Livingstone came to stand beside the Queen. “Perhaps we might walk toward the house,” he said. “It is not seemly for Your Majesty to remain here among these staring people.”
The others agreed and Herries announced: “We will go to your master’s house. Lead us thither.”
The people continued to stare at the Queen, but some of their number were ready to lead the way and the little party set off.
A strange manner, thought Mary, for a Queen to travel. And she thought of other journeys with the pomp and richness of royalty all about her.
Before they had arrived at Workington Hall, its owner, Sir Henry Curwen, now having been warned of her approach, came out to meet the party.
When he reached the Queen he bowed and bade her welcome to Workington. Then he led the way into a wooded park, and Mary felt a great relief as the gracious mansion with its castellated towers and turrets loomed before her. As she passed through the embattled gateway Sir Henry’s wife and mother were waiting to greet them.
When the younger Lady Curwen had made her curtsy she told the Queen that Workington Hall was at her disposal for as long as she wished and that, having heard of Her Majesty’s arrival, he had immediately ordered that the finest apartments in the house should be made ready for her.
“We are sixteen,” said Mary with an apologetic smile; “and we come unannounced. But I know you will feel pity for us when you hear of our misfortunes.”
“Let me conduct you to my own rooms while yours are being prepared,” said Lady Curwen. “There perhaps I can help you with a change of linen and a clean gown while food is made ready.”
“You are very kind.”
“We count it an honor to have the Queen of Scotland under our roof,” said Sir Henry.
“I am sure,” put in the Dowager Lady Curwen, “that our good Queen would be most displeased if we showed aught but warm hospitality to her kinswoman.”
“I hope soon to be with her,” Mary answered. “Then I shall tell her how happy I was to be so warmly received as soon as I stepped on her soil.”
Lady Curwen led the way to her own rooms, and, while water was brought and Mary and her ladies washed the stains of the journey from their persons, clothes were sent in for them.
For Mary there was a gown of crimson brocade slashed with white satin; it was fortunately loose, which helped to hide the fact that the fit was not perfect. Jane Kennedy combed the long chestnut hair back from the high forehead and a small round cap was placed at the back of Mary’s head, over which was a veil, edged with gold; this draped gracefully over her shoulders.
When she was dressed in these garments Mary felt almost gay. The worst was over, she told herself; the next step would be the meeting place Elizabeth suggested—and then, with England’s help, would begin the regaining of her throne.
There were clean clothes for her female attendants and, when they had changed, they felt their spirits rising. It was only three days since the defeat at Langside, but those had been spent in almost continual travel, frequently by night, and it was a great relief to put on clean garments.
When Mary went to the apartments which had been prepared for her she found food and wine waiting for her there because, explained Lady Curwen, her servants were endeavoring to prepare a repast which would, they hoped, be more worthy of their royal guest.
Mary’s warm-hearted thanks immediately won the friendship of the Curwens, and when they had made sure that the Queen had everything she needed and was resting in her apartments they left her to concern themselves with arrangements for her entertainment.
It was a few hours after the Queen’s arrival at Workington Hall and while she was still resting, when a messenger came riding into the courtyard demanding to be taken with all speed to Sir Henry Curwen.
When Sir Henry received the messenger he was informed that the man came from the Earl of Northumberland, the lord of the district.
Northumberland had heard that the Queen of Scots had arrived in England; he was not as surprised by this as Sir Henry Curwen had been, because he had heard from Sir Richard Lowther that Lord Herries had written to him asking for Mary’s safe conduct. He was therefore on the alert; and he knew his duty. He did not wish the Queen to know that she was again a prisoner, but this was what she must be until instructions were received, in the name of Elizabeth, as to what was to be done with her. Northumberland’s commands were that on the following day Curwen’s royal guest was to be conducted from Workington Hall to Cockermouth Hall. Northumberland, not being in residence at his Castle, could not entertain her there, and it was for this reason that she was to be lodged at Cockermouth Hall, the home of Henry Fletcher, a rich merchant of the district. He was sending guards who, the Queen must be made to believe, were to protect her on the short journey and to conduct her thither; actually they would be there to make sure she did not escape.
Curwen, listening to these instructions, was indignant, but he dared not disobey Northumberland; and when the Queen appeared for supper he told her that the Earl of Northumberland had heard of her arrival and wished to entertain her in his castle. Unfortunately he was not in residence, but invited her to go to Cockermouth, where she would be entertained until he could reach her.
Mary was not displeased and without suspicion. She knew that Northumberland was a Catholic, and therefore she believed he would be an ally.
“But,” she said, “I shall be very sorry to say goodbye so soon to you and your family, Sir Henry. You have made me so welcome and I shall never forget that you were my first friends in England.”
It was a merry supper which was eaten in the dining hall at Workington. Mary looked very beautiful in her crimson brocade; and when Lady Curwen brought her a lute, she played and sang a little.
She was full of hope and high spirits when she retired to her apartments. She slept long and deep. The nightmare of Langside and the three days of exhausting travel seemed to have happened a long time ago.
I was right, she thought, to come to England.
THE RISING SUN awakened her and it was some seconds before she realized where she was.
She raised herself and looked out of the window. England! she thought. This time yesterday she had been in Scotland, and already she had good friends here, in the Curwens and Northumberland. Soon she would be calling Elizabeth her friend.
She would write to Elizabeth; then she was sure there would be no delay. She would receive a warm invitation to ride south with all speed, and how wonderful it would be to meet the Queen in that Hampton Court of which she had heard so much! How long would it be? She was impatient for the meeting.
She found that the writing materials for which she had asked had been set out on a table and, rising from her bed, she sat down and wrote to the Queen of England.
I entreat you to send for me as soon as possible, for I am in a pitiable condition, not only for a Queen but even for a gentlewoman, having nothing in the world but what I had on my person when I escaped . . . .
She sighed and looked at the crimson brocade almost lovingly. Soon, she believed, she would have some clothes becoming to her station. She had a feminine interest in them and had enjoyed adding little touches to make them entirely her own, and if she could only have some of her own clothes sent to her she would feel more like herself.
. . . I hope to be able to declare my misfortunes to you if it pleases you to have compassion and permit me to come and bewail them to you. Not to weary you, I will now pray God to give you health and a long and happy life, and to myself patience, and that consolation I await from you, to whom I present my humble commendations. From Workington this 17th of May. Your very faithful and affectionate good sister and cousin and escaped prisoner,