Ken Follett - A Column of Fire

George and Willie had been smuggling Mary’s letters in and out of the prison for some months, but with difficulty. Escape would be much harder.

Mary could not cross the little compound without being seen, for it was home to about fifty people: as well as the family and the men-at-arms there were Sir William’s secretaries and a large staff of household servants. The gate was kept locked, and anyone who wanted to come and go had to get it unlocked or climb over the wall. Three or four boats were always pulled up on the beach, but Mary would need a strong accomplice to row her, and she could quickly be followed. Then, on the mainland, she would need friends with horses to whisk her away to a hiding place somewhere safe from pursuit.

There was such a lot that could go wrong.

Alison found it hard to sit still during the morning service in the chapel. She was desperate to escape, but she also feared the consequences if they were caught: she and Mary would probably be confined to one room, perhaps even forbidden those walks along the top of the perimeter wall which, though depressing, at least gave them fresh air and a distant sight of the world outside. Worst of all, they might be separated.

Mary was nothing if not bold, and she was ready to take the risk, as Alison was. But the penalty for failure would be dire.

After church there were May Day festivities. Willie excelled himself as Lord of Misrule, doing a hilarious drunk act while shrewdly remaining one of the few people on the island who was completely sober.

Pretty Geordie was on the mainland, and should by now be in the lakeside village of Kinross. It was his job to assemble horses and men to escort Mary and Alison away from there before they could be recaptured. Alison was frantic to know whether he had carried out his part of the plan. She was anxiously awaiting a signal from him.

Mary dined early in the afternoon with Sir William and the family, and Alison and Willie helped to serve. The dining room was on an upper floor of the square tower, with views from the little windows to the mainland; a necessary defensive feature. Alison had to stop herself constantly looking over the water.

At the end of the meal Willie left. The plan was that he would scramble over the wall and wait outside for a boat bringing a message from George saying that all was ready.

During the planning of the escape, young Willie had suggested that Mary should jump off the wall to the ground outside, a drop of seven feet that he did easily. As an experiment Alison had tried it, and had sprained her ankle. They could not risk Mary being slowed by an injury, so Willie’s suggestion had been dropped. Instead, they would have to leave by the gate, which meant getting hold of a key.

Alison, as a noblewoman as well as a servant, was permitted to join the others at table as they sat chatting after dinner, eating nuts and fruit, Sir William sipping wine. There was not much to talk about on Loch Leven, but conversation was the main form of entertainment for lack of much else.

It was Sir William’s mother, Lady Margaret, who glanced out of the window and noticed something on the far shore. ‘Who are those horsemen, I wonder?’ she said in a tone of mild curiosity.

Alison froze. How could George be so careless? He was supposed to keep his men out of sight! If Sir William became suspicious, he could easily lock Mary in her room, and then the plan would be wrecked. Surely it could not have failed already?

Sir William looked out and frowned. ‘No reason for them that I know of.’

Mary rose to the occasion brilliantly. ‘I must speak to you, Lady Margaret, about your son James, my brother,’ she said in a challenging voice.

That got everyone’s attention. Lady Margaret in her youth had been one of the many mistresses of Mary’s father, King James V. She had borne his illegitimate son James Stuart, the half-brother Alison had met at St Dizier with the enigmatic Ned Willard, when the two young men had tried to persuade Mary not to return to Scotland. For Mary to raise this topic was not good manners.

Embarrassed, Lady Margaret said: ‘James is in France.’

‘Visiting Admiral Coligny — the hero of the Huguenots!’

‘Madam, there is nothing I can do about James, as you surely know.’

Mary kept everyone looking at her instead of out of the window. Indignantly she said: ‘I have been fond of him. I made him earl of Moray!’

Margaret was intimidated by this suddenly angry young queen. Sounding nervous, she said: ‘And I know how grateful he is for your kindness.’

No one was looking out of the window now.

‘Then why has James plotted against me?’ Mary cried. Alison knew that her anger, though calculated, was genuine. ‘Since I was brought here, he has forced me to sign abdication papers, he has crowned my baby son as King James VI, and he has made himself regent. He is now king of Scotland in all but legitimacy!’

The Douglases felt sorry for Mary, but they undoubtedly approved of what James Stuart had done, and they looked awkward — which was fine, Alison thought, for they had forgotten about the horsemen on the shore.

Sir William tried to be pacific. ‘Of course this is not how you would wish it, madam,’ he said to Mary. ‘On the other hand, your child is king and your brother is regent, so the arrangement has a degree of legitimacy that cannot be denied.’

Alison stole a glance out of the window. There was no sign of horsemen now. She imagined that George might have angrily told them to get away from the shore. Perhaps they had been in Kinross for an hour or two and were getting restless, letting discipline slip. But the semblance of normality had been restored.

The crisis was over, but it had underlined how chancy the whole plan was, and it left her feeling even more edgy.

Mary seemed to run out of patience. ‘I feel tired, after the May Day festivities,’ she said, standing up. ‘I’m going to rest.’

Alison went with her. Outside the door, a dark and narrow spiral staircase of stone led up and down to other floors. They climbed to the queen’s quarters.

Mary was not in the least tired. She was excited and jittery, constantly getting up from her chair to go to the window, then returning and sitting down again.

Alison checked their disguises, folded in a trunk under Mary’s gowns. They had got hold of coarse home-made wool-and-linen kirtles of the kind worn over petticoats by the many serving women at the castle, complete with the type of headdress known as a Flemish hood, which covered the hair and made it difficult for others to see the face except from directly in front. Servants sometimes wore stout leather boots that were so hard Mary and Alison could not even walk in them, but, fortunately, the women also used their mistresses’ cast-off silk and satin slippers. For weeks Alison and Mary had been wearing old shoes whenever they were alone, to make them look shabby enough to have been handed down.

Their main problem was Mary’s height. That could not be disguised. No other woman on the island was anywhere near so tall. Alison could hardly imagine that they could get away with it.

She put the disguises away again.

They had to be patient for another hour then, at six o’clock, Mary’s supper was brought to her room.

As usual, it was served to her by Sir William, a courtesy by a jailer to his royal prisoner. Alison left the room and went looking for Willie to find out what was happening. Outside, a holiday game of handball was in progress, soldiers versus servants, with supporters cheering each side. Alison noticed that Drysdale, who was supposed to keep a close eye on Mary, was captain of the soldiers’ team. That was good, she thought; he was distracted.

Willie was coming across the courtyard towards her, looking excited. ‘It’s come!’ he whispered, and showed her a pearl earring.