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

The matter was more serious than was generally believed—although the fact that Cecil thought it worthwhile making the journey to Chatsworth might cause some to realize its seriousness. While the Queen of Scots lived, his sovereign Elizabeth was in danger; and Cecil had made up his mind that if Elizabeth would not agree to the execution of her rival—and Cecil had to admit there was logic and good sound sense in her reason for this—then the lady’s claws must be clipped. There must be no more Catholic risings. By great good luck these had been suppressed on previous occasions, but it was possible that good fortune might not always be on the side of Cecil and Elizabeth.

It was all very well for a Protestant Queen and her even more fervently Protestant ministers to snap their fingers when Pius V excommunicated Elizabeth. There were too many powerful Catholics in England, too many even more powerful Catholic rulers abroad, waiting for that moment when they too could add their disapproval to the Pope’s.

And the trouble center was wherever the Queen of Scots happened to be. Chatsworth at this time.

So to Chatsworth rode Cecil, with his own little plan for rendering the Queen of Scots no longer a danger to his mistress. The most disastrous turn of events could be if Mary escaped from England to France or Spain and there was married to some Catholic Prince. This must be avoided at all cost. Cecil would have felt happier to see her head severed from her body; only thus, he believed, could she cease to be a menace; but failing that, he wished to see her make a Protestant marriage to an Englishman of his and his Queen’s choosing. This was the reason for his making the journey to Chatsworth.

When Mary heard that Cecil had arrived and was asking to see her, she was astonished. This was the man whom she believed to be her greatest enemy; at the same time she knew that he was the man who could do her most good if he were so inclined. It was in a mood swaying between hope and apprehension that she greeted him in that room which she called her presence chamber.

They faced each other—the tall and strikingly beautiful woman and the small, deformed statesman. Mildmay was present but from the first Mary was aware that this was a duel between her and Cecil. Mary was trembling with emotion; the steely eyes of Cecil were as cold as ice.

They bowed low and Mary told them that she was glad to see them. She was ready to be friendly, to forget all the wrong she knew Cecil had done to her; it was he who was aloof.

“I trust,” began Mary, “that you bring me good news of my sister and cousin.”

“Her Majesty is made sad by your reproaches,” Cecil told Mary. “She is astounded that, as she has given you refuge for so long, you should be so ungrateful as to offer her continual complaint.”

“Refuge!” cried Mary angrily. “Is a prison refuge?”

“Doubtless Your Majesty owes your life to the Queen of England who preserved you from the anger of your own subjects.”

“That life,” Mary cried impetuously, “has scarce been worth the living since I came to England.”

Cecil looked shocked. “I shall be loath to report your further complains to Her Majesty.”

“She, who has suffered imprisonment herself, will understand full well if you ask her to recall that period of her life. I should have thought one who had experienced that would have had greater sympathy for me in my plight.”

Cecil raised his hands as though in horror and turned to Mildmay, whose expression showed that he shared Cecil’s horror for what they were pleased to consider the ingratitude of the Queen of Scots.

“Tell me,” she went on passionately, “will the Queen of England restore me to my throne? She has power to do this, I am fully aware. But I would know her intention. Is she going to help me or not?”

“Your Majesty is distraught,” murmured Cecil. “Would you care to discuss these matters when you are a little calmer?”

“I want to hear now.”

“Well then, Her Majesty will restore you to your throne. There are certain conditions.”

“I had thought that most likely,” interjected Mary.

Cecil went on coldly: “She would require your son to be brought to England, and to remain here as a hostage.”

The mention of her son moved Mary so deeply that she found she could not check the tears which started to her eyes.

“He should live here,” Cecil was going on, “in some honorable place under the guardianship of two or three Scottish gentlemen. The Queen would most graciously allow you to name one of them. The others would be chosen according to the advice of his grandfather, the Earl of Lennox, and the Earl of Mar.”

The tears had begun to fall down her cheeks. She did not see these two hard-faced men. She saw only that little boy, puzzled, wondering why he never saw his mother, perhaps hearing tales of her. Where is my father? he would ask. Would anyone tell him: “The victim of bloody murder at Kirk o’ Field . . . murder in which your mother is suspected of being an accomplice!” Yet when they had asked him whom he loved best—Lady Mar who had been a mother to him, or his own mother, he had answered boldly: My mother.

She wanted to hold the child in her arms, to teach him, to play with him. And now she knew that the bitterest punishment of all had been the loss of her child.

Cecil and Mildmay were looking at her in dismay. She could only cover her face with her hands and murmur: “Leave me. I pray you leave me.”

LESLEY CAME TO HER apartment and she was able to see him in private, although it was an uneasy interview because every moment Mary thought they would be interrupted and prevented from speaking without the presence of a witness.

Lesley said: “This may be our only opportunity. I think it is imperative that you escape from here. The Queen grows restive and I feel sure will do you some harm. This plot which the Stanleys are making must be taken advantage of. If you can escape from Chatsworth and get to Harwich, I feel sure that in a very short time you will be back on the Scottish throne. But let us not waste time.”

He went to the window and looked down. “The descent could be made by means of a cord. Let Mary Seton have a word with Willie Douglas. Do not do so yourself. You are being closely watched. But you must break out of here as soon as possible. Cecil’s visit shows that Elizabeth is truly alarmed.”

“I do not think the Duke of Norfolk believes an escape should be made, although he has said the Stanleys are worthy to head such an attempt.”

“He fears that you will marry Don Jon. I am not thinking of your marriage but of your life. I am going to tell the Stanleys that the attempt should be made as soon as possible. You must be ready.”

Mary was silent. She was still thinking of her little son who was being brought up away from her. How many lies were fed to him, she wondered. She had suffered much, but if he ever turned against her, if he ever believed the tales of her which no doubt were told to him, she would become so melancholy that she would long for nothing but death.

Escape! A return to her throne! It would mean reunion with her little son.

She listened attentively to Lesley.

CECIL FACED the Queen once more.

“I rejoice to see that Your Majesty’s condition is improved,” he said; which was his way of telling her that he was pleased she had recovered from what he would regard as a fit of hysteria.

Mary bowed her head and waited.

“Her Majesty the Queen is deeply concerned on your behalf,” he told her. “She thinks that, having known the married state, you might be happier in it than living celibate. Therefore she is ready to suggest a marriage for you.”

Mary was attentive. She knew that Norfolk had been released from the Tower. Did this mean that Elizabeth was ready to approve of the match?

“Her Majesty proposes that you accept her kinsman, George Carey, son of Lord Hunsdon, as your husband.”