And now she said and fully believed that the misunderstanding which had resulted in the removal of the prisoner had been entirely due to the slanders and deceits of her own daughter Mary, and her husband Gilbert, with whom she was at this time on the worst of terms. And thus she laid on them the blame of the Queen's death (if that was really decreed), but though she outwardly blamed every creature save herself, such agony of mind, and even terror, proved that in very truth there must have been the conviction at the bottom of her heart that it was her own fault.
The Earl had beckoned away Master Richard, both glad to escape; but Cicely had to remain, and filled with compassion for one whom she had always regarded previously as an enemy, she could not help saying, "Dear madam, take comfort; I am going to bear a petition to the Queen's Majesty from the captive lady, and if she will hear me all will yet be well."
"How! What? How! Thou little moppet! Knows she what she says, Susan Talbot?"
Susan made answer that she had had time to hear no particulars yet, but that Cicely averred that she was going with her father's consent, whereupon Richard was immediately summoned back to explain.
The Earl and Countess could hardly believe that he should have consented that his daughter should be thus employed, and he had to excuse himself with what he could not help feeling were only half truths.
"The poor lady," he said, "is denied all power of sending word or letter to the Queen save through those whom she views as her enemies, and therefore she longed earnestly either to see her Majesty, or to hold communication with her through one whom she knoweth to be both simple and her own friend."
"Yea," said the Countess, "I could well have done this for her could I but have had speech with her. Or she might have sent Bess Pierrepoint, who surely would have been a more fitting messenger."
"Save that she hath not had access to the Queen of Scots of late," said Richard.
"Yea, and her father would scarcely be willing to risk the Queen's displeasure," said the Earl.
"Art thou ready to abide it, Master Richard?" said the Countess, "though after all it could do you little harm." And her tone marked the infinite distance she placed between him and Sir Henry Pierrepoint, the husband of her daughter.
"That is true, madam," said Richard, "and moreover, I cannot reconcile it to my conscience to debar the poor lady from any possible opening of safety."
"Thou art a good man, Richard," said the Earl, and therewith both he and the Countess became extremely, nay, almost inconveniently, desirous to forward the petitioner on her way. To listen to them that night, they would have had her go as an emissary of the house of Shrewsbury, and only the previous quarrel with Lord Talbot and his wife prevented them from proposing that she should be led to the foot of the throne by Gilbert himself.
Cicely began to be somewhat alarmed at plans that would disconcert all the instructions she had received, and only her old habits of respect kept her silent when she thought Master Richard not ready enough to refuse all these offers.
At last he succeeded in obtaining license to depart, and no sooner was Cicely again shut up with Mistress Susan in the litter than she exclaimed, "Now will it be most hard to carry out the Queen's orders that I should go first to the French Ambassador. I would that my Lady Countess would not think naught can succeed without her meddling."
"Thou shouldst have let father tell thy purpose in his own way," said Susan.
"Ah! mother, I am an indiscreet simpleton, not fit for such a work as I have taken in hand," said poor Cis. "Here hath my foolish tongue traversed it already!"
"Fear not," said Susan, as one who well knew the nature of her kinswoman; "belike she will have cooled to-morrow, all the more because father said naught to the nayward."
Susan was uneasy enough herself, and very desirous to hear all from her husband in private. And that night he told her that he had very little hope of the intercession being availing. He believed that the Treasurer and Secretary were absolutely determined on Mary's death, and would sooner or later force consent from the Queen; but there was the possibility that Elizabeth's feelings might be so far stirred that on a sudden impulse she might set Mary at liberty, and place her beyond their reach.
"And hap what may," he said, "when a daughter offereth to do her utmost for a mother in peril of death, what right have I to hinder her?"
"May God guard the duteous!" said Susan. "But oh! husband, is she worthy, for whom the child is thus to lead you into peril?"
"She is her mother," repeated Richard. "Had I erred-"
"Which you never could do," broke in the wife.
"I am a sinful man," said he.
"Yea, but there are deeds you never could have done."
"By God's grace I trust not; but hear me out, wife. Mine errors, nay, my crimes, would not do away with the duty owed to me by my sons. How, then, should any sins of this poor Queen withhold her daughter from rendering her all the succour in her power? And thou, thou thyself, Susan, hast taken her for thine own too long to endure to let her undertake the matter alone and unaided."
"She would not attempt it thus," said Susan.
"I cannot tell; but I should thus be guilty of foiling her in a brave and filial purpose."
"And yet thou dost hold her poor mother a guilty woman?"
"Said I so? Nay, Susan, I am as dubious as ever I was on that head."
"After hearing the trial?"
"A word in thine ear, my discreet wife. The trial convinced me far more that place makes honest men act like cruel knaves than of aught else."
"Then thou holdest her innocent?"
"I said not so. I have known too long how she lives by the weaving of webs. I know not how it is, but these great folks seem not to deem that truth in word and deed is a part of their religion. For my part, I should distrust whatever godliness did not lead to truth, but a plain man never knows where to have them. That she and poor Antony Babington were in league to bring hither the Spaniards and restore the Pope, I have no manner of doubt on the word of both, but then they deem it-Heaven help them-a virtuous act; and it might be lawful in her, seeing that she has always called herself a free sovereign unjustly detained. What he stuck at and she denies, is the purpose of murdering the Queen's Majesty."
"Sure that was the head and front of the poor young man's offending."
"So it was, but not until he had been urged thereto by his priests, and had obtained her consent in a letter. Heaven forgive me if I misjudge any one, but my belief is this-that the letters, whereof only the deciphered copies were shown, did not quit the hands of either the one or the other, such as we heard them at Fotheringhay. So poor Babington said, so saith the Queen of Scots, demanding vehemently to have them read in her presence before Nau and Curll, who could testify to them. Cis deemeth that the true letter from Babington is in a packet which, on learning from Humfrey his suspicion that there was treachery, the Queen gave her, and she threw down a well at Chartley."
"That was pity."
"Say not so, for had the original letter been seized, it would only have been treated in the same manner as the copy, and never allowed to reach Queen Elizabeth."
"I am glad poor Cicely's mother can stand clear of that guilt," said Susan. "I served her too long, and received too much gentle treatment from her, to brook the thought that she could be so far left to herself."
"Mind you, dame," said Richard, "I am not wholly convinced that she was not aware that her friends would in some way or other bring about the Queen's death, and that she would scarce have visited it very harshly, but she is far too wise-ay, and too tender-hearted, to have entered into the matter beforehand. So I think her not wholly guiltless, though the wrongs she hath suffered have been so great that I would do whatever was not disloyal to mine own Queen to aid her to obtain justice."