Spy for the Queen of Scots

by Theresa Breslin

  ‘Elizabeth is my cousin, almost a sister to me,’ Mary declared. ‘In past times we planned to meet, but circumstances prevented it. This is an opportunity that she cannot overlook, and when I see her and explain my predicament in person, I am sure she will help me with arms and wise advice.’

  ‘Queen Elizabeth’s greatest fear,’ said Duncan Alexander, ‘surely must be for Scotland to be used as a base by a European power, such as Spain or France, to attack England. Matters of religion and personal loyalties will come second to such an overriding concern. I would hazard Lord James Stuart has given her an undertaking that under his rule it will not happen. So for that reason, if for no other, Elizabeth will never support you.’

  Despite these logical arguments, Mary still refused to change her mind.

  ‘Try to persuade her otherwise,’ Duncan said to me as I made to follow the queen from the council chamber.

  In the privacy of her bedroom Mary broke down. ‘My son,’ she cried. ‘My beloved son.’

  And then I understood. She, who had been forced to separate from her adored mother and had suffered the lack all her life, could not bear the same happening to her own child.

  ‘If I go to France, I doubt if Catherine de’ Medici would furnish me with soldiers to return to fight for my throne. And even if she did, then Morton and Lindsay and perhaps even Lord James Stuart would threaten to torture or kill my bonny prince.’ Mary wiped away her tears. ‘The only hope for his life, the only hope I have of ever seeing him again, is to appeal to the mercy of the English queen. Elizabeth has the guile I don’t possess to achieve some kind of reconciliation.’

  I helped Mary to bed and lay down beside her. Around three in the morning she fell into a deep sleep. Feeling weak through tiredness and thirst, I thought I might go and find something to drink. Duncan was sitting in a chair in the corridor outside the queen’s room. As I came out, he stood up and looked into my face. I shook my head. A great weariness came over me and I felt myself at breaking point, but I resisted the temptation to fall into his arms. He went with me to the kitchens and I sat upon a stool while he found a couple of goblets, set one on front of me and opened a bottle of wine.

  ‘We should talk,’ he said. ‘I have voiced my love for you, yet you hold back from speaking to me of what is in your heart.’

  I looked up at him, tall and handsome, his eyes grey-green in the muted lamplight. My heart ached with love for him . . . Had witnessing the duplicity and falseness surrounding Mary over the years made me unable to trust?

  ‘There are things we must discuss.’ I looked directly at him. ‘You are a spy.’

  ‘Yes,’ he admitted. ‘I am a spy.’

  ‘Who pays you?’ I asked. ‘To whom do you report?’

  As Duncan hesitated to answer, someone spoke from the kitchen doorway: ‘Why do you not tell the Lady Ginette that you are in the pay of Catherine de’ Medici?’

  Duncan spun round, reaching for his sword as he did. Gavin of Strathtay walked slowly into the room, raising his hands high to show that he wasn’t armed.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Duncan demanded.

  ‘Although detained on Tayside by my mother’s illness, when I heard of the escape from Loch Leven, I came as fast as I could to be with Jenny,’ said Gavin. ‘I have a deep concern for her, and for the queen also, and have made it my business to keep a watchful eye upon them both.’

  ‘Are you paid by Catherine de’ Medici?’ I could hardly ask Duncan the question for fear of his answer.

  He extended his hands to me. ‘Jenny, you must understand—’

  ‘He has passed on to her things you told him in conversation,’ said Gavin. ‘What you thought was casual chat was him seeking information because you were close to Mary Stuart. When he arrived in France, an emissary of Catherine de’ Medici offered to pay him to do this.’

  I stared at Duncan. ‘Is this true?’

  ‘Jenny—’ he began again.

  ‘Is it true?’ I cried out. ‘Did Catherine de’ Medici pay you for information that I gave you?’

  Duncan spoke quickly. ‘I had to do it. It meant that I was better placed to know her intentions and those of her chief poisoner, the Count of Cluny.’

  ‘That’s why you came into the pantry!’ I exclaimed. ‘You were there to ensure that the food was poisoned.’

  ‘I was there to check that it wasn’t!’ he shouted in reply. ‘I’d seen the Count of Cluny in the corridor and knew his reputation. Mary’s mother sent me to France for the sole purpose of guarding Mary. I had a duty to watch over her personally, so to begin with I approached you as a way of being closer to the queen. And yes, I accepted bribes from Catherine de’ Medici, but it was because I thought it would give me insight into her plans. But then something happened that changed everything. I fell in love with you.’

  ‘This is quite nonsensical.’ Gavin had come to the table. Lifting the bottle of wine, he poured some into each of the two goblets Duncan had set out. ‘To declare affection for someone whom you admit shamelessly using to obtain information beggars belief.’

  I looked from one to the other. Duncan was agitated while Gavin was quite calm.

  From his tunic Duncan pulled a slip of paper. ‘I have your note, Jenny.’

  ‘What note?’

  ‘The note you wrote to thank me for the flowers I gave you on your sixteenth birthday when we were at the French court. Would I keep that next my heart throughout these years if I did not care for you?’

  I shook my head.

  Gavin pointed at Duncan. ‘He is a traitor and always has been.’

  At this Duncan drew his sword. But Gavin had been waiting for that very move. As Duncan’s sword cleared its scabbard, he had a kitchen stool in his hand and struck him full in the face with it. Duncan fell, cracking his head on the fireplace.

  I leaped up and ran to where he lay sprawled on the hearth.

  ‘Listen to me . . .’ he whispered as I bent over him. ‘Do not drink from the wine glass he offers you.’

  Gavin came up behind me. ‘What is he saying?’

  ‘He says he loves me,’ I sobbed, tears coursing down my face.

  ‘Then let him say it no more!’ Leaning down, Gavin dealt Duncan another blow upon the head to render him unconscious. He then stooped to pick up his sword.

  As he did so, I turned and swiftly moved the wine goblets so that their positions were reversed. My hands were trembling, my thoughts racing. Why had I done that?

  ‘You are shaking.’ Gavin put his arm around my shoulders. ‘Let me help you sit down.’

  He settled me on my seat once more and laid Duncan’s sword on the table next to his hand. ‘Drink some wine,’ he said, lifting the other goblet. ‘It will help steady your nerves.’

  I took hold of the wine goblet in front of me and brought it to my lips, then paused. There was a flicker in Gavin’s eyes. Disappointment?

  ‘We need a drink after the hard work of killing traitors,’ he said.

  ‘Yes,’ I agreed, but with every fibre of my being I wanted to scream, It is you who are the traitor that you would betray the queen and kill the noblest man in Scotland. Seeing Duncan hurt and facing death, yet thinking only to gasp out a warning to save me, had convinced me of his honesty.

  Gavin replaced his own glass upon the table. ‘You are in shock?’ he asked. He looked concerned, but there was an edge to his voice.

  I nodded to give myself time to think. I had to stay clearheaded. I had no means of protecting myself. The dagger that Duncan had given me at Amboise had been taken from me at Loch Leven. Gavin was nearest the kitchen door. If I made a dash to reach it then he would cut me down and both Duncan and I would die. And the queen too, most likely, for Gavin would immediately rush upstairs to do this, and if unable to escape, he’d concoct a suitable story to explain our deaths. If I alone drank the wine and nothing happened, then Gavin would know I’d swapped the goblets round. He must drink at the same time I did.

  ‘I am in shock,’
I agreed, ‘but relieved as well. Let’s drink – not just to the end of a traitor, but to our future too.’ I raised my goblet in a toast.

  Gavin merely touched his own.

  ‘I thought you would join me,’ I said lightly, and sipped some of the wine.

  As he saw me swallow a mouthful, Gavin lifted his goblet and drank long and deeply. ‘All of it, Jenny,’ he encouraged me. ‘It is for the best.’

  I finished and turned my goblet upside down to show him that no drop remained.

  Gavin laughed. ‘Good obedient child.’ He drained his and then said, ‘Do you feel faint?’

  ‘Yes,’ I answered truthfully. A horrible suspicion came into my mind. Had he suspected that I knew he was the traitor and rearranged the glasses? Had he reset them so that I would take the one with the poison?

  ‘Your face is pale,’ Gavin continued. ‘Are you perspiring?’

  ‘I do feel giddy,’ I said. And I did.

  He wiped his brow. As he did so, the lamplight glinted on a gemstone he was wearing. I stared at his hand. On his finger was a tourmaline ring. The queen’s ring.

  ‘Ah . . .’ Gavin followed my gaze and looked down at his hand.

  ‘You took that from the body of Lord Darnley,’ I whispered.

  ‘Yes.’ He spread his fingers and studied the ring. ‘I’d barely time to get away after the explosion when your insufferable Duncan Alexander arrived to try to rescue the queen’s husband. I don’t know how he got wind of the plot – prob ably the boasting of his one-time friend Bothwell, who was always too loud-mouthed.’

  Duncan had gone out that night to Kirk o’ Field to try to rescue Darnley! That was why Bothwell was glaring at him in the queen’s apartments, and why they’d fallen out afterwards.

  ‘Were you ever on Tayside to visit your relatives?’ I asked.

  ‘Not for many months, but it was a convenient excuse for being absent from court when I had other tasks to perform.’

  ‘But you held Holyrood Palace for the queen when Lord James first rebelled against her!’

  ‘No.’ Gavin shook his head. ‘I was holding it for Lord James Stuart. When he saw that the populace was not with him, he decided that I could be of most use by remaining and pretending to be Mary’s loyal supporter. And what better way to do that than to woo the Lady Ginette?’ He looked at me and I read regret in his eyes. ‘But I did have a strong liking for you, Jenny.’

  ‘The night the queen first met Lord Darnley you told me that Duncan had been speaking to the Count of Cluny in the garden of Wemyss Castle, but it was really you, wasn’t it?’

  Gavin nodded. ‘Cluny had been sent to bring me some of his poisons and to let me know that his mistress, the Medici woman, would weep no tears over Mary’s death. He did mention your name as one who was extremely loyal to Mary but inquisitive and possibly dangerous. So I thought it wise to send you off on a false trail. And I was right to do so, for it was you who thwarted my attempt to poison Darnley. I know you had the queen appoint more food tasters. Although I am sure Sir Duncan also suspected something similar.’

  Which was why Duncan was wiping the dinner plates – to examine the leftovers for traces of poison.

  ‘And, of course, at Jedburgh . . .’ Gavin wiped his face again, quite happy to talk while he waited for the poison to work on me. ‘The kitchen maid was easily seduced. I’d delay her on the stairs and murmur flatteries in her ear while taking the opportunity to slip poison into the soup she carried. When she was caught, I passed her some food through the cellar window. She ate it without question, thinking I cared for her.’

  ‘But why?’ I asked. ‘Who pays you to destroy the queen?’

  ‘Those who desire to rule Scotland.’ Gavin smirked. ‘I am in the pay of more than one master who would like to achieve that end.’

  My stomach heaved at the wickedness of this man to take innocent lives so easily. And a despair came over me, thinking how I’d laughed and joked with him, unaware of his evil intent. I stood up and swayed. ‘I fear I will faint.’

  ‘Yes, you will,’ he said nastily, ‘and very soon. I have given you an especially large dose of poison, for I have to reach the queen and despatch her before dawn.’

  I put my fingers into my mouth.

  Gavin shook his head. ‘No retching will dislodge it. By now it will have already have entered the stomach destroying the gullet. And,’ he coughed, ‘within a minute or so—’ He coughed again and looked surprised. Then he put his hand to his lips. When it came away, it had blood on it. ‘What . . .?’ he said. His hands scrabbled to where Duncan’s sword lay.

  I grabbed the table edge and, with a supreme effort, upended it. Gavin got to his feet as goblets, sword and wine bottle cascaded and crashed upon the floor.

  ‘You tricked me!’

  A terrible sound rent the air as he clutched at his chest, his face convulsing wildly. His eyes bulged from his head. ‘Blood!’ He spluttered violently, and red gore sprayed forth from his nose and mouth. ‘Ah. I am dead by my own hand!’ He staggered and fell down, his body in spasm, fingers clawing at his throat.

  Screaming loud enough to wake the house, I stepped over Gavin and rushed to where Duncan lay. I knelt beside him and took his head into my lap. Covering his face with kisses, I repeated over and over again,

  ‘I trusted you, my love. I trusted you, my love. My love, my love, my love.’

  Chapter 47

  OUR LAST NIGHT in Scotland was spent at Dundrennan Abbey.

  The next afternoon we went to find the boat that was to take Mary Stuart across the River Solway into England. Duncan and I begged to go with her but she refused, saying, ‘Marie Seton and Rhanza will come to me. You must go to France, Jenny. Take the letters I have written to Catherine de’ Medici and plead my case for me. And you’ – she addressed herself to Duncan – ‘will go with Jenny.’

  ‘I swore an oath to protect the Queen of Scots,’ he said stubbornly. ‘I cannot abandon you.’

  ‘I have my faithful Willie Douglas, who has vowed not to leave my side,’ said Mary. ‘And,’ she went on, deliberately brutal, gazing at his battered face and head, ‘wounded as you are, Sir Duncan, you are of no use to me.’

  She gave me a token, a curl of her beautiful auburn hair. I put it in my father’s silver locket, which I wore around my neck.

  ‘I have nothing to give you in return,’ I protested.

  ‘I will have your red petticoat to keep.’ Mary laughed. ‘For although England may be warmer than Scotland, I’ll warrant it’s not as hot as France.’

  A sudden stark fear overcame me. ‘No, don’t take that,’ I said. ‘I believe the colour red is unlucky.’

  ‘I know you do,’ she said sweetly. ‘That’s why I choose to take the petticoat, for you’ll never put it on.’ She turned to Duncan. ‘Do you mind so much if I own the underskirt you gifted to Jenny?’

  ‘If it please your majesty,’ he said gallantly. ‘It would be an honour for us if you accept it.’

  ‘Let me have it, Jenny,’ she cajoled me. ‘If things do not go well for me, then I’ll wear it and take comfort in thinking of you, my loyal friend.’

  She graciously thanked those who had been true to her, and as the boat sailed, she stood erect in the prow, looking back as if loath to take her eyes away from Scotland.

  Mary Stuart was regal then, that last time I saw her. And later, even though poor health and age had taken their toll, they said that she was regal at the end. That she walked to face her death with all the dignity and bearing of a crowned queen.

  Chapter 48

  Fotheringhay Castle, England, 8 February 1587

  AS ONE OF her ladies fetched the red petticoat from the clothes chest, Mary Stuart’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.’

  Gathering the petticoat in her hands, she crushed it against her breast. ‘Red!’ she cried. ‘Red for the blood that has been s
pilled, and red for the blood that will soon flow from my severed head.’

  Wearing a dress of figured black satin trimmed with jet, with beads at her belt and a crucifix in her hand, Mary was led to her execution.

  She readily forgave her executioners, saying that her death would be an end to all her suffering, and exhorted those members of her household who were present not to lament for her, but instead, to relate to others that she died a true woman to her religion and a true woman of Scotland and France. Then she bade them farewell and, having been disrobed, stood there in her red petticoat. For a moment her hands were lost as her fingers gripped the folds of crimson cloth.

  A lace handkerchief was placed over her face and fastened behind her head. Whereupon she knelt down and laid her head upon the block.

  ‘In the end is my beginning.’

  Epilogue

  I did not attend the service in Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris, where Catherine de’ Medici made a false show of mourning the woman she refused to help – the woman who had been wife to her eldest son and a queen of France. Duncan and I remained on my father’s lands in the south, where we live in happiness, as far away as possible from the intrigues, corruption and hypocrisy of the court. On the morning I received the dreadful news of Mary’s execution we took our daughter to pray in the little chapel on our estate and to light a candle for the repose of the soul of the woman whom we had both loved.

  Afterwards, when we came out into the sunshine and I saw the blossom beginning to show bud on the trees, I thought of the many occasions when, as a child, I’d played with Mary Stuart in the gardens of the royal châteaux.

  I felt tears falling on my cheeks.

  Our daughter looked anxiously at my face and then turned to Duncan and said, ‘Why is Mama crying?’

  He drew her close to him and said, ‘Your mother grieves on the death of a close friend.’

  ‘Who was she?’

  ‘A great lady; generous of nature and good in spirit. She was both Queen of France and Queen of Scots.’