Mary Queen of Scotland & the Isles (41 page)

"Hallowe'en," Mary Beaton's father had intoned ominously.

When Mary showed no recognition of the word, he had shaken his head.
"The worst night of the year for God-fearing men .. . it's the
beginning of the dark time of year, and the devil and witches
celebrate. Stay indoors."

The French had shrugged their shoulders and laughed.

But Mary Beaton had whispered to her mistress. "My aunt is a witch.
Lady Janet Beaton she bewitched Bothwell and took him for a lover, and
she a married woman twenty years older, with seven children! Now she's
old, but doesn't look it. She has the face of a young maiden."

"Is he still are they.. . ?" asked Mary. Bothwell! A witch's lover
... It made him, suddenly, an object of curiosity.

"I do not know. I imagine they must meet at least occasionally for old
times' sake. A spell of witchcraft cannot always be broken."

Mary Fleming had overheard the exchange and, tossing her head, looked
scornful. "Mr. Maitland says all that is nonsense, and is used only
to frighten superstitious, simple people and bend them to one's
will."

"Oh, Mr. Maitland?" said Beaton. "Aren't you formal about him?"

Flamina looked embarrassed something that happened rarely. She had
found herself drawn to him, and liked to believe that he was attracted
to her, as most men were.

"I heard he was an atheist," Beaton persisted. "That he said God was a
bogey of the nursery."

"No one is an atheist!" said Flamina. "What a vile thing to say about
him!"

Maitland. Atheist or no, he was an able diplomat. Mary was anxious
for Maitland's return, probably more eager than Flamina, for politics
could be as exciting as love.

Now young Rene Marquis d'Elboeuf, came up to her, his horse all in a
lather.

"By the Virgin! What are you doing?" he said. "Must you ride like
the what do they call it here? the banshee?"

Chastelard galloped up, clutching her hat. "Here, Madam. I had to
climb down a ravine to rescue it." He handed it to her, his eyes
accusing.

"Make a verse about it, Chastelard," said Rene'. "Tell of your undying
love for the cmette princesse."

Chastelard did not smile.

"Let us return," said Mary. "It grows late." She replaced the hat on
her head and nodded her thanks to Chastelard. He continued staring at
her. What did he expect a reward?

The sun was bathing the voluptuously rounded gatehouse towers of the
palace in dying red light when the hunting party trotted into the
courtyard.

"Have we time for a game of tennis?" asked the Duc d'Aumale, hopping
off his horse.

"It will be dark in less than an hour," said Lord James. "Have you not
had enough playtime and exercise for one day?" He himself was anxious
to get to his desk, piled high with papers; and he had secret
correspondence to get off to Cecil.

"Mais oui, but it is such a fair court!"

Lake a gang of children, the Guises and the poets dashed across the
lawn to the stone-walled jeu quarre tennis court. It resembled a
large, high-roofed black box with a net stretched across the middle.

"It seems our father was not to be outdone by his uncle," said James to
Mary. "I have seen Henry VIII's famous tennis court at Hampton Court,
and this is better."

"Ah." Mary watched as the four Frenchmen threw off their riding cloaks
and tossed their hats on the ground to begin playing. Little Rene
gathered up the leaves that were lying on the black polished floor.

"Perhaps I will learn to play!" she called to them.

"Women do not play tennis!" cried Brantome.

"My Marys and I will practice in private here, behind the high walls,"
said Mary with a laugh.

"Then you will be as scandalous as Master Knox makes you out to be,"
said Mary Seton, standing quietly beside her.

"Good!" said Mary.

"Have a care, dear sister," said Lord James. "Do not provoke Knox.
Remember the Scripture: "Abstain from all appearance of evil." "

"So tennis is evil? Fie!"

"A woman cannot play tennis unless she dresses herself in men's
clothes, and that is an abomination unto the Lord."

Mary burst out laughing.

"Deuteronomy twenty-two, five," intoned Lord James. "And I pray that
the sound of your laughter at the Scripture does not carry beyond these
walls."

"Why, how could it? Unless someone reported it? See, the laughter has
already gone, carried away on the wind."

Lord James sighed. "I leave you to this amusement. I have work to
do." He glanced up at the sky, laced with purple clouds in hovering
shapes. "Do not linger here much longer."

A sudden rising wind soon brought an end to the game, swirling masses
of leaves through the windows of the court in a vortex. Laughing and
tired, the young people made their way into the palace, glad to be
indoors, to have a supper of rich white soup and "friar's fish": red
trout with lemons, anchovies and Rhenish wine. They sprawled in front
of the great fireplace in the Queen's privy chamber and ate, washing
down their food with French wine.

Soon the men decided to go to the Duc d'Aumale's chambers to play cards
and backgammon, and the women were left alone, dreaming before the
fire.

Mary looked at her Marys, a great feeling of protectiveness and
affection sweeping over her. They sat on their stools around the fire,
their heads bent, each one dreaming her own, enclosed dream. Mary
Seton, tall, self-possessed, the oldest of the four of what was she
dreaming? Seton had a certain seriousness of purpose that caused the
others to call her "the duenna," and that kept men from being attracted
to her.

Mary Fleming was restlessly moving her head. La Flamina, with her
fiery temperament and flamboyant looks. She had tumbling red-brown
hair, and her vitality was so marked it gave life even to colourless
people she associated with.

Mary Beaton, with her golden colouring, like Midas' daughter .. . she
reminded Mary of a marigold, an un showy but very beautiful flower.

Mary Livingston was beginning to peel an apple, cutting off its skin in
one long, winding strip. A little plump, with less spectacular looks
than Fleming and Beaton, Lusty had an easygoing warmth that was
alluringly disarming. She took the peel and threw it over her left
shoulder, then jumped up to look at it, walking all around it. Finally
she shrugged, looking disappointed.

"Whatever are you doing?" asked Mary, her voice the first sound to
rise above the snapping of the logs in the fireplace and the rising
wind outside.

"Telling my fortune. Tis an old Hallowe'en custom in Falkirk, where my
family is from. If you throw an apple peel over your left shoulder, it
reveals the initial of your future husband."

"Well, what does it say?" asked Fleming, jumping up.

"Nothing. It just lies there in a corkscrew."

"Here! Let me try!" Fleming grabbed an apple from the bowl by the
fireside, and began peeling it.

"You do it," said Seton, handing Mary a large apple and a knife.

Mary stared at the apple as if it were the one offered Eve by the
serpent. Then, slowly, she took the knife and began to peel a strip.
When it was long enough, she gingerly tossed it over her shoulder and
forced herself to go look at it.

To her relief, it also spelled nothing; nothing recognizable. It lay
at crazy angles.

"Nothing." She started to pick it up.

"Wait!" Fleming got down on her knees and inspected it. "It could be
an H."

"No, never." There were no Hs in any of the candidates who had been
paraded before her on paper for her hand: Don Carlos, Prince Erik of
Sweden, Archduke Charles of Austria, Charles IX of France .. .

"Clearly, there is no one," said Mary, feeling relief.

"But there will be," said Flamina.

"It is not yet a year since Francois ..." Mary's voice trailed off.

"You are only eighteen," said Beaton. "You must not pass your life
alone."

"All the men I might marry or rather, the children are not appealing,"
replied Mary.

"We will not marry until you do!" cried Lusty. "We hereby vow. Do we
not?" She stood and looked around the circle at the others. One by
one they stood up, and clasped hands.

"I vow not to marry until my mistress is wed," said Beaton.

"I vow to stay unwed until my sovereign has taken a husband," said
Flamina.

"I vow to keep myself only to her until that day," Seton finished.

"Ah, that is a touching but perhaps a foolish vow," said Mary. "I
would not keep you from happiness."

"We will not be happy until you are." They all embraced her.

She had to smile at the brave sacrifice they had made in advance.

"It is easy to give up something you do not yet possess," she told
them. "When it is a real person, then I fear you will regret this vow.
As for me, at this time, I have no wish to marry."

A great wave of loneliness swept over her at the implications of that
decision. I wish there were someone .. . but not a stranger, like
those men on the list ... a companion, someone like me, not someone who
shares nothing of my soul, my background, my language.. .. The Marys
are lucky just such a person is waiting for them, somewhere, whereas
with me, it is all politics.

"Perhaps someone will appear who will change your mind. Overnight!"
cried the impulsive Flamina. "These things happen."

"Yes, in stories," said Mary. "Not for queens, who must make arranged
marriages."

"But this man, perhaps, he would spirit you away "

A man not arranged with her councillors, a man whom she had chosen,
because she wanted him, liked him ! "Get thee behind me, Satan," she
said.

"What?" asked Beaton.

"I am thinking out loud." Mary smiled.

"About Satan? They say he's abroad this night, but "

Mary laughed. "Then perhaps it is time to bid one another good
night."

They gathered up their needlework and stood up.

Mary was still up, reading, near midnight when she heard the sound of
someone's arrival in the courtyard, and then the voice of Maitland in
the guardroom below. Quickly throwing on a mantle, she stepped out of
her rooms and descended the stairs.

Maitland looked up at her with surprise. "Your Majesty." He threw off
the hood of his mud-spattered cloak, and a guard closed the door behind
him, shutting out the wind. A clump of leaves blew in and scudded
across the floor.

"Pray come and tell me what has happened," she said. "Unless you are
too weary. But I will order refreshments how long have you ridden?"

"From London it is four days' journey without rest," he said. He
climbed the stairs, and she could see the effort it required for him to
lift each leg.