“Then goodbye… till we meet again,” replied Margaret.
That evening she and her attendants, with the children, came stealthily out of Edinburgh Castle; and as she rode through the night she was a frightened woman. What will become of my little ones? she asked herself. And she tried to forget that, in this desperate need, the man who should have stood beside her had deserted her lest through remaining with her he might hear the cheep of a mouse within prison walls.
He had been right, of course. What chance had she against a great military leader such as Albany? The flight to Stirling had been the one move left open to a desperate woman, and it could only mean delaying the inevitable climax for a few days — at best a few weeks.
On receiving Angus’s communication, Albany had been disgusted.
Poor woman, he thought, and a brave one too. How did she come to choose such a spouse, so childishly young, so ready to desert her side at the first sign of danger?
But for all his sympathy he had his duty to do; while Margaret kept the custody of the King she would be a formidable power; without him hers would be an empty title. Moreover he had to keep his word to the King of France whom he looked upon as his sovereign.
So he prepared to march to Stirling and slyly sent word to Angus that, as he wished to serve the Parliament, he should accompany the army which was about to leave for Stirling, its object being to secure the persons of the young King and his brother.
He felt a little less contemptuous when he received Angus’s reply that, although he wished to serve the Parliament, he could not join an army which was marching against his wife.
So Angus stayed on his estates while Albany marched on Stirling.
Margaret, deserted by her husband, knowing that she could not withstand a siege, decided that the only thing she could do was surrender to Albany; and then trust to her wits to bring her children back to her.
Thus, when Albany and his army arrived at the castle, Margaret ordered that the gates be thrown open, and she was revealed standing there with James beside her.
In his little hand he held the big keys of the castle and, walking up to the Regent Albany, as he had been told to do, he solemnly presented them to him.
Margaret’s sense of showmanship was superb; and as before the portcullis of Edinburgh Castle, all the spectators were moved to tears at the sight of that small and handsome boy, handing over the keys of the castle.
Albany knelt and took the keys, then he kissed the boy’s hand; and as though overcome by emotion he took him into his arms and embraced him while the watchers cheered.
James extricated himself and studied Albany intently. Then he said in his high, piping voice: “Can you sing ‘Ginkerton’?”
“I doubt that,” answered Albany with a smile.
“Davie can and so can I,” answered the young James, with the faintest sign of contempt; but he evidently liked the look of Albany, for he allowed his hand to remain in his as they walked to the Queen, when Albany bowed with all the respect that she could wish for.
Margaret was smiling, but she was thinking: I have surrendered my children. Shall I ever take them away from him?
Margaret had handed her children over to Albany in August, and she was expecting Angus’s child in October. As always during such times she suffered a great deal, and she was impatient with herself because she felt so weak.
While she planned for the arrival of the new baby she yearned for her sons and at times, frustrated as she was, she cried hysterically for them.
Again and again she recalled the fate of the Princes who had disappeared while in the Tower of London.
“How do I know that a similar fate does not await my own darlings!” she demanded. “Why has Albany come to Scotland? It is because he wants the throne. He is another Richard III. My little ones are in imminent danger.”
Spies flourished in such a situation, and there were many to report her words to Albany.
“She is accusing you of intending to murder the King and his brother,” he was told.
“Nay,” answered Albany, “do not blame her; she is a woman crying for her children. It grieves me that we must take them from her, but when she married young Angus she brought this on herself. Would that I could do aught to relieve her anxiety, but I cannot.”
In her calmer moments Margaret began to plan; and at last she made up her mind what she would do.
She was going to make a desperate attempt to recover her children and, when she had done so, to take them over the Border into her brother’s country where she would ask for refuge.
Angus had proved himself to be overweak; but there was Lord Home whose hatred for Albany was so intense that he was prepared to undertake any action against him. So she sent for Home and laid her plan before him.
“As you know, my lord,” she explained, “my time is coming near and my pregnancies have always caused me great suffering. I am therefore going into retirement at Linlithgow where I shall observe all the rules laid out by my grandmother, the Countess of Richmond, and thereby hope for an easy labor. At least that is what I wish everyone to believe; and I shall write to my brother telling him, for I know full well all the letters I write to him are seen by my enemies. While I am in Linlithgow I shall arrange for the abduction of my children and our escape across the border, and in this you shall help me.”
This was a project which appealed to Lord Home, for if he could bring about the rescue of the royal children it would be clear to Albany how foolish he had been not to cultivate his friendship.
He therefore threw himself wholeheartedly into the plan, and it was decided that Margaret should escape to Tantallan, the Douglas home near the Border, while Home’s Borderers should set fire to a small town near Stirling. Albany would then surely release some of the guards from Stirling Castle, where the royal children were, in order that they might defend the town. Home would then seize the opportunity to kidnap them and carry them to Tantallan where the Queen would be waiting to leave for England.
Now that she had a definite plan, Margaret’s spirits rose and she ceased to mourn, because she was certain that in a short time she, with her husband and children and the newborn little one, would be in the protection of her great brother Henry, where none would dare molest them.
She wrote to her brother the letter which she knew would be intercepted and shown to Albany and his ministers.
My dearest brother,
I write to you at this time to tell you that I propose to take to my chamber and lie in at my Palace of Linlithgow within this twelve days, for there are but eight weeks to my time. Matters go well here in Scotland under the new Regent and that is a great comfort to me at this time. I pray Jesus to send me a safe delivery and to have you, my dearest brother, in his good keeping…
She was smiling to herself, imagining Albany reading the letter, and his comments as he did so. He would congratulate himself that she had overcome her hysterical desire to keep her children with her; doubtless he would call her a woman of sound good sense.
Good sense indeed! she thought.
She had had the chamber at Linlithgow hung with tapestry and even the windows were covered with it, because her grandmother, the Countess of Richmond, who had had more influence with her son than any other person, had laid down a law as to how royal ladies should be treated in childbed, and one of the first rules was that all light and air should be excluded from the chamber; but the tapestry covering one window, however, might be placed so that it could be easily drawn aside, for in pregnancy women often had strange fancies which it was unwise to deny; and if a fancy for light and air should overtake an expectant mother, unwelcome as it was, she should be humored. All those who waited on her during her confinement must be women; therefore the tasks of chamberlains, pantlers, ushers, and sewers, which might at other times be allotted to men, must be done by women. Only in the case of dire need must a man be allowed into the chamber.