Royal Road to Fotheringhay - Plaidy Jean (хороший книги онлайн бесплатно .txt) 📗

“Free, Madam?”

“Free to say what we will.”

“Madam, then you mean… Forgive me… but I cannot believe I have heard aright.”

He knew that the Queen was in love with him—fiercely and passionately in love with him. He believed that if they were alone she would offer no resistance. And once she had surrendered herself to him the way would be clear; she would not wish to draw back. Once he became the Queen’s lover, he would be certain of the crown of Scotland.

What a glorious prospect this was! She was young and beautiful; she was passionate; she would be the prime mover in their love affair. He would allow this to be so, for it was what she wanted; and just now everything must be as she wanted it. She had fallen in love with a young and—as she believed—inexperienced boy. He must play the part of callow youth, of lovesick boy, inexperienced yet eager to be led.

She whispered: “If you would see me alone, come to my apartments this night. Beaton will let you in. When the palace is quiet… and all have retired …”

She pressed his hand, but she did not dance with him again. She was afraid that she was betraying this great passion which was possessing her.

She did not now want marriage with Spain; she did not care for dignity or pride, nor her rank as Queen. She cared for nothing but the immediate fulfillment of her love for Henry Darnley.

BEATON SAID: “Madam, is it wise?”

She turned on Beaton angrily. “Wise! What do you mean? He has something to say to me. Why should I not hear it?”

“But alone, Madam, in your bedchamber?”

“Beaton… you are insolent!”

Seton, the calm, quiet one, the one perhaps who was most steadfast in her devotion, said nothing, but watched her mistress with a great anxiety in her eyes. Mary would not look at Seton.

Flem could not hide her excitement. The marriage of Livy was responsible for this. It had made the Queen realize that she too was in love, that she too must have a lover.

“Her Majesty will marry him,” soothed Flem, “then all will be well.”

“You chatter too much,” said Mary. “Bring me my robe. The white velvet.”

“White velvet becomes Your Majesty more than anything else,” said Flem.

Mary scarcely heard; a feverish excitement possessed her. If he did not come… But he would come. He was knocking at the door now.

“Quick, Beaton, quick!”

Beaton was at the door.

“Come in quickly, my lord. Let no one see you.”

Mary stood up, the white velvet draped about her, her long chestnut hair hanging loose about her shoulders.

“Leave us,” she said in a whisper; and silently and swiftly the three Marys left the apartment.

“Madam,” began Darnley, and would have knelt and taken her hands; but she had thrown herself into his arms, her restless fingers caressing his face and neck.

Darnley shyly put his arms about her.

This was success beyond his dreams. He need not plead with her; he need do nothing but obey, for the passionate Queen was commanding him to be her lover.

MARY WAS deep in love and determined to marry Darnley. She thought of little else. David advised caution. All the Protestant lords, headed by Moray, were against the match. Mary could wait for marriage, since she had now found a way to enjoy her lover’s society in private.

She was continually thinking of fresh gifts to bestow on him. She sent for her tailor William Hoppringle, and commanded him to make the finest suit which had ever been made; he was to work immediately on black velvet and silver lace. Then he was to make garments of taffeta and silk—and all these were for Lord Darnley. Johnnie Dabrow, the finest hatter in Edinburgh, was to make Darnley’s hats, and he was to put as much care into the making as he would if the Queen would be wearing them. Fleming Allyard must get busy making shoes. Shirts and ruffs were ordered; all were to be made of the finest materials available.

The jewelers were called in. The Queen wished rubies, emeralds and diamonds to be set into the most perfect patterns to enhance the fair beauty of the young man she loved.

As yet she believed that her determination to marry him was her secret.

Darnley grew a little impatient. For the crown he did not care, he assured her; he but wished to let the whole world know that he was her lover.

She believed him. He was so young, so naive and, as she was, a stranger to passion.

There was one unfortunate incident which occurred to mar the joy of those days.

It was brought about through the Borderer, Lord Bothwell. He had given up the post for which he had so earnestly begged, that of Captain of the Scottish Guard in France, and had come back to Scotland. He now sent a messenger to the Queen, begging her to grant permission for him to return to the Court.

“And why should he not come back to Court?” asked Mary. “He was imprisoned for implication with Arran, but now we all know that Arran was mad. We have been unfair to Bothwell.”

Her brother Moray, who was now becoming very uneasy indeed about her relationship with Darnley, assured her that it would be the utmost folly to bring Bothwell back to Court.

“The man is a born troublemaker,” he said. “He sows discord. Scotland has been a more peaceful place without him.”

But the Queen was no longer to be dominated thus. She made her own decisions—with the help of Rizzio; and although she deplored the conduct of the Borderer, there was something in his character which appealed to her.

“I think I shall grant him the permission he seeks,” she said.

Moray was furious. He had loved his sister when she followed his advice and allowed him to rule Scotland; he could come near to hating her now, for it seemed to him that she was fast becoming his enemy. His resentment flared up against her. Why should she—a foolish lass—wear the crown when he, their father’s son, was far more suitable to do so? The incredibly bad luck which had attended his birth was a chafing sore that ate into his character, corroding it, destroying his finer qualities, breeding within him a treacherous determination to take the power from his sisters hands.

He would not have Bothwell back at Court. Bothwell was his enemy. Bothwell might have discovered that he had tried to have him poisoned; clearly there was scarcely room in Scotland for Bothwell and Moray.

But to keep Bothwell out of Scotland was not so difficult to accomplish after all, for the rogue, Dandie Pringle—now dismissed from Bothwell’s service and living in Scotland—was the very man to help in this.

Moray commanded him to come to Edinburgh and had him brought before the Queen.

“Before Your Majesty recalls Lord Bothwell,” said Moray, “I thought you might care to hear the testimony of this man.”

“Who is this man?” asked Mary.

“One who served Bothwell when he was in France and knows something of his private life. He will tell you that the Hepburn is one of the greatest libertines in Scotland.”

“There are many libertines in Scotland, great and small. Should one more make so much difference?”

“No, Madam,” said James, “it should not. But this man is more than a libertine. He has spoken cruel slander against persons of high degree.”

“You, brother?”

“Perhaps, my dear sister, but I have not heard of it. I meant against you.”

“What has he said?”

“I have brought Pringle here to tell you how he spoke of you before his servants.”

“Am I to listen to the tittle-tattle of servants?”

“If it concerns yourself, you undoubtedly should.”

“Bring him in then, and let me hear him.”

Dandie Pringle knelt before the Queen.

“So you served with my Lord Bothwell in France?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“And he spoke often of me in your hearing?”

“Not often, Your Majesty, but now and then.”