The Captive Queen of Scots - Plaidy Jean (читать книги онлайн бесплатно без сокращение бесплатно txt) 📗
Bess’s daughter Frances had married Sir Henry Pierpont of Holme Pierpont in Nottinghamshire, and Frances had a little daughter whom she had named Elizabeth after her mother.
It was at Bess’s suggestion that Mary became godmother to this child. Bess who, where her family was concerned, was extremely ambitious, believed that it could do little Bessie, who was four years old, no harm to have a Queen as her godmother. At the same time it would add a little interest to Mary’s life.
She was unprepared for the warmth with which Mary greeted this project. Her goddaughter became the center of her life; and she showered all that devotion, which she had longed to give to James, on little Bessie Pierpont. She had the child with her whenever possible, taking meals with her, having her sleep in her bed, making clothes for her.
As for little Bessie, she returned the Queen’s affection and was never so happy as when she was in Mary’s company.
Bess looked on with pleasure and assured Frances Pierpont that young Bessie would come to no harm while Mary remained a prisoner, and if the latter’s fortune should ever take a turn great good would come to her.
During this time Mary became more serene. The affairs of her household were beginning to absorb her. She was concerned about the health of her French Secretary Roullet, who was dying of a lung complaint and had become very difficult, being often too ill to work for her and not hesitating to express his reproaches if she allowed Gilbert Curle to take over his tasks.
She was gentle and tender to him and always tried to placate him, although often she had to do his work herself—fearing to hurt him by passing it on to some other secretary. But he was one of her household, and now she lived for such friends.
She was made very sad by news of the death of Charles IX, King of France, and was temporarily overcome by melancholy, remembering the happy days when she had been a child in the French nursery.
Seton wept with her, for had they not always been together even in those days, and she remembered Charles as well as Mary did.
“I have lost another friend,” she told Seton, “and there are so few left to me.”
“He loved you dearly,” Seton answered. “It was the dearest wish of his heart that you should share his throne with him. I believe that might have come about but for his mother.”
“I have had so many good friends and so many enemies,” Mary replied. “How Catherine de’ Medici hated me—especially so after she heard me call her a tradesman’s daughter. It was wrong of me, Seton, and I deeply regret that now. But I paid for my folly, did I not? Sometimes I think, Seton, that I am paying in full for all the sins of my youth.”
“Let us not talk of such things,” replied Seton. “It will not always be as it is now, and then perhaps you will be rewarded for your goodness to us all. Shall we work on the embroidery for little Bessie’s gown?”
He was dead and no good could be served by mourning. Poor Charles! thought Mary. Had he so much to lose? His reign had been unhappy. He was dominated by a mother who, it was said, had perverted him in more ways than one. He suffered from perpetual remorse for the fearful massacre of St. Bartholomew’s Eve. Poor Charles, perhaps one should rejoice that his earthly troubles were at an end.
One morning Mary sent a maid to ask after the health of her secretary Roullet who, she fancied, had looked even more sickly than usual on the previous day.
The maid returned to her in agitation, with the news that Monsieur Roullet was gasping for breath and seemed very distressed; and when Mary hurried to his bedside she saw at once that her secretary was dying.
He was too far gone to speak to Mary as she bent over his bed, but there was loving devotion in his eyes. Mary sent for priests and the last rites were administered; and that day she wept bitterly for the loss of another friend.
She was deeply touched to discover that Roullet had not spent the five thousand crowns which she had given him as a reward for his services to her, but kept them that he might leave them to her in his will.
“How strange,” she said to Seton, “that I, who have so many enemies, should find so many to love me.”
“It is your possessions that make some your enemies,” answered Seton sagely. “It is you yourself whom your friends love.”
“I shall need another secretary to take the place of poor Roullet, so I shall write to the Cardinal of Lorraine and ask him to send me someone whom I can trust.”
Mary carried out that intention and very soon afterward her uncle sent her a handsome, energetic young man who had been one of his own secretaries; his name was Jacques Nau, and he was a brother of that Claud Nau who had served Mary some years before.
ONE DAY A LETTER from George Douglas was smuggled in to Mary. It always delighted her to hear from George and she was happy if she learned that he was alive and well.
He wrote that he had returned to Scotland and was in hiding there. Willie was with him. George had not married Mademoiselle La Verriere. Those plans had come to naught, he wrote. He thought constantly of the Queen and sought means of bringing her back to power. He believed that the Queen would be happy if her son were taken from Morton’s care, where he was being instructed by the villainous Buchanan, and taken to Spain where Philip II would be very willing to supervise his education.
“If this could be brought about,” wrote George, “I believe, and so do many of Your Majesty’s friends, that it would be the first and most effective step toward regaining the throne of Scotland.”
Mary sat with the letter in her lap, her heart beating faster. She had forgotten how exciting intrigue could be. Yes, she thought, anything to remove little James from the hands of those who hated her and were endeavoring to bring him up to do the same.
George was right. If this could be successfully achieved it would be a step toward her return to power. And if only she could but see her son again, she often told herself, she would ask for nothing more. He was growing up now, that little James, having come to the end of his eighth year; and it would be so easy for a clever man to make him believe the lies against her.
Yet would Morton ever let him go? Dear George, he had always conceived such wild plans; but she remembered that it was due to Willie rather than George that she had escaped from Lochleven.
It saddened her that his marriage had come to nothing, because she feared it might be because he had set his Queen on such a high pedestal that he compared all others, to their detriment, with her—quite wrongly, Mary believed.
She wrote to George. His plan interested her very much, she said; and if it could be put into execution she was sure it would have the effect they all desired; but he had suffered enough, and she begged him not to put himself in further peril for her sake.
SHEFFIELD CASTLE had never been one of Bess’s favorite residences, and in October of the year 1574 she took an opportunity of visiting Rufford, another of the family’s stately houses. Bess took her unmarried daughter, Elizabeth Cavendish, with her and a few days after her arrival was very glad that she had, for noble travelers called at Rufford, and these were none other than Margaret, Countess of Lennox, who to Bess’s joy was accompanied by her son Charles, the younger brother of Mary’s husband, Lord Darnley, who had met his death so mysteriously in Kirk o’ Field.
Bess warmly welcomed the visitors and made sure that the young people were often in each other’s company.
Elizabeth Cavendish was a beautiful young woman, and Bess had long been looking for a suitable match; so when good fortune threw Charles Stuart in her way, the ambitious Bess felt this to be an opportunity which should not be missed.
As soon as she had seen that her guests were comfortably settled, she sent for Elizabeth who, knowing her mother, guessed what was in her mind.
