Unknown to History: A Story of the Captivity of Mary of Scotland

"And you put up with his explanation?" said Melville.

"Truly I longed to demand of what practices Mr. Secretary in his office,—not as a private person—would be ashamed; but it seemed to me that they might call it womanish spite, and to that the Queen of Scots will never descend!"

"Pity but that we had Babington's letter! Then might we put him to confusion by proving the additions," said Melville.

"It is not possible, my good friend. The letter is at the bottom of the Castle well; is it not, mignonne? Mourn for it not, Andrew. It would have been of little avail, and it carried with it stuff that Mr. Secretary would give almost his precious place to possess, and that might be fatal to more of us. I hoped that there might have been safety for poor Babington in the destruction of that packet, never guessing at the villainy of yon Burton brewer, nor of those who set him on. Come, it serves not to fret ourselves any more. I must answer as occasion serves me; speaking not so much to Elizabeth's Commission, who have foredoomed me, as to all Christendom, and to the Scots and English of all ages, who will be my judges."

Her judges? Ay! but how? With the same enthusiastic pity and indignation, mixed with the same misgiving as her own daughter felt. Not wholly innocent, not wholly guilty, yet far less guilty than those who had laid their own crimes on her in Scotland, or who plotted to involve her in meshes partly woven by herself in England. The evil done to her was frightful, but it would have been powerless had she been wholly blameless. Alas! is it not so with all of us?

The second day's trial came on. Mary Seaton was so overpowered with the strain she had gone through that the Queen would not take her into the hall, but let Cicely sit at her feet instead. On this day none of the Crown lawyers took part in the proceedings; for, as Cavendish whispered to Humfrey, there had been high words between them and my Lord Treasurer and Mr. Secretary; and they had declared themselves incapable of conducting a prosecution so inconsistent with the forms of law to which they were accustomed. The pedantic fellows wanted more direct evidence, he said, and Humfrey honoured them.

Lord Burghley then conducted the proceedings, and they had thus a more personal character. The Queen, however, acted on Melville's advice, and no longer denied all knowledge of the conspiracy, but insisted that she was ignorant of the proposed murder of Elizabeth, and argued most pertinently that a copy of a deciphered cipher, without the original, was no proof at all, desiring further that Nau and Curll should be examined in her presence. She reminded the Commissioners how their Queen herself had been called in question for Wyatt's rebellion, in spite of her innocence. "Heaven is my witness," she added, "that much as I desire the safety and glory of the Catholic religion, I would not purchase it at the price of blood. I would rather play Esther than Judith."

Her defence was completed by her taking off the ring which Elizabeth had sent to her at Lochleven. "This," she said, holding it up, "your Queen sent to me in token of amity and protection. You best know how that pledge has been redeemed." Therewith she claimed another day's hearing, with an advocate granted to her, or else that, being a Princess, she might be believed on the word of a Princess.

This completed her defence, except so far that when Burghley responded in a speech of great length, she interrupted, and battled point by point, always keeping in view the strong point of the insufficient evidence and her own deprivation of the chances of confuting what was adduced against her.

It was late in the afternoon when he concluded. There was a pause, as though for a verdict by the Commissioners. Instead of this, Mary rose and repeated her appeal to be tried before the Parliament of England at Westminster. No reply was made, and the Court broke up.

CHAPTER XXXVI

A VENTURE

"Mother, dear mother, do but listen to me."

"I must listen, child, when thou callest me so from your heart; but it is of no use, my poor little one. They have referred the matter to the Star Chamber, that they may settle it there with closed doors and no forms of law. Thou couldst do nothing! And could I trust thee to go wandering to London, like a maiden in a ballad, all alone?"

"Nay, madam, I should not go alone. My father, I mean Mr. Talbot, would take me."

"Come, bairnie, that is presuming overmuch on the good man's kindness."

"I do not speak without warrant, madam. I told him what I longed to do, and he said it might be my duty, and if it were so, he would not gainsay me; but that he could not let me go alone, and would go with me. And he can get access for me to the Queen. He has seen her himself, and so has Humfrey; and Diccon is a gentleman pensioner."

"There have been ventures enough for me already," said Mary. "I will bring no more faithful heads into peril."

"Then will you not consent, mother? He will quit the castle to-morrow, and I am to see him in the morning and give him an answer. If you would let me go, he would crave license to take me home, saying that I look paler than my wont."

"And so thou dost, child. If I could be sure of ever seeing thee again, I should have proposed thy going home to good Mistress Susan's tendance for a little space. But it is not to be thought of. I could not risk thee, or any honest loving heart, on so desperate a stake as mine! I love thee, mine ain, true, leal lassie, all the more, and I honour him; but it may not be! Ask me no more."

Mary was here interrupted by a request from Sir Christopher Hatton for one of the many harassing interviews that beset her during the days following the trial, when judgment was withheld, according to the express command of the vacillating Elizabeth, and the case remitted to the Star Chamber. Lord Burghley considered this hesitation to be the effect of judicial blindness—so utterly had hatred and fear of the future shut his eyes to all sense of justice and fair play.

Cicely felt all youth's disappointment in the rejection of its grand schemes. But to her surprise at night Mary addressed her again, "My daughter, did that true-hearted foster-father of thine speak in sooth?"

"He never doth otherwise," returned Cicely.

"For," said her mother, "I have thought of a way of gaining thee access to the Queen, far less perilous to him, and less likely to fail. I will give thee letters to M. De Chateauneuf, the French Ambassador, whom I have known in old times, with full credentials. It might be well to have with thee those that I left with Mistress Talbot. Then he will gain thee admittance, and work for thee as one sent from France, and protected by the rights of the Embassy. Thus, Master Richard need never appear in the matter at all, and at any rate thou wouldst be secure. Chateauneuf would find means of sending thee abroad if needful."

"Oh! I would return to you, madam my mother, or wait for you in London."

"That must be as the wills above decree," said Mary sadly. "It is folly in me, but I cannot help grasping at the one hope held out to me. There is that within me that will hope and strive to the end, though I am using my one precious jewel to weight the line I am casting across the gulf. At least they cannot do thee great harm, my good child."

The Queen sat up half the night writing letters, one to Elizabeth, one to Chateauneuf, and another to the Duchess of Lorraine, which Cis was to deliver in case of her being sent over to the Continent. But the Queen committed the conduct of the whole affair to M. De Chateauneuf, since she could completely trust his discretion and regard for her; and, moreover, it was possible that the face of affairs might undergo some great alteration before Cicely could reach London. Mr. Talbot must necessarily go home first, being bound to do so by his commission to the Earl. "And, hark thee," said the Queen, "what becomes of the young gallant?"

"I have not heard, madam," said Cicely, not liking the tone.

"If my desires still have any effect," said Mary, "he will stay here. I will not have my damosel errant squired by a youth under five-and-twenty."

"I promised you, madam, and he wots it," said Cicely, with spirit.

"He wots it, doth he?" said the Queen, in rather a provoking voice. "No, no, mignonne; with all respect to their honour and discretion, we do not put flint and steel together, when we do not wish to kindle a fire. Nay, little one, I meant not to vex thee, when thou art doing one of the noblest deeds daughter ever did for mother, and for a mother who sent thee away from her, and whom thou hast scarce known for more than two years!"

Cicely was sure to see her foster-father after morning prayers on the way from the chapel across the inner court. Here she was able to tell him of the Queen's consent, over which he looked grave, having secretly persuaded himself that Mary would think the venture too great, and not hopeful enough to be made. He could not, however, wonder that the unfortunate lady should catch at the least hope of preserving her life; and she had dragged too many down in the whirlpool to leave room for wonder that she should consent to peril her own daughter therein. Moreover, he would have the present pleasure of taking her home with him to his Susan, and who could say what would happen in the meantime?

"Thou hast counted the cost?" he said.

"Yea, sir," Cis answered, as the young always do; adding, "the Queen saith that if we commit all to the French Ambassador, M. De Chateauneuf, who is her very good friend, he will save you from any peril."

"Hm! I had rather be beholden to no Frenchman," muttered Richard, "but we will see, we will see. I must now to Paulett to obtain consent to take thee with me. Thou art pale and changed enough indeed to need a blast of Hallamshire air, my poor maid."

So Master Richard betook him to the knight, a man of many charges, and made known that finding his daughter somewhat puling and sickly, he wished having, as she told him, the consent of the Queen of Scots, to take her home with him for a time.

"You do well, Mr. Talbot," said Sir Amias. "In sooth, I have only marvelled that a pious and godly man like you should have consented to let her abide so long, at her tender age, among these papistical, idolatrous, and bloodthirsty women."

"I think not that she hath taken harm," said Richard.

"I have done my poor best; I have removed the priest of Baal," said the knight; "I have caused godly ministers constantly to preach sound doctrine in the ears of all who would hearken; and I have uplifted my testimony whensoever it was possible. But it is not well to expose the young to touching the accursed thing, and this lady hath shown herself greatly affected to your daughter, so that she might easily be seduced from the truth. Yet, sir, bethink you is it well to remove the maiden from witnessing that which will be a warning for ever of the judgment that falleth on conspiracy and idolatry?"

"You deem the matter so certain?" said Richard.

"Beyond a doubt, sir. This lady will never leave these walls alive. There can be no peace for England nor safety for our blessed and gracious Queen while she lives. Her guilt is certain; and as Mr. Secretary said to me last night, he and the Lord Treasurer are determined that for no legal quibbles, nor scruples of mercy from our ever-pitiful Queen, shall she now escape. Her Majesty, however her womanish heart may doubt now, will rejoice when the deed is done. Methinks I showed you the letter she did me the honour to write, thanking me for the part I took in conveying the lady suddenly to Tixall."

Richard had already read that letter three times, so he avowed his knowledge of it.

"You will not remove your son likewise?" added Sir Amias. "He hath an acquaintance with this lady's people, which is useful in one so thoroughly to be trusted; and moreover, he will not be tampered with. For, sir, I am never without dread of some attempt being made to deal with this lady privily, in which case I should be the one to bear all the blame. Wherefore I have made request to have another honourable gentleman joined with me in this painful wardship."

Richard had no desire to remove his son. He shared Queen Mary's feelings on the inexpediency of Humfrey forming part of the escort of the young lady, and thought it was better for both to see as little of one another as possible.

Sir Amias accordingly, on his morning visit of inspection, intimated to the Queen that Mr. Talbot wished his daughter to return home with him for the recovery of her health. He spoke as if the whole suite were at his own disposal, and Mary resented it in her dignified manner.

"The young lady hath already requested license from us," she said, "and we have granted it. She will return when her health is fully restored."

Sir Amias had forbearance enough not to hint that unless the return were speedy, she would scarcely find the Queen there, and the matter was settled. Master Richard would not depart until after dinner, when other gentlemen were going, and this would enable Cicely to make up her mails, and there would still be time to ride a stage before dark. Her own horse was in the stables, and her goods would be bestowed in cloak bags on the saddles of the grooms who had accompanied Mr. Talbot; for, small as was the estate of Bridgefield, for safety's sake he could not have gone on so long an expedition without a sufficient guard.

The intervening time was spent by the Queen in instructing her daughter how to act in various contingencies. If it were possible to the French Ambassador to present her as freshly come from the Soissons convent, where she was to have been reared, it would save Mr. Talbot from all risk; but the Queen doubted whether she could support the character, so English was her air, though there were Scottish and English nuns at Soissons, and still more at Louvaine and Douay, who might have brought her up.

"I cannot feign, madam," said Cicely, alarmed. "Oh, I hope I need only speak truth!" and her tone sounded much more like a confession of incapacity than a moral objection, and so it was received: "Poor child, I know thou canst not act a part, and thy return to the honest mastiffs will not further thee in it; but I have bidden Chateauneuf to do what he can for thee—and after all the eyes will not be very critical."

If there still was time, Cicely was to endeavour first of all to obtain of Elizabeth that Mary might be brought to London to see her, and be judged before Parliament with full means of defence. If this were no longer possible, Cicely might attempt to expose Walsingham's contrivance; but this would probably be too dangerous. Chateauneuf must judge. Or, as another alternative, Queen Mary gave Cicely the ring already shown at the trial, and with that as her pledge, a solemn offer was to be made on her behalf to retire into a convent in Austria, or in one of the Roman Catholic cantons of Switzerland, out of the reach of Spain and France, and there take the veil, resigning all her rights to her son. All her money had been taken away, but she told Cicely she had given orders to Chateauneuf to supply from her French dowry all that might be needed for the expenses that must be incurred.