Queen's Own Fool (40 page)

 

There was a great tension in the air now. Not just between the queen and Lord William. There was even a roughening between Lord William and young George.

One day as I was fetching the fresh laundry from the keep where the laundresses had delivered it, I passed a chamber where Lord William was locked in a heated argument with his brother.

Eavesdropping in the queen's cause,
I told myself,
is never a sin.
Besides, they were so involved in mutual accusations, they did not know I was there. So I stopped by the door and listened.

“Yer smitten,” Lord William said loudly. “Ye never could hang on to yer wits in the presence of a pretty face.”

“If I take pity on an innocent woman, am I to be blamed for that?” George cast back. “I do not relish the role of jailer as much as you do, brother, especially when the prisoner is the queen.”

“Queen no longer, Geordie,” Lord William reminded him sharply. “She signed her abdication.”

“Aye, under threat of death, which even a man might have done. And ye standing by while it happened. Like a whipped dog eager to lick the master's boots.”

I leaned closer to the door.

There was the sound of rustling papers, then Sir William said, “Ambitious little toad. Ye wish to marry her. To make yerself king.”

George's voice was as full of bristles as a hedgehog. “I harbor no such ambition, and well ye know it, brother! But if I serve her faithfully and ye do not, which of us then is the traitor?” His voice rose shrilly on the last word.

My heart had begun to pound. I thought about leaving, but I did not.

There was an ominous pause before Lord William said coldly, “Yer dangerously close, lad. Don't say more, else I will never forgive.”

“Forgive? What have ye to forgive?” George retorted. He was in full roar now. “There should be truth between us, brother. Blood—if not humors—ties us to one another. But I say ‘traitor' and mean each syllable.
I
will not be a party to the regent's plans. Nothing would suit him better than for the queen to die here.” He paused. “Some small accident, is it? A convenient drowning, perhaps?”

I held my breath.
Where is the queen's safe haven now?
I thought.
I must tell Mary. We have to get the queen away.

“
I
am the laird,” came Lord William's cold voice. “Ye'll do as I demand. Brother or no.”

“And if I do not?” George's voice matched him, ice for ice.

“Then ye'll be gone.”

For a moment George was silent, as if gathering his courage. Then he said, “Yer
allies,
my dear brother, are men without honor, loyal to nothing but their own ambition.”

“Go! And the while, keep yerself far from the queen. The guards have already been ordered to bar ye from her chambers.”

“Go I will! Better that than become a prisoner here myself.”

“Och,” Lord William sighed. “Arguing with a fool is dry work. Where is my wine? Gordon? Gordon? Where are ye, stupid boy?”

As he stormed out of the room, I jumped nimbly aside, busying myself in the linen cupboard. George emerged a few moments later. His grim countenance brightened when he saw me.

“Were you listening at the door, Nicola?”

A flush spread across my cheeks.

“Good. Then you know I must go. But tell your mistress I will not be far off. Tell her ... tell her she can count upon me when her hour comes.”

I sketched a brief curtsy. “I will tell her gladly,” I said carefully. “But I will miss your visits, sir. As will the queen. You are not a Douglas in heart.”

“Do not say that, Nicola. I am twice the Douglas my brother is. And will prove it, to the queen and to God.”

 

The days went by, then weeks, and we finally decided that we could not just wait for George, we would have to make a plan ourselves.

One consolation was that we were finally rid of Lady Douglas. Heavily pregnant, she had taken to her bed in the hall, clucked over by female relatives and two midwives. An April baby was expected.

“A cackle of nestlings, more like,” I said to Mary and the queen, which brought a bit of laughter into our lives.

The other consolation was that the queen was no longer close-guarded. The soldiers had grown steadily lax during the winter.

The queen, Mary, and I sat huddled by the fire one morning, waiting for the sun to break through the grey long enough to let us walk outside.

“We have to have a boat,” I said.

Mary clucked her tongue, as if to say, “Of course.”

“And there are three ways to get one.” I held up my three fingers, pointing to each in turn. “Buy one, borrow one, or steal one.”

They both nodded, their fingers busy at their embroideries.

“Which do you suggest?” Mary asked.

“Borrow. That way no one else gets in trouble for helping us.”

The queen smiled down at her stitchery.

“There will never be a better chance to break free,” I pointed out.

At that moment, the fire in the hearth crackled loudly as if signalling its agreement.

“Do you imagine I have not considered escape?” the queen asked softly, looking up. “I consider it every day. But what is the sense in raising our hopes only to have them dashed.”

Mary nodded. “George hinted at plans afoot. Should we not wait for him?”

I said hurriedly, “Whatever George meant by the queen's hour, that time had not yet come. And time, as we all know, is not on our side.” What I didn't say aloud—and didn't need to—was that with a murder charge hanging over the queen's head, the executioners might come any day.

The queen stood and put her back to the fire. Such was our close companionship in this prison, neither Mary nor I felt compelled to rise with her.

“My dears, ” the queen said, “I could not now make a drop from the tower without breaking a leg—or worse.”

“We will not have to drop from the tower or vault the gate. We will simply go through it,” I promised. “I have been up all night thinking and have finally got it!”

Mary stared at me as if I had lost my mind. “Got what?”

“The plan!”

Toying with the ring Regal Mary had sent her, the queen said, “Perhaps if this were a magic ring, Nicola, as in one of your stories, I could become invisible, and simply walk past the guards unseen. ”

“You shall pass them by unseen,” I said. “And in broad daylight, too. It will not take magic to do it.”

I rushed out of the room and returned with a bundle of rough garments of linsey-woolsey which I laid out before her.

Surprised, she said, “What is this?”

“A disguise, Majesty,” I said.

Her eyes widened. She had often dressed up for masques. On one occasion she had even passed as a soldier.

“As you know, I was ashore recently running some errands with the castle servants,” I explained. “While they were taking refreshment at a tavern, I obtained these clothes. I said they were for rags to soften your mattress.”

“Why didn't you say anything of this before?” Mary asked. Her hands were now folded atop her embroidery.

“Because I needed to think more about it. As the queen said—not wanting to raise hopes only to dash them.”

The queen picked up one of the two sacklike dresses and held it under her chin. She looked thoughtful. “Do you think I can pass for a village washerwoman?”

“We will have to ruin your hair and wash off your makeup,” Mary told her.

“It might work....” The queen hesitated. “As long as no one notices I am gone. But Lord William insists on knowing my whereabouts at all times. His servants check on me regularly.”

“I
have an idea,” Mary said. She went over to the queen's dressing table and lifted up one of the hairpieces the queen used to fill out her natural hair. “These will do.”

“What do you mean?” the queen asked.

Mary held the peruke on top of her own head. “If I put on one of your dresses, Majesty, and fashion my hair into the same style as yours, I might be taken for you from a reasonable distance.”

“Yes,” the queen agreed somberly. “If you sit at the window as I so often do, and with your face averted, Lord William's men might well be deceived.”

“And thinking you safe in the tower, like a princess in a fairy tale, they will not be looking for you elsewhere,” I concluded. I had already thought of that part of the plan, but did not want to spoil Mary's obvious pleasure in proposing it.

“I wish it were not such a serious business,” said the queen, “for it would make a splendid joke.” There were sudden tears in her eyes. “But dearest Mary, how can we leave you behind to take the blame?”

“Once we are away,” I said quickly, “Mary can get back into her own clothes and lie down in her room, to be fast asleep when it is discovered we are gone. How can they then blame her? Surely she would have come with us, had she known of our plans.”

“You have thought of everything, Nicola!” the queen said, and clapped her hands. “And you, too, dear Mary. Brava!” She spun around in place and her skirts belled out around her. Then she stopped suddenly. “We must go tomorrow. Before we have time for fear.”

Brava, Majesty!
I thought.

 

The very next day the washerwomen came from the village to deliver what clean linens they had and round up the used. Normally they saved the queen's linens and her small clothes for the last.

I watched them from the window while the queen changed into her disguise. I was already in mine. At the same time, Mary stood before the mirror adjusting her false hair and tugging at her gown.

There were enough servants coming and going that the guards would pay no attention to yet another pair of common slatterns. That was important to my plan.

The queen and I got down the stairs and out of the tower without a mishap, bundles of dirty laundry in our arms.

I led the queen across the courtyard. She wore a rough plaid pulled up over her face, for her features were too striking and familiar not to be concealed. As to her walk—I had spent the morning training her and she managed to cast aside her elegant glide in favor of a longer stride and a clumsier gait.

“Never—never—look up into anyone's face,” I warned her. “Your eyes, Majesty, will give you away.”

We passed almost too easily up to the gate carrying the fardel of laundry without drawing so much as a glance. The soldiers were busily chatting with one another, and paid us no mind.

But the gate—that would be the big test.

For the first time in days the sun was shining brilliantly, so we had nowhere to hide.

I signalled the queen to adjust her plaid once more, and—as she did so—the great ring on her hand with the mouse and lion carving winked at me.

“Hssst,” I said to get her attention, showing her my hand.

She understood and slipped the ring off, hiding it in her clothing.

We got to the castle gate, walking close, all but clinging together. The guards glanced briefly at us, then away. It was then I realized that I was holding my breath and let it out in a single whoosh.

One of the guards called out, “A problem, lassies?”

“Just a stink,” I called back in my broadest Scots accent, “the wind off these rags.”

They laughed and turned back to their own gossip.

As we made our way down to the shore, the queen winked at me. I was so astonished, I nearly dropped the laundry.

“Head down, Madam,” I whispered, and she did just that, adjusting the plaid to further hide her face.

My heart was pounding, not so much with excitement but fear. It was all I could do to put one foot before another. Even when I had run from Bothwell's men in the night, I had not been so overmastered by fright. But then I had had only myself to worry about.

At last we reached one of the boats, where a man dozed in the sun.

“We are done with work, fellow,” I said. “Take us back to town.”

He awoke at my words, helped us into the boat, then cast off smoothly from the island, pulling leisurely on the oars. I did not dare arouse his suspicions by trying to hurry him.

The water slapped lightly,
pit-pat,
on the side of the boat as we glided along over the waves. The sun cast brilliant jewels of light on the water. Across the loch, the far shore was like a glimpse of paradise.

I glanced over to reassure the queen, who was sitting with her head downcast, as if studying her shoes, the plaid covering her head like a cowl.

Her shoes! I suddenly realized she was wearing her elegant black velvet boots. A rush of bile rose in my throat, flooding my mouth. I prayed that the boatman—who was facing us—would not notice the queen's feet.

“I have seen ye on this crossing before,” he said to me.

“Yes, I am often sent on errands by Lady Douglas,” I said, hoping my voice would not shake.

“And yer friend?” he asked, leaning forward. “I dinna recognize her at all.”

The queen looked away and I leaned forward to take his eye on me instead.

“She is but newly come from Killin,” I said. “She is still a wee bit shy.” I could hear her shift behind me. “And a wee bit unwell. She is trying not to catch a chill.”

“Chill?” the boatman laughed. “The sun is out full, lassie! Enjoy it while ye can. We will pay for it tomorrow.” He laid down his oars. There was a curious glint in his eye. “Be it just a pretty face she hides for the sake of a jealous husband?”