We know this, even my stepgrandmother and her family and I, exiles from the court, at my lady grandmother’s house at Grimsthorpe, in Lincolnshire, know this, because the whole country knows that Mary has called on Elizabeth and sent her a token. It is an object of such power that Elizabeth cannot refuse. It is the ring, the diamond ring that Elizabeth gave her five years ago when she swore eternal love and friendship and said that Mary should send to her in case of need, and that she would not fail her.
I follow this story—all the world follows this story—as if it were a breathless tale published in printed sheets and sold by balladeers. It is an irresistible story of one great queen swearing infallible aid to another, and now the promise is called in. I cannot wait to hear where Mary is. I cannot wait to know what she will do next.
I think Elizabeth must send her help. She should have sent an army to support Mary when she first broke from her prison. But now—our cousin is free and defenseless, now she sends the ring that will summon Elizabeth’s support without fail. Elizabeth has to be true to her public oath, has to rescue our cousin the queen.
There is no news of any special grant going to Scotland. But of course, Elizabeth could send secret funds and tell no one. There is certainly no army mustering, for we would know of that, even tucked away here in the country. I think that perhaps Elizabeth will meet with the Privy Council and persuade them that they must support the Queen of Scots, so that majesty itself is not threatened. I think that perhaps she will call parliament and name Mary as her heir—finally take herself to that sticking point of naming her—so that the Scots can see that they may not attack Elizabeth’s kinswoman and heiress, that it is in their interest to return her to her throne so that Mary can pass on her title to her son and finally the thrones of Scotland and England will be united.
There are rumors that the French will snatch her from the coast of Scotland. She is their kinswoman and she is desperate. And if they rescue her before we do, and the Queen of Scots is in French hands, how shall England be safe from attack? Will she not make another marriage to a great prince and win back her kingdom and remember her cousin Elizabeth as a disloyal breaker of a sacred oath, an unreliable ally, a false kinswoman? Will she not think of the English as false-faith enemies? Will she not take the throne by force that should have been offered her by right?
Everything points to Elizabeth saving our cousin and restoring her to her throne. There are compelling reasons that she must do so. There is no good argument for any other course of action. As a kinswoman, as a fellow queen, as one who has given her sacred word, Elizabeth must help Mary. She cannot refuse.
But still we hear nothing. I write to my aunt Bess on my own account, asking if, at a convenient moment, she will ask the queen if I might be set free to live in one of her houses. I ask it for the love I know that she bore my mother and that she promised to my sister. And I ask her also for news. Does she know what is happening about my cousin Mary Queen of Scots, and is she to be rescued? Does she know any news at all?
Before I have any reply to my letter my stepgrandmother comes into my private room, where I am reading Latin with a lady-in-waiting, and says: “You’ll never ever guess what has happened now.”
I jump down from my chair, frightened at once. I have not lived a life where good news is expected. “What is it?”
“Mary Queen of Scots has crossed the Solway Firth, left Scotland, landed in England, and written a public letter to Elizabeth saying that she expects to be returned to Scotland at once, with an English army in her support.”
I think that I should be excited. It is another bold brilliant move. Mary is forcing Elizabeth’s hand. Elizabeth cannot prevaricate, as she always does, when our cousin is so bravely decisive. But I don’t feel excitement; I feel dread. “Has the queen replied?”
My lady grandmother is bright. “My husband, Richard, is with the court at Greenwich, and he says that Elizabeth and Cecil are hammering out the terms. Elizabeth says that Mary must be restored to Scotland with a strong army. The Scots must know (everyone must know) that they cannot throw down a queen. William Cecil agrees, so the Privy Council will agree. Nobody will argue that a queen can be destroyed by such as John Knox, on our very doorstep. Parliament will have to vote funds, an army will have to be raised. Queen Mary will be sent home to Edinburgh and Elizabeth will have to send an army to fight for her.”
“She will do that?”
“She’s done it before. She sent an army to Scotland against the Catholic regent. She won that battle. She knows it can be done.” My lady stepgrandmother reflects. “And besides, it won’t come to that. The Scots lords don’t want a battle with England. Half of them are in our pay already. If Elizabeth and Cecil muster an army, the Scots will know that they have to take their queen back and make peace with her. It was Bothwell they couldn’t stomach; many of them truly love Queen Mary.”
“I like to think of her as free,” I say. “I know that she is a papist and perhaps a sinner, but I am glad she is out of Lochleven Castle and free, whatever happens next. I think of her often: as beautiful as Katherine, near to her in age, and I like to think that she, of all of us cousins, is free.”
There is one Tudor cousin who does not celebrate the freedom of Queen Mary. Our cousin Margaret Douglas, vengeful as a harpy, dashes with her husband, the Earl of Lennox, to court, both of them draped in deep perpetual mourning for their son the wastrel Henry Stuart, Lord Darnley, to fling themselves at Elizabeth’s feet in tears: they must have justice for their son. Queen Mary is his killer, she must be sent back to Scotland in irons, she must be tried for murder. Elizabeth must arrest her, she must be burned as a husband killer.
The queen is impatient with her cousin. Darnley went to Scotland at his mother’s bidding and refused to come home to England when he was commanded by Elizabeth; she will never forget that. He took up arms against his wife; we have all heard that he held a primed pistol to her pregnant belly. He was certainly a victim of the Scots lords, who hated him; but there is no certain evidence that Queen Mary was involved in the plot. And anyway, Margaret my cousin should know by now that Elizabeth has a resilient conscience. How does she think Amy Dudley died?
Elizabeth explains, gently enough, that the Scots cannot try their queen, no people can put their ordained monarch on trial. Equally, Elizabeth has no authority over Mary. They are both queens and Elizabeth cannot arrest Mary or imprison her. Queens make the law, so they are above the law. She is certain that Mary will have a full explanation when she meets her mother-in-law. It is a private matter between them. In short, nobody cares very much what Margaret Douglas thinks. To be honest, nobody ever has.
But it makes me uneasy, as the days get warmer and I have no reply from Aunt Bess, Countess of Shrewsbury, as she is now, and no news from court that I am to be moved anywhere else. It makes me uneasy that I am still a prisoner, held by my stepgrandmother, and at the same time, my cousin Mary Queen of Scots is in the safekeeping of Sir Francis Knollys at Carlisle Castle. It seems that Elizabeth has no accusation to bring against either of us, her cousins; but both of us are still imprisoned. Does she think she can hold us both till we die of despair like Katherine?