Words to make a grown-up person shudder, but to a child of five they were little more than words.
Now she was in a boat and she heard the sound of oars dipping into water. It became suddenly calm and peaceful as though there was no longer the desperate need for haste.
The violent bump of the boat as it touched land awakened her thoroughly. “Where are we?” she cried.
“Hush… hush!” she was told. “Maman is here.” That was her mother talking to her as though she were indeed a baby.
She was taken up and placed in the arms of someone clothed in black. Over his head was a cowl. He might have frightened her had his eyes not been gentle and his voice kind.
“Sleep, little one,” he said. “Sleep on, little Queen. You have come safely to Inchmahome.”
Inchmahome! The melodious word took the place in her dreams of Pinkie Cleugh and blood… murder… rape. Inchmahome… and peace.
IT SEEMED TO MARY that she lived for a long time in the island monastery. At first there was much she missed, but it was not long before her four Marys arrived on the island to bear her company. Lady Fleming stayed with her, and because there was need to comfort her aunt, Mary herself was comforted. Lord Fleming had been killed at the terrible battle of Pinkie Cleugh. He was one of fourteen thousand Scots who had died that day.
Mary wept bitterly. First Beaton’s uncle and now Flem’s father. And both had been killed. There had been no need for either of them to die. “Why,” she demanded angrily of Lady Fleming, “could they not all love each other and be friends?”
“It is the accursed English!” cried Lady Fleming. “They want Scotland for their own. They have killed my Malcolm. I hate the English.”
“But it was not the English who killed Cardinal Beaton,” said Mary.
“They were behind that murder too. They are a heretic people.”
Mary put her arms round her governess and reminded her that she had five sons and there was big James to be Lord Fleming now.
Janet Fleming took the lovely face in her hands and kissed it. “When you grow up,” she said, “many will love you. You have that in you which attracts love. There will be men to love you …”
Janet’s eyes brightened and her sorrow lifted a little, for she could not help knowing that there would still be men to love Janet Fleming too. It was true that she was no longer young but her appeal seemed ageless. She had been born with it and it did not diminish at all. Here in the monastery she would let her grief subside; her wounds would heal and when she again went into the world she would be her jaunty pleasure-loving self, attracting men perhaps because she herself was so easily attracted by them.
So they were able to comfort each other, and the brief rest on the peaceful island was something they were both to remember in the years to come and look back upon with a certain longing.
Mary grew accustomed to the life of the island. She had soon, with her little friends about her, made a miniature court for herself. She was watched with delight—even by the monks—for in her black silk gown, ornamented by the brilliant tartan scarf, held together by the gold agraffe which was engraved with the arms of Scotland and Lorraine, her lovely hair loose about her shoulders, she was a charming sight.
At first the monks in their musty black had not attracted her; she had been startled to come upon them gliding through the cold bare rooms. But when she grew to know them she found a gentleness in them which appealed to her. They answered her only when she spoke to them, but they did not speak even to each other unless it was absolutely necessary.
It was like a world of which she had dreamed—a strange world shut in by granite walls. The bells rang continually, for life on the island in the lake of Menteith was divided into periods, by the bells. Mary went daily with her four friends to the great room with the stained-glass windows; there she prayed to the saints and confessed her sins.
Her curiosity had to be satisfied, and she and the four Marys could not be content until they had wheedled the secret from Lady Fleming.
“Why are we here, Aunt Janet?” asked Mary.
“It is a rest for me… after what I suffered.”
“Did they take me out of bed at midnight for that?” asked Mary scornfully.
“It is because of the English,” said Beaton.
“Hertford’s men came close to the castle,” added Mary. “We heard of that.”
Poor Janet! She could never be discreet. “Well, I do know,” she admitted, “but nothing would prise it from me.” But the five Marys could, and in a short time Janet was saying: “If I tell you, you must never mention it to anyone… anyone at all.”
She admitted that they had been sent to Inchmahome to escape the English. “Your mother has plans for you,” she added.
“What plans?” demanded Mary.
“Plans made with the French, so they say.”
“With my uncles?”
“They send messengers to her continually. There are some, my little Queen, who would like to see you sent to England, but your mother has other plans.”
Lady Fleming could not be induced to say what these plans were, so the five little girls, who knew her well, decided that she did not know and that it was no use pestering her further.
When Mary was in her room, which was as bare as a cell, she knelt before the little altar there, but instead of praying she was thinking about plans with the French.
She rose from her knees and studied the ornament her mother had given her and which she always wore to fasten her scarf. Her mother had explained the significance of the emblems on the ornament. The silver eagles were of Lorraine, the double cross was of Jerusalem; and the lilies were of Anjou and Sicily. This was the emblem of Guise and Lorraine. Her mother had said: “Always remember the emblem when you are afraid or when you are about to do something shameful. It is the emblem of Guise and Lorraine.”
And Guise and Lorraine was France! What had Lady Fleming meant by plans made with the French?
Wherever I go, said Mary to herself, I shall take my four Marys with me. I shall never, never be parted from them.
AFTER A WHILE she grew to love the life of the monastery. There was so much to discover and those black-clad men were so ready to teach. Here she learned to speak and read in French, Spanish and Italian as well as Latin. She could play as she wished on the grounds about the monastery and there was no one to guard her and her little friends. They could go wherever they wished as long as they remained on the island.
Slowly the days passed and it seemed to all the little girls that they lived for a very long time on the island of Inchmahome.
THEN ONE DAY when they were wandering close to the lakes edge they saw men rowing to the island. They ran back to tell Lady Fleming what they had seen. Mary was in a flutter of excitement because she believed that the English had come to take her away.
The Abbot himself came running in consternation to the water’s edge. Mary Fleming had taken the girls into the monastery, but they could not resist watching from a window.
They saw the Abbot was smiling and bowing to the men.
“English!” cried Lady Fleming excitedly. “They are not English. They are Scottish noblemen. Depend upon it they have come to take us home.”
She was right.
Lady Fleming put the cloak about the dainty little figure and called to Flem to bring the brooch which was emblazoned with the arms of Guise and Lorraine.
“Back to something a little more gay, the saints be praised!” said Lady Fleming.
But oddly enough Mary was not sure whether she really wanted to go. She had now so many friends in this quiet retreat. She thought of the quiet common room in which she and the four Marys had so often sat together taking lessons from the brothers; she thought of the freedom of wandering on the island, of the peace and silence which had frightened them at first but which they had grown to love.