His eyes had gone to the smoldering pile in the grate and he understood. He was too late to find that which he had hoped to send to the Queen. But perhaps there was something left.
Mary gasped with indignation to see his guards already coming into the apartment.
“But this is monstrous! Am I to enjoy no privacy?”
“I beg Your Majesty’s pardon, but I am obeying the orders of my mistress, the Queen of England.”
It was no use pleading.
Within the hour Mary and her suite, in the company of Hereford and his armed guard, had left Wingfield Manor for Tutbury. Hereford was disappointed. He had come to her apartments just too late to seize the documents which he knew must be there. All he had to send to Elizabeth was the cipher she had used in her correspondence with Norfolk. Still, that might prove of some use.
THROUGH THE GOLDEN September day they traveled.
When Mary saw the fortress on the red sandstone rock and the marshy lands surrounding it, her spirits drooped.
Her whole mind and body called out a protest: Not Tutbury!
As soon as she entered her old apartments that evil smell assaulted her nostrils, bringing with it memories of sickness.
How could she endure those bleak rooms, one above the other, connected by that cold stone staircase?
Tutbury seemed to her a place without hope.
She was anxious on account of one of her women—Margaret Cawood, wife of Bastian, who had been married at the time of Darnley’s murder—for Margaret was pregnant, and Mary was wondering how she would fare in the cold of Tutbury during the winter months which lay ahead.
There was more to concern her than a cold and uncomfortable house. Hereford was handing her over to the Earl of Huntingdon who, he explained, was to take the place of the Shrewsburys as her keeper.
Mary was aghast at Elizabeth’s choice, and she thought there was some sinister meaning behind it, for Henry Hastings, Earl of Huntingdon, the son of Catherine Pole and therefore a descendant of the Duke of Clarence, had royal connections and a remote claim to the throne.
Such a claim might have made him extremely unpopular with Elizabeth, and she was naturally watchful of him; but she knew that he would be more eager than most people in her realm to prevent a marriage between Mary and Norfolk, that he would be very anxious to incriminate the Queen of Scots if it were possible to do so—and therefore she considered him highly qualified to have charge of Mary at this stage.
He received the Queen respectfully but coolly, and as she was conducted to those well remembered and much loathed apartments she felt that the walls of Tutbury were closing about her forever.
MARY STOOD BENEATH the vaulted ceiling and covered her face with her hands to shut out the sight of the place.
Seton, close to her, whispered: “Your Majesty, do not despair.”
“It is this place, Seton. I loathed it from the moment I entered it. I loathe it even more now that we have returned to it.”
“Let us hope there will be another move, ere long.”
“We can always hope.”
“Who knows what will happen, Your Majesty? The Duke has had to retire from Court, but there are still your friends in the North. Perhaps they will come marching to Tutbury and carry you away.”
“Who knows? Meanwhile we stay here. Oh . . . this smell, Seton! It makes me feel so ill. And what of Margaret? How is she? How did she endure the journey? Is she resting now? She should.”
“Before the child is due we shall be away from here,” soothed Seton. “Have you noticed we never stay anywhere long?”
“It may be that I shall be carried from here in my tomb.”
“Your Majesty, it is unlike you to despair so soon.”
“Blame the stench, Seton. But listen, you see who our jailor is. I shall never feel safe while he is here. He is a claimant to the throne of England. Why, if Elizabeth were to die without heirs, I believe he would try to take the crown. And here am I at his mercy. What do you think, Seton? Will it be the poison cup? Or a dagger while I lie abed?”
Seton saw that the Queen was near hysteria and she wondered how to comfort her. Secretly she was cursing the walls of Tutbury which she hated as fiercely as Mary did.
“There is someone at the door,” she said.
“Go and see who is there and say that I am too weary to be seen this day.”
Seton went, and Mary heard her say: “Her Majesty is indisposed and wishes to rest . . . .”
But Seton was thrust aside and when the Countess of Shrewsbury came into the room, Mary gave a cry of pleasure. Nothing could have pleased her more than to hear that the Earl and his wife were reinstated in their old posts and that the Earl of Huntingdon was to be dismissed.
“Your Majesty,” said Bess, curtsying.
“It gives me pleasure to see you,” Mary told her. “I trust this means that Huntingdon is returning to London.”
Bess grunted angrily. “Oh no. He is to remain here. He is to be our jailer. The Earl and I are his prisoners even as Your Majesty is. Have you ever heard the like! We are prisoners in our own castle!”
Mary was speechless. Not so Bess.
“I shall not allow it, of course. I will tell Huntingdon that neither the Earl nor myself will stomach any interference in our doings. I shall keep a sharp eye on Master Huntingdon. I believe he begins to understand that.”
“You are, like myself, out of favor with the Queen,” said Mary.
“I displeased her by saving my husband’s life.”
Mary was smiling; it was surprising how the gloom of the last half hour was being dispersed by the dynamic Bess.
“We shall stand no nonsense from him!” went on Bess. “Nor should Your Majesty.”
“I shall certainly not do so.”
Bess smiled. “If there is aught Your Majesty requires, I pray you make your wishes known to me. I shall do my best to see that they are carried out.”
“I pray you be seated,” said Mary. “I would hear news of the Earl’s sickness and recovery.”
Bess sat down and they talked; and as they did so Mary realized that now she had a firm ally in the castle. Bess intimated that she would be watchful of Huntingdon, and she warranted that if two clever women put their heads together they had nothing to fear from meddling Earls.
When Bess had left, Seton noticed how the Queen’s demeanor had changed.
MEANWHILE ELIZABETH had summoned Norfolk to appear before her at Windsor. She sent similar summonses to the Earl of Arundel and Pembroke, Lord Lumley and Sir Nicholas Throckmorton, whose names had been given her by Leicester, those noblemen who, with himself, had banded together to bring about Mary’s marriage to Norfolk.
Norfolk, who was at Kenninghall, wrote to Elizabeth pleading sickness which prevented him from traveling. Meanwhile Arundel, Pembroke and their friends, having obeyed the Queen’s summons, were promptly arrested and conveyed to the Tower, where they were questioned in the hope that they would incriminate the Queen of Scots in treason against the throne of England.
They assured their questioners that Mary had had no designs on Elizabeth’s crown and that the suggestion of marriage with Norfolk had not come from her.
Meanwhile Elizabeth had sent a peremptory order to Norfolk. Sickness or no sickness, he was to present himself to her without delay.
In great trepidation Norfolk set out, was arrested on the way and taken straight to the Tower.
When the news of his arrest was brought to Elizabeth she showed grim satisfaction. She was going to teach the premier peer of England a lesson. But there was one other at whom she longed to strike. Ever since she had heard that Mary had allowed herself to be called Queen of England she had been watchful of her. She had attempted to capture Mary on her return from France to Scotland; she would never be at peace while Mary lived; and when fate (in the shape of the folly of the Queen of Scots) had delivered Mary into her hands she had been exultant.