CHAPTER XI.
QUEEN MARY'S PRESENCE CHAMBER.
The storm that followed on the instalment of the Lady Arbell atSheffield was the precursor of many more. Her grandmother didsufficiently awake to the danger of alarming the jealousy of QueenElizabeth to submit to leave her in the ordinary chambers of thechildren of the house, and to exact no extraordinary marks of respecttowards the unconscious infant; but there was no abatement in theCountess's firm belief that an English-born, English-bred child, wouldhave more right to the crown than any "foreign princes," as shecontemptuously termed the Scottish Queen and her son.
Moreover, in her two years' intercourse with the elder Countess ofLennox, who was a gentle-tempered but commonplace woman, she hadadopted to the full that unfortunate princess's entire belief in theguilt of Queen Mary, and entertained no doubt that she had been themurderer of Darnley. Old Lady Lennox had seen no real evidence, andmerely believed what she was told by her lord, whose impeachment ofBothwell had been baffled by the Queen in a most suspicious manner.Conversations with this lady had entirely changed Lady Shrewsbury fromthe friendly hostess of her illustrious captive, to be her enemy andpersecutor, partly as being convinced of her guilt, partly as regardingher as an obstacle in the path of little Arbell to the throne. So shenot only refused to pay her respects as usual to "that murtheress," butshe insisted that her husband should tighten the bonds of restraint,and cut off all indulgences.
The Countess was one of the women to whom argument and reason areimpossible, and who was entirely swayed by her predilections, as wellas of so imperious a nature as to brook no opposition, and to be almostalways able to sweep every one along with her.
Her own sons always were of her mind, and her daughters might fret andchafe, but were sure to take part with her against every one elseoutside the Cavendish family. The idea of being kinsfolk to the futureQueen excited them all, and even Mary forgot her offence about thecradle, and her jealousy of Bess, and ranked herself against herstepfather, influencing her husband, Gilbert, on whom the unfortunateEarl had hitherto leant. On his refusal to persecute his unfortunatecaptive beyond the orders from the Court, Bess of Hardwicke, emboldenedby the support she had gathered from her children, passionatelydeclared that it could only be because he was himself in love with themurtheress. Lord Shrewsbury could not help laughing a little at theabsurdity of the idea, whereupon my lady rose up in virtuousindignation, calling her sons and daughters to follow her.
All that night, lights might have been seen flitting about at theManor-house, and early in the morning bugles sounded to horse. A hugeprocession, consisting of the Countess herself, and all her sons anddaughters then at Sheffield, little Lady Arbell, and the whole of theirattendants, swept out of the gates of the park on the way to Hardwicke.When Richard Talbot went up to fulfil his duties as gentleman porter atthe lodge the courts seemed well-nigh deserted, and a messengersummoned him at once to the Earl, whom he found in his bed-chamber inhis morning gown terribly perturbed.
"For Heaven's sake send for your wife, Richard Talbot!" he said. "It isher Majesty's charge that some of mine household, or I myself, see thisunhappy Queen of Scots each day for not less than two hours, as youwell know. My lady has broken away, and all her daughters, on thisaccursed fancy--yea, and Gilbert too, Gilbert whom I always looked toto stand by me; I have no one to send. If I go and attend upon heralone, as I have done a thousand times to my sorrow, it will but givecolour to the monstrous tale; but if your good wife, an honourable ladyof the Hardwicke kin, against whom none ever breathed a word, will goand give the daily attendance, then can not the Queen herself findfault, and my wife's heated fancy can coin nothing suspicious. Youmust all come up, and lodge here in the Manor-house till this tempestbe overpast. Oh, Richard, Richard! will it last out my life? My verychildren are turned against me. Go you down and fetch your good Susan,and take order for bringing up your children and gear. Benthall shalltake your turn at the lodge. What are you tarrying for? Do you doubtwhether your wife have rank enough to wait on the Queen? She shouldhave been a knight's lady long ago, but that I deemed you would be gladto be quit of herald's fees; your service and estate have merited it,and I will crave license by to-day's courier from her Majesty to layknighthood on your shoulder."
"That was not what I thought of, my Lord, though I humbly thank you,and would be whatever was best for your Lordship's service, though, ifit would serve you as well, I would rather be squire than knight; but Iwas bethinking me how we should bestow our small family. We have ayoung damsel at an age not to be left to herself."
"The black-browed maid--I recollect her. Let her e'en follow hermother. Queen Mary likes a young face, and is kindly disposed tolittle maids. She taught Bess Pierrepoint to speak French and workwith her needle, and I cannot see that she did the lass any harm, nay,she is the only one of them all that can rule her tongue to give a softanswer if things go not after her will, and a maid might learn worsethings. Besides, your wife will be there to look after the maiden, soyou need have no fears. And for your sons, they will be at school, andcan eat with us."
Richard's doubts being thus silenced he could not but bring his wife tohis lord's rescue, though he well knew that Susan would be greatlydisturbed on all accounts, and indeed he found her deep in the ironingthat followed the great spring wash, and her housewifely mind was asmuch exercised as to the effects of her desertion, as was her maternalprudence at the plunge which her unconscious adopted child was about tomake. However, there was no denying the request, backed as it was byher husband, looking at her proudly, and declaring she was by generalconsent the only discreet woman in Sheffield. She was very sorry forthe Earl's perplexity, and had a loyal pity for the Countess's vexationand folly, and she was consoled by the assurance that she would have afree time between dinner and supper to go home and attend to her wash,and finish her preparations. Cis, who had been left in a state ofgreat curiosity, to continue compounding pickle while the mother wascalled away, was summoned, to don her holiday kirtle, for she was tojoin in attendance on the Queen of Scots while Lady Shrewsbury and herdaughters were absent.
It was unmixed delight to the girl, and she was not long infresh-binding up her hair--black with a little rust-colouredtinge--under her stiff little cap, smoothing down the front, which wasalone visible, putting on the well-stiffened ruff with the daintylittle lace edge and close-fitting tucker, and then the gray home-spunkirtle, with the puffs at the top of the tight sleeves, and the slashesinto which she had persuaded mother to insert some old pink satin, forwas not she sixteen now, and almost a woman? There was a pinkbreast-knot to match, and Humfrey's owch just above it, gray stockings,home-spun and worked with elaborate pink clocks, but knitted by Cisherself; and a pair of shoes with pink roses to match were put into abag, to be assumed when she arrived at the lodge. Out of this simplefinery beamed a face, bright in spite of the straight, almost bushy,black brows. There was a light of youth, joy, and intelligence, abouther gray eyes which made them sparkle all the more under their darksetting, and though her complexion had no brilliancy, only theclearness of health, and her features would not endure criticism, therewas a wonderful lively sweetness about her fresh, innocent young mouth;and she had a tall lithe figure, surpassing that of her stepmother.She would have been a sonsie Border lass in appearance but for theremarkable carriage of her small head and shoulders, which wasassuredly derived from her royal ancestry, and indeed her air andmanner of walking were such that Diccon had more than once accused herof sailing about ambling like the Queen of Scots, an accusation whichshe hotly denied. Her hands bad likewise a slender form and finetexture, such as none of the ladies of the houses of Talbot orHardwicke could rival, but she was on the whole viewed as far frombeing a beauty. The taste of the day was altogether for light,sandy-haired, small-featured women, like Queen Elizabeth or hernamesake of Hardwicke, so that Cis was looked on as a sort of crow, andher supposed parents were pitied for having so ill-favoured a daughter,so unlike all their families, exce
pt one black-a-vised Talbotgrandmother, whose portrait had been discovered on a pedigree.
Much did Susan marvel what impression the daughter would make on thetrue mother as they jogged up on their sober ponies through the longavenues, whose branches were beginning to wear the purple shades ofcoming spring.
Lord Shrewsbury himself met them in front of the lodge, where, in spiteof all his dignity, he had evidently been impatiently awaiting them.He thanked Susan for coming, as if he had not had a right to order,gave her his ungloved hand when she had dismounted, then at the singledoorway of the lodge caused his gentleman to go through the form ofrequesting admission for himself and Mistress Talbot, his dearkinswoman, to the presence of the Queen. It was a ceremony dailyobserved as an acknowledgment of Mary's royalty, and the Earl was fartoo courteous ever to omit it.
Queen Mary's willingness to admit him was notified by Sir AndrewMelville, a tall, worn man, with the typical Scottish countenance and akeen steadfast gray eye. He marshalled the trio up a circularstaircase, made as easy as possible, but necessarily narrow, since itwound up through a brick turret at the corner, to the third anduppermost story of the lodge.
There, however, was a very handsome anteroom, with tapestry hangings, arichly moulded ceiling, and wide carved stone chimneypiece, where abright fire was burning, around which sat several Scottish and Frenchgentlemen, who rose at the Earl's entrance. Another wide doorway witha tapestry curtain over the folding leaves led to the presence chamber,and Sir Andrew announced in as full style as if he had been marshallingan English ambassador to the Court of Holyrood, the most high andmighty Earl of Shrewsbury. The room was full of March sunshine, and agreat wood fire blazed on the hearth. Part of the floor was carpeted,and overhung with a canopy, proceeding from the tapestried wall, andhere was a cross-legged velvet chair on which sat Queen Mary. This wasall that Cis saw at first, while the Earl advanced, knelt on one stepof the dais, with bared head, exchanging greetings with the Queen. Hethen added, that his wife, the Countess, and her daughter, having beencalled away from Sheffield, he would entreat her Grace to accept for afew days in their stead the attendance of his good kinswoman, Mrs.Talbot, and her daughter, Mistress Cicely.
Mary graciously intimated her consent, and extended her hand for eachto kiss as they knelt in turn on the step; Susan either fancied, orreally saw a wonderful likeness in that taper hand to the little onewhose stitches she had so often guided. Cis, on her part, felt thethrill of girlhood in the actual touch of the subject of her dreams.She stood, scarcely hearing what passed, but taking in, from under herblack brows, all the surroundings, and recognising the persons from herformer glimpses, and from Antony Babington's descriptions. The presencechamber was ample for the suite of the Queen, which had been reduced onevery fresh suspicion. There was in it, besides the Queen's fourladies, an elderly one, with a close black silk hood--Jean Kennedy, orMrs. Kennett as the English called her; another, a thin slight figure,with a worn face, as if a great sorrow had passed over her, making herlook older than her mistress, was the Queen's last remaining Mary,otherwise Mrs. Seaton. The gossip of Sheffield had not failed to tellhow the chamberlain, Beatoun, had been her suitor, and she had halfconsented to accept him when he was sent on a mission to France, andthere died. The dark-complexioned bright-eyed little lady, on asmaller scale than the rest, was Marie de Courcelles, who, like the twoothers, had been the Queen's companion in all her adventures; and thefourth, younger and prettier than the rest, was already known to Cisand her mother, since she was the Barbara Mowbray who was affianced toGilbert Curll, the Queen's Scottish secretary, recently taken into herservice. Both these were Protestants, and, like the Bridgefieldfamily, attended service in the castle chapel. They were all at work,as was likewise their royal lady, to whom the girl, with the youthfulcoyness that halts in the fulfilment of its dreams, did not at firstraise her eyes, having first taken in all the ladies, the severalportions of one great coverlet which they were all embroidering inseparate pieces, and the gentleman who was reading aloud to them from alarge book placed on a desk at which he was standing.
When she did look up, as the Queen was graciously requesting her motherto be seated, and the Earl excusing himself from remaining longer, herfirst impression was one of disappointment. Either the Queen of Scotswas less lovely seen leisurely close at hand than Antony Babington andCis's own fancy had painted her, or the last two or three years hadlessened her charms, as well they might, for she had struggled andsuffered much in the interval, had undergone many bitterdisappointments, and had besides endured much from rheumatism everywinter, indeed, even now she could not ride, and could only go out in acarriage in the park on the finest days, looking forward to her annualvisit to Buxton to set her up for the summer. Her face was longer andmore pointed than in former days, her complexion had faded, or perhapsin these private moments it had not been worth while to enhance it;though there was no carelessness in the general attire, the blackvelvet gown, and delicate lace of the cap, and open ruff alwayscharacteristic of her. The small curls of hair at her temples hadtheir auburn tint softened by far more white than suited one who wasonly just over forty, but the delicate pencilling of the eyebrows wasas marked as ever; and the eyes, on whose colour no one ever agreed,melted and sparkled as of old. Cis had heard debates as to their hue,and furtively tried to form her own opinion, but could not decide onanything but that they had a dark effect, and a wonderful power ofexpression, seeming to look at every one at once, and to rebuke,encourage, plead, or smile, from moment to moment. The slight cast inone of them really added to their force of expression rather thandetracted from their beauty, and the delicate lips were ready to secondthe glances with wondrous smiles. Cis had not felt the magic of hermere presence five minutes without being convinced that AntonyBabington was right; the Lord Treasurer and all the rest utterly wrong,and that she beheld the most innocent and persecuted of princesses.
Meantime, all due formalities having been gone through, Lord Shrewsburybowed himself out backwards with a dexterity that Cis breathlesslyadmired in one so stately and so stiff, forgetting that he had dailypractice in the art. Then Queen Mary courteously entreated hervisitors to be seated, near herself, asking with a smile if this werenot the little maiden who had queened it so prettily in the brake somefew years since. Cis blushed and drew back her head with a prettygesture of dignified shyness as Susan made answer for her that she wasthe same.
"I should have known it," said the Queen, smiling, "by the port of herhead alone. 'Tis strange," she said, musing, "that maiden hath thebearing of head and neck that I have never seen save in my own mother,the saints rest her soul, and in her sisters, and which we always heldto be their inheritance from the blood of Charlemagne."
"Your grace does her too much honour," Susan contrived to say, thankfulthat no less remote resemblance had been detected.
"It was a sad farce when they tried to repeat your pretty comedy withthe chief performer omitted," proceeded the Queen, directing her wordsto the girl, but the mother replied for her.
"Your Grace will pardon me, I could not permit her to play in public,before all the menie of the castle."
"Madame is a discreet and prudent mother," said the Queen. "Themistake was in repeating the representation at all, not in abstainingfrom appearing in it. I should be very sorry that this young ladyshould have been concerned in a spectacle a la comtesse."
There was something in the intonation of "this young lady" that wonCis's heart on the spot, something in the concluding words that hurtSusan's faithful loyalty towards her kinswoman, in spite of thecompliment to herself. However Mary did not pursue the subject,perceiving with ready tact that it was distasteful, and proceeded toask Dame Susan's opinion of her work, which was intended as a gift toher good aunt, the Abbess of Soissons. How strangely the name fellupon Susan's ear. It was a pale blue satin coverlet, worked in largeseparate squares, innumerable shields and heraldic devices of Lorraine,Bourbon, France, Scotland, etc., round the border, and beautifulmeander
ing patterns of branches, with natural flowers and leavesgrowing from them covering the whole with a fascinating regularirregularity. Cis could not repress an exclamation of delight, whichbrought the most charming glance of the winning eyes upon her. Therewas stitchery here that she did not understand, but when she looked atsome of the flowers, she could not help uttering the sentiment that theeyes of the daisies were not as mother could make them.
So, as a great favour, Queen Mary entreated to be shown Mrs. Talbot'smode of dealing with the eyes of the daisies. No, her good Seatonwould not learn so well as she should; Madame must come and sit by herand show her. Meantime here was her poor little Bijou whimpering to betaken on her lap. Would not he find a comforter in sweet Mistress--ah,what was her name?
"We named her Cicely, so please your Grace," said Susan, unable to helpblushing.
"Cecile, a fair name. Ah! so the poor Antoine called her. I see myBijou has found a friend in you, Mistress Cecile"--as the girl's idlehands were only too happy to caress the pretty little shivering Italiangreyhound rather than to be busy with a needle. "Do you ever hear ofthat young Babington, your playfellow?" she added.
"No, madam," said Cis, looking up, "he hath never been here!"
"I thought not," said Queen Mary, sighing. "Take heed to manifest nopity for me, maiden, if you should ever chance to be inspired with itfor a poor worn-out old prisoner. It is the sure sentence ofmisfortune and banishment."
"In his sex, madam," here put in Marie de Courcelles. "If it were soin ours, woe to some of us."
"That is true, my dear friends," said Mary, her eyes glistening withdew. "It is the women who are the most fearless, the most faithful,and whom the saints therefore shield."
"Alas, there are some who are faithful but who are not shielded!"
It was merely a soft low murmur, but the tender-hearted Queen hadcaught it, and rising impulsively, crossed the room and gathered MarySeaton's hands into hers, no longer the queen but the loving friend ofequal years, soothing her in a low fond voice, and presently sendingher to the inner chamber to compose herself. Then as the Queenreturned slowly to her seat it would be seen how lame she was fromrheumatism. Mrs. Kennedy hurried to assist her, with a nurse-like wordof remonstrance, to which she replied with a bewitching look ofsweetness that she could not but forget her aches and pains when shesaw her dear Mary Seaton in trouble.
Most politely she then asked whether her visitors would object tolistening to the conclusion of her day's portion of reading. There wasno refusing, of course, though, as Susan glanced at the reader and knewhim to be strongly suspected of being in Holy Orders conferred abroad,she had her fears for her child's Protestant principles. The book,however, proved to be a translation of St. Austin on the Psalms, and,of course, she could detect nothing that she disapproved, even if Cishad not been far too much absorbed by the little dog and its mistressto have any comprehending ears for theology. Queen Mary confidentiallyobserved as much to her after the reading, having, no doubt, detectedher uneasy glance.
"You need not fear for your child, madam," she said; "St. Augustine isrespected by your own Queen and her Bishops. At the readings withwhich my good Mr. Belton favours me, I take care to have nothing youProtestants dispute when I know it." She added, smiling, "Heaven knowsthat I have endeavoured to understand your faith, and many a ministerhas argued with me. I have done my best to comprehend them, but theyagreed in nothing but in their abuse of the Pope. At least so itseemed to my poor weak mind. But you are satisfied, madam, I see it inyour calm eyes and gentle voice. If I see much of you, I shall learnto think well of your religion."
Susan made an obeisance without answering. She had heard Sir GilbertTalbot say, "If she tries to persuade you that you can convert her, besure that she means mischief," but she could not bear to believe itanything but a libel while the sweet sad face was gazing into hers.
Queen Mary changed the subject by asking a few questions about theCountess's sudden departure. There was a sort of guarded ironysuppressed in her tone--she was evidently feeling her way with thestranger, and when she found that Susan would only own to causes LordShrewsbury had adduced on the spur of the moment, she was much too waryto continue the examination, though Susan could not help thinking thatshe knew full well the disturbance which had taken place.
A short walk on the roof above followed. The sun was shiningbrilliantly, and lame as she was, the Queen's strong craving for freeair led her to climb her stairs and creep to and fro on Sir AndrewMelville's arm, gazing out over the noble prospect of the park closebelow, divided by the winding vales of the three rivers, which could betraced up into the woods and the moors beyond, purple with springfreshness and glory. Mary made her visitors point out Bridgefield, andasked questions about all that could be seen of the house andpleasance, which, in truth, was little enough, but she contrived to setCis off into a girl's chatter about her home occupations, and would notlet her be hushed.
"You little know the good it does a captive to take part, only infancy, in a free harmless life," returned Mary, with the wistful lookthat made her eyes so pathetic. "There is no refreshment to me like achild's prattle."
Susan's heart smote her as she thought of the true relations in whichthese two stood to one another, and she forbore from furtherinterference; but she greatly rejoiced when the great bell of thecastle gave notice of noon, and of her own release. When Queen Mary'sdinner was served, the Talbot ladies in attendance left her andrepaired to the general family meal in the hall.
Unknown to History: A Story of the Captivity of Mary of Scotland Page 11