The Captive Queen of Scots

by Jean Plaidy

  “Seton, you are not refusing Andrew on account of someone else?”

  “No other man has asked me to marry him.”

  “I did not mean a man. You have some foolish notion that your duty lies with your poor mistress.”

  Seton turned to Mary and threw herself into her arms. “Do you think I could ever leave you?”

  “Oh Seton, Seton, this is unlike you. You must not weep. My dearest friend, do you think I could be happy knowing that I had stood between you and your happiness?”

  “My happiness is with you.”

  “No, Seton. It is with Andrew. Do you think I am blind?”

  “I have vowed to stay with you forever.”

  “Such a vow can be broken.”

  “It never can!” cried Seton vehemently.

  “It is going to be. I am going to command you to break it.”

  “It is not as simple as you think. I have taken a solemn and sacred vow to devote myself to a life of celibacy. This could never be broken.”

  “It could be broken if you had a dispensation. We will send Andrew to his brother the Archbishop who is now in Paris, and ask him to tell us the best means of securing this dispensation. He can bring us new silks for our embroidery while he is there and perhaps some clothes. Seton, will you agree that I send for Andrew at once?”

  Seton’s eyes were filled with tears. “How could I ever leave you?”

  “But you love Andrew.”

  “I love you both.”

  “Then, my friend, you must leave me to decide for you.”

  Mary then sent for Andrew Beaton and in the presence of Seton told him of the conversation which had taken place between them.

  “Go to Paris, Andrew,” she said. “Come back with your brother’s advice on how this foolish friend of mine can be released from her folly.”

  Andrew turned to Seton, and as she smiled he strode toward her and took her into his arms.

  Mary stood watching their embrace, smiling tenderly, praying that Seton would now enjoy the happiness she deserved, wondering whether the future might not hold some similar joy for her.

  VERY SOON after that interview Andrew Beaton set out for Paris. It soon became known throughout the castle that when he returned he and Seton would be married. Mary brought out all the materials which had been sent to her from France and there was activity in her apartments. Several of the women, with Mary in charge, were working on Seton’s wedding dress which was to be beautifully embroidered. Caps and sleeves were designed and stitched, and each day there was speculation as to whether this would be the one on which Andrew returned.

  Seton looked younger every day, and Mary was sure that she had made the right decision for her. When she has children, Mary thought, she will thank me for insisting that she take a husband and renounce her foolish vow to serve me.

  Yet Seton’s happiness was clouded because that friendship, which had lasted all their lives, would never be quite the same again after she was married. The Queen had been her first consideration for so long, and Seton wondered how Mary would fare without her.

  So they stitched through the summer days until the coming of autumn; and the main topic of conversation was Seton’s coming wedding.

  IT WAS A DULL AUTUMN DAY when the messenger came to Mary. She took the letters he brought and, when she read the contents of one of these, she sat as though stunned. She could not believe it. It was too cruel. It seemed to her then that all those who loved her were as unlucky as she was.

  She wondered how she could tell Seton; yet she knew that she must be the one to break the news.

  One of her women came in and asked her what ailed her, if there was aught she needed; she could say nothing, only shake her head.

  The woman went to Seton and said: “I fear the Queen has had bad news. She is sitting at her table, but she seemed bewildered.”

  “I will go to her,” said Seton, knowing that in the hour of disaster they belonged together. What will she do if I am no longer here? Seton asked herself. How can I ever be happy—even with Andrew—away from her?

  Seton went to the Queen and laid an arm about her shoulders. Mary turned and looked up at her. “Oh, so it is you, Seton?”

  “You have had bad news?”

  Mary nodded.

  “Do you wish to tell me, or shall I help you to your bed and bring cool scented kerchiefs to lay on your head?”

  “I fear I must tell you, Seton, because it concerns you even as it does me.”

  Seton said in a whisper which was only just audible, “It is Andrew?”

  “My dearest Seton, what can I say to comfort you?”

  “Tell me, please.”

  “He is dead. He died of a fever when he was on his way home to us.”

  Mary put the letter into Seton’s hand. Seton read it and let it flutter to the table. But Andrew had been so young, so full of health and vigor!

  Mary stood up suddenly and the two of them clung together wordlessly.

  Mary thought: She did not wish to choose between us, and now fate has made the choice.

  THE YEARS WERE PASSING, each day so like another that Mary lost count of time. News came to her now and then. Her uncle, the Cardinal of Lorraine, had died—one more friend lost to her. George Douglas married at last—not his French heiress but a certain Lady Barery, a rich widow of Fifeshire, and he appeared to have settled down with her on her estates close to Lochleven. Willie was with him, she believed. They were always the Queen’s men; and if opportunity occurred for them to aid her, she knew they would seize it. Lady Lennox died suddenly and Queen Elizabeth took a marked interest in little Arabella Stuart. Mary had been allowed to go to Chatsworth and been brought back again to Sheffield; because of the continued strife in Scotland Mary trembled for the welfare of her son. There was a rumor that Elizabeth was trying to have him sent to London that she might marry him to his cousin, Arabella Stuart. But James remained in Scotland and, although he wrote to his mother, his letters were rarely allowed to reach her.

  Little Bessie Pierpont was growing up to be rather a precocious girl; her interest in the French secretary had increased. They chattered together in French and neither seemed completely happy unless in the company of the other.

  Occasionally Mary was allowed to visit the baths at Buxton, but Elizabeth invariably cut short her visits, with the result that she was hurried back to Chatsworth or Sheffield.

  After so many years in the household of the Shrewsburys she almost felt like a member of the family, and some of the Countess’s daughters were her friends—in particular Elizabeth, who never forgot the part Mary played in her marriage, and as it was a most happy marriage she was full of gratitude to the Queen for helping to make it possible.

  There were times when Mary forgot she was a captive and there would be music in her apartments. It was pleasant to see little Bessie Pierpont—not so little now—in a flounced dress, made by the Queen, dancing daintily with her partner. Very often Jacques Nau would join the company, and he and Bessie danced very prettily together. Young Arabella was sometimes present. She was not yet four years old but a lively little creature.

  The Countess doted on the child and scarcely took her eyes from her; but she liked to see her in the company of the Queen of Scots.

  With the coming of the year 1582 Mary realized with horror that it was thirteen years since she had first set foot in England. Thirteen years a prisoner! What hope was there now of her escape?

  It was during this year that a malady struck Arabella’s mother, Lady Charles Lennox. Bess immediately took charge and brought all her skill and energy to the nursing of her daughter. Even this however could not save her, and soon after the beginning of her illness she died, leaving little four-year-old Arabella motherless.

  A fierce emotion took possession of Bess of Hardwick at that time.

  She vowed that little Arabella should not miss a mother’s care. Her grandmother would give her everything she needed. And more also.

  DURING THE WI
NTER of that year and the next, Mary was stricken with sickness and many believed that her life was at an end. Her patient nurses, headed by Seton, however, were determined to save her life, and they did.

  “But why?” Mary asked wearily. “See how the time is passing. I no longer hope for release.”

  She asked for her mirror, and when she looked into it she saw that illness had ravaged her lovely face still further. Her thick hair was almost white; and it seemed to her that this change had come upon her suddenly. But of course it was not so. Although each day seemed long and empty, looking back it appeared that the last years had passed quickly because of their monotony. She had not realized how they had slipped away.

  They had indeed taken her youth with them.

  She lay in bed watching Seton whose rheumatism had become worse. She noticed afresh the gray in Seton’s hair and the newly formed lines on her face, and she thought: Seton is a reflection of myself. We have both grown old in captivity. I have lived more than forty years, and I was only twenty-five when I came to England!

  She called to Seton then. “Bring me my wig,” she said, “the chestnut one.”

  Seton did so, and put it on Mary’s head. Mary held up the mirror. “Now I feel young again. That is how my hair once looked. Seton, you too must hide these gray hairs. We are helpless prisoners and I doubt that we shall ever be aught else. But let us pretend that we are young and gay. Oh, Seton, you have suffered with me. We must pretend to be gay. It is the only way we can go on living.”

  And they wept a little; Seton for Andrew Beaton, and Mary for Bothwell who had since died, driven mad, she had heard, by such long imprisonment. She thought of him—he who had gone his own way reveling in freedom, forced to live his life in a dreary prison. She had heard that he had dashed his head against a stone wall in an excess of melancholy. How tragic to contemplate what the years had done to them all! Poor mad Bothwell, who had once been the gay and ruthless brigand.

  “He is dead—but he had confessed to the murder of Darnley and exonerated me before he died,” she whispered; and she would always remember it.

  But he was gone forever and so were the days of her youth and gaiety.

  But as she held up her mirror and saw the chestnut hair reflected there she had an illusion of youth; and she knew that she would never cease to hope, and that when some knight like George Douglas, Norfolk or Northumberland came to her she would go on believing he could rescue her from her prison.

  THE YEARS DID NOT WORRY BESS. She was as sprightly as she had been when Mary had first come under her roof. Her voice was as loud and firm as ever, and she kept the household in order as she had always done.

  When her granddaughter Arabella was at the castle she never let the child out of her sight. She herself supervised her lessons; she would not allow anyone else to do that. She it was who made the little girl conscious of her rank, and everyone in the castle said that little Arabella was the apple of the Countess’s eye.

  Bess was brooding about the future of this favorite granddaughter one day when, walking past the Earl’s apartments, she saw Eleanor Britton emerging, and there was something about the demeanor of the woman that aroused her interest.

  She was about to summon her, but she changed her mind and made her way instead to the Earl’s chamber.

  Bess was not feeling very pleased with her husband at this time; he had been obstinate about some property which she had wished to present to one of her sons. Shrewsbury had stood out against this. He was weary, he said, of so much that was his, passing to the Cavendishes. He reminded her that, though they were her children, they were not his.

  This was rebellion, and Bess expected obedience from husbands; she told herself that Shrewsbury was her least satisfactory husband and, although she knew she would eventually have her way, she was far from pleased that it should be necessary to enforce her will.

  She remembered now that there had been several occasions when she had come upon Eleanor in the Earl’s rooms. Of course the woman might well be there on some duty, but was it not a little strange that it should always be Eleanor whom she saw there?

  She found the Earl in one of his relaxed moods, and she remembered that these were now frequent occurrences. He seemed to be pleased with himself in some way—how could she describe it? Self-satisfied? She remembered that mood from the early days of their marriage.

  It is not possible! she told herself. Shrewsbury and a serving girl?

  She was furious at the thought. Had it been the Queen, she would have been angry, because Bess would always be angry if deceived, but at worst the woman who had supplanted her would be a Queen.

  Could it possibly be that a serving girl had supplanted Bess of Hardwick in her husband’s affections?

  BESS WAS NOT ONE to let such a matter pass. She determined to find out if her suspicions regarding the Earl and Eleanor Britton were justified and kept a sharp watch on Eleanor. One day she saw the serving woman making her way to the Earl’s bedchamber, and hastily secreted herself in an ante-room from which she could gather what was taking place.

  From the moment Eleanor entered the chamber, she knew that her fears were going to be confirmed. Suppressing her rage she waited; and when she believed they would be so absorbed in each other that they would not hear the quiet lifting of the latch, she opened the door a few inches and peeped around.

  Her impulse was to dash upon them and beat them with the nearest object. But she hesitated, reminding herself of the scandal which would inevitably ensue if this were known. And how could she avoid its being spread if she made a fuss about it? She imagined Queen Elizabeth’s laughter and coarse jokes with her courtiers for Elizabeth would be the first to enjoy a joke at the expense of Bess of Hardwick. What an undignified position! She, the Countess of Shrewsbury, deceived by her husband and a serving girl!

  Bess quietly shut the door and crept from the ante-room. Her face was white with rage; her eyes afire with the force of her fury. “You’ll be sorry for this, George Talbot,” she murmured; and she began to plan her revenge.

  JANE KENNEDY and Seton were discussing the hideous rumor they had heard concerning their mistress.

  “Do you think we should tell her?” asked Jane.

  “I think it would be better for her to hear it from us than through any other source.”

  “But it is so . . . ridiculous . . . so monstrous!”

  “She has suffered from many lying rumors. I think we should tell her at once. It will come better from us.”

  So Seton and Jane Kennedy went to Mary’s apartments and told her what was being said of her at the English Court.

  Mary listened, wide-eyed. “But who could have started such a rumor? Shrewsbury and myself . . . . lovers! With Bess to keep him in order. What next will they say of me? And I have borne him two children! How could I have done this in secret?”

  “It is horrible,” said Seton with a shudder. “What can we do to prevent this foul rumor spreading further?”

  “I will tell the Countess,” answered Mary. “I feel sure that she will be as anxious to stop it as I am, and she has far more power to do so. Ask her to come to me at once, and then leave us together.”

  When Bess was alone with her, Mary told her what she had heard and how angry this had made her.

  Bess’s reception of the news astonished Mary, who had expected the Countess to be as angry as she herself was. Instead Bess laughed heartily.

  “I never heard anything so ridiculous in my life,” she said at last. “Your Majesty should put the matter from your mind, because I am sure no one will believe such a silly rumor.”

  “I do not like it,” Mary pointed out.

  Bess snapped her fingers. “Your Majesty should laugh at it. Of all the absurd things which were ever said about anyone, this is the most ridiculous. Who of any sense is going to believe it?”

  “There are many who are always eager to believe the worst.”

  “Even they cannot believe this.” She asked permission then
to send for her husband, and Mary readily gave it.

  When the Earl appeared it was Bess who told him, amid laughter, what had been said.

  The Earl looked grave and said he shared Mary’s view of the matter; but the Countess laughed at them both.

  “When slander is carried too far,” she assured them both, “it becomes absurd and no one believes it.”

  She was watching her husband closely. How embarrassed he was! Embarrassed to be suspected of carrying on a love affair with a Queen! Yet he was delighted to do so with a serving wench!

  Ah, George Talbot, she said to herself, you are going to be very sorry you ever deceived Bess of Hardwick. This is only a beginning.

  What would these two say if they knew that the rumors concerning their scandalous conduct had been started by her?

  This was the beginning of her revenge. She was going to expose George Talbot as a lecher; but never should it be known that he had so demeaned his wife by preferring a serving girl. His infidelities must be with a Queen already notorious for her fascination and her scandalous life.

  When they returned to their apartments she twitted the Earl with references to “his love, the Queen”; and although she knew this increased his embarrassment she continued to plague him.

  But of course that was only a beginning.

  THE COUNTESS WAS IN DISPUTE with her husband. She had hoped that, in view of the unpleasant rumors concerning him and the Queen, and her lighthearted treatment of them, he would have been disposed to grant her this little request.

  All she was insisting on was the passing over of certain properties to her sons, but the Earl was adamant, being weary of the demands of the family she had had by a previous husband.

  “Very well,” said Bess, “if you will not show me a little consideration, why should I bother to help you in your difficulties? Why should I pretend not to believe these stories of your lechery?”

  “Pretend not to believe them!” cried the Earl aghast. “But you have clearly said that you do not.”

  “Of course I said it. What else did you expect? That I wish to tell the world that you are carrying on an adulterous intrigue under our own roof?”