I have let too many chances pass by, she told herself. If I had been bolder I might not be a prisoner now.
But for that one sentence . . . . But if she were restored to the throne, if she were free and able to command, she would tell them that she forbade them to allow any harm to come to Elizabeth. She would say: It may be that she is a bastard, but the people of England have accepted her as their Queen, and she is indeed the daughter of Henry VIII.
She would answer the letter.
She sent for Jacques and told him to take notes. He looked at her with those dark eyes of his which had once been so affectionate and now were often reproachful. At this moment they were fearful.
Never mind. She was the one who must make decisions.
“Trusty and well beloved,” she began.
And Jacques took up his pen and wrote.
She wanted to know what forces they could raise, what captains they would appoint; what towns were to receive help from France, Spain and the Low Countries; at what spot the main forces were to be assembled; what money and armor they would ask for; and by what means had they arranged her escape. She begged Babington to be wary of all those surrounding him, for it might be that some who called themselves friends were in truth his enemies.
She put forward three methods by which she might escape from her prison. Firstly she might take the air on horseback to a lonely moor between Chartley and Stafford; if, say, fifty or sixty men well armed could meet her there, they could take her from her guards, for often there would be only eighteen or twenty of these with her and they would only be armed with pistols. Secondly, friends might come silently to Chartley at midnight, set fire to the barns, stables and outbuildings which were near the house and, while this was being extinguished, it would be possible, with the help of her trustworthy servants, to rescue her. Thirdly, her rescuers might come with the carters who came to Chartley in the early morning. Disguised they could pass into the castle, upsetting some of the carts under the great gateway to prevent its being closed, while they took possession of the house and brought her out of it to where armed supporters could be waiting half a mile or so away.
She ended with the words:
God Almighty have you in protection.
Your most assured friend forever.
Fail not to burn this quickly.
Mary sat back watching the two secretaries at work. Immersed in the task, they forgot the danger, and Mary felt alive again.
“This cannot fail. This cannot fail,” she whispered. “Soon now I shall be free.”
It was difficult to wait patiently for the brewer to come for the empty barrels. What joy when at last he came, when the box was put into place and the letter sent on its way.
PAULET BROUGHT THE LETTER to Phillipps.
“At last,” sighed the latter. “I thought it would never reach me.”
“It would have aroused suspicions, had we changed the routine in any way.”
“Of course. Of course.” Phillipps broke the Queen’s seals and looked at the document. He glanced up at Paulet, anxious to be alone that he might continue with his task of deciphering.
Paulet understood and left him, and as Phillipps labored, his shortsighted eyes close to the paper, he was almost trembling with excitement.
This was what they had been waiting for. Walsingham was going to be delighted with his servant. Phillipps could scarcely wait to decipher it all.
At last his task was completed and he read through the damning letter.
Was it enough? Would it satisfy Walsingham?
Then he had an idea. Why should he not add a postscript to this letter? No sooner had the idea entered his head than he set to work.
I should like to know the names and qualities of the gentlemen who are to accomplish the task, for it may be that I should be able to give further advice; and even so do I wish to be made acquainted with the names of such principal persons. Also from time to time how you proceed, and how far everyone is privy hereunto.
The letter was ready for dispatch to Walsingham, and all in good time it would reach Babington.
Delighted with his work, Phillipps made a little design on the outside of the letter. It was of a gallows.
WHEN BABINGTON eventually received the Queen’s letter he put it to his lips and kissed it.
Now, he told himself, our plans will soon come to fruition. The Queen is with us. She will never forget us when we have brought her out of her prison. This is the happiest day of my life.
Now he was going to answer the letter in detail, as she so clearly desired. He would get together all the information that she asked and gladly give it to her. The moment was at hand.
It was while he was writing his reply that his servant came to tell him that a friend had called and was asking to see him.
Ballard was ushered into his room, and as soon as they were alone together it became clear that Ballard was agitated.
“All is not well,” he said. “I fear there is treachery among my servants.”
Babington was startled. He thrust his hands out of sight, because he feared they might begin to tremble.
“What has happened?” he demanded hoarsely.
“Little as yet. But we must take the utmost care. I have reason to believe that one of my servants is betraying us. I saw him in conversation with a man in a tavern who I know was at one time an agent of Walsingham’s.”
“You have questioned this servant?”
“No. It would be unwise to arouse suspicions. I shall watch him. But in the meantime I wanted to warn you to act with the utmost caution.”
“I was about to write a letter to the Queen in reply to hers.”
Ballard caught his breath and held out his hand for Mary’s letter. When he read it he was silent.
“If this fell into the wrong hands all our endeavors would be wasted,” he said.
“My dear Ballard, of course it cannot fall into the wrong hands. All our correspondence has been reaching us through that honest man, the Burton brewer. Gifford has arranged this excellent method of carrying letters to and from the Queen. You cannot doubt its efficiency?”
“I do not. But I say, at this stage move with care. Do not answer that letter until we have satisfied ourselves that all is well.”
Babington was disappointed, and Ballard thought how young and impetuous he was, and for the first time questioned the wisdom of making him the leading spirit in the conspiracy.
“If you value our lives, do not write to the Queen until we are sure that we are safe,” he insisted.
Babington nodded slowly. “You are right,” he added, with regret.
When Ballard had gone, he tried to recapture his dream of Babington, the first minister of the new Queen of England. But it would not return. Instead other pictures—grotesque and terrifying—were forcing themselves into his mind.
Ballard had shaken him.
WALSINGHAM WAS WAITING IMPATIENTLY for the letter he expected, and when it did not come, he guessed that the suspicion that all was not well must have struck the conspirators. He had not meant to make arrest at this point. There was more information that he had hoped to acquire through that interesting correspondence. But if the conspirators were aware that they were being watched, there must be a hasty change of plans.
Babington might be called the leader of the plot, but the experienced Ballard would certainly be the chief instigator. A sharper watch should be kept on Ballard.
As the days passed Ballard’s suspicions grew stronger, and he called a meeting of his friends in St. Giles’s Fields at dusk.
When they were all gathered there he said that they must disperse after the meeting and wait until they had further news from him. He suspected they were being spied on, and he was determined to question the spy without further delay.