The Captive Queen of Scots

VIII Return to Tutbury

MARY WAS WORKING AT HER TAPESTRY at Wingfield Manor, with her ladies about her, when Lesley’s letter was brought to her. She read it and, noticing her pallor, Seton rose from her work to come to her side.

“Leicester has betrayed to Elizabeth that there is a contract between myself and the Duke, who has left Court with all speed. The Queen has hinted that my friends are in danger.”

“That means . . . ” began Seton and stopped.

“It seems so foolish,” cried Mary impetuously. “Why should Elizabeth object to my marriage with an English nobleman?”

“Perhaps,” suggested Seton, “it was unwise to keep the matter secret from her.”

“Lesley advises me to burn all the letters I have received from the Duke, together with any secret documents I may have in the apartment. He feels sure that a search will be made and that if anything which they can call treasonable is found it will give them the excuse they need.”

Seton said: “I do not think there is a moment to lose.”

Mary nodded, and she and Seton with the rest of the ladies left their tapestry. Mary then went to her table and unlocking a drawer took out certain documents which she threw into the fire.

“Is there anything else?” asked Seton anxiously.

Mary was searching through the boxes in which the few clothes she possessed were kept. She sent her ladies to their own chambers, instructing them to bring out any single thing that could be called incriminating.

The documents were still smoldering in the grate when there was a knock on her door and Hereford entered.

“Your Majesty,” he said, “you are to prepare to leave for Tutbury without delay.”

“Tutbury!” Mary’s voice rose in shrill protest.

“Those are the orders of Her Majesty, the Queen.”

“Oh, not Tutbury. Not that evil-smelling place!”

Hereford answered: “We shall be leaving within the hour.”

“But that is impossible. I am not prepared.”

“Have no fear on that account,” answered Hereford, grimly. “I and my guards will put your possessions together, and the Queen’s orders are that there must not be even an hour’s delay.”

His eyes had gone to the smoldering pile in the grate and he understood. He was too late to find that which he had hoped to send to the Queen. But perhaps there was something left.

Mary gasped with indignation to see his guards already coming into the apartment.

“But this is monstrous! Am I to enjoy no privacy?”

“I beg Your Majesty’s pardon, but I am obeying the orders of my mistress, the Queen of England.”

It was no use pleading.

Within the hour Mary and her suite, in the company of Hereford and his armed guard, had left Wingfield Manor for Tutbury. Hereford was disappointed. He had come to her apartments just too late to seize the documents which he knew must be there. All he had to send to Elizabeth was the cipher she had used in her correspondence with Norfolk. Still, that might prove of some use.

THROUGH THE GOLDEN September day they traveled.

When Mary saw the fortress on the red sandstone rock and the marshy lands surrounding it, her spirits drooped.

Her whole mind and body called out a protest: Not Tutbury!

As soon as she entered her old apartments that evil smell assaulted her nostrils, bringing with it memories of sickness.

How could she endure those bleak rooms, one above the other, connected by that cold stone staircase?

Tutbury seemed to her a place without hope.

She was anxious on account of one of her women—Margaret Cawood, wife of Bastian, who had been married at the time of Darnley’s murder—for Margaret was pregnant, and Mary was wondering how she would fare in the cold of Tutbury during the winter months which lay ahead.

There was more to concern her than a cold and uncomfortable house. Hereford was handing her over to the Earl of Huntingdon who, he explained, was to take the place of the Shrewsburys as her keeper.

Mary was aghast at Elizabeth’s choice, and she thought there was some sinister meaning behind it, for Henry Hastings, Earl of Huntingdon, the son of Catherine Pole and therefore a descendant of the Duke of Clarence, had royal connections and a remote claim to the throne.

Such a claim might have made him extremely unpopular with Elizabeth, and she was naturally watchful of him; but she knew that he would be more eager than most people in her realm to prevent a marriage between Mary and Norfolk, that he would be very anxious to incriminate the Queen of Scots if it were possible to do so—and therefore she considered him highly qualified to have charge of Mary at this stage.

He received the Queen respectfully but coolly, and as she was conducted to those well remembered and much loathed apartments she felt that the walls of Tutbury were closing about her forever.

MARY STOOD BENEATH the vaulted ceiling and covered her face with her hands to shut out the sight of the place.

Seton, close to her, whispered: “Your Majesty, do not despair.”

“It is this place, Seton. I loathed it from the moment I entered it. I loathe it even more now that we have returned to it.”

“Let us hope there will be another move, ere long.”

“We can always hope.”

“Who knows what will happen, Your Majesty? The Duke has had to retire from Court, but there are still your friends in the North. Perhaps they will come marching to Tutbury and carry you away.”

“Who knows? Meanwhile we stay here. Oh . . . this smell, Seton! It makes me feel so ill. And what of Margaret? How is she? How did she endure the journey? Is she resting now? She should.”

“Before the child is due we shall be away from here,” soothed Seton. “Have you noticed we never stay anywhere long?”

“It may be that I shall be carried from here in my tomb.”

“Your Majesty, it is unlike you to despair so soon.”

“Blame the stench, Seton. But listen, you see who our jailor is. I shall never feel safe while he is here. He is a claimant to the throne of England. Why, if Elizabeth were to die without heirs, I believe he would try to take the crown. And here am I at his mercy. What do you think, Seton? Will it be the poison cup? Or a dagger while I lie abed?”

Seton saw that the Queen was near hysteria and she wondered how to comfort her. Secretly she was cursing the walls of Tutbury which she hated as fiercely as Mary did.

“There is someone at the door,” she said.

“Go and see who is there and say that I am too weary to be seen this day.”

Seton went, and Mary heard her say: “Her Majesty is indisposed and wishes to rest . . . .”

But Seton was thrust aside and when the Countess of Shrewsbury came into the room, Mary gave a cry of pleasure. Nothing could have pleased her more than to hear that the Earl and his wife were reinstated in their old posts and that the Earl of Huntingdon was to be dismissed.

“Your Majesty,” said Bess, curtsying.

“It gives me pleasure to see you,” Mary told her. “I trust this means that Huntingdon is returning to London.”

Bess grunted angrily. “Oh no. He is to remain here. He is to be our jailer. The Earl and I are his prisoners even as Your Majesty is. Have you ever heard the like! We are prisoners in our own castle!”

Mary was speechless. Not so Bess.

“I shall not allow it, of course. I will tell Huntingdon that neither the Earl nor myself will stomach any interference in our doings. I shall keep a sharp eye on Master Huntingdon. I believe he begins to understand that.”

“You are, like myself, out of favor with the Queen,” said Mary.

“I displeased her by saving my husband’s life.”

Mary was smiling; it was surprising how the gloom of the last half hour was being dispersed by the dynamic Bess.

“We shall stand no nonsense from him!” went on Bess. “Nor should Your Majesty.”

“I shall certainly not do so.”

Bess smiled. “If there is aught Your Majesty requires, I pray you make your wishes known to me. I shall do my best to see that they are carried out.”

“I pray you be seated,” said Mary. “I would hear news of the Earl’s sickness and recovery.”

Bess sat down and they talked; and as they did so Mary realized that now she had a firm ally in the castle. Bess intimated that she would be watchful of Huntingdon, and she warranted that if two clever women put their heads together they had nothing to fear from meddling Earls.

When Bess had left, Seton noticed how the Queen’s demeanor had changed.

MEANWHILE ELIZABETH had summoned Norfolk to appear before her at Windsor. She sent similar summonses to the Earl of Arundel and Pembroke, Lord Lumley and Sir Nicholas Throckmorton, whose names had been given her by Leicester, those noblemen who, with himself, had banded together to bring about Mary’s marriage to Norfolk.

Norfolk, who was at Kenninghall, wrote to Elizabeth pleading sickness which prevented him from traveling. Meanwhile Arundel, Pembroke and their friends, having obeyed the Queen’s summons, were promptly arrested and conveyed to the Tower, where they were questioned in the hope that they would incriminate the Queen of Scots in treason against the throne of England.

They assured their questioners that Mary had had no designs on Elizabeth’s crown and that the suggestion of marriage with Norfolk had not come from her.

Meanwhile Elizabeth had sent a peremptory order to Norfolk. Sickness or no sickness, he was to present himself to her without delay.

In great trepidation Norfolk set out, was arrested on the way and taken straight to the Tower.

When the news of his arrest was brought to Elizabeth she showed grim satisfaction. She was going to teach the premier peer of England a lesson. But there was one other at whom she longed to strike. Ever since she had heard that Mary had allowed herself to be called Queen of England she had been watchful of her. She had attempted to capture Mary on her return from France to Scotland; she would never be at peace while Mary lived; and when fate (in the shape of the folly of the Queen of Scots) had delivered Mary into her hands she had been exultant.

She longed to sever that beautiful head from those graceful shoulders. She hated the Queen of Scots for many reasons. Mary was beautiful, infinitely desirable, and men were ready to risk their lives and fortunes for her. They said the same of Elizabeth; every day there were courtiers to tell her she was the most beautiful woman in the world. She was their Gloriana, the mistress of her male subjects, all of whom groveled at her feet and capped each other’s flattering comments. Yet, thought Elizabeth in one of those rare moments when she faced the truth, how many would be prepared to worship her if she were the poor prisoner in the castle of a jealous enemy?

That was one reason why she wished to be rid of Mary. A poor reason, admitted Elizabeth the Queen. The true reason was not that of the vain and simpering woman. It was a Queen’s reason: She threatened the crown. She could be a figurehead to Elizabeth’s Catholic subjects. Those who questioned the legitimacy of the marriage between Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn might call Mary, not Elizabeth, the true Queen of England: therefore Mary must die.

But there must be a good reason for her death. It was not wise to set a precedent for the murder of Queens. Royalty must be respected. A case must be proved against Mary; and even then Elizabeth would not happily sign the death warrant.

She went to her council and there railed against the perfidy of Norfolk.

Timidly her councilors pointed out that in negotiating for marriage, Norfolk had done nothing in law to incur a severe penalty.

She had become suddenly furious with them. “What the law cannot do,” she cried, “my authority shall effect!”

Then because she suspected she might have shown her fears of Mary too openly, which would have been unwise, she played the emotional woman, pretending to faint so that the councilors brought vinegar and restoratives to revive her.

But she always knew when she had gone far enough. Recovering from her “faint” she graciously told her courtiers that she feared at times she was but a weak woman, and she thanked them for the good counsel on which she knew she could always rely.

She left the Council Chamber wondering how she could bring about the destruction of her enemy without seeming to have played a part in it.

LESLEY, BISHOP OF ROSS, was disturbed by these events. He knew that the prisoners would be questioned, and he wondered how deeply they would incriminate Mary.

It was while he was in his lodgings, brooding on these matters, that his servant came to tell him that a gentleman was without and asking to see him on urgent business. Lesley commanded that he be brought to him without delay, and the man was ushered in.

When they were alone he came straight to the point.

“My name is Owen,” he said, “and I am a gentleman from the household of the Earl of Arundel.”

Lesley was excited. “You bring news from your master?”

“As you know, my master is in the Tower, but before he was taken he gave me instructions to call on you and lay this plan before you. He believes the Queen of Scots to be in great danger.”

“I fear that is so.”

“And that she should be removed from Tutbury Castle at no matter what cost. If she could be taken from her prison and brought to Arundel, she could embark there for France. Once there it would be easier for her friends to work on her behalf. But she should leave Tutbury as soon as possible.”

“I am in agreement with you,” said Lesley. “I like not the choice of her jailor.”

“You do well to doubt his designs. But there is this in our favor. The Earl and his Countess have no reason to love Huntingdon either, since he has been set up as a jailor over them as well as the Queen. It may well be that they would be ready to assist the Queen’s escape.”

“And risk their heads?”

“They are no longer in charge of her. Doubtless they would be pleased to see Huntingdon fail . . . where they did not . . . even though they left their captive for the Buxton baths.”

“I will write to the Queen with all speed and tell her of this plan.”

“Pray do so. It is what my master wishes.”

As soon as Owen had left, Lesley wrote a letter to Mary and sent a messenger off with it to Tutbury.

IT WAS NOT EASY NOW for Mary to receive correspondence from her friends, for Huntingdon was a sterner jailor than had so far been hers.

This meant that intrigue in Tutbury intensified, and as there hung over the Queen the perpetual fear that she was to be murdered, the days, being full of alarms, were certainly not dull.

Mary and her devoted friends were constantly alert for a look, a gesture from even a serving man or maid which could be significant.

The letter from Lesley had been smuggled in to her through the services of one of these. The messenger had arrived at Tutbury with letters for Mary which must pass through Huntingdon’s hands; but there was one which he carried secreted on his person, and this he kept back, seeking a moment when he could pass it to Seton. This was the letter in which Lesley told her of the plan to carry her off to Arundel.

When Mary had read the letter she passed it to Seton. Seton too was aware of a brooding warning within these walls. She often thought how easy it would be to slip a little poison into Mary’s food, to force her to one of the windows or the top of a staircase and throw her down. Since their return to Tutbury, she had been constantly on her guard, sleeping in Mary’s own bedchamber, starting at the smallest sound in the night; but even her strong nerves were giving way under the strain, and she would have been ready to risk a great deal to escape.

“What do you think, Seton?” asked Mary.

“I believe that it should be tried.”

“I would be ready to risk my life for escape from this place.”

Seton nodded. “Northumberland and Westmorland would be ready to come to your help. It has a good chance of success.”

“I am anxious about the noblemen of the North, Seton, because their aim is not only to win me back my Scottish crown but to set me on the throne of England.”

“Perhaps it would be wise to take first things first. Escape. That is what we desire. Let us have that and see where we go from there.”

“To France, it seems, Seton.”

“We were happy in France,” Seton reminded her.

Mary was thoughtful for a few seconds, then she said: “There is one other matter, Seton. What of Norfolk? He is in the Tower. If I escaped, Elizabeth would take her revenge on him and that could cost him his life. I do not think I could give my consent to this plan while Norfolk is in the Tower.”

Seton looked sadly at her mistress. She did not have the high opinion of Norfolk that Mary had, believing him to be selfish and avaricious. Seton often wondered whether, but for Norfolk, Mary might have escaped from her enemies by now.

“Let Norfolk take care of himself,” she said rashly. “Here is a chance to escape from this place.”

Mary was shocked. “You have forgotten, Seton, that he is my affianced husband.”

“He is in the Tower, but it may be that you are in greater danger.”

“But he might well be in great danger if I angered Elizabeth by escaping. There is only one thing to do. I will write to Norfolk.”

“It is dangerous to write, Your Majesty.”

“Nay. I write in cipher . . . a new one now that they have stolen the old. We have our friends here who smuggle out our letters, and friends in the Tower who smuggle them in. Who would guess that corks of ale bottles which are taken into the Duke’s cell contain my letters! We are well served, Seton.”

Seton saw that it was no use warning the Queen against Norfolk. She, who had always been so trusting, so generous, persisted in endowing others with the same qualities.

NORFOLK’S REPLY was almost frantic. She must not listen to these wild plans for her escape. She must stay where she was. He believed that those friends whom she was prepared to trust might well, in spite of their promises, desert her if they should find themselves in danger. It would be folly for him to try to leave his prison, for if he were caught in the attempt he would surely lose his head; whereas at the moment, since he had committed no crime, he was in little danger. But if she were to escape, she could be sure that Elizabeth would take revenge on him.

When Seton read this letter she felt a dull anger within her, being certain that Norfolk was serving his own cause rather than the Queen’s. “It would seem that we are working for the good of my lord Norfolk rather than the Queen of Scots,” she said bitterly.

“Our causes are one,” Mary replied. “I should never forgive myself if he suffered through my actions.”

“Let us hope,” retorted Seton, “that he would feel the same if harm came to you through any of his.”

“I am sure he shares my feelings,” was Mary’s reply. “Do not forget that he is my affianced husband.”

So, mourned Seton, there was another opportunity lost for bringing the Queen out of her doleful prison.

WHEN MARY’S DESPAIR threatened to become intolerable she would give her attention to the care of others; and one person in her retinue who needed care at this time was Margaret Cawood, who was expecting to give birth to a child.

Margaret was not so rigorously confined as Mary was, yet the Queen did not believe the air of Tutbury was good for anyone; and she made sure that Margaret was lodged as far from the obnoxious privies as possible and that she took regular exercise.

She asked Huntingdon—who carefully watched all comings and goings to and from the castle—if he would permit a midwife to attend Margaret. Anxious to assure the Queen that he was eager to help her as far as he could, Huntingdon agreed, and a midwife was found who paid regular visits.

One day Margaret was discovered in a faint, and when the news was brought to Mary she sent at once for the midwife, who on arriving examined Margaret, soothingly assured her that all was well and made her lie down.

When she left Margaret apparently sleeping, she asked if she might speak in private to the Queen as she was anxious about the condition of her patient. She wished to speak to the Queen alone because she did not want whispers of what she was about to say to reach Margaret’s ear, for as would readily be understood, it was necessary at this stage for her to have no worries about herself.

Mary, always anxious for the welfare of her servants, had the midwife brought to her presence immediately.

“What is wrong with Margaret?” she demanded. “Please do not hide anything from me.”

The midwife looked over her shoulder and whispered: “Are we quite alone?”

“We are,” replied Mary.

“Margaret’s condition is excellent. She pretends it is not so in order to give me this opportunity of speaking to Your Majesty in private. The Earl of Northumberland sends me to tell you that he has a plan for your escape which cannot fail. He wants you to change places with me and walk out of the castle in my clothes.”

Mary’s eyes sparkled; then she said: “And what of you when it is known that you have allowed me to do this?”

The midwife turned pale at the thought but she said: “I would do it.”

Mary shook her head. It would be certain and most painful death for the woman; and not only death. They would doubtless torture her to discover who was behind the plan and, much as Mary longed to escape, she would not allow this woman to suffer on her account. Noblemen had suffered hideous deaths but there was even less respect shown to humbler persons.

“I thank you with all my heart,” said Mary. “But I could not leave you to suffer what I know must be your fate if you played such a role.”

“I would do it for the good of the Catholic Faith.”

“Nay,” said Mary. “And in any case we should not deceive them for a moment. See how much taller I am than you! The clothes you wear would never fit me. The impersonation would be seen through at once.”

The midwife answered: “I will tell my master what Your Majesty has said and doubtless he will think of some other plan.”

After that messages were carried between Mary and Northumberland by way of the midwife, and a few days later Mary heard that the Countess of Northumberland, who was visiting a friend close by Tutbury, would come in the guise of a midwife, change clothes with Mary, and remain behind to impersonate her while Mary escaped.

Mary need have no fear of this impersonation’s being discovered, for the Countess of Northumberland was of similar height to the Queen; and, dressed in midwife’s clothes, a hood doing much to conceal her face, Mary might pass through the guards without the deception being noticed.

Moreover the Queen should have no qualms about leaving the Countess behind because, being of high nobility, she would not be treated as a humble midwife would. There was another point: very soon the Earl intended to raise the Catholic standard, and in that case he would very quickly rescue his wife from any predicament in which she found herself.

Intrigue was necessary to Mary’s existence. Now life might be uncomfortable but at least it was not dull. She allowed herself to listen to these new plans.

Huntingdon however had noticed that the midwife seemed to spend more time alone with the Queen than with her patient, so one day he stopped the woman on her way out of the castle, and she was searched. Fortunately there were no letters in her possession; but she was severely questioned and Huntingdon was not satisfied with her replies.

He ordered that the midwife was to be examined both when she entered and left the castle; and he himself would be present at her conference on the health of Margaret Cawood with the Queen.

The plot to smuggle Mary out of Tutbury as a midwife was stillborn.

THE WINDS OF OCTOBER buffeted the walls of the castle and, even though the winter had not yet come, it was bitterly cold in the Queen’s apartments. Mary felt a return of all the rheumatic pains she had suffered during the previous winter, and she suddenly became so full of despair that she was stricken with sickness. Each morning she would awake to that nauseating odor to which she could never become accustomed. Seton had placed on the bed as many coverings as she could find, but still Mary shivered. She was feverish and shivering in turn, and her friends feared for her.

Bess made hot possets for her and undertook to help with her nursing. She gave brisk orders to Mary’s women which they obeyed because they realized the efficiency and skill of the Countess. Chafing against the presence of Huntingdon in her home, Bess had determined to become the friend of Mary, although she was still alert when her husband was in the presence of the Queen.

When Mary was able to leave her bed for a short while she occupied herself by writing pitiful appeals to Cecil and to Elizabeth.

“You have known what it is like to be in trouble,” wrote Mary to the Queen; “judge then from that what others suffer in like case.”

Bess also wrote to Elizabeth. She admitted her fault in taking her husband to Buxton without waiting for her consent. “But Your Majesty, I had to choose between your consent and the life of my husband. I found myself, as a wife, obliged to choose in favor of the latter; and knowing the good heart of my mistress, I was certain that she would understand and forgive me.”

Bess went on to remind Elizabeth that the Queen of Scots had suffered no harm when under their care and that it made her and the Earl unhappy to be forced to endure the presence of a stranger as head of their own household.

Elizabeth read these letters and was thoughtful.

Mary was ill and confined to her bed; the Shrewsburys would never dare disobey her again; she would play the lenient and forgiving sovereign.

BESS BURST INTO the Queen’s apartment.

“Good news!” she cried. “At last we shall call our home our own. The Queen orders Huntingdon to leave Tutbury.”

Mary raised herself from her pillows, and her pleasure was evident. No more wondering whether the food she ate had been spiced with poison; no more waking in the night wondering in terror whether that was a stealthy step she had heard outside her door.

With an impulsive gesture she stretched out her arms to Bess, and the two women embraced each other.

BESS WITH HER HUSBAND stood at the castle gates watching the departure of the Earl of Huntingdon.

“Now we are alone,” she cried, “I pray God that never again shall our privacy be so invaded. Come, let us go into the castle. I feel we should celebrate the end of Huntingdon’s rule. There shall be a banquet and the Queen shall be present.” She looked at the Earl slyly. “You will like that, eh?”

“I am not sure of the wisdom of it.”

“Come come,” laughed Bess. “She shall be seated on your right hand. But do not forget that I shall be watching you, so if you wish to tell her of your devotion you will have to do so in whispers.”

The Earl was about to protest but Bess was laughing loudly.

Into the kitchen she went and her voice could be heard throughout the castle issuing orders.

“Now come along, Peg. Look sharp, girl. There’s work to be done. Do not think that, because my lord Huntingdon has left us, there is naught for you to do but gape about you. Eleanor, you go to the kitchens. There’ll be work for you there. Go and tell the cooks I shall be with them shortly. I have orders to give them, now that my lord Huntingdon is no longer with us!”

Eleanor was aware of the Earl’s eyes upon her as she obeyed the instructions of the Countess. They spoke little to each other, yet he knew of her happiness in his recovery, and she was aware that he was deeply affected by her joy.

BESS GAZED CONTENTEDLY about her table. It was good to be mistress in her own house. She could feel proud of her achievement. She had had her way with Elizabeth and had been taken back into favor. Now she and George were in the same position as they had been in before the trip to Buxton. George’s health was wonderfully improved and he was almost himself again. She had been triumphantly proved right, and there was nothing Bess liked better.

The Queen of Scots was looking pale. Poor ineffectual creature! Bess could feel sorry for her and she could laugh inwardly at what she called George’s romantic attachment. She would see that it never became more than it was at present. George could go on admiring the captive Queen as long as he kept his distance.

One thing I should never tolerate, Bess told herself, is an unfaithful husband.

She had no fear. Any woman who could flout Queen Elizabeth and maneuver herself back into favor could do anything.

Why not a little dancing? A little music on the lute or virginals?

She suggested to Mary that she should invite the company to her apartments, and Mary joyfully agreed.

There after the banquet Mary played the lute and sang to the company; and she felt so much recovered that, when the dancing began, she found her feet tapping to the tune and she was unable to resist trying a measure.

Willie Douglas begged for the honor, and graciously she consented to his wish.

Willie’s eyes were full of dreams. She knew he was thinking regretfully of escapes which had come to nothing, and desperately trying to think of one which would succeed.

She felt hopeful. I have so many good friends, she told herself.

THERE WAS A COMMOTION at the castle gates.

Bess, who immediately went down to see what was happening, was struck with dismay when she recognized the livery of Huntingdon’s men.

“What is the meaning of this?” she demanded.

Before she could receive an answer she was joined by her husband. “Huntingdon’s men have returned,” he cried. “I had thought them at Court by now.”

And as she spoke Huntingdon himself was riding toward her. He dismounted and a groom immediately took his horse.

“To what do we owe this pleasure?” demanded Bess with sarcasm.

Huntingdon came straight to the point. “Northumberland and Westmorland are in revolt. They are marching on Tutbury and are but some fifty miles from us. There must not be a moment’s delay. I am ordered by Her Majesty to take the Queen of Scots from here at once.”

Shrewsbury said: “And what are Her Majesty’s orders concerning us?”

“You are to come with us to protect the Queen of Scots if necessary from the rebels. I have an armed guard with me. We should go to the Queen’s apartments immediately. We must be gone from here before an hour has elapsed, for it is unsafe to stay longer.”

Mary was startled when the Earls of Huntingdon and Shrewsbury came to her.

She listened in dismay.

Leave Tutbury! It was what she had been praying for. But in very different circumstances from these.