The Captive Queen of Scots

by Виктория Холт

  She replied firmly that she was not yet ready to relieve Shrewsbury of his task and that if he were going to take every rumor seriously he was indeed a fool.

  Nevertheless she sent for Bess.

  They eyed each other shrewdly and, for a few fearful seconds, Bess believed that the Queen was seeing through her motives. If it occurred to Elizabeth that the Countess had any thought of promoting young Arabella Stuart, she, Bess, had better tread very warily; it was a very short step from the moment of understanding to the Tower, and an even shorter one to the block.

  “What’s this I hear about the Queen of Scots and Shrewsbury?” the Queen demanded.

  “It is a rumor, Your Majesty, spread by their enemies.”

  “Poof!” Elizabeth’s gaze did not leave the Countess’s face. “Your trouble is over these estates which you are trying to get for Cavendish’s children. You don’t believe these rumors, do you?”

  Bess lowered her gaze and tried to look troubled.

  “It’s nonsense,” thundered Elizabeth. “You are too clever not to have seen at once if any such thing was going on under your roof. I refuse to believe anything but that. And what is more, I shall write to Shrewsbury and tell him so.”

  Bess was relieved yet disappointed. But she would not return to Sheffield. She went back to Chatsworth and Elizabeth wrote to Shrewsbury quoting what she had said to Bess.

  It was her way of telling Shrewsbury he was to remain at his post despite scandals.

  FROM CHATSWORTH Bess pursued her plans with her usual energy, and so widespread were the scandals concerning Shrewsbury and the Queen of Scots, and such appealing letters did Elizabeth receive from the latter, that she was at last convinced that she must remove Mary from Shrewsbury’s care.

  She had heard that Mary’s health had deteriorated rapidly since she bore the additional burden of this scandal, and she gave permission for her to visit Buxton.

  Mary’s sojourn at the Spa had its usual beneficial effect and when she had returned to Sheffield Castle Elizabeth wrote to Shrewsbury telling him that she had at last decided to relieve him of his duties.

  She was appointing in his place three gentlemen—Sir Ralph Sadler, Sir Henry Mildmay and Mr. Somers.

  Shrewsbury received the news with mixed feelings. It was impossible, he knew, for him to continue as the Queen’s guardian when such rumors were rife. It was fifteen years since Mary had come under his charge, and the relationship between them had grown cordial. They understood each other, and parting in such circumstances must necessarily be painful.

  He decided that he would not break the news to her at once, for he knew that she did not like Sadler, and would be distressed at the thought of a new jailor of any kind.

  He came to her apartments and told her that he had news.

  “I am to go to Court,” he said, “where I shall endeavor to plead your cause with Her Majesty.”

  Mary impulsively held out both hands to him and he took them.

  “I shall miss you when you are away,” she told him.

  “Have no fear that I shall not do my best for you while I am there. In the circumstances . . . ”

  Mary broke in: “My lord, what has happened has distressed us both, but you more; I am accustomed to insults. And you have lost your wife.”

  Shrewsbury said bitterly: “It was no great loss, I come to believe, Your Majesty.”

  “It is always sad that there should be such quarrels. I begin to think that not only am I cursed but that I bring bad luck to all around me.”

  “Your Majesty should be of good cheer. I doubt not that you will now have a new lodging.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes. Sir Ralph Sadler, who will be with you during my absence, thinks that you should stay at Wingfield Manor, while some other lodging is made ready for you.”

  “So it is Sadler!” She smiled ruefully. “I shall pray that you soon return. It will be strange to leave Sheffield after so long.”

  “I sincerely hope that you will find a lodging more to your liking.”

  “You might ask the Queen if I could lodge at Low Buxton. I verily believe that if I could do so I should quickly regain my health.”

  He looked at her sadly. He felt it was wrong to deceive her, yet he could not tell her yet that he was in fact saying goodbye.

  XVI

  Tutbury Once More

  THE CORTÈGE MADE ITS WAY SLOWLY along the rough roads. It would not reach its destination before nightfall, but there was not one member of the party who was eager to reach Tutbury Castle.

  Seton, riding beside her mistress, noticed a certain alertness in her face. Mary was always mildly excited at the prospect of moving. Did she still dream that a band of gallant friends would waylay the party and free her at last from the captivity of years? Seton believed that she did; that in spite of encroaching age and even more unwelcome infirmity, Mary would always hope for what now seemed the impossible.

  Seton moved painfully in the saddle. She was even more crippled with rheumatism than her mistress. But how could one live for years in drafty castles, never being allowed to take enough fresh air, without becoming infirm? They should be thankful perhaps that they were as healthy as they were.

  The last months had not been easy, and in desperation Mary had sent Jacques Nau to London to plead with Elizabeth for her liberty. The seeds of scandal which Seton was sure had been scattered by the revengeful Bess of Hardwick, had taken root here and in France and Spain. Mary tried to vindicate herself in Elizabeth’s eyes by suggesting that none was safe from Bess’s evil tongue and hinting at the scandals the Countess had whispered to her concerning Elizabeth; but no sooner had she done this than she regretted it. Elizabeth, however, wisely chose to ignore both Mary’s hints and Bess’s gossip.

  Was there no end, Mary asked herself, to the tribulations she must endure? And now that she had new jailors in place of the Shrewsburys, Mary was learning how free she had been in the charge of the Earl.

  Seton could not help feeling a certain satisfaction because Sir Ralph Sadler had suffered from the rigors of the Queen’s prison and had found Wingfield and Sheffield so bad for his health, that in a few months he had become almost crippled with rheumatism and was restive to be released from his duty.

  “Poor Sir Ralph,” Seton whispered to the Queen, “he at least suffers with his limbs as we do.”

  Mary turned to look at her friend and in the harsh light noticed how worn her face was . . . worn with pain, anxiety and frustration. Poor Seton, thought Mary. When I look at her it is as though I look into a mirror. My pain and anxieties are marked on my face even as hers are. If she could have married Andrew; if she could have been the mother of healthy children . . . But what was the use of entertaining such thoughts? They were two women, unlucky in love; doomed, it seemed, to be prisoners for the rest of their lives.

  So must it be for her. But it need not be so for Seton.

  Mary said: “Seton, I shudder to think of Tutbury. Of all my prisons that is the worst.”

  “It will be better when the spring comes . . . .”

  “And the smell grows stronger . . . .” murmured the Queen. She turned almost angrily to Seton. “I must endure this life, Seton. But why should you?”

  Seton sighed. “Because, as I have told you before, my place is at your side.”

  “Nay, Seton. You should go away while there is time.”

  “And leave you!”

  “I never had patience with those who suffered unnecessarily.”

  “It is only if I were separated from you that I should suffer.”

  “Look at your hands. Your knuckles are enlarged with rheumatism. Do you think I cannot see how painfully you walk? You are in a worse state than I am, Seton. Why do you not go to France?”

  “Ah, if we could both go . . . ”

  “Let us indulge ourselves, Seton. Let us think about it.”

  They were silent, thinking of those early days when they had ridden lightheartedly in the chase, w
hen they were young and their days were carefree.

  “There is no reason why you should not go, Seton,” whispered the Queen. “I could arrange for you to go into a convent with my aunt Renée. She would receive you with pleasure, knowing you to be my dearest friend. Dear Seton, go, while you can still walk.”

  Seton shook her head.

  “How obstinate you are!” sighed Mary. “There will come a day when I shall have to nurse you. You suffer more than I.”

  “Do not ask me to leave you,” pleaded Seton. “While I can still walk I wish to serve you.”

  They were silent for a while; then Mary said: “I knew Jacques Nau would do well at Elizabeth’s Court.”

  Seton nodded. “She has an affection for all handsome men.”

  “And Jacques is very handsome. I could not have chosen a better advocate.”

  “Let us be thankful that he has persuaded the Queen that you are innocent of the Shrewsbury scandal.”

  Mary laughed. “It all seemed so ridiculous, did it not? Yet there were so many ready to believe. But now, thanks to the good work of my French Jacques, the Countess and her sons have been made to swear I have been slandered.”

  Seton nodded, but she was less sure than the Queen. She was thinking that scandal, once sent on its rounds, could live on forever.

  “It would seem,” said Mary, “that we are arriving at a house. What is it?”

  Seton looked ahead to the gabled mansions. “It is Babington Hall, Your Majesty. We are to rest here for the night, I believe.”

  “Babington . . . the name seems familiar.”

  “That is very likely. Your Majesty will remember Anthony.”

  “Anthony Babington . . . why yes. He is that earnest and handsome young man who called on me at Sheffield and was so eager to serve me.”

  “A Catholic gentleman,” murmured Seton; “and Your Majesty is right, he is a handsome one.”

  “A charming person,” replied the Queen, as the cortège rode up to Babington Hall.

  * * *

  SIR RALPH SADLER was not going to allow Mary to forget that she was a prisoner; he immediately set his guards about the house and, summoning the chief citizens of the town, told them that Queen Elizabeth would be ill pleased if they allowed her prisoner to escape while lodging in their district. So the citizens posted their own guards in the streets of the nearby town as well as about the house.

  The housekeeper, an old widow named Mrs. Beaumont, came forward to greet the Queen on behalf of her master and mistress.

  Mary graciously embraced her, kissing her on both withered cheeks, a gesture which enchanted the old lady.

  “My master will be delighted that Your Majesty has honored his house,” she said.

  “You must tell your master that I remember him well and think of him often,” Mary answered.

  Sir Ralph, watching suspiciously, demanded that the Queen be taken to her apartments; and the widow nodded, saying she would lead the way.

  It was not easy to have any communication with strangers while Sir Ralph was near; but Mrs. Beaumont did manage to speak to Mary. She told her that if there were any letters the Queen wished delivered to her friends she could safely leave them with her. Her master was the Queen’s most ardent servant and he would think ill of his housekeeper if she did not serve her in every way possible while she was under his roof. He would be sorry that he was absent from his home during the Queen’s visit; but he was at this time abroad. Mrs. Beaumont knew, though, that he lived to serve the Queen.

  That night in Babington Hall, while the noise of her guards below her window prevented her from sleeping, Mary thought of handsome young Anthony Babington; and she felt young again because hope had come back to her.

  TUTBURY was even more unpleasant than Mary remembered it. Robbers had entered it since she had last stayed there, and much of the furniture and bedding had been stolen.

  The cold was intense; the foul odor more pronounced.

  Mary went to her old apartments and saw at once that many of the hangings with which her servants had once covered those walls, were missing.

  Seton came in looking doleful. “There are scarcely any blankets in the place; and there are only nine pairs of sheets. I’ve counted them myself.”

  Mary shivered. “And how many of us are there?”

  “Forty-eight. They have even stolen the feathers from many of the bolster cases. I fear we are going to be most uncomfortable until we can obtain supplies.”

  Sir Ralph Sadler came into the Queen’s apartment looking worried. There was no need for him to say that he was heartily weary of his task. He longed to pass over the guardianship of the Queen to someone else. He had quickly realized that it was a dangerous and thankless task.

  “I will write to Lord Burleigh at once,” she told Sadler. “If we are to stay here, either he or the Queen must send us some comforts.”

  Sadler agreed with her. Every day he was revising his opinion of Mary, for previously he had believed her to be fractious and demanding; now he realized all that she must have been made to suffer over the years.

  During the next weeks his attitude toward her changed still more. She was a Catholic—a fact which he, a stern Protestant, deplored; she was a danger to his Queen; but at the same time he had to admire the patience with which she bore hardship and her unfailing concern for those who served her.

  Soon after their arrival Mary became ill; as for Seton, she was scarcely able to move; both women bore their infirmities with fortitude; but when one of Mary’s oldest servants, Renée Rallay, a Frenchwoman who had come with her when she left France, fell sick and died, Mary’s grief overflowed, and she demanded of Sadler how long the Queen of England intended to keep her in this state.

  Sadler decided then that when the spring came he would allow her to ride out with him and watch the hawking. He saw no harm in that, provided she was surrounded by guards.

  SO ONCE MORE with the coming of more clement weather Mary’s health improved; and it was a great pleasure to be allowed to ride out even in the company of Sadler and Somers, and accompanied by guards.

  With her on these occasions rode Bessie Pierpont, now a blooming beauty of sixteen.

  It was one day when they returned from such an excursion that they found Jacques Nau was in the castle, having come straight from Elizabeth’s Court.

  Mary was so delighted to see him that she did not notice the flush of pleasure which rose to Bessie’s cheeks, nor did she intercept the ardent looks which passed between the girl and the secretary.

  “My good friend,” cried Mary, “how it delights me to see you.”

  Jacques kissed the Queen’s hand, but even as he did so he could not prevent his eyes straying to the lovely young girl who stood beside Mary.

  “Pray come to my chamber with all speed,” said Mary. “I can scarce wait to hear your news.”

  As they made their way there, Bessie walked close to him and when his hand reached out for hers, and pressed it, Bessie could have wept for joy. She would tell him when they were alone that she had lived in great fear that he would have met some fair lady at the English Court who would have made him forget all about simple little Bessie Pierpont. But it did not seem so, and she was exultant because she believed that Jacques was as pleased to be with her as she was to see him.

  At the door of the Queen’s chamber, Bessie must leave them, but the look which Jacques cast in her direction told her that soon he would be seeking her out.

  When they were alone together Mary complimented Jacques on the manner in which he had accomplished his mission. She saw at once that there was a change in the young man’s manner. There was a new air of confidence; she believed she understood. Elizabeth had a fondness for handsome young men, and Jacques was undoubtedly handsome. Elizabeth would have been enchanted by his French manners, for there was no doubt that Jacques knew how to turn a pretty compliment. Yes, the visit to the English Court had changed Jacques in some way. He was full of assurance having become an amb
assador, whereas before he had been a mere secretary.

  “Jacques,” said Mary, “I have to thank you for the manner in which you dealt with my affairs. But for you, I am sure, the Countess of Shrewsbury would have been allowed to go on repeating her scandals.”

  “It was a great pleasure to me,” Jacques replied, “to achieve an apology in the presence of the Council.”

  “You found the Queen of England fair and just?”

  “I did, Your Majesty.”

  Ah, thought Mary, if only I could see her. If only I could have a chance of talking to her.

  Failing that, it was comforting to have someone such as her good and loyal French secretary to look after her affairs.

  But there was one other piece of news which Jacques must break to her. He knew that it was going to cause her sorrow and he dreaded telling her. Since he had entered the castle and seen young Bessie Pierpont, he was yearning to be done with business and be with her. He was surprised that he could feel little else but this great need to be with Bessie.

  “I have news of Your Majesty’s son.”

  The Queen’s expression changed; she clasped her hands together.

  Jacques did not look at her as he said: “His Majesty of Scotland finds it difficult to act as joint sovereign with yourself. He has therefore entered into a treaty with the Queen of England as sole sovereign of Scotland.”

  Mary looked at her secretary as though she had not heard him. Slowly the implication of what this meant came to her. So he is repudiating me! she thought. At last my enemies have succeeded in taking him from me utterly. He . . . my own little Jamie, now finds his mother an encumbrance. He tells me that I am, in his opinion, no longer Queen of Scotland.

  She said slowly: “Is this indeed so?”

  Jacques answered gently: “I fear so, Your Majesty.”

  Mary covered her face with her hands.