Rory Clements - The Queen's man

‘Then tell me. How is it to be effected?’

‘We will find out soon enough. For the moment, keep her under lock and key. Double and re-double the guard.’

Shrewsbury laughed. ‘She is as heavily guarded as ever. Perhaps you would have me muster the county militia and surround her with culverins. I say you underestimate me, Mr Shakespeare. We have known from the day she arrived that she would not want to be held captive, and so we have lived with the threat of escape ever since. Unless you bring me details of something new and definite, there is nothing more I can do. You must see this, sir.’

‘Yes, I see it.’

‘Then take some cider with me and tell me everything you know. I confess I am sorry that the French doctor of medicine is dead. I found him most charming and entertaining.’

Something still wasn’t making sense. Whose side was Harry Slide really on? If he was on the side of Edward Arden, why would he have colluded in the murder of a young Catholic gentleman in Scotland? If he was on the side of Leicester and Sir Thomas Lucy, why was he assisting Edward Arden in his treacherous actions? Did the answer lie in the encrypted letter? No word had come from Walsingham. Perhaps the code-breaker Thomas Phelippes had failed to decipher it. Little made sense in this mission. And yet. . he sensed that the solution was only a thought away. It was there, at the corner of his brain, like a butterfly in its chrysalis. He just needed to break the husk, let it fly — and then catch it. And then he would understand everything.

He shivered. Perhaps he did understand. Perhaps. .

He had thought they were laying a trap, but they weren’t. They were laying a trail — and he had followed it, just as they wanted, like a hound with the scent of a royal hart in its nostrils. The question was why . He was no longer listening to Shrewsbury but thinking. His eyes stared at the earl’s moving lips. He was talking but it was difficult to take in what he actually said.

‘My lord, you said something when I arrived. You said you were happier than you had been in years — and you said it was because the Queen of Scots was happy.’

‘That is so. I have great hopes that her ailments will vanish like the wind now that she has the fine caroche and six, courtesy of our own dear sovereign and the French embassy, that she has wanted for so long.’

‘A carriage and six horses? Why? Where will she go?’

‘She can take the air, see the countryside.’

‘And do you consider that safe?’

‘The paths they are taking have been scouted. And with her bad legs, there is no fear that she could run. Nothing can happen.’ The earl picked up a paper from the table. ‘Here is the ordinance from the Privy Council. It says that Mary is to be allowed to go up to three miles outside my parkland, provided there is no concourse of people to look on her. And she is, of course, heavily guarded, as always.’

‘How can you be certain? Your chief of guards Mr Wren inspired no confidence in me. And are these the same guards who failed to stop my man Mr Cooper entering this castle?’

‘I can be certain, Mr Shakespeare, because we have received two men from court whose credentials as sentries and fighting men could not be bettered anywhere in England. One of them, Mr Topcliffe, you already know. The other is Hungate, my lord of Leicester’s own best man. I do believe no papist renegades will get past them.’

‘And when do you plan to allow the Queen of Scots to venture out?’

‘Why, she is already taking the air, Mr Shakespeare. I believe they have been gone ten minutes or more.’

Mary Stuart sat back on the sumptuous cream leather bench in her carriage and felt like a queen. She always made sure she looked like a queen and acted like one, but it was many years since she had felt like one. The years of captivity, silk-lined though it was, had taken their toll on her belief that she would ever reign again, either in Scotland or here in England, her birthright.

She had the leather blinds rolled up on all four windows and could not take her eyes off the earl’s rolling acres of parkland. As the horses drove on, the grey walls of the castle — her prison — receded behind her.

‘It is a holy day, Your Majesty.’

Mary removed her gaze momentarily and smiled at Mary Seton, her old friend and attendant, who sat on the bench opposite. ‘Indeed it is.’ She held up her hand to show the two rings she wore: her own phoenix, now restored to her by Mr McKyle, and the cross of Lorraine from the Duke of Guise. ‘All my ailments are gone. The pain has vanished. I truly believe I could dance.’

‘Your skin is glowing, ma’am. You look no older than you did the day you wed the Dauphin. I would swear you are not yet twenty.’

The Queen held a fan of peacock feathers. She tapped it on her companion’s knee. ‘You are foolish, Mary Seton. It is my birthday soon and I shall be forty.’ But the truth was, she liked the compliment. She held up the looking glass that hung from her waist on a slender silver chain and gazed at her face and hair. Mary Seton had busked her a beautiful new periwig using nun’s tresses sent from France. It was set with a dozen little pearls, all framed by a hooded cape of royal blue velvet for the coming journey. In her arms, she held her favourite little dog.

‘I slept last night, the first time in many weeks.’

‘I am certain it has done your health nothing but good.’

‘But I fear I am still a little fat and stooped.’

‘Ma’am, I promise you, there is none more comely in this land. No looking glass nor portrait can ever do justice to your beauty.’

‘I have often wondered if that is the reason my cousin will not receive me at court. She fears she will be outshone by me.’

‘Your Majesty, you are the sun to her moon. Your brightness would always eclipse her dull glow.’

‘But my legs and gut: they are sore swollen. Tell me true, Mary Seton, how will my beauty play in Paris?’

‘You will be loved and feted wherever you go.’

‘I have been so lonely and forgotten that I no longer know my standing in the world.’

‘That will be put to rights today with the ending of your confinement.’

‘Is this really the day, Mary?’

‘I am certain of it, ma’am. Mr McKyle said that all was ready, did he not? I am sure that Monsieur Seguin would not have sent the ring to you unless he was satisfied that all was well. All you need do is open the carriage door when the time is nigh.’

‘Then let us play our part. We have a long journey ahead. To think that in a few days we will be in France at the Hôtel de Guise. .’

Mary Seton shook her head. ‘Not we , ma’am. You must go alone. I cannot accompany you, for I would slow you down.’

‘But we have been companions since childhood! Do you think I could do without you now? Who would dress my hair and set my periwig? I could not survive in Paris without you.’

‘You will survive very well, Your Majesty.’

Mary was thoughtful, then smiled. It was a smile of such warmth and joy that it had won her many admirers over the years. These days it was rarely in evidence. ‘Yes. Yes, I shall. But I will miss you, nonetheless.’

‘I will come to France in good time. I will not be wanted here, or in Edinburgh. They will not keep me against my will.’

‘Mary Seton, you are more kin to me than ever was this cousin, Elizabeth. I think her closer kin to the Indies tigers.’

The Queen stroked her pet dog and breathed in the fresh air. Her eyes were on the horizon now, searching. Searching for salvation. High in the sky, a buzzard circled. She followed its lazy, lonely trail, its enormous wings catching the late warmth. She was that bird. High-born, destined to fly above the world, alone and majestic. Always alone. It was the curse of sovereignty.