Royal Road to Fotheringhay - Plaidy Jean. Страница 84

They would never forget and they would never forgive.

And soon the drama would be enacted all over again; but in place of Rizzio there would be Darnley.

If and when the lords returned, he dared not stay. And Maitland was already back.

He was frantic. He began to make plans. He would get into touch with the Pope; he would write to Philip of Spain. After all, was he not a good Catholic—a better Catholic than Mary with her talk of tolerance? Good Catholics did not talk of tolerance. Why should he not procure the support of the Catholic world? Why should he not usurp Mary’s throne? Perhaps one day he would be King, not only of Scotland but of England as well. Moreover he was the father of the undisputed heir.

Lennox, his father, was alarmed on hearing of his plans—for Darnley had to confide in someone, and the only person whom he could trust was his father.

“But, my son,” said the Earl of Lennox, “this is ridiculous. The Pope would not aid you, and the King of Spain is a cautious man. He would not support a rebel such as you would be.”

“A rebel! I am the King.”

“In name only. The Crown Matrimonial has never been bestowed on you.”

“It is so unjust. I was promised. And first Rizzio frustrated me… and now it is Moray and Bothwell. Maitland is back. My old enemy. He will kill me. I know he will. He will bring the murderer Morton back, and together they will kill me.”

Lennox, in great agitation on account of his son’s hysteria, wrote to the Queen telling her that Darnley proposed leaving Scotland for Spain.

Mary sent for her husband. He came, ill at ease.

“What are these wild plans of yours?” she demanded.

“I shall not tell you.”

“Henry, I insist.”

“Why should I stay here?” he screamed. “What am I? You only want me to stay because you fear the scandal my departure would give rise to. Take me back. I demand to be taken back. I wish to be your husband in very truth. Let me stay with you, share your bed and board. Then you shall not have a more faithful servant.” He threw himself at her and tried to put his arms about her. She drew back in disgust.

“Mary… Mary,” he pleaded. “You used to love me. You used to come to my chamber because, you said, you wanted us to be alone even if it was only for a little while.”

She pushed him away. She hated to remember those times; and even now she was comparing him with another. She would never allow Darnley to touch her.

She said: “If you attempt to put your hands on me I shall call the guards.”

He whimpered: “What have I done? How have I changed? You used to be eager for me.”

“If you say that again you will regret it.”

“But I will say it… I will!”

“Go quietly now or I shall call the guards. In the morning you may state your case before the lords of the Court.”

He had no help for it but to go; and in the morning he faced them nervously—Moray and Maitland among them, those two who hated him and he believed sought to destroy him, those two who would not be satisfied until they had brought his enemies back to Court.

Moray did not intend to spare him, nor did Maitland. The cold eyes of Moray, the sarcastic ones of Maitland frightened him. He scraped his feet on the floor and scowled at his toes.

Why was he going to run away? they demanded.

He did not know. He wanted to leave Scotland, that was all. He did not now think he would go after all. It was just to make the Queen understand how badly she treated her husband.

“It would be a treasonable act,” said Moray, “to leave Scotland for Spain. For what purpose did you intend to go?”

“To … to bring the Queen back to her duty…. To be received back in her favor….”

“It is hardly the way,” said Maitland suavely, “to win the Queen’s favor—by playing traitor to her.”

“I am not a traitor. I am no traitor!” screamed Darnley.

Mary could bear no more. There was nothing she wanted so much as to be rid of Darnley. She was filled with shame whenever she was forced to look at him.

She said: “If he gives his word not to leave Scotland, we will pardon him… providing he returns to his fathers castle… and stays there.”

Darnley’s face was white with rage, but he trembled with fear as he turned from the watching group and, shouting: “Goodbye, Madam. You shall not see my face for a long time!” He hurried away.

IT WAS OCTOBER and the mist lay thick across the land, when news came of Border fighting near the town of Jedburgh. Bothwell left Court and galloped south at the head of his men.

Mary was desolate. She had begged him to let someone else go, for she could not exist without him; but he had laughed at the idea. The Border was his domain. If there were trouble there, who should be at hand but Bothwell? Then she began to understand the difference in their passion. She realized that she did not mean as much to him as he did to her.

He wanted to ride away. The excitement of battle called him as lust had called him in the room at the Exchequer House.

She was frantic with anxiety and jealousy. He would doubtless call at one of his castles before returning, and he would see his wife. She visualized Jean Gordon—not exactly a comely woman—oval face, sandy hair, and the long Gordon nose; yet it was said that in the early days of his marriage Bothwell had been more faithful to Jean Gordon than to any woman.

But not now, she assured herself. He would come straight back to the Court. He must. Why had she not made him promise not to go to his home? Because one did not, she had also realized, command Bothwell in such matters. She knew that to have asked him not to visit Jean would have put it into his mind to do so. But if he was not the man to make such promises, neither was he the man to deceive her. If he had thought of seeing Jean he would have boldly said so. It was his arrogant and most disconcerting boldness that she loved. These were a symbol of his independence. It showed her clearly that she, the Queen, needed him, more than he needed her.

How long would he stay? Until he wished to return?

Why did I let him go? she asked herself. The answer was: You could do no other. None could hold Bothwell against his wish.

With what joy she discovered that there was an assize at Jedburgh which she should attend! With what joy she set out on the journey!

She had a perfectly reasonable excuse for going to him, for her duties as Queen demanded her presence in Jedburgh. Fate was being good to her at last.

Seton watched her with some anxiety as they set out.

Never, thought Seton, had she looked so beautiful. She had changed since her association with Bothwell; she had become feverishly gay. But would it last? wondered Seton. Bothwell was not the man she would have chosen for Mary. There was no tenderness in him; there was instead a ruthlessness and a primitive appetite. What did he really feel for Mary beyond his lust? There were times when Seton thought she would like to seek the peace of a nunnery because the outside world made her so unhappy.

Meanwhile they rode toward Jedburgh, but before they reached that town the news was brought to them. Mary saw the man as he rode toward them and her heart leaped, for she knew him as one of Bothwell’s men.

“What news?” she cried. “What news?”

“Bad news, Your Majesty.”

Her hand tightened on her reins. “Bothwell?” she gasped.

It seemed as though the man took a long time to answer. “It was John Elliot of the Park… the notorious highwayman, Your Majesty. My lord heard that he was in the neighborhood and went out to get him. The highwayman was wounded, but… not seriously…. He turned on my lord and—”

“And… killed him?” murmured Mary.

Seton was beside her, her gentle eyes pleading: Not here … do not betray yourself here before these people. You loved him…. He was everything to you… but do not betray yourself here before these witnesses.