Royal Road to Fotheringhay - Plaidy Jean. Страница 79

Between bouts of pain she noticed that her dear ones were about her. There was Beaton who suffered with her. Poor Beaton! Thomas Randolph had been sent back to England in disgrace, for he had been discovered to be trafficking with the rebels and exposed—not only as a spy for his mistress, which was understandable—but as one who worked against the Queen with her Scottish enemies. Poor Beaton! thought Mary. Like myself she is unlucky where she has placed her affections. There was dear Flem on the other side of her—heartbroken because Maitland had fled from the Court. Sempill was in disgrace and dearest Livy was with him.

But for the murder of David they would all be happy. And but for Darnley’s treachery David would be alive now.

I hate the father of this child! reflected Mary. Evil things are said of me. There is doubtless whispering in the corridors now. Who is the father of the Prince or Princess who is about to be born—Darnley or David? Who is it—the King or the secretary? That was what people were asking one another.

Darnley might be with them when they whispered, and it would depend on his mood of the moment whether he defended or defamed her.

Why did I marry such a man? she asked herself. Now that I am near dying I know that I can only wish to live if he should be taken from me.

Beaton was putting a cup to her lips.

“Beaton—” began Mary.

“Do not speak, dearest,” said Beaton. “It exhausts you. Save your strength for the child.”

Save your strength for the child! Do not fritter away your strength in hating the child’s father.

There came to her then that strength which never failed her in moments of peril. She battled her way through pain.

At last, from what seemed far away, she heard the cry of a child.

Mary Beaton was excitedly running from the apartment crying: “It is over. All is well. The Queen is delivered of a fair son.”

HER SON WAS BORN—that child who, she prayed, would unite her tortured land with the kingdom beyond the Border; for she knew that there could be no real peace between them until they were joined as one country under one sovereign. Her kingdom must be held for him as well as for herself.

There was one thing she must make sure of immediately. It should not be said that this little James Stuart was a bastard. Rumors of bastardy meant trouble in the life of a would-be king.

Already she had noticed the scrutiny of those who studied the baby. She saw the faint twitch of the lips, the appraising gaze. Now who does he resemble? Is it Darnley? Are his eyes particularly large? I wonder if he will be a skilled musician.

Her first task was not a pleasant one. She must feign friendship with her husband. She must not allow him to pour poison into people’s ears, for he would do that even though it was clear that by so doing he injured himself.

She called Darnley to her in the presence of all the people who crowded the chamber and said in a loud voice: “My lord, you have come to see our child. Look into his bonny face. God has blessed you and me with a son, and this son is begotten by none but you.”

Darnley bent over the child. She was implying that she knew what slander had been spread. He was afraid of her and all that she could do to punish him. He was afraid of those lords who were implicated in the Rizzio plot. They were now in exile, but once let them return, and he feared that his position would be as perilous as David’s had been. He was uncertain how to act. At times he felt he must cringe before his wife; at others he wished to show that he cared nothing for her; but when she confronted him with a serious matter such as this, he was always at a loss.

Mary looked from her husband, who had bent over the child, to those lords who stood by watching. She said in a loud ringing voice: “I swear before God, as I shall answer to Him on the day of judgment, that this is your son and that of no other man. I wish all gentlemen and ladies here to mark my words. I say—and God bear me witness—that this child is so much your son that I fear the worse for him.”

She turned to the nobleman nearest her bed.

“I hope,” she said, “that this child will unite two kingdoms, my own and that of England, for I hold that only in such union can peace be established between the two countries.”

“Let us hope,” said Moray, “that the child will inherit these two kingdoms after yourself. You could not wish him to succeed before his mother and father.”

“His father has broken with me,” said Mary sadly.

Darnley stuttered: “You cannot say that! You swore that all should be forgiven and forgotten, that it should be between us as it was in the beginning.”

“I may have forgiven,” said Mary, “but how can I forget? Your accomplices would have done me to death, remember… and not only me… but this child you now see before you.”

“But that is all over now.”

“It is all over and I am tired. I wish to be left alone with my son.”

She turned wearily from him, and silently the lords and ladies filed out of the bedchamber.

While Mary slept the whispering continued through the castle.

She had sworn that Darnley was the father. Would she have sworn that if it were not true? Would she have called God to witness if David had been the father?

Surely not, for her condition was not a healthy one; and the chances that she would die were great.

But whatever was said in the Castle of Edinburgh, and whatever was said in the streets of the capital, there would always be those to ask themselves—Who is the father of the Prince—Darnley or David?

SHE HAD two objects in life now—to care for her baby and to escape from her husband. He was constantly beside her—pleading, threatening. He was no longer indifferent. He fervently wished to be her husband in fact. She must not lock him from her bedchamber, he cried. She must not set guards at the door for fear he tried to creep on her unaware.

He would cry before her, thumping his fists on his knees like a spoiled child. “Why should I be denied your bed? Am I not your husband? What did you promise me when you persuaded me to fly with you? You said we should be together. And it was all lies… lies to make me the enemy of Morton and Ruthven. You took their friendship from me and you gave me nothing in return.”

“I give nothing for nothing,” she said contemptuously. “They never had any friendship for you.”

“You are cruel… cruel. Who is your lover now? A woman like you must have a lover. Do not imagine I shall not discover who he is.”

“You know nothing of me,” she told him. “But learn this one thing and learn it for all time. I despise you. You nauseate me. I would rather have a toad in my bed than you.”

“It was not always so. Nor would it be so. How have I changed? There was a time when you could scarcely wait for me. Do not think I do not remember how eager you were… more eager than I.”

“That is done with. I do not excuse my own folly. I merely tell you that I now see you as you really are, and I shudder to have you near me.”

These quarrels were the talk of the Court. Darnley himself made no secret of them. When he was drunk he would grow maudlin over his memories. He would confide in his companions details of the Queen’s passion which had now turned to loathing. Sometimes he wanted to kill somebody… anybody. He wanted to kill Bothwell who was now high in the Queen’s favor, and had been since the death of David. Some said that Bothwell would take David’s place; and it did seem that the Earl was more arrogant than ever. Some said Moray would be the one to take David’s place. The Queen did not trust him, but his standing in the country was firm.

Darnley was afraid of Bothwell. The Earl had a habit of inviting his enemies to single combat, so Darnley shifted his gaze from Bothwell to Moray. Moray was a statesman rather than a fighter. Darnley felt that in single combat he would be better matched with Moray than with Bothwell.