A few miles from Chartley Mary saw a company of horsemen approaching at speed and, for a moment, she must have thought they would be Babington’s ‘ten men’ riding to her rescue. Paulet, however, was unalarmed at their approach, although Mary could now see that they were armed. Her hopes vanished when their leader, splendidly dressed in green serge, dismounted and approached Mary. He was the fifty-year-old Sir Thomas Gorges, a rising courtier, recently appointed keeper of the Royal Wardrobe and determined that he would be seen to carry out his task with utmost efficiency. He now gave direct orders for the arrest of Nau and Curle, whom Mary never saw again. Gorges, clearly speaking from precise instruction said, ‘Madam, the queen my mistress finds it very strange that you, contrary to your agreement with her, conspire against her and her estate, something that she never thought to see. She believes that one of your servants is guilty. He will be taken separately and Sir Amyas will tell you the rest.’ Mary called up Nau but was forbidden to speak to him. When she realised that they were not returning to Chartley, she dismounted and, supported by Curle’s sister, Elizabeth, asked where they were going. Paulet showed her Queen Elizabeth’s warrant ‘to remove the said Queen unto some place as shall by you be thought meet’. Mary stumbled away and knelt on a tussock of grass some thirty paces distant and prayed, asking forgiveness for her sins, certain that she was to be executed there and then. The entire party was frozen in disbelief, Gorges’s men nervously handling their weapons, unsure of what was taking place. Mary, certain that her guilt had been discovered, was making her last confession, without a priest. She declared that she was totally worthless and that her only liberty was in the Holy Catholic Church. Finally, Bourgoing, in fear for his own life, went to her and gently lifted her upright. He then supported her back to her horse and she was helped back into her saddle. Bourgoing told Paulet that he was behaving with unnecessary savagery towards an ageing and sick woman, to which Paulet did not reply but merely rode on stone-faced.
They rode to Tixall, a beautiful house belonging to Sir Walter Aston, but Mary enjoyed none of its pleasures, keeping to her room the entire two weeks of her imprisonment there. Paulet did not allow Mary to write to Elizabeth but did permit two ladies to join her, and she was allowed at least one change of clothing, since she was still wearing the pretty riding habit in which she had hoped to enjoy the hunt.
Meanwhile, Chartley was being ransacked with the help of Sir William Waad, and three strongboxes of papers as well as chests and boxes of loose documents were taken, although the crucial minutes were not found. A list of the jewellery that was taken out of the care of Jane Kennedy was drawn up – a list which contrasts sadly with those composed when Mary was widowed in France – but for a prisoner it was lavish enough. There were diamond and ruby rings as well as votary objects: the story of the Passion of Christ engraved on a gold crucifix as well as on painted panels, and Mary’s much-annotated Book of Hours. There were little gold animals, bears, cows and parrots. More private was the collection of portraits: an ivory portrait of Elizabeth, one of James VI framed in gold, and small framed portraits of the French royal family as well as of Mary’s Guise relatives. There was a double miniature of Mary backed by one of Elizabeth, a little chest garnished with diamonds, rubies and pearls, six little jewels and a chain enamelled in white and red – Mary had owned such a chain when a child in France. The sumptuous treasures of the past were all gone and what remained was a sad summary of Mary’s personal life.
Prospects of her future life came in a letter from Elizabeth to Paulet: ‘God reward thee treblefold in three double for thy most troublesome charge so well discharged. Let your wicked murderess know how with hearty sorrow her vile deserts compelleth these orders; and bid her from me ask God forgiveness for her treacherous dealings towards the saver of her life many a year.’ There was now no pretence that Elizabeth was a sister queen, filled with sympathy for her cousin’s plight. Elizabeth had been terrified by the Babington plot and by what seemed to her to be Mary’s endorsement of her murder. From now on her principal problem would be how to dispose safely of her Scottish cousin without creating a Catholic backlash.
After the search and removal of documents was completed, Mary was returned to Chartley, although not without some dramatics on leaving Tixall. Paulet said, ‘When she left Sir Walter Aston’s gate she said in a loud voice, weeping, to some poor folks there assembled, “I have nothing for you. I am a beggar as well as you. All is taken from me.” And when she came to the gentlemen, she said, weeping, “Good gentlemen, I am not witting or privy to anything intended against the Queen.” ’ She visited Curle’s wife, Barbara Mowbray, who had had a baby daughter in Mary’s absence, but, with no priest available, it was still unchristened, so Mary took the baby on her knee and named it Mary, baptising the child herself. It was typical of Mary to show what kindness she could to her servants and equally typical of her to miss no opportunity for a public show of histrionics.
Back at Chartley, Mary, now realising that a legal case against her was being drawn up, confined herself to bed, but even there she was not secure from the attentions of Paulet, who questioned her closely over the identities of the ‘six men’. Paulet, realising that Mary’s resistance was at a low level, tried hard to get his ailing prisoner to confess to her participation in the plot, but she denied all knowledge of Babington’s plans. She only faintly remembered him when he had been Shrewsbury’s ward; ‘I have often received letters offering help but have never involved myself in their schemes.’ Paulet also wanted access to a cupboard in her bedroom containing Mary’s remaining money. The cupboard was locked so Paulet sent for crowbars and axes. Mary, still in her nightclothes and in bed, sent Elizabeth Curle for the key, and ‘without slippers or shoes’, under the watchful eyes of armed guards, she unlocked the cupboard for Paulet. It contained five rolls of canvas wrapping over 5,000 French crowns and two leather bags, one with £104 in gold the other with £3 in silver. Mary said the money was to pay for her funeral and to pay her servants after her death. The money was all sent to London with Sir William Waad, along with Mary’s private seals. Paulet made a marginal note, ‘This lady hath good store of money at present in the French Ambassador’s hands.’
Meanwhile Nau and Curle were being interrogated about the content of Mary’s letter to Babington. Curle read Babington’s letter and testified, ‘I do confess to have deciphered the like of the whole above written, coming written in one sheet of paper, as from Mr Babington. And the answer thereto, being written in French by Mr Nau, to have been translated in English and ciphered by me.’ To which Walsingham replied, ‘I would to God, these minutes were found.’
The interrogation of the two secretaries continued as they were shown the very letters they had sent to Babington. Nau then claimed that he had taken direct dictation from Mary and Curle admitted that he had burnt the English copy. It was the familiar story of servants who had loyally followed orders now trying to save their own skins by placing the blame on Mary. Nau returned to France shortly afterwards, and Curle, since he was an Englishman, was imprisoned for a year.
In London, Walsingham was now in the position of having to bring Mary to a trial, even without the ‘minutes’, and he told Elizabeth that the documents no longer existed. Chartley would not serve as a location for Mary’s trial, and Walsingham first suggested the Tower, only to be overruled by Elizabeth, who was displaying a sharply divided purpose. She would not allow the imprisonment of a sister queen in the Tower, but insisted that Mary be separated from her servants and that her money be seized. She also rejected Hertford, Grafton, Woodstock, Northampton, Coventry and Huntingdon as locations for the trial before finally accepting Fotheringhay Castle, near Peterborough. Elizabeth was bitterly afraid of Mary as a focus for revolt but was equally determined that she should be treated with some kind of formal respect. Burghley pointed out that, since Mary had signed articles of abdication in Lochleven Castle, she was no longer a queen regnant, but this did not sway Elizabeth’s opinion. Walsingham wa
s angry with Elizabeth, fearing that her treatment of the invalid Mary might accelerate her death – she was already known to be very ill and moving her again might prove the last straw – and let her escape the public trial he had in mind. More directly, Leicester wrote to Walsingham suggesting that Mary be quietly poisoned – and, in case Walsingham had any religious scruples against murder, recommending an Anglican priest who was willing to justify such an act from Scripture. The suggestion was rejected. Some members of parliament felt that, given the reported state of Mary’s health, all these machinations were a waste of time, since the woman would die soon in any case.
On 5 September 1586, Elizabeth established a special tribunal to hear the case against Mary, its findings to be examined in the court of the Star Chamber and then ratified by parliament. To ensure a rapid conclusion, Burghley recalled parliament, saying, ‘Thus the responsibility is spread and everybody is content.’
Mary realised that another, possibly final, move was about to take place and asked permission to pay off her servants, but Paulet, unreasonably, forbade this. In any case, Mary’s money was now in London. She gave her servants receipts and told them to apply to the French embassy for back pay or for passage to France. On the day of departure Paulet locked the nineteen servants who were not going to Fotheringhay in their rooms and put guards outside their windows. Walsingham had chosen his gaoler well.
Mary was now too ill to ride and was led by heavily armed men into a coach which was escorted by 200 cavalry under Sir Thomas Gorges, himself carrying a pistol in his belt. During the journey – Mary was not told of the destination – she sat as upright in the coach as she could, watching the armed escort and questioning Roger Sharp, her coachman. ‘The unfortunate princess feared that her throat would be cut.’ She was not afraid of death, but did fear dying without a public confession and having her murder concealed as suicide.
The party left Chartley on 21 September and passed the night at Burton. They then proceeded in easy stages of seven to fifteen miles and arrived at Fotheringhay on 25 September. The only approach to this grim castle was by a path called Perryho Lane and Mary took one look at Fotheringhay and said, ‘Perio! I am lost!’
Fotheringhay was a huge fortress in the unfamiliar flat Northamptonshire countryside surrounded by a double ditch, making access deliberately difficult: the exterior ditch was seventy-five yards across and the interior ditch stretched for sixty-six yards. The entrance to the castle itself was on the north side with a drawbridge and staircase leading to a vast courtyard with the Great Hall on the first floor. A chapel lay to the left, with a dining hall and tapestried staterooms, and the royal apartments were on the upper floors. It was a forbidding castle used solely as a state prison, its sinister aspects being emphasised for Mary by her currently being the only inhabitant, apart from a mere five or six servants. It seemed the ideal place for a secret assassination, although Mary correctly guessed that since many of the other rooms were being prepared for habitation others were expected.
Mary could have been tried under a statute of Edward III – even though she was not an English citizen – which made it treason to conspire against the sovereign, execute war within the kingdom or communicate with the sovereign’s enemies. But it was decided that the Act of Association would suffice, since under this legislation anyone found guilty would have all claims to the English throne denied and could be lawfully sentenced to death. Since it was, in fact, a trial for treason, the rules applying to that charge were to be applied, and Mary would have no counsel nor could she call witnesses. The form of the trial was not explained to her in advance. Mary spoke and thought in French, had learned enough Scots for reasonable fluency, but still spoke and wrote English with difficulty. Armed thus with only her native wit and the knowledge that she was arguing for her life, she prepared to debate with the finest forensic brains in Tudor England.
On 1 October Paulet, armed no doubt with instructions from Burghley, asked Mary to confess her guilt, assuring her of Elizabeth’s mercy. Mary replied that she was aware of ‘no fault or offence for which I have to render account to anyone here below’. Mary could now be in no doubt that she was to be on trial for her life. Her plight increased when, on 12 October, Sir Walter Mildmay, Paulet and Edward Barker, a notary, gave her a letter from Elizabeth. It was one of the most savage letters ever written.
You have in various ways and manners attempted to take my life and to bring my kingdom to destruction by bloodshed. I have never proceeded so harshly against you but have, on the contrary, protected and maintained you like myself. These treasons will be proved to you and all made manifest. Yet it is my will, that you answer the nobles and peers of the kingdom as if I were myself present. I therefore require, charge, and command that you make answer for I have been well informed of your arrogance.
Act plainly and without reserve, and you will sooner be able to obtain favour of me.
Elizabeth R.
There cannot have been any doubt as to which verdict of the court would satisfy Elizabeth. Elizabeth also let it be known privately that she had made an offer to Mary that if she confessed, a royal pardon and confinement in comfort awaited her, but there is no evidence that such a letter ever existed.
The next day, Mary argued that she had never enjoyed the protection of the laws of England, under which she was being tried, and in the afternoon she met Burghley; Sir Thomas Bromley, the Lord Chancellor; and the Lord President. She told them she was no subject but would answer only before a full parliament or directly to Elizabeth herself. Since Mary was well aware that the commission might simply try her in absentia with the verdict a foregone conclusion, she cautioned them, ‘The theatre of the whole world is much wider than the kingdom of England.’
Mary denied that the Act of Association constituted legal grounds for her trial and asked for experts in law from Pavia or Poitiers to be brought. This request was ignored. She was reminded of Elizabeth’s letter but claimed that she could only remember the letter in snatches – ‘it stood not with her royal dignity to play the scrivener’. Mary was told that Elizabeth ‘would be much affected with joy if you are proved innocent’, but replied that she would not answer ‘to the judgement of mine adversaries . . . I will not submit myself . . . I am myself a Queen, the daughter of a King, a stranger and the true kinswoman of the Queen of England . . . As an absolute Queen I cannot submit to orders, nor can I submit to the laws of the land without injury to myself, the King my son, and all other princes.’
Burghley told Mary that Elizabeth had already protected her from a trial for treason along with Norfolk and had ‘protected [her] from the fury of [her] own subjects’. Mary smiled. Hatton interceded, ‘If you be innocent you wrong your reputation in avoiding a trial. Lay aside the bootless privilege of royal dignity, which now can be of no use unto you, appear in judgement, and show your innocency.’ This argument weighed with her, and on 14 October Mary agreed to appear before the commission. In reality she had no option. Her attempt to include her international allies was no more than a feeble hope, but on 21 November Henri III wrote to his ambassador, de Courcelles, ‘Now I desire that you will excite the king of Scotland . . . to take up the defence and protection of his mother.’
The trial took place in a large room above the Great Hall, a cold and forbidding place that overwhelmed the hastily installed temporary furniture. At one end of the room was a dais with an empty chair of state under a cloth bearing Elizabeth’s arms. On backless benches on one side of the hall the Lord Chancellor Bromley, Burghley, nine earls and a viscount were seated. One of these earls was her previous gaoler, Shrewsbury, who had done everything he could to be excused, including offering to send his verdict of guilty before the trial took place. He was firmly reminded of his duty by Burghley. On a bench facing them were thirteen barons. Nearby were Hatton, Walsingham, Sadler, Mildmay and Paulet. Chief justices and lesser legal lights were scattered around. All of these had tables covered with documents. In the centre of all of these was a chair for
Mary with a cushion for her feet. She had no table. She was to be placed at the foot of the royal dais in a position of maximum weakness, with all others seated around her in positions of threat.
Mary entered, supported by Melville and Bourgoing and attended by her surgeon, apothecary and three waiting women. The commissioners dutifully doffed their hats and bowed their heads as she made her painful way to her seat, declaring that she should have been seated on the royal chair under the cloth of state. As she took her seat the Lord Chancellor informed her that Elizabeth ‘not without great grief of mind’ advertised that ‘you have conspired the destruction of her and of England and the subversion of religion’. Mary, still seated, answered with a statement not of her guilt or innocence, but of her position and attitude to the court.
I am an absolute queen, and will do nothing which will prejudice either mine own royal majesty, or other princes of my place and rank or my son. My mind is not yet dejected nor will I sink under my calamity . . . The laws and statutes of England are to me most unknown; I am destitute of counsellors, and who shall be my peers I am utterly ignorant. My papers and notes are taken from me, and no man dareth step forth as my advocate. I am clear of all crimes against the Queen. I have excited no man against her, and I am not to be charged but by mine own word or writing, which cannot be produced against me. Yet can I not deny but I have commended myself and my cause to foreign princes.
An Accidental Tragedy Page 44