Lady Fleming nodded and began to laugh. “And she wears them too. She insists. The King is pleased that she should. What a country! The old Maréchal Tavannes complains that at the Court of France more honor is done to the King’s mistress than to his generals. Who is the real Queen of this country, tell me that!”
“Diane, of course. And I am glad that it should be so, for I hate Queen Catherine.”
“She is not worth the hating. She is as meek as a sheep. Look at this. It is one of the new coins struck at the coronation and should bear the heads of the King and Queen. But see! It is Diane riding on the crupper of the Kings horse. It means that although he has been forced to marry Queen Catherine and make her the mother of his children, there is only one Queen for him—Diane.”
“And more worthy to be!” cried Mary. “Queen Catherine is not royal. She has no breeding. She is vulgar. I wish she would go back to her Italian merchants so that the King could marry Diane.”
They looked up sharply. The door had opened so quietly that no one had heard a sound. They were relieved to see that it was not Catherine who stood there; it was Madame de Paroy.
“Yes, Madame de Paroy?” said Mary, immediately assuming the dignity of her rank. “What is it you want?”
“To ask your Majesty if you would wait on Queen Catherine.”
“I will do so,” said Mary. “And, Madame de Paroy, when you come to my apartments will you be so good as to be announced?”
“I could find none of your pages or women, Your Majesty. I am sorry that, as you and Lady Fleming were enjoying such mirth, you did not hear me.”
Madame de Paroy curtsied and retired. Mary looked at Lady Fleming who was trembling.
“Why are you afraid, and of what?” demanded Mary.
“I am afraid that she will tell Queen Catherine what she heard you say.”
Mary tossed her head. “Who cares for that! If Queen Catherine were unpleasant to me I should ask Diane to protect me.”
“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 château 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 château 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 Maréchal and Madame d’Humières 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 Maréchal and Madame d’Humières 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!”