The Captive Queen of Scots - Plaidy Jean (читать книги онлайн бесплатно без сокращение бесплатно txt) 📗
Lord Fleming had returned to Carlisle before she left; Elizabeth had refused to grant him a safe conduct to France, but Mary had been right when she had believed that George Douglas would not be denied one. George was allowed to go, ostensibly to make his home there and to see that heiress to whom he had been affianced. Lord Fleming had now gone back to Scotland, his object being to visit Dumbarton first—that loyal stronghold—and then join forces with Argyle and Huntley.
Before she left Carlisle Mary sent certain of her followers back to Scotland, among them the energetic Lord Claud Hamilton, for she realized that if she were to be a prisoner in England, these faithful friends could be of greater service to her cause in Scotland where she knew that men were rallying every day to Huntley’s banner.
So it was a depleted party which set out from Carlisle. Willie Douglas rode near Mary’s litter and threatened to draw that enormous sword if any tried to shift him. Now that George had gone he whispered that he was taking over Geordie’s duties as well as his own, and she had no need to fear as the Douglases were with her.
She was grateful to Willie, because he never failed to make her smile, and it was so much easier to reconcile herself to her fate when she could do that.
The journey from Carlisle had taken two days and nights, the first night being spent at Lowther Castle where she had been treated with respect and sympathy—for which she was grateful—by the entire Lowther family; she had spent the next night at Wharton, and the following day reached Bolton Castle having come twenty miles south from Carlisle.
The castle was built around a great court and, standing as it did on a hill, gave the occupants wonderful views of the surrounding country, which at this time of the year was startlingly beautiful.
Waiting to greet Mary was Lady Scrope, and this was a great pleasure because Mary had taken a liking to her when they had met at Carlisle; moreover this lady was the sister of the Duke of Norfolk who, during his interview with Mary, had managed to convey to her, amid his gallantries, his desire to help her.
“It is a pleasure to meet you again,” said Mary.
Lady Scrope made a deep curtsy and expressed herself honored to have the pleasure of entertaining Her Majesty of Scotland.
She led the way into the castle which Mary noticed was sparsely furnished; and it was clear to Mary that her hostess was a little concerned for her guest’s comfort.
Mary tried to set her at ease by telling her how pleased she was to find a friend waiting to greet her.
Lady Scrope gave her a look which implied that she was gratified to be called such, and Mary’s spirits rose. Friends were of more importance to her than fine tapestries.
On their way to the apartments which had been prepared for the Queen in the southwest of the building Lady Scrope showed her the great clock, of which the family were very proud, for it not only told the time but also the movements of the sun and moon, and day of the week. She explained also how the chimneys were tunnels in the sides of the walls, thus during the cold weather the chill was taken from the apartments.
Mary listened with interest and all the time she was thinking: Lady Scrope will be a go-between for myself and the Duke of Norfolk. How sincerely did he mean those veiled promises to help me, when I saw him at Carlisle?
THERE WAS MORE FREEDOM to be enjoyed at Bolton Castle; and providing she was surrounded by those whose duty it was to guard her, Mary was able to hunt in that exhilarating countryside. Her appetite increased and it was clear to all that her health had improved since she had come to Bolton.
English manners, although less courteous than the French, were nevertheless gracious when compared with those she had experienced in Scotland. All those who were in truth her jailors seemed determined to show her that they were not, wishing her to believe that they guarded her solely for her own protection and not to prevent her escaping to Scotland or receiving enemies of their own Queen.
Sir George Bowes, who had arrived at Carlisle in order to escort her to Bolton, accompanied by a hundred armed horsemen, expressed the greatest sympathy for her and, when he saw how inadequate was the furniture in her apartments, he immediately sent to his own house for bedding and hangings that they might be set up in Bolton for the Queen’s use. Never once did he imply that he was guarding her for the Queen of England and her ministers; and Mary, whose great misfortune was her too trusting nature, could easily forget that she must be continually on her guard against her jailors.
It was a different matter with Lady Scrope. She was pregnant and, liking to rest often, she would sit with the Queen in her apartments overlooking those glorious hills and dales, and they would talk together; and Margaret Scrope would always seek to lead the conversation to her brother, the Duke of Norfolk.
“He mentions you constantly when we meet or in his letters,” she told Mary. “He is so anxious that you should be well treated and delighted that you have now come to Bolton.”
“How pleasant it is to know that I have friends in England,” answered Mary.
Margaret would bring out the tapestry which Mary loved to work, and as their fingers were busy, so were their tongues.
“Thomas believes that you should not put too much trust in Secretary Cecil,” Margaret told Mary.
“I am sure he is right.”
“The Queen is apt to be guided by her ministers, particularly Cecil and Leicester. She is very vain and imagines that they are all in love with her. It is Your Majesty’s reputation as a beauty that makes her so interested in you.”
Mary told of the tattered garments Elizabeth had sent her. “Master Knollys said they were for my maids, but I do believe she meant them for me.”
Margaret looked over her shoulder. “She, in her rich satins and velvets ablaze with jewels listening to the flattery of the courtiers, likes to believe herself the most beautiful woman in the world! She knows this is not so and wants to make sure you do not have the advantage of wearing becoming garments.”
“Is she indeed so petty?”
Margaret, plying her needle, nodded; and Mary remembered that Elizabeth was royal and that it was not becoming in one Queen to tattle of another so she changed the subject to Margaret’s brother. Would he be coming to Bolton?
“Who can say? I’ll dare swear the Queen will not wish him to, while you are here. I believe he must have spoken admiringly of you.” Margaret laughed and rethreaded her needle. “Thomas is a handsome man,” she went on with sisterly affection. “It is a pity that he is a widower, for he was such a good husband to his three wives. How sad that death should have claimed them all and so soon!”
Margaret Scrope did not look at the Queen. She was thinking: Thomas married three heiresses; why should there not be a fourth? This heiress was a most romantic one. He would have to fight to reinstate her and that might mean rebellion, but Thomas had already quarreled with Leicester and was resentful of those men with whom Elizabeth surrounded herself and on whom she conferred favors. Nor could Elizabeth afford to ignore him, because he was the premier peer and one of the richest men in England. Cecil did not like him, nor he Cecil. As for Mary, she was not only Queen of Scotland but, if Elizabeth should not marry and have an heir, Mary was next in succession to the throne of England.
Margaret felt dizzy with ambitions on behalf of her brother and she regarded it as great good fortune that the Queen of Scotland had come to Bolton.
Mary was thoughtful. He had married three times, and so had she. But how different his marriages must have been from hers! If Lady Scrope could be believed her brother’s matrimonial life had been one of continual bliss. Mary felt a little envious as she listened to Margaret Scrope’s eulogies of her brother, and because she looked a little wistful Margaret said: “Your Majesty, one day you will marry again. You will regain your throne, and then you will live in serenity.”
