The Captive Queen of Scots

by Виктория Холт

  “You are right, Robert, but think not that I shall allow the Shrewsbury and Lennox women to defy me. Let them be made prisoners without a moment’s delay, and have them brought to the Tower.”

  “Your Majesty speaks with your usual wisdom,” said Burleigh.

  And Leicester bowed his head in adoring agreement.

  That day guards were sent to Sheffield to bring the two Countesses to London and the Tower.

  SO THE INDIGNANT BESS and the Countess of Lennox were taken as prisoners from Sheffield Castle.

  There was a subdued atmosphere there after they had left. The happiness of the married lovers was muted, for they feared that they had brought grave trouble to their mothers; Mary sat with her friends and they worked for hours at their tapestry, talking of that event which had led to the departure of the two Countesses, wondering how they fared in their prison at the Tower.

  Mary said that they would send the exquisite tapestry which they had worked to Elizabeth, who was so notoriously greedy for gifts, in the hope that she might be softened toward her three prisoners—the two in the Tower and the one in Sheffield Castle.

  Little Bessie Pierpont was happy, because there was now no need to worry about her daily tasks. She could ride and play and take her lessons and listen to the Queen’s stories of her childhood. But Bessie was finding that the greatest pleasure she enjoyed was in the company of her new friend, Monsieur Nau, who was teaching her to speak French; and it was amazing how quickly she learned to prattle in that language. Never had any lesson been such fun as learning French. Bessie’s only sadness during those months was when Monsieur Jacques was too busy to be with her.

  “The castle is a different place without the Countess,” said Seton to Andrew Beaton.

  “Do you never grow tired of your prison here?” he asked.

  “I shall never grow tired of serving the Queen,” she answered.

  “Yet you should have a life of your own,” he told her.

  She turned away from his ardent gaze. Seton did not wish him to say all that she knew he was feeling; she distrusted her own emotions too. She had vowed to serve the Queen as long as she was needed. She was still needed. There was no time, Seton assured herself, to think of anything but serving the Queen.

  Mary often sighed for Buxton.

  “It is the only place in England where I wish to be,” she said. “I wonder if I shall be allowed to pay another visit to the baths.”

  She was embroidering a nightcap in colorful silks; she used green and gold silks, for she had heard that Elizabeth was fond of such colors. She had already made two others in delicate coloring and she intended to send these to Elizabeth with a request that she might visit Buxton.

  As soon as the nightcaps were completed Mary sent them to the French ambassador, asking him to present them to Elizabeth. When Elizabeth saw them she grunted. She was not very eager for such things; she much preferred jewels to be worn by day, or furniture and tapestry which could be admired by many.

  Moreover she did not believe that it was wise of her to accept gifts from the Queen of Scots, and she told the French ambassador that such acceptance could become a political matter and she feared the disapproval of her ministers.

  The French ambassador knew this to be false, and replied that the Queen of Scots merely wished to show her goodwill.

  “Well then,” retorted Elizabeth, “I will take them, but I pray you tell the Queen of Scots that as I have been some years longer in this world than she has, I have learned that people are accustomed to receive with both hands, but to give only with one finger.”

  This was meant to convey that Mary was asking for favors in return for her nightcaps—presents which Elizabeth was not really eager to accept.

  But when she tried on the nightcaps she did find them becoming and she thought that, as Mary was so eager to visit Buxton, she did not see why she should not go, providing a strong enough guard conducted her there.

  XV

  Buxton, Chatsworth and Sheffield

  WHAT A PLEASURE IT WAS to be once more at Buxton.

  “I feel better as soon as I arrive in this place,” Mary declared.

  The Earl was inclined to relax restrictions. He had brought certain of the servants with him from Sheffield and among these was Eleanor Britton. Life was serene and pleasant with the Countess in the Tower.

  The waters had their usual beneficial effect and Mary’s health improved accordingly. She visited Poole’s Hole once more and enjoyed the outing.

  “If only I could stay at Buxton,” she told Seton, “I am sure I should quickly recover my health and feel young again.”

  One day the Earl came to her apartments in Low Buxton in a state of some excitement.

  “Your Majesty, we have an eminent visitor at Buxton who I feel sure is here solely because Your Majesty has come to take the waters.”

  “Who?” she asked.

  “Lord Burleigh himself.”

  “Lord Burleigh! Then, depend upon it, he comes on Queen Elizabeth’s orders.”

  “I hope it is not to spy on us.”

  “Ah, you think it may be so?”

  “I cannot think of any other reason.”

  Poor Shrewsbury! He might feel relieved to be rid of Bess but he was at a loss without her. Mary imagined how differently Bess would have received the news of Burleigh’s presence. She would have been stimulated by the thought of conflict, whereas poor Shrewsbury felt he had yet another burden added to those which were already too heavy.

  When Burleigh called on the Queen of Scots, Mary received him cautiously. She knew he had been one of her most bitter enemies at the Court of Elizabeth, and she did not believe he could suddenly have become her friend.

  Burleigh looked wan and walked with even more difficulty than he had before.

  “You are hoping to derive benefits from the waters?” the Queen asked sympathetically.

  “Yes, Your Majesty. I suffer acutely from gout and my feet have always troubled me.”

  “Then I trust you find comfort from the water, as I do.”

  “Your Majesty’s health has improved, I hope, since you have been here?”

  Mary assured him that it had, but she knew he had not come here to inquire about her health.

  Later she discovered, through Shrewsbury, that Elizabeth’s minister, who was the sternest of Protestants, had been making inquiries as to how many visitors she received while at Buxton. He was afraid that, under less restraint as she must necessarily be at Buxton in contrast to Sheffield, certain members of the Catholic nobility might have access to her. Burleigh lived in terror of another Catholic rising.

  THE DAYS PASSED PLEASANTLY. It was good to hear Mary’s lighthearted laughter; often she played the lute and sang. Buxton was so good for her. The mountain air was sharp but invigorating and there was shelter in the valley from the bleak winds which buffeted Sheffield Castle.

  Burleigh called often. He was in fact constantly on the alert. When he visited the Queen he tried to startle her with sly questions; she enjoyed arousing his suspicions and then letting him discover that there was nothing in them; but all the same these contacts meant that each was discovering a new respect for the other. It was impossible for Mary not to respect the minister’s single-minded loyalty to his Queen, just as it was impossible for Burleigh not to be affected by the charm of Mary. Thus, in spite of the fact that they must be cautious of each other, a form of friendship grew between them.

  This pleasant life might have gone on throughout the season, but news was brought to Elizabeth that Burleigh was at Buxton and calling on the Queen of Scots.

  Elizabeth was incensed because Burleigh had gone to the baths without asking her consent; and that, as he had been there some time, must have paid many calls on the Queen of Scots.

  He was recalled at once and as soon as he came into the presence of his royal mistress she berated him for what she pleased to call his infidelity.

  “So, sir,” she cried, “you have been visiting th
e Queen of Scots, paying compliments to the fair lady, I’ll warrant.”

  “I was there on Your Majesty’s business,” began Burleigh.

  “Is that so, William Cecil! Is it my business then to play the gallant and compliment the Queen of Scots on her beautiful eyes?”

  “But I did not pay such compliments . . . .”

  “Did you not! Then were her eyes not beautiful enough to warrant the compliment?”

  The answer must be the expected one: “Having seen Your Majesty’s eyes, no others could seem beautiful.”

  “H’m!” said the Queen. “You’re another Norfolk, it seems. I trust you remember, sir, what happened to him.”

  “I do, Your Majesty.”

  “Look to it that it does not happen to you!”

  “If I deserved such a fate, which I should do if I failed to serve my own Sovereign Lady Elizabeth with all my heart, I should welcome it,” answered Burleigh with dignity. “Since I could never deserve it, I do not fear it.”

  Elizabeth liked a bold answer and she softened at once. She had never really doubted the loyalty of this good friend; she merely feared that he might have found the company of the Queen of Scots entrancing, as it was clear so many men did.

  “Go to then,” she said. “And do not leave us again. We need you here beside us.”

  Burleigh bowed; he still looked a little ruffled.

  Was he a little bewitched by that fascinating woman? Elizabeth wondered.

  She said angrily: “She shall not remain at Buxton. I fear she enjoys too much freedom there. Let her return to Chatsworth; that is nearby.” She looked shrewdly at Cecil. “Is she as beautiful as reports say?” she demanded suddenly, and there was a note in her voice which was pleading with him to say that she was not.

  “The Queen of Scots is fair enough,” answered Burleigh. He was preparing the necessary remark to follow, when Elizabeth held up a hand.

  “Mayhap I should go to see her for myself,” she said. “It is a notion which pleases me. She shall go to Chatsworth. If I went to Buxton to take the waters, I could ride to Chatsworth in disguise. A lady seeking a night’s shelter! Thus I could see this beauty for myself. I could exchange words with her. I like the idea.”

  She evidently did, for she mentioned it to certain of her women, and they amused themselves by picturing the meeting.

  “Then,” said Elizabeth, “I shall compare her face and figure with my own—which I have always wished to do.”

  “Your Majesty need not go to Chatsworth to make the comparison,” she was told. “All who set eyes on the Queen of Scots say that she has a pleasant mien, but beside Your Majesty she is as the moon to the sun.”

  “Then perhaps the journey would not be necessary,” replied Elizabeth with a yawn.

  She had made up her mind that she would never look at Mary. In moments of truth she knew the answer to the question, Who is the fairer, she or I? which her desire for flattery and her jealousy of her rival forced her to ask.

  She would never allow herself to face that truth, for while she had never seen Mary she could go on believing what her courtiers were so eager to tell her.

  THERE WAS EXCITEMENT at Chatsworth when the rumor reached Mary that Queen Elizabeth was going to visit her in the disguise of a gentlewoman.

  Mary had been feeling depressed because she had had to leave Buxton. Moreover she had heard from George Douglas that those who were concerned with him in the plot to rescue her son from Morton and Buchanan had decided it would be too dangerous to continue. The Countess of Lennox, who had been in the conspiracy, was now in the Tower, and it might well be that some intelligence had reached Elizabeth of their intention, and the imprisonment of the Countess was due to the part she had taken in the plot—not, as the English Queen would wish it to be believed, because of the marriage of her son. George could not act without friends; therefore this matter would have to be shelved.

  Then came the startling news that Queen Elizabeth was planning to visit Chatsworth in disguise.

  Mary excitedly gathered her women about her. Seton should do her hair. Which gown should she wear? She had very few jewels but they would have to make do with what she had.

  Seton said: “She will come in her jewels and rich garments, depend upon it. But never fear, we shall show her that you would be more beautiful in sackcloth than she is in cloth of gold.”

  Mary laughed. “That is not important, Seton. All that matters is that at last I shall speak to her. I am certain that when we are face-to-face I shall make her understand.”

  For weeks they waited.

  But Elizabeth did not come to Chatsworth.

  Elizabeth was never at ease when Mary was at Chatsworth. She feared that the Queen enjoyed too much freedom there, and after a few months Mary found herself back in Sheffield Castle.

  Bess had rejoined the household. She seemed none the worse for the months she had spent in the Tower, apart from a smoldering anger at the indignity she had been obliged to suffer.

  The atmosphere of the household changed as soon as she entered it. She stormed through the servants’ quarters, discovering what had been left undone.

  “It is as though a sharp wind blows through the house,” said Mary to Seton.

  Bess sat with Mary and worked with her on her tapestry—the two of them alone so that, said Bess, they could talk at their ease; and as Bess had had an interview with Elizabeth, Mary was eager to hear what she had to say.

  “She showed her displeasure at first,” Bess told her. “But it did not last. There is a certain bond between us which she cannot ignore. When I was released from the Tower and she sent for me she accused me of overweening ambition. I admitted to this and she burst out laughing. She knew full well that my ambition matches her own. I was bold enough to say to her: ‘If Your Majesty had been born plain Bess of Hardwick instead of a King’s daughter, you would have sought means of making good marriages for your children—had you borne them.’”

  “And did she agree?”

  “Not in so many words, but her mood changed toward me and we talked of old times.”

  “It seems,” said Mary wistfully, “that if one can only talk with her, she is ready to see reason.”

  “She will always see what she wants to see.”

  “Do you think she has a sense of justice?”

  That made Bess laugh. “I see into her mind without effort,” she boasted. “The virgin Queen; do you believe it?”

  “I have no reason to do otherwise.”

  “Ha! You should see her with Leicester. There are times when she cannot keep her hands from him . . . smoothing his hair, patting his arm. That speaks clearly enough to me. She has had several children . . . not only by Leicester.”

  “But this is impossible!”

  “Impossible is a word Elizabeth does not know. Why, has Your Majesty never heard of all the romping with Thomas Seymour? Then she was little more than a girl. They say there was a child as a result of that. Oh yes, they do, and I for one believe it. And what she felt for Seymour is nothing compared with her passion for Leicester. He’s her husband . . . without benefit of clergy, of course. Our Elizabeth does not want a man to share her throne . . . only her bed.”

  Mary was scandalized. Then she realized how angry Bess was. Elizabeth had had her sent to the Tower, and Bess would not forgive such insult in a hurry. There was nothing she could do to take her revenge on Elizabeth—except remember all the scandal she had ever heard of her and repeat it to the Queen who, like herself, had very little for which to thank the Queen of England.

  THE EARL OF SHREWSBURY came to Mary’s apartments one day and told her that he had news which he thought would cheer her.

  Bothwell, incarcerated in the Castle of Malmoë, was grievously sick of the dropsy, and because he feared that his life was nearing its end he had written a confession in which he exonerated Mary from the murder of Darnley.

  He had written: “The Bastard Moray began, Morton drew, and I wove the web of this murder.�
� And he went on to say that Mary was completely innocent of it.

  When he had given her this news Shrewsbury left Mary who felt so moved that she went to her bed and lay there. Memories came vividly back to her. She could not imagine Bothwell sick unto death. She thought of their brief and stormy life together and she wept for them both; yet she rejoiced that in his last hours he should remember her and seek to do what was right. She had always known that he was not wholly wicked. He had been blessed—or cursed—with twice the vitality of most men. He had been guilty of so much; all his life, rough Borderer that he was, he had taken what he wanted without thought of the consequences. It had seemed that the rape of a Queen meant no more to him than that of a shepherdess in the Border country of his enemies; yet it could not have been so, for when the pains of death were on him, he remembered her with tenderness.

  She rose from her bed and went to her prie-Dieu, where she prayed for his soul; and she gave thanks that he had at the end thought kindly enough of her to write his confession.

  It seemed however that Bothwell was indestructible, for he recovered from his sickness. But the confession had been made.

  WITH THE COMING OF SUMMER the French ambassador persuaded Elizabeth to allow Mary to visit Buxton once more, and under such pressure Elizabeth agreed.

  Mary had been deriving her usual benefit from the Spa and was hoping to spend the whole season at Shrewsbury’s Low Buxton, when an event at the English Court resulted in her stay there being brought to an abrupt end.

  Leicester had been complaining to Elizabeth that he was unwell, and Elizabeth had been concerned about the health of her favorite.

  She had sent him her own physician and visited him herself to see how he was progressing.

  On her arrival a mournful Leicester thanked her for her solicitude and told her that her presence did him more good than anything else.