Mary asked to be shown this garden and Bess led her out of the manor to a small lake which was almost concealed by thick foliage. In the center of this lake was a tower and to approach it it was necessary to cross a stone bridge. With Bess, Mary entered the tower and climbed the spiral staircase to a flat roof. On this flowers, and even trees, had been planted. About the garden was a balustrade, beautifully carved, and from it there was a superb view of the surrounding country.
“It is very beautiful,” Mary murmured.
“Then while Your Majesty stays with us, it shall be your garden.”
“Thank you. I shall enjoy it.” Mary smiled ruefully. “I doubt not that when I visit it I shall be accompanied by guards. They will wait for me at the bridge, but perhaps they will not come with me to my tower-top garden, because it would be impossible for me to escape from there.
“I beg Your Majesty not to despair,” Bess comforted. “Now that we have rid ourselves of the zealous Huntingdon, I shall sue the Queen for favors for you. I know she will agree to what I ask, in time.”
Mary laid her hand on Bess’s arm.
“At least,” she said with a smile, “if I must have a jailor, I could not have a more kindly one.”
And in a very short time she became attached to her garden and planted flowers of her own choice. She and Seton or Jane Kennedy and Marie Courcelles went there often. It was exhilarating to look across the country from the top of the tower, even though she knew that guards were stationed at the bridge, that they would take their stand all around the lake, that they would accompany her back to the manor when she went, and that they would be posted at all important spots.
She was a prisoner, but she could live more comfortably at Chatsworth than she had at Tutbury.
SHE HAD NOT BEEN LONG at Chatsworth when Seton brought a letter to her.
“It was given to me by one of the servants who is a friend of a butler in the house of the Earl of Derby,” she was told.
Mary read the letter which contained an impassioned appeal from Thomas and Edward Stanley, who declared themselves ready to die in her cause. They were making plans for her escape. Other gentlemen who had had the honor of seeing her on her arrival were with them, and they proposed to write to her in cipher which was being worked out for them by a priest in the house of Mr. Rolleston. Would she allow them to make plans? They could arrange for letters to be smuggled in and out of the house.
Mary in her reply thanked them for their good efforts on her behalf; she was, however, affianced to the Duke of Norfolk and could do nothing without his consent. She would however write and tell him of their proposals, and they would be hearing from her in due course.
Norfolk’s reply was noncommittal, yet he did not altogether banish the idea of using the young men of Derbyshire. He wrote that it might not be wise for those young men to meddle at this time, when Elizabeth might be prepared to treat her as she should be treated; but if such a plan were to be put into action, Derby’s sons were the sort of men he would like to see at its head.
Thus encouraged, the conspirators brought Lesley, Bishop of Ross, into the plan; and because he, having lived close to Elizabeth and having been her prisoner, had a more intimate knowledge of what could be expected at her hand, he was inclined to view any attempt to escape with favor.
Thus the summer months were enlivened with these plans and, as it was always a matter for rejoicing when letters were safely smuggled into the house, and as without this kind of excitement life would have been intolerably dull, Mary indulged once more in dreams of escape.
The plan was progressing. Mary was to escape from her window by means of a cord; horses were to be waiting and she was to be conducted to Harwich where a ship would be ready to sail for Flanders.
News of this plan leaked out and was discussed in the inns and taverns of the Duke of Norfolk’s territory. He was in the Tower, and the people of Norfolk grumbled to one another that it was not justice that their own Duke should be kept in the Tower merely because he had thought of marrying.
At Harleston Fair one man stood on a platform and addressed the crowds. Where was their Duke, he demanded of them. Was it fitting that a noble Duke—their own Duke of Norfolk—should be kept a prisoner in the Tower? The Duke’s place was in Norfolk with his own people.
There were shouts of agreement and very soon several hundreds had collected to shout their disapproval of a Queen who had thrown their own Duke into the Tower when he had committed no crime.
“We’ll march to the Tower!” cried the man who had first spoken. “We’ll burn down the place and we’ll bring our Duke back to Norfolk where he belongs.”
The march began; but before it had gone more than a few miles it was intercepted by the Queen’s soldiers who promptly arrested the ringleader and hanged them on the nearest trees, while the rest of the rioters turned and fled for their lives.
The disturbance was ended almost before it began, but when news of what had happened reached Elizabeth’s ears she was uneasy. Nothing could depress her so utterly as a rising of her subjects against her. She was not afraid of her ministers; she knew how to deal with them. One step to the Tower and the next to the block were easily accomplished. But loss of popularity with the common people was her constant dread.
Whenever she experienced it—however slight, however remote—she always knew that, if only for her peace of mind, something had to be done.
IN HIS GLOOMY PRISON in the Tower Norfolk was growing more and more uneasy.
Each time a letter was brought to him, very often concealed in the cork of an ale bottle, he trembled; he could not help wondering when the ruse would be discovered; it was ironical that he, who had vowed that he would never become involved in treason, should be caught up in the intrigues surrounding Mary Queen of Scots.
Marriage with her would be a big prize and therefore perhaps he would have to take a risk or two.
But there were occasions when, gazing up at the bars in his cell or leaning against the cold stone wall, he wondered if he would ever be released and whether, when he was, it would be to make that short journey, which so many had taken before him, to Tower Hill, with the blade of the executioner’s axe turned toward him.
Now there was plague in the prison. All knew that in such an atmosphere it could spread like fire in a gale, so perhaps he would be taken out in his coffin.
His keeper, Sir Henry Neville, who had been specially appointed by the Queen to watch over him, treated him with the respect due to his rank; but he knew that if the Queen gave the order for his execution, Neville would not hesitate to do all that was required of him. There was little hope of his ever leaving this prison unless Elizabeth relented.
Neville came into his cell, and they sat at the small table playing cards, as they often did to pass the time.
“How goes the plague?” asked Norfolk.
“Bad . . . very bad.”
Norfolk studied the cards, but he was not thinking of the game.
“Would to God I could go back to the country. I should keep well away from Court, I do assure you.”
“And you’d be wise in that,” answered Neville. “There have been riots in Norfolk and that does not please the Queen. Some of your men at a fair, I hear, wanted to know why you were being kept a prisoner in London.”
“The devil they did!” said the Duke with a smile. “And what was the Queen’s answer to that?”
“Short and swift. The ringleaders are now swinging on gibbets, a warning to any Norfolk yeomen who shout ‘A Howard!’”
“Then I fear that has done me little good.”
“None, I fear. Nor will any good be done you until there is no longer talk of a marriage between you and the Queen of Scots.”