Patrick cleared his throat 'That trial would not arise, Your Grace, were you to dwell in France – in your beloved France. There you would be free in truth – free of this bondage, and of the affairs of state also.'
To the satisfaction of my sister Elizabeth!'
He shrugged. To your own also, surely. The two are not irreconcilable, I do believe.'
Mary looked from Patrick to Orkney and the others. 'Whose device is this?' she demanded. 'Elizabeth's? Or the man's who calls himself Arran? Or your own, Master of Gray? For I swear it is not that of the son of my loins, to torment me with a freedom that I may not grasp.'
'The Association in the Crown is the policy o' the Council, Mary,' her brother averred. 'Adopted out o' your own proposal. This o' France I ken naught of.'
"The Association that I agreed to was to share the duties and responsibilities of the Crown equally, in partnership, Robert This is quite otherwise – a travesty, a mockery I'
'Yet even this, Your Grace, has been hard won. Agreement to it by Queen Elizabeth has been achieved only after much entreaty and difficult negotiation,' Patrick declared. 'I beg you to consider it well.'
'And what choice favours did you promise Elizabeth, that she agreed to this so noble and generous gesture, sir?'
Orkney laughed coarsely.'Waesucks-it cost us a-plenty! Spit on it not, Mary, for it cost the reversal o' all auld Scotland's policy. It cost a Protestant league, nae less.'
Patrick bit his lip as Mary's eyes widened.
'Mother of God – a Protestant league, you said? Scotland and England?' she cried. 'Against France? Against Holy Church? No – never! I'll not believe it Never could I agree to such a betrayal!'..
'I'm thinking you're no' asked to agree it, Ma'am,' her brother pointed out baldly. 'It's been agreed. By King Jamie and the Council.'
'But they cannot do such a thing. It is against all Scotland's interests, her safety. Her ancient alliance with France, that is her shield and buckler. James is a mere boy, led astray by evil self-seekers. He cannot do this…'
'He is King of Scots, and head of Scotland's Kirk, Madam – a Protestant Kirk. He can do it, and has done,' Patrick assured.
'And you? You tell me this, sir! You who were trained to my service, have dipped deep of my revenues! The Master of Gray, son of my old friend, bears me these tidings!'
Patrick did not answer. Nobody spoke. Even Beal and Wotton looked away, embarrassed.
The Queen gazed round them all, and though anguished, mortally disappointed, helpless, never could she have seemed more a queen. 'If this is your mission, gentlemen, then you have my answer,' she said, quietly now. 'The Queen of Scots does not purchase freedom so.'
David heard Marie sob in her throat. Then, almost surprised, he heard his own voice speaking.
'Your Grace – think for yourself,' he urged, the words coming thickly, unevenly. 'I… I have no right to speak. But think for yourself in this – not for Scotland, Scotland has thought but little for you. Go free, even on these terms. It is your right, your life. Forgive me… but you have suffered enough for statecraft, Ma'am. I… I… forgive me…'
Those glorious eyes considered him' closely, thoughtfully. She even mustered a wan smile. Thank you, Master David. There speaks a true heart But think you, even if I forgot my kingdom and my people's weal, that in Catherine's France I should remain free? Think you that the Queen-Mother would tolerate another queen in her son's realm? Parbleu -I should fare not better with her than with Elizabeth! The Queen of Scots may only be Queen of Scots – or she is nothing, and less than nothing. Under God Almighty, it is my destiny.' Mary waved a sorrowful graceful hand. 'We shall speak no more of it The issue is closed, finished.' She turned to the younger woman. 'Marie, my dear, tell me of Scotland. Do the folk still speak of me? Have they forgot me? Is the Kirk still as hot against the Harlot of Rome? Against the Scarlet Woman who would seduce poor Scotia to the Devil? And how fare my friends – my Maries, such as remain? Huntly? Seton? Hemes? My lord of Gray, himself? Do the buck still run sweetly in my forest of Ettrick? And the wildfowl flight at dawn and dusk from the sea to Falkland marshes? Has the heather faded yet on the Lomonds, and the snow come to the Highland hills? Tell me, ma chere?
Marie Stewart could answer her never a word from between her quivering lips.
Mr. Secretary Beal spoke for her. Time was running out, he said. His orders were definite. If the Scottish envoys were nearly finished…?
Mary ignored him. 'You bring me word of more than grudging policy and the like, surely, my friends?' she chided, but gently. 'Is that all that you will leave with me? I danced once in the halls of Holyrood; do any dance there now? Linlithgow, where I was born – I was building a water-garden at the loch, and a new fountain in the courtyard; did they ever come to completion? In St Andrews by the sea, the grey northern sea, I planned a fair new college… '
The new college is near finished, Your Grace. King James is very hot for learning…'
'But no' for Linlithgow. Jamie cares naught for the place, Mary. But Arran's lady finds it to her taste, so it's no' just deserted! Lord, she has…'
Marie again hastily interrupted her hither. The Court is not a great deal at Holyroodhouse. The King prefers Stirling and Falkland, and even St Andrews. He does not dance, but is a great huntsman. He plays at the golf, also…'
'Enough!' Beal exclaimed, testily. Her Grace the Queen did not authorise this meeting for the exchange of tittle-tattle! Come, gentlemen.'
'I fear that we must insist,' Wotton agreed, if more civilly. 'It will be dark in no more than a couple of hours, and our strict instructions are that we must be back in Derby before nightfall.'
David looked oyer at the Englishmen thoughtfully. Could they possibly suspect some attempt at rescue, by night?
'We must go, then, Highness, Patrick acceded. 'You will consider our proposals, I hope, with much thought, much care, since so much depends upon them Has Your Grace no message, no word of hope which we may convey to the King your son?'
'Aye, man Dieu -I have! I send him all a mother's love and devotion. Tell him that I remember him daily in my prayers, and beseech Our Lady and Her Son to look in mercy upon this unfortunate woman and her son, riven cruelly apart I pray that my son may not be led astray by false councillors, of which I fear Scotland breeds a many, Master of Gray! Above all, tell him
that I pray that he may remain true to his trust, to the people of Scotland whom God has given into our hands. To look not only to the immediate advantage, but to the continuing weal of our
realm An alliance with England, be it Protestant or other, for Scotland is but a marriage of lamb and wolf, of fly and spider.
England is too close, and too powerful, too sure of her mission to lesser men. Such a compact must end in Scotland being swallowed up. Always it has been thus, always the cat has
wanted to swallow the mouse. Always the first and surest foundation of our country's policy, if she would preserve her precious independence, is to keep England at arm's length, by cleaving to France and even Spain, "without that our small land is lost, I tell you. I am a Catholic, yes – but I do not speak as one, now. Only as Queen of Scots. Surely you know it – you all know it? Tell James that he must not proceed with this alliance, sir. You, Robert – tell him well. Promise me that you will assure him of it Promise, sirs.' That was a command, passionately, fervently, but royally given.
Orkney mumbled, eyes on the floor.
He shall be told, Madam,' Patrick said levelly, tonelessly.
'Then adieu, my friends. I thank all the saints for the sight of you. I thank even my good sister Elizabeth! If you see her, convey my gratitude for this at least, and my warm well-wishes. But view her not as the friend and ally of Scotland, at your peril and mine-for that she was not born to be.And…the good God go with you all.' The Queen's voice broke as she said that last, and swiftly she turned her graceful back on her visitors and walked unsteadily towards the window.
Bowing and backing, the Scots wit
hdrew, Marie at least stumbling, unable to see where she went
The two Englishmen were last out, face foremost, and Sir Andrew Melville closed the door on them.
'God damn you!' he said savagely. 'God damn and flay you! God's, curse upon you all!' To whom he was speaking was not apparent; he did not seem to be looking at anyone. But his face was twisted as with pain.
It was a silent company that rode across the reedy pastures and rolling slopes towards Derby. David, like Marie, was profoundly depressed. This surely should not, could not, be the end? But what to do, what to hope for, now – since all too clearly Mary Stuart would not change her mind? His thoughts had turned at once, of course, even whilst they were in the Queen's chamber, to his earlier idea of a rescue by force; but on riding, out from Wingfield Manor again, he had glimpsed an encampment behind some woodland, an armed encampment of scores of men and horses, where tents were being erected. And later, on the road, they had passed another column of men-at-arms riding towards Wingfield. Most evidently, Mary's guard was being massively reinforced. Why, he wondered? A mere unfortunate coincidence? At all events, it would seem to rule out any attempt at a rescue, meantime.
Patrick, strangely enough, though silent also, did not seem to share the others' depression. Indeed, he hummed snatches of song to himself as they rode, and occasionally made cordial, even jocular, remarks to Wotton who still escorted them.
Patrick seldom acted obviously, of course. David, low-voiced, assailed his brother, at length,
'Could you not have done more, Patrick?' he demanded. 'Could you not have made it easier for her? Is this all that we can do? Are we so quickly defeated in our endeavour?'
'Who is defeated, Davy? What gloomy talk is this? Today has been one small episode, a mere chapter – not the end of the story. Indeed, I expected little else. We have but sown the seed. The fruiting will come later.'
"The Queen seemed certain enough in her decision. She will not change her mind, I think.'
'Minds are made to change, Davy – especially women's minds. She knows now that she can go free. That is a hard thought to live with, in prison. In her solitary days that will work as leaven in a dough. The fair Mary will come to it never fear.'
'And you think that is right, seemly? When it is against her conscience…?'
'Lord, you cannot have it both ways, man! And what is conscience… but the flagellant courtesan we hire when we tire of the good wife of sound common sense?'
David stared ahead of him, and said nothing.
At Hampton Court Palace, where they eventually found Elizabeth and her Court the following night, Patrick had no need to seek to arrange a private audience. The Queen sent for him forthwith. He found her pacing alone with almost masculine strides up and down a long gallery. Courtiers watched her covertly from alcoves and doorways, but none shared her stern promenade.
'Well, sir?' she snapped, as he fell into step beside her. 'So you talked nonsense! You made me took the fool! Mary Stuart would have none of your proposals – or my generosity. You have wasted your time and my patience. I do not love bunglers, Master of Gray!'
Patrick affected to look at her with astonishment 'What misconception is this, Your Grace?' he wondered. 'What distorted mirror of events has been held up to you? I had esteemed Sir Edward Wotton – since he it must be – to have more wit than this!'
'Do not wriggle and twist, sirrah! Do not blame others for your own failure. Mary refused what you proposed – no clever talk will alter that'
'Of course she refused, Madam. I expected naught else. She could de none other, without renouncing her Crown for the second and final time. Nor could she swallow our Protestant alliance. That was clear. The one tied to the other made the issue certain.'
'But, man, this is not what you told me before! Have you been mocking me – me?
'Far from it, Highness. But the questions had to be asked, put to her. That was essential.'
'But why? Why go to this trouble, 'fore God? Why make the offer, if you knew that it must be refused?'
'Because the offer is everything, Your Grace – the refusal nothing. The offer blesses you, honours you. And King James. And the refusal condemns Mary only. I have changed Mary Stuart for you, dear lady, from a millstone to a jewel. Do you not see it? Before – you will forgive me saying it – men criticised you for holding Mary fast all these years. They may do so no longer. You have offered her her freedom, and she has rejected it James has offered her an Association in his Crown – and she has rejected that also. He is now tree to do as he will – under your guidance, and I hope, mine. And you are justified before all men. Heigho – and you talk of my failure. Madam!'
Elizabeth had halted in her pacing, to stare at him. Smiling confidendy if respectfully he returned her scrutiny. Never was a man more assured of himself. Tight-lipped she shook her bewigged head. It almost looked as though Elizabeth, Elizabeth Tudor, did not trust herself to speak.
'I will make so bold as to suggest that you will not deny the truth of what I say, Majesty,' he went on. 'In all modesty, I would claim to have earned some small thanks. King James's, also. Now, as regards Mary, your position is assured. No longer can you be blamed for holding her. And if she changes her mind, and agrees to the terms offered, Catherine de Medici will take over your burden, and she cannot upset your relations with James and Scotland. Is it not so?'
The Queen did not controvert him. Instead, she spoke wonderingly, obliquely. 'Whence comes a man like you, Patrick Gray? Under what strange star were you born? How came such a man of your father and yon long daughter of old Ruthven? God's death, but I think that I am frightened of you, Master of Grayl'
'You jest, Madam,' Patrick said shortly, almost abrupdy,and despite himself he frowned.
Elizabeth eyed him sidelong. 'If I was James Stewart, sir, I think… yes, I think that I would shut you up in the dread bottle-dungeon of Edinburgh Castle.'
Recovering himself, he smiled. 'King James, Madam, I am sure has more wit than that! As indeed have you. Send me back to Scotland with Your Grace's sure support, as I have besought you before, and I promise you that Scotland will no longer be a thorn in your flesh.'
'No?
'You do not doubt my ability?'
'I do not doubt your ability, Patrick.' Sombrely she said it 'If I have doubts, they are… otherwise.' 'I shall prove them baseless.'
'Perhaps. I hope so. So be it Go back, then, Master Patrick, and fail me not. For I have a long arm!'
'And a divinely fair hand at the end of it, Gloriana!' he whispered triumphantly, and raised her unresisting fingers to his lips.
Chapter Twenty-five
MARIOTA GRAY nibbled her lip and shook her head in indecistion, her deep soft eyes troubled. 'What should we do in Edinburgh, Davy – in a great city? The children and I? We should be lost in the streets and wynds, choked amongst all those houses, in the stench. It would be worse than St Andrews, much…'
'It is not so ill as that, my dear,' David protested. 'Edinburgh is a fair town. We should have a house high in one of the tall lands, where we can look out far and wide. Patrick is generous with his money – wherever he gets it We can pay well for a house such as we want.'
'What would my lord do without us?' Mariota shifted her ground. 'You know how he dotes on Mary. He requires me to look to his needs…'
'And do not I – your husband? My lord managed very well before you came to Castle Huntly, girl. He will again. You are my wife, not my lord's. We have been apart too much, I tell you. Do you not wish to be with me, Mariota?'
'Aye, to be sure, Davy – you know that I do. You know weU how I have hated all this parting. But… need you go? Must you be off to Edinburgh, at Patrick's whistle? You are but newly back from England. Has he not used you sufficiently? Can you not stay at home, now? Is Castle Huntly no longer good enough for you?'
David ran a hand through his unruly hair. 'It is not that I would that I could return now to my old life here. It is what I intended, and looked to do.' Even
as he said that, he knew that it was both truth and a lie. While one part of his mind longed for the simple country life and the verities and satisfactions of home and family, another was appalled at the thought of spending the rest of his days teaching unwilling and uncaring scholars in this quiet backwater, after the excitements of life with his brother at the centre of events. 'But Patrick needs me. He insists that I stay with him, in his present need.'
'And is Patrick your keeper, your master, now? Must he rule our lives?' Mariota's voice quivered a Uttle, strangely, as she. said that
'No. No – but… he is next to ruling Scotland, now.' David took a pace or two back and forth, in the room that was now theirs in the main keep of Castle Huntly. He had been back less than a month from the London embassage, and there was no hiding his restlessness. 'You know how it is, lass – how I am placed. I believe that Patrick does need me. Och, I know that it is little enough I can do, and that there is nothing so notable about Davy Gray. But the truth is that in some things I can affect Patrick, sway him. Not much, but a little. And, 'fore God, I need not tell you that often he needs the swaying! There's nights I canna sleep for thinking of what is in him, what devilish force, what power for ill. And good, too, I suppose – for he is the ablest man that I have ever known. But it is the ill that I ever fear will prove the stronger…'
'But is much of it not in your own mind, just, Davy? Always you have seen Patrick so, as though he was some sort of a monster. About him you are a little crazed in your mind, I think. Long I have felt that…'
He frowned, shaking his head impatiently. 'That is nonsense. I know Patrick – know him better than does anyone else. I tell you, I have felt the evil in him, again and again. It has done much harm, already. One day, I fear, it may destroy him – and God knows what else with him! If I can save him from that, even a little…'
'And so you must follow him, always, like a cow's calf? Oh, Davy – must you go?'
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