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

Scrope came to her and laid a hand on her shoulder. “You must not allow yourself to become too excited,” he cautioned.

“I shall only recover my serenity when you tell me that you will take my advice in this matter.”

Scrope was looking at Knollys, and Margaret Scrope was clever enough to know that her words were being considered. She guessed that both men realized the wisdom of them.

“We are thinking of this matter,” Scrope told her.

And the gallant Knollys added: “And we should always consider your advice, which we know of old is sound.”

Margaret sighed. “Then I will return to my bed satisfied that at least you will consider this matter.” She rose and Scrope led her to the door. She hesitated there, and looked back at Knollys who was a little discomfited to be in his bed. “Thank you both,” she said. “I feel at ease because I know that when you consider this matter you will see that I am right.”

Back in her own room Margaret Scrope threw off her robe and lay down on her bed.

They had understood that this attempt to escape from Bolton Castle should be hushed up. That was well, for if Elizabeth decided to move Mary to Tutbury and take her out of the charge of Scrope and Knollys what chances would Lady Scrope have of furthering a match between Norfolk and the Queen of Scots?

That was something Lady Scrope had set her heart on; and she believed that her visit to Knollys and her husband had prevented the destruction of this cherished plan.

ALTHOUGH there was now a stronger guard at the castle, both day and night, Mary’s attempt to escape was never openly mentioned, although it was whispered about among the guards and serving men and women; and the spot where she had been intercepted by Lord Scrope became known as “The Queen’s Gap.”

The friendship between Mary and Lady Scrope was growing fast, and one day when they were stitching their tapestry together, Lady Scrope asked Mary if she had ever seriously considered the Protestant Faith.

Mary replied that she had been born a Catholic and that during her childhood and girlhood, which had been spent in France, she had been brought up among Catholics and had therefore always been led to believe that that was the true faith.

“Yet there are many good men who are Protestants, Your Majesty,” Lady Scrope reminded her.

Mary agreed that this was so. “My own Lord Herries is a Protestant; so is George Douglas. Indeed yes, I have much for which to be grateful to Protestants.”

Lady Scrope’s eyes sparkled. Her brother, the Duke of Norfolk, was a Protestant, having had John Foxe as tutor; and if there was to be a marriage between them, it would be wise if they both conformed to the same religion. Norfolk had written to his sister, suggesting that if Mary could be induced to change her religion she would find it easier to regain her throne, because one of the biggest grudges many of her Protestant subjects bore against her was that she was a Catholic.

“I could answer Your Majesty’s questions on the subject as far as I am able,” Lady Scrope continued. “I also have books which might interest you.”

Mary was enthusiastic about the project. It would be one way of occupying her mind and making her forget, temporarily, to wonder what sort of morass she was falling into, for since her attempted escape had been foiled, there could be no doubt whatever that she was Elizabeth’s prisoner.

So now those occasions when they sat over their tapestry were enlivened by discussions between Mary and Margaret Scrope; others of the ladies joined in; and soon it became known throughout Bolton Castle that the Queen was considering becoming a Protestant.

WHEN SIR FRANCIS KNOLLYS heard the rumors he was delighted. As a stern Protestant, it pleased him that the Queen should be considering conversion to what he believed to be the true religion.

He himself offered to give her instruction, and soon Mary was reading the English prayer book with him.

He was persuasive, and Mary was enjoying her lessons.

While they read together Knollys, acutely aware of her charms, thought how sad it was that she should be in her position. He would have liked to see her back on the throne; she would need a husband to help her rule, and he did not see why she should not have an English husband.

He grew excited, believing he knew the very man for the position. This was his nephew, George Carey, a handsome young man who was surely eligible because of his relationship to Queen Elizabeth. Knollys’ wife was first cousin to the Queen, and her brother, Lord Hunsdon, was the father of George Carey. It was true that the relationship came through Anne Boleyn rather than the royal house; nevertheless the ties were there.

He could not refrain from mentioning his young nephew to her, and immediately began to plan a meeting between them.

“I look upon my nephew as my own son,” he told Mary. “He will shortly be in the district and will wish to call on his uncle.”

“Naturally,” Mary agreed.

“And if he should come to Bolton Castle, have I Your Majesty’s permission to present him to you?”

“I should take it ill if you did not,” Mary told him; and Knollys was satisfied.

GEORGE CAREY KNELT before the Queen of Scots. He was young and extremely personable, and when Mary told him that she was pleased to see him, she was speaking the truth.

“I pray you be seated,” she went on. “Have you news from the English Court?”

“None, I’ll swear, that Your Majesty does not know already,” answered the young man.

“But I know so little. Tell me, is my sister and cousin in good health?”

“Her health is excellent, Your Majesty.”

“And did she, knowing you were about to visit your uncle and therefore would come to my lodging, give you any message for me?”

“She gave me none, Your Majesty.”

Mary was despondent, but only momentarily; it was such a novelty to have a visitor, and such a charming young man, who could not hide his admiration for her, was very welcome.

“Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth is displeased with Scotsmen at this time,” she went on. “I have had complaints that on the Border some have been carrying out raids on English territory. I am sorry for this, but she must realize that at this moment I am in no position to enforce my rule.”

“Her Majesty would know that, I am sure,” answered George.

“I wonder if you would be good enough to carry a message from me to the Queen?”

“I could take a message to my father who would see that it reached her.”

“Then tell him that if any border robbery has been carried out by any of my followers I could have them punished. If their names are sent to me, my friends would see that, since they injure my cause, they should be suitably dealt with. But if they belong to my enemies—which I think certain—it is beyond my power to prevent their ill conduct.” She went on confidingly: “You will have heard talk of me.”

“I have, Your Majesty.”

“And much that is ill has been said of me, I’ll swear.”

George flushed slightly and then said vehemently: “I would never again believe aught against Your Majesty.”

She smiled ruefully. He had told her so much in that remark; she guessed that gossip, concerning Darnley’s murder and her hasty marriage to Bothwell, was rife and that the scandal touching herself was boundless.

“Ah,” she said, “it is sad when evil stories are spread regarding a lonely woman who has no means of defending herself.”

“I shall assure all I meet of your innocence,” he told her.

“Which has not been proved to you,” she reminded him.

“But it has, Your Majesty. Ever since I came into your presence I have known those tales to be false. I know that your conduct could never be aught but good and noble.”

Here was adoration similar to that which she had received from George Douglas. Her spirits were raised. George Carey would be her good friend—even as that other George had been.