Royal Road to Fotheringhay - Plaidy Jean - Страница 57

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“No, Madam, the sweetest and most bountiful lady in the world.”

“Then, David, will you give me a chance to be sweet and bountiful over this affair of yours?”

He had risen to his feet. His face was pale. Then he flung himself onto his knees and, taking the hem of her long robe, he raised it to his lips. “Madam, have I your permission to speak and, if what I say offends you, will you forgive it and wipe it out as though it had never been said?”

“I give you my word, David. Come. Sit down. Sit here beside me. My poor David, it grieves me to see you thus depressed.”

Even so it was some seconds before he spoke. Then he said: “Your Majesty is in danger. Oh, not in immediate danger. How can I—a humble valet de chambre—say this? But… I have been in the Courts of Europe, and I am constantly on the alert for Your Majesty’s welfare. Oh, it is nothing to fear at this moment. It is not a wild plot to kidnap you. It is not an assassin’s plan which I have discovered. But, Madam, it is equally dangerous. Your Grace is surrounded by foes. Those who seem to be your friends seek to make you powerless. They take to themselves great power, and with every step they weaken Your Majesty. They will remove from your side all those who would work for your good. They will force you to marry whom they wish. Madam, I beg of you take care.”

“Tell me what you have discovered.”

“Nothing that is not already known to many. It is the interpretation of these things which is significant. My lord Bothwell is in prison. He was loyal to your mother, and it may be that some fear he will be equally loyal to you. And now… that very clan is removed which would have set itself at the head of your supporters against the Protestant Knox, the ranting preacher who Your Majesty knows has never pretended to be your friend. I mean the Gordons. They are humbled. They are no longer a power. They are imprisoned or exiled … or dead.”

“But David, it was necessary to punish John Gordon.”

David smiled apologetically. “But not to remove power from the clan. You might have need of their help; they would have rallied to your aid, should you have found it necessary to stand against a rebellion which Knox might raise. Now… they are powerless to do so.”

“But the Earl of Moray… my own brother …” She was staring at David; his brilliant eyes met hers boldly.

“Yes, Madam.”

So David was warning her against Jamie.

He was on his knees now; he was fervently kissing her hands. David was excitable by nature.

“Madam, you promised to forgive and forget. It was merely my desire to serve you….”

She put her hand on his thick hair while the tears sprang to her eyes. “David,” she said, “I have no doubt of your devotion. There is nothing to forgive, and I shall never forget. I begin to see that Jamie is ambitious. He has made me his tool. I have suspected it. Oh, David… my own brother! What can I do?”

“Madam, have a care. Allow me to serve you. Allow me to keep my eyes ever on the alert. I will serve you with my life if need be. Say nothing. Give no indication that you suspect your brother’s motives.”

She nodded. “You are right, David. I thank you.”

“Madam,” he said, “I am now the happiest man in Scotland.”

IN THE LIGHT of many candles the apartments at Holyrood were gay. The music was sweet and merry. Mary was dressed in black silk breeches for the part she played in the masque which had just been performed; she made a slender and beautiful boy.

“You are enchanting,” whispered Pierre de Chastelard.

“Monsieur, you repeat yourself.”

“The words escaped me… involuntarily… sweet Mary.”

He drew back, wondering how she would receive such familiarity. Her answer was a tap on the cheek. His heart leaped with anticipation.

“How liked you that book of my making, the one written in meter… the one I wrote for you?”

“It was fair enough,” said Mary.

“Madame, will you dance with me?”

“Come,” cried Mary, “I long to dance.” She clapped her hands and declared they would dance the new dance which Chastelard had introduced from the French Court. It was considered very daring, for during it the partners kissed.

“It is not a dance which Master Knox would much like, I’ll swear,” cried Mary, laughing as she tilted her head to receive the kiss of Chastelard.

He was wildly excited that night. The Queen-Mother of France had been right in what she had hinted. If he could but see Mary alone! But she was rarely alone. Even in her most informal moments there would be one or more of her women with her.

The new French dance was a stimulant to the emotions. Again and again they danced it; and there was merry laughter in the apartments. The Queen could be gay on such occasions; it was as though she wished to snap her fingers at the criticisms of herself and her Court.

Why not? mused Chastelard. Why not tonight? Her mood is such that I believe her to be ready.

While Mary was saying her farewells for the night, he slipped away. Mary and her four faithful attendants retired to the sleeping apartments, where the girls began to undress their mistress, chattering of the evening as they did so.

“Would we could have brought Master Knox to the apartment,” cried Flem. “What fun to watch his fury when he saw Your Majesty dance in these silk breeches!”

“He would have said we were all utterly damned,” said Seton.

“We are already damned… according to him!” laughed the Queen. “As well be damned for a pair of silk breeches as a jewel or two. Seton, darling, get my furred robe from the cabinet; I am cold.”

Seton went to the cabinet and, when she opened it, gave a sharp cry. They all turned to stare in amazement at what she had disclosed. There, standing in the cabinet, was Pierre de Chastelard.

“What… what are you doing here?” stammered Mary.

“Madame, I…”

“Oh!” cried Flem. “You wicked man!”

Chastelard threw himself onto his knees before the Queen.

“Madame, I crave your forgiveness. I was distraught. A madness seized me. I became intoxicated by your beauty. I do not know what possessed me to do such a thing. I cannot imagine—”

“I can,” said the practical Beaton.

“Be quiet, Beaton,” said Mary. “Let him speak for himself. What was your purpose, Monsieur de Chastelard?”

“Madame, I wished to read a poem to you. I had written it… and it was for your ears alone.”

All the girls began to laugh.

“A dangerous procedure, Monsieur,” said Flem, “for the reading of a poem.”

“Where is the poem?” asked Mary. “Give it to me.”

“Madame … in my excitement, I left it in my own apartment.”

Flem could not contain her laughter. Livy had started to shake with hers.

“You are insolent!” said the Queen; but her voice was broken with laughter.

This was the sort of adventure which occurred again and again at the Court of France. It was like being home again.

Beaton said: “Shall we call my lord Moray and have this man put in chains, Your Majesty?”

Chastelard said: “Put me in chains … it matters not. I am bound by stronger chains… the chains of a hopeless passion.”

“Drive him away,” commanded Mary. The four girls began to push him from the room. “And Monsieur de Chastelard, I shall devise some punishment for you. You have been guilty of a grave indiscretion.”

“Madame, punish me as you will. Set me on the rack. Tear my limbs with red hot pincers… but do not deny me your presence.”

“If you were on the rack,” said Beaton grimly, “you would have little thought of poetry. Get you gone. You embarrass the Queen. Why, if you were seen …”

“Madame, your forgiveness. Without your smile I would as lief be dead.”

He was pushed outside and the door slammed; Beaton leaned against it, and the others were all overcome with helpless laughter.

“Still,” said Seton, “it was a grave offense. What if Your Majesty had been alone?”

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