed. It was clear that she did not trust Willie and had been made suspicious by the feast. Mary knew that Willie had hoped to lure all the guards to the feast and during it manage to steal the keys: he had been disappointed in that, and all he seemed to have done was arouse suspicion.
Lady Douglas bent over the bed to see if she were asleep, and Mary gave no sign that she was aware of this. She heard Lady Douglas sigh deeply and go to the door.
Someone said: “My lady, I felt I should tell you without delay.”
“What is it?”
“My lord Seton was seen close to the lake on the mainland. He rode by with a party of horsemen.”
“Was that so?”
“I thought I should tell you.”
Mary did not recognize the voice which was speaking, but she guessed it to be that of one of the kitchen maids.
“You did right.”
“And, my lady, it is said that Master George has not gone to France, but is with my lord Seton in Kinross.”
“Is that so?” said Lady Douglas slowly. “Then . . . off with you. You will awaken the Queen.”
Mary’s heart was beating so fast that she was afraid Lady Douglas would notice. But the older woman gave no sign of this and returning to the bed continued to sit beside it. It seemed a long time before she rose and went to her own apartments.
THE AFTERNOON was coming to its close when Mary rose from her bed and declared that she was rested from Willi
e’s revelry and would take a walk. She put on a cloak and went out of the castle in the company of Seton.
“This suspense is becoming intolerable,” she whispered to Seton. “I am afraid they are too suspicious of us. We expect too much from Willie. He is after all only a boy.”
“I am sure his plan was to do something during his feast. Now it is to be while supper is in progress.”
“We are being followed now,” said Mary.
Lady Douglas came up with them and as she fell into step beside them they were startled by the distant sound of horses’ hoofs, and looking up saw a party of horsemen on the mainland.
Lady Douglas watched them intently and with some misgiving; Mary guessed she was eager to report what she had seen to Sir William, and she felt dejected; for after Willie’s unusual behavior, the gossip of the kitchen-maid and the actual appearance of horsemen on the mainland, she felt that it must be obvious that some plan was in the air.
She sought to turn Lady Douglas’s thoughts from what she had seen by complaining bitterly of the way in which Moray had treated her.
Lady Douglas could never bear to hear her favorite son attacked. When this happened she immediately forgot all else in her defense of him.
“His one thought,” she insisted, “is the good of this land.”
“His one thought,” retorted Mary, “is to rule this land.”
“Your Majesty wrongs him.”
Mary then began to enumerate all that he had done against her, and Lady Douglas grew warm in his defense.
All was now quiet on the mainland and it seemed that Lady Douglas had forgotten what a short while ago she had seen there to disturb her. She talked in glowing terms of the cleverness of Moray, how like his father he was, and therefore a little like Mary. “For, Your Majesty, I see your father in you.”
Lady Douglas was back in her glorious past when she had been a King’s favorite mistress. So that the suspicious activity on the mainland completely slipped from her memory.
She was still talking when Sir William appeared.
“The Queen’s supper is about to be served in her chamber,” he said. He bowed to Mary. “May I escort you there?”
The Captive Queen of Scots Page 11
