‘Marie!’ her mother cried out. ‘What are you doing here? What’s wrong? Have you displeased the good Duke? Has he thrown you from his bed?’
Marie dug her nails into her hands, fighting back the tears. ‘Please forgive me.’
‘Forgive you for what?’ the Bishop said coldly. ‘Compose yourself and tell me what has happened.’
‘He was so drunk. I think I must have been too. He was hurting me … I struggled and … his dagger … before I knew what had happened … I am so sorry.’
Her mother yelled out in disbelief.
‘You stabbed him?’
‘Be quiet, woman,’ the Bishop commanded, and Effie collapsed onto a chair.
‘I’m sorry,’ Marie repeated.
‘You’re sorry?’ the Bishop thundered. ‘What good will that do?’
Marie closed her eyes.
‘I didn’t mean—’
‘Be quiet. I’ll have to think of something. Wait here.’
After he’d left the bedchamber, Effie began to wail.
‘Dear God. Dear God. I always said you’d be burned at the stake one day but never in my worst nightmares … I can’t bear it. As well as ruining your own life, you have ruined mine as well. It can’t be happening. I’m dreaming all this. I must be. … Everything was going to be so wonderful.’ She began to weep. ‘Now what will become of us. Even the Bishop will be in danger. You have put his life in jeopardy. There is not a person in this castle who did not have some reason to be grateful to the good Duke.’
At that moment the Bishop returned and Effie quickly wiped her eyes.
‘What’s happening? Have you seen the Duke?’
‘He’s dead.’
‘Dear God. Dear God,’ Effie sobbed.
‘Be quiet, woman. I need to think.’
Marie wanted to tell him of the figure hiding behind the tapestry in the Duke’s room but she knew that would only make matters worse.
Silence held the room for what seemed an eternity. The candles were guttering low, and darkness was spreading from shadowy corners. Eventually the Bishop said,
‘You must do exactly as I tell you. Both of you, do you hear? I’m not going to lose everything because of the stupidity of a bastard child.’
‘What can we do?’ Marie asked.
‘Both of you stay in this room. Do not move from it until I tell you. No matter what happens, do nothing and say nothing. Do you understand?’ With that he strode out of the room, slamming the heavy iron-studded door behind him.
‘God help us!’ Effie muttered, as she rocked herself backwards and forwards.
Marie was deathly pale but calm. She kept thinking of the shadowy figure who had been a witness to the murder. Why hadn’t he confronted her right away or called the guards?
XI
THE Queen Mother knew her daughter’s journey to France could not be delayed any longer. But she was pleased that another maid of honour to the Queen would be in the party. She had come with a letter from the Bishop of Moray. The poor girl had recently lost her husband-to-be, the Duke of Glasgow, in tragic circumstances, and to distance herself from her unhappy memories and dashed hopes, the Bishop had written, she needed a complete change. But she was a very mature, intelligent, indeed learned girl, and would be well able to assist the young Queen’s governess in the tutoring of French, Latin and Greek.
Marie Hepburn had therefore been welcomed into Dumbarton Castle and now awaited the boarding of the French King’s personal galley with the rest of Mary, Queen of Scots’ party. The Queen Mother could see Marie now, standing alone, a little apart from everyone else, a tall, slim girl with red hair that flamed in the sun, in stark contrast to the pallor of her face. She could almost be taken for the child Queen’s elder sister. Earlier the Dowager had inquired if she was well enough to make such a hazardous voyage, and her green eyes had immediately flashed into life.
‘I am in perfect health, I can assure you, your Majesty.’
And so the time had come. Mary, Queen of Scots, who had been guarded by French soldiers in Dumbarton Castle, was now ready to embark. The French naval guns boomed out a salute. The goodbyes were said between mother and daughter in the presence of Arran and the many noble spectators, crowded together, a bright splash of colour on the stretch of green at the foot of the castle rock. The soft shade of the grass matched the dresses of the Queen’s young companions—the four Marys—Beaton, Seton, Livingstone and Fleming. Alongside them, Marie Hepburn in yellow taffeta stood out from the crowd. The Queen, tiny beside her adult companion but even more vivid in her scarlet dress, had been well trained in the regal science of self-control, and even though her mother was unable to contain her tears, the young Queen remained perfectly composed. Others wept at the sight of the child and what might lie before her. Their anxiety overflowed despite or perhaps because of the child’s innocent excitement.
What was to become of her once she left her native Scotland? Yet, her safety in Scotland was just an illusion. Danger and violence had swirled around her since the moment she had been born.
Now men bowed before her, women curtsied, but the little Queen, well-used to such acts of homage, had already turned her attention to the great galleys of France. They were hoisting their sails into the salt breeze, forming enormous white curves against the glowing sunset. It was an awesome sight that seemed to fill not only the Firth of Clyde but the entire sea, the horizon dominated by tall masts and billowing canvas.
The rhythmic chant of seamen as they laboured to hoist the sails was accompanied by the screeching of the blocks and the groaning and creaking of ropes under tension. The smell of wood, tar and mildewed canvas, mingled with the bracing odours of salt and seaweed, heightened the travellers’ feelings of anticipation.
The weather had worried the Dowager. But she kept reminding herself that France meant safety and happiness for her daughter and a glorious future in the French Court. In France, the Guise family were the most powerful in the land. No-one there would dare to harm the Queen.
But even after the last goodbyes were said and everyone was safely on board, there was a further delay. The wind had changed, and the ships were unable to sail. As they waited impatiently, the fetid stench of unwashed galley slaves and human excrement hung like a pall across the midships of the galley. The light breeze, however, did a little to alleviate the appalling miasma which kept most of the elegant passengers confined to the poop deck. Finally the ships began to move out into the Clyde, although the galley slaves were not helped by the unfavourable wind. The rhythmic beat of the drum and the lash of the whip provided some encouragement, but the measured stroke of the oars seemed to have little effect in propelling the vessels through the wide expanse of water.
As they skirted along the coastline the sky grew darker by the minute. Sailors rushed to and fro clambering high into the rigging in response to seemingly incomprehensible directions from the bosun and officers. Soon the waves grew steadily heavier and heavier, but the ships raced on, bucking and jumping, driven hard even by the reduced sail. The bows punched into each successive wave and white and green water sluiced over the foredecks.
The Queen’s governess, Lady Fleming, lay groaning in an agony of seasickness. Eventually, as they passed the coast of Cornwall, she cried out to the captain,
‘Put me ashore, sir, I beg of you. I’d rather face the wicked English than go on in such misery.’
But the captain had more important things to concern him. The rudder of the ship had been damaged by the storm and he was acutely concerned about the safety of his precious royal cargo.
‘You can either go to France or drown, madame, because I’m certainly not putting you or anyone else ashore!’
Marie hardly noticed the worsening weather. Her thoughts were elsewhere. Despite their differences, parting from her mother had been a distressing experience. Effie had been in a state of nervous collapse since the murder, and the Bishop had to accompany her home. But far worse than that, Marie did not even know what h
ad happened in the aftermath of the murder. Her father told her that he would do whatever was necessary. First and foremost, he told her, she must get away from Glasgow. Dumbarton was the most obvious place.
‘It’s fortunate,’ the Bishop had said, ‘that a fleet waits there to take our Queen to France. A horse is being saddled for you. You must leave immediately.’
This was in the middle of the night, only minutes, it seemed, after the killing. But of course it must have been much later. The Bishop had written a letter to be delivered to the Queen Mother. He had allowed Marie to read it before he put his seal on it. Even in her anguish she could appreciate the irony of being described as such a grieving bride-to-be, with her wonderful suitor having been so cruelly snatched away from her. It was also from this letter that she learned of her fate. She was being banished to a foreign land. Reading this she felt sick at heart.
The gales smacked and buffeted the ship from side to side, tossing it high and plunging it low. Marie clung tenaciously to the rail, her cloak tugging and swirling, her hair streaming out of control. As the icy water streamed down her face and neck, she felt perversely grateful for the pain of the wind whipping at her face and body, accepting it as punishment for what she had done. She wanted the elements to cleanse her of sin and guilt.
‘Punish me, God,’ she prayed silently, ‘for I deserve it.’
Suddenly her prayer was interrupted by a firm hand on her arm.
‘My dear young lady,’ a man’s voice addressed her, ‘do you want to be washed overboard? Much as I admire your boldness in standing here defying the elements, I must insist that you return below deck.’
She turned to see an imposing figure in padded blue silk doublet and a darker velvet cloak, slashed to reveal a sumptuous fur lining.
‘Who are you?’ She had to shout the words to compete with the wind.
He managed a bow.
‘Guthrie Jamieson, Earl of Edinburgh, at your service. I too am in the service of the Queen Mother.’ His hand tightened painfully on her arm but his smile was charming and persuasive. ‘Come now, have a glass of wine with me. If we can safely find the path to our mouths in this infernal rocking and plummeting! I swear my doublet has enjoyed more wine than I have since we embarked on this journey.’
She had to smile in return as she allowed herself to be led to safety. Once on the lower deck, he called for cloths with which she could wipe her face dry.
‘Or would you prefer to go to your cabin and have your maid change your clothes?’
‘It would be a waste of time. I’d only get soaked again.’
He helped her off with her cloak.
‘You are a very brave young lady.’
‘Why do you say that?’
He shrugged. ‘Isn’t it obvious? All your companions, even the men, cower down in the bowels of the ship while you venture on deck and sound as if you might venture there again. And you are not even seasick.’
‘Nor are you.’
‘Ah, but I have made this journey many times. My stomach is used to it.’
Now that Marie was not blinded by the gale, she could regard Guthrie Jamieson in more detail. She noticed his well-groomed hair, his smooth, clean-shaven skin, his broad-boned face. The way he kept staring at her made her feel uncomfortable. She blushed and was angry at herself for betraying such weakness.
‘Do you think the English fleet will try to capture us?’
‘Not us.’ His flinty eyes narrowed and glimmered. ‘The Queen perhaps.’
‘You know what I mean.’
‘You are one of the Queen’s tutors, I believe?’
‘Yes, Marie Hepburn.’
He bowed over her hand.
‘It is indeed an honour to meet you, Marie Hepburn.’
‘You mock me, sir.’
‘Not at all. I admire a lady with courage and spirit and you obviously have both.’
She withdrew her hand. For some reason, when his lips had lingered on her hand, she was reminded of Machar McNaughton. The Earl of Edinburgh was not by any means fat but there was a sturdiness about him that she could imagine might turn to Machar-like grossness with age.
To make up for her somewhat rude shrinking away from his courtly kiss, she smiled and asked pleasantly,
‘Where exactly are we to land in France?’
‘God willing and weather permitting, we will arrive at Roscoff in Brittany. After resting there we will proceed overland via Morlaix to our eventual destination—the castle of Saint-Germain-en-Laye.’
‘I have never been to France before but at least I speak the language.’
He gave a short burst of knowing laughter.
‘You will have plenty of experience, especially of the language. In the royal nurseries, there will be dozens of chattering children eagerly awaiting you and your royal pupil.’
‘I look forward to meeting them,’ she said. ‘And to the journey across the country.’
He flung up his hands in a gesture of incredulity. And he raised a questioning eyebrow.
‘Once more you reveal that brave spirit of adventure,’ he told her. ‘Most women would view such a journey with a sinking heart as not only long and exhausting, but perilous.’
‘I’m sure with gentlemen like you to protect us,’ Marie said, ‘we will be perfectly safe.’
‘That is true, of course.’
‘And now, I’d better go and see if I can be of any help to the ladies and the children. They have been so miserably ill.’
‘There is nothing you can do for them. Unless you can calm the storm and smooth the sea.’
She tossed him a dismissive look as she rose and made to leave the tiny low-roofed cabin. He raised his glass to her and smiled as, lurching from side to side with the roll of the ship and grabbing at whatever she could to steady herself, she hurried away.
XII
EVERYONE thanked God once they had safely reached the small fishing port of Roscoff. Odd-shaped rocks crowded the bay which was said to be a nest of pirates and smugglers. It was here that the young Queen first set foot on French soil. The royal party then entered the main street. The Queen was carried on a litter, her dress of sparkling gold, her red-gold hair, her luminous skin and almond-shaped eyes causing gasps of pleasure and admiration from the crowds.
‘La reinette! La reinette!’ was the cry that sped through the town and brought people running. The four Marys still felt somewhat unsteady but the relief of being safely on dry land soon made them feel better.
The house in which they first rested was an ancient building with gargoyles on the chimney stack. Along a passage the Queen and her Marys found a grey stone cloister. Behind it there was a cellar storeroom and from there a door led out to a small boat-shaped garden with a tall turret on its seaward angle. The Queen led the four Marys up this turret, racing in front of them with Marie hastening to try and catch up. This caused much agitation to the Queen’s guardian, Lord Erskine, who sent attendants after the Queen to plead with her to return to the house.
They left the next day on a journey that was to last two months before they reached the French Court. At Morlaix, the Queen was welcomed by the Lord of Rohan and the nobility of the country. The Queen and the Marys, Lady Fleming and Marie were lodged in a Dominican convent, then the Queen was taken to church where a Te Deum was sung in honour of her safe arrival.
During their time at Morlaix, and despite Marie’s lack of encouragement, the Earl of Edinburgh seemed intent on forming some sort of relationship with her. He rode beside her at every opportunity, sat next to her at table, and continually sought her company. Jamieson was surprised to find himself drawn to her, but he was intrigued by her spirit and resourcefulness—especially in escaping the consequences of Machar McNaughton’s death.
‘Already Mary is being hailed as a brave little queen who has been forced to flee the barbaric Scots and the cruel English, for the safe arms and loving heart of France,’ he said with one of the smiles that seemed to harden not soften his eyes.
‘As long as they keep her safe,’ Marie replied. ‘That is all that matters.’
‘Yes, of course.’ He smiled again. ‘But she is still the Queen of Scots.’
‘Nobody is denying that,’ Marie said. ‘But she was not safe in Scotland.’
‘Ah, the wicked English and their spies?’ the Earl said, thinking all the while of the English gold he himself had taken so often. He was also beginning to think that as well as being a beauty, perhaps in years to come this Marie Hepburn could be a useful way into the Queen’s confidence. Randolph, his paymaster at the English Court, would be greatly impressed to learn that he had a contact amongst the Queen’s closest companions.
As Marie looked at him she could not determine whether he was being sincere or sarcastic, and she certainly had no inkling of the devious thoughts that were racing through his mind.
The second stage of the journey was supervised by the Queen’s grandmother, Antoinette de Guise, a strong woman who had borne twelve children, of whom ten had survived to form the most powerful family in France.
‘Ma chère enfant,’ she remarked to Mary, ‘I must see to your wardrobe as soon as possible. You need far more gowns and stomachers. And you haven’t nearly enough bonnets and caps and shoes. The French Court demands a much higher standard of elegance than you have been used to. Nevertheless you are très belle, a credit to your name. Lady Fleming is pretty, and she too is tolerably well turned out. So is your other tutor. But …’ She pursed her lips in disapproval. ‘The rest of your train, with the exception of the dear Earl of Edinburgh, who is always most elegant, are thoroughly ill-looking and farouche. They are not even, in my opinion, properly washed.’
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