Spy for the Queen of Scots

by Theresa Breslin

  Mary sighed. ‘I do not know if I truly wish to hear it but a monarch seldom hears the truth, so it might be that I should listen to what you have to say.’

  ‘There is a danger in a Scottish monarch awarding already mighty lords extra lands and titles. It means that these lords have access to more men to recruit and arm against their ruler if they choose to do so. And further, although I do not practise the Catholic religion, with Huntly’s domain shattered the balance of your kingdom is compromised.’

  ‘I am determined to pursue a policy of religious tolerance, but I will think on what you have said.’ To show that he was back in her favour, Mary held out her hand for Duncan to kiss as he departed.

  I followed him to the door. ‘It is something that I heard Catherine de’ Medici say,’ I said to him. ‘That a monarch needs someone to tell them the truth.’

  Duncan turned to face me and I noticed how tired he looked – greyed shadow under his eyes, stubble on his cheeks.

  ‘Then Mary is fortunate that you will be beside her,’ he said. He tilted his head and studied my face as though committing it to memory. ‘Goodbye, Jenny.’

  With a sudden sense of loss I closed the door behind him.

  Mary’s policies of appeasement seemed to be working. Lord James distanced himself from the extremism of Knox and with his and William Maitland’s advice, the queen and her country struggled into a way of working during the next few years. Mary’s wish for a personal conversation with Elizabeth of England to resolve the matter of the succession was thwarted when the Duke of Guise was assassinated. On hearing this tragic news I assumed Mary would grieve deeply at his passing, for it was the loss of another link to her mother, but her upset was reduced by the know ledge that he’d once ignored her pleas and abandoned Scotland and his sister to their fate. What Mary saw, with great disappointment, was the prospect of her hoped-for meeting with Elizabeth fade, as her uncle’s murder provoked more violent religious dissension in France.

  I was more than content not to have to prepare for what would have been a fraught encounter between the two queens. It meant that we could relax and take more pleasure in life at court.

  With threats to the queen’s person not imminent, Duncan Alexander asked leave to go and visit his own estates. I now understood why he’d looked at me so intently and said goodbye. But he didn’t contact me directly to tell me he’d be absent for a while. It was Mary who told me that he’d left the court.

  ‘Jenny,’ she squeezed my hand on seeing my reaction. ‘You are sad that Sir Duncan is gone.’

  I didn’t wish to share my deepest private hurt with anyone, so I replied, ‘I would have thought he might have let me know, that’s all. No matter, Sir Gavin of Strathtay is an amusing companion.’

  ‘And he is very attentive to you,’ Mary said. ‘I’d like you to know, Jenny, that you are free to marry if you so choose. I would not expect anyone who attended me to wait until I find another husband. I have told my Maries this too.’

  ‘Aha!’ I said, partly to change the topic of conversation, but also out of curiosity. ‘I know that Marie Livingston hopes for a liaison with Master Sempill and Marie Beaton is also being wooed. Is there another romance in the offing?’

  ‘That you may discover on Twelfth Night.’ There was mischief in Mary’s voice. ‘I have spoken to the pastry cook, and it will be Marie Fleming who will find the bean in her breakfast honey cake. We will dress her in my clothes and jewellery to play the role of Queen of the Bean during the evening celebrations. Then we will watch and see who pays homage at her court.’

  Marie Fleming wore the queen’s coronet for Twelfth Night, along with a royal gown of green and gold. The rest of us prepared for the event with much giggling and rustling of taffeta, for we had decided that we would dress in the Spanish style, with tiers of lace, elaborate make-up and high combs of jet in our hair. Just as we were about to descend to the great hall, Mary brought me her black pearls and knotted them around my throat. ‘There now, Jenny,’ she said. ‘You too are queen for the night.’

  The hall was decked with greenery and smelled of pine and fir. In the light of the huge fire and the blazing chandeliers my eyes were alert to see what would happen. Gavin was included in our spying game, and it was he who first clapped his hands to signal that he knew Marie Fleming’s would-be suitor. He whispered the name in my ear: ‘William Maitland!’

  ‘No!’ I exclaimed out loud. ‘It cannot be! He is so much older than she.’

  ‘I tell you it is.’ His face was alive at the opportunity for gossip. ‘Look at him almost capering in front of her, a forty-year-old widower and she scarce twenty!’

  ‘I think it is a sweet romance,’ Mary said, tempering his remarks. Speaking behind her napkin, she went on, ‘It is true, yet no one believes it. Kirkcaldy of Grange has declared that he as soon will be elected Pope than Maitland be accepted in his suit.’

  ‘Mmm,’ Gavin demurred. ‘I would not be so sure that Master William will be rejected.’

  ‘But Marie Fleming would have mentioned it to me!’ Mary said. ‘I’m sure she would have said.’

  ‘Perhaps she does not know it herself,’ he replied. ‘I am very observant of people – their faces sometimes belie the words that come from their mouths.’

  ‘That is a fine attribute to have, Sir Gavin.’

  He smiled at Mary’s compliment. ‘For another example,’ he said, ‘I know that Jenny misses the presence of Sir Duncan Alexander, yet she has such a gentle manner that I am hopeful she will say yes if I ask her to dance with me.’ He held out his hand.

  I placed my hand in Gavin’s and we stepped out onto the dance floor. And at the end of the night he said very sincerely, ‘I would like to be with you more often, Jenny, if I may. You are such agreeable company, and maybe I can help ease your loneliness.’

  I was touched that he’d noticed I was lonely. Although I supported Mary at official meetings, increasingly she was closeted privately with Lord James Stuart. I agreed to his suggestion and Gavin was often by my side when we went hunting or hawking or attended masques and balls.

  Mary was diligent in her duties of State but found time to enjoy herself. By dint of her personality and virtues, she established a small, tight-knit group of loyal friends and officials. An expert horsewoman, Mary adored riding through the wild countryside. The Huntly episode hadn’t put her off, and as time went on she explored more of her kingdom.

  ‘My father was known as the “Poor Man’s King”, for he travelled through his country in disguise so that he could mix with the common people. It is something I’d like to do,’ she told me.

  And so, aided by Sir Gavin, I devised a scheme whereby we might escape the strictures of the court one day and go into the streets of Edinburgh.

  In fanciful moments Mary talked of how it might be if she led a more rustic, straightforward life. She wasn’t blind to the harshness of such an existence. But to be free of the constraints that bound her, to lose the heavy responsibility of state duties, must be a dream of every monarch. With Gavin as our protector and Anthony Standen, the queen’s loyal page, in attendance, I saw no harm in us disguising ourselves as country lads to go to market. In this we were helped by Rhanza, who would do anything for her adored queen.

  Rhanza had been born within the Palace of Holyrood itself, the result of a liaison between a kitchen maid and an unnamed courtier. The irony of her situation wasn’t lost on Mary, who’d remarked to me, ‘Poor child, if her mother had been better placed socially and caught the attention of my father, then I might be greeting Rhanza as my good half-sister.’ She was, of course, referring to Jean, Countess of Argyll.

  ‘I think Rhanza is content with her present lot in life,’ I reassured her. Truly, the girl had a very happy disposition. She could be heard humming a merry tune as she worked and, whatever the season, always made sure fresh blooms were in the flower jug that sat on Mary’s windowsill.

  Sworn to secrecy, Rhanza was delighted to help with our plan and, e
arly one morning, brought us ordinary clothes with hooded capes. We dressed in great excitement. I fetched the knife that Duncan Alexander had given me during our flight to Amboise from the drawer in my room. Rhanza led us by servants’ stairs to the cellars and thence along an underground passageway to the abbey cemetery, and finally over a wall.

  The city was stirring awake as we walked through the streets. Rubbish was piled in corners, and among these heaps of refuse we noticed children sleeping.

  ‘Dear Mother of God,’ said Mary. ‘Jenny, we must find out why these children have no home to go to at night. Some of them are no more than babies.’

  The Edinburgh we saw was not the one usually presented for the queen’s inspection when on official business or visiting friends. Sewage ran in the gutters, and workers hurrying up and down the wynds and stairs looked lean and careworn. With Gavin’s guidance we headed for the market and watched the stalls being set up and the farmers bringing in their produce. There was a buzz of commerce, but when we sat down in a quiet corner to break our fast, the talk was of the latest tax and the duties on goods to and from the Netherlands.

  ‘Such a wealth of knowledge and insight I have garnered in a few hours,’ Mary said. ‘I understand why my father did this. There is more to be learned here in an hour than in a month’s meetings with the privy council.’

  We spent the remainder of the afternoon rambling on Arthur’s Chair. From here we could look down on Holyrood. I could see the tower of the abbey church where Mary had kindly arranged to have my father’s remains reinterred so that I could easily visit his grave. How insignificant it and the lofty turrets of the palace appeared when viewed from this height. Stretched out on our stomachs on the springy heather, we watched the soldiers and officials come and go like so many tiny manikins.

  ‘Don’t you wish, Jenny . . .’ Mary paused, and there was a catch in her voice. ‘Don’t you wish that we didn’t need to go back?’ And beside me, lying on the grass, the Queen of Scots burst into tears.

  ‘Yes,’ I said truthfully. ‘Yes, I do.’ For sometimes I did indulge in wish-dreams where I was a girl with no encumbrances and Duncan Alexander had a less complicated role. I imagined him a wool merchant, or perhaps a court painter, and we would meet and declare our love, be married and live in harmony.

  I gave Mary my handkerchief to dry her eyes. And then we rolled over onto our backs and made up names for the cloud shapes scudding above our heads, pretending these were countries we ruled where all the people were loyal and law-abiding.

  It was dusk before we returned to the palace. At the agreed time Rhanza was waiting by the wall to help us over and take us back to the queen’s apartments. The Maries had been instructed to say that Mary was indisposed and was spending the day in bed, with me in attendance. We slipped into the palace and up an internal stair to the queen’s rooms without incident. Welcomed back with laughter and glee by the Maries, we fell into the small supper room and spent most of the night gossiping about our adventures.

  But the secret got out. It didn’t come from Sir Gavin or Rhanza or me – it was the queen herself who couldn’t resist letting it be known what she’d done. Faced with the nobles’ condescending attitude towards her, and frequently told that, having been brought up in France, she was ignorant of Scottish society, she announced that she’d made personal contact with her subjects.

  ‘It wasn’t just playacting that prompted me to go into the streets in disguise,’ she explained to her council. ‘By doing that I can see what my people lack and how plain and simple are their needs.’

  ‘The people have no sense of what they need,’ said Lord James when he’d recovered from the shock of the queen wandering unprotected about the city and parkland. ‘They only have wants, and sometimes, like children, these must be denied for their own good. That’s why by divine providence we have anointed kings.’

  ‘A queen,’ Mary corrected him. She gave him a benign look to soften the impact of her words. ‘Scotland is ruled by a queen.’

  ‘More’s the pity,’ a mutter came from one of the nobles.

  In France, had he dared utter such treason within earshot of Catherine de’ Medici, this man would have been marked down and dealt with secretly.

  Mary elected not to take offence. ‘I am aware that we do have need of a king and I hope that I might bear the future King of Scotland. To this end I must seek a husband.’

  William Maitland, who had visited England on diplomatic business, said, ‘Queen Elizabeth of England has some views on this matter and may put forward the name of Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester.’

  ‘And why would Elizabeth feel moved to offer me one of her English nobles as a bridegroom?’

  Maitland cleared his throat. ‘I believe that her majesty, the Queen of England, may be thinking of who might reign after her. An alliance between the noble houses of both countries would produce a monarch to rule Scotland and England.’

  An interested silence crept through the room. The problem of Elizabeth’s successor was one that the English queen had vacillated upon for years. Mary had written many times to her cousin asking that the two countries come to some constitutional agreement on this, but Elizabeth always avoided any commitment. Now here was a tempting proposition for the Scots lords. If their queen or a child of their queen also ruled over their richer neighbour, there would be many benefits. In addition to the castles, mansion houses and vast estates owned by the English monarch, there was the prospect of untold wealth from the New World being ferried across the Atlantic in English ships. William Maitland looked expectantly at the queen.

  Mary appeared to consider the suggestion and then replied, ‘This man, Robert Dudley, is held high in Elizabeth’s own personal affection. I know that the Queen of England has spies everywhere. I do not wish to bring one into my own bedchamber.’

  That evening, when I left the queen’s bedroom and went to my own rooms, someone was waiting there. It was Duncan Alexander and he was furious.

  ‘Sir Duncan! I did not realize that you had returned to court—’ I’d scarcely begun before he interrupted me.

  ‘It’s as well that I did! I have just learned that her majesty and yourself spent a day in the streets of Edinburgh in some ridiculous disguise!’

  ‘That may be so,’ I replied, ‘although it is no business of yours.’

  ‘I was charged to guard the queen. It is completely my business.’

  ‘You have stated this before,’ I said, ‘that you have been charged to guard the queen, yet you have never said by whom.’

  Duncan bit his lip. ‘That I cannot say.’

  ‘Why not?’ I demanded. ‘It is important to know what motivates you, for there is more than one way to interpret the word “guard”.’

  He looked taken aback by that, but then gestured impatiently. ‘Don’t change the subject. The matter in hand is that by recklessness you put the queen’s life in danger.’

  ‘We were not in danger. To protect us we had a loyal lad and Sir Gavin of Strathtay.’

  ‘Gavin of Strathtay!’ Duncan spluttered. ‘That poltroon! He could no more protect a lady than he can dress himself unaided.’

  ‘Sir Gavin was very effective, and anyway it is a royal prerogative to go among one’s people. It was something the queen’s father did often. He dressed as a commoner so that he could find out their true thoughts and needs.’

  ‘He was a man!’

  ‘And you think a woman is not as good as a man?’

  ‘I think that a woman might not defend herself as well.’

  ‘We could defend ourselves well enough,’ I said. ‘I carried a knife.’

  ‘You carried a knife?’ Duncan laughed. Seeing my annoyance at his attitude, and in order to provoke me further he cried in mock horror, ‘Mercy! The girl has a knife!’

  In anger then, I drew out the knife, stepped close to him and laid the blade against his cheek. ‘Don’t mock me, sir,’ I said. ‘I’m as capable of using this as any man.’

  His
eyes registered astonishment. I smiled in triumph and moved away. But before I’d time to take another breath he’d covered the distance between us and pinned my arms to my side with his own.

  ‘Never,’ he said fiercely, ‘ever, do that to me again.’

  ‘There is no need,’ I said with more lightness than I felt, for my heartbeat had increased at his touch. ‘I have made my point.’

  He didn’t reply. Nor did he release me. I sensed his own heart beating close to mine.

  ‘You may let me go free, sir,’ I said.

  ‘And if I do not wish to?’ He turned me round and pulled me nearer to him.

  And now I could feel the whole line of his body against mine. A passion was stirring within me: fascination mixed with fright. My voice trembled when I spoke. ‘I meant you no harm.’

  He looked intently into my face. Whereupon he released me and took a pace back. ‘Nor I you, Jenny,’ he said. ‘Nor I you.’

  Chapter 28

  THAT NIGHT I could not sleep. In my mind I replayed our meeting, lingering on the moments when our two bodies were close. As dawn light edged through my bed curtains, I got up and went to the window.

  I rested my head against the glass. I had tried to forget him, but I was still deeply attached to Duncan Alexander. The passage of years since we’d first met hadn’t altered my feelings. I was woman enough now to know that he desired me. And I desired him. It flattered and thrilled me that he was attracted to me but I wanted more than that. I would never do as others did and engage in a meaningless liaison with a man.

  I thought of Sir Gavin. He was such an amiable companion, making me laugh when the tedious business of life at court weighed us down. After some particularly vindictive sermons by John Knox on the subject of the queen’s marriage prospects, he had Mary laughing out loud at his observations on Knox’s own recent wedding, at almost fifty, to a sixteen-year-old girl. But his wit, often wickedly funny, was sometimes just wicked. Mary enjoyed his company although she didn’t hesitate to upbraid him if she felt his personal comments were too sharp. He’d once casually enquired of the queen if she would be averse to me being married. I wasn’t sure if that was just because, as marriage was in the offing for two of the Maries, our discussions had naturally turned to weddings – or whether there was another reason for his enquiry. Later she’d prompted me gently on my feelings for Sir Gavin and then mentioned Sir Duncan Alexander.