“Who are my friends?” she asked bitterly. “Where are they?”
Melville drew his sword and laid it on her bed. Then from the scabbard he took a letter. He held it out to her and whispered: “It is from Sir Nicholas Throckmorton who Your Majesty knows is the ambassador of the Queen of England. He is now in Edinburgh and tells me that his mistress is deeply shocked at the insult offered to royalty by your imprisonment in this fortalice.”
“I rejoice to hear it,” answered Mary. “It is what I expect.”
“Sir Nicholas Throckmorton has written this on behalf of your royal cousin. I pray you read it.”
Mary read the document which warned her that she would be in danger if she did not sign the deed of Abdication. She must ensure her personal safety, and the Queen of England doubted not that ere long she would be free of her enemies. Then she could justly repudiate what she had been forced to sign in prison.
She raised her eyes to Melville who was watching her expectantly.
“You think that the Queen of England is my friend?” she asked.
“I think that the Queen of England is deeply disturbed by any insult to royalty.”
“Then she must be deeply disturbed at this moment,” retorted Mary bitterly.
“Her advice is sound, Your Majesty. I can assure you that, if you will repudiate Bothwell, there are many nobles in this land who will be ready to fight at your side until all that you have lost is restored to you. Atholl gave me this turquoise. He says you once gave it to him and he has treasured it. He sends it to you now as a sign of his devotion to you.”
She took the turquoise and looked at it. “Such a gesture could have little meaning,” she murmured.
“Maitland of Lethington once received an ornament from you. He also sends it as a like token.”
Melville laid in her hand an oval piece of gold enamel. Engraved on it was Æsop’s mouse liberating the lion.
She smiled, remembering the occasion when she had given the trinket to Maitland. He had recently married her dear Mary Fleming, and she had been delighted to see Mary’s happiness.
Now she thought of Maitland who, such a short time ago, had passed by on the other side of the road.
“I am not impressed by these gestures,” she said. “They could mean nothing.”
Lindsay had come over to the bed, arrogant and impatient.
“Come,” he said, “it is time that your signature was put to this document.”
“I have not agreed to sign it,” Mary reminded him.
“Read the document!” Lindsay commanded.
“I refuse to look at it,” retorted Mary.
Lindsay’s eyes blazed in his dark face. “Madam,” he said quietly, but in tones which indicated that he meant every word, “you will rise from your bed without delay. You will be seated at yon table. There you will sign the deed of Abdication in favor of your son.”
“And if I refuse?”
Lindsay unsheathed his sword. The gesture was significant.
“You would murder me in cold blood!” demanded Mary.
“Madam, my blood grows hot with this delay. Come, rise from your bed.”
His sword was close to her throat and she saw the purpose in his eyes. She looked at Melville and Ruthven, but they would not return her gaze.
He means it! she thought. He has come here to say: Sign or die.
She looked about her helplessly; she was here on an island, far from any friends she might have had. The cry of wild fowl suddenly came to her ears. They would murder her as many had been murdered before. Perhaps they would bury her body under some stone slab in the courtyard, or under a stair that was little used.
Now that death was so near she longed to live; a greater desire than she had felt for Bothwell was with her now; she wanted to escape, to regain her throne, to punish these men who had dared degrade her royalty.
She reached for a robe. They had expelled Jane Kennedy and Marie Courcelles from the room, so there was no one to help her. Ruthven took the robe and put it around her shoulders; as he did so she detected a burning gleam in his eyes; he was sending her a message of some sort; she was not entirely sure what. Perhaps it was merely desire for her body. But somehow it gave her a small comfort.
She was out of bed and, because she was still weak, Melville gave her his arm. She felt his fingers on her wrist and she believed there was something reassuring in the touch.
It was Lindsay who was her enemy, Lindsay with his black flashing eyes and his ready sword.
The quill was put into her hand; she sat down and read the document. Once she had put her name to it she would no longer be the reigning Queen. Scotland would have a King—James Stuart, son of Mary Stuart and Darnley.
She wanted to shout her refusal but Lindsay was standing over her, his sword still drawn.
She signed the Abdication and threw down the pen. Then she was on her feet, facing Lindsay who with a slow smile of triumph was putting away his sword.
She felt hysteria overcoming her. She shouted: “I was forced to it. You held a sword at my throat and forced me to sign. Is that justice? Rest assured, my lord, that when I am free the first pleasure I shall allow myself will be to see your head severed from your body. And I tell you this: These documents to which, under duress, I have put my name, have no meaning. I signed under compulsion, and I do not consider my signature valid. Do not think that I am entirely friendless. I shall not always be your prisoner. And then . . . my lord . . . beware.”
Lindsay continued to smile as he murmured: “So you do not think you will long remain our prisoner? Lest there should be some meaning behind those words we must make sure that your jailors double their precautions. As one of those jailors, Madam, you may rest assured that I shall do my duty to Scotland.”
Ruthven said: “The Queen is ill. I will help her to her bed.”
He put an arm about Mary and held her firmly. His face was close to hers. He was undoubtedly trying to convey some message to her. Had she not felt so ill she would have understood, she was sure. Was he telling her that he was her friend?
She stumbled onto the bed; she felt sick and dizzy.
Vaguely she heard voices from afar—Ruthven’s and Melville’s.
“The Queen is fainting. Her maids should be sent to her.” And when she opened her eyes again she found that Lindsay, Ruthven and Melville had gone, and that Jane and Marie were at her bedside with her French apothecary.
MARY QUICKLY RECOVERED with the help of her maids and her apothecary. Her anger against those lords who had forced her to sign away her right was so intense that it was like a crutch to her weakness.
“The impudence!” she raved. “How dared they! Jane, Marie . . . Lindsay held the sword at my throat. Let him be sure that he shall not escape my fury.”
The maids exchanged glances. They were delighted to see their mistress’s animation. Anything was better than the listlessness she had displayed since her arrival at Lochleven, no matter what was the cause of it.
“I shall not be here forever,” Mary continued. “I have friends . . . .”
“Your Majesty must keep up your strength,” Jane warned her. “When the time comes to leave this dismal place you will have to be well.”
“You are right, Jane,” answered the Queen. “This is an end of my lethargy.”
They brought her food and she ate it. She called for a mirror and studied her face with more attention than she had bestowed on it since the beginning of her incarceration. She had lost her pallor and her delicately tinted complexion was regaining its beauty; her lovely mouth was no longer melancholy; slightly parted it disclosed her perfect white teeth; there was a sparkle, left by recent anger mingling with new-born hope, in the long, deeply-set hazel eyes; her chestnut hair, hanging over her shoulders, was regaining its luster.