Unknown to History: A Story of the Captivity of Mary of Scotland

Richard could not answer for a moment, then he said, "I fear me it will be thy ruin, Humfrey."

"Not ruin in love or faithfulness," said the youth. "Father, you know I should everywhere have followed her and watched over her, even to the death, even if she could never have been mine."

"I trow thou wouldst," said Richard.

"Nor would you have it otherwise—your child, your only daughter, to be left unguarded."

"Nay, I know not that I would," said Richard. "I cannot but care for the poor maid like mine own, and I would not have thee less true-hearted, Humfrey, even though it cost thee thine home, and us our eldest son."

"You have Diccon and Ned," said Humfrey. And then he told what had passed, and his father observed that Beale had evidently no knowledge of Cicely's conference with the Queen, and apparently no orders to seize her. It had oozed out that a commission had been sent to five noblemen to come and superintend the execution, since Sir Amias Paulett had again refused to let it take place without witnesses, and Richard undertook to apply at once to Sir Amias for permission to remove his daughter, on the ground of saving her tender youth from the shock.

"Then," said he, "I will leave a token at Nottingham where I have taken her; whether home or at once to Hull. If I leave Brown Roundle at the inn for thee, then come home; but if it be White Blossom, then come to Hull. It will be best that thou dost not know while here, and I cannot go direct to Hull, because the fens at this season may not be fit for riding. Heatherthwayte will need no proofs to convince him that she is not thy sister, and can wed you at once, and you will also be able to embark in case there be any endeavour to arrest her."

"Taking service in Holland," said Humfrey, "until there may be safety in returning to England."

Richard sighed. The risk and sacrifice were great, and it was to him like the loss of two children, but the die was cast; Humfrey never could be other than Cicely's devoted champion and guardian, and it was better that it should be as her husband. So he repaired to Sir Amias, and told him that he desired not to expose his daughter's tender years and feeble spirits to the sight of the Queen's death, and claimed permission to take her away with him the next day, saying that the permission of the Queen had already been granted through his son, whom he would gladly also take with him.

Paulett hemmed and hawed. He thought it a great error in Mr. Talbot to avoid letting his daughter be edified by a spectacle that might go far to moderate the contagion of intercourse with so obstinate a Papist and deceiver. Being of pitiless mould himself, he was incapable of appreciating Richard's observation that compassion would only increase her devotion to the unfortunate lady. He would not, or could not, part with Humfrey. He said that there would be such a turmoil and concourse that the services of the captain of his yeomen would be indispensable, but that he himself, and all the rest, would be free on the Thursday at latest.

Mr. Talbot's desire to be away was a surprise to him, for he was in difficulties how, even in that enormous hall, to dispose of all who claimed by right or by favour to witness what he called the tardy fulfilment of judgment. Yet though he thought it a weakness, he did not refuse, and ere night Mr. Talbot was able to send formal word that the horses would be ready for Mistress Cicely at break of day the next morning.

The message was transmitted through the ladies as the Queen sat writing at her table, and she at once gave orders to Elizabeth Curll to prepare the cloak bag with necessaries for the journey.

Cicely cried out, "O madam my mother, do not send me from you!"

"There is no help for it, little one. It is the only hope of safety or happiness for thee."

"But I pledged myself to await Queen Elizabeth's reply here!"

"She has replied," said Mary.

"How?" cried Cicely. "Methought your letter confirming mine offers had not yet been sent."

"It hath not, but she hath made known to me that she rejects thy terms, my poor maid."

"Is there then no hope?" said the girl, under her breath, which came short with dismay.

"Hope! yea," said Mary, with a ray of brightness on her face, "but not earthly hope. That is over, and I am more at rest and peace than I can remember to have been since I was a babe at my mother's knee. But, little one, I must preserve thee for thine Humfrey and for happiness, and so thou must be gone ere the hounds be on thy track."

"Never, mother, I cannot leave you. You bid no one else to go!" said Cis, clinging to her with a face bathed in tears.

"No one else is imperilled by remaining as thy bold venture has imperilled thee, my sweet maid. Think, child, how fears for thee would disturb my spirit, when I would fain commune only with Heaven. Seest thou not that to lose thy dear presence for the few days left to me will be far better for me than to be rent with anxiety for thee, and it may be to see thee snatched from me by these stern, harsh men?"

"To quit you now! It is unnatural! I cannot."

"You will go, child. As Queen and as mother alike, I lay my commands on you. Let not the last, almost the only commands I ever gave thee be transgressed, and waste not these last hours in a vain strife."

She spoke with an authority against which Cis had no appeal, save by holding her hand tight and covering it with kisses and tears. Mary presently released her hand and went on writing, giving her a little time to restrain her agony of bitter weeping. The first words spoken were, "I shall not name thee in my will, nor recommend thee to thy brother. It would only bring on thee suspicion and danger. Here, however, is a letter giving full evidence of thy birth, and mentioning the various witnesses who can attest it. I shall leave the like with Melville, but it will be for thy happiness and safety if it never see the light. Should thy brother die without heirs, then it might be thy duty to come forward and stretch out thy hand for these two crowns, which have more thorns than jewels in them. Alas! would that I could dare to hope they might be exchanged for a crown of stars! But lie down on the bed, my bairnie. I have much still to do, and thou hast a long journey before thee."

Cicely would fain have resisted, but was forced to obey, though protesting that she should not sleep; and she lay awake for a long time watching the Queen writing, until unawares slumber overpowered her eyes. When she awoke, the Queen was standing over her saying, "It is time thou wert astir, little one!"

"Oh! and have I lost all these hours of you?" cried Cicely, as her senses awoke to the remembrance of the situation of affairs. "Mother, why did you not let me watch with you?"

Mary only smiled and kissed her brow. The time went by in the preparations, in all of which the Queen took an active part. Her money and jewels had been restored to her by Elizabeth's orders during her daughter's absence, and she had put twenty gold pieces in the silken and pearl purse which she always used. "More I may not give thee," she said. "I know not whether I shall be able to give my poor faithful servants enough to carry them to their homes. This thou must have to provide thee. And for my jewels, they should be all thine by right, but the more valuable ones, which bear tokens, might only bring thee under suspicion, poor child."

She wished Cicely to choose among them, but the poor girl had no heart for choice, and the Queen herself put in her hand a small case containing a few which were unobtrusive, yet well known to her, and among them a ring with the Hepburn arms, given by Bothwell. She also showed her a gold chain which she meant to give to Humfrey. In this manner time passed, till a message came in that Master Richard Talbot was ready.

"Who brought it?" asked the Queen, and when she heard that it was Humfrey himself who was at the door, she bade him be called in.

"Children," she said, "we were interrupted last night. Let me see you give your betrothal kiss, and bless you."

"One word, my mother," said Cicely. "Humfrey will not bear me ill-will if I say that while there can still be any hope that Queen Elizabeth will accept me for her prisoner in your stead, I neither can nor ought to wed him."

"Thou mayst safely accept the condition, my son," said Mary.

"Then if these messengers should come to conduct my mother abroad, and to take me as her hostage, Humfrey will know where to find me."

"Yea, thou art a good child to the last, my little one," said Mary.

"You promise, Humfrey?" said Cicely.

"I do," he said, knowing as well as the Queen how little chance there was that he would be called on to fulfil it, but feeling that the agony of the parting was thus in some degree softened to Cicely.

Mary gave the betrothal ring to Humfrey, and she laid her hands on their clasped ones. "My daughter and my son," she said, "I leave you my blessing. If filial love and unshaken truth can bring down blessings from above, they will be yours. Think of your mother in times to come as one who hath erred, but suffered and repented. If your Church permits you, pray often for her. Remember, when you hear her blamed, that in the glare of courts, she had none to breed her up in godly fear and simple truth like your good mother at Bridgefield, but that she learnt to think what you view in the light of deadly sin as the mere lawful instruments of government, above all for the weaker. Condemn her not utterly, but pray, pray with all your hearts that her God and Saviour will accept her penitence, and unite her sufferings with those of her Lord, since He has done her the grace of letting her die in part for His Church. Now," she added, kissing each brow, and then holding her daughter in her embrace, "take her away, Humfrey, and let me turn my soul from all earthly loves and cares!"

CHAPTER XLIV

ON THE HUMBER

Master Talbot had done considerately in arranging that Cicely should at least begin her journey on a pillion behind himself, for her anguish of suppressed weeping unfitted her to guide a horse, and would have attracted the attention of any serving-man behind whom he could have placed her, whereas she could lay her head against his shoulder, and feel a kind of dreary repose there.

He would have gone by the more direct way to Hull, through Lincoln, but that he feared that February Filldyke would have rendered the fens impassable, so he directed his course more to the north-west. Cicely was silent, crushed, but more capable of riding than of anything else; in fact, the air and motion seemed to give her a certain relief.

He meant to halt for the night at a large inn at Nottingham. There was much stir in the court, and it seemed to be full of the train of some great noble. Richard knew not whether to be glad or sorry when he perceived the Shrewsbury colours and the silver mastiff badge, and was greeted by a cry of "Master Richard of Bridgefield!" Two or three retainers of higher degree came round him as he rode into the yard, and, while demanding his news, communicated their own, that my Lord was on his way to Fotheringhay to preside at the execution of the Queen of Scots.

He could feel Cicely's shudder as he lifted her off her horse, and he replied repressively, "I am bringing my daughter from thence."

"Come in and see my Lord," said the gentleman. "He is a woeful man at the work that is put on him."

Lord Shrewsbury did indeed look sad, almost broken, as he held out his hand to Richard, and said, "This is a piteous errand, cousin, on which I am bound. And thou, my young kinswoman, thou didst not succeed with her Majesty!"

"She is sick with grief and weariness," said Richard. "I would fain take her to her chamber."

The evident intimacy of the new-comers with so great a personage as my Lord procured for them better accommodation than they might otherwise have had, and Richard obtained for Cicely a tiny closet within the room where he was himself to sleep. He even contrived that she should be served alone, partly by himself, partly by the hostess, a kind motherly woman, to whom he committed her, while he supped with the Earl, and was afterwards called into his sleeping chamber to tell him of his endeavours at treating with Lord and Lady Talbot, and also to hear his lamentations over the business he had been sent upon. He had actually offered to make over his office as Earl Marshal to Burghley for the nonce, but as he said, "that of all the nobles in England, such work should fall to the lot of him, who had been for fourteen years the poor lady's host, and knew her admirable patience and sweet conditions, was truly hard."

Moreover, he was joined in the commission with the Earl of Kent, a sour Puritan, who would rejoice in making her drink to the dregs of the cup of bitterness! He was sick at heart with the thought. Richard represented that he would, at least, be able to give what comfort could be derived from mildness and compassion.

"Not I, not I!" said the poor man, always weak. "Not with those harsh yoke-fellows Kent and Paulett to drive me on, and that viper Beale to report to the Privy Council any strain of mercy as mere treason. What can I do?"

"You would do much, my Lord, if you would move them to restore—for these last hours—to her those faithful servants, Melville and De Preaux, whom Paulett hath seen fit to seclude from her. It is rank cruelty to let her die without the sacraments of her Church when her conscience will not let her accept ours."

"It is true, Richard, over true. I will do what I can, but I doubt me whether I shall prevail, where Paulett looks on a Mass as mere idolatry, and will not brook that it should be offered in his house. But come you back with me, kinsman. We will send old Master Purvis to take your daughter safely home."

Richard of course refused, and at the same time, thinking an explanation necessary and due to the Earl, disclosed to him that Cicely was no child of his, but a near kinswoman of the Scottish Queen, whom it was desirable to place out of Queen Elizabeth's reach for the present, adding that there had been love passages between her and his son Humfrey, who intended to wed her and see some foreign service. Lord Shrewsbury showed at first some offence at having been kept in ignorance all these years of such a fact, and wondered what his Countess would say, marvelled too that his cousin should consent to his son's throwing himself away on a mere stranger, of perilous connection, and going off to foreign wars; but the good nobleman was a placable man, and always considerably influenced by the person who addressed him, and he ended by placing the Mastiff at Richard's disposal to take the young people to Scotland or Holland, or wherever they might wish to go.

This decided Mr. Talbot on making at once for the seaport; and accordingly he left behind him the horse, which was to serve as a token to his son that such was his course. Cicely had been worn out with her day's journey, and slept late and sound, so that she was not ready to leave her chamber till the Earl and his retinue were gone, and thus she was spared actual contact with him who was to doom her mother, and see that doom carried out. She was recruited by rest, and more ready to talk than on the previous day, but she was greatly disappointed to find that she might not be taken to Bridgefield.

"If I could only be with Mother Susan for one hour," she sighed.

"Would that thou couldst, my poor maid," said Richard. "The mother hath the trick of comfort."

"'Twas not comfort I thought of. None can give me that," said the poor girl; "but she would teach me how to be a good wife to Humfrey."

These words were a satisfaction to Richard, who had begun to feel somewhat jealous for his son's sake, and to doubt whether the girl's affection rose to the point of requiting the great sacrifice made for his sake, though truly in those days parents were not wont to be solicitous as to the mutual attachment between a betrothed pair. However, Cicely's absolute resignation of herself and her fate into Humfrey's hands, without even a question, and with entire confidence and peace, was evidence enough that her heart was entirely his; nay, had been his throughout all the little flights of ambition now so entirely passed away, without apparently a thought on her part.

It was on the Friday forenoon, a day very unlike their last entrance into Hull, that they again entered the old town, in the brightness of a crisp frost; but poor Cicely could not but contrast her hopeful mood of November with her present overwhelming sorrow, where, however, there was one drop of sweetness. Her foster-father took her again to good Mr. Heatherthwayte's, according to the previous invitation, and was rejoiced to see that the joyous welcome of Oil-of-Gladness awoke a smile; and the little girl, being well trained in soberness and discretion, did not obtrude upon her grief.

Stern Puritan as he was, the minister himself contained his satisfaction that the Papist woman was to die and never reign over England until he was out of hearing of the pale maiden who had—strange as it seemed to him—loved her enough to be almost broken-hearted at her death.

Richard saw Goatley and set him to prepare the Mastiff for an immediate voyage. Her crew, somewhat like those of a few modern yachts, were permanently attached to her, and lived in the neighbourhood of the wharf, so that, under the personal superintendence of one who was as much loved and looked up to as Captain Talbot, all was soon in a state of forwardness, and Gillingham made himself very useful. When darkness put a stop to the work and supper was being made ready, Richard found time to explain matters to Mr. Heatherthwayte, for his honourable mind would not permit him to ask his host unawares to perform an office that might possibly be construed as treasonable. In spite of the preparation which he had already received through Colet's communications, the minister's wonder was extreme. "Daughter to the Queen of Scots, say you, sir! Yonder modest, shamefast maiden, of such seemly carriage and gentle speech?"

Richard smiled and said—"My good friend, had you seen that poor lady—to whom God be merciful—as I have done, you would know that what is sweetest in our Cicely's outward woman is derived from her; for the inner graces, I cannot but trace them to mine own good wife."

Mr. Heatherthwayte seemed at first hardly to hear him, so overpowered was he with the notion that the daughter of her, whom he was in the habit of classing with Athaliah and Herodias, was in his house, resting on the innocent pillow of Oil-of-Gladness. He made his guest recount to him the steps by which the discovery had been made, and at last seemed to embrace the idea. Then he asked whether Master Talbot were about to carry the young lady to the protection of her brother in Scotland; and when the answer was that it might be poor protection even if conferred, and that by all accounts the Court of Scotland was by no means a place in which to leave a lonely damsel with no faithful guardian, the minister asked—

"How then will you bestow the maiden?"

"In that, sir, I came to ask you to aid me. My son Humfrey is following on our steps, leaving Fotheringhay so soon as his charge there is ended; and I ask of you to wed him to the maid, whom we will then take to Holland, when he will take service with the States."

The amazement of the clergyman was redoubled, and he began at first to plead with Richard that a perilous overleaping ambition was leading him thus to mate his son with an evil, though a royal, race.

At this Richard smiled and shook his head, pointing out that the very last thing any of them desired was that Cicely's birth should be known; and that even if it were, her mother's marriage was very questionable. It was no ambition, he said, that actuated his son, "But you saw yourself how, nineteen years ago, the little lad welcomed her as his little sister come back to him. That love hath grown up with him. When, at fifteen years old, he learnt that she was a nameless stranger, his first cry was that he would wed her and give her his name. Never hath his love faltered; and even when this misfortune of her rank was known, and he lost all hope of gaining her, while her mother bade her renounce him, his purpose was even still to watch over and guard her; and at the end, beyond all our expectations, they have had her mother's dying blessing and entreaty that he would take her."

"Sir, do you give me your word for that?"

"Yea, Master Heatherthwayte, as I am a true man. Mind you, worldly matters look as different to a poor woman who knoweth the headsman is in the house, as to one who hath her head on her dying pillow. This Queen had devised plans for sending our poor Cis abroad to her French and Lorraine kindred, with some of the French ladies of her train."

"Heaven forbid!" broke out Heatherthwayte, in horror. "The rankest of Papists—"

"Even so, and with recommendations to give her in marriage to some adventurous prince whom the Spaniards might abet in working woe to us in her name. But when she saw how staunch the child is in believing as mine own good dame taught her, she saw, no doubt, that this would be mere giving her over to be persecuted and mewed in a convent."

"Then the woman hath some bowels of mercy, though a Papist."

"She even saith that she doubteth not that such as live honestly and faithfully by the light that is in them shall be saved. So when she saw she prevailed nothing with the maid, she left off her endeavours. Moreover, my son not only saved her life, but won her regard by his faith and honour; and she called him to her, and even besought him to be her daughter's husband. I came to you, reverend sir, as one who has known from the first that the young folk are no kin to one another; and as I think the peril to you is small, I deemed that you would do them this office. Otherwise, I must take her to Holland and see them wedded by a stranger there."

Mr. Heatherthwayte was somewhat touched, but he sat and considered, perceiving that to marry the young lady to a loyal Englishman was the safest way of hindering her from falling into the clutches of a Popish prince; but he still demurred, and asked how Mr. Talbot could talk of the mere folly of love, and for its sake let his eldest son and heir become a mere exile and fugitive, cut off, it might be, from home.

"For that matter, sir," said Richard, "my son is not one to loiter about, as the lubberly heir, cumbering the land at home. He would, so long as I am spared in health and strength, be doing service by land or sea, and I trust that by the time he is needed at home, all this may be so forgotten that Cis may return safely. The maid hath been our child too long for us to risk her alone. And for such love being weak and foolish, surely, sir, it was the voice of One greater than you or I that bade a man leave his father and mother and cleave unto his wife."

Mr. Heatherthwayte still murmured something about "youth" and "lightly undertaken," and Master Talbot observed, with a smile, that when he had seen Humfrey he might judge as to the lightness of purpose.

Richard meanwhile was watching somewhat anxiously for the arrival of his son, who, he had reckoned, would make so much more speed than was possible for Cis, that he might have almost overtaken them, if the fatal business had not been delayed longer than he had seen reason to anticipate. However, these last words had not long been out of his mouth when a man's footsteps, eager, yet with a tired sound and with the clank of spurs, came along the paved way outside, and there was a knock at the door. Some one else had been watching; for, as the street door was opened, Cicely sprang forward as Humfrey held out his arms; then, as she rested against his breast, he said, so that she alone could hear, "Her last words to me were, 'Give her my love and blessing, and tell her my joy is come—such joy as I never knew before.'"

Then they knew the deed was done, and Richard said, "God have mercy on her soul!" Nor did Mr. Heatherthwayte rebuke him. Indeed there was no time, for Humfrey exclaimed, "She is swooning." He gathered her in his arms, and carried her where they lighted him, laying her on Oil's little bed, but she was not entirely unconscious, and rallied her senses so as to give him a reassuring look, not quite a smile, and yet wondrously sweet, even in the eyes of others. Then, as the lamp flashed on his figure, she sprang to her feet, all else forgotten in the exclamation.