Royal Road to Fotheringhay - Plaidy Jean (читать книги полностью без сокращений .txt) 📗

“There is something about her that frightens me,” said Janet.

“You are too easily frightened, Fleming dear.”

“Do not keep her waiting. Go to her now… at once. I shall not rest until I know what she has to say to you.”

Mary obeyed. She returned very shortly.

“You see, you silly old Fleming, it was nothing. She just wished to speak to me about our lessons.”

DIANE HAD fallen ill and had retired to her beautiful chateau of Anet which enhanced the beauty of the valley of the Eure and which Philibert Delorme had helped her to make one of the most magnificent examples of architecture in the country. The King, filled with anxiety, would have dropped all state obligations to be with her, but Diane would not hear of it. She insisted on his leaving her in her chateau with her faithful servants, and continuing with his Court duties.

Everyone in the Court was clearly delighted or anxious—except, of course, the Queen. She, who would surely be most affected, remained as expressionless as ever; and whenever Diane’s name was mentioned spoke of her concern for her health.

A melancholy settled over Saint-Germain, and Mary hated melancholy. When the King visited his children he was absentminded. Nothing was as pleasant as it had been when Diane was there.

Then an alarming incident occurred. Mary would not have heard of this but for the cleverness of Beaton who had quickly improved her French and was now a match for anyone.

Beaton took Mary into a corner to whisper to her: “Someone tried to poison you.”

Mary was aghast. “Who?” she demanded; and her thoughts immediately flew to the Queen.

“No one is sure. It was the poisoner’s intention to put an Italian posset into a pie for you. But it’s all right. They have a man whom they have caught, and I expect they’ll tie him to four wild horses and let them gallop in different directions.”

For once Mary was too horrified by what might be happening to herself to feel sorry for the victim of such a horrible punishment.

Mary Beaton had gleaned no further information, so Mary tackled Janet Fleming. Janet had heard the story, although, she said, the King wished it not to be bruited abroad, for he was much distressed that danger should have come so near Mary when she was at his Court.

“He says that the vigilance about you must be intensified. You must not let anyone know you have heard of this.”

“Tell me who did this thing.”

“A man is accused who is named Robert Stuart. Oh, do not look shocked. It is not your brother but a poor archer of the guard who happens to bear his name. He was clearly working for someone else. Some say it was the English. Others that he worked for your kinsman the Earl of Lennox… a Protestant. And this would seem most likely, as Robert Stuart is clearly a fanatic. He has confessed that he did this thing, and will suffer accordingly. Matthew Lennox declares his innocence, but who shall know?”

“So it was not the Queen,” said Mary.

“The Queen! What do you mean?”

“She hates me. Sometimes I am afraid of her.”

“Nonsense! The Queen is but a name.”

THE KING came into the nurseries to see the children, and with him was the Queen. How different were these visits from those of Henri and Diane! The children did not rush to their father and climb over him; they curtsied and, under their mothers gaze, paid their respectful homage to him as their King.

The Marechal and Madame d’Humieres were not present on this occasion, and Janet Fleming was in charge of the children. Mary noticed how particularly pretty she was looking, and that the glance the Queen threw in her direction seemed to be faintly amused.

Mary wanted to know if there was any news from Anet, but under the eyes of the Queen, she dared not ask.

“Lady Fleming,” said the Queen of France, “now that the Dauphin and the Queen of Scotland and Madame Elisabeth are growing older, and Madame Claude will soon be joining them in the nursery, it seems to me that you will need some assistance.”

“Your Majesty is gracious,” said Janet Fleming, with that abstracted look which Mary had noticed lately.

“I am sure,” said the King, “that Lady Fleming manages very well… very well indeed. I am struck with the great care she has always shown of our daughter Mary.”

The Queen’s lips twitched very slightly. “Like Your Majesty I too am sure that Lady Fleming is admirable, but I do not wish her strength to be overtaxed.”

“Overtaxed?” reflected the King, frowning at his wife.

“By so many children. And the Marechal and Madame d’Humieres have so much with which to occupy themselves. I do not wish dear Lady Fleming to work all the time she is with us, and I should like her to have some little respite from her duties. I should like her to enjoy a little gaiety.”

The King looked sharply at the Queen, but Catherine had laid her beautiful white hands on her stomacher and lowered her eyes. Her smile was almost smug. Mary wondered whether the rumors were true and that she was going to have another baby.

“I know,” went on the Queen, smiling affectionately at the King, “how greatly Your Majesty esteems those who look after our children. Therefore I would beg for a few privileges for my Lady Fleming. I will send someone to assist her so that she may have a little more time for pleasure. Madame de Paroy is well skilled and most fitted to help in the nurseries. If Your Majesty would agree to her doing so, it would give her the greatest pleasure and, as for myself, I should feel that I had assisted our good Lady Fleming to obtain a little of the pleasure she deserves.”

Madame de Paroy in the nurseries! That hideous old woman with the crafty eyes—the Queen’s spy! Mary felt the hot color rise to her cheeks. Forgetting ceremony she ran to the King and took his hand. “Please… please, dearest Papa, do not send Madame de Paroy here. Please!”

The King looked down at her in some astonishment. He ought to be angry with her for thus addressing him on an occasion when it was clear that ceremony was demanded; but he found it difficult to be angry with children, and such a beautiful child as this one, whatever she did, could not arouse anything but his wish to please her.

“My dear child,” he began helplessly; then he smiled. “Why, how vehement you are!”

The Dauphin had come to the other side of his father. “Papa,” he said, “please do not send Madame de Paroy here.”

“Why do you not want her?” asked the King.

The Dauphin did not answer. He looked to Mary for guidance. “Come,” said the King, “speak for yourself. Why do you not want her?”

“Because… because Mary does not.”

The Queen gave her sudden laugh. “Ah! So in the nursery Scotland already rules France!”

“And Elisabeth, what does she wish?” asked the King.

Elisabeth came forward and, keeping her eyes on her father’s face while she elaborately turned away from her mother, said: “I wish what Francois and Mary wish.”

“So Madame de Paroy is unanimously rejected!” cried the King.

The Queen laughed. “You see, Lady Fleming, your charges defeat my good intentions.”

“Your Majesty is very gracious,” said Janet. “I think you for your solicitude.”

“And these young people will have none of my Madame de Paroy, eh? Well, well! We will forget I suggested it.”

Mary could not help throwing a triumphant glance at the Queen. She knew that Catherine had particularly wished Madame de Paroy to come. What she wants, thought Mary, is to set a woman to spy on us, and she lacks the courage to insist. I despise her.

While the Queen talked to the children about their lessons, Lady Fleming showed the King some of their essays. They were bending over them and the King looked pleased. Janet, flushed and excited to find herself so popular in such exalted company, ventured to say something which had been in her mind for some time.