I bring ill luck to those who love me, she thought. But it shall not be so with George. George was innocent as none of the others had been—except perhaps François. No, she knew she was an impulsive woman, governed by her emotions rather than sound common sense. But she could learn some lessons; and she had learned this one.
I could only bring suffering to him if I kept him with me to become my lover. I will not do it. You must fly away, George . . . to freedom and a life that is not too closely entwined with that of ill-fated Mary Stuart.
“Take this picture of me, George,” she said steadily, “and go now. Make preparations for your departure. I shall see you before you leave.”
He bowed, and she did not look at him as he went from the room.
SIR FRANCIS KNOLLYS came to her apartment and asked for an audience.
He looked harassed and she guessed that he had bad news.
“Your Majesty,” he said, “I regret that I have orders here. You are to prepare to leave at once for Bolton Castle.”
“Whence come these orders?” she asked.
“From the Queen’s ministers, Your Majesty.”
“May I see them?”
Knollys handed them to her.
“I do not see the signature of the Queen of England.”
“Secretary Cecil signs for her.”
“I will not be commanded by the Queen’s ministers,” retorted Mary. “Without your Queen’s express warrant I shall not stir from Carlisle.”
Knollys sighed and went to consult with Scrope, while Mary sat down and wrote one of her passionate letters to Elizabeth, explaining that she was sure Elizabeth would not order her to go where she did not wish, and imploring her to remember that, as Queen of Scotland, she was an equal of the Queen of England.
BUT MARY KNEW that she was in Elizabeth’s power when word came from her that the Queen of England was sending her own litter and horses to convey the Queen of Scots from Carlisle to Bolton.
There was also a letter from Elizabeth for Mary, which the latter seized on with eagerness.
My lord Herries has told me two things which seem to me very strange. One, that you would not answer before anyone but myself; the other, that without force you would not stir from the place where you are, unless you had license to come to me! Your innocence being such as I hope it is, you have no need to refuse to answer to some noble personage, whom I shall send to you, not to answer judicially, but only to assure me upon it by your answers; not making them to your subjects which would not be considered proper, but sending to lay before me your defense, that I might publish it to the world, after having satisfied myself, which is my principal desire. Then as to the place I have ordained for your honor and safekeeping, I beg you not to give me cause to think all the promises you have made were but as wind, when you sent word to me that you would do whatsoever might seem best to me . . . .
The letter dropped from Mary’s hand. She knew, without reading further, that she would be obliged to obey the wishes of Elizabeth.
“It is my intention,” continued Elizabeth, “to keep Lord Herries here till I shall receive an answer on both these points . . . .”
SO UNTIL SHE LEFT Carlisle she would be deprived of the services of one of her most faithful friends.
Mary put aside the letter and covered her face with her hands.
It was two months since she had fled from the battlefield of Langside, so full of hope, certain that she could rely on Elizabeth’s help.
Now had come that Queen’s orders. From Carlisle to Bolton—from that refuge, whose windows looked on the bonny hills of Scotland, to Bolton to which she had heard Sir Francis Knollys refer as “the highest walled castle I ever did see.”
Why? What did the future hold for the captive Queen?
V
Bolton
GREAT WERE MARY’S MISGIVINGS when she first saw Bolton Castle. Set in beautiful Wensleydale in the North Riding of Yorkshire, it was indeed a fortress; and she was not surprised that Knollys had remarked that it was the highest walled castle he had ever seen.
It had been three days ago that, most reluctantly, she had left Carlisle. How happily she would have done so had she been going south to the Court of the Queen of England! But she knew the reason for this move. She was going farther away from Scotland, out of reach of those loyal lairds who were planning how to set up her standard again and bring her back to her own.
Lord Fleming had returned to Carlisle before she left; Elizabeth had refused to grant him a safe conduct to France, but Mary had been right when she had believed that George Douglas would not be denied one. George was allowed to go, ostensibly to make his home there and to see that heiress to whom he had been affianced. Lord Fleming had now gone back to Scotland, his object being to visit Dumbarton first—that loyal stronghold—and then join forces with Argyle and Huntley.
Before she left Carlisle Mary sent certain of her followers back to Scotland, among them the energetic Lord Claud Hamilton, for she realized that if she were to be a prisoner in England, these faithful friends could be of greater service to her cause in Scotland where she knew that men were rallying every day to Huntley’s banner.
So it was a depleted party which set out from Carlisle. Willie Douglas rode near Mary’s litter and threatened to draw that enormous sword if any tried to shift him. Now that George had gone he whispered that he was taking over Geordie’s duties as well as his own, and she had no need to fear as the Douglases were with her.
She was grateful to Willie, because he never failed to make her smile, and it was so much easier to reconcile herself to her fate when she could do that.
The journey from Carlisle had taken two days and nights, the first night being spent at Lowther Castle where she had been treated with respect and sympathy—for which she was grateful—by the entire Lowther family; she had spent the next night at Wharton, and the following day reached Bolton Castle having come twenty miles south from Carlisle.
The castle was built around a great court and, standing as it did on a hill, gave the occupants wonderful views of the surrounding country, which at this time of the year was startlingly beautiful.
Waiting to greet Mary was Lady Scrope, and this was a great pleasure because Mary had taken a liking to her when they had met at Carlisle; moreover this lady was the sister of the Duke of Norfolk who, during his interview with Mary, had managed to convey to her, amid his gallantries, his desire to help her.
“It is a pleasure to meet you again,” said Mary.
Lady Scrope made a deep curtsy and expressed herself honored to have the pleasure of entertaining Her Majesty of Scotland.
She led the way into the castle which Mary noticed was sparsely furnished; and it was clear to Mary that her hostess was a little concerned for her guest’s comfort.
Mary tried to set her at ease by telling her how pleased she was to find a friend waiting to greet her.
Lady Scrope gave her a look which implied that she was gratified to be called such, and Mary’s spirits rose. Friends were of more importance to her than fine tapestries.
On their way to the apartments which had been prepared for the Queen in the southwest of the building Lady Scrope showed her the great clock, of which the family were very proud, for it not only told the time but also the movements of the sun and moon, and day of the week. She explained also how the chimneys were tunnels in the sides of the walls, thus during the cold weather the chill was taken from the apartments.