“She gave me none, Your Majesty.”
Mary was despondent, but only momentarily; it was such a novelty to have a visitor, and such a charming young man, who could not hide his admiration for her, was very welcome.
“Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth is displeased with Scotsmen at this time,” she went on. “I have had complaints that on the Border some have been carrying out raids on English territory. I am sorry for this, but she must realize that at this moment I am in no position to enforce my rule.”
“Her Majesty would know that, I am sure,” answered George.
“I wonder if you would be good enough to carry a message from me to the Queen?”
“I could take a message to my father who would see that it reached her.”
“Then tell him that if any border robbery has been carried out by any of my followers I could have them punished. If their names are sent to me, my friends would see that, since they injure my cause, they should be suitably dealt with. But if they belong to my enemies—which I think certain—it is beyond my power to prevent their ill conduct.” She went on confidingly: “You will have heard talk of me.”
“I have, Your Majesty.”
“And much that is ill has been said of me, I’ll swear.”
George flushed slightly and then said vehemently: “I would never again believe aught against Your Majesty.”
She smiled ruefully. He had told her so much in that remark; she guessed that gossip, concerning Darnley’s murder and her hasty marriage to Bothwell, was rife and that the scandal touching herself was boundless.
“Ah,” she said, “it is sad when evil stories are spread regarding a lonely woman who has no means of defending herself.”
“I shall assure all I meet of your innocence,” he told her.
“Which has not been proved to you,” she reminded him.
“But it has, Your Majesty. Ever since I came into your presence I have known those tales to be false. I know that your conduct could never be aught but good and noble.”
Here was adoration similar to that which she had received from George Douglas. Her spirits were raised. George Carey would be her good friend—even as that other George had been.
She told him of her adventures since she had arrived in England. “It is August now, and it was May when I came south. I thought to go straight to Hampton Court that I might meet the Queen and lay my case before her. Alas, here I remain—the guest of the Queen of England, but in truth her prisoner.”
“If there were aught I could do . . . ” began George passionately.
“You could speak with your father who I believe has some influence with the Queen of England.”
“I will do this. And if there is aught else I can do to serve Your Majesty . . . ”
When Sir Francis Knollys asked permission to enter the Queen’s apartments and found his nephew still in her company, he was well pleased.
He could see that it had been an excellent plan on his part to bring the young man to Bolton Castle.
DURING THOSE late summer days bad news came to Bolton Castle. Rumors of Mary’s possible conversion to Protestantism had reached Moray and filled him with panic. Nothing could have caused him greater disquiet.
The Queen a Protestant! If that were indeed true, before long there would be a clamor for her return. The only reason why so many had flocked to his banner was because he was of their religion and the Queen was not.
Moray never delayed when he thought action was necessary. The greatest boon he could ask for was that Mary should remain Elizabeth’s prisoner, an exile from Scotland.
This was indeed a blow. And he must take immediate countermeasures. So the result of Mary’s brief flirtation with the Reformed Faith was that a vicious attack was made on her supporters in Scotland; and the Regent’s forces seized their lands and possessions so that those who might have rallied to Mary’s aid would not be in a position to do so for a very long time.
ALL THROUGH SEPTEMBER Mary waited to hear news of when the Conference, at which her future would be decided, was to take place.
She knew that some of her friends deplored the fact that she had allowed matters to go so far in such a direction. Seton was one who believed that the Queen of Scotland should never have put herself in such a position as to allow herself to be judged by a court set up by the Queen of England and her ministers.
How right Seton was! thought Mary. And yet, what could she do? When she had fled to England she had placed herself in Elizabeth’s power.
Lady Scrope, now far advanced in pregnancy, came to her one day with news that Elizabeth had named her Commissioners.
The Earl of Sussex was to be one, and Sir Ralph Sadler another.
Mary was horrified to hear that the latter had been appointed. Sadler had been one of Cecil’s agents, and she knew that he had long been engaged in negotiations with Moray. Cecil was her enemy and sought to keep her in England, she knew, so that Moray might hold the Regency. And this man—who was assuredly one of her most bitter enemies—had been appointed a Commissioner of the Queen!
Why therefore was Lady Scrope—who had always shown herself to be a friend—looking so pleased?
“There is one other who has been appointed with these men,” Margaret Scrope explained. “It is natural that he should be. Even the Queen must realize that he is the premier peer of England.”
A smile was slowly spreading across Mary’s face. “You mean?”
Margaret nodded. “His Grace the Duke of Norfolk is also among Elizabeth’s Commissioners, and Your Majesty may be sure that he will apply himself to your cause with all the zeal of which he is capable.”
In her relief Mary embraced her friend. Margaret smiled, well content.
She was certain that a marriage between them would not be displeasing to Mary.
NOW THAT MARY HEARD that Elizabeth’s Commissioners were chosen she decided on her own: Lord Herries should be one, and he, with Livingstone and Boyd, should be assisted by Sir John Gordon, the Laird of Lochinvar, Sir James Cockburn of Skirling and Gavin Hamilton, the Abbot of Kilwinning.
There was one other whom she was anxious to consult—the Bishop of Ross, John Lesley—and she lost no time in sending a messenger to London, where she knew he was, asking him to come to her with all speed.
Lesley arrived at Bolton Castle during early September, and as soon as she talked to him Mary realized what a grave view he took of her case.
He had been endeavoring to obtain permission from Elizabeth for the Duke of Châtelherault to come to England that he might be present at the inquiry; but Elizabeth had made continual excuses not to grant this.
Lesley shook his head sadly. “The reason being of course that she fears the appearance of one of royal blood at the hearing might sway opinion in your favor.”
“You believe then,” said Mary, “that it is the Queen of England’s desire that I should appear guilty?”
Lesley lifted his shoulders noncommittally, but he continued to look grave and Mary went on impulsively: “But this hearing of the case is being conducted that the disobedient lairds shall answer before the Queen of England’s Commissioners for their ill-treatment of me. When they have admitted their offenses, it is agreed that they shall be forgiven, and we shall all be reconciled and I regain my throne.”
But Lesley, a man of wider experience than Herries, was not so easily deceived by Elizabeth; and he did not believe in evading the truth for the Queen’s comfort.
“It was a grave mistake, I fear,” he told her, “to have allowed the English to interfere in this matter. This reconciliation which we all fervently hope will come about, should be a matter between you and Scotsmen, and should be achieved without meddling by the English. I fear Your Majesty has many enemies and they will do all within their power to defame your character.”