Royal Road to Fotheringhay - Plaidy Jean - Страница 76

She could hear the shrieks in the next chamber to which they had dragged David; she heard the hideous thud of blows. She heard the death agonies of David.

“His blood shall cost you dear!” she cried; and she slid to the floor in a faint.

WHEN MARY came out of the swoon she was aware of Darnley beside her, supporting her. For a moment she was uncertain what had happened to shock her so; then the sight of the room in the light from the candelabra showed her the upturned table, the spilled food and wine and the carpet soaked with David’s blood.

She turned to Darnley and cried out in anguish: “You are the cause of this. Why have you allowed this wicked deed to be done? I took you from low estate and made you my husband. What have I ever done that you should use me thus?”

“I will tell you, Madam,” cried Darnley. She saw his shifty bloodshot eyes; she smelled the wine on his breath and she knew he was not entirely sober. “Since yonder fellow David came into credit and familiarity with you, you have had little time to spare for me. I have been shut from your thoughts and your chamber. You were with David far into the night.”

“It was because you had failed me.”

“In what way? Am I failed in any sort in my body? There was a time when you were so eager for me that you came to my chamber. What disdain have you for me since you favored David? What offense have I committed that you should be coy with me? You have listened to David and he spoke against me.”

“My lord, all that I have suffered this night is your doing, for the which I shall no longer be your wife, nor lie with you anymore. I shall never rest content until I have made you suffer as you have made me suffer this night.”

She could not bear to look at him. She covered her face with her hands and wept bitterly.

Ruthven returned to the chamber.

He said: “His lordship is Your Majesty’s husband, and you must be dutiful one to the other.” As he spoke he sank into a chair from very exhaustion and called for wine to revive him.

Mary went to him and stood over him. “My lord,” she cried, “if my child or I should die through this night’s work, you will not escape your just reward. I have powerful friends. There are my kinsmen of Lorraine; there is the Pope and the King of Spain. Do not think you shall escape justice.”

Ruthven grasped the cup which was offered to him. He smiled grimly as he said: “Madam, these you speak of are overgreat princes to concern themselves with such a poor man as myself.”

Mary stood back from him. She understood his meaning. He was implying that they were too great to concern themselves with the troubles of a queen of a remote country, who could be of little use to them when her nobles had rendered her powerless.

Mary was seized with a great trembling then; for she realized that the folly of Darnley had, by this night’s work, frustrated all her careful plans; all her triumphs of the last months were as nothing now.

Others were hurrying into the room. She saw the mighty figure of Bothwell among them, and her spirits lifted. Rogue he might be, but he was a loyal rogue. With him were Huntley and Maitland of whom she was not quite certain, but could not believe they were entirely against her.

Bothwell cried: “What means this? Who dares lay hands on the Queen?” He seized Ruthven and pulled the dying man to his feet.

“What has been done has been done with the consent of the King,” said Ruthven. “I have a paper here which bears his signature.”

Bothwell seized it. Mary watching, saw the change in his expression and that of Huntley. They at least were outside this diabolical plot.

Morton, who was with them, cried: “The palace is full of those who have had a share in this night’s work.”

Mary’s eyes were fixed on Bothwell, but at that moment there came a shouting from below. The townsfolk of Edinburgh had heard that something was amiss in the palace and had come demanding to see the Queen.

With a sob of relief Mary dashed to the window, but Kerr’s strong arms were about her. She felt his sword pressed against her side while he repeated his threat to cut her into collops if she opened her mouth.

Ruthven signed to Darnley. “To the window. Tell them that the Queen is well. Tell them that this is nothing but a quarrel among the French servants.”

“Henry!” cried Mary. “Do no such thing.”

But Kerr’s hand was over her mouth.

Darnley, alarmed and uncertain, looking from the Queen to Morton and his followers, seeing the murderous light in Morton’s eyes, remembering the groaning, blood-spattered David, allowed himself to be led to the window.

“Good people,” he cried, “there is naught wrong in the palace but some dispute among the French servants. ’Tis over now.”

He turned and looked at Mary’s stricken face. This was the last act of treachery. He was completely against her now.

She looked for Bothwell and Huntley among those who had filled the small chamber. They had disappeared. Maitland had left too. His loyalty was doubtful but she could have trusted his courtesy and gentleness.

She realized then that she was alone with her enemies. Nausea swept over her; the child leaped within her; and once again on that terrible night, she fell fainting to the floor.

THROUGH THE long night she lay sleepless. What now? she asked herself.

There were only a few women in her bedchamber. One of these was old Lady Huntley—Bothwell’s mother-in-law. The others had been appointed by her enemies, and her Marys were absent. There was no one to help her then.

She struggled up and Lady Huntley came to her.

“Where are my women?” she asked. “I wish to get up immediately. I wish to leave the palace.”

“Your Majesty,” whispered Lady Huntley, “that you cannot do. The palace is surrounded by the armed men of your enemies. My son and Lord Bothwell have left Edinburgh in haste. They could do nothing by staying. It would have been certain death. They were here alone, as you know, with few of their men and only a few servants to do their bidding.”

“So I am a prisoner here? But what of the people of Edinburgh? They will come to my assistance. I know it.”

“Your Majesty, they cannot do so. The King has issued a proclamation. He has dissolved Parliament and commanded all burgesses, prelates, peers and barons to leave Edinburgh immediately. The tocsins are sounding.”

“This is a terrible thing that has come upon me,” said Mary. “Is there no man in Scotland on whom I can rely?”

“There are my son, Your Majesty, and my son-in-law.”

“They ran away, did they not, when they scented danger?”

“Only because they can serve you better alive than dead. They have hurried away to muster forces to come to your aid.”

“Many have deceived me,” said Mary. “I trust no one.”

She turned wearily on her side and, being aware of the child, a sudden courage came to her, reminding her that it was not for herself alone she must fight.

The child! She would fight for the child. And in a flash of inspiration she realized that the child might give her the help she needed. They could not deny her a midwife, could they? They could be made to believe that the terrible events of last night had brought about a miscarriage.

She was excited now.

Who could help her in this? Lady Huntley. She was old but she could play her part. Who else… when the palace was held by her enemies?

But there was one of uncertain loyalty. There was a foolish, gullible one. There was one whose craven mind she understood—her husband, Lord Darnley.

She said to Lady Huntley: “They cannot object to my seeing my husband, can they? Go at once and see if you can bring him to me. Tell him that he will find a submissive wife if he will but come to me.”

Darnley came, and as she looked at him, her hope sprang up afresh. He was afraid; he was afraid of her and he was afraid of the lords who—now that the murder was done and done in his name—had hinted that he would do as they bade him.