The royal party entered the quadrangle, with its old covered well in
the centre, and the horses drawing Darnley's litter came to a halt.
Reaching out a thin white hand, he drew back the curtains and then
stuck his feet out. Sir Anthony Standen was instantly beside him,
helping him alight.
Darnley turned around, looking over the buildings. The large building,
belonging to the Duke, was not for his use. The Balfour buildings for
there were three of them, all attached directly across from the Duke's,
were the designated ones.
Sure enough, Robert Balfour emerged from the newest looking of the
dwellings.
"Welcome, Your Highnesses," he said, bowing. He had light eyes like
his brother, but was much more fleshy. "All is prepared. It is a
great honour, yea, great "
Indeed, the entire adjoining house, with its connecting long chamber,
was in readiness. In the old Provost's house, the upper chamber had
been aired and fresh rushes laid down. A dais had been constructed at
the far end of the great chamber. Fires were blazing in all the
fireplaces, and the chill had been thoroughly driven away.
Mary put out her hand and felt the stone walls. They were quite dry.
It took several days, at this time of year, to dry. them out. And
building a dais fifteen feet wide took time and required carpenters.
They knew long beforehand to prepare for our coming, she thought. But
it was only this morning that Darnley had suddenly announced that he
wished to come here.
Announced it? Announced what had already been decided and arranged?
She felt a prickling and tingling in her scalp underneath her jewelled
cap.
What is happening? Who knew we were coming? Why does Darnley really
wish to stay here?
She glanced behind her at her husband, always tall and thin, but now
almost wraithlike. Is he planning another murder? Who is it he wishes
to kill now?
Me?
No, he loves me, like a love-slave.
Bothwell? He seems suspicious of him, but he must know that Bothwell
is the only one of the lords never to have entered into an intrigue
against us. Lord James? Maitland? Yes, he hates them, but he is
alone in his hatred. Lord James and Maitland do not stand as helpless
foreigners, like poor Riccio.. ..
A wave of contempt swept over her. Who was so poor in Scotland that he
could not find allies and fellow conspirators? Only this weak,
depraved, muddleheaded creature! Let him plan his plans they would be
as inept as he was!
"We must send for furniture," Mary said, looking at Darnley. "I had
already ordered many pieces to be transported to Craigmillar. Now from
Holyrood we will bring your bed, the one with the violet-brown hangings
and silver and gold embroidery which I gave you as a recent gift;
tapestries for these walls, which are already so dry we need not worry
about harming the needlework .. . the seven-piece set called The
Hunting of Coneys. And, of course, for the garderobe, your chaise
perchee, for when you need to .. ."
She could not see Darnley's face behind the taffeta mask. Was he
angry? Embarrassed?
".. . relieve yourself of the flux which troubles you so," she said
loudly.
She hoped he was embarrassed. Let everyone picture him perched on the
rim of the velvet' Covered privy, making foul smells and noises. Oh,
that would confirm his royalty in everyone's imagination!
He turned away, and she instantly felt bad. He was a fool, a whining,
selfish child who was evidently planning more mischief. But to descend
to the level of mocking his infirmity and making comments in public
about his bowels was inexcusable.
"I will also send for all the medicines, and for the bathtub for your
treatment," she said quickly. "And if there be a suitable place for
me, I shall sleep here as well."
Still Darnley kept his arms crossed and looked down at the floor,
sulkily.
"Naturally there is a place for you," said Robert Balfour smoothly. "It
is directly beneath His Majesty's. May I show it to you?"
They turned and walked the forty feet back across the long chamber. In
the connecting passage they had to ascend by two or three steps, as the
two buildings were on slightly different ground levels.
Balfour led the way down from the stone-slab landing at the top of the
spiral staircase, and around and out into a set of rooms identical to
Darnley's: an antechamber connected to a larger bedroom.
Even here a fire burned, and sweet rushes mixed with herbs made the
room smell like a faded June meadow.
"It seems you are either very wealthy, heating and scenting empty
rooms, or else very meticulous, in that you dislike leaving anything
undone," Mary said to Balfour. She watched him carefully.
"I confess to a certain extravagance," he said. "It is a failing of
mine."
No it isn't, Mary was tempted to say, but something held her back, an
instinctive caution. The fur on his doublet was frayed and he wore no
jewels or gold. Extravagance was not his natural vice.
He has been told to prepare all this, and ready a chamber for me, to
make it as inviting as possible, she thought. On whose orders?
Suddenly the isolated location, the small quarters which would permit
few guards seemed an ominous choice.
She saw Balfour looking at her.
If anyone seeks my life as they sought Riccio's, they will surely fail,
she thought. I have Bothwell to see I come to no harm.
"This chamber will be most suitable," she finally said.
As soon as she reasonably could, she left Kirk O'Field and went to
Holyrood, ostensibly to select the furniture and accoutrements to be
sent to the convalescent house.
It should have felt welcoming, but the same atmosphere of wrongness
hung over it as over Kirk O'Field. Her own apartments seemed filled
with ghosts: Riccio's, Ruthven's, and nameless ones that nonetheless
had a presence. It had never been purged of its evil.
Why, that is because Bothwell and I have never been together here, she
realized.
But the thought of making love in the chamber where Riccio had been
slain was abhorrent.
She contrived to linger long enough that she might have an opportunity
to speak, however briefly, with Bothwell. Her valets were busy laying
a fire: even the royal apartments did not, as a rule, have fires
blazing until their occupants arrived.
Those fires .. . the careful preparations ... it was inordinately
disturbing.
Bothwell appeared in the doorway, and her heart leapt.
Tis true, what Diane de Poitiers once told me, she thought with
surprise. To love someone is to catch your breath whenever he walks
into a room.
His brow was furrowed and he looked distracted. She forgot her own
troubling thoughts in her anxiety to soothe him. He was glancing
around, annoyed, at the chamber attendants. Their presence prevented
him from speaking, but to send them away would assure their
suspicions.
So she said, "Is it not odd how the King took a sudden whim to lodge at
Kirk O'Field? I cannot imagine why. It will make his treatment more
difficult, but he insists."
The attendants were fanning the fire, which was having trouble
catching. Clouds of smoke poured out into the chamber; they had not
made sure the chimney was clear. There was a scrambling and hissing as
some animal nesting inside was smoked out. Bothwell looked at them in
disdain.
"Will you be joining him?" he asked in a matter-of-fact voice.
"I will visit with him, but I do not wish to impede the doctors. His
treatment, after all, is the most important thing. There is a large
reception chamber there," she added, "with a dais already fitted at one
end. Perhaps, as he improves, some of the members of court can visit
with him there. Yes, I must have his chair of estate sent down. He
will need it to receive callers."
Bothwell glanced at the attendants, still on their knees, nursing the
fire. He rolled his eyes. "I wish him a speedy recovery," he finally
said. Bowing, he took his leave.
Wait! she wanted to say. Wait. I must talk to you about what is
happening.
But it was hopeless. She would have to wait for a more private time.
For the next few days, Darnley was kept in strict seclusion while the
physicians put him through a course of treatment that included hot
baths with salt and goat-fat ointment, broth with dried red peppers and
mulberries, and applications of dressings of oil of roses and camphor
to fade his lesions and prevent scarring. Between the treatments,
which were administered every four hours, he was supposed to lie in bed
and sleep. But in truth, it required so long to fill the tub with the
hot water that half the time Darnley was kept awake by the attendants
dumping their buckets of water into the tub and replacing the door that
served as a lid to keep the heat in.
Since he knew they were watching him the whole time, he made sure he
was engaged in edifying activities. He sang various Psalms and studied
the Bible, and kept a rosary conspicuously by his bedside. He wanted
to make sure that his last week was remembered for its piety and
goodness. He wrote letters to his father, who had been so concerned
about his safety, reassuring him and extolling the Queen's
reconciliation with him.
My Lord, I have thought to write unto you by this bearer of my good
health, I thank God. Which is the sooner come to, through the good
treatment of such as hath this good while concealed her good will, I
mean of my love, the Queen. Which I assure you hath all this while and
yet doth, use herself like a natural and loving wife, I hope yet that
God will lighten our hearts with joy that have so long been afflicted
with trouble. As I in this letter do write unto your Lordship, so I
trust this bearer can certify to you the like. Thus thanking Almighty
God of our good hap, I commit your Lordship unto His Protection. From
Edinburgh the i. of February, your loving and obedient son,
HENRY, REX
Yes. God would lighten their hearts with joy. Soon they would be
together in His sight and transported from this vale of afflictions.
But when would these treatments be mitigated so that the Queen could
spend the night? Otherwise it was not possible to carry out his plan.
And if not here, then where?
After four days of this regimen, the doctors pronounced themselves
astounded and gratified by his progress. The baths would be reduced to
two: one upon arising and one upon retiring. The dressings would be
discontinued, except only a light application of salve on the
eruptions, and he could return to regular food.
"And Your Majesty may have visitors," they said, "after the morning
bath. Only" the physicians looked at each other "we recommend that,
before granting audience to anyone, Your Majesty rub his teeth with
these dried rosemary twigs, and then gargle with this lavender
water."
Darnley frowned. So his breath was that foul? It was due to his lack
of eating real food, that was all. He snatched the twigs. "Very
well."