The Captive Queen of Scots - Plaidy Jean (электронную книгу бесплатно без регистрации TXT) 📗

This it was which slowed down the progress, and Walsingham decided that he could not get very far until he was in possession of all the Queen’s ciphers. He had for some time been watching an attache in the service of the French embassy, for he believed a time would come when he could use this man. Walsingham prided himself that he could pick a bribe-taker at a glance, and Cherelles he believed to be one.

Now if Cherelles could be persuaded to visit Mary with letters from the King of France say, and asked her for the keys to the ciphers, she would not hesitate to give them. And for such a service what would Cherelles want? Say two hundred crowns? It would be money well spent.

MARY WAS DELIGHTED TO RECEIVE A VISIT from Cherelles. He brought with him letters from the King of France which were always a comfort to her. He listened sympathetically to an account of her sufferings and promised to do all he could to bring them to the notice of those who could help to alleviate them.

“There is one matter which has grieved some of your friends,” he told her. “They have been unable to decipher certain of your letters.”

“Is that so?” asked Mary surprised. “I must speak to my secretaries. I am sure they have introduced nothing new into the ciphers.”

“There is no need to do that. If Your Majesty will let me have the keys to all the ciphers in use, I will see that this difficulty is removed.”

“I will indeed do so, but I do not understand why my friends should suddenly fail to decipher my letters. However I will give you the keys.”

“And I shall lose no time in placing them in the right hands.”

“You must take great care that they do not pass into the wrong hands!” said Mary with a smile.

“Your Majesty can trust me.”

“I know. I wish I could show my gratitude in some way, but I am so poor now. Do you know, one of my greatest sorrows is that I can no longer give presents to my friends.” She looked down at her hand and drew off a diamond ring. “But take this,” she said. “I should be so happy if you would accept it.” Then she went to her table and opening a drawer took out a book which was bound in crimson velvet, and the corners of which were edged with gold.

“The embroidery was done by myself,” she said, laying her hand on the embossed velvet, “and I have written in it those thoughts which pleased me. Pray take it with my blessing. It is a small reward for all you have done for me.”

Cherelles was conscious of a sense of shame as he took the gifts, so graciously and generously given.

He was rather relieved to ride away from Chartley, but when he had placed the keys to the ciphers in Walsingham’s hands and had been complimented by that important man, the shame lingered.

JACQUES NAU WAS WRITING A LETTER from the Queen’s notes. It seemed that he and Gilbert Curle were constantly employed in this task now that they had the means of sending and receiving letters through the services of that honest man, the brewer.

Life was so frustrating. He and Bessie were no nearer marriage now than they had been when they had first talked of their desire for that state; and it was particularly galling to sit with Curle, listening to his conversation, and learn of his contentment with the married state. It was so unfair. Jacques had loved Bessie before Curle had known of the existence of Barbara Mowbray, and yet here they were, not only married but expecting to become parents. He could not go on in this way. He must do something.

Then, as he was writing the Queen’s letter, he remembered that Sir Henry Pierpont was at the Court of Elizabeth and that it might be possible to write a letter to him by way of Gifford and the box in the barrel.

No sooner had this idea occurred to him than he wrote to Sir Henry telling of the devotion he had felt for Bessie over many years, and that Bessie herself returned his affection. He implored Sir Henry to grant him permission to marry his daughter.

Having written and dispatched the letter, Jacques told Bessie what he had done. They could scarcely contain their impatience for Sir Henry’s reply.

MARY HAD READ THE LETTER before she realized that it was not intended for her but for her secretary. She was deeply shocked. Sir Henry Pierpont was giving his consent for the marriage of his daughter with Jacques Nau, although the girl had been promised to Lord Percy and it was the will of Queen Elizabeth, as well as the Earl and Countess of Shrewsbury, that this marriage with Percy should take place.

Mary saw the danger in this situation. Bess of Hardwick had been forced to stop spreading her scandals against Mary, but if her granddaughter were allowed to marry Mary’s secretary, Bess would seek means of revenging herself on Mary whom she would almost certainly blame. Moreover although Jacques Nau was of good family, he would not be considered worthy to mate with the Shrewsburys’ granddaughter. What hurt Mary more than anything else was that Bessie, whom she had brought up since the girl was four, had not confided in her.

She immediately sent for Jacques and Bessie.

“This letter has come to my notice,” she said coldly. “And I must confess I am deeply shocked.”

When Jacques saw what it was he turned pale.

“It is an answer to one which you wrote to Sir Henry Pierpont,” Mary told him. “You are not going to deny you wrote such a letter?”

“I do not deny it,” answered Jacques with dignity. “Bessie and I wish to marry. It was natural that I should ask her father’s permission.”

“I should have thought it would have been more natural if you had asked mine.”

“I did not expect the same favor as Your Majesty bestows on Gilbert Curle.”

“You are insolent,” said Mary. “I will not speak to you until you have recovered your good manners. Please go now.”

Jacques bowed, and as he was retiring Bessie prepared to follow him.

“Not you,” commanded Mary. “You will stay.”

Bessie stood sullenly looking at the Queen.

“Why did you not tell me?” asked Mary reproachfully.

“Because you were determined to make me marry Lord Percy.”

“Of course you must marry Lord Percy. It was not I who arranged the match—but it is a good one.”

Bessie said: “I shall never marry Lord Percy.” And as she spoke all the affection she had been wont to give Mary seemed to have disappeared, and it was almost as though her grandmother stood there.

“Bessie, you are very young . . . ” began Mary tolerantly.

“I am a woman. I love Jacques. I have always loved Jacques. I love him more than anyone in the world. I always shall. I am going to marry Jacques . . . .”

“Now, Bessie, my dear, you know that a girl in your position must obey her guardians.”

“I care nothing for my guardians.”

“Bessie! You can say that!”

Mary was deeply wounded. She was thinking of the day she had become this child’s godmother, how she had told her stories as they lay in bed, how they had taken their meals together and how, when Bessie was little more than a baby, rather terrified of her overbearing grandmother, she had run to Mary for comfort. Bessie thought of nothing but her passionate love for Jacques; and she was ready to hate anyone who came between her and its fulfilment.

“I can say it, and I will say it. I love Jacques. I want Jacques, and I hate . . . hate, hate anyone who tries to stop our marriage.”

“You are a foolish child,” said Mary. “You are not being reasonable.”

“I care not for reason. I care for nothing but Jacques!”

“Bessie, I think you should think what you are saying.”

“I have thought of nothing else for months. I am going to marry Jacques and no one on Earth is going to stop me! You are an old woman—you don’t understand . . . . Or have you forgotten!”

Bessie suddenly burst into angry tears and ran from the room. Mary looked after her bewildered.