Royal Road to Fotheringhay - Plaidy Jean. Страница 89

“I shall not be here long. Plans are being made for removing me.”

That was too much for Robert. “It is only too true,” he said. “Plans are being made and you will not be long on this earth if you ignore them.”

“What do you mean?”

“Think, man. Why have you been brought to this desolate spot? If you are reconciled with the Queen why is it not Holyroodhouse or Edinburgh Castle? Why this little house in ruined Kirk-o’-Field?”

“Because… because I am sick. Because… because many fear my disease. I shall go to Holyrood with the Queen as soon as I am well. She has had her state bed removed this day, that it may be where we can use it together.”

“Jesus!” cried Robert. “Is it so then? Her state bed removed! Then man, do not wait another hour in this accursed house. Fly now… while you have yet time.”

“The Queen is my friend. The Queen has promised me that I shall be her husband.”

“Listen! Bothwell, Morton, Moray, Maitland … all are against you. You betrayed so many after Rizzio’s murder. They wish to free the Queen from her marriage with you. A plot to do so is afoot. Do not ask me more. Go! I am warning you.”

“I… I trust the Queen,” stammered Darnley.

“Then you are a fool. Hush! Someone comes.”

“It is the Queen herself,” said Darnley, rising from his bed.

“Say nothing of what I have told you,” said Robert.

But Darnley had not yet learned enough wisdom.

“Mary,” he cried as she came into the room, “I have just heard a terrible tale. Robert says there is a plot to kill me.”

The Queen grew pale. She looked at her brother.

Robert thought: Why did I try to help the fool? Let him wait here to die. He deserves death for his folly, if for nothing else. He laughed and protested: “I! You have misheard me, brother. I know of no plot.”

“But you have just said—” began Darnley.

Robert shrugged his shoulders. He looked at his sister. “It would seem that he wanders in his sickness.”

Darnley cried out in anger: “But you have just warned me. Mary, what does he mean? Is there some plot?”

“I … I do not know of what you speak,” said Mary.

Robert smiled patiently. “You misunderstood, my lord. I spoke of no plot.”

“It… it was meant to be a… joke?”

Oh, you fool, thought Robert. A joke! When the Queen wishes to be rid of you. When there is not a nobleman at Court who does not hate you, who has not some score to settle. Robert said coldly: “You have completely misunderstood me.”

“So … it was nothing—” began Darnley.

“It was nothing.”

“I do not like such jokes—” said Darnley angrily.

“Robert,” interrupted the Queen reprovingly, “you should remember that Henry is very weak as yet. You should not distress him so.”

Robert lifted his shoulders and smiled his charming Stuart smile. He began to talk of Bastian’s wedding.

ON SUNDAY EVENING Mary took supper at the house of Sir James Bal-four, and for company she had with her Lords Huntley, Bothwell and Cassillis. Bothwell was anxious that Mary should be where he could keep an eye on her. He had heard that Robert Stuart had warned Darnley. He could see that she was frightened tonight. She knew that her brother Moray had some reason for leaving Edinburgh other than the fact that his wife was slightly unwell. Moray—the sanctimonious man who could not look at evil except “through his fingers”—had always thought it advisable not to be on the spot when some deed was to be done which, though necessary to him, might earn the condemnation of all decent people. Moray’s departure was a sure sign that trouble was coming very near. None knew that better than the Queen.

She rose from the supper table saying that she had promised to call that night at the house in Kirk-o’-Field to see Darnley.

“Your Majesty has not forgotten the wedding?” asked Bothwell.

“Oh no. But I must see him first, for I have given him my promise to do so.”

“Then,” said Bothwell, “let us all go now to his apartment.”

“Shall we not be intruding on their Majesties?” asked Cassillis.

“Nay,” said Bothwell, “we three will play dice in a corner while the Queen talks with her husband.”

The party left, and guided by the flare of torches, passed through Black Friars Wynd to Kirk-o’-Field.

Mary was deeply aware of her lover’s presence. She knew that what happened tonight was of the utmost importance to him, and therefore to her.

Darnley was pleased to see her, but not so pleased to see her companions.

“We came, my lord,” said Bothwell, “to escort the Queen.”

“Come, sit beside me,” said Darnley eagerly to Mary.

Bothwell smiled. “Your Majesties may forget our presence. We shall be playing dice in this corner.”

Mary sat by the bed and Darnley said in a low voice: “Would you were staying the night.”

“I would, but I must attend the wedding, and there will be dancing till three of the morning. I could not come then.”

“Tomorrow night then?”

“Tomorrow night… if possible,” promised the Queen.

He began to talk then of his plans for the future, when he would leave this house and how happy they would be together. Mary listened, yet aware of the men playing in the corner; now and then looking up to find her lover’s eyes upon her.

She wondered: Was ever a woman asked to play such a part?

She rose at length and said: “I must not forget the wedding.”

“So soon!” complained Darnley.

She nodded and turned to the players. “My lords, I would go back now to dance at the wedding.”

They rose, bade farewell to the sick man and left him with his attendant Taylor.

As they came out of the house, Mary noticed with surprise the face of French Paris who was waiting with his master’s horse.

“How begrimed you are, Paris!” she exclaimed.

“Yes, Your Grace,” said the man, with an evil grin.

By the light of torches they rode back to Holyrood, where the wedding celebrations were in progress. Mary joined in the gaiety—dancing, singing and seeming as gay as any; but just after midnight she declared that it was a shame to keep the newly married pair from their nuptials, and she would conduct Margaret to her coucher at once that she might in person assist in the custom of breaking the benediction cake over the bride’s head, present her with the silver posset cup and throw the stocking.

When these ceremonies had been completed the Queen retired to her own chamber, and as soon as her women had prepared her for sleep, she lay on her bed, exhausted.

DARNLEY could not sleep. His room seemed to be filled with gloomy menacing shadows. He kept thinking of Robert’s words and of the uneasiness of the Queen. He had noticed the glances which Both well had sent in her direction from the dice table in the corner of the room. It was almost as though Bothwell were the King and Mary his humble subject. What had given him that impression? What had given him these uneasy thoughts? Was it this lonely, isolated house? Was it the thought of all his enemies? Was he remembering the hatred he had once seen in Mary’s eyes. He could sense evil near him. Those voices in the night—what did they mean? Were there evil spirits in the crypt below the house? Were his enemies hiding there in order to spring upon him in the dead of night? He raised himself on his elbow. He could make out the figure of Taylor lying at the foot of his bed.

“Taylor!” he whispered.

Taylor started up in alarm. “My lord?”

“I cannot sleep. I hear noises. Taylor, there is someone prowling about the house.”

Taylor was listening. “It is but the wind, my lord.”

“No, Taylor. I think not. Quiet! Listen with me.”

“My lord, shall I wake the servants?”

“How many are there in this house, Taylor?”

“Only the three, my lord: Nelson, Symonds and my own servant.”