Contents
Cover
About the Book
Title Page
Dedication
Historical Note
Prologue
Part One: Marie Queen of France
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Part Two: Mary Queen of Scots
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Epilogue
Postscript
Notes
Family Trees
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Also by Theresa Breslin
Copyright
About the Book
Jenny, close friend and companion of Mary, Queen of Scots, has grown up at the French royal court – a place of ruthless ambition, intrigue and deceit. When Jenny overhears a whispered plot and several mysterious deaths take place, she turns spy for Mary.
Then Mary returns to Scotland to claim her throne and the girls face even greater peril. There are many who would slit Mary’s throat to steal her crown, and Jenny must protect her mistress – while also fighting her feelings for the charismatic nobleman Duncan Alexander.
Can Mary and Jenny survive this poisonous time of dark secrets, betrayal and murder?
This is TB’s book
Historical Note
Mary, Queen of Scots, lived in one of the most turbulent periods of European history. The discovery of the Americas, the Protestant Reformation, and the invention of the printing press brought huge changes to society. New ideas circulated more rapidly, making people question the established order. Rulers of countries were not secure in their position. To keep their throne they needed the support of their own noble families and to resist foreign invasions.
For centuries Scotland and England were in constant conflict. In the hope of bringing peace, Margaret Tudor, sister of King Henry VIII of England, was married to the Scottish king. She gave birth to Mary’s father, King James V of Scotland. King James V suspected that England would try to take over Scotland, so he married a French noblewoman from the family of Guise, to make an ally of France and give Scotland more protection. King James V died when his only surviving child, Mary, was a few days old. Henry VIII of England wanted her wed to his son. The Scots decided against this as they feared English domination. Henry VIII sent an army north to capture the child. Mary was sent to France for safety where she would marry the heir to the French throne. Thus the Scots had French troops, in addition to their own clansmen, to defend them.
Mary’s mother was left to rule Scotland which was then a Catholic country, but, due in great part to the preacher John Knox, becoming increasingly Protestant. She tried to govern fairly, but the Scottish nobles were strongly tied to the clan system, where families vied fiercely with each other for land and power. The foremost of these Scots lords was Lord James Stuart, the eldest of King James V’s illegitimate sons. Some lords became Protestant and, with help from an England now ruled by Queen Elizabeth, herself a Protestant, Mary’s mother’s regency was eventually toppled and a Governing Council elected. The Scots lords were now rivals as to who would, in effect, rule the country in Mary’s absence.
In France, King Henri was firmly Catholic and suppressed Protestantism. His wife Catherine de’ Medici, although Catholic, appeared more tolerant. Their throne was constantly under threat, from the powerful family of Guise at home, and from Spain and England abroad. England had conquered territory in France and held the port of Calais. An alliance with Scotland meant that French troops were in a good position to attack England and therefore keep part of the English army occupied away from France.
In England, some nobles considered Queen Elizabeth illegitimate, as her father, King Henry VIII, had not been married to her mother, Anne Boleyn, in accordance with the rites of the Catholic Church. By this argument Mary, Queen of Scots, was the nearest legitimate heir. Elizabeth’s throne was also menaced by Spain and France. In addition to her nobles she established a set of advisers, the foremost of these being the astute William Cecil. The rebellious Scots lords were encouraged by England to overthrow the Catholic rule of Scotland and were given money and sanctuary. One of these families was the Lennox Stuarts whose son, the spoiled and shallow Lord Henry Darnley, was a direct descendant of the same English princess, Margaret Tudor, who had married for a second time after Mary’s grandfather, King James V, died. The Lennox Stuarts could claim some right to both the Scottish and the English thrones.
In this time of spies and intrigue it was Queen Elizabeth who sent Darnley north to Scotland to meet Mary . . .
You will find family trees for the Scottish and English successions at the back of the book.
‘Stewart’ was the original spelling of the Scottish family name until Mary, Queen of Scots adopted the ‘Stuart’ version, which was then followed by her descendants. For clarity, ‘Stuart’ is used throughout this book.
Prologue
Fotheringhay Castle, England, 8 February 1587
‘They are ready for you, my lady.’
‘But I am not yet ready for them,’ Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots, replied abruptly, looking up from her writing desk in a disdainful manner. Then she recovered herself and spoke more kindly to the man standing at the door of her chamber. ‘I need a few extra minutes to prepare. Would you grant me that courtesy?’
‘Highness.’ Thomas Andrews, High Sherriff of Northampton, bent his head and backed from the room. ‘I will await you in the corridor.’
Mary Stuart laid down her pen. ‘I have written all I can write.’ She stood up. ‘Now, I must think what to wear.’
She smiled as her ladies glanced at each other. ‘It will be noted in history,’ she told them gently, ‘what I wore, and how I conducted myself at the time of my death.’
At this they let out a moan of grief. Mary regarded them seriously. ‘When the moment comes, be mindful of your own dignity. For myself, I will die as I lived, as a woman and a queen.’
She pointed to a clothes chest in the corner of the room. ‘I intend to put on the crimson petticoat Ginette left to me.’
As one of her ladies fetched the garment, Mary’s composure faltered and she gave a small sob. ‘I wish Jenny were here,’ she said. ‘If only Ginette, my sweet loyal Jenny, were here, it would be so much easier to bear.’
And the Queen of Scots gathered the petticoat in her hands and crushed it against her breast. ‘Red!’ she cried. ‘Red for the blood that has been spilled, and red for the blood that will soon flow from my severed head.’
PART ONE
&nbs
p; MARIE QUEEN OF FRANCE
France, 1558
(29 years earlier)
Chapter 1
The Castle of Blois, spring 1558
CLOTHES WERE ALWAYS important to Mary Stuart.
She liked to wear pretty things and was well aware of the effect her appearance had on others. And I, her closest companion, had learned from her example.
Therefore, on one particular morning when we were staying at the Castle of Blois in the spring of 1558, I deliberately chose to put on my new red dress. I knew that the blazing crimson colour emphasized my fair skin and enhanced my blue eyes and blonde hair. On my feet I’d put matching beribboned shoes with soft leather soles that made no sound as I ran through the huge royal residence of the King and Queen of France.
We were all running – Francis, the Dauphin, eldest son of the king, and heir to the throne of France, his younger sister, the Princess Elisabeth, myself, and other noble ladies, friends and attendants – each of us thrilled to take part in one of the exciting games that Mary Stuart devised for us to play.
Anyone who took the time to know this young woman, future bride of the Dauphin Francis, would, like us, have followed her to the ends of the earth. Her beauty dazzled those who met her. Slender and tall for her fifteen years, Mary had a fine long neck and a perfect oval face with a creamy white complexion. Her eyes were large, their amber colour highlighted by her wealth of luxuriant red-gold hair. But it was her conversation – intelligence pierced with shining wit – her humour, her graciousness, and her innate goodness that caused people to linger in her company. One couldn’t help but love her. Both King Henri of France and his son, Francis, adored her. His wife, the Italian-born Catherine de’ Medici, was less enchanted with her prospective daughter-in-law, for the queen was besotted with her own children; she had the highest ambitions for them, and felt it should be she who had absolute command over their lives.
But Mary ruled the children’s household and we did as she bade us, and no one frowned at the disturbance made by our games. She was so charming that servants and courtiers alike smiled and moved out of our way when we went rushing from the summerhouse in the garden up the magnificent tower staircase and along the corridors of the castle.
The boys’ shoes clattered on the marble steps and wooden floors. The girls’ slippers made less noise, but their shrieks of laughter echoed loudly from the walls. As her noble kinswoman and dearest friend, I’d felt it to be my duty to stay beside Mary – although I knew she’d be with Francis for they’d been inseparable since childhood. He was a year younger than us and was never in good health but she’d not leave him to trail alone in the rear. As I hesitated, Mary urged me on, and so I deliberately raced away to get ahead of the rest.
In fast pursuit after us came the young Scots nobleman, Sir Duncan Alexander of Knoydart. Mary had elected him Chief Huntsman in our game of Hide and Chase, and he’d given us no more than a fifty-second count to find a hiding place within the castle. We sped into the upper hall. Now everyone was quieter, whispering and giggling as they concealed themselves behind chairs and chests and tapestries. They were hoping that the Huntsman, Duncan, would pass through the room without spotting them. Then they would snatch the opportunity to escape back to the garden summerhouse. All were anxious not to be found.
All except me.
I wanted to be caught – for I fancied myself in love with this Sir Duncan Alexander, a handsome, dark-haired young man who’d only recently arrived to join the Scottish nobles attending Mary Stuart.
‘Yet another Scot whom we must prevent from influencing our future queen,’ I’d heard one of the French noblemen grumble, when Duncan was announced at court.
Being only fifteen, I wasn’t much interested in politics or court intrigue and had no notion of how these things might affect me. At this point I didn’t care that there was tension between Scottish and French courtiers, or that Mary’s French relatives, the noble Guise family, were vying with the king and queen to bend Mary to do their will. My life consisted of lessons, with instruction in cultural pursuits such as embroidery and music, and many pastimes – hunting, pageants, parties and receptions where there was a chance to meet young men. It was at one of these latter occasions that I met Sir Duncan Alexander when he was presented to the Queen of Scots. He reacted as men often did when meeting Mary Stuart for the first time: eyes opening wider, taking in both her beauty and her height as he approached us. But I am quite tall too – almost equal to Mary, who is taller than most women – so he’d no need to bend his head to see my face when introduced to me.
‘Lady Ginette,’ he said, boldly meeting my eyes. ‘I like to meet a person whose expression I can see without having to stoop and get a crick in my neck.’
Mary clapped her hands. ‘Well, that is indeed pleasant to hear,’ she told him. ‘Women like myself and Jenny, who are above ordinary stature, have difficulty in finding a suitable male with whom we may have a conversation when dancing.’
‘I’ll remember that when I’m choosing a partner for your wedding ball, majesty.’ The look on Duncan Alexander’s face had changed to one of cool appraisal.
‘I think you will find that there are many men waiting to take Jenny’s hand to lead her onto the floor. Not only is she very attractive in appearance and manner, her father is the Comte de Hautepré, one of the noblest families in France; he holds a high command in the French army stationed in Scotland. Her mother was the daughter of the Italian ambassador at my father’s court in Scotland and, until her untimely death some years ago, a good friend to my own mother.’
I was glad that Mary had replied on my behalf to let this slightly arrogant young man know my lineage – and that I didn’t lack suitors.
‘That I will also bear in mind,’ he replied slowly, continuing to study me.
As he could gaze at me, so I could at him, and I didn’t lower my eyes as a more demure lady might have done. I was still half smiling at his initial reaction to meeting Mary Stuart.
‘You are amused?’ he asked me as she turned to greet yet another ambassador.
‘The Queen of Scots is very beautiful,’ I said. ‘It’s no wonder that men are overcome when first seeing her.’
‘The queen?’ Duncan seemed startled. ‘You think that I—’ He broke off and glanced at Mary. His face cleared of its superior expression and the look he gave me was honest and open. ‘With no disrespect to our queen, I assure you that I’m not the type of person to be “overcome” by superficial aspects, Jenny.’
His voice was low and sincere when he said my name, the familiar pet name ‘Jenny’ that friends and family used. My heart contracted and my breath caught in my throat. I think that was the moment when I fell in love with him.
So, when I heard this morning that Duncan Alexander would once again be in our company, I knew exactly what dress I’d wear – my new full-skirted crimson satin with slashed sleeves edged in black lace. I brushed my hair until it shone, and Marie Seton, one of the four Maries – the maids of honour who’d come to France as children with Mary Stuart – arranged it in curls held up with long pins decorated with beads of jet. Around my throat a single strand of matching jet glittered in the sunlight. I saw Duncan glance at me when I appeared in the garden. Ignoring him, I chatted amiably to one of his fellow countrymen and laughed at his remarks which, in truth, weren’t as funny as I pretended.
And then Mary Stuart murmured to me, ‘Sir Duncan Alexander has not taken his eyes from you these last ten minutes.’
He’d noticed my dress – as I’d planned he would!
After a while Mary, with mischief in mind, announced her game and gave Duncan his instructions. When he hesitated she said quickly, ‘It is a royal decree.’
‘In that case I can only obey your majesty.’ A determined glint came into his eye. ‘I should warn you that I am a skilled hunter and am merciless with my victims.’
The boys laughed. The girls squealed in mock fright. A shiver went through me.
Mary
took Dauphin Francis by the hand, saying loud enough that Duncan might hear her, ‘I will accompany my best friend, Francis, who will protect me, but you must go on your own, Jenny, and fend for yourself.’ She added in a whisper, ‘Run fast and far, Jenny. That way you will be alone with the good-looking Scotsman when he catches you.’
Now I could hear Duncan’s booted feet in the corridor. I slipped from the castle hall, but not so fast that he wouldn’t spy a glimpse of bright red satin. I heard him discover the others, and the wild hullabaloo as they tried to outwit and outpace him to reach the safety of the garden summerhouse. But the rules of the game meant that he had to find all the players. He must come and seek for me.
Courtiers were converging at the far end of the corridor, but I didn’t intend to go back the way I’d come and let him catch me so easily. Guards and servants had gone to attend to these people so I ventured further and tiptoed through a half-open door into an antechamber.
Behind me, a noise!
My throat closed in excitement.
I wanted to be found and seized by Duncan. I’d resolved to search for a quiet place in the hope that, having captured me, he might steal a kiss.
I slipped into a smaller inner room.
Blois was not a castle I was familiar with and this was somewhere I’d never been before. The room was panelled, the walls covered with different woods sculpted in the Italian style with motifs of candelabra. The curtains were drawn and one lamp burned on the mantelshelf. It wasn’t richly furnished: beside the fire stood a simple chair and desk. Despite the lack of gilded hangings I knew that I was somewhere I shouldn’t be: I sensed an aura of privilege, authority and power. Above the fireplace I saw initials painted out in gold.
Was that a C intertwined with an H?
Catherine and Henri. The monogram of the king and queen.
And on the desk and the chair back, a single C.
I turned to leave.
Footsteps behind me.
The hunter was at my heels!
Swiftly I went to the window. It looked down into a service yard. I slid behind the heavy curtain drapes.
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