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Mary's Marriage Personal Appearance And Popularity

Mary The Queen Dauphiness The Queen And The Queen Dowager Of France

Occurrences Immediately Preceding Darnley's Death

An Examination Of The Letters Sonnets And Other Writings Adduced In Evidence Against Mary Queen Of Scots

A Tangle

The Little Waif

Rizzio

The Fall Of Bothwell

Mary's Birth And Subsequent Residence At The French Court

Mary's Escape From Lochleven And The Battle Of Langside



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The Ebbing Well

Loch Leven Castle

The Love Token

My Lady's Remorse

The Huckstering Woman

A Lioness At Bay

Evidence

Queen Mary's Presence Chamber

Wingfield Manor

The Rebellion Of The Nobles The Meeting At Carberry Hill And Its Consequences






Wingfield Manor








The drawing of swords was not regarded as a heinous offence in
Elizabethan days. It was not likely, under ordinary circumstances, to
result in murder, and was looked on much as boxing is, or was recently,
in public schools, as an evidence of high spirit, and a means of
working off ill-blood.

Lady Shrewsbury was, however, much incensed at such a presumptuous
reception of the suitor whom she had backed with her would-be despotic
influence; and in spite of Babington's making extremely light of it,
and declaring that he had himself been too forward in his suit, and the
young lady's apparent fright had made her brother interfere over
hastily for her protection, four yeomen were despatched by her Ladyship
with orders instantly to bring back Master Humfrey Talbot to answer for
himself.

They were met by Mr. Talbot with the sober reply that Master Humfrey
was already set forth on his journey. The men, having no orders, never
thought of pursuing him, and after a short interval Richard thought it
expedient to proceed to the Manor-house to explain matters.

The Countess swooped upon him in one of her ungovernable furies--one of
those of which even Gilbert Talbot avoided writing the particulars to
his father--abusing his whole household in general, and his son in
particular, in the most outrageous manner, for thus receiving the
favour she had done to their beggarly, ill-favoured, ill-nurtured
daughter. Richard stood still and grave, his hat in his hand, as
unmoved and tranquil as if he had been breasting a stiff breeze on the
deck of his ship, with good sea-room and confidence in all his tackle,
never even attempting to open his lips, but looking at the Countess
with a steady gaze which somehow disconcerted her, for she demanded
wherefore he stared at her like one of his clumsy hinds.

"Because her Ladyship does not know what she is saying," he replied.

"Darest thou! Thou traitor, thou viper, thou unhanged rascal, thou
mire under my feet, thou blot on the house! Darest thou beard me--me?"
screamed my Lady. "Darest thou--I say--"

If the sailor had looked one whit less calm and resolute, my Lady would
have had her clenched fist on his ear, or her talons in his beard, but
he was like a rock against which the billows expended themselves, and
after more of the tempest than need stain these pages, she deigned to
demand what he meant or had to say for his son.

"Solely this, madam, that my son had never even heard of Babington's
suit, far less that he had your Ladyship's good-will. He found him
kneeling to Cicely in the garden, and the girl, distressed and dismayed
at his importunity. There were hot words and drawn blades. That was
the whole. I parted them and saw them join hands."

"So saith Master Babington. He is willing to overlook the insult, so
will I and my Lord, if you will atone for it by instantly consenting to
this espousal."

"That, madam, I cannot do."

She let him say no more, and the storm had begun to rage again, when
Babington took advantage of an interval to take breath, and said, "I
thank you, madam, and pray you peace. If a little space be vouchsafed
me, I trust to show this worthy gentleman cause wherefore he should no
longer withhold his fair damsel from me."

"Indeed!" said the Countess. "Art thou so confident? I marvel what
better backer thou wouldst have than me! So conceited of themselves
are young men now-a-days, they think, forsooth, their own merits and
graces should go farther in mating them than the word and will of their
betters. There, you may go! I wash my hands of the matter. One is as
ingrate as the other."

Both gentlemen accepted this amiable dismissal, each hoping that the
Countess might indeed have washed her hands of their affairs. On his
departure Richard was summoned into the closet of the Earl, who had
carefully kept out of the way during the uproar, only trusting not to
be appealed to. "My good cousin," he asked, "what means this broil
between the lads? Hath Babington spoken sooth?"

"He hath spoken well and more generously than, mayhap, I thought he
would have done," said Richard.

"Ay; you have judged the poor youth somewhat hardly, as if the folly of
pagedom never were outgrown," said the Earl. "I put him under
governorship such as to drive out of his silly pate all the wiles that
he was fed upon here. You will see him prove himself an honest
Protestant and good subject yet, and be glad enough to give him your
daughter. So he was too hot a lover for Master Humfrey's notions, eh?"
said my Lord, laughing a little. "The varlet! He was over prompt to
protect his sister, yet 'twas a fault on the right side, and I am sorry
there was such a noise about it that he should have gone without
leave-takings."

"He will be glad to hear of your Lordship's goodness. I shall go after
him to-morrow and take his mails and little Diccon to him."

"That is well," said the Earl. "And give him this, with his kinsman's
good wishes that he may win ten times more from the Don," pushing
towards Richard a packet of twenty broad gold pieces, stamped with
Queen Bess in all her glory; and then, after receiving due thanks for
the gift, which was meant half as friendly feudal patronage from the
head of the family, half as a contribution to the royal service, the
Earl added, "I would crave of thee, Richard, to extend thy journey to
Wingfield. Here are some accounts of which I could not sooner get the
items, to be discharged between me and the lady there--and I would fain
send thee as the man whom I can most entirely trust. I will give thee
a pass, and a letter to Sadler, bidding him admit thee to her presence,
since there are matters here which can sooner be discharged by one word
of mouth than by many weary lines of writing."

Good Master Richard's conscience had little occasion to wince, yet he
could not but feel somewhat guilty when this opportune commission was
given to him, since the Earl gave it unaware of his secret
understanding with the captive. He accepted it, however, without
hesitation, since he was certainly not going to make a mischievous use
of it, and bent all his mind to understand the complicated accounts
that he was to lay before the Queen or her comptroller of the household.

He had still another interview to undergo with Antony Babington, who
overtook him on his way home through the crackling leaves that strewed
the avenue, as the October twilight fell. His recent conduct towards
Humfrey gave him a certain right to friendly attention, though, as the
frank-hearted mariner said to himself, it was hard that a plain man,
who never told a lie, nor willingly had a concealment of his own,
should be involved in a many-sided secret like this, a sort of web,
where there was no knowing whether straining the wrong strand might not
amount to a betrayal, all because he had rescued an infant, and not at
once proclaimed her an alien.

"Sir," said Antony, "if my impatience to accost the maiden we wot of,
when I saw her alone, had not misled me, I should have sought you first
to tell you that no man knows better than I that my Lady Countess's
good will is not what is wanting to forward my suit."

"Knowing then that it is not in my power or right to dispose of her,
thine ardent wooing was out of place," said Richard.

"I own it, sir, though had I but had time I should have let the maiden
know that I sought her subject to other approval, which I trust to
obtain so as to satisfy you."

"Young man," said Richard, "listen to friendly counsel, and meddle not
in perilous matters. I ask thee not whether Dethick hath any commerce
with Wingfield; but I warn thee earnestly to eschew beginning again
that which caused the trouble of thy childhood. Thou mayst do it
innocently, seeking the consent of the lady to this courtship of thine;
but I tell thee, as one who knows more of the matter than thou canst,
that thou wilt only meet with disappointment."

"Hath the Queen other schemes for her?" asked Babington, anxiously; and
Richard, thinking of the vista of possible archdukes, replied that she
had; but that he was not free to speak, though he replied to
Babington's half-uttered question that his son Humfrey was by no means
intended.

"Ah!" cried Antony, "you give me hope, sir. I will do her such service
that she shall refuse me nothing! Sir! do you mock me!" he added, with
a fierce change of note.

"My poor lad, I could not but laugh to think what a simple plotter you
are, and what fine service you will render if thou utterest thy vows to
the very last person who should hear them! Credit me, thou wast never
made for privy schemes and conspiracies, and a Queen who can only be
served by such, is no mistress for thee. Thou wilt but run thine own
neck into the noose, and belike that of others."

"That will I never do," quoth Antony. "I may peril myself, but no
others."

"Then the more you keep out of secrets the better. Thou art too
open-hearted and unguarded for them! So speaks thy well-wisher,
Antony, whose friendship thou hast won by thine honourable conduct
towards my rash boy; though I tell thee plainly, the maiden is not for
thee, whether as Scottish or English, Cis or Bride."

So they parted at the gate of the park, the younger man full of hope
and confidence, the elder full of pitying misgiving.

He was too kind-hearted not to let Cicely know that he should see her
mother, or to refuse to take a billet for her,--a little formal note
necessarily silent on the matter at issue, since it had to be laid
before the Earl, who smiled at the scrupulous precaution, and let it
pass.

Thus the good father parted with Humfrey and Diccon, rejoicing in his
heart that they would fight with open foes, instead of struggling with
the meshes of perplexity, which beset all concerned with Queen Mary,
and then he turned his horse's head towards Wingfield Manor, a grand
old castellated mansion of the Talbots, considered by some to excel
even Sheffield. It stood high, on ground falling very steeply from the
walls on three sides, and on the south well fortified, court within
court, and each with a deep-arched and portcullised gateway, with
loopholed turrets on either side, a porter's lodge, and yeomen guards.

Mr. Talbot had to give his name and quality, and show his pass, at each
of these gates, though they were still guarded by Shrewsbury retainers,
with the talbot on their sleeves. He was, however, received with the
respect and courtesy due to a trusted kinsman of their lord; and Sir
Ralf Sadler, a thin, elderly, careworn statesman, came to greet him at
the door of the hall, and would only have been glad could he have
remained a week, instead of for the single night he wished to spend at
Wingfield.

Sadler was one of Mary's most gentle and courteous warders, and he
spoke of her with much kindness, regretting that her health had again
begun to suffer from the approach of winter, and far more from
disappointment.

The negotiation with Scotland on her behalf was now known to have been
abortive. James had fallen into the hands of the faction most hostile
to her, and though his mother still clung with desperate hope to the
trust that he, at least, was labouring on her behalf, no one else
believed that he cared for anything but his own security, and even she
had been forced to perceive that her liberation was again adjourned.

"And what think you was her thought when she found that road closed
up?" said Sir Ralf. "Why, for her people! Her gentlewoman, Mrs.
Mowbray, hath, it seems, been long betrothed."

"Ay, to Gilbert Curll, the long-backed Scotch Secretary. They were to
be wed at Stirling so soon as she arrived there again."

"Yea; but when she read the letter that overthrew her hopes, what did
she say but that 'her servants must not grow gray-headed with waiting
till she was set free'! So she would have me make the case known to
Sir Parson, and we had them married in the parish church two days
since, they being both good Protestants."

"There is no doubt that her kindness of heart is true," said Richard.
"The poor folk at Sheffield and Ecclesfield will miss her plentiful
almsgiving."

"Some say it ought to be hindered, for that it is but a purchasing of
friends to her cause," said Sadler; "but I have not the heart to check
it, and what could these of the meaner sort do to our Queen's
prejudice? I take care that nothing goes among them that could hide a
billet, and that none of her people have private speech with them, so
no harm can ensue from her bounty."

A message here came that the Queen was ready to admit Mr. Talbot, and
Richard found himself in her presence chamber, a larger and finer room
than that in the lodge at Sheffield, and with splendid tapestry
hangings and plenishings; but the windows all looked into the inner
quadrangle, instead of on the expanse of park, and thus, as Mary said,
she felt more entirely the prisoner. This, however, was not
perceptible at the time, for the autumn evening had closed in; there
were two large fires burning, one at each end of the room, and tall
tapestry-covered screens and high-backed settles were arranged so as to
exclude the draughts around the hearth, where Mary reclined on a
couch-like chair. She looked ill, and though she brightened with her
sweet smile to welcome her guest, there were dark circles round her
eyes, and an air of dejection in her whole appearance. She held out
her hand graciously, as Richard approached, closely followed by his
host; he put his knee to the ground and kissed it, as she said, "You
must pardon me, Mr. Talbot, for discourtesy, if I am less agile than
when we were at Buxton. You see my old foe lies in wait to plague me
with aches and pains so soon as the year declines."

"I am sorry to see your Grace thus," returned Richard, standing on the
step.

"The while I am glad to see you thus well, sir. And how does the good
lady, your wife, and my sweet playfellow, your daughter?"

"Well, madam, I thank your Grace, and Cicely has presumed to send a
billet by mine hand."

"Ah! the dear bairnie," and all the Queen's consummate art could not
repress the smile of gladness and the movement of eager joy with which
she held out her hand for it, so that Richard regretted its extreme
brevity and unsatisfying nature, and Mary, recollecting herself in a
second, added, smiling at Sadler, "Mr. Talbot knows how a poor prisoner
must love the pretty playfellows that are lent to her for a time."

Sir Ralf's presence hindered any more intimate conversation, and
Richard had certainly committed a solecism in giving Cicely's letter
the precedence over the Earl's. The Queen, however, had recalled her
caution, and inquired for the health of the Lord and Lady, and, with a
certain sarcasm on her lips, trusted that the peace of the family was
complete, and that they were once more setting Hallamshire the example
of living together as household doves.

Her hazel eyes meantime archly scanned the face of Richard, who could
not quite forget the very undovelike treatment he had received, though
he could and did sturdily aver that "my Lord and my Lady were perfectly
reconciled, and seemed most happy in their reunion."

"Well-a-day, let us trust that there will be no further disturbances to
their harmony," said Mary, "a prayer I may utter most sincerely. Is the
little Arbell come back with them?"

"Yea, madam."

"And is she installed in my former rooms, with the canopy over her
cradle to befit her strain of royalty?"

"I think not, madam. Meseems that my Lady Countess hath seen reason to
be heedful on that score. My young lady hath come back with a grave
gouvernante, who makes her read her primer and sew her seam, and save
that she sat next my Lady at the wedding feast there is little
difference made between her and the other grandchildren."

The Queen then inquired into the circumstances of the wedding
festivities with the interest of one to whom most of the parties were
more or less known, and who seldom had the treat of a little feminine
gossip. She asked who had been "her little Cis's partner," and when
she heard of Babington, she said, "Ah ha, then, the poor youth has made
his peace with my Lord?"

"Certes, madam, he is regarded with high favour by both my Lord and my
Lady," said Richard, heartily wishing himself rid of his host.

"I rejoice to hear it," said Mary; "I was afraid that his childish
knight-errantry towards the captive dame had damaged the poor
stripling's prospects for ever. He is our neighbour here, and I
believe Sir Ralf regards him as somewhat perilous."

"Nay, madam, if my Lord of Shrewsbury be satisfied with him, so surely
ought I to be," said Sir Ralf.

Nothing more of importance passed that night. The packet of accounts
was handed over to Sir Andrew Melville, and the two gentlemen dismissed
with gracious good-nights.

Richard Talbot was entirely trusted, and when the next morning after
prayers, breakfast, and a turn among the stables, it was intimated that
the Queen was ready to see him anent my Lord's business, Sir Ralf
Sadler, who had his week's report to write to the Council, requested
that his presence might be dispensed with, and thus Mr. Talbot was
ushered into the Queen's closet without any witnesses to their
interview save Sir Andrew Melville and Marie de Courcelles. The Queen
was seated in a large chair, leaning against cushions, and evidently in
a good deal of pain, but, as Richard made his obeisance, her eyes shone
as she quoted two lines from an old Scotch ballad--

"'Madame, how does my gay goss hawk?
Madame, how does my doo?'

Now can I hear what I hunger for!"

"My gay gosshawk, madam, is flown to join Sir Francis Drake at
Plymouth, and taken his little brother with him. I come now from
speeding them as far as Derby."

"Ah! you must not ask me to pray for success to them, my good
sir,--only that there may be a time when nations may be no more
divided, and I fear me we shall not live to see it. And my doo--my
little Cis, did she weep as became a sister for the bold laddies?"

"She wept many tears, madam, but we are sore perplexed by a matter that
I must lay before your Grace. My Lady Countess is hotly bent on a
match between the maiden and young Babington."

"Babington!" exclaimed the Queen, with the lioness sparkle in her eye.
"You refused the fellow of course?"

"Flatly, madam, but your Grace knows that it is ill making the Countess
accept a denial of her will."

Mary laughed "Ah ha! methought, sir, you looked somewhat as if you had
had a recent taste of my Lord of Shrewsbury's dove. But you are a man
to hold your own sturdy will, Master Richard, let Lord or Lady say what
they choose."

"I trust so, madam, I am master of mine own house, and, as I should
certainly not give mine own daughter to Babington, so shall I guard
your Grace's."

"You would not give the child to him if she were your own?"

"No, madam."

"And wherefore not? Because he is too much inclined to the poor
prisoner and her faith? Is it so, sir?"

"Your Grace speaks the truth in part," said Richard, and then with
effort added, "and likewise, madam, with your pardon, I would say that
though I verily believe it is nobleness of heart and spirit that
inclines poor Antony to espouse your Grace's cause, there is to my mind
a shallowness and indiscretion about his nature, even when most in
earnest, such as would make me loath to commit any woman, or any
secret, to his charge."

"You are an honest man, Mr. Talbot," said Mary; "I am glad my poor maid
is in your charge. Tell me, is this suit on his part made to your
daughter or to the Scottish orphan?"

"To the Scottish orphan, madam. Thus much he knows, though by what
means I cannot tell, unless it be through that kinsman of mine, who, as
I told your Grace, saw the babe the night I brought her in."

"Doubtless," responded Mary. "Take care he neither knows more, nor
hints what he doth know to the Countess."

"So far as I can, I will, madam," said Richard, "but his tongue is not
easy to silence; I marvel that he hath not let the secret ooze out
already."

"Proving him to have more discretion than you gave him credit for, my
good sir," said the Queen, smiling. "Refuse him, however, staunchly,
grounding your refusal, if it so please you, on the very causes for
which I should accept him, were the lassie verily what he deems her, my
ward and kinswoman. Nor do you accede to him, whatever word or token
he may declare that he brings from me, unless it bear this mark," and
she hastily traced a peculiar-twisted form of M. "You know it?" she
asked.

"I have seen it, madam," said Richard, gravely, for he knew it as the
letter which had been traced on the child's shoulders.

"Ah, good Master Richard," she said, with a sweet and wistful
expression, looking up to his face in pleading, and changing to the
familiar pronoun, "thou likest not my charge, and I know that it is
hard on an upright man like thee to have all this dissembling thrust on
thee, but what can a poor captive mother do but strive to save her
child from an unworthy lot, or from captivity like her own? I ask thee
to say nought, that is all, and to shelter the maid, who hath been as
thine own daughter, yet a little longer. Thou wilt not deny me, for
her sake."

"Madam, I deny nothing that a Christian man and my Queen's faithful
servant may in honour do. Your Grace has the right to choose your own
daughter's lot, and with her I will deal as you direct me. But, madam,
were it not well to bethink yourself whether it be not a perilous and a
cruel policy to hold out a bait to nourish hope in order to bind to
your service a foolish though a generous youth, whose devotion may,
after all, work you and himself more ill than good?"

Mary looked a good deal struck, and waved back her two attendants, who
were both startled and offended at what Marie de Courcelles described
as the Englishman's brutal boldness.

"Silence, dear friends," said she. "Would that I had always had
counsellors who would deal with me with such honour and
disinterestedness. Then should I not be here."

However, she then turned her attention to the accounts, where Sir
Andrew Melville was ready to question and debate every item set down by
Shrewsbury's steward; while his mistress showed herself liberal and
open-handed. Indeed she had considerable command of money from her
French dowry, the proceeds of which were, in spite of the troubles of
the League, regularly paid to her, and no doubt served her well in
maintaining the correspondence which, throughout her captivity, eluded
the vigilance of her keepers. On taking leave of her, which Richard
Talbot did before joining his host at the mid-day meal, she reiterated
her thanks for his care of her daughter, and her charges to let no
persuasion induce him to consent to Babington's overtures, adding that
she hoped soon to obtain permission to have the maiden amongst her
authorised attendants. She gave him a billet, loosely tied with black
floss silk and unsealed, so that if needful, Sadler and Shrewsbury
might both inspect the tender, playful, messages she wrote to her
"mignonne," and which she took care should not outrun those which she
had often addressed to Bessie Pierrepoint.

Cicely was a little disappointed when she first opened the letter, but
ere long she bethought herself of the directions she had received to
hold such notes to the fire, and accordingly she watched, waiting even
till the next day before she could have free and solitary access to
either of the two fires in the house, those in the hall and in the
kitchen.

At last, while the master was out farming, Ned at school, and the
mistress and all her maids engaged in the unsavoury occupation of
making candles, by repeated dipping of rushes into a caldron of melted
fat, after the winter's salting, she escaped under pretext of attending
to the hall fire, and kneeling beside the glowing embers, she held the
paper over it, and soon saw pale yellow characters appear and deepen
into a sort of brown or green, in which she read, "My little jewel must
share the ring with none less precious. Yet be not amazed if
commendations as from me be brought thee. Jewels are sometimes useful
to dazzle the eyes of those who shall never possess them. Therefore
seem not cold nor over coy, so as to take away all hope. It may be
much for my service. Thou art discreet, and thy good guardians will
hinder all from going too far. It might be well that he should deem
thee and me inclined to what they oppose. Be secret. Keep thine own
counsel, and let them not even guess what thou hast here read. So fare
thee well, with my longing, yearning blessing."

Cicely hastily hid the letter in the large housewifely pocket attached
to her girdle, feeling excited and important at having a real secret
unguessed by any one, and yet experiencing some of the reluctance
natural to the pupil of Susan Talbot at the notion of acting a part
towards Babington. She really liked him, and her heart warmed to him
as a true friend of her much-injured mother, so that it seemed the more
cruel to delude him with false hopes. Yet here was she asked to do a
real service to her mother!

Poor Cis, she knelt gazing perplexed into the embers, now and then
touching a stick to make them glow, till Nat, the chief of "the old
blue bottles of serving-men," came in to lay the cloth for dinner,
exclaiming, "So, Mistress Cis! Madam doth cocker thee truly, letting
thee dream over the coals, till thy face be as red as my Lady's new
farthingale, while she is toiling away like a very scullion."





Next: A Tangle

Previous: The Clash Of Swords



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