Royal Road to Fotheringhay - Plaidy Jean - Страница 13

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“Your Majesty, may I make a request?”

The King’s smile was very friendly. “Lady Fleming, please do.”

“It concerns my very personal affairs, and doubtless I should not bother Your Majesty with it at all.”

“I shall be happy to give my attention to your personal affairs, and if there is anything I can do to help you, I shall be well pleased indeed.”

“It concerns one of my sons, Your Majesty. He is a prisoner of the English. He has long been in their hands and I cannot bring about his liberation. I thought that if Your Majesty would intercede for me with the Queen-Mother of Scotland, perhaps she might arrange to exchange an English prisoner for my son.”

“It would please me greatly,” said the King, “if I could be sure of granting this request. As it is I shall do my utmost. I will write this day to my cousin of Scotland and suggest to her that there might be an exchange of prisoners.”

His eyes were very warm and friendly. Janet was excited. It was a long time since she had had a lover, and now it occurred to her that the next one might be none other than the King of France. No wonder she was excited. No wonder that, in spite of her age, she looked like a young girl in her teens.

Even the children noticed the change in her. The only one who did not seem to notice was Queen Catherine.

MARY LAY in bed; she could not sleep. She was suffering from pains which were not unfamiliar to her. She had eaten more than usual. She had such a healthy appetite, and she looked upon it as a duty to set a good example to Francois and Elisabeth who pecked at their food. The meal, presided over by Madame d’Humieres and the Marechal, had been much as usual. There were joints of veal and lamb; there were geese, chickens, pigeons, hares, larks and partridges; and Mary had done justice to all, with the result that, although there was to be a grand ball, she had had to retire early on account of her pains.

There had been some amusement about this ball because it had been arranged by the Queen and, oddly enough, the Constable de Montmorency had helped her with the arrangements. Young as she was, Mary was very intelligent and eager to learn all she could concerning Court matters; and with her four little Marys to assist her she could not help being aware of the tension which was inevitable in a Court where the Queen was submitted to perpetual humiliation, and the Kings mistress enjoyed all—and more—of those honors which should have been the Queens.

With the aging mistress sick at Anet—some said dying—that tension must increase. Would the Queen seek to regain some of her rights? Would some beautiful and ambitious lady seek to fill Diane’s place?

Francois and Elisabeth and little Claude might have watched the ball from one of the galleries. The French children would have enjoyed that more than mingling with the guests, but Mary would have wished to be with the dancers in a dazzling gown, her chestnut hair flowing, and all the gentlemen paying her laughing compliments and speaking of the enchantress she would become when she grew up. But alas, she was too sick to attend and must lie in bed instead.

Janet Fleming had talked continually of the ball, but Mary had felt too sick to listen. She had drunk the posset Queen Catherine had given her, and afterward had felt some misgivings. She had heard rumors about the Queens Italian cupbearer who had been torn asunder by wild horses when the King’s elder brother had died—of poison, some said, and others added: poison administered by Catherine de Medicis. Mary could not rid herself of the idea that Catherine wished her ill.

“Here,” Catherine had said, “this is what I call my gourmands dose. Do you know what Your Scottish Majesty is suffering from? A surfeit of goose-flesh, like as not. You have been overgreedy at the table.”

Mary had grown hot with indignation as Catherine had bent over to look into her face.

“You’re flushed,” said Catherine. “Is it a fever, or have I upset your dignity? The truth can be as indigestible as gooseflesh, my dear Reinette.”

And Mary had had to swallow the hideous stuff and lie in bed nursing a sore stomach while others danced.

It was near midnight but she could not sleep. She could hear the sound of music from the great ballroom.

Before going to the ball Janet Fleming had come into the apartment to show Mary her costume. Everyone was to be masked. Those were the Queens orders. The idea of the Queen and the Constable planning a ball! The whole Court was rocking with amusement. They would not miss Madame Diane tonight… not even the King.

“How I wish I could be with you,” sighed the little Queen.

“Has her Majesty’s posset done you no good then?”

“I am not sure that she meant it to. She hates me because I would not have Madame de Paroy in the nurseries.”

“You are a bold creature, darling Majesty, to go against the Queen of France.”

“Would you want Paroy in the nurseries?”

“Holy Mother of God, indeed I would not! Why, if she knew that the King had shown me … a little friendship, Heaven alone knows what she might tell the Queen. But… my tongue runs away with me and I shall be late for the ball.”

Mary put her arms round her aunt’s neck and kissed her. “Come and see me when the ball is over. I shall want to hear all about it,” said Mary.

So now she lay in bed waiting for the ball to be over.

She slept for a while, and when she awoke it was to silence. So the ball was over and her aunt had not come as she had promised. Faint moonlight shone through the windows, lighting the room. She sat up in bed, listening. Her pains had gone and she felt well and wide awake. But she was angry; she always was when she suspected she had been treated as a child. Lady Fleming had no doubt come in to tell her about the ball and, finding her asleep, had tiptoed away—just as though she were a baby.

Mary got out of bed and, putting a wrap about her shoulders, crept across the room to that small chamber in which Lady Fleming slept. She drew back the curtains of the bed. It was empty. Lady Fleming had not yet come up, although the ball was over.

Mary got into Janet’s bed to wait for her. She waited for a long time before she fell asleep; it was beginning to grow light when she was awakened by Janet’s returning.

Mary sat up in bed and stared at her aunt. She was wearing the costume she had worn at the ball, but it appeared to be crumpled and was torn in several places.

“What is it?” asked Mary.

“Hush! For the love of the saints do not wake anybody.” Janet began to take off the costume.

“But what has happened?” insisted Mary. “You look as though you have been set upon by robbers and yet are rather pleased about it.”

“You must tell no one of this, as you love your Fleming. You should not be here. You should be punished for wandering from your bed in the night. The Queen would punish you.”

“Perhaps she would punish you, too, for wandering in the night. I command you to tell me what has happened to you.”

Janet got into bed and put her arms about Mary. “What if another has commanded silence?” she said with a laugh.

“I am the Queen …”

“Of Scotland, my dearest. What if I had received a higher command?”

“The Queen… Queen Catherine?”

“Higher than that!” Lady Fleming kissed the Queen of Scots. “I am so happy, darling. I am the happiest woman in France. One day I shall be able to serve you as I should wish. One day you shall ask me for something you want, and I will perhaps, through the Kings grace, be able to give it to you.”

Mary was excited. Here was one of the mysteries which occurred in the lives of grown-up people; here was a glimpse into the exciting world in which one day she would have a part to play.

“There is one thing I will ask you now,” she said. “It is never to allow that dreary de Paroy to come near the nursery.”

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