The Captive Queen of Scots

by Jean Plaidy

  “And the Countess too,” Seton added. “She appears to be sharp tongued but I am sure she has a kind heart. I will see what can be arranged tomorrow. You will feel better then.”

  “Oh yes, Seton, I shall feel better.”

  “Do not forget the message from Northumberland.”

  “You are right, Seton. I have some good friends in England. Norfolk will not forget me. Nor will Northumberland.”

  “Tomorrow, everything will seem different,” said Seton. But it was a long time before they slept.

  THE NEXT DAY Mary was not well enough to leave her bed. She had a fever and her limbs were stiff and painful.

  Seton announced that the Queen would spend the day resting, and while she lay in her bed her women came into her chamber and set out some of the tapestry which they had brought with them from Bolton. These were inadequate to cover all the cracked walls, but they did add a little comfort; and Mary felt happier to have them, and also to see her women.

  Knollys and Scrope came to say goodbye to her; and she was deeply sorry to see them go. She sent affectionate messages to Margaret Scrope through her husband; and she was sorry to see Knollys looking so sad. Poor Knollys! His was not an enviable fate. He had lost the wife he loved, and his Queen’s favor at the same time. Yet he had been a kindly jailor. She would always remember that.

  “I trust Your Majesty will be happy under the care of the Earl and Countess,” said Knollys.

  “Thank you,” Mary replied. “I hope you have explained to the Earl that I am allowed certain privileges—for instance, my own servants and my friends to visit me when they come to Tutbury.”

  Knollys answered gravely: “The Earl will make his own rules, I fear, Your Majesty. You know that those of myself and Lord Scrope were not considered to have been adequate.”

  “It is bad enough to live in this cold and dreary prison, to endure that perpetual odor. I do not know how I shall go on living here if those small privileges are to be taken from me.”

  “Speak to the Earl about these matters,” Knollys advised.

  “Not to the Countess,” Scrope added.

  “Certainly I should speak to the Earl. I suppose he is in charge here.”

  Scrope and Knollys exchanged glances and Scrope said: “I have heard that Bess of Hardwick is always in charge wherever she finds herself.”

  Mary smiled. “I believe that I shall be able to win their friendship,” he said confidently.

  Then Scrope and Knollys took their leave. Mary heard their departure but she did not go to the window to watch them. She felt too emotional, too weary, and she knew she had a fever.

  DURING THE FIRST WEEK at Tutbury, Mary scarcely left her bed. At the end of that time the fever had left her; she still suffered acutely from the drafts, but she fancied she had grown a little accustomed to the smell. She had seen little of the Earl and Countess; her servants brought her food, of which she ate very little, and looked after her as well as possible. She supposed the Earl and Countess were waiting for her to leave her bed, or perhaps for instructions from Elizabeth.

  One day, when the wind was slightly less keen, several heavily laden packhorses lumbered into the courtyard. Eleanor Britton who had seen them arrive ran out to discover what they were.

  A man who had leaped from his mule called to her: “Hey, girl. Take me to the Earl of Shrewsbury without delay.”

  “And who are you then?” asked Eleanor.

  “Never you mind, girl. Do as you’re told.”

  “But I must say who you are,” Eleanor insisted.

  “Then say we come on the Queen’s business.”

  Eleanor, suitably impressed, ran into the castle, eager to carry this important message to the Earl before anyone else could do so. Already some of the grooms had appeared and were asking questions of the newcomers.

  Eleanor did not go to the Countess’s apartments although she had to pass these to reach the Earl. It was so much easier to talk to the Earl than to the Countess, because he was a kind man and had a smile which seemed to say that he was aware of her even though she was only a lower servant. Whereas the Countess . . . Well, one did not speak to the Countess if one could avoid doing so.

  The Earl was in his apartments and he was alone, so that Eleanor was not made to pass on her information to one of the servants.

  “My lord,” she stammered, “there are men in the courtyard with laden horses. They come on the Queen’s business.”

  The Earl strode toward her and stood looking at her as though he had not quite heard what she had said.

  “The Queen’s business, my lord,” she repeated.

  “They have come heavily laden?” he asked; and he smiled suddenly. “Ah, if this is what I believe it to be I shall be very pleased.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  He put out a hand as though he would grip her shoulder but he changed his mind and his hand fell to his side. “Comforts for the Queen of Scotland,” he murmured. “Poor lady, I fear she suffers much from the cold. I sent for them but I did not expect to receive them so soon.”

  Eleanor smiled with him. It was pleasant to feel she shared a secret with him. How strange that he should have told her what the messengers had brought!

  “Come,” he said, “we will go down and see what they have brought, and then, my child, you can help carry the comforts—if this they be—to Her Majesty’s apartments.”

  He signed to her to go before him. It was an odd sensation going on ahead of the Earl, aware of him, close—very close behind. Eleanor hoped that none of her fellow servants would see her. They would think it so strange. And what if the Countess saw!

  Eleanor quickened her pace, and very soon she was in the courtyard where now several servants had gathered. They were chattering, until they saw the Earl, and then fell silent. But they did not realize that he had come down with Eleanor.

  THE EARL WAS ASKING for admittance to the Queen’s apartments.

  “I bring Your Majesty good news,” he said. “I have sent to Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth, for articles which will give you some comfort. May I have them brought up?”

  “This is good news, my lord,” Mary replied. “Pray do not hesitate to bring them up.”

  The Earl turned and signed to the servants to carry in the packages.

  “They come from the royal wardrobe of the Tower of London, I believe, Your Majesty; and if they are what I asked for, I am sure they will please you.”

  Mary called her women to her as the packages were carried in, and they helped unroll them.

  There were several pieces of tapestry hangings lined with canvas.

  Mary clapped her hands. “I cannot wait to hang them,” she cried. “They will keep out the drafts a little.”

  Seton spread them out and saw that they were not only useful but decorative, portraying as they did the history of Hercules. Next there were four feather beds with bolsters.

  “They make me warmer even to look at them!” said Mary.

  This was by no means all. There was more pieces of tapestry—one set depicting the story of the Passion; there were cushions, stools and Turkey carpets. There were even hooks and crochets with which to hang the tapestry.

  Mary turned to the Earl, her face radiant. “How can I thank you?” she asked.

  He smiled. “Your Majesty, it grieved me that you should come to Tutbury which as you know is too ill furnished to receive you. When I knew that you were to be here, I asked that these objects might be procured for you. I am only sorry that they have been so long in coming. The bad state of the road is the cause.”

  “I shall certainly sleep more comfortably now,” she told him, “and my thanks are due to you.”

  Everyone in the room was now looking toward the door which had been left open. The Countess stood there.

  Mary said: “My dear Countess, I am thanking your husband. I must thank you also, I know. These things are going to make a great deal of difference to my comfort.”

  The Countess sailed into the
room. Eleanor, watching her, thought: She did not know. He did it without asking her.

  She dared not look at the Earl; she felt there would be fear in his face, and she did not want to see it. It was brave of him, she thought, to do it without telling her. Anyone must be brave who stands against her.

  “I am delighted that Your Majesty is pleased,” said the Countess, her sharp eyes taking in the tapestry, the beds, the rugs and all the furniture.

  “Such a difference!” sighed Mary. “I really do not think I could have endured the cold without something to keep out the drafts.”

  “I trust the servants are doing all you require of them?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “Then the Earl and I will beg your leave to retire.”

  “But of course.”

  The Countess looked at the Earl, and her eyes were expressionless.

  She curtsied and the Earl made his bow.

  As they went out together Eleanor wanted to whisper: You should not be afraid of her. You are the Earl. You should tell her so.

  When they reached her apartments Bess turned to her husband; now she was smiling because she prided herself on always being in complete control of her feelings.

  “So you sent to the Queen for those fripperies?” she asked.

  “I thought they were necessary for our guest’s comfort.”

  “I dare swear that if Her Majesty had thought them necessary she would have sent them without being asked.”

  “She does not know how comfortless Tutbury can be.”

  There was a brief silence while Shrewsbury thought of his first wife, Gertrude, eldest daughter of the Earl of Rutland. What a gentle person she had been! He was beginning to remember her with increasing regret.

  “I hope she does not think you are going the way of Knollys and Scrope.”

  “Because I ask for a carpet, a bed and some hangings to keep out the drafts?”

  Bess gave a sudden harsh laugh. “Our Queen knows Mary’s reputation,” she said. “It is rumored that she bewitches all men who set eyes on her. Is this the beginning of bewitchment?”

  “Nonsense,” retorted the Earl. “The poor woman is ill. Her Majesty would not be very pleased with us if it were said she died through neglect.”

  Bess nodded her head slowly. “So, without consulting me, you sent for comforts for her.” Again she gave that hard laugh. She slipped her arm through his and she was smiling. “George,” she went on, “I think, in view of the disgrace of Knollys and Scrope, we should be careful. Of course if she is in danger of dying of neglect, I shall see that she does not do so. Perhaps it would be better if such matters were left to me. No one could accuse me of being bewitched by the charm of the Queen of Scots, I fancy!”

  Shrewsbury was beginning to hate that cold laughter of hers. What she was saying was: Next time leave it to me to make arrangements. I am the one who makes decisions here.

  He was pleased that he had managed to procure the comforts before she had had a chance to interfere. Then, as he looked into her domineering, handsome face, he thought of Eleanor Britton; which seemed unaccountable. It’s the contrast, he told himself. One so arrogant; the other one so meek. But of course Eleanor Britton would be meek. Was she not a servant?

  TWO PLEASANT OCCURRENCES quickly followed the arrival of the comforts from the Tower of London.

  Lady Livingstone, who had been so ill on the journey, had recovered and came on to Tutbury. Mary who had thought it possible that she might never see this dear friend again was overcome with joy.

  Lady Livingstone however was shocked by the Queen’s appearance.

  “I have recovered more quickly than Your Majesty did!” she said aghast.

  “Ah,” laughed Mary. “But you have not been at Tutbury.” She was serious suddenly. “You should not stay here. It is a foul place. The stench at times is unbearable. Why do you not return to Scotland? I still have friends there, and you and your husband could return to your estates and live in comfort.”

  “And leave you!”

  “My dearest friend, I do not know how long I shall be here. Sometimes I think it will be for years.”

  “Then if we must remain prisoners for years, so be it.”

  Mary embraced her friend. “It seems meet and proper,” she said, “that I should have a Livingstone with me. In my youth it was your sister-in-law, Mary. She would be with me still, as Seton is, if she had not married. But if at any time this becomes too much for you, you must not hesitate to return to Scotland.”

  “One day we shall go together,” was the answer.

  IT WAS SHORTLY AFTERWARD when a young man was admitted to her apartments. In the first seconds she did not recognize him. Then she cried out in great joy. “Willie!”

  Willie Douglas bowed and, as the light fell on his face, she saw how thin he was.

  “Oh Willie, Willie!” She took him into her arms and held him tightly against her. “This is such joy to me.”

  “And to me, Your Majesty.”

  “You have suffered since I last saw you, Willie.”

  “Oh ay.”

  Releasing him she laid her hands on his shoulders and looked searchingly into his face.

  “But you are back now, and I thank God.” She drew him to one of the stools which had been sent from the Tower of London and bade him sit.

  There he told her that he had traveled jauntily to London, had received his passport and had been ready to make his way to the coast and France. But as he walked through an alley in the City of London, where he had his temporary lodging, he had been set upon.

  “They came upon me from behind, Your Majesty, and I never saw their faces. There I was walking along that alley where the houses seemed to meet at the top, when I was attacked. I woke up in a dark cellar, trussed up and with my head bleeding. I’d lost all my papers. I knew I’d been robbed then. I lay there for what seemed days and nights, but I had no means of telling. But at last they came for me . . . rough men I’d never seen before. They put me in chains and set me on a mule, and I knew we were coming north. I thought I was being brought back to you, but I soon learned that was a mistake. I was taken into a place like a castle and put in a cell there. There were bars at the window, and now and then a crust of bread and pitcher of water were thrust in at me. Other than that the only companions I had were the rats and beetles.”

  “My poor Willie! I had evil dreams of you. I knew something fearful had befallen you. That was why I asked the French King to command his ambassador to discover what had become of you. You must have spent many weeks in that prison.” She thought: But for my French friends it might have been for the rest of your life, and that, for Willie in those conditions would not have meant more than a year or so.

  “I used to lie there thinking of how I could get out,” went on Willie. “There didn’t seem any way, but I went on trying to figure something out. Then it got so that I couldn’t walk very well and I could only think of when I was going to get my next portion of bread and water.”

  “I fear you have suffered much for my sake, Willie.”

  He gave her a return of the old grin. “Oh ay,” he murmured.

  But she knew that he would never be the same jaunty urchin he had been before he set out for London. Willie had grown up considerably since they had last met.

  LORD HERRIES ARRIVED at Tutbury from London with those who had been acting as her Commissioners at the Conference. They were very grave, realizing fully how Mary’s position had deteriorated since the Conference.

  At the little council meeting held in those evil-smelling apartments, Herries said: “We cannot go on in this way. We should try to bring Your Majesty out of England. I do not think that any good purpose can be served by your remaining here.”

  “But how can I leave?” Mary wanted to know.

  “Only by a demand from your Scottish nobles that you should do so. I do not think Elizabeth would risk war. Moray is her ally; we must depose him and his party and, once that is done, there can n
o longer be an excuse for keeping you here.”

  “What do you propose?”

  “That I return to Scotland with my brother-in-law, Cockburn.”

  “Then I shall lose two of my most faithful friends.”

  “Not lose them, Your Majesty. But merely allow them to be of greater service to your cause. Livingstone and Boyd will be here to advise you; and the Bishop of Ross can act as your envoy at the Court of Elizabeth. I am of the opinion that we could not serve you better.”

  “I am sure you are right,” she told him. “Oh, my dear good friend, one thing I ask you, help to bring me out of this noisome place, for I believe that I shall not stay here long. I must either leave it soon on my two feet or be carried out in my coffin.”

  Herries begged her not to despair, but he himself was very anxious, for he could see how the place was affecting her; and she had not recovered yet from the long journey through the ice-bound country from Bolton.

  Herries and Cockburn left within a few days. Mary watched them from her window until they were out of sight. Herries, who had been her trusted friend; and as for Cockburn, his mansion and his village of Skirling had been completely destroyed by Moray in vengeance on one who was the very good friend of the Queen of Scots.

  MARY WOULD SIT at her tapestry with her women; occasionally she would sing or play the lute. But each day she was more easily fatigued, and her friend watched her with misgivings. The Earl spoke to the Countess. “I am anxious,” he said. “Her health does not improve and she might well fall into a mortal sickness.”

  “Nonsense,” retorted Bess. “She has but to adjust herself. What does she do all day but amuse herself! Look at me. Think of what I do. I am years older than she is.”

  “I fear the rigors of Tutbury ill suit her.”

  “We live at Tutbury, do we not? I’ll admit it is not the most sweet of our houses—but there is nothing to harm in a stink. If she had more to do she would be well enough.”

  There was a knock at the door and, when Bess commanded whoever was there to enter, Eleanor came in.