Unknown to History: A Story of the Captivity of Mary of Scotland

by Charlotte M. Yonge

  CHAPTER XXXVII.

  MY LADY'S REMORSE.

  "And have you brought her back again! O my lass! my lass!" criedMistress Susan, surprised and delighted out of her usual staidcomposure, as, going out to greet her husband, an unexpected figure wasseen by his side, and Cicely sprang into her arms as if they were trulya haven of rest.

  Susan looked over her head, even in the midst of the embrace, with theeyes of one hungering for her first-born son, but her husband shook hishead. "No, mother, we have not brought thee the boy. Thou mustcontent thyself with her thou hast here for a little space."

  "I hope it bodes not ill," said Susan.

  "It bodes," said Richard, "that I have brought thee back a gooddaughter with a pair of pale cheeks, which must be speedily colouredanew in our northern breezes."

  "Ah, how sweet to be here at home," cried Cicely, turning round inrapturous greeting to all the serving men and women, and all the dogs."We want only the boys! Where is Ned?"

  Their arrival having been unannounced, Ned was with Master Sniggius,whose foremost scholar he now was, and who kept him much later than theother lads to prepare him for Cambridge; but it was the return to thistender foster-mother that seemed such extreme bliss to Cicely. All wasmost unlike her reluctant return two years previously, when nothing buther inbred courtesy and natural sweetness of disposition had preventedher from being contemptuous of the country home. Now every stone,every leaf, seemed precious to her, and she showed herself, even as sheascended the steps to the hall, determined not to be the guest but thedaughter. There was a little movement on the parents' part, as if theybore in mind that she came as a princess; but she flew to draw upMaster Richard's chair, and put his wife's beside it, nor would shesit, till they had prayed her to do so; and it was all done with such agraceful bearing, the noble carriage of her head had become so muchmore remarkable, and a sweet readiness and responsiveness of manner hadso grown upon her, that Susan looked at her in wondering admiration, assomething more her own and yet less her own than ever, tracing in herfor the first time some of the charms of the Queen of Scots.

  All the household hovered about in delight, and confidences could notbe exchanged just then: the travellers had to eat and drink, and theywere only just beginning to do so when Ned came home. He was ofslighter make than his brothers, and had a more scholarly aspect: buthis voice made itself heard before him. "Is it true? Is it true thatmy father is come? And our Cis too? Ha!" and he rushed in, hardlygiving himself time for the respectful greeting to his father, beforehe fell upon Cis with undoubting brotherly delight.

  "Is Humfrey come?" he asked as soon as he could take breath. "No? Ithought 'twas too good to be all true."

  "How did you hear?"

  "Hob the hunter brought up word that the Queen's head was off. What?"as Cicely gave a start and little scream. "Is it not so?"

  "No, indeed, boy," said his father. "What put that folly into hishead?"

  "Because he saw, or thought he saw, Humfrey and Cis riding home withyou, sir, and so thought all was over with the Queen of Scots. MyLady, they say, had one of her shrieking fits, and my Lord sent down toask whether I knew aught; and when he found that I did not, would haveme go home at once to bid you come up immediately to the Manor; andbefore I had gotten out Dapple, there comes another message to saythat, in as brief space as it will take to saddle them, there will bebeasts here to bring up you and my mother and Cis, to tell my LadyCountess all that has befallen."

  Cis's countenance so changed that kind Susan said, "I will make thineexcuses to my Lady. Thou art weary and ill at ease, and I cannot havethee set forth at once again."

  "The Queen would never have sent such sudden and hasty orders," saidCicely. "Mother, can you not stay with me?--I have so much to say toyou, and my time is short."

  The Talbots were, however, too much accustomed to obedience to theperemptory commands of their feudal chiefs to venture on suchdisobedience. Susan's proposal had been a great piece of audacity, onwhich she would hardly have ventured but for her consciousness that themaiden was no Talbot at all.

  Yet to Cis the dear company of her mother Susan, even in the Countess'ssociety, seemed too precious to be resigned, and she had likewise beentold that Lady Shrewsbury's mind had greatly changed towards Mary, andthat since the irritation of the captive's presence had been removed,she remembered only the happier and kindlier portion of their pastintercourse. There had been plenty of quarrels with her husband, butnone so desperate as before, and at this present time the Earl andCountess were united against the surviving sons, who, with Gilbert attheir head, were making large demands on them. Cicely felt grateful tothe Earl for his absence from Fotheringhay, and, though disappointed ofher peaceful home evening, declared she would come up to the Lodgerather than lose sight of "mother." The stable people, moreconsiderate than their Lord and Lady, proved to have sent a horselitter for the conveyance of the ladies called out on the wet darkOctober evening, and here it was that Cis could enjoy her firstprecious moment of privacy with one for whom she had so long yearned.Susan rejoiced in the heavy lumbering conveyance as a luxury, sparingthe maiden's fatigue, and she was commencing some inquiries into theindisposition which had procured this holiday, when Cicely broke in, "Omother, nothing aileth me. It is not for that cause--but oh! mother, Iam to go to see Queen Elizabeth, and strive with her for her--for mymother's life and freedom."

  "Thou! poor little maid. Doth thy father--what am I saying? Doth myhusband know?"

  "Oh yes. He will take me. He saith it is my duty."

  "Then it must be well," said Susan in an altered voice on hearing this."From whom came the proposal?"

  "I made it," said Cicely in a low, feeble voice on the verge of tears."Oh, dear mother, thou wilt not tell any one how faint of heart I am?I did mean it in sooth, but I never guessed how dreadful it would grownow I am pledged to it."

  "Thou art pledged, then, and canst not falter?"

  "Never," said Cicely; "I would not that any should know it, not even myfather; but mother, mother, I could not help telling you. You will letno one guess? I know it is unworthy, but--"

  "Not unworthy to fear, my poor child, so long as thou dost not waver."

  "It is, it is unworthy of my lineage. My mother queen would say so,"cried Cis, drawing herself up.

  "Giving way would be unworthy," said Susan, "but turn thou to thy God,my child, and He will give thee strength to carry through whatever isthe duty of a faithful daughter towards this poor lady; and my husband,thou sayest, holds that so it is?"

  "Yea, madam; he craved license to take me home, since I have trulyoften been ailing since those dreadful days at Tixall, and he hathpromised to go to London with me."

  "And is this to be done in thine own true name?" asked Susan, tremblingsomewhat at the risk to her husband, as well as to the maiden.

  "I trow that it is," said Cis, "but the matter is to be put into thehands of M. de Chateauneuf, the French Ambassador. I have a letterhere," laying her hand on her bosom, "which, the Queen declares, willthoroughly prove to him who I am, and if I go as under his protection,none can do my father any harm."

  Susan hoped so, but she trusted to understand all better from herhusband, though her heart failed her as much as, or even perhaps morethan, did that of poor little Cis. Master Richard had sped on beforetheir tardy conveyance, and had had time to give the heads of hisintelligence before they reached the Manor house, and when they wereconducted to my Lady's chamber, they saw him, by the light of a largefire, standing before the Earl and Countess, cap in hand, much as agroom or gamekeeper would now stand before his master and mistress.

  The Earl, however, rose to receive the ladies; but the Countess, nogreat observer of ceremony towards other people, whatever she mightexact from them towards herself, cried out, "Come hither, come hither,Cicely Talbot, and tell me how it fares with the poor lady," and as themaiden came forward in the dim light-- "Ha! What! Is't she?" shecried, with a sudden start. "On my faith, what has
she done to thee?Thou art as like her as the foal to the mare."

  This exclamation disconcerted the visitors, but luckily for them theEarl laughed and declared that he could see no resemblance in MistressCicely's dark brows to the arched ones of the Queen of Scots, to whichhis wife replied testily, "Who said there was? The maid need not beuplifted, for there's nothing alike between them, only she hath caughtthe trick of her bearing so as to startle me in the dark, my headrunning on the poor lady. I could have sworn 'twas she coming in, asshe was when she first came to our care fifteen years agone. PrayHeaven she may not haunt the place! How fareth she in health, wench?"

  "Well, madam, save when the rheumatic pains take her," said Cicely.

  "And still of good courage?"

  "That, madam, nothing can daunt."

  Seats, though only joint stools, were given to the ladies, but Susanfound herself no longer trembling at the effects of the Countess'sinsolence upon Cicely, who seemed to accept it all as a matter ofcourse, and almost of indifference, though replying readily and with agentle grace, most unlike her childish petulance.

  Many close inquiries from the Earl and Countess were answered byRichard and the young lady, until they had a tolerably clear idea ofthe situation. The Countess wept bitterly, and to Cicely's greatamazement began bemoaning herself that she was not still the poorlady's keeper. It was a shame to put her where there were no women tofeel for her. Lady Shrewsbury had apparently forgotten that no one hadbeen so virulent against the Queen as herself.

  And when it was impossible to deny that things looked extremely ill,and that Burghley and Walsingham seemed resolved not to let slip thisopportunity of ridding themselves of the prisoner, my Lady burst outwith, "Ah! there it is! She will die, and my promise is broken, andshe will haunt me to my dying day, all along of that venomous toad andspiteful viper, Mary Talbot."

  A passionate fit of weeping succeeded, mingled with vituperations ofher daughter Mary, far more than of herself, and amid it all, duringSusan's endeavours at soothing, Cicely gathered that the cause of theCountess's despair was that in the time of her friendship and amity,she had uttered an assurance that the Queen need not fear death, as shewould contrive means of safety. And on her own ground, in her ownCastle or Lodge, there could be little doubt that she would have beenable to have done so. The Earl, indeed, shook his head, but repented,for she laughed at him half angrily, half hysterically, for thinking hecould have prevented anything that she was set upon.

  And now she said and fully believed that the misunderstanding which hadresulted in the removal of the prisoner had been entirely due to theslanders and deceits of her own daughter Mary, and her husband Gilbert,with whom she was at this time on the worst of terms. And thus shelaid on them the blame of the Queen's death (if that was reallydecreed), but though she outwardly blamed every creature save herself,such agony of mind, and even terror, proved that in very truth theremust have been the conviction at the bottom of her heart that it washer own fault.

  The Earl had beckoned away Master Richard, both glad to escape; butCicely had to remain, and filled with compassion for one whom she hadalways regarded previously as an enemy, she could not help saying,"Dear madam, take comfort; I am going to bear a petition to the Queen'sMajesty from the captive lady, and if she will hear me all will yet bewell."

  "How! What? How! Thou little moppet! Knows she what she says, SusanTalbot?"

  Susan made answer that she had had time to hear no particulars yet, butthat Cicely averred that she was going with her father's consent,whereupon Richard was immediately summoned back to explain.

  The Earl and Countess could hardly believe that he should haveconsented that his daughter should be thus employed, and he had toexcuse himself with what he could not help feeling were only halftruths.

  "The poor lady," he said, "is denied all power of sending word orletter to the Queen save through those whom she views as her enemies,and therefore she longed earnestly either to see her Majesty, or tohold communication with her through one whom she knoweth to be bothsimple and her own friend."

  "Yea," said the Countess, "I could well have done this for her could Ibut have had speech with her. Or she might have sent Bess Pierrepoint,who surely would have been a more fitting messenger."

  "Save that she hath not had access to the Queen of Scots of late," saidRichard.

  "Yea, and her father would scarcely be willing to risk the Queen'sdispleasure," said the Earl.

  "Art thou ready to abide it, Master Richard?" said the Countess,"though after all it could do you little harm." And her tone markedthe infinite distance she placed between him and Sir Henry Pierrepoint,the husband of her daughter.

  "That is true, madam," said Richard, "and moreover, I cannot reconcileit to my conscience to debar the poor lady from any possible opening ofsafety."

  "Thou art a good man, Richard," said the Earl, and therewith both heand the Countess became extremely, nay, almost inconveniently, desirousto forward the petitioner on her way. To listen to them that night,they would have had her go as an emissary of the house of Shrewsbury,and only the previous quarrel with Lord Talbot and his wife preventedthem from proposing that she should be led to the foot of the throne byGilbert himself.

  Cicely began to be somewhat alarmed at plans that would disconcert allthe instructions she had received, and only her old habits of respectkept her silent when she thought Master Richard not ready enough torefuse all these offers.

  At last he succeeded in obtaining license to depart, and no sooner wasCicely again shut up with Mistress Susan in the litter than sheexclaimed, "Now will it be most hard to carry out the Queen's ordersthat I should go first to the French Ambassador. I would that my LadyCountess would not think naught can succeed without her meddling."

  "Thou shouldst have let father tell thy purpose in his own way," saidSusan.

  "Ah! mother, I am an indiscreet simpleton, not fit for such a work as Ihave taken in hand," said poor Cis. "Here hath my foolish tonguetraversed it already!"

  "Fear not," said Susan, as one who well knew the nature of herkinswoman; "belike she will have cooled to-morrow, all the more becausefather said naught to the nayward."

  Susan was uneasy enough herself, and very desirous to hear all from herhusband in private. And that night he told her that he had very littlehope of the intercession being availing. He believed that theTreasurer and Secretary were absolutely determined on Mary's death, andwould sooner or later force consent from the Queen; but there was thepossibility that Elizabeth's feelings might be so far stirred that on asudden impulse she might set Mary at liberty, and place her beyondtheir reach.

  "And hap what may," he said, "when a daughter offereth to do her utmostfor a mother in peril of death, what right have I to hinder her?"

  "May God guard the duteous!" said Susan. "But oh! husband, is sheworthy, for whom the child is thus to lead you into peril?"

  "She is her mother," repeated Richard. "Had I erred--"

  "Which you never could do," broke in the wife.

  "I am a sinful man," said he.

  "Yea, but there are deeds you never could have done."

  "By God's grace I trust not; but hear me out, wife. Mine errors, nay,my crimes, would not do away with the duty owed to me by my sons. How,then, should any sins of this poor Queen withhold her daughter fromrendering her all the succour in her power? And thou, thou thyself,Susan, hast taken her for thine own too long to endure to let herundertake the matter alone and unaided."

  "She would not attempt it thus," said Susan.

  "I cannot tell; but I should thus be guilty of foiling her in a braveand filial purpose."

  "And yet thou dost hold her poor mother a guilty woman?"

  "Said I so? Nay, Susan, I am as dubious as ever I was on that head."

  "After hearing the trial?"

  "A word in thine ear, my discreet wife. The trial convinced me farmore that place makes honest men act like cruel knaves than of aughtelse."

  "Then thou ho
ldest her innocent?"

  "I said not so. I have known too long how she lives by the weaving ofwebs. I know not how it is, but these great folks seem not to deemthat truth in word and deed is a part of their religion. For my part,I should distrust whatever godliness did not lead to truth, but a plainman never knows where to have them. That she and poor Antony Babingtonwere in league to bring hither the Spaniards and restore the Pope, Ihave no manner of doubt on the word of both, but then they deemit--Heaven help them--a virtuous act; and it might be lawful in her,seeing that she has always called herself a free sovereign unjustlydetained. What he stuck at and she denies, is the purpose of murderingthe Queen's Majesty."

  "Sure that was the head and front of the poor young man's offending."

  "So it was, but not until he had been urged thereto by his priests, andhad obtained her consent in a letter. Heaven forgive me if I misjudgeany one, but my belief is this--that the letters, whereof only thedeciphered copies were shown, did not quit the hands of either the oneor the other, such as we heard them at Fotheringhay. So poor Babingtonsaid, so saith the Queen of Scots, demanding vehemently to have themread in her presence before Nau and Curll, who could testify to them.Cis deemeth that the true letter from Babington is in a packet which,on learning from Humfrey his suspicion that there was treachery, theQueen gave her, and she threw down a well at Chartley."

  "That was pity."

  "Say not so, for had the original letter been seized, it would onlyhave been treated in the same manner as the copy, and never allowed toreach Queen Elizabeth."

  "I am glad poor Cicely's mother can stand clear of that guilt," saidSusan. "I served her too long, and received too much gentle treatmentfrom her, to brook the thought that she could be so far left toherself."

  "Mind you, dame," said Richard, "I am not wholly convinced that she wasnot aware that her friends would in some way or other bring about theQueen's death, and that she would scarce have visited it very harshly,but she is far too wise--ay, and too tender-hearted, to have enteredinto the matter beforehand. So I think her not wholly guiltless,though the wrongs she hath suffered have been so great that I would dowhatever was not disloyal to mine own Queen to aid her to obtainjustice."

  "You are doing much, much indeed," said Susan; "and all this time youhave told me nothing of my son, save what all might hear. How fareshe? is his heart still set on this poor maid?"

  "And ever will be," said his father. "His is not an outspoken babblinglove like poor Master Nau, who they say was so inspired at findinghimself in the same city with Bess Pierrepoint that he could talk ofnothing else, and seemed to have no thought of his own danger or hisQueen's. No, but he hath told me that he will give up all to serveher, without hope of requital; for her mother hath made her forswearhim, and though she be not always on his tongue, he will do so, if Imistake not his steadfastness."

  Susan sighed, but she knew that the love, that had begun when thelonely boy hailed the shipwrecked infant as his little sister, was of acalm, but unquenchable nature, were it for weal or woe. She could notbut be thankful that the express mandate of both the parents hadwithheld her son from sharing the danger which was serious enough evenfor her husband's prudence and coolness of head.

  By the morning, as she had predicted, the ardour of the Earl andCountess had considerably slackened; and though still willing toforward the petitioner on her way, they did not wish their names toappear in the matter.

  They did, however, make an important offer. The Mastiff was newly comeinto harbour at Hull, and they offered Richard the use of her as aconveyance. He gladly accepted it. The saving of expense was a greatobject; for he was most unwilling to use Queen Mary's order on theFrench Ambassador, and he likewise deemed it possible that such a meansof evasion might be very useful.

  The Mastiff was sometimes used by some of the Talbot family on journeysto London, and had a tolerably commodious cabin, according to thenotions of the time; and though it was late in the year, and poor Ciswas likely to be wretched enough on the voyage, the additional securitywas worth having, and Cicely would be under the care of Goatley's wife,who made all the voyages with her husband. The Earl likewise chargedRichard Talbot with letters and messages of conciliation to his sonGilbert, whose estrangement was a great grief to him, arising as it didentirely from the quarrels of the two wives, mother and daughter. Heeven charged his kinsman with the proposal to give up Sheffield to Lordand Lady Talbot and retire to Wingfield rather than continue at enmity.Mr. Talbot knew the parties too well to have much hope of prevailing,or producing permanent peace; but the commission was welcome, as itwould give a satisfactory pretext for his presence in London.

  A few days were spent at Bridgefield, Cicely making herself the mostloving, helpful, and charming of daughters, and really basking in thepeaceful atmosphere of Susan's presence; and then,--with many prayersand blessings from that good lady,--they set forth for Hull, takingwith them two servants besides poor Babington's man Gillingham, whosesuperior intelligence and knowledge of London would make him useful,though there was a dark brooding look about him that made Richardalways dread some act of revenge on his part toward his master's foes.