The Captive Queen of Scots - Plaidy Jean. Страница 78

Norfolk’s reply was noncommittal, yet he did not altogether banish the idea of using the young men of Derbyshire. He wrote that it might not be wise for those young men to meddle at this time, when Elizabeth might be prepared to treat her as she should be treated; but if such a plan were to be put into action, Derby’s sons were the sort of men he would like to see at its head.

Thus encouraged, the conspirators brought Lesley, Bishop of Ross, into the plan; and because he, having lived close to Elizabeth and having been her prisoner, had a more intimate knowledge of what could be expected at her hand, he was inclined to view any attempt to escape with favor.

Thus the summer months were enlivened with these plans and, as it was always a matter for rejoicing when letters were safely smuggled into the house, and as without this kind of excitement life would have been intolerably dull, Mary indulged once more in dreams of escape.

The plan was progressing. Mary was to escape from her window by means of a cord; horses were to be waiting and she was to be conducted to Harwich where a ship would be ready to sail for Flanders.

News of this plan leaked out and was discussed in the inns and taverns of the Duke of Norfolk’s territory. He was in the Tower, and the people of Norfolk grumbled to one another that it was not justice that their own Duke should be kept in the Tower merely because he had thought of marrying.

At Harleston Fair one man stood on a platform and addressed the crowds. Where was their Duke, he demanded of them. Was it fitting that a noble Duke—their own Duke of Norfolk—should be kept a prisoner in the Tower? The Duke’s place was in Norfolk with his own people.

There were shouts of agreement and very soon several hundreds had collected to shout their disapproval of a Queen who had thrown their own Duke into the Tower when he had committed no crime.

“We’ll march to the Tower!” cried the man who had first spoken. “We’ll burn down the place and we’ll bring our Duke back to Norfolk where he belongs.”

The march began; but before it had gone more than a few miles it was intercepted by the Queen’s soldiers who promptly arrested the ringleader and hanged them on the nearest trees, while the rest of the rioters turned and fled for their lives.

The disturbance was ended almost before it began, but when news of what had happened reached Elizabeth’s ears she was uneasy. Nothing could depress her so utterly as a rising of her subjects against her. She was not afraid of her ministers; she knew how to deal with them. One step to the Tower and the next to the block were easily accomplished. But loss of popularity with the common people was her constant dread.

Whenever she experienced it—however slight, however remote—she always knew that, if only for her peace of mind, something had to be done.

IN HIS GLOOMY PRISON in the Tower Norfolk was growing more and more uneasy.

Each time a letter was brought to him, very often concealed in the cork of an ale bottle, he trembled; he could not help wondering when the ruse would be discovered; it was ironical that he, who had vowed that he would never become involved in treason, should be caught up in the intrigues surrounding Mary Queen of Scots.

Marriage with her would be a big prize and therefore perhaps he would have to take a risk or two.

But there were occasions when, gazing up at the bars in his cell or leaning against the cold stone wall, he wondered if he would ever be released and whether, when he was, it would be to make that short journey, which so many had taken before him, to Tower Hill, with the blade of the executioner’s axe turned toward him.

Now there was plague in the prison. All knew that in such an atmosphere it could spread like fire in a gale, so perhaps he would be taken out in his coffin.

His keeper, Sir Henry Neville, who had been specially appointed by the Queen to watch over him, treated him with the respect due to his rank; but he knew that if the Queen gave the order for his execution, Neville would not hesitate to do all that was required of him. There was little hope of his ever leaving this prison unless Elizabeth relented.

Neville came into his cell, and they sat at the small table playing cards, as they often did to pass the time.

“How goes the plague?” asked Norfolk.

“Bad . . . very bad.”

Norfolk studied the cards, but he was not thinking of the game.

“Would to God I could go back to the country. I should keep well away from Court, I do assure you.”

“And you’d be wise in that,” answered Neville. “There have been riots in Norfolk and that does not please the Queen. Some of your men at a fair, I hear, wanted to know why you were being kept a prisoner in London.”

“The devil they did!” said the Duke with a smile. “And what was the Queen’s answer to that?”

“Short and swift. The ringleaders are now swinging on gibbets, a warning to any Norfolk yeomen who shout ‘A Howard!’”

“Then I fear that has done me little good.”

“None, I fear. Nor will any good be done you until there is no longer talk of a marriage between you and the Queen of Scots.”

Norfolk nodded grimly. Yes, he thought, the project is too far gone to be lightly abandoned. Who knows from one moment to another, when Elizabeth herself might be set down and another put in her place? What if Mary were made Queen of England and he had been shortsighted enough to break his engagement with her?

He remembered an occasion when he had denied to Elizabeth that he had any pretensions to marriage with Mary. He had said that he would not feel safe on his pillow, married to such a one. That had satisfied Elizabeth at the time, he had believed; but she had referred to that phrase of his later when, full of suspicion that he might be in negotiation with Mary, she had suddenly leaned toward him when she sat at supper, nipped his arm firmly between her fingers and thumb and warned him that he should look to his pillow.

He could still feel the terror of occasions like that; it brought back memories of the day when he had heard that his father had lost his head because a sovereign willed it.

He turned to the card game and went on playing in silence.

While they were at play a messenger arrived with documents for Neville and for Norfolk.

They were from the Queen.

Elizabeth was grieved to think of my lord of Norfolk wasting his days and nights in the Tower. She liked not to hear that plague had penetrated the fortress. She was inclined to be lenient, and she was going to offer Norfolk a chance to leave his prison. He might return to his own house at the Charterhouse, whither Sir Henry Neville would accompany him, that the Queen might rest happily assured that he made no mischief. This she would grant him permission to do and asked only one concession in return. He must sign a document in which he solemnly pledged his word that he would not marry the Queen of Scots nor take part in her affairs without first obtaining the consent to do so from his Sovereign, Elizabeth.

When he and Neville had read these documents they regarded each other in somber silence.

Neville said: “It is the chance you have been praying for. Take it.”

Norfolk’s weak face was creased in almost petulant exasperation.

“Think of what she asks!” he cried. “How can I give my word to give up the Queen of Scots, after the solemn promises we have made each other?”

But even as he spoke he knew he would.

WILLIAM CECIL, accompanied by Sir Walter Mildmay and Lesley, Bishop of Ross, was riding toward Chatsworth.

He was thoughtful as he rode, wondering how far he could trust Lesley; the man had been imprisoned once and managed to escape with his life, but there were so many plots and counterplots surrounding the Queen of Scots that Cecil was not prepared to trust any one of her servants. He would keep a watchful eye on Lesley.