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

That put an end to his peace of mind. Excusing himself he left the party and went hastily to his house in Barbican; there he left a message, with one of his servants whom he could trust, to warn the rest of the conspirators and then made with all speed to St. John’s Wood.

In the heart of the wood he found a hut, and here he stayed for the rest of that night. In the morning his servant came to him, as he had told him to, bringing with him food and walnut juice. With this latter Babington stained his skin, and then made his servant cut off his hair. Then he changed clothes with his servant, and sent him back to Barbican.

He could not live here for long, so he only remained in the hut for the rest of the next day and then, during the following night, he walked to Harrow to the home of a Jerome Bellamy, who had recently been converted to Catholicism.

Jerome stared at the brown-faced man whom he did not immediately recognize, but when Babington explained his plight and the danger in which he knew himself to be in, Jerome eagerly agreed to shelter him.

There he remained for some weeks. But the hunt had begun.

Walsingham, aware that Babington knew he was a wanted man, decided his freedom must be ended; he knew also that his quarry could not be far away, and it was no secret that Jerome Bellamy of Harrow was a recent convert to Catholicism and a friend of Babington’s.

One warm August night a man knocked at the door of Jerome’s house, and when the door was opened forced his way past the startled servant.

“It is no use trying to eject me,” said the newcomer. “The house is surrounded by the Queen’s men. I come to search it because I believe you are sheltering here a traitor to our Sovereign Lady Elizabeth.”

There was no escape.

Anthony Babington was taken from Harrow, Walsingham’s prisoner.

SIR AMYAS PAULET came to the Queen’s apartment; he was smiling, and rarely had Mary seen him in such a good humor.

“Your Majesty,” he said, “I have here an invitation from Sir Walter Aston of Tixall, which is close by Chartley, as you know. He is arranging a stag hunt in his park and asks if you would care to join his party.”

Mary’s eyes sparkled at the prospect. In the summer she felt so much better, and during these lovely August days she had felt herself to be quite well enough to ride a horse and handle a crossbow.

“Then I will convey your wishes to Sir Walter,” Paulet told her.

And all that day Mary was excited at the prospect of riding a horse.

“I believe,” she told Jane Kennedy, “that Paulet no longer hates me as he once did. He seemed almost pleased because I was to have this pleasure.”

“It may be that the more sickly he grows, the more sympathetic he is toward Your Majesty,” replied Jane.

On the appointed day, the party set out from Chartley, with guards in front and behind; and beside Mary rode Sir Amyas.

Mary’s spirits were high. She could almost believe that she had escaped from her prison. The air was warm, and it was glorious to see the sun on her flesh. She spurred her horse and galloped on. Sir Amyas could not keep pace with her and, remembering his strained face as he rode beside her, she slackened speed and waited for him to catch up with her.

Poor old man! she thought. He is infirm, and he must be frightened to see me galloping ahead of him in such a manner. If her supporters suddenly appeared, that would be a different matter. Sir Amyas could not be blamed if his guards were outnumbered. But she did not wish to alarm the old man unnecessarily.

“I’m sorry, Sir Amyas,” she said. “I know how stiff your limbs are. None could know better than I.”

Sir Amyas gave her his sour smile and they rode side by side for a few more miles. She glanced at Jacques and Gilbert who were members of the party riding close behind her, and she was pleased to see that they too were enjoying the exercise.

If I had always been allowed to ride in this manner, she thought, I should have enjoyed better health.

It was Jacques who, coming close to her, cried suddenly: “Your Majesty, there is a party of horsemen riding toward us.”

Then Mary saw them and her heart leaped with hope.

They had planned it. This was it. They had come to rescue her. This was one of the methods she had said they might use.

But it was not a large party. Would they be strong enough to hold back the guards?

Now that the two parties were coming to a halt, and Sir Amyas was riding forward, Mary saw that at the head of the horsemen was one in serge trimmed with green braid. He could not be one of her friends unless he was disguised in Tudor livery; he was talking confidentially to Sir Amyas.

She rode her horse forward and called imperiously: “Sir Amyas, who is this that hinders us in our journey?”

Sir Amyas turned his head to look at her, and there was something like loathing in his eyes as he said: “This is Sir Thomas Gorges, a servant of our Queen.”

Sir Thomas Gorges dismounted and came to stand by Mary’s horse. When he reached her he said in tones which could be heard by those who stood close by: “Madam, the Queen, my mistress, finds it very strange that you, against the agreement which you made together, have undertaken against her and her estate; and in consequence of the discovery of your share in a horrible conspiracy against her life, my orders are to conduct you to Tixall.”

Mary said coldly: “I do not understand you, sir. And I refuse to go with you to Tixall.”

“You have no choice, Madam, since you have conspired against Queen Elizabeth.”

“She has been wrongly informed.”

She was aware of Jacques and Gilbert, and she remembered the letter she had written to Anthony Babington. She must speak to them without delay. She must warn them, for it seemed certain that that letter had fallen into Elizabeth’s hands.

“I will return to Chartley,” she said. She looked quickly from Jacques to Gilbert. “Come, ride with me.”

“Nay, nay,” cried Sir Thomas Gorges. “Those two men must not be allowed to speak to the Queen.”

Jacques and Gilbert immediately attempted to bring their horses level with Mary’s, but as they did so they were intercepted by the guards and Gorges cried: “Arrest those two men. They are to be taken at once to London.”

“You cannot do this!” she cried.

“Madam, you are mistaken,” replied Paulet coldly.

“Oh, Jacques,” murmured Mary, “what means this? And you, Gilbert . . . ” She looked with dismay at the two young men who for so long had been her friends. She thought with anguish of Barbara who was so soon to give birth to her first baby; how would Barbara take the news that Gilbert was the Queen’s prisoner?

But it was useless to expect sympathy from these men. Already they had seized the two secretaries.

“Gilbert,” she called, “I will take care of Barbara.”

Sir Amyas had his hand on the bridle of her horse.

“Come, Madam,” he said, “we are riding to Tixall, where you will remain during the Queen’s pleasure.”

All the joy had gone out of that sunny morning, and there was terrible foreboding in her heart as Mary rode with her captors toward Tixall.

A SUBDUED SIR WALTER ASTON received Mary at Tixall Park. There was no hunt, as had been promised her, and she was conducted to two small rooms which, she was told, were all that could be put at her disposal.

Her servants were not allowed to visit her; she was to have no books, no pen nor paper; thus for days she was left alone in apprehensive solitude, Sir Amyas Paulet remaining at Tixall to guard her while he sent his officials back to Chartley to ransack her apartments for any shred of evidence which could be used against her.

Jacques and Gilbert were taken before Walsingham who, after questioning them without being able to make them utter a word against their mistress, kept them confined in separate rooms in his own lodgings in Westminster Palace. He did not doubt that in time he would get from them what he wanted.