“Is this what the Queen of England sends me for my wardrobe?” asked Mary, and the quietness of her tone betrayed to those who knew her what restraint she had to exercise to subdue her anger. She had had a vision of herself at the Court of France in blue velvet and gold, and the courtiers and the King of France with Madame de Poitiers, and young François telling her that she was the loveliest girl at the Court; that she had a way with a gown which transformed it into a thing of beauty when it clothed her form. Then she heard the cheers of the crowds as she rode through the streets of Paris. “Long live the Dauphine! Long live the Queen of England!”
How careless she had been then! What had her redheaded rival in England said of her, thought of her, when she had heard that in Paris she, Mary, was being called the Queen of England? Was she determined on revenge? Was this that revenge? Two pieces of mangy velvet, patched shift, worn out shoes! Was this a symbol of the help she must expect from the Queen of England?
She scarcely glanced at the things in the box and Knollys began to stammer: “The Queen of England understood that your maids were in need of clothes. These were intended for them.”
“Perhaps she intended them for my scullions,” said Mary sharply. “But do you know, when I had my own Court, I wished to see my lowest servants decently clad.”
She signed that the interview was over, and Knollys at least was glad. He felt ashamed.
Scrope eyed him warily. That remark about the contents of the box being intended for the maids was extraordinary. Was Knollys, like so many others, about to become a victim of the fascinating Queen of Scots?
SHORTLY AFTER Knollys and Scrope had left her, and before she had recovered from her anger, the Lords Herries and Fleming were asking for an audience.
She admitted them at once and saw from their grim looks that their fears equaled her own.
She smiled wanly at Herries. “You do not say, my lord, that you warned me not to come to England. But I remember that you did.”
Herries shook his head sadly. “Who can say what would have befallen us if we had tried to reach France, Your Majesty?”
“Nothing worse than that which could happen to us in England. Why, my lords, I feel almost as much a prisoner here as I did in Lochleven. Remember how long I have been here. I have made no progress through England at all. I have merely changed Lochleven for Carlisle.”
“We have a suggestion to put to Your Majesty,” said Fleming. “Someone must plead your cause with Queen Elizabeth and, since it cannot be yourself, we propose that one of us should go to London and try to obtain an audience with her.”
Mary looked from one to the other.
“I should go, Your Majesty, with your permission,” Herries told her.
“I shall miss you, my good and faithful counselor.”
“You have a bigger retinue than when you came—all faithful friends,” said Herries. “I can now leave Your Majesty with confidence, knowing that you have about you those who will protect you with their lives.”
“God bless you,” Mary replied emotionally. “When do you propose to set out?”
“Immediately.”
Fleming said: “I have come to ask Your Majesty’s permission to go to France . . . if that is possible.”
“To France!” Mary’s eyes widened. “Ah, that is where I should have gone when I left Scotland. I see it all now. The King of France would have been a good friend to me. He is older now and, it may be, not so completely under the control of his mother. And you will go to him, my lord Fleming, and tell him of my plight.”
“Herries and I have talked of this matter,” Fleming went on. “I shall tell Your Majesty’s Uncles, the Duke of Guise and the Cardinal of Lorraine, what is happening to you in England. I shall explain to His Majesty of France that we do not trust the English and I shall ask for their help and advice.”
“We can trust them, I know,” said Mary. “They are indeed my friends.”
“It will be necessary for the Queen of England to give me a safe conduct,” Fleming pointed out.
“Which she will not do if she believes you are going to ask for French help,” added Herries. “The last thing she wishes to do is to bring the French into Scotland. It would not be a difficult matter then for them to cross the Border.”
“My plan, Your Majesty,” went on Fleming, “is to tell the Queen of England that the King of France has offered help—which he has—but that as you are not yet in a position to receive it you wish, while thanking him to ask if you may call on it later if and when you should be in a position to make use of it.”
“You think she will believe that?” asked Mary.
“We must hope that she will,” answered Herries. “We must take some action. If we do nothing we may be here for months.”
“You are right,” Mary told them. “We must act—even if by so doing we merely discover the true nature of Elizabeth’s feelings toward me.”
Shortly afterward Herries and Fleming set out for the English Court.
SIR FRANCIS KNOLLYS was more pleased than he admitted to himself to see five small carts arriving in the courtyard accompanied by heavily laden packhorses. He went down to make a closer inspection, although he guessed whence these came.
“You come from Lord Moray?” he asked one of the drivers.
“Yes, my lord. With these goods which are for the use of the Queen-Mother of Scotland.”
“Then unload them with all speed,” ordered Sir Francis.
While this was being done, he made his way to Mary’s apartments and asked that he might see her.
She received him immediately, hoping that he brought news from his royal mistress; he was smiling and she began to believe that he would have been pleased to help her.
“I see that travelers are with us,” said Mary. “I trust they come from Queen Elizabeth.”
“No, Your Majesty, they come from Lord Moray in Scotland.”
Mary’s expression changed. “Then they can bring no good to me.”
“Yet I do not believe Your Majesty will be displeased when you see what has been brought.”
“I cannot conceive of any good coming to me from my bastard brother.”
“I have asked that these articles be sent to Your Majesty,” said Knollys. He smiled. “I have a wife, and I know how important such thing can be.”
“Do you mean that some of my possessions have been returned to me?”
“I sent word to Moray, asking him not to withhold your clothes but to send them to you here that you might have the pleasure of wearing them.”
“That was good of you, Sir Francis; but you remember that, the last time such a request was made, he sent me only things which I had long discarded . . . ruffs and coifs which were quite out of date, and dresses which were almost in rags. Indeed, what Moray sent me was only slightly better than those which your Queen sent . . . to my maids.”
Knollys looked uncomfortable for a few seconds, then he brightened. “I do not think you will be disappointed this time. May I have the articles brought to you?”
Mary’s smile was dazzling. “At least,” she said gently, “I rejoice that one of my jailors has a kind heart.”
“You must not think of me as such,” insisted Knollys.
“Nor shall I, when I receive my invitation to your Queen and we travel south,” was the answer. “When that will be, who shall say? So in the meantime let us content ourselves with seeing what my bastard brother has sent from my wardrobe.”
Mary summoned Seton, Jane Kennedy, Lady Livingstone and Marie Courcelles, and the packages were brought to the apartment.
This time they were not disappointed. Having received a request from an Englishman of such importance Moray had thought it wise not to ignore it.