“I am sure,” put in the Dowager Lady Curwen, “that our good Queen would be most displeased if we showed aught but warm hospitality to her kinswoman.”
“I hope soon to be with her,” Mary answered. “Then I shall tell her how happy I was to be so warmly received as soon as I stepped on her soil.”
Lady Curwen led the way to her own rooms, and, while water was brought and Mary and her ladies washed the stains of the journey from their persons, clothes were sent in for them.
For Mary there was a gown of crimson brocade slashed with white satin; it was fortunately loose, which helped to hide the fact that the fit was not perfect. Jane Kennedy combed the long chestnut hair back from the high forehead and a small round cap was placed at the back of Mary’s head, over which was a veil, edged with gold; this draped gracefully over her shoulders.
When she was dressed in these garments Mary felt almost gay. The worst was over, she told herself; the next step would be the meeting place Elizabeth suggested—and then, with England’s help, would begin the regaining of her throne.
There were clean clothes for her female attendants and, when they had changed, they felt their spirits rising. It was only three days since the defeat at Langside, but those had been spent in almost continual travel, frequently by night, and it was a great relief to put on clean garments.
When Mary went to the apartments which had been prepared for her she found food and wine waiting for her there because, explained Lady Curwen, her servants were endeavoring to prepare a repast which would, they hoped, be more worthy of their royal guest.
Mary’s warm-hearted thanks immediately won the friendship of the Curwens, and when they had made sure that the Queen had everything she needed and was resting in her apartments they left her to concern themselves with arrangements for her entertainment.
It was a few hours after the Queen’s arrival at Workington Hall and while she was still resting, when a messenger came riding into the courtyard demanding to be taken with all speed to Sir Henry Curwen.
When Sir Henry received the messenger he was informed that the man came from the Earl of Northumberland, the lord of the district.
Northumberland had heard that the Queen of Scots had arrived in England; he was not as surprised by this as Sir Henry Curwen had been, because he had heard from Sir Richard Lowther that Lord Herries had written to him asking for Mary’s safe conduct. He was therefore on the alert; and he knew his duty. He did not wish the Queen to know that she was again a prisoner, but this was what she must be until instructions were received, in the name of Elizabeth, as to what was to be done with her. Northumberland’s commands were that on the following day Curwen’s royal guest was to be conducted from Workington Hall to Cockermouth Hall. Northumberland, not being in residence at his Castle, could not entertain her there, and it was for this reason that she was to be lodged at Cockermouth Hall, the home of Henry Fletcher, a rich merchant of the district. He was sending guards who, the Queen must be made to believe, were to protect her on the short journey and to conduct her thither; actually they would be there to make sure she did not escape.
Curwen, listening to these instructions, was indignant, but he dared not disobey Northumberland; and when the Queen appeared for supper he told her that the Earl of Northumberland had heard of her arrival and wished to entertain her in his castle. Unfortunately he was not in residence, but invited her to go to Cockermouth, where she would be entertained until he could reach her.
Mary was not displeased and without suspicion. She knew that Northumberland was a Catholic, and therefore she believed he would be an ally.
“But,” she said, “I shall be very sorry to say goodbye so soon to you and your family, Sir Henry. You have made me so welcome and I shall never forget that you were my first friends in England.”
It was a merry supper which was eaten in the dining hall at Workington. Mary looked very beautiful in her crimson brocade; and when Lady Curwen brought her a lute, she played and sang a little.
She was full of hope and high spirits when she retired to her apartments. She slept long and deep. The nightmare of Langside and the three days of exhausting travel seemed to have happened a long time ago.
I was right, she thought, to come to England.
THE RISING SUN awakened her and it was some seconds before she realized where she was.
She raised herself and looked out of the window. England! she thought. This time yesterday she had been in Scotland, and already she had good friends here, in the Curwens and Northumberland. Soon she would be calling Elizabeth her friend.
She would write to Elizabeth; then she was sure there would be no delay. She would receive a warm invitation to ride south with all speed, and how wonderful it would be to meet the Queen in that Hampton Court of which she had heard so much! How long would it be? She was impatient for the meeting.
She found that the writing materials for which she had asked had been set out on a table and, rising from her bed, she sat down and wrote to the Queen of England.
I entreat you to send for me as soon as possible, for I am in a pitiable condition, not only for a Queen but even for a gentlewoman, having nothing in the world but what I had on my person when I escaped . . . .
She sighed and looked at the crimson brocade almost lovingly. Soon, she believed, she would have some clothes becoming to her station. She had a feminine interest in them and had enjoyed adding little touches to make them entirely her own, and if she could only have some of her own clothes sent to her she would feel more like herself.
. . . I hope to be able to declare my misfortunes to you if it pleases you to have compassion and permit me to come and bewail them to you. Not to weary you, I will now pray God to give you health and a long and happy life, and to myself patience, and that consolation I await from you, to whom I present my humble commendations. From Workington this 17th of May. Your very faithful and affectionate good sister and cousin and escaped prisoner,
Mary R.
She sealed this letter and went back to her bed to await the arrival of her attendants.
THE SUN WAS HIGH in the sky when Mary left Workington Hall for Cockermouth. The distance the cavalcade had to travel was only six miles but it was across country which enchanted Mary. She saw the winding Derwent and the English mountains with the peak of Skiddaw, dominating all others, stretching up to the blue sky, while her own Scottish mountains rose like grim guards on the other side of the Solway.
She was confident. She had received such kindness from her hosts; Sir Henry and his son rode with her now and the people of Workington had come out of their houses to see her ride by. They gave her a cheer and stared in admiration now that she was in red brocade and flowing veil.
Cockermouth Hall was as pleasant a residence as Workington Hall and its owner, Henry Fletcher, who was as eager to make her welcome as Sir Henry Curwen had been, was waiting to receive her. He bowed low and told her that he had had apartments made ready for her on the first floor, where the most spacious rooms in Cockermouth Hall were situated. He considered it an honor to entertain the Queen of Scotland in his house and if there was anything she lacked he begged her to make him aware of this.
Mary thanked him and her gracious charm had the same effect upon him as it had had on Sir Henry Curwen. Her pleasure was increased when she found that she had been given three large rooms, leading from each other, which would be her antechamber, presence chamber and bedchamber.
Henry Fletcher, who conducted her thither, expressed a hope that they would suffice during her brief stay on her way to Carlisle Castle, where she would be lodged in a manner more fitting to her estate.
Mary thanked him and added that she could not have been more comfortable in any castle; and if only she had some of her own clothes she would feel completely at home.