Bess and her husband were apprehensive when they discovered that he was an Italian named Julio Borgarucci.
Bess took him to the apartment which had been prepared for him and then hurried to the Earl.
“Are you thinking the same as I am?” she asked.
“An Italian!” murmured the Earl. “We know what they are noted for.”
“I fancy I have heard of this man. He is not so much a physician as a professional poisoner.”
“Do you think he comes on the command of the Queen?”
“Who knows? Leicester is one of those who believe they can act first and ask the Queen’s permission afterward.”
“I’ll not have my prisoner poisoned under my roof.”
“Ah, Shrewsbury, you are truly vehement for once! But I had forgotten—she is more than your prisoner, is she not?”
“She is the Queen of Scotland.”
“Your beloved Queen of Scotland! You must protect her at all costs . . . against Leicester’s Italian . . . against Elizabeth herself, if this man comes by her command.”
“I believe, my dear Bess, that you feel in this manner as I do. You would never agree that such a foul deed should be done to a helpless woman in our care.”
Bess nodded; but she was not so sure. She kept thinking of her granddaughter, little Arabella Stuart. Since the birth of this child, Bess could not stop thinking of the bright possibility of her wearing the crown. The fewer to stand before her in the line of succession the better; consequently Bess had felt less kindly toward the Queen of Scots since the birth of Arabella. Not that she showed this; not that she entirely admitted the fact to herself; but it was there . . . lurking at the back of her mind, and the advent of Julio Borgarucci to Sheffield could only renew it.
But Shrewsbury could be determined when he made up his mind. He would not allow Mary to eat any food which was not prepared by her own faithful servants. He dropped hints to Seton who was doubly watchful; so no harm came to Mary through the visit of Borgarucci; and Shrewsbury seized an early opportunity to have the man sent from Sheffield.
How zealous he is to preserve Mary’s safety! thought Bess. Rarely have I seen Shrewsbury bestir himself so much.
She wondered then if he were in truth enamored of Mary. She did not greatly care if he were. All her thoughts were becoming more and more centered on the future of little Arabella.
SETON WAS PREOCCUPIED, Mary noticed, and she believed she knew the reason why. Andrew Beaton was continually seeking opportunities to be in her company; at first she had repulsed him; now she did not do so. But neither Seton nor Andrew Beaton behaved like two people in love.
Mary thought of them often. If Seton were in love she should marry and go away from here. This could be arranged. Andrew might go to Scotland or, if that was too dangerous, to France. Seton, like herself, thought Mary, had not thrived in these damp and drafty castles which had been their homes for so long. Seton suffered from pains in her limbs similar to those which affected Mary; and a few gray hairs were beginning to show. No one could live in this captivity and not show the effects of it. Mary thought with a start: In a few years’ time, if we go on like this, Seton and I will be old women.
It was characteristic of Mary that, although she herself was unable to escape, and although Seton was her dearest friend, she should consider Seton’s happiness rather than her own.
Seton must marry Andrew Beaton and she, Mary, would do all she possibly could to give them a chance of happiness.
She tackled Seton as they sat at their needlework alone.
“Seton, what of Andrew Beaton?”
A hot flush spread across Seton’s pale face. “What of him, Your Majesty?”
“I think he is in love with you. Are you with him?”
Seton shrugged her shoulders. “If I were, it would be of little consequence.”
“Of little consequence! Seton! What are you saying? I think love is of the greatest consequence. If you are in love with Andrew and he with you you should marry.”
“My family would never permit the match. You know Andrew is only a younger brother.”
“Nonsense!” cried Mary. “I do not believe you yourself are affected one little bit by such a consideration. The Beatons are a noble family. You are seeking excuses. And I tell you this, Seton, that if you decided to marry Andrew, I would, as far as I am able, bestow some title upon him which would make the Setons quickly change their opinion.”
Seton shook her head.
“Seton, you are not refusing Andrew on account of someone else?”
“No other man has asked me to marry him.”
“I did not mean a man. You have some foolish notion that your duty lies with your poor mistress.”
Seton turned to Mary and threw herself into her arms. “Do you think I could ever leave you?”
“Oh Seton, Seton, this is unlike you. You must not weep. My dearest friend, do you think I could be happy knowing that I had stood between you and your happiness?”
“My happiness is with you.”
“No, Seton. It is with Andrew. Do you think I am blind?”
“I have vowed to stay with you forever.”
“Such a vow can be broken.”
“It never can!” cried Seton vehemently.
“It is going to be. I am going to command you to break it.”
“It is not as simple as you think. I have taken a solemn and sacred vow to devote myself to a life of celibacy. This could never be broken.”
“It could be broken if you had a dispensation. We will send Andrew to his brother the Archbishop who is now in Paris, and ask him to tell us the best means of securing this dispensation. He can bring us new silks for our embroidery while he is there and perhaps some clothes. Seton, will you agree that I send for Andrew at once?”
Seton’s eyes were filled with tears. “How could I ever leave you?”
“But you love Andrew.”
“I love you both.”
“Then, my friend, you must leave me to decide for you.”
Mary then sent for Andrew Beaton and in the presence of Seton told him of the conversation which had taken place between them.
“Go to Paris, Andrew,” she said. “Come back with your brother’s advice on how this foolish friend of mine can be released from her folly.”
Andrew turned to Seton, and as she smiled he strode toward her and took her into his arms.
Mary stood watching their embrace, smiling tenderly, praying that Seton would now enjoy the happiness she deserved, wondering whether the future might not hold some similar joy for her.
VERY SOON after that interview Andrew Beaton set out for Paris. It soon became known throughout the castle that when he returned he and Seton would be married. Mary brought out all the materials which had been sent to her from France and there was activity in her apartments. Several of the women, with Mary in charge, were working on Seton’s wedding dress which was to be beautifully embroidered. Caps and sleeves were designed and stitched, and each day there was speculation as to whether this would be the one on which Andrew returned.
Seton looked younger every day, and Mary was sure that she had made the right decision for her. When she has children, Mary thought, she will thank me for insisting that she take a husband and renounce her foolish vow to serve me.
Yet Seton’s happiness was clouded because that friendship, which had lasted all their lives, would never be quite the same again after she was married. The Queen had been her first consideration for so long, and Seton wondered how Mary would fare without her.
So they stitched through the summer days until the coming of autumn; and the main topic of conversation was Seton’s coming wedding.
IT WAS A DULL AUTUMN DAY when the messenger came to Mary. She took the letters he brought and, when she read the contents of one of these, she sat as though stunned. She could not believe it. It was too cruel. It seemed to her then that all those who loved her were as unlucky as she was.