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

Gifford spoke then. “I do not think you need fear, my friends. We have a very good method of conveying letters to the Queen. The brewer of Burton is an honest man whom we can trust. The Queen must be prepared for rescue. It would be unwise to keep her in the dark.”

There was clearly a divided opinion on this matter and it was temporarily shelved.

But when the meeting was over and the conspirators went their various ways, Gifford returned to the house to speak to Babington; they sat for a long time discussing the plot, and Gifford did not have great difficulty in persuading Babington that it would be advisable to inform Mary of their intentions.

ANTHONY BABINGTON was a vain young man. Extremely handsome, elegant and wealthy, he had been intended for the Bar, but had abandoned this career for a fashionable life on the fringes of the Court. He had divided his time between that Court and his vast estates at Dethick. During the last few years he had also traveled abroad and, because he must be the center of attention, he had become known as an ardent Catholic, and a man of adventure, so that he had been noticed as a suitable leader to be remembered when such a one was needed—for his vitality, enthusiasms, wealth and charm were invaluable.

When he was barely eighteen he had married Margery, the daughter of Philip Draycot of Paynsley in Staffordshire; the Draycots were Catholics, as were his mother and his stepfather, Henry Foljambe. Among such fervent Catholics intrigue was constantly fostered, and Anthony soon became a member—with the support of his family—of a secret society which had been formed for the protection of Jesuit missionaries in England.

And so it was that while he was but twenty-five he found himself at the head of a conspiracy which if it succeeded would change the course of English history.

Anthony now saw himself as a man of destiny. He believed that Fate had chosen him. Was he not outstandingly handsome, cultured, witty? Did he not draw men and women into his circle through his charming manners?

He had always cherished a devotion to the Queen of Scots. She was such a romantic figure—a beautiful woman, a Queen, a helpless prisoner, the motive for many a conspiracy, the symbol of many a cherished ideal.

When he had met her he had been conscious of that potent charm. He was devoted to his wife and young daughter, but, for him, as she was for so many, the Queen was someone to worship from afar, the ideal woman.

But Anthony Babington was no simple-hearted George Douglas. His devotion was not single-minded. For although Anthony admired the Queen, he admired himself more.

Anthony must be the center of the stage—the leading character in the drama. The Queen was a charming second—but a symbol, whose grace and beauty must merely serve to emphasize the valor of the man of action.

He had already committed an act which he knew some of the conspirators would have declared not only foolish but highly dangerous, when he had caused to be painted a picture of himself with six of his friends—himself in the center as leader—and had allowed this picture to be inscribed with the words:

Hi mihi sunt comites, quos ipsa pericula ducunt.

Perhaps the best time to have had such a picture painted would have been after the conspiracy had been brought to a successful conclusion, but Babington was impatient, and he derived great pleasure from looking at this portrait of himself.

He was impatient now—eager to receive the approbation of the Queen of Scots. He wanted Mary to know that he was ready to risk his life for her; when the plot succeeded there would be many to claim her praise for their part in it; he wanted her to know now that the plot was Babington’s plot and that it was he who was at the very heart of it.

He knew that he should act with caution, that some members of the company had thought it unwise to write to Mary; but Gifford was with him. Gifford believed that Mary should be informed.

Anthony took up his pen and wrote to Mary:

Most highly and excellent Sovereign Lady and Queen unto whom I owe all fidelity and obedience . . . .

He smiled as he wrote, and the eloquent words rose to his lips while he mouthed them slowly to keep time with his pen.

He himself, with his trusted followers, would deliver her from her prison; they planned to dispatch the “Usurping Competitor”; he told her that Ballard, who was one of Her Majesty’s most zealous servants, had recently come from overseas with promises of help from Christian Princes. He wished to know if he could promise his friends rewards for their services when victory was won.

He signed himself: “Your Majesty’s most faithful subject and sworn servant, Anthony Babington.”

Having finished, he read through the letter once more, repeating the phrases which seemed especially well turned.

He closed his eyes and rocked to and fro in his chair, looking into a future colored bright with the rewards of valor and loyalty. The Queen of Scots was now the Queen of England also. She reigned in Hampton Court and Greenwich; and always beside her was her most faithful friend and adviser, without whom she would make no decisions. She wished to shower honors on him; she wanted the whole world to know that she would never forget all he had done for her.

But he only smiled and said: “It matters only that I can say to myself: ‘But for Anthony Babington my gracious lady would still be a prisoner of the bastard Elizabeth.’ That is all the reward I ask.”

Then she begged and pleaded—and just to please her he accepted an earldom . . . a Dukedom . . . great estates . . . and so it was—almost against his will—that the most important man in England was now Anthony Babington of Dethick.

This was no time to dream. He sealed the letter and took it to Gifford.

“I have written to the Queen,” he said. “I know I can trust you to see that it reaches her.”

“With the help of that honest man it shall reach Her Majesty in her next consignment of beer.”

When they parted, Gifford was smiling. His master would be pleased, he was thinking, as he made his way to Walsingham.

WALSINGHAM EXULTED as he read the letter.

“Well done,” he murmured. “Well done.”

“It seems, my lord,” ventured Gifford, “that the end is in sight.”

“Let us not be impatient. This Babington is a fool.”

“Assuredly so. Do you propose to arrest him now?”

“No. We will give him a little more rope. He is such a fool that he gives me no qualms. I will have this letter resealed at once and you must see that it reaches the Queen’s hands without delay. Her answer will be interesting. Go now. You will be hearing from me very soon.”

Gifford left Walsingham and made for Chartley. Meanwhile Walsingham sent for Thomas Phillipps. He had work for him.

MARY CONTINUED TO BROOD on the change in her relationship with Bessie Pierpont. Bessie was sullen in her presence and showed no regret that their love for each other had undergone this change. Bessie hated everyone and everything which kept her from Jacques.

“I understand her love for the man,” Mary told Jane Kennedy and Elizabeth Curle, “but surely she must understand my position. How can I help her against the wishes of her grandmother? And she grows more like Bess of Hardwick every day. To tell the truth, when I see her looking so much like the Countess I almost wish that she were one.”

There were complications also with Jacques who knew that the Queen was endeavoring to have Bessie sent away. He too was resentful, and she knew that he jealously watched Barbara and Gilbert Curle as though, by favoring them and not himself and Bessie, she had been guilty of unkind favoritism.

“As though I do not want everyone about me to be happy!” She sighed. “God knows there is enough unhappiness in these prisons which I have been forced to inhabit for so many years!”