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

They had rested at Craigmillar and it was in the castle there that Mary sat.

She knew there were schemes in Bothwell’s head. She knew that his attitude toward her had changed in some ways. He was as lusty as ever; he had wished—as she had—to resume their passionate relationship. But there was something else. She had more to offer him than Jean Gordon had; she had said so and he had accepted that.

She could not get Darnley out of her thoughts. Sometimes, in her dreams, she saw him lying on the floor in the supper chamber at Holyrood-house, clutching at her skirts; and as she turned shuddering from him, his face would change to that of David.

“Holy Virgin,” she often prayed, “intercede for me. Let me die now, for I believe it were better so. I am an adulteress. Let me die before I sin more deeply.”

The door of her chamber opened, and she thought it was her lover coming to her. But although Bothwell was there, he was not alone. With him were four of the lords—Moray, Maitland, Argyle and Huntley. They stood before her—five men, relentless in their struggle for power, and it was Maitland—the obvious choice as spokesman, suave and persuasive—who addressed her.

He began: “Madam, much distress is caused, not only to you but to our country, through the evil conduct of one who can bring no good to any. I speak of your husband, Lord Darnley.”

She bowed her head and, when she raised it, caught the burning eyes of Bothwell upon her.

“It is known,” went on Maitland, “that he has tried to get into communication with Spain and Rome; and his object is to do harm to Your Majesty who has done nothing but good to him. Madam, shall you tolerate such conduct, even though it is that of your own husband?”

“I am powerless to do otherwise. If we keep him under close surveillance, if we see that he does no real harm, it is the best that we can hope for.”

“Not so, Your Majesty. If you will grant pardon to Lords Morton, Ruthven and the rest who are now in exile, we, your servants, shall find means of making a divorcement between you and your husband. This is necessary, not only for Your Grace’s comfort, but for that of the realm, for if he remains with Your Majesty, he will not rest until he has done you—and the country—some evil.”

Mary saw her lovers eyes upon her. They were gleaming as they had gleamed at the time of the rape. But this time was it her body he desired to possess, or was it her crown? She tried to be calm. “I agree with what you say, my lord Maitland. But if there were a divorce it would have to be made lawful, and I could never agree to anything which would prejudice my son’s inheritance of the throne.”

Bothwell said: “It could be done. It could be done. My father was divorced from my mother but my inheritance was safe.”

“But my son is a prince, Lord Bothwell.”

“It matters not, Madam. We would arrange this matter to bring no harm to the Prince.”

Moray now spoke: “The Kirk would be against divorce.”

Bothwell’s lips curled; Maitland’s eyes were sardonic. He said: “My lord Moray is a stern Protestant, so we must find a means of ridding you of your husband which will enable him to look through his fingers and, beholding our doings, say nothing.”

Mary caught her breath. What was Maitland’s meaning? Was it that Moray was too religious a man to approve of divorce, and therefore murder would be necessary to rid her of Darnley?

She was trembling. She must not look at her lover. Had he persuaded the lords to this action, she wondered; had he started to make plans when she had told him in Jedburgh that she could offer him a crown? She knew now that these ruthless men were determined to murder Darnley. Each had his reason. For some it was because Darnley had betrayed his friends, having agreed to the murder of Rizzio and then turned to the other side and foiled these men’s schemes. He was to die for that. But there was one who had been outside the plot. There was one who could reduce her decency, her love of justice, to nothing, and put in its place an overwhelming desire. He wanted to rid Scotland of Darnley, for through Darnley’s death he saw a crown for himself.

She was glad there were others present. She must not look at him. She said coolly: “I wish to do nothing by which any spot might be laid on my honor and my conscience.”

Maitland was smiling subtly. “Madam, leave this matter in our hands and Your Grace shall see nothing but that which is approved of by Parliament.”

“But remember,” she insisted, “nothing must be done to cast reflection on my honor and my conscience.”

“It shall be as Your Majesty wishes.”

They left her, and when they had gone she lay in bed, her heart pounding, as she reflected on what lay behind the words of those men.

THE BABY was christened James Charles with great pomp at Stirling. That was in the middle of December. Darnley, though in the castle, refused to appear. His attitude was giving rise to much gossip; and the castle was full of foreigners, for representatives from all countries had come to Scotland for the christening of the Prince.

Darnley was hinting that he was not the father of the child. He was whispering that each day the boy was growing more and more like the Italian music-maker. On other occasions he would stoutly declare that there could be no doubt that the child was his and that it was shameful that his wife would not live with him.

Oh to be rid of him! thought Mary. Could there be a divorce? Was it possible?

She had made an alarming discovery. She was to have Bothwell’s child. She asked herself how she could explain this pregnancy. Something must be done and done quickly.

She told no one. She must keep her secret until she could find a way out of her trouble. She loved intensely. She could have been happy. But her love was bringing her nothing but misery.

It would have been better if I had died before I knew this love, she told herself continually. It would have been far better if I had never lived to sin as I now sin.

How could she confess her wickedness? How could she seek the comfort of her religion when she dared not confess? How could she promise to reform her ways when she had not the power to do so, when her lover could so easily make her his slave?

On Christmas Eve she signed the pardon which would bring Morton, Ruthven, Lindsay and the other rebel lords back to Scotland. She knew that doing so was tantamount to signing Darnley’s death warrant.

Darnley knew it too. When he realized what had been done he lost no time in leaving the Castle of Stirling. He made for Glasgow, that territory which was under his fathers domination.

Only there could he feel safe from his enemies.

IT WAS JANUARY and the weather was bitter. Mary, alone with her thoughts, told herself again and again: I cannot do this thing.

And every time she answered herself: But I must.

Darnley was suffering from the smallpox, and safe in his father’s castle he was carefully guarded by his father’s men.

When Mary told Bothwell of the child he was by no means displeased.

“There must be no delay,” he said. “You must see that. Delay is dangerous for us now.”

“Why do you say these things?” she demanded, feeling half demented. “What good could come to us… even if we were rid of him? What of you? You are not free!”

He had laughed. “I’ll be free and ready when you are.”

“And Jean?”

“She will stand aside. There’ll be a divorce on the grounds of consanguinity. We are related.”

“So, we shall both be divorced and then—”

“Divorced! Divorce takes too long where Kings and Queens are concerned. Do not forget the child. It should not be born out of wedlock and it will not wait.”

She closed her eyes and tried to fight free of the spell he laid upon her. She thought fleetingly: If I could go to a nunnery…. If I could live out my life there…. But he had his arms about her; he was giving her those rough caresses which always brought memories of the Exchequer House.