The Captive Queen of Scots - Plaidy Jean (электронную книгу бесплатно без регистрации TXT) 📗
THAT WINTER seemed as though it would never end. The air of Sheffield was not good for Mary and sometimes her limbs were so stiff with pain that she found walking difficult. She suffered acutely from neuralgia and there were times when she was convinced that she was near death.
Only the presence of her friends made it possible, she declared, for her not to die of melancholia, for when she considered their case she reminded herself that they suffered of their own free will, for there was not one of them who could not have walked out of Sheffield, a free man or woman; yet they stayed for love of her.
It was during this mournful winter that sad news reached her from Scotland. Her son was being tutored by George Buchanan, one of her greatest enemies, who had delighted in spreading slanders about her and was now teaching young James to believe them.
This news so prostrated Mary that her friends became really alarmed, and on several occasions were on the point of ordering the administration of the last rites.
It was during this sad period that Seton brought her the news that a friend had arrived at the manor and was asking to see her.
“Who is it?” asked Mary.
Seton was smiling. “One whom I think Your Majesty will be pleased to see.”
“Then tell me . . . ”
But Seton had run to the door and flung it open.
Mary stared at the man who entered, for a few moments not recognizing him, so much had he changed. Then with a cry of joy she seized his hands and drew him to her in a long embrace.
“How can I tell you how welcome you are!” she cried.
But George Douglas did not need to be told.
THIS WAS INDEED not the same George who had gone away. His stay in France had turned him from an idealistic boy to a man of the world. Yet he was nonetheless ready to give his life for the Queen. He told himself that he no longer dreamed impossible dreams. She was his Queen whom he would serve until death; she was as a goddess who was far beyond his reach. Unlike her he had never believed that there could be a relationship between them other than that which had always existed; and in France he had found a woman with whom he believed he had fallen in love, and it was for this reason he had returned to Mary.
Mary was delighted, and the coming of George so lightened her spirits that her health seemed to benefit; and as there were now signs of spring in the bleak Sheffield air, her companions congratulated themselves that she had recovered from what they had feared would be a mortal illness.
She wanted to hear all about George’s romance, and it was characteristic of her generous nature that she could feel only joy because he had found someone to love, even though in some measure this must mean that she was supplanted in his most tender affections.
As for George he was ready enough to talk. He tried to explain to her the beauty and charm of Mademoiselle La Verriere. Mary listened, regretful only because she could not give the couple rich presents, wondering what she could do to help them to their happiness.
For George had his problems. “She is a lady of some rank and her parents frown on our union because of my poverty.”
“My poor George! When I think of what you have lost on my account, I could weep. But we must not despair. I am a prisoner but I have some friends. I will write at once to my ambassador in Paris who is, as you know, the Archbishop of Glasgow, and I will ask that twenty-five thousand francs be settled on Mademoiselle La Verriere. Then I am sure her parents will be as delighted with the match as their daughter and you and I are, my dear George.”
“I fear I bring trouble to Your Majesty. You cannot afford to be so generous.”
Mary touched his cheek lightly and laughed. “I cannot afford not to make this little gift to one to whom I owe so much. Oh, George, I would it were more I could give you. Do you think I shall ever forget Lochleven and all I owed to you . . . then and after.”
George was too touched to answer, and Mary became practical.
“If you are to return to Scotland you will need a passport. I will write to Elizabeth and try to obtain this for you. If I cannot, then you must go back to France and stay there until it if safe for you to return home.”
“Your Majesty is kind enough to concern yourself with my affairs,” said George at length. “I have been thinking since I came to Sheffield of ways in which I could be of assistance to you. I have had many a talk with Willie, who is chafing at inactivity.”
Mary laughed. “Ah, Willie! You find him much changed?”
“He has become a man.”
“You heard of his troubles. Poor Willie. He is another who has suffered in my cause. He has never been quite the same since his incarceration in an English prison.”
“He could not be a boy forever,” replied George. “In one way he has changed not at all—and that is in his devotion to Your Majesty.”
“I have so many good friends, and for them I am grateful. I will tell you, George, that there are constant schemes for my rescue, yet none succeeds. Perhaps that is my fault, for there have been occasions when I have been unwilling to escape. I have not only myself to consider, and I could not blithely ride away to freedom leaving others to be punished for my actions. But I never cease to hope. And I will tell you this, George: even at this moment Lord Claud Hamilton, with others of my friends, are in touch with the Spanish government. When the time is ripe I shall be lowered from my window by means of a cord and join my friends. But I must wait until I can be sure that I have enough supporters to make the attempt worthwhile. There have been too many abortive attempts to set me back on my throne, and too many have suffered because of them.”
George’s eyes had begun to sparkle. Now that he was back in her presence she filled his mind. Mademoiselle La Verriere seemed like a charming dream but this was reality; this was what he lived for: to aid this woman who, when he was in her presence, commanded all his devotion.
Now he no longer wished to return to France; he wanted to free her from this prison, to ride by her side into Scotland, to lead her to her throne and spend the rest of his life in her service.
He was going to give the whole of his attention to planning her escape. He would consult Willie who was as shrewd and wily as anyone he knew. It would be Lochleven all over again; and as they had succeeded at Lochleven, so should they at Sheffield.
He began to speak of plans for her escape and she shook her head, for she understood the change in his feelings since their reunion.
“Nay, George,” she said, “I do not wish you to jeopardize your future further. Nothing would please me more than to see your little French bride.”
“I know now,” said George simply, “that there can be no real happiness when I do not serve my Queen.”
Seeing how deeply in earnest he was, Mary showed him the letters which she had received from Lord Claud Hamilton in Scotland and from Lesley in London; George was excited. When the Queen escaped from the Sheffield Manor House he was going to be at her side.
AS EASTER APPROACHED George was often seen in the company of Willie. Bess was alert. She had soon understood the nature of George Douglas’s feelings for the Queen. Well, she told herself, some women get what they want through their clinging femininity—others by their dominating characters. For the first time in her life she felt slightly envious of Mary who effortlessly managed to set people working for her; Bess considered the amount of energy she had had to put into bringing about the same result. Never mind. Bess knew where she was going. Sometimes she wondered whether Mary did.
There came bad news from Scotland, where the fortress of Dumbarton, which had been held for almost four years by Mary’s supporters, had been surprised and taken by her enemies; and although Lord Fleming had escaped, Archbishop Hamilton was taken and hanged as one of Darnley’s murderers.
