NORFOLK’S REPLY was almost frantic. She must not listen to these wild plans for her escape. She must stay where she was. He believed that those friends whom she was prepared to trust might well, in spite of their promises, desert her if they should find themselves in danger. It would be folly for him to try to leave his prison, for if he were caught in the attempt he would surely lose his head; whereas at the moment, since he had committed no crime, he was in little danger. But if she were to escape, she could be sure that Elizabeth would take revenge on him.
When Seton read this letter she felt a dull anger within her, being certain that Norfolk was serving his own cause rather than the Queen’s. “It would seem that we are working for the good of my lord Norfolk rather than the Queen of Scots,” she said bitterly.
“Our causes are one,” Mary replied. “I should never forgive myself if he suffered through my actions.”
“Let us hope,” retorted Seton, “that he would feel the same if harm came to you through any of his.”
“I am sure he shares my feelings,” was Mary’s reply. “Do not forget that he is my affianced husband.”
So, mourned Seton, there was another opportunity lost for bringing the Queen out of her doleful prison.
WHEN MARY’S DESPAIR threatened to become intolerable she would give her attention to the care of others; and one person in her retinue who needed care at this time was Margaret Cawood, who was expecting to give birth to a child.
Margaret was not so rigorously confined as Mary was, yet the Queen did not believe the air of Tutbury was good for anyone; and she made sure that Margaret was lodged as far from the obnoxious privies as possible and that she took regular exercise.
She asked Huntingdon—who carefully watched all comings and goings to and from the castle—if he would permit a midwife to attend Margaret. Anxious to assure the Queen that he was eager to help her as far as he could, Huntingdon agreed, and a midwife was found who paid regular visits.
One day Margaret was discovered in a faint, and when the news was brought to Mary she sent at once for the midwife, who on arriving examined Margaret, soothingly assured her that all was well and made her lie down.
When she left Margaret apparently sleeping, she asked if she might speak in private to the Queen as she was anxious about the condition of her patient. She wished to speak to the Queen alone because she did not want whispers of what she was about to say to reach Margaret’s ear, for as would readily be understood, it was necessary at this stage for her to have no worries about herself.
Mary, always anxious for the welfare of her servants, had the midwife brought to her presence immediately.
“What is wrong with Margaret?” she demanded. “Please do not hide anything from me.”
The midwife looked over her shoulder and whispered: “Are we quite alone?”
“We are,” replied Mary.
“Margaret’s condition is excellent. She pretends it is not so in order to give me this opportunity of speaking to Your Majesty in private. The Earl of Northumberland sends me to tell you that he has a plan for your escape which cannot fail. He wants you to change places with me and walk out of the castle in my clothes.”
Mary’s eyes sparkled; then she said: “And what of you when it is known that you have allowed me to do this?”
The midwife turned pale at the thought but she said: “I would do it.”
Mary shook her head. It would be certain and most painful death for the woman; and not only death. They would doubtless torture her to discover who was behind the plan and, much as Mary longed to escape, she would not allow this woman to suffer on her account. Noblemen had suffered hideous deaths but there was even less respect shown to humbler persons.
“I thank you with all my heart,” said Mary. “But I could not leave you to suffer what I know must be your fate if you played such a role.”
“I would do it for the good of the Catholic Faith.”
“Nay,” said Mary. “And in any case we should not deceive them for a moment. See how much taller I am than you! The clothes you wear would never fit me. The impersonation would be seen through at once.”
The midwife answered: “I will tell my master what Your Majesty has said and doubtless he will think of some other plan.”
After that messages were carried between Mary and Northumberland by way of the midwife, and a few days later Mary heard that the Countess of Northumberland, who was visiting a friend close by Tutbury, would come in the guise of a midwife, change clothes with Mary, and remain behind to impersonate her while Mary escaped.
Mary need have no fear of this impersonation’s being discovered, for the Countess of Northumberland was of similar height to the Queen; and, dressed in midwife’s clothes, a hood doing much to conceal her face, Mary might pass through the guards without the deception being noticed.
Moreover the Queen should have no qualms about leaving the Countess behind because, being of high nobility, she would not be treated as a humble midwife would. There was another point: very soon the Earl intended to raise the Catholic standard, and in that case he would very quickly rescue his wife from any predicament in which she found herself.
Intrigue was necessary to Mary’s existence. Now life might be uncomfortable but at least it was not dull. She allowed herself to listen to these new plans.
Huntingdon however had noticed that the midwife seemed to spend more time alone with the Queen than with her patient, so one day he stopped the woman on her way out of the castle, and she was searched. Fortunately there were no letters in her possession; but she was severely questioned and Huntingdon was not satisfied with her replies.
He ordered that the midwife was to be examined both when she entered and left the castle; and he himself would be present at her conference on the health of Margaret Cawood with the Queen.
The plot to smuggle Mary out of Tutbury as a midwife was stillborn.
THE WINDS OF OCTOBER buffeted the walls of the castle and, even though the winter had not yet come, it was bitterly cold in the Queen’s apartments. Mary felt a return of all the rheumatic pains she had suffered during the previous winter, and she suddenly became so full of despair that she was stricken with sickness. Each morning she would awake to that nauseating odor to which she could never become accustomed. Seton had placed on the bed as many coverings as she could find, but still Mary shivered. She was feverish and shivering in turn, and her friends feared for her.
Bess made hot possets for her and undertook to help with her nursing. She gave brisk orders to Mary’s women which they obeyed because they realized the efficiency and skill of the Countess. Chafing against the presence of Huntingdon in her home, Bess had determined to become the friend of Mary, although she was still alert when her husband was in the presence of the Queen.
When Mary was able to leave her bed for a short while she occupied herself by writing pitiful appeals to Cecil and to Elizabeth.
“You have known what it is like to be in trouble,” wrote Mary to the Queen; “judge then from that what others suffer in like case.”
Bess also wrote to Elizabeth. She admitted her fault in taking her husband to Buxton without waiting for her consent. “But Your Majesty, I had to choose between your consent and the life of my husband. I found myself, as a wife, obliged to choose in favor of the latter; and knowing the good heart of my mistress, I was certain that she would understand and forgive me.”
Bess went on to remind Elizabeth that the Queen of Scots had suffered no harm when under their care and that it made her and the Earl unhappy to be forced to endure the presence of a stranger as head of their own household.
Elizabeth read these letters and was thoughtful.
Mary was ill and confined to her bed; the Shrewsburys would never dare disobey her again; she would play the lenient and forgiving sovereign.