Dacre was going to do his best to stop that marriage.
He knew also that there was another faction in England which was eager to prevent it. This was the Catholic party of the North who were determined that Mary should never marry with Protestant Norfolk. The fact that this party was headed by Dacre’s cousin, the Earl of Northumberland, made it easy for Leonard Dacre to become a member of it; and, since he was on visiting terms with the Queen of Scots, he was in a position to be very useful.
Dacre was determined that Mary should reject Norfolk and agree to the plans of the Northumberland faction, which were that she should make an alliance with Don Jon of Austria, who would come to England and fight for her cause—and not only her cause. There was another, very dear to the hearts of the Catholics of the North—the dethroning of the Protestant Queen whom they looked on as a bastard and no true Queen of England, and the setting up in her place of the Catholic Mary Queen of Scots.
It was while Countess Bess was with her sick husband and preparing to leave for Buxton—for although she had not yet received Elizabeth’s permission she had gone ahead with her preparations—that Dacre called at Wingfield Manor and asked for an audience with the Queen. Mary was working on her tapestry with Seton and Jane Kennedy, and when she received him these two remained with her.
Dacre knew that they were in her confidence and to be trusted, and that if he were alone with the Queen it would give rise to suspicion, so he decided to lay his plan before the three of them.
“I believe, Your Majesty,” he said, “that it would not be difficult for you to leave this prison.”
Mary, who had continued her work, held her needle poised while she looked at Dacre. He noticed the quick color in her cheeks. Talk of escape could always excite her.
“How so?” she asked.
Dacre went on: “I have a perfect plan to lay before you. Do you think that I have not given a great deal of thought to this, nor that I am the only one behind it. Your Majesty, not far from this place armed men are waiting to help you. You have only to escape from this manor, gallop a few miles, and you will be with them. They are ready to put hundreds of men in the field to fight for you.”
“You mean . . . Norfolk?”
Dacre could not help the note of anger creeping into his voice. “I mean my cousin Northumberland.”
“Ah yes,” said Mary quietly.
“You know that he is working for you. He has the Pope and the King of Spain behind him.”
“They are too ambitious,” said Mary. “They want to give me not only Scotland but England. I can be content with Scotland.”
“They will meet your wishes in every way. Westmorland is with Northumberland. They cannot fail. But first they wish for your release. Once you are free, every Catholic in England will demand that you be given your rights. Your throne will be yours once more.”
“And how do you propose to bring about my release?”
“Since the sickness of the Earl, rules have become a little lax at Wingfield Manor.”
“It’s true,” Mary agreed.
“I have not been idle. I have made friends among the guards and servants here. I do not think it would be a major task for you to walk out of this Manor in the dress of one of your women.”
Mary looked at Seton and Jane Kennedy who were sitting tense, their needles held above the canvas, and she knew they were as excited as she was.
“It would be Lochleven all over again,” Mary murmured.
“It was done there,” said Dacre. “It can be done here. Only here you have more friends to help you. I tell you, we cannot fail.”
He looked across at Seton. “The Queen could wear a headdress like yours. She could wear your gown and cloak. You could wear hers. You could be seen together in the great hall . . . and the Queen—in your gown, in your cloak—could walk out, leaving you in her clothes in the hall.” He turned to Jane Kennedy. “You could be there also, talking as you would talk to the Queen, addressing her as ‘Your Majesty’ . . . and so you two could walk back to these apartments while the Queen walked out of the Manor . . . out to the horses which would be waiting for her. The deception could be kept up for hours . . . perhaps a day or more. It would not be so difficult, particularly if the Earl and Countess should leave for Buxton.”
“But if they left,” said Seton, “someone would surely be sent to take their places. And a new jailor would most certainly be watchful.”
“It must happen before the new man arrives,” declared Dacre.
“In that case,” said Jane, “before the Shrewsburys leave.”
“If necessary. But they will be busy with their preparation. There could not be a better moment to put this plan into action. What does Your Majesty say?”
“I will think of it.”
“There must be no delay.”
“I shall give you my answer within a few days.”
Dacre was excited. She would agree. There was nothing she longed for so much as escape. This would be the end of Norfolk’s ambition to marry the Queen. He would learn what it cost to meddle in the affairs of the Dacres.
As for Northumberland and Westmorland, they chafed against delay. But he would be able to tell them that the Queen liked the plan.
In a short time the Catholics of the North would be in revolt against the Protestant Queen of England.
AS SOON AS DACRE had gone, Mary put aside her tapestry.
“What does Your Majesty think of the plan?” asked Seton.
“It is a good one. You know, Seton, you and I are of the same height. If you dressed my hair as yours is dressed, and I put on your clothes, I’ll warrant I could impersonate you so that many would be deceived.”
“I am sure you could.”
“And you could impersonate me, Seton. Who could know me better than you? When I have gone you could take to my bed for a day or so—and nothing would be discovered.”
Jane Kennedy said, “We could rehearse it. It is so simple. I know it would succeed.”
“I wonder,” put in Seton, “why Your Majesty did not at once agree to the plan.”
“You have forgotten, Seton, that I am affianced to the Duke of Norfolk. I could not agree to do this until I had consulted him.”
There was silence. Then Seton asked: “You think it is wise to commit this plan to paper?”
“As you know, I write to him in code. As my affianced husband I could not dream of acting without his approval. But I will write to him now and my letter shall be taken to him with all speed. Seton, bring my writing materials, and we will not have a moment’s delay.”
BESS FUMED about the Manor. She was ready to leave for Buxton, but there was no answer to the request she had made to the Queen.
Bess believed it imperative that the Earl should be removed from Wingfield, for as he grew better his worries were returning and she was not going to risk another attack which, she was well aware, could be fatal.
She had explained the details of her husband’s illness to Elizabeth, but it seemed that the Queen believed that the task she had assigned to Shrewsbury was more important than his life.
She is wrong there! Bess told herself. Queen or no Queen, I shall not stand by and see poor Shrewsbury suffer such another attack which will doubtless kill him or leave him an invalid for the rest of his life. We are going to Buxton.
Bess went to the window, as she did every few minutes, to see if there were any signs of the Queen’s messenger. She clenched her fist in anger. No sign of a rider!
She summoned certain of her servants.
“We are leaving for Buxton this day,” she told them. “Have all made ready for our departure.”
She then made her way to the Earl’s bedchamber where he was lying on his bed, still very weak.
“All is well,” she told him. “We are leaving for Buxton.”
“So . . . she has given her consent? Oh, Bess, you are indeed a wonderful woman. When I think of the way she behaved toward Knollys.”