by Jean Plaidy
She looked fearfully at the Countess but she was very much aware of the Earl.
“Well, girl?” said Bess sharply.
“My lady, there is a messenger below. He is asking for the Earl.”
“I will see him without delay,” said Bess. “Send him to me.”
Eleanor curtsied and retired, returning shortly with the messenger.
Bess imperiously held out her hand for the documents he had brought.
“Take this man to the kitchens and see that he is refreshed,” she commanded Eleanor who, curtsying once more, caught the eyes of the Earl on herself and flushed deeply.
Bess was too eagerly examining the documents to notice the demeanor of her serving-maid.
“Orders from the Queen,” she said, and the Earl came to stand beside her and look over her shoulder.
“Ah!” went on Bess. “So her friends are suspected of planning her escape. You see what you have done by showing your desire to pamper her. You have aroused our Queen’s suspicions. Depend upon it, George Talbot, we have to tread very warily if we are not to find ourselves in disgrace along with Scrope and Knollys.”
“What does Her Majesty require?”
“That Boyd and the Bishop are not to be allowed to remain with her or come to see her. They are to be banished at once to Burton-on-Trent.”
The Earl sighed. Poor Queen Mary! he was thinking. Here was another blow.
THE EARL MET ELEANOR BRITTON on the staircase near the Queen’s apartments.
She flushed and curtsied.
“Do you serve the Queen of Scots then?” he asked.
“I help her servants, my lord.” She added quickly: “It is the order of the Countess that I should do so.”
He nodded. “Poor lady, I fear for her health.”
“She is not happy at Tutbury Castle, my lord.”
“She has told you so?”
“We have all heard that it is so, my lord.”
There was the briefest of silences, and each felt drawn to the other through their sympathy for the Queen of Scots. This young girl, thought George Talbot, is aware of the Queen’s charm as Bess never could be. But then, of course, Bess never saw people or circumstances through any but her own eyes; it was an impossibility for her to put herself in any other’s place.
“I wish she could be moved to a healthier place,” he said, as though speaking to himself.
“Yes, my lord.” The girl was looking at him with an odd expression in her eyes. Was she telling him that he was the lord of Tutbury, the first guardian of the Queen? She made him feel strong, more powerful than he had felt for a long time . . . surely since his courtship of Bess of Hardwick.
He passed on, but he could not dismiss the maid from his thoughts. She was so young, scarcely more than a child, without doubt a virgin. She would not remain so long, perhaps. Even Bess could not prevent the men servants and the maidservants frolicking together.
He felt angry that a young girl should be exposed to such contamination.
Strange, this preoccupation with a serving girl—and a Queen. It was having an odd effect on him. He went straight to his private apartments and there wrote a letter to Elizabeth of England, in which he told her that he feared for the life of Mary Queen of Scots if she remained at Tutbury. Would Her Majesty agree to a removal to his nearby seat of Wingfield Manor where he felt sure the health of the Queen of Scots would be improved.
This he dispatched, telling Bess nothing of what he had done.
BESS STORMED into her husband’s apartment, and with an angry wave of her hand dismissed his servants.
When they were alone she held up a letter and cried: “Her Majesty writes that, in answer to your letter, she is agreeable that the Queen should be removed to Wingfield Manor until further notice.”
“Ah, I am glad. It is what Queen Mary needs.”
“So you wrote to Elizabeth?”
Although he had rehearsed this scene many times, knowing it was inevitable, now that the moment had come to face Bess, he found it difficult to do so.
He stammered: “I thought she would be ill pleased if the Queen were to die of her malady soon after coming under our care.”
“Die!” snorted Bess. “She has many years left to her.”
But she was not thinking of the Queen of Scots and her dilemma; what astonished her was to be confronted by such a disobedient husband.
She went on: “Do you think it was wise to suggest this move?”
“It was wise and humane,” answered the Earl firmly.
“The Queen will have a poor opinion of us if we continually present her with complaints.”
“The Queen knows us both well. She has long since formed her opinions of us.”
“She chose us for this task, and it is one well within our compass, if we are wise and do not allow ourselves to be duped by the wiles of one who, I understand, has but to give a man a smile to make him obey her.”
“She has not been very successful in making men obey her, poor lady.”
“Poor lady! Not so poor! She is waited on hand and foot. I am surprised, George, that you should have taken this step without consulting me.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Well,” he said mildly, “it is done. What we have to do now is prepare to leave for Wingfield Manor.”
Bess was watching him covertly. She had thought he would always be obedient to her wishes as her three earlier husbands had been. It was disconcerting to find him asserting his independence.
What could it mean?
Was he a little enamored of the Queen of Scots? She must be watchful. Bess was a woman who demanded a husband’s affection and devotion as well as obedience. She would not allow it to be said that Shrewsbury ceased to be a devoted husband when the Queen of Scots came under his roof.
That woman might bewitch other men but, Bess was determined, never George Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury.
VII
Wingfield
MARY WAS DELIGHTED TO ARRIVE at Wingfield Manor. She could not feel grateful enough to Shrewsbury for arranging the removal for, in comparison with Tutbury, Wingfield was charming. Situated as it was on a steep hill it commanded a beautiful view of the valley of Ashover and seemed to be shut in by hills.
The manor house had been built some hundred years before by Ralph, Lord Cromwell and, because he had been Treasurer of England, bags and purses had been carved in the stone over the gateway which led to the quadrangle. Having been built at that period when the comfort of castles was being questioned, and desirability of building palaces realized, this was an excellent example of what a hundred years before had been considered a new type of architecture.
The house was built around two square courts and as soon as Mary stepped into the spacious hall with its Gothic windows, one of a very unusual octagonal shape, her natural optimism took possession of her. Tutbury was left behind and she was telling herself that nothing so unfortunate as her stay in that noisome place would ever happen to her again. She should rejoice that that evil was behind her.
Countess Bess took her to the rooms which had been allotted to her.
“They are on the west side of the north court, Your Majesty,” she said, “and this is generally judged to be the most beautiful part of the building.”
Mary stood for a while looking out over the hills.
“It is undoubtedly beautiful,” she said. “A change from the marshlands of Tutbury. And how pleasant to have lost that appalling odor.”
The Countess gave her a quick, sudden laugh. “I am sure Your Majesty will be comfortable at Wingfield. Allow me to show you these stairs. They lead up to the Tower which will be part of your quarters.”
Mary mounted the spiral staircase to the top of the Tower, and from there she had a wider view of the countryside than that from the windows of her bedchamber.
She stood looking into the far distance.
One day, she thought, my friends will come riding here to rescue me.
She turned away and sm
iled at the Countess who had followed her to the Tower.
Yes, she could certainly rejoice that she had come to Wingfield Manor.
EVEN NOW THAT SHE was in more salubrious surroundings Mary needed time to recover from the harm which had been done to her during that journey through the snow from Bolton to Tutbury and her stay in the damp apartments of the latter. She was never free from twinges of pain in her limbs and sometimes when she attempted to rise from her bed she found it impossible to do so without assistance.
“Ah, Seton,” she would often say, “I left my youth behind me in Tutbury.”
She spent those first weeks in Wingfield writing letters and recuperating, promising herself that when the spring came, and she could go hunting or hawking in this beautiful countryside, she would feel young again.
The Countess seemed to soften at Wingfield and was solicitous of Mary’s comfort; she implied that she was in charge of the household and any request Mary wished to make should be made, not to the Earl, but to herself; and Mary quickly realized that as long as she accepted the Countess’s supremacy, Bess was ready to be her friend. Seton had said that she would be happier with the Countess as a friend rather than an enemy, with which statement Mary had agreed.
Spring was now on the way and, although its coming must remind Mary that she had been almost a year in England, she was pleased to see it.
One evening after supper Mary complained of sudden pains and as she rose from the table began to shiver. Her women, startled by her pallor, crowded about her, and she told them that she felt alarmingly sick and dizzy.
Seton, taking charge, hastily conducted her to her bedchamber and as Mary lay writhing on her bed a horrible suspicion came to Seton that her mistress had been poisoned.
She turned to Jane Kennedy and said: “Go at once to the Earl and Countess and tell them that I fear the Queen is grievously ill.”
Jane hurried to the Earl’s apartments and, finding him alone there, told him of Seton’s fears. The Earl went at once to Mary’s bedchamber and when he saw her he was deeply disturbed.
“Her Majesty’s apothecary is preparing a remedy for her,” said Seton. “But I think she may need greater skill than his.”
At that moment the Countess came into the apartment.
“What is wrong?” she demanded. Then she saw the Queen. “I shall send at once for Dr. Caldwell,” she said. “I do not like what I see.”
For once Seton was glad of the Countess’s methods when, in a very short time, the doctor for whom she had sent arrived in the Queen’s chamber.
He spent the night at her bedside and in the morning, much to the surprise of all those who had seen how ill she was and the nature of her illness, Mary still lived.
BESS TALKED in private with her husband.
“I do not like the look of this,” she said.
“Nor I.”
“I believe someone tried to poison her.”
The Earl nodded. Bess looked at him in silence for a few moments, then she said: “Do you think she has commanded this to be done?”
“Never!” The Earl was emphatic. “If the Queen of Scots were to die of poison, the first person to be suspected would be Elizabeth. She would not want that. If there are men and women in this country who would wish to set a Stuart on the English throne, there is nothing more likely to advance their cause than such a murder. The Queen of Scots would become a martyr while the Queen of England would be reckoned a monster. I am sure this has nothing to do with Elizabeth.”
“Then it is clearly one of Moray’s people.”
“And how can we say who? Scotsmen come and go. They declare themselves to be friends of Queen Mary, but depend upon it, there are spies among them. If she were to die . . . .”
His wife interrupted: “We should no longer enjoy Elizabeth’s favor. She would blame us for allowing poisoners to have access to her.”
“But how can we prevent that?”
“By being more watchful of course, and making sure that this does not happen again. I am going to send for Dr. Francis who is as good a physician as Caldwell. The two of them together will pull her through.”
The Earl bowed his head, and Bess put up one of her strong white hands to ruffle his hair. She could be affectionate at times; she liked to have a man about the house as long as he obeyed her. And George was being sensible over this matter.
He took her hand and kissed it. “I am glad that you are sending for Dr. Francis.”
She laughed almost roguishly. “You would not like this to be the end of our romantic captive?” she asked.
“In point of fact,” he said, “I was thinking I should not like this to be the end of the Shrewsburys.”
Bess laughed. “Leave this to me. I shall see that she does not die.”
The Earl was certain that Bess would succeed, and was glad at that moment that he had such a clever, forceful and capable wife.
WHEN MARY RECOVERED within the next few days, after, as everyone admitted, coming near to death, many were convinced that there had been an attempt to poison her. This seemed certain when news came to Wingfield that in Scotland the Regent Moray was taking military action against all her friends, robbing them of their lands and riches and levying exorbitant taxes on those whom he allowed to keep some of their possessions.
So rigorous had been the measures taken, and so great was his power now throughout Scotland, that Argyle had thought it wise to accept his authority and had signed a treaty acknowledging this. When Huntley and Herries did likewise it seemed that Mary’s cause was lost; and the fact that these events were taking place in Scotland while Mary had had her mysterious sickness at Wingfield, confirmed the suspicion of many that this had been an attempt by Moray’s agents to poison her.
Willie Douglas was incensed at what had happened and, coming unannounced into the Queen’s apartment one day, had implored her to allow him to keep a closer watch on all who came near her.
“You have my permission, Willie,” said the Queen. “Indeed, I shall only feel safe if you do so.”
So Willie was often to be seen at the door of her chamber, and he kept his eye on all who came into her presence and who conferred with each other in the castle. Previously he had been concerned with finding a method of bringing the Queen out of captivity; now he had an additional task. He had to save her from those who planned to murder her.
It was startling and significant when news came from London that Mary’s death had been reported there.
“It would seem,” said Seton to Willie, “that some were so eager to announce it that they did not wait for it to take place.”
“If I can find the man that harms her,” Willie growled, “I’ll cut his head off with my sword, I will, and I’ll march around the castle with the bauble dripping on my sword.”
“We will watch over her together, Willie,” said Seton.
“We’ll never leave her while she needs us,” answered Willie.
“I have sworn an oath that I never will,” Seton said solemnly.
And it was as though they had made a pact together.
MARY WAS BETTER NOW and able to walk in the grounds; the May sunshine was warming and she quickly showed signs of regaining her health.
But she soon found herself in a predicament which caused her alarm and was desperately seeking a way out of it.
As she walked with Seton on one side and Jane Kennedy on the other she spoke to them of her troubles.
“I am becoming very short of money, and the doctors whom Shrewsbury summoned are asking for payment. The fact is, I have no money with which to meet their demands, and I do not know how I can raise it.”
Seton began taking stock of their valuables, but most of the Queen’s possessions were now in Moray’s hands.
“Even if we sold everything we have there would not be enough,” said Mary. “And I wonder how I am going to continue to live. I owe you all so much.”
Jane and Seton declared that she owed them nothing. But Mary sighed and said th
ere was nothing she could do but write to Lesley, Bishop of Ross, in London and tell him of her embarrassment.
“Do this, Your Majesty,” advised Seton, “and I will summon Borthwick to convey our letter to London with all speed. The sooner Lesley begins to deal with it, the easier you will sleep.”
So they retired to Mary’s apartments where she wrote her letter, and Borthwick left with it at once for London.
He returned before they expected him; and to their surprise and pleasure he brought money with him.
There was two hundred pounds which would relieve her of her immediate anxieties, and more would be following.
Mary was astonished by this ready response. Then she read the letter which Lesley had written and which, Borthwick said, was to be delivered into her hands alone. Her benefactor was one from whom it was most meet and fitting for her to receive assistance: the Duke of Norfolk to whom she was almost—though in secret—betrothed.
Norfolk was true to his word. Within the next few weeks more money arrived and very shortly Mary had received nine hundred and sixty-six pounds from the man who hoped to become her husband.
There was however a letter from Lesley who, having heard of Norfolk’s generosity, was a little uneasy. He believed that by accepting the money, Mary was entering into an intrigue from which she might find it difficult—supposing she wished—to extricate herself. He advised her to ask for money from France and to look upon that which Norfolk had sent her as a loan.
Mary, completely generous, accepted as readily as she would have given. But she did trust Lesley’s judgment. She therefore made an endeavor to obtain money from France and sent her secretary across the Channel with that purpose. His efforts failed, but meanwhile rumors of her pecuniary difficulties became known in certain quarters, and those who were carefully watching the political state of affairs in England decided that this matter might be turned to advantage.
LESLEY RECEIVED A CALL from the Spanish ambassador.
“I have heard,” said the ambassador, “that the Queen of Scots needs money, and I have had instructions from His Most Catholic Majesty that I am to do all in my power to assist the Queen.”