Mary, completely generous, accepted as readily as she would have given. But she did trust Lesley’s judgment. She therefore made an endeavor to obtain money from France and sent her secretary across the Channel with that purpose. His efforts failed, but meanwhile rumors of her pecuniary difficulties became known in certain quarters, and those who were carefully watching the political state of affairs in England decided that this matter might be turned to advantage.
LESLEY RECEIVED A CALL from the Spanish ambassador.
“I have heard,” said the ambassador, “that the Queen of Scots needs money, and I have had instructions from His Most Catholic Majesty that I am to do all in my power to assist the Queen.”
Lesley was exultant. It seemed to him that if Mary must accept money it were better to do so from a friendly power than from a private individual. Mary’s secretary, Raulet, had been sent to France to try to raise a loan; and here was one being offered by Spain.
“I know His Most Catholic Majesty to be the good friend of the Queen of Scots,” murmured the Bishop.
“He desires to help her in her need,” went on the ambassador, “and I will give you a bill of exchange which you may draw on the banker, Roberto Ridolfi.”
“I tender you my most grateful thanks and I know that the Queen will do the same.”
“Then come to my lodging in an hour’s time and you shall have it.”
Lesley said that he would do so, and when they had parted the Spanish ambassador went to the Italian banker and talked with him for a while. He knew that Ridolfi was a Papal spy; and that both the Pope and the King of Spain were determined to prevent at all costs the marriage of Catholic Mary with Protestant Norfolk. “If she accepts our money,” said the banker, “she will have taken the first step. The Northern Catholics assure me they are ready to revolt under Northumberland. We will set the Queen of Scots at their head. And then . . . with luck we shall drive the bastard Elizabeth from the throne.”
“She will accept the money. She needs it; and she realizes that it is not meet for her to take it from Norfolk. It will be for ten thousand Italian crowns . . . a sturdy sum, which will show her that we are her friends. Doubtless she feels the need of friends at this moment. And I’ll swear she has no notion of how ready Northumberland is to march on the Protestants of England.”
The two men conferred further together, and when Lesley arrived he was greeted warmly by the banker, who hinted that he was aware of Spain’s desire to help the Queen. He was certain too that the Pope deplored her present plight.
Lesley left, with the money which seemed like a fortune to him; and, what seemed almost as good, the knowledge that Mary had powerful friends.
LESLEY, BISHOP OF ROSS, came to Wingfield to talk with the Queen.
Mary received him eagerly and was pleased to see how optimistic he was, for Lesley was never a man to disguise the true state of affairs.
“Your Majesty,” he said, “I come in person because there are some matters it is better not to trust to letters. I have great hopes that your captivity will soon be over.”
“My dear Bishop,” cried the Queen, “you could not bring me better news.”
“Your marriage with Norfolk will bring you freedom, and the project is now receiving the support of men of standing.”
“Yes?”
“Leicester himself.”
“Leicester! Then this means that Elizabeth herself gives her consent.”
Lesley was thoughtful for a moment. “I am not sure that we have come as far as that. In her bad treatment of you, Elizabeth has been advised to act as she did by Cecil, who is determined to keep a Protestant ruler in Scotland. Cecil’s influence on the Queen does not please her ambitious ministers. But for Cecil, Leicester might have been Elizabeth’s husband. I believe that at the time of the Amy Robsart affair he came near to it. Leicester never forgave Cecil, and he sees now a chance of flouting his authority by giving his support to the marriage with Norfolk.”
“They say the Queen is still enamored of Leicester.”
“I believe it to be true. I have seen them together, and although she encourages others to admire her, there is a shade of difference in her manner when she is near him. If Leicester approves of the match with Norfolk, I am of the opinion that he will persuade Elizabeth to do so. I have letters here from Leicester and certain other noblemen in which they praise Norfolk and tell you that they will give their support to a marriage between you.”
“Give me the letters,” said Mary; and when Lesley did so she opened them with hands which shook with excitement. What Lesley had said was true. There was the letter, written in Leicester’s own hand, commending the Duke of Norfolk, persuading her to marry him, and assuring her that he had the nobility behind him when he told her that, should the Queen of England die without heirs, they would support her as the rightful heir to the throne. He went on to say that he was sure the Queen of England could be persuaded to see the wisdom and justice of this.
When Mary had finished reading, she looked at Lesley with sparkling eyes. She felt young again; full of hope. “I shall soon be free of my prison,” she murmured.
Then she thought of another prisoner. Bothwell. What hope had he of ever being released! The French would insist on his remaining shut away; they would never allow one who had played such a devastating role in her life to go free; and if he were free, where would he go? To Scotland, where certain death awaited him at Moray’s hands? To England? Elizabeth would never tolerate him there. What were his thoughts at this time? How much had he changed?
These months of imprisonment had for her been at times almost intolerable. But what of him? She at least had her friends, and a certain consideration must be shown a Queen even by her enemies. But what did Bothwell suffer, and how would one so bold and vital endure such suffering?
She had ceased to yearn for him as she had a year ago. She knew that he had disappeared completely from her life and she would never see him again. Indeed, if they did meet they would not be the same people because the Mary, who had lost her crown for love of him, had gone forever. A woman grown sober by captivity and suffering had taken the place of that headstrong girl. Bothwell must have changed too. What was that blustering, fascinating, irresistible adventurer now?
She was aware of Lesley, waiting for her to speak. “Bothwell?” she murmured.
“We do not anticipate any difficulty in having that marriage annulled,” said Lesley.
THE EARL OF SHREWSBURY was anxious. It was all very well for Bess to say that she would manage their affairs, but he was the one who would be blamed if they failed in their duty. The guarding of such an important political prisoner was a constant anxiety, and he had never been a man who could stand up against perpetual worry. His head ached continually; he found that when he rose from his bed in the mornings he was giddy. It was no use complaining to Bess of these matters, or even mentioning them. “All you need is a little fresh air,” she would say, “and you’ll be better tomorrow!”
Bess was alert however. She knew as well as he did that messengers from the North and South were finding their way to the Queen’s apartment. Intrigue was rife and, if it ever was brought into the light of day, the Shrewsburys must be on the right side.
Which was the right side? The Queen of England was strong; but if it were true that men such as Leicester, Arundel and Pembroke were eager to promote the marriage of Norfolk and Mary without having first obtained Elizabeth’s consent, who could be sure what would happen next?
Shrewsbury was a man who wished to remain poised cautiously between two factions, so that he might leap onto the winning side at an opportune moment.
He had already reported to Elizabeth that a young man named Cavendish—who was connected with Bess through her second husband, Sir William Cavendish—was bringing letters to Mary from Norfolk. Elizabeth’s reply had been that she was aware of this and that she wished Cavendish to be allowed to carry messages to the Queen. This sounded as though Cavendish were a spy for Elizabeth while feigning to work for Norfolk. Who could know who was a friend, who was an enemy, in such a morass of deceit?