WINGFIELD Manor belonged to the Earl of Shrewsbury, who had long been burdened with the expense of acting gaoler to Queen Mary in his various strongholds – for in her usual fashion, Elizabeth expected her faithful subjects themselves to pay for the privilege of entertaining her guests, voluntary or otherwise. In this instance, however, Walsingham had found a deputy for Shrewsbury – no doubt because he feared that the Earl might be growing soft where Mary was concerned – in the person of Sir Ralph Sadler, a stocky, square, impassive man in. his early sixties, a soldier, stiff, unsmiling and a little deaf. The Manor of Wingfield was a large and compact house, standing in a strong position on a steep promontory, in foothill country about ten miles north of Derby, its only accessible side guarded by a moat
As Sir Edward Wotton, Walsingham's deputy, introduced the four visitors to Sadler, under the fortified gatehouse, the drawbridge lined by his men-at-arms, he greeted them without betraying emotion of any sort, nodded to Marie rather than bowed, and turned away forthwith to lead them within. The choice of the unhappy Queen's gaolers-in-chief was always something of a mystery. Presumably Walsingham selected them for qualities which were no doubt of vital importance. Whatever their differing types, it was essential that they should be staunch Protestants, past the age of probable susceptibility to women's wiles, stern of heart
(A single-minded gentleman, undoubtedly,' Patrick murmured.
'Necessarily so.' Wotton smiled. 'I would not play host to your princess for a dukedom! I would end in the Tower, I have no doubt – and very quickly.'
'I wonder!'
The house formed two squares, one within another, around a central grassy court where fantail pigeons strutted, ducks from the moat quacked, and women washed clothing at a trough beside a well. Wotton informed them that one of the internal wings was allotted to Mary and her small entourage, and another to her guards and Queen Elizabeth's representatives.
David's eyes were busy on strategic details as he followed Patrick, Orkney and the Lady Marie.
At the entrance to Mary's apartments, a thin saturnine stooping man, like a moulting crow, met them, and was introduced as Mr. Secretary Beal, a Clerk to the Privy Council and Elizabeth's 'envoy' to her royal cousin – in feet, her principal and very efficient spy. Behind stood Monsieur Nau, Mary's own secretary – he who had once been refused audience of James at Falkland – and also Sir Andrew Melville of Garvock, her most faithful attendant, styled Master of her Household, who had elected to stay with his mistress throughout the long years of her captivity, brother to the better known Sir James of Halhill and Sir Robert the soldier.
Beal spoke coldly, nasally. 'I understand, Sir Edward, that these gentlemen are to be permitted a short exchange with the former princess, Mary Stuart?'
"That is so, Mr. Secretary – in your presence and mine, naturally.'
'If Her Grace permits an audience,' Melville put in, valiant yet
Beal sniffed, Wotton smiled, Sadler stared straight ahead of him, but Patrick bowed. 'Indeed yes, sir,' he declared. 'It is our humble desire and request that such audience maybe granted to us, her loyal subjects.'
Orkney chuckled 'Mary will see me, never fear. I am her brother – God help her!'
Melville, and Nau also, bowed and withdrew.
'The lady maintains this… comedy,' Wotton observed, shrugging. 'She never wearies of it Extraordinary.'
'Is comedy the word, sir?' That was Marie, eyeing him levelly. 'She is anointed Queen of Scots, and Queen-Dowager of France. Where is the comedy?'
'Your pardon, lady.'
They waited, in silence.
Presently Melville returned 'Her Highness is graciously pleased to receive you,' he announced.
He led the way indoors, into and through a chamber where two ladies mended garments. At an inner door he glanced back at Wotton and Beal, who had come along behind the Scots party. 'Her Grace prefers to receive her Scottish subjects in private audience, sirs,' he asserted evenly.
'No doubt,' Wotton answered. 'But the Queen's command is definite, sir.' Never did Elizabeth or any of her servants accord Mary her title of queen. 'Your lady may not see these, or any visitors, save in the presence of myself and Mr. Beal.'
Tight-lipped, Sir Andrew turned and resumed his walking.
They passed through a kitchen, and then up a narrow twisting staircase. Undoubtedly these had been the servants' quarters of Wingfield Manor. In the little corridor above, Monsieur Nau stood on guard outside a closed door. As the party came up, he turned solemnly to rap on its panels with his little staff, slow dignified knocks. In marked contrast to this somewhat laboured and pathetic 'striving after royal style and ceremony, the door was flung open swiftly, and a woman stood framed therein, smiling. A rivulet of laughter, spontaneous, unaffected, silvery, seemed to cascade around the company.
'Alors mes amis – visitors! True visitors, from Scotland!' a clear musical voice rang out 'Happy this day! Ah, I am glad,
In front of her all were dumb – even Patrick, even indeed the insensitive and hearty Orkney, her unlikely brother. David, looking, found himself to be incapable of any coherent thought, only of powerful and conflicting emotions. He was aware of a quite shattered admiration, an eager and overwhelming sense of devotion, and a great pity.
He perceived, after some fashion, that though Mary Stuart was indeed lovely, beautiful, that was not the heart of the matter. Nor was her attractiveness, her fascination. These affected him, undoubtedly – or he would have been no man. But it was something other than all this, something of such extraordinary quality and radiant personality that held him transfixed, transported, so that he could neither have moved nor spoken had he been called upon to do so. It was was not he was blinded by emotion. He perceived well enough that she was not the ravishing girl who, sixteen long years before, had crossed the Border and thrown herself upon her cousin Elizabeth's mercy-saw even, with a pang at his heart, that the knuckles of the slim white hand that she held out to her brother were swollen with rheumatism. It was that he perceived that she had no need of the chiselled perfection of her small and delicate features; of the alabaster transparency of her skin; of the flaming glory of her red-gold hair, as yet barely touched with silver; of the amber-and-green translucence of her eyes; of all the vital grace of a slender and almost boyish yet supremely feminine figure that the years were only just beginning to thicken. Without all these she would still have been, for David Gray, the same glowing magnetic being that was Mary Stuart and Mary Stuart only.
Well might Elizabeth Tudor insist that she should never set eyes on her.
' Robert, she cried, pronouncing the name in French fashion, 'You are an old man! What have they done to you, mon cher Robert! Your belly is enormous!'
Orkney guffawed, but even he was not unaffected. He could find no words. He looked at her – but later had to ask Patrick how she had been dressed. She was indeed all in black, save for white lace at neck and wrists, and wore no jewellery, the black velvet threadbare and mended. But how she was clad was quite unimportant, irrelevant, with Mary Stuart's beholders – however fond she was of clothes. What she wore was seldom noticed at the time.
Laughing warmly, the Queen turned to her niece. 'And this -this can be none other than ma petite Marie, my namesake? So fair, so true, so douce! My dear, let me kiss you. I swear that you are the prettiest thing that these eyes have seen for long years. Ah me, once I was like you. And behold me now!'
'You… Your Grace.' In face of that unlooked for sparkle and lively humour, the younger woman could only stammer. She curtsied, for her, clumsily. It seemed incredible that Mary should still laugh, after all the years of sorrow and prison.
The Queen's extraordinary eyes rested on Patrick, and changed expression. 'So-o-o! For once rumour has not lied,' she murmured. "The Master of Gray is even more beautiful than has been told me. Is all else likewise true, I wonder?'
He sank down on one satin knee, to kiss her hand. 'Madam' he said thickly. And again, 'Madam.' He bowed his head. 'Accept my… my devotion.' That was not like Patrick Gray.
'I do accept it, sir – for I need all such, direly. But that you know as well as I do.' She raised him up. 'I thank you for coming. For achieving what few others have done these endless years – this meeting with friends from Scotland.'
She turned to David. 'Who is this brave one who stands so surely on his two feet?'
'He is David Gray, Highness. Secretary to this embassage. Brother to myself as the Lord Robert is to you.'
'Ah. Another son of my good friend, your father. And a very different son, I vow! But, pardieu, I would not have thought him a secretary! Eh, Master Beal?' There was flashing scorn in that last – but not for David.
As in a dream he took her proffered hand He did not sink down on his knee. He did not even bow. Nor did he speak, nor raise that hand to his hps. He merely stood and looked his adoration, his worship, lips parted
Brilliantly the Queen smiled on him, and the hand which he clutched stirred and slid up to touch his face, briefly, lightly. 'Yes, very different, mon cher,' she repeated softly. And then, in another voice, 'Come,' she commanded
They followed her into a sitting-room of modest dimensions and scant fiirnishing, where another lady sat stitching in the autumn sunshine at a window. The company all but filled the apartment As though noting it, the Queen turned
'Mr. Beal, and you. Sir Edward – you may retire,' she said, all regal suddenly.
"That is not possible, Madam,' Beal declared, in his rasping voice. 'We must stay.'
'Unbidden, sir? In a lady's chamber? Any lady's chamber?'
'It is the Queen's command'
'The Queen? Ah yes, of course – the Queen. My sister is ever… thoughtful.' She shrugged, Gallic fashion. 'The Lady
Melville will entertain you, then, gentlemen.' 1
The woman at the window, Sir Andrew's wife, rose and came oyer to the Englishmen – Beal brushed her aside with a wave of his hand, however, and continued to eye the Queen.
'You have not long, Madam,' he warned "These gentlemen needs must return to Derby forthwith.'
Wotton had the grace to look uncomfortable, and to mutter apologies.
Mary ignored them both thereafter, as though they were not present She turned to Orkney. 'How is my son, Robert?' she asked. 'How fares James – my poor James?'
'Och, me laddie does well enough,' her half-brother told her, grinning. 'He warstles his way towards manhood… o' a sort!'
'He grows the man? He is tall? Fair? Ofa noble countenance? Mort dieu, to think that I must ask the aspect of my own son! Whom does he favour? Does he favour Henry, or rather myself?'
Orkney guffawed. 'God kens whom he favours, Ma'am. No' your own self, and that's a fact Maybe he has something o' auld Lennox to him – yon slippit mouth and gangling gait… '
'His Grace is not tall, Madam, but his proportions are adequate,' Marie put in hurriedly, 'and his eyes are very fine -Stewart's eyes. He is the most learned youth in the land, and of great talents.' She knew that she gabbled, but could not help herself. Indeed, it seemed utterly impossible that this superlative, radiant creature should be mother to the shambling, sly and frightened James. 'He reads the Latin, Greek and Hebrew. He writes poetry…'
'But not to me, alas,' the Queen interposed sadly.
'His Highness sent his most devoted filial greetings, Your Grace,' Patrick announced. 'He assures you of his duty and affection. And he would have you to know that he does all in his power for the easement of your situation and the improvement of your state.'
'I am happy to hear ft, sir,' Mary mentioned, a little dryly. 'It would seem to be a prolonged process!'
'It is, yes, unfortunately, Madam – with the fate of realms in the scales. But, at last, the clouds open and the way becomes clear. Your Highness may take heart. Your long and weary vigil is like to be nearly over.'
'Do you say so, Master of Gray? Ah, how often have I heard that before! Ma foi – soon now, this one assures me. Wait but a little longer, another says. And I have waited – aye, le bon Dieu knows how I have waited…!'
'I also know it, Highness – we all do. But this time, it is different. I… we come direct from Her Grace of England. The King, your son, gave us full power to treat and negotiate. And at last we have something that Queen Elizabeth desires, something that Scotland may treat with.' Patrick's glance flickered over to where Wotton and Beal stood.
Mary looked in that direction also. 'But does Elizabeth desire that I ever return to Scotland? Indeed, does my son, sir?'
Patrick coughed. 'It may be that Scotland is not the next step for you, Madam. It may be that meantime you should, look southwards rather than north, for your freedom I believe that Your Grace loves France second only a little to Scotland?'
The Queen's lovely glowing eyes looked deep into Patrick's own. 'I think that you should speak me plain, Master of Gray -in especial if, as these gentlemen of England say, we have but little time. What is this of France? And what that my sister of England desires, which Scotland may give?' Though that was said calmly, there was no doubting the tension behind the words.
Patrick took a long breath. Seldom had Marie seen him less master of a situation, less at ease. He picked his words with obvious care. 'The King, Madam, proposes a, h'm, limited Association in the Scottish Crown.'
'Limited? I first proposed such Association. Limited in what, sir?'
'A sharing of the style and address, Your Grace. Also of certain revenues – in a due proportion, of course. With mutual powers in the granting of titles of honour, appointments of patronage…'
These are fripperies, sir -pouf, mere nothings!' The Queen interrupted, with an expressive gesture. 'What of the rule and governance of my kingdom?'
Patrick moistened his lip. 'That, His Grace and Council have decided, must meantime be left to himself. Neither the Kirk, nor Her Grace of England, will consider it otherwise. It is…'
'Sacrebleu – you come to me with this! This insult! I am to yield all my rights and powers as ordained monarch to my son, a youth not yet of age, at the behest of the ministers of the Kirk and the Queen of England? How think you of me, Master of Gray? How thinks my son of me? Do I seem a shadow, a ghost? Look at me, sir. What do you see? A cipher? Or a fool?'
'I see a very fair lady long held captive, Madam, for whom freedom of a surety must speak louder than any other word.'
'But not freedom at any price, Monsieur. One may pay too dear for even such bliss. I have taken solemn vows before God, at anointing and coronation. I cannot divest myself of them as of a worn-out dress. I am Queen, not of Scotland but of the Scots, I would remind you. I cannot un-queen myself, at the behest of others. Sometimes, but yes, in weak moments, I have wished that I could, pardieu. But it is not possible.'
'But… for sixteen years, Madam, you have exercised none of the powers and rights of monarch. You have been in all matters a prisoner. Surely, what now is offered is infinitely to be preferred? A release from this bondage. Your freedom. To live your own life again…'
'My life is not my own – it is my people's. If I forgot that once, I have paid sufficiently, have I not? I shall not forget it again. How shall I live amongst my people in Scotland, and take no hand in their affairs, do naught for their needs, leave their care, for which I am responsible before God Almighty, to other hands? How shall I, sir? Mary spoke warmly, passionately.
Patrick cleared his throat 'That trial would not arise, Your Grace, were you to dwell in France – in your beloved France. There you would be free in truth – free of this bondage, and of the affairs of state also.'
To the satisfaction of my sister Elizabeth!'
He shrugged. To your own also, surely. The two are not irreconcilable, I do believe.'
Mary looked from Patrick to Orkney and the others. 'Whose device is this?' she demanded. 'Elizabeth's? Or the man's who calls himself Arran? Or your own, Master of Gray? For I swear it is not that of the son of my loins, to torment me with a freedom that I may not grasp.'
'The Association in the Crown is the policy o' the Council, Mary,' her brother averred. 'Adopted out o' your own proposal. This o' France I ken naught of.'
"The Association that I agreed to was to share the duties and responsibilities of the Crown equally, in partnership, Robert This is quite otherwise – a travesty, a mockery I'
'Yet even this, Your Grace, has been hard won. Agreement to it by Queen Elizabeth has been achieved only after much entreaty and difficult negotiation,' Patrick declared. 'I beg you to consider it well.'
'And what choice favours did you promise Elizabeth, that she agreed to this so noble and generous gesture, sir?'
Orkney laughed coarsely.'Waesucks-it cost us a-plenty! Spit on it not, Mary, for it cost the reversal o' all auld Scotland's policy. It cost a Protestant league, nae less.'
Patrick bit his lip as Mary's eyes widened.
'Mother of God – a Protestant league, you said? Scotland and England?' she cried. 'Against France? Against Holy Church? No – never! I'll not believe it Never could I agree to such a betrayal!'..
'I'm thinking you're no' asked to agree it, Ma'am,' her brother pointed out baldly. 'It's been agreed. By King Jamie and the Council.'
'But they cannot do such a thing. It is against all Scotland's interests, her safety. Her ancient alliance with France, that is her shield and buckler. James is a mere boy, led astray by evil self-seekers. He cannot do this…'
'He is King of Scots, and head of Scotland's Kirk, Madam – a Protestant Kirk. He can do it, and has done,' Patrick assured.
'And you? You tell me this, sir! You who were trained to my service, have dipped deep of my revenues! The Master of Gray, son of my old friend, bears me these tidings!'
Patrick did not answer. Nobody spoke. Even Beal and Wotton looked away, embarrassed.
The Queen gazed round them all, and though anguished, mortally disappointed, helpless, never could she have seemed more a queen. 'If this is your mission, gentlemen, then you have my answer,' she said, quietly now. 'The Queen of Scots does not purchase freedom so.'
David heard Marie sob in her throat. Then, almost surprised, he heard his own voice speaking.
'Your Grace – think for yourself,' he urged, the words coming thickly, unevenly. 'I… I have no right to speak. But think for yourself in this – not for Scotland, Scotland has thought but little for you. Go free, even on these terms. It is your right, your life. Forgive me… but you have suffered enough for statecraft, Ma'am. I… I… forgive me…'
Those glorious eyes considered him' closely, thoughtfully. She even mustered a wan smile. Thank you, Master David. There speaks a true heart But think you, even if I forgot my kingdom and my people's weal, that in Catherine's France I should remain free? Think you that the Queen-Mother would tolerate another queen in her son's realm? Parbleu -I should fare not better with her than with Elizabeth! The Queen of Scots may only be Queen of Scots – or she is nothing, and less than nothing. Under God Almighty, it is my destiny.' Mary waved a sorrowful graceful hand. 'We shall speak no more of it The issue is closed, finished.' She turned to the younger woman. 'Marie, my dear, tell me of Scotland. Do the folk still speak of me? Have they forgot me? Is the Kirk still as hot against the Harlot of Rome? Against the Scarlet Woman who would seduce poor Scotia to the Devil? And how fare my friends – my Maries, such as remain? Huntly? Seton? Hemes? My lord of Gray, himself? Do the buck still run sweetly in my forest of Ettrick? And the wildfowl flight at dawn and dusk from the sea to Falkland marshes? Has the heather faded yet on the Lomonds, and the snow come to the Highland hills? Tell me, ma chere?
Marie Stewart could answer her never a word from between her quivering lips.
Mr. Secretary Beal spoke for her. Time was running out, he said. His orders were definite. If the Scottish envoys were nearly finished…?
Mary ignored him. 'You bring me word of more than grudging policy and the like, surely, my friends?' she chided, but gently. 'Is that all that you will leave with me? I danced once in the halls of Holyrood; do any dance there now? Linlithgow, where I was born – I was building a water-garden at the loch, and a new fountain in the courtyard; did they ever come to completion? In St Andrews by the sea, the grey northern sea, I planned a fair new college… '
The new college is near finished, Your Grace. King James is very hot for learning…'
'But no' for Linlithgow. Jamie cares naught for the place, Mary. But Arran's lady finds it to her taste, so it's no' just deserted! Lord, she has…'
Marie again hastily interrupted her hither. The Court is not a great deal at Holyroodhouse. The King prefers Stirling and Falkland, and even St Andrews. He does not dance, but is a great huntsman. He plays at the golf, also…'
'Enough!' Beal exclaimed, testily. Her Grace the Queen did not authorise this meeting for the exchange of tittle-tattle! Come, gentlemen.'
'I fear that we must insist,' Wotton agreed, if more civilly. 'It will be dark in no more than a couple of hours, and our strict instructions are that we must be back in Derby before nightfall.'
David looked oyer at the Englishmen thoughtfully. Could they possibly suspect some attempt at rescue, by night?
'We must go, then, Highness, Patrick acceded. 'You will consider our proposals, I hope, with much thought, much care, since so much depends upon them Has Your Grace no message, no word of hope which we may convey to the King your son?'
'Aye, man Dieu -I have! I send him all a mother's love and devotion. Tell him that I remember him daily in my prayers, and beseech Our Lady and Her Son to look in mercy upon this unfortunate woman and her son, riven cruelly apart I pray that my son may not be led astray by false councillors, of which I fear Scotland breeds a many, Master of Gray! Above all, tell him
that I pray that he may remain true to his trust, to the people of Scotland whom God has given into our hands. To look not only to the immediate advantage, but to the continuing weal of our
realm An alliance with England, be it Protestant or other, for Scotland is but a marriage of lamb and wolf, of fly and spider.
England is too close, and too powerful, too sure of her mission to lesser men. Such a compact must end in Scotland being swallowed up. Always it has been thus, always the cat has
wanted to swallow the mouse. Always the first and surest foundation of our country's policy, if she would preserve her precious independence, is to keep England at arm's length, by cleaving to France and even Spain, "without that our small land is lost, I tell you. I am a Catholic, yes – but I do not speak as one, now. Only as Queen of Scots. Surely you know it – you all know it? Tell James that he must not proceed with this alliance, sir. You, Robert – tell him well. Promise me that you will assure him of it Promise, sirs.' That was a command, passionately, fervently, but royally given.
Orkney mumbled, eyes on the floor.
He shall be told, Madam,' Patrick said levelly, tonelessly.
'Then adieu, my friends. I thank all the saints for the sight of you. I thank even my good sister Elizabeth! If you see her, convey my gratitude for this at least, and my warm well-wishes. But view her not as the friend and ally of Scotland, at your peril and mine-for that she was not born to be.And…the good God go with you all.' The Queen's voice broke as she said that last, and swiftly she turned her graceful back on her visitors and walked unsteadily towards the window.
Bowing and backing, the Scots withdrew, Marie at least stumbling, unable to see where she went
The two Englishmen were last out, face foremost, and Sir Andrew Melville closed the door on them.
'God damn you!' he said savagely. 'God damn and flay you! God's, curse upon you all!' To whom he was speaking was not apparent; he did not seem to be looking at anyone. But his face was twisted as with pain.
It was a silent company that rode across the reedy pastures and rolling slopes towards Derby. David, like Marie, was profoundly depressed. This surely should not, could not, be the end? But what to do, what to hope for, now – since all too clearly Mary Stuart would not change her mind? His thoughts had turned at once, of course, even whilst they were in the Queen's chamber, to his earlier idea of a rescue by force; but on riding, out from Wingfield Manor again, he had glimpsed an encampment behind some woodland, an armed encampment of scores of men and horses, where tents were being erected. And later, on the road, they had passed another column of men-at-arms riding towards Wingfield. Most evidently, Mary's guard was being massively reinforced. Why, he wondered? A mere unfortunate coincidence? At all events, it would seem to rule out any attempt at a rescue, meantime.
Patrick, strangely enough, though silent also, did not seem to share the others' depression. Indeed, he hummed snatches of song to himself as they rode, and occasionally made cordial, even jocular, remarks to Wotton who still escorted them.
Patrick seldom acted obviously, of course. David, low-voiced, assailed his brother, at length,
'Could you not have done more, Patrick?' he demanded. 'Could you not have made it easier for her? Is this all that we can do? Are we so quickly defeated in our endeavour?'
'Who is defeated, Davy? What gloomy talk is this? Today has been one small episode, a mere chapter – not the end of the story. Indeed, I expected little else. We have but sown the seed. The fruiting will come later.'
"The Queen seemed certain enough in her decision. She will not change her mind, I think.'
'Minds are made to change, Davy – especially women's minds. She knows now that she can go free. That is a hard thought to live with, in prison. In her solitary days that will work as leaven in a dough. The fair Mary will come to it never fear.'
'And you think that is right, seemly? When it is against her conscience…?'
'Lord, you cannot have it both ways, man! And what is conscience… but the flagellant courtesan we hire when we tire of the good wife of sound common sense?'
David stared ahead of him, and said nothing.
At Hampton Court Palace, where they eventually found Elizabeth and her Court the following night, Patrick had no need to seek to arrange a private audience. The Queen sent for him forthwith. He found her pacing alone with almost masculine strides up and down a long gallery. Courtiers watched her covertly from alcoves and doorways, but none shared her stern promenade.
'Well, sir?' she snapped, as he fell into step beside her. 'So you talked nonsense! You made me took the fool! Mary Stuart would have none of your proposals – or my generosity. You have wasted your time and my patience. I do not love bunglers, Master of Gray!'
Patrick affected to look at her with astonishment 'What misconception is this, Your Grace?' he wondered. 'What distorted mirror of events has been held up to you? I had esteemed Sir Edward Wotton – since he it must be – to have more wit than this!'
'Do not wriggle and twist, sirrah! Do not blame others for your own failure. Mary refused what you proposed – no clever talk will alter that'
'Of course she refused, Madam. I expected naught else. She could de none other, without renouncing her Crown for the second and final time. Nor could she swallow our Protestant alliance. That was clear. The one tied to the other made the issue certain.'
'But, man, this is not what you told me before! Have you been mocking me – me?
'Far from it, Highness. But the questions had to be asked, put to her. That was essential.'
'But why? Why go to this trouble, 'fore God? Why make the offer, if you knew that it must be refused?'
'Because the offer is everything, Your Grace – the refusal nothing. The offer blesses you, honours you. And King James. And the refusal condemns Mary only. I have changed Mary Stuart for you, dear lady, from a millstone to a jewel. Do you not see it? Before – you will forgive me saying it – men criticised you for holding Mary fast all these years. They may do so no longer. You have offered her her freedom, and she has rejected it James has offered her an Association in his Crown – and she has rejected that also. He is now tree to do as he will – under your guidance, and I hope, mine. And you are justified before all men. Heigho – and you talk of my failure. Madam!'
Elizabeth had halted in her pacing, to stare at him. Smiling confidendy if respectfully he returned her scrutiny. Never was a man more assured of himself. Tight-lipped she shook her bewigged head. It almost looked as though Elizabeth, Elizabeth Tudor, did not trust herself to speak.
'I will make so bold as to suggest that you will not deny the truth of what I say, Majesty,' he went on. 'In all modesty, I would claim to have earned some small thanks. King James's, also. Now, as regards Mary, your position is assured. No longer can you be blamed for holding her. And if she changes her mind, and agrees to the terms offered, Catherine de Medici will take over your burden, and she cannot upset your relations with James and Scotland. Is it not so?'
The Queen did not controvert him. Instead, she spoke wonderingly, obliquely. 'Whence comes a man like you, Patrick Gray? Under what strange star were you born? How came such a man of your father and yon long daughter of old Ruthven? God's death, but I think that I am frightened of you, Master of Grayl'
'You jest, Madam,' Patrick said shortly, almost abrupdy,and despite himself he frowned.
Elizabeth eyed him sidelong. 'If I was James Stewart, sir, I think… yes, I think that I would shut you up in the dread bottle-dungeon of Edinburgh Castle.'
Recovering himself, he smiled. 'King James, Madam, I am sure has more wit than that! As indeed have you. Send me back to Scotland with Your Grace's sure support, as I have besought you before, and I promise you that Scotland will no longer be a thorn in your flesh.'
'No?
'You do not doubt my ability?'
'I do not doubt your ability, Patrick.' Sombrely she said it 'If I have doubts, they are… otherwise.' 'I shall prove them baseless.'
'Perhaps. I hope so. So be it Go back, then, Master Patrick, and fail me not. For I have a long arm!'
'And a divinely fair hand at the end of it, Gloriana!' he whispered triumphantly, and raised her unresisting fingers to his lips.