CHAPTER XXII.
TUTBURY
James VI. again cruelly tore his mother's heart and dashed her hopes byan unfeeling letter, in which he declared her incapable of beingtreated with, since she was a prisoner and deposed. The notunreasonable expectation, that his manhood might reverse theproceedings wrought in his name in his infancy, was frustrated. Marycould no longer believe that he was constrained by a faction, butperceived clearly that he merely considered her as a rival, whoseliberation would endanger his throne, and that whatever scruples hemight once have entertained had given way to English gold and Scottishintimidation.
"The more simple was I to look for any other in the son of Darnley andthe pupil of Buchanan," said she, "but a mother's heart is slow to giveup her trust."
"And is there now no hope?" asked Cicely.
"Hope, child? Dum spiro, spero. The hope of coming forth honourablyto him and to Elizabeth is at an end. There is another mode of comingforth," she added with a glittering eye, "a mode which shall make themrue that they have driven patience to extremity."
"By force of arms? Oh, madam!" cried Cicely.
"And wherefore not? My noble kinsman, Guise, is the paramount ruler inFrance, and will soon have crushed the heretics there; Parma istriumphant in the Low Countries, and has only to tread out the lastremnants of faction with his iron boot. They wait only the call, whichmy motherly weakness has delayed, to bring their hosts to avenge mywrongs, and restore this island to the true faith. Then thou, child,wilt be my heiress. We will give thee to one who will worthily bearthe sceptre, and make thee blessed at home. The Austrians make goodhusbands, I am told. Matthias or Albert would be a noble mate forthee; only thou must be trained to more princely bearing, my littlehome-bred lassie."
In spite--nay, perhaps, in consequence--of these anticipations, anentire change began for Cicely. It was as if all the romance of herprincely station had died out and the reality had set in. Her freedomwas at an end. As one of the suite of the Queen of Scots, she was asmuch a prisoner as the rest; whereas before, both at Buxton andSheffield, she had been like a dog or kitten admitted to be petted andplayed with, but living another life elsewhere, while now there wasnothing to relieve the weariness and monotony of the restraint.
Nor was the petting what it was at first. Mary was far from being inthe almost frolicsome mood which had possessed her at Buxton; her hopesand spirits had sunk to the lowest pitch, and though she had anadmirably sweet and considerate temper, and was scarcely ever fretfulor unreasonable with her attendants, still depression, illness, andanxiety could not but tell on her mode of dealing with hersurroundings. Sometimes she gave way entirely, and declared she shouldwaste away and perish in her captivity, and that she only broughtmisery and destruction on all who tried to befriend her; or, again,that she knew that Burghley and Walsingham were determined to have herblood.
It was in these moments that Cicely loved her most warmly, for caressesand endearments soothed her, and the grateful affection which receivedthem would be very sweet. Or in a higher tone, she would trust that,if she were to perish, she might be a martyr and confessor for herChurch, though, as she owned, the sacrifice would be stained by many asin; and she betook herself to the devotions which then touched herdaughter more than in any other respect.
More often, however, her indomitable spirit resorted to fresh schemes,and chafed fiercely and hotly at thought of her wrongs; and this madeher the more critical of all that displeased her in Cicely.
Much that had been treated as charming and amusing when Cicely was herplaything and her visitor was now treated as unbecoming Englishrusticity. The Princess Bride must speak French and Italian, perhapsLatin; and the girl, whose literary education had stopped short whenshe ceased to attend Master Sniggius's school, was made to study herCicero once more with the almoner, who was now a French priest named DePreaux, while Queen Mary herself heard her read French, and, thoughalways good-natured, was excruciated by her pronunciation.
Moreover, Mary was too admirable a needlewoman not to wish to make herdaughter the same; whereas Cicely's turn had always been for thedepartment of housewifery, and she could make a castle in pastry farbetter than in tapestry; but where Queen Mary had a whole service ofcooks and pantlers of her own, this accomplishment was uncalled for,and was in fact considered undignified. She had to sit still and learnall the embroidery stitches and lace-making arts brought by Mary fromthe Court of France, till her eyes grew weary, her heart faint, and heryoung limbs ached for the freedom of Bridgefield Pleasaunce andSheffield Park.
Her mother sometimes saw her weariness, and would try to enliven her bysetting her to dance, but here poor Cicely's untaught movements weresure to incur reproof; and even if they had been far more satisfactoryto the beholders, what refreshment were they in comparison withgathering cranberries in the park, or holding a basket for Ned in theapple-tree? Mrs. Kennedy made no scruple of scolding her roundly forfretting in a month over what the Queen had borne for full eighteenyears.
"Ah!" said poor Cicely, "but she had always been a queen, and was usedto being mewed up close!"
And if this was the case at Wingfield, how much more was it so atTutbury, whither Mary was removed in January. The space was farsmaller, and the rooms were cold and damp; there was much less outlet,the atmosphere was unwholesome, and the furniture insufficient. Marywas in bed with rheumatism almost from the time of her arrival, but sheseemed thus to become the more vigilant over her daughter, anddistressed by her shortcomings. If the Queen did not take exercise,the suite were not supposed to require any, and indeed it was neverdesired by her elder ladies, but to the country maiden it was absolutepunishment to be thus shut up day after day. Neither Sir Ralf Sadlernor his colleague, Mr. Somer, had brought a wife to share the charge,so that there was none of the neutral ground afforded by intercoursewith the ladies of the Talbot family, and at first the only varietyCicely ever had was the attendance at chapel on the other side of thecourt.
It was remarkable that Mary discouraged all proselytising towards theProtestants of her train, and even forbore to make any open attempt onher daughter's faith. "Cela viendra," she said to Marie de Courcelles."The sermons of M. le Pasteur will do more to convert her to our sidethan a hundred controversial arguments of our excellent Abbe; and whenthe good time comes, one High Mass will be enough to win her over."
"Alas! when shall we ever again assist at the Holy Sacrifice in all itsglory!" sighed the lady.
"Ah, my good Courcelles! of what have you not deprived yourself for me!Sacrifice, ah! truly you share it! But for the child, it would giveneedless offence and difficulty were she to embrace our holy faith atpresent. She is simple and impetuous, and has not yet sufficientlyoutgrown the rude straightforward breeding of the good housewife, MadamSusan, not to rush into open confession of her faith, and then! oh thefracas! The wicked wolves would have stolen a precious lamb from M. lePasteur's fold! Master Richard would be sent for! Our restraint wouldbe the closer! Moreover, even when the moment of freedom strikes, whoknows that to find her of their own religion may not win us favour withthe English?"
So, from whatever motive, Cis remained unmolested in her religion, saveby the weariness of the controversial sermons, during which the younglady contrived to abstract her mind pretty completely. If in goodspirits she would construct airy castles for her Archduke; ifdispirited, she yearned with a homesick feeling for Bridgefield andMrs. Talbot. There was something in the firm sober wisdom and steadykindness of that good lady which inspired a sense of confidence, forwhich no caresses nor brilliant auguries could compensate.
Weary and cramped she was to the point of having a feverish attack, andon one slightly delirious night she fretted piteously after "mother,"and shook off the Queen's hand, entreating that "mother, real mother,"would come. Mary was much pained, and declared that if the child werenot better the next day she should have a messenger sent to summon Mrs.Talbot. However, she was better in the morning; and the Queen, who hadbeen making st
rong representations of the unhealthiness and otherinconveniences of Tutbury, received a promise that she should changeher abode as soon as Chartley, a house belonging to the young Earl ofEssex, could be prepared for her.
The giving away large alms had always been one of her greatsolaces--not that she was often permitted any personal contact with thepoor: only to sit at a window watching them as they flocked into thecourt, to be relieved by her servants under supervision from someofficer of her warders, so as to hinder any surreptitious communicationfrom passing between them. Sometimes, however, the poor would accosther or her suite as she rode out; and she had a great compassion forthem, deprived, as she said, of the alms of the religious houses, andflogged or branded if hunger forced them into beggary. On a finespring day Sir Ralf Sadler invited the ladies out to a hawking party onthe banks of the Dove, with the little sparrow hawks, whose prey wasspecially larks. Pity for the beautiful soaring songster, or for theyoung ones that might be starved in their nests, if the parent birdswere killed, had not then been thought of. A gallop on the moors,though they were strangely dull, gray, and stony, was always the bestremedy for the Queen's ailments; and the party got into the saddlegaily, and joyously followed the chase, thinking only of the dexterityand beauty of the flight of pursuer and pursued, instead of the deadlyterror and cruel death to which they condemned the created creature,the very proverb for joyousness.
It was during the halt which followed the slaughter of one of thelarks, and the reclaiming of the hawk, that Cicely strayed a littleaway from the rest of the party to gather some golden willow catkinsand sprays of white sloe thorn wherewith to adorn a beaupot that mightcheer the dull rooms at Tutbury.
She had jumped down from her pony for the purpose, and was culling thebranch, when from the copsewood that clothed the gorge of the river aragged woman, with a hood tied over her head, came forward withoutstretched hand asking for alms.
"Yon may have something from the Queen anon, Goody, when I can get backto her," said Cis, not much liking the looks or the voice of the woman.
"And have you nothing to cross the poor woman's hand with, fairmistress?" returned the beggar. "She brought you fair fortune once;how know you but she can bring you more?"
And Cicely recognised the person who had haunted her at Sheffield,Tideswell, and Buxton, and whom she had heard pronounced to be no womanat all.
"I need no fortune of your bringing," she said proudly, and trying toget nearer the rest of the party, heartily wishing she was on, not off,her little rough pony.
"My young lady is proud," said her tormentor, fixing on her the littlepale eyes she so much disliked. "She is not one of the maidens whowould thank one who can make or mar her life, and cast spells that canhelp her to a princely husband or leave her to a prison."
"Let go," said Cicely, as she saw a retaining hand laid on her pony'sbridle; "I will not be beset thus."
"And this is your gratitude to her who helped you to lie in a queen'sbosom; ay, and who could aid you to rise higher or fall lower?"
"I owe nothing to you," said Cicely, too angry to think of prudence."Let me go!"
There was a laugh, and not a woman's laugh. "You owe nothing, quoth mymistress? Not to one who saw you, a drenched babe, brought in from thewreck, and who gave the sign which has raised you to your presenthonours? Beware!"
By this time, however, the conversation had attracted notice, andseveral riders were coming towards them.
There was an immediate change of voice from the threatening tone to thebeggar's whine; but the words were--"I must have my reward ere I speakout."
"What is this? A masterful beggar wife besetting Mistress Talbot,"said Mr. Somer, who came first.
"I had naught to give her," said Cicely.
"She should have the lash for thus frightening you," said Somer."Yonder lady is too good to such vagabonds, and they come about us inswarms. Stand back, woman, or it may be the worse for you. Let mehelp you to your horse, Mistress Cicely."
Instead of obeying, the seeming woman, to gain time perhaps, began astory of woe; and Mr. Somer, being anxious to remount the young lady,did not immediately stop it, so that before Cis was in her saddle theQueen had ridden up, with Sir Ralf Sadler a little behind her. Therewere thus a few seconds free, in which the stranger sprang to theQueen's bridle and said a few hasty words almost inaudibly, and as Cisthought, in French; but they were answered aloud in English--"My goodwoman, I know all that you can tell me, and more, of this young lady'sfortune. Here are such alms as are mine to give; but hold your peace,and quit us now."
Sir Ralf Sadler and his son-in-law both looked suspicious at thisinterview, and bade one of the grooms ride after the woman and see whatbecame of her, but the fellow soon lost right of her in the brokenground by the river-side.
When the party reached home, there was an anxious consultation of theinner circle of confidantes over Cicely's story. Neither she nor theQueen had the least doubt that the stranger was Cuthbert Langston, whohad been employed as an agent of hers for many years past; hisinsignificant stature and colourless features eminently fitting him forit. No concealment was made now that he was the messenger with thebeads and bracelets, which were explained to refer to some ivory beadswhich had been once placed among some spare purchased by the Queen, andwhich Jean had recognised as part of a rosary belonging to poor AlisonHepburn, the nurse who had carried the babe from Lochleven. This hadopened the way to the recovery of her daughter. Mary and Sir AndrewMelville had always held him to be devotedly faithful, but there hadcertainly been something of greed, and something of menace in hislanguage which excited anxiety. Cicely was sure that his expressionsconveyed that he really knew her royal birth, and meant to threaten herwith the consequences, but the few who had known it were absolutelypersuaded that this was impossible, and believed that he could onlysurmise that she was of more importance than an archer's daughter.
He had told the Queen in French that he was in great need, and expecteda reward for his discretion respecting what he had brought her. Andwhen he perceived the danger of being overheard, he had changed it intoa pleading, "I did but tell the fair young lady that I could cast aspell that would bring her some good fortune. Would her Grace hear it?"
"So," said Mary, "I could but answer him as I did, Sadler and Somerbeing both nigh. I gave him my purse, with all there was therein. Howmuch was it, Andrew?"
"Five golden pieces, besides groats and testers, madam," replied SirAndrew.
"If he come again, he must have more, if it can be contrived withoutsuspicion," said the Queen. "I fear me he may become troublesome if heguess somewhat, and have to be paid to hold his tongue."
"I dread worse than that," said Melville, apart to Jean Kennedy; "therewas a scunner in his een that I mislikit, as though her Grace hadoffended him. And if the lust of the penny-fee hath possessed him,'tis but who can bid the highest, to have him fast body and soul.Those lads! those lads! I've seen a mony of them. They'll begin forpure love of the Queen and of Holy Church, but ye see, 'tis lying andfalsehood and disguise that is needed, and one way or other they get soin love with it, that they come at last to lie to us as well as to theother side, and then none kens where to have them! Cuthbert has beenover to that weary Paris, and once a man goes there, he leaves histruth and honour behind him, and ye kenna whether he be serving you, orQueen Elizabeth, or the deil himsel'. I wish I could stop that loon'sthrapple, or else wot how much he kens anent our Lady Bride."
Unknown to History: A Story of the Captivity of Mary of Scotland Page 22
