The Captive Queen of Scots

“The young Earl of Le

Elizabeth had spirit and Bess liked to see spirit in her children, but she was always a little afraid that it might make them stand out against her. Not that Bess had any fears that she would not in time have her own way, but she did not wish to waste time and energy in u

Elizabeth said: “He is also Charles Stuart and grandson of Margaret, who was the eldest sister of Henry VIII.”

Bess nodded approvingly. “I see that your thoughts move in the right direction.”

“You ca

“And why not? You must admit he is handsome and entirely agreeable.”

“Mother! Your ambitions cloud your sense.”

“I’ll thank you not to question my sense, girl. I have no wish to box your ears, but I shall certainly do so if you forget your duty to your mother.”

Elizabeth smiled. “Nay, mother,” he said, “do not be angry. But do you not agree that Her Majesty the Queen will wish to choose the bride of one who is so near the throne?”

“Doubtless she will. Therefore it is for others to make the choice before Her Majesty realizes it is made.”

There was perhaps little harm in allowing her mother to dream, thought Elizabeth. She knew that the Queen would never consent to a match between them. Bess, for all her arrogance, was after all only a Hardwick, and her daughter would never be considered worthy to mate with a royal Stuart.

“The children of this young Earl will be in direct succession to the throne,” said Bess, licking her lips as though some tasty dish had been set before her.

Elizabeth agreed with her mother; she had learned that it was always necessary to do that; and when Bess arranged that she should show Charles the gardens or ride beside him, she obeyed meekly.

They seemed momentous days for those two young people. Both felt that Queen Elizabeth would never allow them to marry, so their relationship began in perfect freedom, in spite of Bess’s rather obvious tricks to throw them together. But their natural feelings were too strong and although the Le

Bess, seeing her daughter melancholy, came to her apartment demanding the reason, and in a very short time discovering it, was exultant.

Nothing could have suited her better.

“There is no need for melancholy!” she cried. “You are my beloved daughter, and if you decide you are in love and ca

“Mother, you would not dare. Remember who he is.”

But it was precisely because of who he was that Bess would dare. It was dangerous, she knew; but if the prize was great enough Bess was always ready to risk the danger. Her Elizabeth was going to be Countess of Le

She sought an early interview with the Countess of Le

Margaret Le

“My dear Bess, tell me what has happened. You ca

“She is. Indeed she is. But, Margaret, what do you think the foolish creature has done? I can scarcely bear to tell you. She has fallen in love with . . . your son Charles and he with her.”

“My Charles! So that is why he seems changed. I have never seen him quite as happy as he has been.”

“Poor boy. Alas for him. These foolish young people! But what can you expect? They are both so young, so beautiful. Much as I have enjoyed your stay, my dear Margaret, I almost wish you had not come here.”

Margaret loved her son dearly; more so, she believed, since the tragic death of his elder brother, and it was her dearest wish to see him happy.

Bess, the kerchief still held to her eyes, was watching her companion intently, and felt like crying her triumph aloud, for she realized that it would be the easiest thing imaginable to win Margaret Le

“What shall we do? What shall we do?” she moaned.

“I think we should first discover how deeply our young people feel,” suggested Margaret.

“I pray that their young hearts are not too strongly committed, although I fear the worst.”

Margaret was silent for a few seconds, then she said: “But, Bess, suppose they should have fallen so deeply in love that it will break their hearts to part . . . what then?”

“I dare not think.”

“I do not want my son Charles to suffer as his brother Henry did.”

“His was a sad marriage . . . a marriage of ambition,” Bess agreed. “Had it been a true love match doubtless Henry would be alive today.”

“I ca

“You are his mother . . . and like all mothers who love their children, would rather see him happily married to some good young girl than dead . . . though he was once the King of Scotland through his wife.”

Margaret had covered her face with her hands. This was going well, thought Bess. All she needed was Margaret’s consent and she would go ahead with the marriage. Queen Elizabeth’s wrath could be faced when the marriage was a fait accompli. It would be like taking Shrewsbury to the Buxton baths all over again. Although this of course would be considered a far more serious matter. Never mind. The thing was to get the pair married.

“I know how you feel,” soothed Bess. “You want Charles to have what Henry missed.”

“I would do anything for his happiness,” said Margaret vehemently.

“Then we must put our heads together. We must discover how deeply the feelings of these two young people are involved; and if it would break their hearts to be parted, are you, as his mother, prepared to face the wrath of the Queen?”

“Yes,” said Margaret, “I would give everything I have to ensure his happiness.”

“How well I understand your feelings, for mine are the same. I love my Elizabeth even as you love your Charles. If we decide this must be . . . no matter what the consequences, we might journey to Sheffield Castle. I am sure the Queen of Scots would wish to help us.”

Margaret seemed happy with this suggestion as though, if they dared not ask for the consent of one Queen, it would be well to win that of another.

LITTLE BESSIE PIERPONT was happiest when her grandmother was not in the castle, for then she was no longer in fear of being summoned suddenly to her presence. Grandmother Bess believed that all little girls, however young, should each day be given tasks and that if these tasks were not completed by the end of the day, punishment should follow.

Bessie was not a very good needlewoman and the stitches in her tapestry were rarely all of a size. They had to be unpicked and done again; but even so they rarely came out looking like the stitches of her godmother, Queen Mary. Sometimes Godmother Mary did the stitches for her; then they were perfect. It was a secret they shared; and when Grandmother saw them she would purse her lips and say: “There, you see what comes from really trying. Next time, I wish them to be like this from the first.”

Grandmother Bess believed in whipping children who were not all she expected them to be—and of course she expected a good deal. Handwriting had to be neat and legible; history had to be learned; and Bessie, young as she was, had already been started on Latin exercises.