On March first appeared a placard with a drawing of Mary, stripped
naked to the waist, with a mermaid's tail, bearing the initials MR.
Underneath her was the crest of the Earl of Bothwell, surrounded by a
circle of bristling daggers.
A mermaid was a siren, a Circe, a prostitute.
The whore and her dagger-man were adulterous murderers, the placard
said without using words.
Mary sat on a bench, looking out at the glittering water of the Forth.
The day was surprisingly mild for March, the sun was shining and there
was an odour of promise in the air: brisk and stirring, as green as the
reeds standing like sentinels along the banks of the water. She was
wrapped in her great mourning cloak, staring off into the distance.
Lord George Seton, a gentle man, came up behind her. Gingerly he
touched her shoulder, and she turned and looked at him.
"A letter," he said. "From Queen Elizabeth."
The messenger had brought it first to Edinburgh, then wearily come
farther, to Seton House.
"Is the bearer still here?" she asked, reluctant to break open the
seal. "Even now he is taking refreshment."
"I would reward him for his pains." She did not want to open the
letter. "He will tarry here for a time, perhaps even sleep here."
"Good. Do not let him depart without my knowledge." "No, Your
Majesty." Discreetly he withdrew.
She took the letter, heavily sealed. She dreaded to read it. Slowly
she broke the stiff encrusted seal and began to read:
Madam,
My ears have been so astounded and my heart so frightened to hear of
the horrible and abominable murder of your husband and my cousin, that
I have scarcely spirit to write: yet I cannot conceal that I grieve
more for you than for him. I should not do the office of a faithful
cousin and friend, if I did not urge you to preserve your honour,
rather than look through your fingers at revenge on those who have done
you the pleasure, as most people say. I counsel you to take this
matter to heart, that you may show the world what a noble princess and
loyal woman you are. I write thus vehemently not that I doubt you, but
for my affection toward you.
Mary let the letter rest on her lap. It partially refolded itself of
its own accord.
How can I take revenge on the person who has perpetrated the crime? He
has taken revenge on himself, she thought. And for my child's sake, I
cannot reveal it!
The Virgin Queen could never, would never, understand such twisted and
murky matters.
Suddenly she grabbed the taunting, simplistic letter and crumpled it.
She wished to comply; in any other country and in any other situation
she could. But this place, this place that seemed nothing but a series
of plots and secrets and killings .. . perhaps Darnley had been normal
in England. He had seemed normal enough when he first came to
Scotland. But something happened once he got here. What was it? If
Elizabeth had known him when he was normal, then she could have no
comprehension of what had really happened, what he had become. Nor
could she grasp the magnitude of the crime.
A soft shuffling of feet behind her. She turned to see the messenger.
Yes, she had asked him to wait. But she could hardly tell him what she
had been thinking. Quickly she hid the wadded letter and hoped he had
not seen it.
"I thank my good sister and cousin for her kindness and honest advice,"
she said, choosing her words carefully. "She is wise and counsels
well. I am fortunate to have such a friend in this time of
misfortune." She lifted her hand and displayed the "Elizabeth ring"
which she still wore. "I intend to do all that she suggests, and more
besides."
The messenger bowed. "Is there any special message you wish me to
deliver into Her Majesty's ear?"
"Only that I hope and pray she will continue my good sister and
friend," said Mary.
She returned to Edinburgh, to the placards and the restive people.
Darnley had not quieted with his entombment, but seemed to have taken
on a new and stronger presence than before. The citizens of the city
seemed to wait eagerly until nightfall, when they could be entertained
by the placards and the ghostly crier, who eluded all attempts to
capture him. Mary could hear his wails, "Bothwell .. . Bothwell .. .
Bothwell killed the King!" echoing on the Canongate.
Suddenly an underling of James Balfour's was captured and killed, and
Balfour himself fled the city.
"It was rumoured that he was murdered because he knew too much about
the first murder," said Lord James to Mary. He had just returned from
St. Andrews. "Now the question is, who murdered him? Balfour? Why
did you not arrest him?"
"Why should I have arrested him?" asked Mary. "On what grounds?"
"On suspicion of murder! The placards name him!"
"Oh, the placards," she said with disdain. "Shall we now conduct
justice by allowing anyone too cowardly to accuse in daylight to accuse
anonymously under cover of darkness? That would be shameful! Above
all, we must try to act according to law. It is time the sun of
civilization began to shine here and dispel the mists where assassins
lurk."
"The placard was introduced from France," said Lord James. "It is one
of those new fashions you seem to like well enough in clothes and
music." He paused. "And what of Bothwell?"
"What of him?"
Lord James made a disparaging sound. He fingered his smooth beard and
looked right into her eyes. "You know what of him." Again he waited.
"He is named in the placards. The crier calls his name. There are
witnesses that he was about the night of the murder, seen with his men,
carrying barrels of powder right through the city "
"The placards! The crier! If they called "Lord James Stewart, Earl of
Moray," would you be so eager to believe them?"
"It would never be possible to name me in any such manner."
"No, you are much too proper ever to put your hand directly to any
deed! But you look through your fingers at the deeds of others, which
may be worse. Is that not what you agreed to do at Craigmillar Castle,
'look through your fingers'?"
"I know not whereof you speak."
His words chilled her. He was not to be held accountable for his
previous promises or commitments, then; indeed, he disavowed them. And
how could anyone prove otherwise? He was a liar, for all his religious
cant. And dangerous more dangerous than any hotblooded
dagger-wielder.
She needed to sit down. She felt weaker and more drained than after
childbirth, or even after the Jedburgh illness. "Do you not, then?"
she said wearily.
"And there is the most damaging thing of all on the placards," he
continued, sticking his face up in hers. "I note that you do not even
allude to it. The allegation that you and the Earl of Bothwell are
lovers."
A bolt of fear went through her. So it was to be pursued, after all,
not dismissed as calumny.
"I found the drawing of you half-naked to be an insult to the royal
honour," he said. "Strange that you did not protest it or seem
offended."
"I did not see it," she said weakly.
"Would you like to? I have it with me."
He was merciless. He was daring her to look at it, hoping to break
her.
"If you wish. I prefer not to look at obscene drawings."
Triumphantly he ducked out the door of the little chamber and reemerged
carrying the placard. In spite of herself, she gasped.
It was large, covering almost a yard square. The colours were loud and
the drawing flagrantly bold. On the top portion of the placard was a
mermaid, naked to the waist, as James had said. She had long hair and
wore a crown. In her right hand was what appeared to be a long-stemmed
flower of some sort; in her left, a scroll. Lest anyone miss the
point, the mermaid was flanked with the letters MR.
Beneath her was a hare the family crest of the Hepburns, with the
letters of JH for James Hepburn surrounded by a bristling circle of
swords.
"Isn't it pretty?" said James.
"What is that thing in her hand?" Mary asked.
"Is that all you have to say?" James stepped back and held up the
placard. " "What is that thing in her hand?" Good God! A better
question might be, "Is this man in your bed?" "
"How dare you?" she cried. "You are questioning me as if I were a
criminal or a suspect!"
"Evidently you are," he said dryly. "Or this placard would not have
appeared. Now tell me, if you hope to have any help in clearing this
matter is it true? Is the Earl of Bothwell your lover? Did he kill
the King?"
"No!"
"No to both questions, or only to one? Which one?"
"The Earl did not kill the King. And he is not my lover!"
"Who did kill the King, then?"
"I do not know."
"Aren't you at least curious? If you did not and I believe you then
you would not want a person running free who has no hesitation to
commit regicide. He could strike again."
"It may not have been 'regicide," but only an accident. The King left
the house "
"Mary, for all the love that has been between us, for the love of our
father, I beg you to pursue the murderer. Do not make the mistake of
assuming this will be like the murder of Riccio dropped and forgotten.
It will not. This time everything must be brought to light." He
dropped the placard on the floor.
He looked tortured, and his demeanour, she could see now, was tired and
strained. There had been love between them, once, before Darnley had
come along. And James had been right about Darnley; he was most likely
right in this matter also.
"The Earl of Lennox is demanding an investigation as well," she
admitted. "But where can I begin in an investigation? No one will be
truthful!"
"You will have to rely on the advice of Secretary Maitland," said
James. "Do not rely on Bothwell. He is an angry man, full of spleen.
His only answer to the placards has been to surround himself with fifty
cutthroats and swagger about the streets saying he will wash his hands
in the blood of anyone who dares accuse him to his face. Do not allow
him to direct anything. Maitland "
"What about you? Can you not help me?"
"Certainly, but one reason I wished to see you today was to ask a
passport to travel on the Continent for a few weeks."
"Now?"
"I have business "
"Evidently your wife is quickly recovered!"
So Lord James meant to absent himself again. That meant he foresaw
some impending nasty event. He would absent himself, then return
afterwards. To what?
"I refuse the passport," she said. Let him stay here; she needed him.
If he truly cared so much about Scotland
"Now you sound as arbitrary and petty as your cousin Elizabeth.
Remember how she refused you a passport?"