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He wondered how he should proceed. What he needed was a secret audience with the Queen. He decided that if he could only be alone with her, he could talk more freely and make his arguments more plausible without interruption. The Queen was but a lass, in his opinion—rather emotional and sentimental. He believed that if he could explain how Maitland had always been his enemy, how the fellow had not always been a faithful supporter of the Queen, how he, Bothwell, had never once failed her when danger threatened, there might yet be time to dissuade her from bringing Maitland back to Court.
He knew that in a few days the Queen would be going to the Exchequer House—a small dwelling in Edinburgh which was next to one occupied by a man who had been a servant of his. To this small house Mary was going to check some of her accounts and make arrangements for the clothes which would be needed for her son’s christening. She wanted to be alone for a few days—apart from an attendant woman and one servant—so that she could not only go into this matter of accounts but come to a decision as to who should be given the guardianship of the young Prince.
Everything seemed to be working in Bothwell’s favor. He believed that at the Exchequer House it would not be a difficult matter to obtain a private interview with Mary.
He would not ask for it in case it should be denied to him. Mary would guess what he wished to say and, characteristically, would not wish him to say it. Doutbless Mary Fleming had swayed her one way, and she would be afraid that he would attempt to sway her another. Mary would wish to please them both and, since she could not in this instance give him his wish, she would do all in her power to avoid seeing him.
He understood her very well—a sentimental lassie who was no match for the wily wolves who prowled about her. Therefore she should have a private interview with him, not knowing that it would take place until it was forced upon her. For his purpose she could not have chosen to go to a better place than the Exchequer House—indeed this idea would not have come to him had she not been going there.
David Chambers, who had been one of his superior servants, was the man who lived next door to the Exchequer House; and the gardens of these two houses were separated by a high wall, but in this high wall was a door which made it easy to pass from one to the other. David Chambers had done good service to his master, and Bothwell had rewarded him well. Many a woman had entertained Bothwell at the house of Chambers; and if Bothwell desired to meet a certain woman he merely told Chambers this, and Chambers arranged a meeting. Chambers’s house had proved for some time a useful place of assignation.
Moreover the two servants who were with the Queen at the Exchequer House were the Frenchman, Bastian, and Lady Reres. Bastian need not be considered; he would be lodged in the lower part of the house. As for Lady Reres, by great good fortune, she had been Margaret Beaton, sister to Janet, and on his visits to Janet there had been times when—perhaps he had called unexpectedly—only Margaret had been there to entertain him. Margaret, who was very like her sister, had proved an excellent substitute, a sensible creature, ready for the fun of the moment and not one to bear a grudge. Women, such as the Beaton sisters, were the best friends a man could have. Passionate women, such as A
It was all very easy to arrange. He went through the door in the wall and asked Bastian to bring Lady Reres to him and to keep his coming a secret. Lady Reres soon appeared. She was heartily glad—and very amused—to see him.
She wanted to know what devilment he pla
“Merely to see the Queen. A matter of some importance. What I want is a secret interview and do not think I can get it when she is living in state. So I chose this time when she is living here in seclusion for a few days. Margaret, could you take me to her?”
“I will ask if she will see you.”
“That will not do. She will say no. She will send for her ministers or her courtiers or someone. This is a secret matter, and I wish none to hear it but herself.”
“My lord, you ask too much.”
“Not from you, Margaret.” He pushed her playfully against the wall. “Remember the good times we had?”
“Well, they are over,” said plump Lady Reres with a laugh.
“Never to be forgotten by either of us.”
“Why should you choose to remember me out of the six thousand… or have I been niggardly in the counting?”
“I have not kept the score, but you are one I remember well.”
Lady Reres laughed again. “I would, of course, help you all I could. But how can I let you into her apartment? I tell you she is alone here, apart from myself and Bastian. What will she say to me when she knows I have allowed you to come in?”
“She need not know. You need not let me in. But leave her alone after supper this evening and leave the door open. I will slip up by the back stairs. You will be discussing next day’s supper with Bastian in the lower part of the house and thus not hear me.”
“We are responsible for the safety of the Queen.”
“Do you think I would hurt the Queen? I tell you it is a matter of great importance … a state matter. It is imperative that I see her … for her sake as well as mine. Now, will you keep my secret? Say nothing to her, leave her after supper, and see that the way is clear for me.”
“I don’t like it.”
“But you will do it for an old friend?”
“I know nothing of it, remember.”
“Why, bless you, Meggie, you know nothing of it. The fault will all be due to my boldness.”
He gave her a loud kiss of gratitude, and she went away thinking of him nostalgically as he used to be in the old days when he came to see Janet. He had changed, she supposed. He was more interested in state matters. His marriage had mayhap sobered him. Ah! They had been good times. She felt young again thinking of them.
THE QUEEN had supped in her small bedchamber and the remains of the meal were still on the table. She was very tired and glad to be alone, free from ceremony for a few days.
She was wearing a velvet robe—loose-fitting—and her chestnut hair hung loose for the weather was warm. It was a comfort to be able to dress thus.
Suddenly she heard a step on the stair. It must be Margaret returning. She was thinking: We shall be leaving here perhaps the day after tomorrow, but there is still another day in which to live quietly.
The door opened and she started up in amazement, for Lord Bothwell was standing on the threshold.
“Lord Bothwell!” she cried.
“Yes, Madam.” He bowed.
“How did you get in here? Why did you not give notice of your coming?”
“I will explain,” he said.
She was angry because now in this small room in this small house his arrogance seemed more in evidence than ever.
“I wish to hear no explanations,” she said. “I will call Bastian to show you out.”
He did not move. He stood by the door as though barring her way.
“Lord Bothwell,” she said, “what is the meaning of this?”
He did not speak. He was looking at her flushed face, her disordered hair. He was looking at her as he had never looked before. In that moment she was afraid of him. She would have pushed past him, but he caught her. His grip hurt her and she cried out, trying to twist her arm free.
She stammered: “This… this unwarranted… insolence…. How… how dare you! You shall suffer for this.”