The Captive Queen of Scots - Plaidy Jean - Страница 26

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“This suspense is becoming intolerable,” she whispered to Seton. “I am afraid they are too suspicious of us. We expect too much from Willie. He is after all only a boy.”

“I am sure his plan was to do something during his feast. Now it is to be while supper is in progress.”

“We are being followed now,” said Mary.

Lady Douglas came up with them and as she fell into step beside them they were startled by the distant sound of horses’ hoofs, and looking up saw a party of horsemen on the mainland.

Lady Douglas watched them intently and with some misgiving; Mary guessed she was eager to report what she had seen to Sir William, and she felt dejected; for after Willie’s unusual behavior, the gossip of the kitchen-maid and the actual appearance of horsemen on the mainland, she felt that it must be obvious that some plan was in the air.

She sought to turn Lady Douglas’s thoughts from what she had seen by complaining bitterly of the way in which Moray had treated her.

Lady Douglas could never bear to hear her favorite son attacked. When this happened she immediately forgot all else in her defense of him.

“His one thought,” she insisted, “is the good of this land.”

“His one thought,” retorted Mary, “is to rule this land.”

“Your Majesty wrongs him.”

Mary then began to enumerate all that he had done against her, and Lady Douglas grew warm in his defense.

All was now quiet on the mainland and it seemed that Lady Douglas had forgotten what a short while ago she had seen there to disturb her. She talked in glowing terms of the cleverness of Moray, how like his father he was, and therefore a little like Mary. “For, Your Majesty, I see your father in you.”

Lady Douglas was back in her glorious past when she had been a King’s favorite mistress. So that the suspicious activity on the mainland completely slipped from her memory.

She was still talking when Sir William appeared.

“The Queen’s supper is about to be served in her chamber,” he said. He bowed to Mary. “May I escort you there?”

She went into the castle with him, and never had the place seemed so gloomy, never so much a prison as it did on that Sunday evening.

She went to her room and took her supper.

For a short while she was alone with her friends whom she could trust: Seton, Marie Courcelles and Jane Kennedy. Jane said suddenly: “If Willie can procure the keys, it is still possible.”

“How can Willie procure the keys?” Mary asked. “Yet we must be prepared. I will change clothes with you, Seton, for you are more my height than the others. And I will do it now, for if the moment should come, we must be ready.”

They changed clothes.

“I will keep my veil,” said Mary, “because I must wave this from the boat as a signal, so that my faithful defenders may know I am on the way.”

So in Seton’s gown and cloak, with her own white veil with its red and gold border and red tassels, Mary waited tensely for what would happen next.

SIR WILLIAM was feeling drowsy. The wine Willie had provided at his feast had been very potent. He could go to sleep there on the dais. All was well. The guards were at supper with him and the rest of the household; the castle gates had been carefully locked; and beside his plate lay the keys, without which no one could leave the castle.

Lady Douglas was talking indignantly of the Queen’s accusations against Moray, and defending him; but Sir William had heard his mother on the perfections of Moray before, and it added to the soporific effect of the wine.

Behind Sir William’s chair stood Willie, ready to fill his plate or his goblet. It was good to have Willie back in place of that clumsy oaf who had served him during the boy’s absence.

As for Willie, he could not take his eyes from that bunch of keys which were lying on the table. His fingers itched to seize them. He had to resist an impulse to snatch them and run—which would of course be the utmost folly.

Sir William was yawning and Willie poured more wine into his goblet. On and on went Lady Douglas. And Willie stood, only half hearing what was said, his impatient fingers pulling at the napkin in his hands.

The meal would soon be over and then it would be too late. Shortly Drysdale would be back; the boatman might be well enough to take over his duties; and there would never be an opportunity like this. Now the boat was ready, the oars in place, and how could that possibly have been prepared unless Willie had charge of the boats!

Yes, he must spirit those keys away five minutes before it was noticed that they were gone . . . enough time to go to the Queen’s apartment, to bring her out, to hurry down to the castle gates, unlock and lock them again; then down to the boats and away. But he must have the keys.

Willie leaned forward to remove Sir William’s plate and, as he did so, he let his napkin fall over the keys. When he picked up the napkin and Sir William’s plate, the keys were no longer on the table.

This was the most difficult part—to walk out of the hall holding the plate, the napkin and the keys, unhurried and without concern, knowing that at any moment the absence of the keys might be noticed. If so, he would be stopped, all would be discovered and that would be the end of Willie Douglas’s hopes of saving the Queen—and perhaps the end of Willie Douglas.

Past the long table, past the noisy soldiers and the servants . . . and out.

Willie was taking the stairs two at a time. He unlocked the room which led to the Queen’s apartment. He was standing before her. He did not speak but held up the keys.

Now Mary was following him down the stairs and out of the castle.

Jane Kennedy, who it had been arranged should go with her, had been putting on her cloak in the ante-chamber when Willie had arrived and, as there was no time to lose, Mary had started after Willie without Jane.

It was a glorious feeling to be in the fresh air and the short distance to the castle gates seemed one of the most exciting journeys Mary had ever made. Willie ran ahead. He was unlocking the gates, holding them for her to pass through; then he locked them again behind them.

At that moment Jane Kennedy emerged from the castle. Mary looked back, but Willie shook his head. They had overcome the biggest obstacle. They were outside the castle and everyone else was locked inside. He was not going to run any risks by unlocking the castle gates. At any moment the loss of the keys might be discovered and the hue and cry would start. Those soldiers would find some means of coming after them.

The plan had not yet succeeded.

Willie ran ahead to where the boat was ready and waiting. Mary stepped into it, Willie took the oars, and they were slipping away from Lochleven.

“We have succeeded!” cried the Queen.

“We have to reach the mainland yet,” Willie grimly reminded her.

“We will,” replied Mary, and she took an oar and began to row with him.

There was a sudden splash in the loch close by, and to her horror Mary saw a dark figure swimming toward them.

“Why,” she cried, “it’s Jane! Stop, Willie. It’s Jane Kennedy swimming after us.”

Jane had gone to one of the castle windows from which she had jumped into the loch and encumbered by her clothes was making slow progress toward the boat. But Willie would not stop even for her. Eventually however she reached them and Mary eagerly leaned over the side of the boat to help her scramble in.

“I could not let . . . Your Majesty . . . be without one of us to serve you,” she panted.

In a few seconds she had recovered her breath and ignoring her dripping garments, insisted on taking the oar from Mary, and she and Willie pulled with all their might for the shore.

Each stroke took them farther and farther from Lochleven and nearer to freedom. Mary took off her veil and waved it and when she heard a shout from the mainland and the clatter of horses’ hoofs she believed she had rarely been so happy.

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