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

"That do I," said the girl. "Here am I, Bride Hepburn, ready to live in your Majesty's hands as a hostage, whom you might put to death at the first stirring on her behalf."

"Silly maid, we have no love of putting folk to death," said Elizabeth, rather hurt. "That is only for traitors, when they forfeit our mercy."

"Then, O madam, madam, what has been done in her name cannot forfeit mercy for her! She was shut up in prison; I was with her day and night, and I know she had naught to do with any evil purpose towards your Majesty. Ah! you do not believe me! I know they have found her guilty, and that is not what I came to say," she continued, getting bewildered in her earnestness for a moment. "No. But, gracious Queen, you have spared her often; I have heard her say that you had again and again saved her life from those who would fain have her blood."

"It is true," said Elizabeth, half softened.

"Save her then now, madam," entreated the girl. "Let her go beyond their reach, yet where none shall find her to use her name against you. Let me go to her at Fotheringhay with these terms. She will consent and bless and pray for you for ever; and here am I, ready to do what you will with me!"

"To hang about Court, and be found secretly wedded to some base groom!"

"No, madam. I give you my solemn word as a Queen's daughter that I will never wed, save by your consent, if my mother's life be granted. The King of Scots knows not that there is such a being. He need never know it. I will thank and bless you whether you throw me into the Tower, or let me abide as the humblest of your serving-women, under the name I have always borne, Cicely Talbot."

"Foolish maid, thou mayest purpose as thou sayest, but I know what wenches are made of too well to trust thee."

"Ah madam, pardon me, but you know not how strong a maiden's heart can be for a mother's sake. Madam! you have never seen my mother. If you but knew her patience and her tenderness, you would know how not only I, but every man or woman in her train, would gladly lay down life and liberty for her, could we but break her bonds, and win her a shelter among those of her own faith."

"Art a Papist?" asked the Queen, observing the pronoun.

"Not so, an't please your Majesty. This gentleman bred me up in our own Church, nor would I leave it."

"Strange—strange matters," muttered Elizabeth, "and they need to be duly considered."

"I will then abide your Majesty's pleasure," said Cicely, "craving license that it may be at Fotheringhay with my mother. Then can I bear her the tidings, and she will write in full her consent to these terms. O madam, I see mercy in your looks. Receive a daughter's blessing and thanks!"

"Over fast, over fast, maiden. Who told thee that I had consented?"

"Your Majesty's own countenance," replied Cicely readily. "I see pity in it, and the recollection that all posterity for evermore will speak of the clemency of Elizabeth as the crown of all her glories!"

"Child, child," said the Queen, really moved, "Heaven knows that I would gladly practise clemency if my people would suffer it, but they fear for my life, and still more for themselves, were I removed, nor can I blame them."

"Your Majesty, I know that. But my mother would be dead to the world, leaving her rights solemnly made over to her son. None would know where to find her, and she would leave in your hands, and those of the Parliament, a resignation of all her claims."

"And would she do this? Am I to take it on thy word, girl?"

"Your Majesty knows this ring, sent to her at Lochleven," said Cicely, holding it up. "It is the pledge that she binds herself to these conditions. Oh! let me but bear them to her, and you shall have them signed and sealed, and your Majesty will know the sweet bliss of pardoning. May I carry the tidings to her? I can go with this gentleman as Cis Talbot returning to her service."

Elizabeth bent her head as though assenting thoughtfully.

"How shall I thank you, gracious Queen?" cried Cicely, joining hands in a transport, but Elizabeth sharply cut her short.

"What means the wench? I have promised nothing. I have only said I will look into this strange story of thine, and consider this proposal—that is, if thy mother, as thou callest her, truly intend it—ay, and will keep to it."

"That is all I could ask of your Majesty," said Cicely. "The next messenger after my return shall carry her full consent to these conditions, and there will I abide your pleasure until the time comes for her to be conducted to her convent, if not to see your face, which would be best of all. O madam, what thanks will be worthy of such a grace?"

"Wait to see whether it is a grace, little cousin," said Elizabeth, but with a kiss to the young round cheek, and a friendliness of tone that surprised all. "Messieurs," she added to the ambassadors, "you came, if I mistake not, to bring me this young demoiselle."

"Who has, I hope, pleaded more effectually than I," returned Bellievre.

"I have made no promises, sir," said the Queen, drawing herself up proudly.

"Still your Majesty forbids us not to hope," said Chateauneuf.

Wherewith they found themselves dismissed. There was a great increase of genuine respect in the manner in which Bellievre handed the young lady from the Queen's chamber through the gallery and hall, and finally to the boat. No one spoke, for there were many standing around, but Cicely could read in a glance that passed between the Frenchmen that they were astonished at her success. Her own brain was in a whirl, her heart beating high; she could hardly realise what had passed, but when again placed in the barge the first words she heard were from Bellievre.

"Your Royal Highness will permit me to congratulate you." At the same time she saw, to her great joy, that M. de Chateauneuf had caused her foster-father to enter the barge with them. "If the Queen of Scotland were close at hand, the game would be won," said Bellievre.

"Ah! Milord Treasurer and M. le Secretaire are far too cunning to have let her be within reach," said Chateauneuf.

"Could we but have bound the Queen to anything," added Bellievre.

"That she always knows how to avoid," said the resident ambassador.

"At least," said Cicely, "she has permitted that I should bear the terms to my mother at Fotheringhay."

"That is true," said Chateauneuf, "and in my opinion no time should be lost in so doing. I doubt," he added, looking at Richard, "whether, now that her Highness's exalted rank is known, the embassy will be permitted to remain a shelter to her, in case the Queen should demand her of me."

"Your Excellency speaks my thought," said Richard. "I am even disposed to believe that it would be wiser to begin our journey this very day."

"I grieve for the apparent inhospitality and disrespect to one whom I honour so highly," said Chateauneuf, "but I verily believe it would be the wiser plan. Look you, sir, the enemies of the unfortunate Queen of Scotland have done all in their power to hinder my colleague from seeing the Queen, but to-day the Lord Treasurer is occupied at Westminster, and Monsieur le Secretaire is sick. She sent for us in one of those wilful moods in which she chooses to assert herself without their knowledge, and she remains, as it were, stunned by the surprise, and touched by her Royal Highness's pleading. But let these gentlemen discover what has passed, or let her recover and send for them, and bah! they will inquire, and messengers will go forth at once to stop her Highness and yourself. All will be lost. But if you can actually be on the way to this castle before they hear of it—and it is possible you may have a full day in advance—they will be unable to hinder the conditions from being laid before the Queen of Scots, and we are witnesses of what they were."

"Oh, let us go! let us go at once, dear sir," entreated Cicely. "I burn to carry my mother this hope."

It was not yet noon, so early had been the audience, and dark and short as were the days, it was quite possible to make some progress on the journey before night. Cicely had kept the necessaries for her journey ready, and so had Mr. Talbot, even to the purchase of horses, which were in the Shrewsbury House stables.

The rest of the mails could be fetched by the Mastiff's crew, and brought to Hull under charge of Goatley. Madame de Salmonnet was a good deal scandalised at Son Altesse Royale going off with only a male escort, and to Cicely's surprise, wept over her, and prayed aloud that she might have good success, and bring safety and deliverance to the good and persecuted Queen for whom she had attempted so much.

"Sir," said Chateauneuf, as he stood beside Richard, waiting till the girl's preparations were over, "if there could have been any doubts of the royal lineage of your charge, her demeanour to-day would have disproved them. She stood there speaking as an equal, all undaunted before that Queen before whom all tremble, save when they can cajole her."

"She stood there in the strength of truth and innocence," said Richard.

Whereat the Frenchman again looked perplexed at these incomprehensible English.

Cicely presently appeared. It was wonderful to see how that one effort had given her dignity and womanhood. She thanked the two ambassadors for the countenance they had given to her, and begged them to continue their exertions in her mother's cause. "And," she added, "I believe my mother has already requested of you to keep this matter a secret."

They bowed, and she added, "You perceive, gentlemen, that the very conditions I have offered involve secrecy both as to my mother's future abode and my existence. Therefore, I trust that you will not consider it inconsistent with your duty to the King of France to send no word of this."

Again they assured her of their secrecy, and the promise was so far kept that the story was reserved for the private ear of Henri III. on Bellievre's return, and never put into the despatches.

Two days later, Cicely enjoyed some of the happiest hours of her life. She stood by the bed where her mother was lying, and was greeted with the cry, "My child, my child! I thought I never should see thee more. Domine, nunc dimittis!"

"Nay, dearest mother, but I trust she will show mercy. I bring you conditions."

Mary laid her head on her daughter's shoulder and listened. It might be that she had too much experience of Elizabeth's vacillations to entertain much hope of her being allowed to retire beyond her grasp into a foreign convent, and she declared that she could not endure that her beloved, devoted child should wear away her life under Elizabeth's jealous eye, but Cis put this aside, saying with a smile, "I think she will not be hard with me. She will be no worse than my Lady Countess, and I shall have a secret of joy within me in thinking of you resting among the good nuns."

And Mary caught hope from the anticipations she would not damp, and gave herself to the description of the peaceful cloister life, reviewing in turn the nunneries she had heard described, and talking over their rules. There would indeed be as little liberty as here, but she would live in the midst of prayer and praise, and be at rest from the plots and plans, the hopes and fears, of her long captivity, and be at leisure for penitence. "For, ah! my child, guiltless though I be of much that is laid to my charge, thy mother is a sinful woman, all unworthy of what her brave and innocent daughter has dared and done for her."

Almost equally precious with that mother's greeting was the grave congratulating look of approval which Cicely met in Humfrey's eyes when he had heard all from his father. He could exult in her, even while he thought sadly of the future which she had so bravely risked, watching over her from a distance in his silent, self-restrained, unselfish devotion.