The Captive Queen of Scots - Plaidy Jean (читать книги онлайн бесплатно без сокращение бесплатно txt) 📗

As for Mary there was a resemblance to her father in her face, which warmed Lady Douglas’s heart every time she looked at her, and brought back memories that made her feel young again.

Jane Kennedy was bending over the box, drawing out a pair of black velvet boots trimmed with marten.

Mary gave a cry of delight: “Oh, how glad I am to see them again.”

Marie Courcelles held up a cloak of red satin also trimmed with marten.

Mary snatched it and wrapped it around herself. “Now I am beginning to feel alive again!” she declared.

Sir William who had joined his mother looked on and his expression was sardonic. He would have liked to depart, but how could he know what might be hidden among all the fripperies!

Lady Douglas had gone over to the women. She looked into the box and cried: “Sir Robert Melville has made a goodly choice.”

Mary took up a gray velvet robe and held it against her. “It is long since I wore this!” she said laughing. “But I shall enjoy wearing it more than I ever did before. What else, Jane?”

Jane and Marie were plunging into the chest and there were cries of pleasure as they held up a pair of crimson sleeves edged with gold fringe.

Jane said excitedly: “They can be attached to this silk camlet . . . oh look! It is the one decorated with aglets. How grand we shall be!”

“Let me see, Marie.” Mary took the sleeves and put them on. She clapped her hands. “How can I thank Melville for his thoughtfulness?” she asked, and there were tears in her eyes.

Sir William looked on with exasperation. It was well, he believed, that a Queen who could be so moved by fripperies should be compelled to abdicate.

Lady Douglas had brought out a black velvet coat.

“Magnificent!” she cried, and slipped it around the Queen’s shoulders.

“And he does not intend us to be idle,” said Jane, her head in the trunk. “Look what I have here.” She brought up a packet of colored silks.

“We shall be able to embroider,” cried Marie.

“And here are canvases to work on and some Spanish chenille,” exclaimed Jane. “Look at the colors!”

“Oh, good Master Melville!” murmured Mary gaily.

The chest was emptied and the clothes were strewn about the floor. Sir William shrugged his shoulders and signed to his mother to remain in the apartment to keep watch and examine the clothes more closely.

Lady Douglas nodded. Mary, of course, knew why she remained, but the woman was only obeying instructions so she did not hold that against her.

“I will help your maids put the garments away, Your Majesty,” said Lady Douglas, as her deft fingers were feeling in the black velvet boots to discover whether a note was concealed there.

Mary smiled at her. “Please do,” she said. “Ah, what a difference it makes to have one’s own things about one.”

“Your Majesty finds life restricting here?”

“Inevitably, I fear.”

“I wish we might make life easier for Your Majesty.”

“You do your best, Lady Douglas, but I am a prisoner and nothing can alter that.”

“I will ask that you be allowed the freedom of the castle and the island. Now that you are so much better you must find confinement to one set of apartments tiresome.”

“All captivity is tiresome to me, Lady Douglas, but I thank you for your kindness. It is pleasant, in such circumstances, to find some who try to make my stay here more comfortable. Your son is already my friend.”

“William regrets that he must be your custodian.”

“I was not thinking of William, but your younger son.”

“My son George, Your Majesty. So you have noticed him!”

“I did, for I liked well his manners.”

Lady Douglas smiled happily. It was pleasant to hear compliments about her children. George was a handsome boy. Who knew, the Queen might not always be a prisoner. If she were ever back in power she would remember those who had pleased her during her captivity, and George might profit from the fact that he had found favor with the Queen. That would be wonderful. But alas, if the Queen were returned to power that would mean a loss of power for her dear son Moray, and that was something which must never happen.

Lady Douglas sighed, and turned her attentions to the new clothes which Melville had kindly—perhaps cunningly—sent for the Queen’s pleasure.

THAT SAME EVENING at seven o’clock Mary was seated at supper in her apartments when a boat came to the island and a most illustrious person disembarked.

Mary did not see his arrival but Jane Kennedy came in to tell her.

“Your brother is at the castle.”

“Jamie!” cried the Queen and her face lit up with pleasure. No matter what hard things she heard about James, she had always found it difficult to believe that he was anything but her friend.

“He is coming to see you,” whispered Marie.

Mary laughed. “I’m glad some of my clothes have arrived. I should have hated to greet Jamie in my rags. How does this silk camlet look?”

“Very beautiful with the aglets sparkling.”

“So I look a little more like a Queen?”

“You would always look like a Queen, Your Majesty, no matter what you wore.”

“And I still have subjects to flatter me! I can scarcely wait to see Jamie. He will come straight to me. Jane, I have a feeling that he will not allow me to remain here.”

“He is coming. I can hear him now,” said Jane.

The door opened and James Stuart, Earl of Moray, bastard brother of the Queen, stood on the threshold.

“Jamie!” cried Mary; and was about to go forward to embrace him when she saw that he was not alone. With him were the Earls of Morton and Atholl, and by the demeanor of them all she understood that this was not merely a visit of brother to sister; it was the would-be Regent calling on the dethroned Queen.

James’s face was expressionless. She had always teased him, told him that he was as cold as a fish. He took such a delight in never betraying his feelings. Now he stood, holding himself at his full height—which was not great—his tawny coloring the only real resemblance he bore to his royal father.

James Douglas, Earl of Morton, was yet another connection of the Douglas family and one of Moray’s closest friends and supporters. Mary did not like the man. She believed he had arranged the murder of Rizzio; it was between him and Atholl that she had entered Edinburgh after the debacle at Carberry Hill. It was thoughtless of James to come and see her in the company of two men who must bring with them such bitter memories.

“I heard you had come, James,” she said restrainedly. “It is a pleasure to see you.”

“I was near Lochleven and could not pass without a visit.”

“I am only a prisoner now, James.”

James looked uncomfortable. He was longing for this visit to be over but had felt it necessary to make it. He had determined not to see Mary alone, and it was for this reason that he had insisted that Morton and Atholl accompany him although they were as uneasy as he was. Neither of the three men would meet the Queen’s eye. She well understood their shame. She felt her anger rising against Morton and Atholl, but she remembered how James had played with her—in his solemn way it was true—when she was a child and had later told her that if she needed counsel she must come to him. He had often reminded her that he was her brother and that must mean that the ties between them were strong.

Others might warn her against him; she had never believed them; it had always been a fault of hers that she endowed others with the warm generosity which was her own.

“I trust you are comfortable here?” he murmured now.

“Comfortable! In prison? Do you think that possible, James?”

“You are safe here from your enemies . . . who are numerous.”

“I thought I was in the hands of my enemies,” she said a little sternly, and her eyes were scornful as she glanced from Morton to Atholl.