The Captive Queen of Scots

IV Carlisle

THE ENGLISH COAST WAS IN SIGHT. For four hours the fishing-boat in which were the Queen and her sixteen followers, together with four sailors, had been on the Solway Firth endeavoring to battle its way against a strong breeze. There had been an occasion during the trip when Mary had thought that they would be blown out to sea; in which case she knew that her friends would have taken that as an omen that their destination should have been France.

But now they were within a few minutes of landing, and already the inhabitants of that stretch of coast had noticed the ship and were coming down to the shore to see who was descending upon them.

These simple people stared in astonishment at the strangers, and immediately all eyes were focused on the tall woman who carried herself with such dignity and whose beauty, in spite of her tattered and soiled gown and the fact that her hair was escaping from her coif, was such as to startle them.

It was Herries who spoke. “This is the Queen of Scotland. Who is the lord of these parts?”

While some of the people pointed to a mansion on an incline a little distance from the coast, one or two of the younger men began to run in that direction, and with satisfaction Herries understood that they were going to acquaint someone of importance of the arrival.

Livingstone came to stand beside the Queen. “Perhaps we might walk toward the house,” he said. “It is not seemly for Your Majesty to remain here among these staring people.”

The others agreed and Herries announced: “We will go to your master’s house. Lead us thither.”

The people continued to stare at the Queen, but some of their number were ready to lead the way and the little party set off.

A strange manner, thought Mary, for a Queen to travel. And she thought of other journeys with the pomp and richness of royalty all about her.

Before they had arrived at Workington Hall, its owner, Sir Henry Curwen, now having been warned of her approach, came out to meet the party.

When he reached the Queen he bowed and bade her welcome to Workington. Then he led the way into a wooded park, and Mary felt a great relief as the gracious mansion with its castellated towers and turrets loomed before her. As she passed through the embattled gateway Sir Henry’s wife and mother were waiting to greet them.

When the younger Lady Curwen had made her curtsy she told the Queen that Workington Hall was at her disposal for as long as she wished and that, having heard of Her Majesty’s arrival, he had immediately ordered that the finest apartments in the house should be made ready for her.

“We are sixteen,” said Mary with an apologetic smile; “and we come unannounced. But I know you will feel pity for us when you hear of our misfortunes.”

“Let me conduct you to my own rooms while yours are being prepared,” said Lady Curwen. “There perhaps I can help you with a change of linen and a clean gown while food is made ready.”

“You are very kind.”

“We count it an honor to have the Queen of Scotland under our roof,” said Sir Henry.

“I am sure,” put in the Dowager Lady Curwen, “that our good Queen would be most displeased if we showed aught but warm hospitality to her kinswoman.”

“I hope soon to be with her,” Mary answered. “Then I shall tell her how happy I was to be so warmly received as soon as I stepped on her soil.”

Lady Curwen led the way to her own rooms, and, while water was brought and Mary and her ladies washed the stains of the journey from their persons, clothes were sent in for them.

For Mary there was a gown of crimson brocade slashed with white satin; it was fortunately loose, which helped to hide the fact that the fit was not perfect. Jane Kennedy combed the long chestnut hair back from the high forehead and a small round cap was placed at the back of Mary’s head, over which was a veil, edged with gold; this draped gracefully over her shoulders.

When she was dressed in these garments Mary felt almost gay. The worst was over, she told herself; the next step would be the meeting place Elizabeth suggested—and then, with England’s help, would begin the regaining of her throne.

There were clean clothes for her female attendants and, when they had changed, they felt their spirits rising. It was only three days since the defeat at Langside, but those had been spent in almost continual travel, frequently by night, and it was a great relief to put on clean garments.

When Mary went to the apartments which had been prepared for her she found food and wine waiting for her there because, explained Lady Curwen, her servants were endeavoring to prepare a repast which would, they hoped, be more worthy of their royal guest.

Mary’s warm-hearted thanks immediately won the friendship of the Curwens, and when they had made sure that the Queen had everything she needed and was resting in her apartments they left her to concern themselves with arrangements for her entertainment.

It was a few hours after the Queen’s arrival at Workington Hall and while she was still resting, when a messenger came riding into the courtyard demanding to be taken with all speed to Sir Henry Curwen.

When Sir Henry received the messenger he was informed that the man came from the Earl of Northumberland, the lord of the district.

Northumberland had heard that the Queen of Scots had arrived in England; he was not as surprised by this as Sir Henry Curwen had been, because he had heard from Sir Richard Lowther that Lord Herries had written to him asking for Mary’s safe conduct. He was therefore on the alert; and he knew his duty. He did not wish the Queen to know that she was again a prisoner, but this was what she must be until instructions were received, in the name of Elizabeth, as to what was to be done with her. Northumberland’s commands were that on the following day Curwen’s royal guest was to be conducted from Workington Hall to Cockermouth Hall. Northumberland, not being in residence at his Castle, could not entertain her there, and it was for this reason that she was to be lodged at Cockermouth Hall, the home of Henry Fletcher, a rich merchant of the district. He was sending guards who, the Queen must be made to believe, were to protect her on the short journey and to conduct her thither; actually they would be there to make sure she did not escape.

Curwen, listening to these instructions, was indignant, but he dared not disobey Northumberland; and when the Queen appeared for supper he told her that the Earl of Northumberland had heard of her arrival and wished to entertain her in his castle. Unfortunately he was not in residence, but invited her to go to Cockermouth, where she would be entertained until he could reach her.

Mary was not displeased and without suspicion. She knew that Northumberland was a Catholic, and therefore she believed he would be an ally.

“But,” she said, “I shall be very sorry to say goodbye so soon to you and your family, Sir Henry. You have made me so welcome and I shall never forget that you were my first friends in England.”

It was a merry supper which was eaten in the dining hall at Workington. Mary looked very beautiful in her crimson brocade; and when Lady Curwen brought her a lute, she played and sang a little.

She was full of hope and high spirits when she retired to her apartments. She slept long and deep. The nightmare of Langside and the three days of exhausting travel seemed to have happened a long time ago.

I was right, she thought, to come to England.

THE RISING SUN awakened her and it was some seconds before she realized where she was.

She raised herself and looked out of the window. England! she thought. This time yesterday she had been in Scotland, and already she had good friends here, in the Curwens and Northumberland. Soon she would be calling Elizabeth her friend.

She would write to Elizabeth; then she was sure there would be no delay. She would receive a warm invitation to ride south with all speed, and how wonderful it would be to meet the Queen in that Hampton Court of which she had heard so much! How long would it be? She was impatient for the meeting.

She found that the writing materials for which she had asked had been set out on a table and, rising from her bed, she sat down and wrote to the Queen of England.

I entreat you to send for me as soon as possible, for I am in a pitiable condition, not only for a Queen but even for a gentlewoman, having nothing in the world but what I had on my person when I escaped . . . .

She sighed and looked at the crimson brocade almost lovingly. Soon, she believed, she would have some clothes becoming to her station. She had a feminine interest in them and had enjoyed adding little touches to make them entirely her own, and if she could only have some of her own clothes sent to her she would feel more like herself.

. . . I hope to be able to declare my misfortunes to you if it pleases you to have compassion and permit me to come and bewail them to you. Not to weary you, I will now pray God to give you health and a long and happy life, and to myself patience, and that consolation I await from you, to whom I present my humble commendations. From Workington this 17th of May. Your very faithful and affectionate good sister and cousin and escaped prisoner,

Mary R.

She sealed this letter and went back to her bed to await the arrival of her attendants.

THE SUN WAS HIGH in the sky when Mary left Workington Hall for Cockermouth. The distance the cavalcade had to travel was only six miles but it was across country which enchanted Mary. She saw the winding Derwent and the English mountains with the peak of Skiddaw, dominating all others, stretching up to the blue sky, while her own Scottish mountains rose like grim guards on the other side of the Solway.

She was confident. She had received such kindness from her hosts; Sir Henry and his son rode with her now and the people of Workington had come out of their houses to see her ride by. They gave her a cheer and stared in admiration now that she was in red brocade and flowing veil.

Cockermouth Hall was as pleasant a residence as Workington Hall and its owner, Henry Fletcher, who was as eager to make her welcome as Sir Henry Curwen had been, was waiting to receive her. He bowed low and told her that he had had apartments made ready for her on the first floor, where the most spacious rooms in Cockermouth Hall were situated. He considered it an honor to entertain the Queen of Scotland in his house and if there was anything she lacked he begged her to make him aware of this.

Mary thanked him and her gracious charm had the same effect upon him as it had had on Sir Henry Curwen. Her pleasure was increased when she found that she had been given three large rooms, leading from each other, which would be her antechamber, presence chamber and bedchamber.

Henry Fletcher, who conducted her thither, expressed a hope that they would suffice during her brief stay on her way to Carlisle Castle, where she would be lodged in a manner more fitting to her estate.

Mary thanked him and added that she could not have been more comfortable in any castle; and if only she had some of her own clothes she would feel completely at home.

Fletcher bowed himself from her presence and Jane Kennedy and Lady Livingstone set about examining the apartments more closely in order that they might make their mistress comfortable.

While they were thus engaged there was a knock at the door and a servant entered with a large parcel which he set on the bed, with the words that it came with the compliments of his master.

When he had gone the women gathered round while Mary unwrapped the parcel; and there were exclamations of delight as thirteen ells of scarlet velvet cascaded over the bed.

Henry Fletcher had sent a note with this in which he expressed his hopes that the Queen had good seamstresses in her party who would be able to make a gown for her.

Mary stood for some seconds holding the rich material against her, her eyes filling with tears because she was deeply affected, as always, by the kindness of people toward her.

Then she burst into laughter instead of tears and, flinging the velvet about her, embraced Lady Livingstone and Jane Kennedy.

“You see how we are treated by the English!” she cried. “They are kind, as I knew they would be. And all the consideration I am now given by Elizabeth’s subjects is but a foretaste of what I shall receive from my good sister.”

She watched Jane Kennedy fingering the material and speculating as to how the gown should be cut; and she was happier than she had been since that morning in Castlemilk when she had looked from the battlements and seen the gathering forces of her enemy.

THE STAY AT COCKERMOUTH was as brief as that at Workington had been, but before she left Mary had the pleasure of meeting some of the noblest ladies of this district. These, led by Lady Scrope, who was the Duke of Norfolk’s sister and therefore one of the noblest ladies in England, called at Cockermouth Hall to pay their respects to her; and Lady Scrope told the Queen that she would accompany her to Carlisle Castle and act as a maid of honor to Her Majesty of Scotland. Mary had only one regret at this meeting; there had not been time to make the thirteen ells of velvet into a gown, and she was forced to greet the ladies of England in her borrowed red brocade.

However, her natural beauty and queenly bearing stood her in good stead, and in spite of their fine garments Mary stood apart, undoubtedly Queen, undoubtedly the loveliest creature any of the ladies had ever beheld.

But during the journey to Carlisle Castle Mary’s spirits were temporarily dashed, for on the road she met the French Ambassador to Scotland who, hearing that she had escaped to England, had followed her there.

Eagerly she asked for news of Scotland, but he could tell her nothing for her comfort. Many of her friends had died and others were in danger of losing their lives and possessions because they had befriended her.

Sobered, Mary continued the journey with the French Ambassador riding beside her and as they passed under the portcullis of the red stone castle of Carlisle, Herries glanced at Livingstone and he saw concern on the latter’s face similar to that which he himself was feeling.

They had no need to express their thoughts. This was a fortress indeed. They were as far north as they had been on the day they arrived in England.

If the Queen of England was eager to see her sister of Scotland, should they not be traveling south?

They could not share Mary’s elation as they entered Carlisle Castle.

SIR RICHARD LOWTHER, Deputy-Governor of Carlisle, to whom Lord Herries had written, arrived at Carlisle Castle to see the Queen. It had been on his instructions that she had been lodged there for, on hearing that she had arrived in England, he had immediately dispatched a messenger to Elizabeth and her ministers asking for instructions. In the meantime he had decided that it was his duty to hold Mary in his custody.

He was courteous to Mary and told her that he hoped soon to receive instructions from his Queen; until that time he would give orders that she should be made comfortable in the castle.

Mary’s apartments there were indeed comfortable with the May sunshine warming the place. In winter it would be a different story, but the winter was a long way off and by that time, Mary believed, she would either be living in luxury at Elizabeth’s Court or, better still, would have regained her throne and be back in Edinburgh.

Her spirits had been considerably lowered by the news of the suffering which must be endured by her faithful friends who had remained behind in Scotland. She must not allow George or Willie Douglas to go back until she had regained her throne; as the two who had delivered her from Lochleven, their lives would doubtless be forfeited.

But her hopes were still high as she sat in the seat of her window in the tower and looked out at the pleasant meandering River Eden.

One of her first visitors to Carlisle Castle was Thomas Percy, Earl of Northumberland. Mary was delighted to receive the Earl because she believed that, as a good Catholic, he would be eager to give her his support against Protestant Moray.

The Earl bowed low and told her that it gave him great pleasure to meet her, but that his pleasure was tempered with sadness because of the reason for her presence in Carlisle.

“I am very eager to meet the Queen of England,” she told him. “I have been treated with great kindness by all in England, but I do find the delay irksome and I wonder why I must wait in this manner.”

The Earl replied: “Your Majesty, if I were in charge of your comfort it would not be so.”

“Then, my lord, how I wish that you were in charge of my comfort.”

“I will see what can be done in the matter,” he told her, all his chivalry aroused by the plight of this beautiful creature.

“Then,” said Mary softly, “it would seem that each day I become more indebted to Englishmen.”

When Northumberland left her he went to Sir Richard Lowther and said in a somewhat arrogant manner: “Your duties toward the Queen of Scots are now ended. I will take over the charge of her.”

Lowther answered: “No, my lord Earl, you forget that, as Lord Warden, that duty is mine.”

“I disagree. As chief magnate of this district the task of the Queen’s safe custody should be in my hands.”

The two men faced each other. It was true that Northumberland was the lord of the district, but Lowther knew that he himself would be responsible for the Queen of Scots to the Queen of England. Moreover Northumberland, on account of his religion, was no great favorite of Elizabeth and her ministers. Northumberland was a simple-minded man; he was unusually lacking in political ambitions; but being utterly devoted to the Catholic Faith, he felt it his duty to aid the Queen of Scots with all his power. As a Catholic he doubted the rights of Elizabeth herself, and it seemed to him that Mary was not only the Queen of Scotland but had a very strong claim to the throne of England also.

Lowther was aware of this, so in spite of his adversary’s rank he remained adamant.

He drew Northumberland to the window and showed him the troops stationed outside. “They obey my orders,” he said. “It would go ill with any—noble earl or not—who sought to prevent me from doing my duty.”

Northumberland’s face turned a dull red as he glared down at the soldiers.

“You varlet!” he cried. “You are too low a man to pretend to such a charge.”

“It is true,” answered Lowther, “that I am not a noble earl, but noble earls have been known to part with their heads on the scaffold for disobeying their Sovereign’s orders.”

“And how do you propose to prevent my taking charge of the Queen?”

Lowther knew that Northumberland was no strategist.

He said coolly: “By putting you under guard and sending you to London.” He nodded toward the courtyard. “There are my soldiers . . . waiting. Attempt to take my charge from me, and you are the Queen’s prisoner.”

Northumberland, turning away, muttered: “It’s a sorry day for England when low-bred varlets threaten noble earls.”

So might it have been, thought Lowther grimly, but he had won the day. The Queen of Scots remained in his charge.

IT WAS A FEW DAYS after the visit of Northumberland, when Mary was eagerly awaiting a summons from Elizabeth, that she was surprised and delighted to receive a visit from the Duke of Norfolk.

He had good reason for being in the district; his sister, Lady Scrope, was with the Queen, and what more natural than that he should call on her. Moreover, his third wife, who had recently died, had been the daughter of Sir Francis Leybourne of Cunswick Hall in Cumberland and widow of Lord Dacre. He certainly had business in the North.

Having heard a great deal about the charm and beauty of the Queen of Scotland he wished to discover whether these reports had been exaggerated. He saw at once that they were not, and he was enchanted.

Mary bade him sit beside her while she told him how eagerly she waited for a message from the Queen of England.

“It will come,” he told her. “All in good time. The Queen has always expressed great interest in Your Majesty’s affairs and doubtless will be most eager to meet you.”

“I had thought to be well on my journey south by now. I cannot understand why it should be considered necessary for me to stay so long in Carlisle Castle.”

“Has Your Majesty suggested that you should move south?”

“Why yes,” she told him. “Sir Richard Lowther is very courteous but he is firm on this matter. He asks me to be patient until he has commands from his Queen.”

“He does well to wait.”

“Of a certainty he would not wish to offend his mistress, but . . . since as you say she is eager to meet me . . . and I most certainly am to meet her, it is hard to stomach this delay.”

“Ah, our Queen has a high temper. Lowther will be remembering that. Doubtless he will receive a reprimand for not speeding your journey to the English Court.”

“I shall make a point of telling my cousin how kind he has been in every way; and I am sure the delay is only due to his desire to obey her wishes in every detail.”

Norfolk’s mind was busy. How gentle she was! How forgiving! And what a beauty! He was an ambitious man; he was also the premier peer and richest man in England. The Howards were of course a noble family and a rich one, but his marriages had been wise ones and, although he was now only thirty-two, in a little more than ten years he had been thrice widowed. His first wife, Lady Mary Fitzalan, had been the heiress of the Earl of Arundel. She had died when only sixteen, leaving him a son Philip who had inherited his grandfather’s title of Earl of Arundel. His second wife had been Margaret, heiress-daughter of Lord Audley; that marriage had lasted five years and had ended in the death of Margaret. In a little over three years later, early in 1567 he had married once more; this time Dacre’s widow, who had died before the year was out. These heiresses had added to his own considerable fortune; but as Elizabeth Dacre had had a son and three daughters when she married him and he was eager to keep the Dacre fortune in the family he was endeavoring to arrange marriages between his own children and his stepchildren.

He had not found great favor at Elizabeth’s Court since he had resented her friendship with the Earl of Leicester, but even the Queen could not ignore the premier peer who was also the richest man in the country.

As he talked pleasantly with Mary a certain speculation entered his mind. She was undoubtedly marriageable. It was true her husband Bothwell was still living. What had happened to him? There had been many rumors, and the fellow would never dare to return to Scotland if he valued his life.

There could be a divorce. A dispensation from the Pope might be obtained.

His three wives had been heiresses. Well, here was an heiress of another kind—the greatest heiress of them all, if she regained what was hers.

These thoughts made Norfolk’s eyes shine and the gallantries trip from his tongue. Mary found pleasure in them particularly as they could mean that this powerful Englishman was ready to be her friend.

The visit was all too brief, and when Norfolk departed he kissed her hand with a certain emotion which was significant.

There had been numbers of men in love with Mary. She was not yet twenty-six years old, but she had felt very old during the last weeks and burdened with responsibilities.

The Duke of Norfolk had made her feel young again and she was grateful to him.

THERE WAS EXCITEMENT in the castle because of new arrivals from Scotland. The Queen had been sitting in her window looking out over the countryside and had seen them approaching; she had called Jane Kennedy and Lady Livingstone to her side, and they had all stood watching until as the party came nearer they recognized familiar faces.

“It is!” Mary murmured. “I really believe it is!”

Jane cried out: “That’s Bastian and his wife Margaret Cawood. I remember the night they were married . . . .”

She stopped. Bastian, the valet, had been married to Margaret Cawood, the maid, on the night when Darnley was murdered.

Mary said, as though she had not heard: “There are Lord and Lady Fleming . . . and yes . . . Marie Courcelles and my dear . . . dear Seton.”

Mary could wait no longer; she went down to the courtyard to greet the newcomers.

There had been no mistake; she was almost weeping with joy. She would have no ceremony; she took these dear people one by one into her arms and embraced them all.

“Your Majesty is not more happy to see us than we are to come,” Seton told her.

“My dearest Seton!” cried Mary. “How can I tell you all how much I love you!”

Now it seemed that he had a suite worthy of a Queen. There were twenty-eight people in her entourage, for they had brought with them a cook, a pantler and a pâtissier.

“There will doubtless be more coming to your service,” Marie Courcelles told her, “for when it was known that we proposed to follow you to England, there were many who wished to join us and announced their intention of following in our wake.”

“If this were but one of my own palaces I should order a banquet such as I never gave before,” Mary told them.

“The welcome you have given us brings us more pleasure than aught else could ever do,” Lord Fleming replied on behalf of them all.

It was wonderful to sit with Seton and Marie Courcelles and hear news of Scotland. The first subject they discussed was Lochleven and what had happened when Mary’s flight had been discovered. Seton told of the rage and despair of Sir William and how Lady Douglas could not help showing her pride in George who had had a hand in it all, and while condoling with William was obviously hoping that George would not suffer because of the help he had given the Queen.

“Nor shall he,” murmured Mary fervently, “if I can prevent it.”

It had been some time before Sir William noticed the loss of his keys and gave the alarm; by that time Mary was on the mainland. The commotion in the castle had been tremendous. Sir William’s great concern had been how to break out and give the alarm, and to send guards in search of the escaping party.

“As for Will Drysdale,” went on Seton, “when he returned he swore that if George and Willie Douglas ever fell into his hands he would cut them into collops and wash his hands in their hearts’ blood.”

Mary shuddered. “I must make sure they never do,” she answered.

There was little good news Seton had to impart, so she changed the subject of what was happening in Scotland and expressed her displeasure at the Queen’s appearance.

“Your Majesty’s hair!”

“Yes,” Mary agreed. “It has suffered without you. I know you are the best busker in Scotland—and, I doubt not, in England also. Seton, when we go to Hampton Court you must not let Elizabeth lure you from me.”

“As if anyone could ever lure me from Your Majesty!”

“They say she is very vain, Seton. She will doubtless envy me my busker.”

“Then she may envy all she wishes. I should like to get to work on your hair at once.”

“All in good time, Seton. You must not let Jane Kennedy notice your contempt though. She believes herself to be a very good busker. So we must have a care.” Then Mary sighed. “Why do I talk of frivolous things when my heart is so full? But I must go on or I shall weep. So Seton, how will you dress my hair? What are you going to say when you see that I have but one red brocade dress, given me by Lady Curwen who took pity on my poverty? And thirteen ells of red velvet . . . also a gift of pity. How shall we make up those thirteen ells . . . eh, Seton?”

Then Mary took her closest friend in her arms and they laughed and cried together.

THE NEXT DAY, sitting alone with the Queen, Seton spoke of Bothwell.

“There is news of him,” he told Mary, “and I have been wondering whether it would grieve you to hear it.”

“It may grieve me,” said Mary, “but I must know it.”

“He is alive.”

Mary was silent. Speaking of him brought back such vivid memories; and yet she was not sure that she wished to see him. Her experiences since Carberry Hill had changed her so much; how could she know what the woman she had become would feel toward the bold Borderer?

“And,” went on Seton, “the prisoner of the King of Denmark.”

“A prisoner! That will not please his bold spirit.”

“Moray has made efforts to have him sent back to Scotland.”

“That he might kill him,” said Mary expressionlessly.

“I have heard that the King of Denmark is a little inclined in his favor because Bothwell wrote to him after he had been seized, saying that he was on his way to him to lay before him and the King of France the wrongs you had been forced to suffer, and to ask their help. He assured the King of Denmark that he had been acquitted of the murder of Darnley; therefore that King would not send him back to Scotland, but satisfied himself by keeping Bothwell in prison.”

“He will suffer in prison,” Mary murmured. “I believe he would endure death rather.”

“I heard too that he had promised the King of Denmark the Islands of Orkney and Shetland in return for his liberty.”

“Ah! He would risk his life for freedom, I am sure, so should we be surprised that he offers the islands? And the King of Denmark?”

“Doubtless he knows that it would be too difficult to hold those islands. So Bothwell remains a prisoner. It is said that he has now been moved to a new prison at Malmoe—to one from which it would be well nigh impossible to escape.”

Mary was silent thinking: Tonight I shall dream of him. It will be as though he is beside me, as though we are back in the days before Carberry Hill.

Thus it had always been when others had talked of him with her, and she believed that she would never escape from her memories as long as she lived. But that night she did not dream of Bothwell. She dreamed of arriving at Hampton Court and being embraced by Elizabeth who said: “Give me Mary Seton to dress my hair and I will return your kingdom.”

She awoke laughing.

Then she knew that she was indeed changed. She had escaped from the spell of James Hepburn, Earl of Bothwell.

NEWS CAME TO THE CASTLE that Queen Elizabeth was sending two trusted noblemen to the Queen of Scotland that she might be assured of her dear sister’s comfort. These were Lord Scrope and Sir Francis Knollys.

When he heard that they were coming, Lord Herries discussed the meaning of their appointments with Livingstone and Fleming.

“I do not like the sound of this,” said Herries.

Fleming and Livingstone agreed.

“The delay is too long,” added Fleming. “Something is afoot. I would I knew what.”

“At least we know,” put in Livingstone, “that if the Queen attempted now to go back to Scotland, she would be prevented from doing so.”

“And therefore,” went on Fleming, “she is virtually a prisoner. Carlisle is a little more pleasant than Lochleven, but it is imprisonment all the same—even though the Queen is unaware of it.”

“We can only say that she appears to be a prisoner,” said Herries. “Do not let us make her aware of our suspicions until we know them to be justified. She has suffered so much already, and is hoping for so much from this interview with the Queen.”

“Why do you think Scrope and Knollys are being sent?” asked Fleming.

“To replace Lowther who has offended the Queen by allowing Norfolk to visit Her Majesty.”

“Elizabeth is notoriously jealous of our Queen,” said Livingstone. “She does not wish her to receive the gentlemen of England in her apartments. It may be that Norfolk has prated of her beauty. Oddly enough that could upset Elizabeth more than anything else.”

“I feel sure it is the reason for Lowther’s dismissal from his post as jailor,” Herries said. “I suggest that I go out to meet them. If I can have a quiet talk with them before they arrive, it may well be that I can discover the true state of Elizabeth’s feelings toward the Queen.”

The others agreed that it would be an excellent idea if he set out at once and made contact with the new jailors before they reached Carlisle Castle.

LORD HERRIES MET Sir Francis Knollys and Lord Scrope about six miles from Carlisle Castle. He introduced himself and told them that if they were willing he proposed to make the journey back with them, as there were certain matters he wished to discuss on the way.

Both Knollys and Scrope were uneasy. They had their instructions direct from Sir William Cecil. They were to keep watch over the Queen of Scots and prevent her slipping back over the Border to Scotland; they were to intercept all letters which came to her; they were to report any remark which might be used against her and give the Queen and her ministers an excuse for holding her a prisoner; they were to prevent her seeking help from foreign powers; and while they performed these duties it was considered desirable to make her believe that she was not being held prisoner.

It was by no means an easy task, and both men would have been happy to avoid it.

Sir Francis Knollys was a favorite of Elizabeth, partly because he had married her maternal cousin, Catherine Carey; she had made him her vice-chamberlain and he was a member of her Privy Council.

Henry Scrope, Baron Scrope of Bolton, was also a man of whom Elizabeth had a high opinion; he had been an intermediary between Elizabeth and Moray and was aware of facts not known to many. He also was a member of the Privy Council.

Herries regarded these men anxiously, wondering what their arrival was going to mean to his mistress; but they greeted him cordially and told him that they appreciated his coming to meet them.

“You will find my mistress in a sorry state,” Herries told them. “She has been treated with great disrespect and has been accused of crimes of which she is innocent.”

Neither Knollys nor Scrope offered comment on this, but replied by saying that they were eager to meet the Queen of whose beauty and charm they had heard much.

“I and her friends are hoping that you bring her an invitation to the English Court.”

Herries was looking eagerly into the faces of the men as he asked this important question.

Knollys answered: “There are matters which have to be settled before such an invitation could be given.”

“How so?” demanded Herries. “Should not these matters be settled between the Queens at their meeting?”

“There have been evil rumors concerning the Queen of Scots. She has been accused of playing a part in her husband’s murder.”

“Lies! Calumnies! The Queen is completely innocent.”

Scrope said: “Our Queen is jealous of her reputation.”

Jealous of her reputation! It was all Herries could do to stop himself shouting: I seem to remember a little matter in which your Queen was concerned. Her lover, Dudley, had a wife who was found dead at the bottom of a staircase. Oh, she did not marry Dudley then . . . She was too wise. Too cold, too hard, too determined to stay on the throne. But is she in a position to question what part the Queen of Scots played in the murder of Darnley while there is a doubt as to what part Elizabeth of England played in the mysterious death of Amy Robsart?

But he must be careful. To alienate the sympathies of Elizabeth and her subjects now could be fatal to Mary’s cause. Of one thing he was certain. There was going to be no easy way for Mary to reach the English Court.

Knollys went on: “It might be necessary for the Queen of Scots to clear her name before the Queen of England could receive her.”

“I must go to the Queen of England as soon as it can be arranged,” said Herries. “I must myself make her understand the innocence of my Queen.”

“That might be an excellent plan,” admitted Scrope, looking at Knollys. And Herries wondered: Are they eager for me to be gone? Do they want to see me out of the way? And what would happen to me when I reached London? Should I be sent to a lonely cell, there to regret my zeal for what they hope to make the lost cause of the Queen of Scots?

“Our mistress has heard that her cousin of Scotland has need of garments. We have with us a box of clothes—a present to the Queen of Scotland from the Queen of England.”

“I am sure my mistress will receive this gift with pleasure.”

And as they came nearer to Carlisle Castle Herries’ spirit sank still further. It seemed to him that the arrival of Knollys and Scrope confirmed what he had always feared; it had been a mistake to expect help from the Queen of England.

MARY RECEIVED SCROPE and Knollys in her apartments in the tower of the castle. She was wearing the red brocade dress, having no other, but Mary Seton’s work on her hair had transformed her appearance. She looked very beautiful, and Knollys to a large degree, Scrope to a lesser, felt a sudden loathing of the part they had to play.

Rumor had certainly not lied about the Queen’s appearance; and the sweetness of her expression and the gracious way in which she received them made them understand why so many of her servants had wished to come to England to be with her.

“Well,” she said, “I trust you bring me news of my good sister.”

“The Queen of England sends affectionate greetings to Your Majesty.”

“I hope soon to thank her for them with my own lips.”

Knollys and Scrope hesitated, and Mary said sharply: “Do you bring me an invitation to her Court?”

“No, Your Majesty.” Scrope was leaving Knollys to explain. “Your Majesty will understand . . . . You come to England under a sad suspicion.”

“Suspicion?” cried Mary.

“Your Majesty, your second husband died mysteriously, and rumor has it that, since you married so quickly after his death . . . .”

Mary lifted a hand. In that moment she was very regal and almost forbidding. “Say no more,” she said. “All who know me are certain of my innocence in that matter, and I have not come to England to defend myself.”

“Your Majesty, the Queen of England is jealous of her reputation.”

“She has need to be,” answered Mary promptly.

“As a virgin Queen she is eager that no scandal shall attach to her name, as might be the case if she entertained at her Court one who . . . ”

Mary laughed. She wanted to say: It is not so long ago that Robert Dudley and the Queen were concerned in a similar matter. But she did not mention this, because she understood that one of the reasons why Elizabeth was so eager to protect what she called her good name was because there must be many who remembered the Amy Robsart mystery and were asking themselves if that name was so spotless, if the Queen, who so eagerly proclaimed herself a virgin, was not too emphatic on this matter.

But she was hurt, and the tears of anger momentarily gleamed in her eyes.

Knollys felt his pity touched by the sight of her, and he said gently: “Our Queen is sorry that she cannot do you the honor of admitting you to her presence as yet. But the time will come when Your Majesty is purged of this slander of murder. But the affection of our royal mistress toward Your Majesty is very great and you may depend on her favor. But she would not be pleased if you brought strangers into Scotland. If you do not do this she will use all her means to make you comfortable during your stay in her realm.”

“But do you not see,” persisted Mary, “that I have come here for a temporary refuge, that I hope for help to regain my kingdom? If the Queen will not see me, how can I hope to make her understand my case?”

“Her Majesty of England will admit Your Majesty of Scotland to her presence when you are cleared of the slander, which we all trust you will be ere long. To show her friendship Her Majesty has sent you a gift.”

Lord Scrope said: “My servants will bring it up at once.”

Knollys felt sick with shame. He did not know what was in the box, but Elizabeth had sent for him and Scrope and told them that she was eager to know exactly what the Queen of Scotland’s reactions were on opening the box; and because of the malicious smile which had been on Elizabeth’s face when she had said this, he was apprehensive.

The box was brought in and Mary called for Seton to come and help unpack it.

While this was done Knollys and Scrope stood by.

Seton gasped as she lifted out two shifts that were frayed at the edges and in holes. Mary looked with astonishment from these garments to Scrope and Knollys, neither of whom could meet her gaze. There were some pieces of black velvet almost rusty with age; there were shoes scuffed at the toes and almost falling to pieces; and undergarments badly in need of patching.

“Is this what the Queen of England sends me for my wardrobe?” asked Mary, and the quietness of her tone betrayed to those who knew her what restraint she had to exercise to subdue her anger. She had had a vision of herself at the Court of France in blue velvet and gold, and the courtiers and the King of France with Madame de Poitiers, and young François telling her that she was the loveliest girl at the Court; that she had a way with a gown which transformed it into a thing of beauty when it clothed her form. Then she heard the cheers of the crowds as she rode through the streets of Paris. “Long live the Dauphine! Long live the Queen of England!”

How careless she had been then! What had her redheaded rival in England said of her, thought of her, when she had heard that in Paris she, Mary, was being called the Queen of England? Was she determined on revenge? Was this that revenge? Two pieces of mangy velvet, patched shift, worn out shoes! Was this a symbol of the help she must expect from the Queen of England?

She scarcely glanced at the things in the box and Knollys began to stammer: “The Queen of England understood that your maids were in need of clothes. These were intended for them.”

“Perhaps she intended them for my scullions,” said Mary sharply. “But do you know, when I had my own Court, I wished to see my lowest servants decently clad.”

She signed that the interview was over, and Knollys at least was glad. He felt ashamed.

Scrope eyed him warily. That remark about the contents of the box being intended for the maids was extraordinary. Was Knollys, like so many others, about to become a victim of the fascinating Queen of Scots?

SHORTLY AFTER Knollys and Scrope had left her, and before she had recovered from her anger, the Lords Herries and Fleming were asking for an audience.

She admitted them at once and saw from their grim looks that their fears equaled her own.

She smiled wanly at Herries. “You do not say, my lord, that you warned me not to come to England. But I remember that you did.”

Herries shook his head sadly. “Who can say what would have befallen us if we had tried to reach France, Your Majesty?”

“Nothing worse than that which could happen to us in England. Why, my lords, I feel almost as much a prisoner here as I did in Lochleven. Remember how long I have been here. I have made no progress through England at all. I have merely changed Lochleven for Carlisle.”

“We have a suggestion to put to Your Majesty,” said Fleming. “Someone must plead your cause with Queen Elizabeth and, since it cannot be yourself, we propose that one of us should go to London and try to obtain an audience with her.”

Mary looked from one to the other.

“I should go, Your Majesty, with your permission,” Herries told her.

“I shall miss you, my good and faithful counselor.”

“You have a bigger retinue than when you came—all faithful friends,” said Herries. “I can now leave Your Majesty with confidence, knowing that you have about you those who will protect you with their lives.”

“God bless you,” Mary replied emotionally. “When do you propose to set out?”

“Immediately.”

Fleming said: “I have come to ask Your Majesty’s permission to go to France . . . if that is possible.”

“To France!” Mary’s eyes widened. “Ah, that is where I should have gone when I left Scotland. I see it all now. The King of France would have been a good friend to me. He is older now and, it may be, not so completely under the control of his mother. And you will go to him, my lord Fleming, and tell him of my plight.”

“Herries and I have talked of this matter,” Fleming went on. “I shall tell Your Majesty’s Uncles, the Duke of Guise and the Cardinal of Lorraine, what is happening to you in England. I shall explain to His Majesty of France that we do not trust the English and I shall ask for their help and advice.”

“We can trust them, I know,” said Mary. “They are indeed my friends.”

“It will be necessary for the Queen of England to give me a safe conduct,” Fleming pointed out.

“Which she will not do if she believes you are going to ask for French help,” added Herries. “The last thing she wishes to do is to bring the French into Scotland. It would not be a difficult matter then for them to cross the Border.”

“My plan, Your Majesty,” went on Fleming, “is to tell the Queen of England that the King of France has offered help—which he has—but that as you are not yet in a position to receive it you wish, while thanking him to ask if you may call on it later if and when you should be in a position to make use of it.”

“You think she will believe that?” asked Mary.

“We must hope that she will,” answered Herries. “We must take some action. If we do nothing we may be here for months.”

“You are right,” Mary told them. “We must act—even if by so doing we merely discover the true nature of Elizabeth’s feelings toward me.”

Shortly afterward Herries and Fleming set out for the English Court.

SIR FRANCIS KNOLLYS was more pleased than he admitted to himself to see five small carts arriving in the courtyard accompanied by heavily laden packhorses. He went down to make a closer inspection, although he guessed whence these came.

“You come from Lord Moray?” he asked one of the drivers.

“Yes, my lord. With these goods which are for the use of the Queen-Mother of Scotland.”

“Then unload them with all speed,” ordered Sir Francis.

While this was being done, he made his way to Mary’s apartments and asked that he might see her.

She received him immediately, hoping that he brought news from his royal mistress; he was smiling and she began to believe that he would have been pleased to help her.

“I see that travelers are with us,” said Mary. “I trust they come from Queen Elizabeth.”

“No, Your Majesty, they come from Lord Moray in Scotland.”

Mary’s expression changed. “Then they can bring no good to me.”

“Yet I do not believe Your Majesty will be displeased when you see what has been brought.”

“I cannot conceive of any good coming to me from my bastard brother.”

“I have asked that these articles be sent to Your Majesty,” said Knollys. He smiled. “I have a wife, and I know how important such thing can be.”

“Do you mean that some of my possessions have been returned to me?”

“I sent word to Moray, asking him not to withhold your clothes but to send them to you here that you might have the pleasure of wearing them.”

“That was good of you, Sir Francis; but you remember that, the last time such a request was made, he sent me only things which I had long discarded . . . ruffs and coifs which were quite out of date, and dresses which were almost in rags. Indeed, what Moray sent me was only slightly better than those which your Queen sent . . . to my maids.”

Knollys looked uncomfortable for a few seconds, then he brightened. “I do not think you will be disappointed this time. May I have the articles brought to you?”

Mary’s smile was dazzling. “At least,” she said gently, “I rejoice that one of my jailors has a kind heart.”

“You must not think of me as such,” insisted Knollys.

“Nor shall I, when I receive my invitation to your Queen and we travel south,” was the answer. “When that will be, who shall say? So in the meantime let us content ourselves with seeing what my bastard brother has sent from my wardrobe.”

Mary summoned Seton, Jane Kennedy, Lady Livingstone and Marie Courcelles, and the packages were brought to the apartment.

This time they were not disappointed. Having received a request from an Englishman of such importance Moray had thought it wise not to ignore it.

The women cried out with pleasure as they unrolled eight ells of the finest black velvet, and thirty each of gray and black taffety. There were twelve pairs of shoes and four of slippers as well as stitching silk and jet buttons.

“Now,” cried Seton, “we shall be busy.”

IN SPITE OF the absence of Herries and Fleming, Mary had a larger retinue than she had had since leaving Scotland. Now and then some Scotsman would arrive at the castle with the request to be given a place in her household, in preparation for the day when he would return to Scotland to fight for her crown.

George Douglas, with Willie, was constantly on guard; she told them that she felt safe when they were near, and that constantly in her thoughts was the memory of what they had done for her at Lochleven. She now had her own two private secretaries, Gilbert Curle and Monsieur Claud Nau, as well as carvers, cupbearer, cook and scullions. A little Scottish Court was rapidly being formed in Carlisle Castle.

One day Sir Nicholas Elphinstone arrived at the castle with letters to Scrope and Knollys from Moray. This caused great consternation throughout Mary’s retinue, for Elphinstone was notoriously antagonistic to the Queen.

George Douglas swore that if he came face-to-face with Elphinstone he would challenge him and nothing but combat would satisfy him; Willie was brooding on a scheme for taking Elphinstone prisoner; and several of the lairds declared their intentions of challenging him to a duel.

Scrope, disconcerted, went to Knollys and was a little reproachful.

“You see what is happening. You have shown too much friendship toward the Queen of Scotland. You have allowed her to collect this entourage which is almost like a small court about her. Therefore, when a messenger from one with whom we have no quarrel arrives, they behave as though Carlisle Castle belonged to them and they had the right to say who should or should not be entertained here.”

Knollys saw the point of this and, as he was afraid that complaints might be made to Elizabeth, and as he knew that her chief feeling toward Mary was jealousy, he realized that he must in future act with more caution.

In the company of Scrope he went to her apartments; and Scrope opened the attack by protesting at the conduct of people like George Douglas, who had challenged a peaceful messenger who came to the castle.

“Your Majesty must remember that you are the guest of the Queen of England, and that you have no power to order who shall or shall not venture into the Castle of Carlisle.”

Mary haughtily replied: “This man is a Scotsman, and one of my subjects.”

“Your Majesty forgets,” went on Scrope, “that all Scotsmen do not call you their Queen.”

Mary flushed hotly. “This state of affairs shall not be allowed to last.”

Scrope looked doubtful, Knollys uncomfortable, and Mary went on in the impulsive way which was characteristic of her: “You do not think this so, my lords. I see from your expressions that you believe Lord Moray to be the ruler of Scotland in the name of my son. It will not long be so. Huntley, Argyle and others are with me. They assure me that very soon I shall be back in Edinburgh, the acknowledged Queen of Scotland. Ah, I see you do not believe me.” Determined to prove the truth of this statement she crossed the room and opened a drawer of her table. “Look at these, my lords. Letters, you see, from my friends. Huntley has the whole of the North behind him. I can picture him now . . . planning my return. I’ll swear his Highlanders are already marching to the lilt of the bagpipes.”

She was thrusting papers into their hands, and Knollys would have liked to warn her, but Scrope was scrutinizing the letters.

“Interesting,” he murmured. “Very, very interesting.”

“So you see,” said Mary, “I am not so deserted as you . . . and perhaps your Queen . . . have thought me to be?”

“No, Madam,” answered Scrope grimly. “I see that you are not.”

SCROPE SAID TO KNOLLYS: “You see what intrigue goes on under our noses. Why, it would not be impossible for her to be carried back into Scotland before we could prevent it. Huntley and Argyle writing to her thus! Do we see the letters? We do not! Yet it is our Queen’s command that we see all letters which pass into the hands of the Queen of Scotland, and all those that she sends out.”

Knollys shook his head. “I would to God we had never been given this task.”

“I confess to certain misgivings. But perforce we have this task, and perform it we must . . . or be in trouble ourselves.”

“What new rules do you propose to put in force?”

“Firstly I shall write to Cecil and suggest that Carlisle Castle is too near the Border for my peace of mind. There is my castle of Bolton . . . ”

“Ha! A fortress if ever there was one.”

“I should feel happier there with this captive of ours than I do in Carlisle. Then I like not all these servants about her. I believe that none of the men of her court should be allowed to sleep in the castle but should find lodgings outside. The rooms leading to her bedchamber should be filled with our guards—and perhaps ourselves—rather than her friends. The castle gates must be kept locked through the night and not opened until ten of the clock in the forenoon and closed at dusk. Then it might be difficult for Huntley and Argyle to whisk her away without our Queen’s consent.”

“Ah,” sighed Knollys sadly, “little did she know when she escaped from Lochleven that she was changing one prison for another.”

THERE WAS NO NEWS of Herries, no news of Fleming. That boded ill, for Mary knew that if they had succeeded with their missions she would have heard from them. She was beginning to suspect the goodwill of Elizabeth, and was wondering whether the shadow of Elizabeth of England would darken her life now, as that of Catherine de’ Medici had her childhood.

One day a certain Henry Middlemore called at Carlisle on his way to Scotland with dispatches from Elizabeth to Moray and, hearing of his arrival, Mary asked that he be brought to her.

The demeanor of this man should have been enough to show Mary the hopelessness of her case with Elizabeth, for he treated her with a deliberate lack of respect.

“Have you brought me news of when your mistress will grant me an interview?” asked Mary passionately.

“Madam,” was the answer, “I can only tell you what you know already. The Queen of England cannot receive you until you have cleared yourself of suspicion of murder. And that you have not done, and facts are black against you.”

“How dare you say such things to me?” demanded Mary.

“Because they are the truth, Madam. Her Majesty, my mistress, asks you to prevent those Scotsmen in Dumbarton and other places in Scotland from accepting help from France should it be sent.”

“Why should I prevent others from helping my cause when your mistress refuses to do so?” asked Mary.

“You have put yourself in my mistress’s hands and if, when she has judged your case, she finds you guiltless, doubtless she will help you. I go to Scotland now to ask the Earl of Moray to suppress all signs of civil war in Scotland at the request of the Queen of England.”

Mary was slightly mollified at this and Middlemore went on: “Her Majesty believes you would find better air away from Carlisle and that it would be to your advantage to go to some other castle which shall be placed at your disposal.”

“Does the Queen of England intend to have me taken there as a prisoner or for me to go of my own free will?” Mary asked.

“I am sure the Queen of England has no wish to make you her prisoner. She will be happy if you accept her plans for you without demur. It would please her if you were lodged nearer to herself. That is the main reason why she wishes you to move from Carlisle.”

“Then if that be so, let me go to her without delay. Let me have apartments next her own at Windsor or Hampton Court. She could not then complain of the distance which separates us.”

Middlemore ignored this. He said quietly: “Her Majesty had in mind the Castle of Tutbury in Staffordshire . . . a goodly place, Madam, and one which you would find convenient.”

Convenient, thought Mary hysterically. Conveniently far from the Border, conveniently far from Hampton Court! What was the Queen of England planning against her? And where were Fleming and Herries now?

Middlemore took his departure and Mary could only ease her disquiet by writing a long letter to Elizabeth in which she passionately demanded justice, an opportunity to see her, a chance to assure her good sister and cousin of her innocence. She asked that Lord Herries be sent back to her as she needed his good counsel, and she would like to have news of Lord Fleming.

When she had written the letter she sat at her table staring moodily before her. As each day passed hope seemed to fade farther and farther away.

Meanwhile Middlemore went on his way into Scotland, where the Regent Moray and Lord Morton were preparing translations from the original French of those letters which they alleged were found in a casket under Bothwell’s bed when he fled to the North.

These translation would prove to Elizabeth, and the world, that Bothwell and Mary were lovers before Darnley’s death, that Bothwell had raped the Queen, and that since then she had no desires for any man but him; that they had plotted together to murder Lord Darnley, the Queen’s husband, so that marriage between Mary and Bothwell might be possible.

IN SPITE OF the vigilance of Scrope and Knollys more men from Scotland arrived at the castle. Mary was walking in the grounds with Seton when she saw George Douglas coming toward her.

He bowed low and his earnest eyes were on her lovely face as she gave him her affectionate smile. She was thinking: Poor George, what life is this for a young man! If I am to remain a prisoner, what will become of him?

“Your Majesty,” he said, “I have a packet of letters which have been stolen from Moray’s secretary. I believe you would wish to see them. One of the new arrivals brought them and gave them to me that I might pass them to you at an opportune moment.”

“You have them with you, George?”

“Yes, Your Majesty, but I fear we may be watched.”

“You are right. They watch me here even as they did at Lochleven. We will go into the castle and, when Seton has taken me to my apartments, she shall come out to you again. Could you be at this spot and hand them to her? They do not watch her as they watch me.”

“I will do that, Your Majesty.”

With that the ladies turned and went back to the Queen’s apartments, and soon afterward Seton returned to the grounds where George was waiting for her.

When Seton went back to Mary’s chamber, the Queen eagerly seized what she had brought. It was a packet of letters from Moray’s secretary, John Wood, to Elizabeth’s ministers; and as she read them, Mary’s indignation was fierce for there was no doubt that Elizabeth’s advisers were in league with Moray against her, Mary; and that their main objects were to prevent her receiving help from France and to keep her a prisoner in England that Moray might rule in her stead.

Even now it did not occur to her that Elizabeth was a party to this scheme, and she believed that the reason she was being kept from the Queen of England was because her ministers, in collaboration with Moray, were preventing the meeting.

Without consulting her friends she sat down and penned an impulsive note to Elizabeth.

She told her of the letters which had come into her possession and wrote:

They assure him that I shall be securely guarded, never to return to Scotland. Madam, if this be honorable treatment of her who came to throw herself into your arms for succor I leave other Princes to judge. I will send copies of these letters, if you permit it, to the Kings of France and Spain and to the Emperor, and will direct Lord Herries to show them to you, that you may judge whether it be right to have your council for judges, who have taken part against me . . . .

She paused and looked out of her window from which she could see the blue hills of Scotland. If only she could go back to Langside, if only she had listened to the advice of the good Herries and her friends, she would not be here now. She would be with her friends in France; and although Catherine de’ Medici might be her enemy, there would have been powerful uncles to help her, and the King of France who had been so desperately in love with her would surely not have failed her.

She turned to her letter and continued:

. . . I beseech you not to allow me to be betrayed here to your dishonor. Give me leave to withdraw . . . .

Yes, she thought, I will go back to Scotland. If I could take boat to Dumbarton, there would be faithful friends waiting for me. I could join with Huntley and Argyle. She could see them—those brave, bold Highlanders; she could hear the skirl of their pipes.

God grant that they lessen not your authority by such practices, as they have promised Moray to lead you as they will, to lose the friendship of other Sovereigns, and to gain those who loudly proclaim that you are unworthy to reign. If I could speak to you, you would repent of having so long delayed to my injury in the first place, and to your prejudice in the second . . . .

She went on writing rapidly and, sealing her letter, sent for a messenger and bade him begone with all speed.

LIFE AT THE CASTLE was changing. There was little pretense now of treating her as anything but a prisoner. No man of her suite was allowed to have his quarters in the castle; Lord Scrope slept in the room adjoining hers; with him were his hagbutters who occupied the rooms leading to her apartments.

Mary was grateful for the company of her women. “Yet,” she said, “I cannot help wondering when they will deprive me of your company.”

“They never will,” Seton declared. “We shall simply refuse to leave you.”

“You forget, my dear, that we are in their power.”

One day when she walked in the grounds Knollys came to walk beside her. She was pleased to see him because his gentleness was comforting. She could not complain of disrespectful treatment from Lord Scrope, but he was the more severe jailor of the two. When she remembered the crude manners of Lindsay and some of the Scottish lords, when she thought of Bothwell himself, she felt she owed some gratitude to Scrope and Knollys who, determined as they were to keep her their prisoner, never failed to remember that she was a woman.

Knollys said: “I have good news for Your Majesty. You are to leave Carlisle for a more congenial place.”

She caught her breath. “You call that good news?”

“Bolton Castle is admirably situated.”

“For what?” she asked. “For prisoners?”

He turned to her. “I am sorry,” he said, “that I have the unfortunate task of insisting that you leave this place—but that is the case.”

“So I am to be taken from one prison to another! This is not strong enough; is that the case? I am too near Scotland, and the people who give you your instructions are anxious that I shall not escape them.”

“We shall endeavor to make you comfortable in Bolton Castle. There, Lady Scrope will be waiting to welcome you.”

“I am not sure that I shall go,” retorted Mary. “Here I am not far from home. Unless I receive an invitation to visit the Queen of England I do not feel inclined to leave Carlisle.”

Knollys sighed. He knew that it was not for her to decide. He also knew that the Queen had refused Fleming a safe conduct to France, that she had kept Herries in London because she was anxious to move Mary while he was away; Knollys believed that the cause of the Queen of Scots was a hopeless one; and he was deeply sorry for her.

DURING THE NEXT few days Mary thought constantly of George Douglas, and she longed to reward him for his devotion to her, for she knew that he was in love with her and that it was the love born of chivalry.

“Poor George,” she said to Seton in whom she confided most of her thoughts. “He is wasting his life with me.”

Seton who was dressing the Queen’s hair, paused, the comb in her hand and said:

“When the time comes for you to fight your way back to the throne and he is with you, he will not consider he has wasted his time.”

“If ever I return to the Scottish throne there shall be honors for George . . . and for Willie. Never, never shall I forget what they have done for me. Willie is but a boy and his lot here is no more uncomfortable than it was at Lochleven . . . but George is different. He is a young man who should be making his way in the world. He should find a beautiful wife and live happily with her, not spend his days in semi-captivity, sighing for a queen who can never be aught else to him. Seton, I wish there was something I could do for George.”

“You do all that he asks, simply by existing,” replied Seton with a smile.

“It is not enough. I want him to go from here, Seton.”

“George . . . leave you! He would never obey that command.”

“He would if I made it . . . in a certain way. Do you know that he was betrothed to a French heiress? Christian told me, and I have seen a portrait of her. She is very beautiful. I am sure George will love her.”

“George is faithful to one and one only.”

“Do not smile, Seton. I will not allow him to waste his manhood here in Carlisle . . . or Bolton . . . and perhaps other castles to which one day I shall be taken—for I begin to fear I shall never be allowed to visit Elizabeth.”

“Your Majesty is sad today.”

“Yes, because I know that soon I must say goodbye to George. There is something else, Seton. The men of my suite are no longer allowed to have their quarters in the castle. Since I read John Wood’s letters and have some idea of the correspondence which passes between the Regent and Elizabeth’s ministers, I suspect that ere long some of my faithful friends will be sent back to Scotland. What do you think their fate would be? If George were sent back, all that he has done for me would most certainly cost him his head. I am determined to prevent that. And there is only one way in which this can be done. I shall try to send George to France.”

“Lord Fleming, it seems, cannot obtain a safe conduct. Would George?”

“I think he might succeed where Lord Fleming has failed. His more humble status would make him seem less important in their eyes. And I should not make the mistake of sending letters with George.”

“Are you determined on this? You would miss him sadly.”

“I have thought of that. The parting will be a sad one for us both, but I am so fond of that young man, Seton, that I cannot let him waste his life for me. He is so young. He will in time outgrow his love for me. I shall be his Queen, and he will always be my faithful subject. But he would be happier with a wife . . . . with children and some hope of making his way in the world.”

“But when Your Majesty regains the throne?”

“The first thing I shall do will be to send for George Douglas and offer him honors which are his due.”

“So you are determined to see George. When will you do so?”

“There seems little point in delaying further. Let it be now, Seton. Send him to me.”

GEORGE STOOD before her, and when she saw the desolation in his eyes, she wavered.

Let him stay with her. It was what he wished; it was what she wished. Let the future take care of itself.

“Oh George,” she said, stretching out a hand to him which he took and covered with kisses, “do not think that I want you to go. I shall miss you very much. Do not think that I shall ever forget what you have done for me.”

“I ask only to be allowed to stay near you, to defend Your Majesty if need be, to be at your side . . . to serve you in victory or defeat.”

“I know, George. No Queen ever had more faithful subject; no woman more loving friend. But you have seen what has happened since our coming into England. It is very necessary that my friends in France should know what is happening to me. George, I begin to feel that is the only direction in which I can look for help. You will be on my service. I want you to go to France. I do not think the Queen of England will deny you a safe conduct as she has Lord Fleming. I want you to see the King, who is my very good friend. My uncles, the Duke of Guise and the Cardinal of Lorraine will be your friends and take you to the Court. There you can do more for me than you can here in England.”

An eager look had come into George’s face. He believed her; and if he could serve her best by being denied the joy of her presence he was willing enough to accept the sacrifice.

“I shall give you no letters to take to them, but I am writing through the French ambassador to tell them of your coming. So they will be expecting you; and when you are there, George, I know that you will plead my cause as few others could, because all you do for me is done for love of me and not hope of any honors I might one day be in a position to give you. Willie shall remain with me. Have no fear that I shall not reward him when the opportunity arises. Never, never shall I forget those days in Lochleven and all I owe you two.”

George knelt before her to hide his emotion. He wanted to tell her how he adored her, to repeat again and again that he longed to give his life for her.

She understood and, making him rise, kissed him tenderly.

“You do not have to speak, George,” she said. “I understand. And it is friendship such as yours that makes it possible for me to endure my misfortunes with a good heart.”

George said: “Once Your Majesty gave me an earring, I treasure it always. Shall it still be a symbol, should the need arise to send it?”

He took the earring from a small pouch which hung on a chain under his doublet and showed it to her.

“Ah yes, I remember it well. I have its fellow, and think of all you have done for me every time I see it.”

She wanted to give him the other earring—a present for his bride. But no, that would be to tell him the real reason why she was sending him away. He must not be allowed to guess that. Later, perhaps, she thought, when he is betrothed, when he realizes that a man needs more from life than the love between us two.

“I will give you something else, George, to set beside that earring. A memento of me.” She went into the ante-chamber and came out with a portrait of herself. It was a charming picture, a good likeness in which she looked serene and beautiful; diaphanous material falling from her coif draped her shoulders; her ruff was of finest lace and the delicate white fingers of her right hand fingered the jewel which hung about her neck.

George was so moved that he could not speak; as for Mary, she was finding it difficult to control her emotions. Impulsive as she knew herself to be she believed that if he did not go she would throw herself into his arms and beg him to stay, to say to him: Why should we think of the future . . . either of us? What has the future for us? You are young and I am not much older.

She turned away from him and as she looked toward the Scottish hills, she thought of the guards about this castle and the plans to move her to a stronger fortress. She thought too of other men who had loved her—of her three husbands, whom tragedy had overtaken. To only one had she brought happiness—to little François, delicate, clinging François to whom she had been nurse and playmate. But that had been a childhood friendship rather than marriage. Then Darnley who, after their brief and stormy union, had been the victim of murder. Had he not married Mary Stuart he would certainly not have met violent death in Kirk o’ Field. And Bothwell . . . what fate could be more unendurable to him than that of a prisoner! And this had befallen him because he had married Mary Stuart.

I bring ill luck to those who love me, she thought. But it shall not be so with George. George was innocent as none of the others had been—except perhaps François. No, she knew she was an impulsive woman, governed by her emotions rather than sound common sense. But she could learn some lessons; and she had learned this one.

I could only bring suffering to him if I kept him with me to become my lover. I will not do it. You must fly away, George . . . to freedom and a life that is not too closely entwined with that of ill-fated Mary Stuart.

“Take this picture of me, George,” she said steadily, “and go now. Make preparations for your departure. I shall see you before you leave.”

He bowed, and she did not look at him as he went from the room.

SIR FRANCIS KNOLLYS came to her apartment and asked for an audience.

He looked harassed and she guessed that he had bad news.

“Your Majesty,” he said, “I regret that I have orders here. You are to prepare to leave at once for Bolton Castle.”

“Whence come these orders?” she asked.

“From the Queen’s ministers, Your Majesty.”

“May I see them?”

Knollys handed them to her.

“I do not see the signature of the Queen of England.”

“Secretary Cecil signs for her.”

“I will not be commanded by the Queen’s ministers,” retorted Mary. “Without your Queen’s express warrant I shall not stir from Carlisle.”

Knollys sighed and went to consult with Scrope, while Mary sat down and wrote one of her passionate letters to Elizabeth, explaining that she was sure Elizabeth would not order her to go where she did not wish, and imploring her to remember that, as Queen of Scotland, she was an equal of the Queen of England.

BUT MARY KNEW that she was in Elizabeth’s power when word came from her that the Queen of England was sending her own litter and horses to convey the Queen of Scots from Carlisle to Bolton.

There was also a letter from Elizabeth for Mary, which the latter seized on with eagerness.

My lord Herries has told me two things which seem to me very strange. One, that you would not answer before anyone but myself; the other, that without force you would not stir from the place where you are, unless you had license to come to me! Your innocence being such as I hope it is, you have no need to refuse to answer to some noble personage, whom I shall send to you, not to answer judicially, but only to assure me upon it by your answers; not making them to your subjects which would not be considered proper, but sending to lay before me your defense, that I might publish it to the world, after having satisfied myself, which is my principal desire. Then as to the place I have ordained for your honor and safekeeping, I beg you not to give me cause to think all the promises you have made were but as wind, when you sent word to me that you would do whatsoever might seem best to me . . . .

The letter dropped from Mary’s hand. She knew, without reading further, that she would be obliged to obey the wishes of Elizabeth.

“It is my intention,” continued Elizabeth, “to keep Lord Herries here till I shall receive an answer on both these points . . . .”

SO UNTIL SHE LEFT Carlisle she would be deprived of the services of one of her most faithful friends.

Mary put aside the letter and covered her face with her hands.

It was two months since she had fled from the battlefield of Langside, so full of hope, certain that she could rely on Elizabeth’s help.

Now had come that Queen’s orders. From Carlisle to Bolton—from that refuge, whose windows looked on the bonny hills of Scotland, to Bolton to which she had heard Sir Francis Knollys refer as “the highest walled castle I ever did see.”

Why? What did the future hold for the captive Queen?