Robert smiled. He was already composing the compliments he would pay Elizabeth when he returned from his visit to Mary.

When he had left her, Elizabeth wrote to the Earl and Countess of Shrewsbury. They must treat the Earl of Leicester as they would treat her, for all that was done to him was done to herself. “He is another ourself,” she wrote indulgently.

There were still times when she could be indiscreet through love of Leicester.

IT WAS GRATIFYING to be back at Low Buxton. For the first few days Mary indulged in the pleasure which she found in this place; her health improved and there was gaiety in her apartments. She did wonder at the capricious behavior of Elizabeth in whisking her away and then allowing her to return.

Then Bess broke the news that Leicester was coming to Low Buxton.

“He has to take the waters on account of his health,” she said. “It seems strange to me that he should pay his visit while Your Majesty is here. You will have a chance of assessing the charm of this man who, rumor has it, has fathered several children on the Queen.”

Mary looked startled but Bess went on: “Oh, there is none to hear me. And if such a rumor were repeated, Elizabeth would never dare accuse me of uttering it. Such matters are best kept dark.”

“She could take her revenge by accusing you of something else.”

Bess snapped her fingers. She had changed since her stay in the Tower. Her dignity had certainly been ruffled; and there was one other event which had increased her pride; that was the birth of her granddaughter, Arabella Stuart, to Elizabeth and Charles whose marriage had been the cause of her imprisonment. Bess had a granddaughter—her own flesh and blood—who was in the line of succession to the throne; it was something she could not forget. Her Arabella, she thought, though she was wise enough not to give voice to this thought, was more royal than Queen Elizabeth, for the child was undoubtedly legitimate; and could Henry VIII’s marriage to Elizabeth’s mother, Anne Boleyn, be really accepted as legal? Bess believed that little Arabella might well one day be Queen. Why not? She had an indefatigable grandmother to scheme for her.

So, in the presence of Mary, she could snap her fingers at Elizabeth, and she had no compunction in recalling all the scandalous gossip she had ever heard about her.

Leicester arrived in due course at Low Buxton, and on the orders of Elizabeth the Shrewsburys treated him with the respect due to royalty.

When he was brought to Mary, they assessed each other, and Mary was immediately aware of the charm which Elizabeth had found so potent, though it had no effect on her. She was certain that Leicester was an enemy. As for Leicester, he was struck by the beauty of Mary and wistfully thought how pleasant it would have been if the attempt to marry her had been successful.

Mary was pale and often moved with difficulty; the years of imprisonment in comfortless castles had robbed her of her youth, yet her beauty was indestructible. The contours of her face were perfect, although the flesh had fallen away from the bones; the long eyes were lovely although there were shadows beneath them; and all her movements were graceful in spite of rheumatism.

There is still time, thought Leicester, to take her away and restore her to that glowing beauty which must once have been hers.

He would tell Elizabeth of the shadows under her eyes, of her loss of flesh, of her rheumatism. That would please the jealous creature and do him no harm.

Meanwhile he sought to charm the Queen of Scots. This was not so easy as charming Elizabeth. There had been too many to love this woman, not for her crown but for herself. She lacked Elizabeth’s political shrewdness certainly, but she had learned not deliberately to blind herself to the motives of men who came to court her.

He talked often with her, during the stay at Low Buxton, but she was always aloof. He tried to discover how firm was the basis of those rumors which said Don Jon of Austria was to be her husband. He implied that he was ready to work in her cause. But she did not trust him. She played a skillful game of prevarication with him which angered him, and he decided that he could do no good by lingering at Low Buxton.

He curtailed his visit, declaring that the baths were less beneficial than he had hoped, and he went away angry, but not before he had had a private talk with the Earl.

The health of the Queen of Scots was clearly not good, he said. Queen Elizabeth would be disturbed when she heard of this and he was going to ask that a certain physician be sent who he was sure would quickly cure Mary of her ills.

Shrewsbury thanked the Earl for his kindness and trusted he would take a good report to Elizabeth of the hospitality he had received at Low Buxton.

“Have no fear,” Leicester told him. “You could not have made a guest more welcome if that guest had been Elizabeth herself.”

So he left Buxton pondering. The Queen of Scots would not accept him as a friend. He knew what sort of physician he would send to her.

MARY HAD RETURNED with the Shrewsburys and her little court and guards to Sheffield when Leicester’s physician arrived.

Bess and her husband were apprehensive when they discovered that he was an Italian named Julio Borgarucci.

Bess took him to the apartment which had been prepared for him and then hurried to the Earl.

“Are you thinking the same as I am?” she asked.

“An Italian!” murmured the Earl. “We know what they are noted for.”

“I fancy I have heard of this man. He is not so much a physician as a professional poisoner.”

“Do you think he comes on the command of the Queen?”

“Who knows? Leicester is one of those who believe they can act first and ask the Queen’s permission afterward.”

“I’ll not have my prisoner poisoned under my roof.”

“Ah, Shrewsbury, you are truly vehement for once! But I had forgotten—she is more than your prisoner, is she not?”

“She is the Queen of Scotland.”

“Your beloved Queen of Scotland! You must protect her at all costs . . . against Leicester’s Italian . . . against Elizabeth herself, if this man comes by her command.”

“I believe, my dear Bess, that you feel in this manner as I do. You would never agree that such a foul deed should be done to a helpless woman in our care.”

Bess nodded; but she was not so sure. She kept thinking of her granddaughter, little Arabella Stuart. Since the birth of this child, Bess could not stop thinking of the bright possibility of her wearing the crown. The fewer to stand before her in the line of succession the better; consequently Bess had felt less kindly toward the Queen of Scots since the birth of Arabella. Not that she showed this; not that she entirely admitted the fact to herself; but it was there . . . lurking at the back of her mind, and the advent of Julio Borgarucci to Sheffield could only renew it.

But Shrewsbury could be determined when he made up his mind. He would not allow Mary to eat any food which was not prepared by her own faithful servants. He dropped hints to Seton who was doubly watchful; so no harm came to Mary through the visit of Borgarucci; and Shrewsbury seized an early opportunity to have the man sent from Sheffield.

How zealous he is to preserve Mary’s safety! thought Bess. Rarely have I seen Shrewsbury bestir himself so much.

She wondered then if he were in truth enamored of Mary. She did not greatly care if he were. All her thoughts were becoming more and more centered on the future of little Arabella.

SETON WAS PREOCCUPIED, Mary noticed, and she believed she knew the reason why. Andrew Beaton was continually seeking opportunities to be in her company; at first she had repulsed him; now she did not do so. But neither Seton nor Andrew Beaton behaved like two people in love.

Mary thought of them often. If Seton were in love she should marry and go away from here. This could be arranged. Andrew might go to Scotland or, if that was too dangerous, to France. Seton, like herself, thought Mary, had not thrived in these damp and drafty castles which had been their homes for so long. Seton suffered from pains in her limbs similar to those which affected Mary; and a few gray hairs were beginning to show. No one could live in this captivity and not show the effects of it. Mary thought with a start: In a few years’ time, if we go on like this, Seton and I will be old women.

It was characteristic of Mary that, although she herself was unable to escape, and although Seton was her dearest friend, she should consider Seton’s happiness rather than her own.

Seton must marry Andrew Beaton and she, Mary, would do all she possibly could to give them a chance of happiness.

She tackled Seton as they sat at their needlework alone.

“Seton, what of Andrew Beaton?”

A hot flush spread across Seton’s pale face. “What of him, Your Majesty?”

“I think he is in love with you. Are you with him?”

Seton shrugged her shoulders. “If I were, it would be of little consequence.”

“Of little consequence! Seton! What are you saying? I think love is of the greatest consequence. If you are in love with Andrew and he with you you should marry.”

“My family would never permit the match. You know Andrew is only a younger brother.”

“Nonsense!” cried Mary. “I do not believe you yourself are affected one little bit by such a consideration. The Beatons are a noble family. You are seeking excuses. And I tell you this, Seton, that if you decided to marry Andrew, I would, as far as I am able, bestow some title upon him which would make the Setons quickly change their opinion.”

Seton shook her head.

“Seton, you are not refusing Andrew on account of someone else?”

“No other man has asked me to marry him.”

“I did not mean a man. You have some foolish notion that your duty lies with your poor mistress.”

Seton turned to Mary and threw herself into her arms. “Do you think I could ever leave you?”

“Oh Seton, Seton, this is unlike you. You must not weep. My dearest friend, do you think I could be happy knowing that I had stood between you and your happiness?”

“My happiness is with you.”

“No, Seton. It is with Andrew. Do you think I am blind?”

“I have vowed to stay with you forever.”

“Such a vow can be broken.”

“It never can!” cried Seton vehemently.

“It is going to be. I am going to command you to break it.”

“It is not as simple as you think. I have taken a solemn and sacred vow to devote myself to a life of celibacy. This could never be broken.”

“It could be broken if you had a dispensation. We will send Andrew to his brother the Archbishop who is now in Paris, and ask him to tell us the best means of securing this dispensation. He can bring us new silks for our embroidery while he is there and perhaps some clothes. Seton, will you agree that I send for Andrew at once?”

Seton’s eyes were filled with tears. “How could I ever leave you?”

“But you love Andrew.”

“I love you both.”

“Then, my friend, you must leave me to decide for you.”

Mary then sent for Andrew Beaton and in the presence of Seton told him of the conversation which had taken place between them.

“Go to Paris, Andrew,” she said. “Come back with your brother’s advice on how this foolish friend of mine can be released from her folly.”

Andrew turned to Seton, and as she smiled he strode toward her and took her into his arms.

Mary stood watching their embrace, smiling tenderly, praying that Seton would now enjoy the happiness she deserved, wondering whether the future might not hold some similar joy for her.

VERY SOON after that interview Andrew Beaton set out for Paris. It soon became known throughout the castle that when he returned he and Seton would be married. Mary brought out all the materials which had been sent to her from France and there was activity in her apartments. Several of the women, with Mary in charge, were working on Seton’s wedding dress which was to be beautifully embroidered. Caps and sleeves were designed and stitched, and each day there was speculation as to whether this would be the one on which Andrew returned.

Seton looked younger every day, and Mary was sure that she had made the right decision for her. When she has children, Mary thought, she will thank me for insisting that she take a husband and renounce her foolish vow to serve me.

Yet Seton’s happiness was clouded because that friendship, which had lasted all their lives, would never be quite the same again after she was married. The Queen had been her first consideration for so long, and Seton wondered how Mary would fare without her.