The Thistle and the Rose (25 page)

It was a pleasant dream. To make it come true she would need all the money on which she could lay her hands.

The forest of Ettrick itself yielded four hundred marks a year, which was no mean sum. She wondered how much of it had come in, and sent for her steward.

When the man stood before her and she made known the reason she had sent for him, he seemed surprised.

“Your Grace,” he said, “the rents have been collected and given to my lord Angus in accordance with his instructions.”

She studied the papers which he had given her, and all the time her anger was rising. How dared Angus appropriate this money! There should have been a goodly sum accumulated by now and she needed it badly.

“I see,” she said; and dismissed her steward.

When she was alone she paced up and down the room. Where was Angus? He must come to her at once. She needed an explanation.

She sent for a man who had been in attendance on her husband.

“Urgent business has arisen,” she told him. “I need the immediate presence of my lord Angus. Do you know where he is?”

The man hesitated and his furtive looks alarmed Margaret.

“Come,” she said testily, “where is he?”

“Your Grace…I cannot say. I do not know …”

She thought: He knows and he is lying.

She wanted to command him to answer, to threaten him with a whipping if he did not speak.

But no, she thought. Let it wait. I will think on this; and I shall discover all in good time.

That very day news was brought to her which made her forget temporarily Angus's perfidy over the rents of Ettrick.

A messenger had arrived from Edinburgh and asked to be taken immediately to the Queen.

He fell at her feet breathless, travel-stained from the journey.

“Your Grace, the Warden of Edinburgh Castle has been arrested and thrown into prison.”

She stood still, her eyes half closed. Another scheme foiled!

She said quietly: “Why so?”

“Sir Patrick Crichton declared he could not hold himself responsible for the King's safety unless the Warden was removed. He had discovered an intrigue…”

She did not need to ask what. She knew.

“So he is no longer at the Castle, Your Grace, and the Earl of Arran has been set up in his place.”

Margaret did not speak. She was thinking: Did ever a woman have such ill luck as I?

Where was Angus? Never with me, she thought, when I need him.

No wonder he seemed guilty. How dared he appropriate the rents which were hers? Because she had married him, did he think he could rule her… the Queen!

She sent for the servant to whom she had spoken before. “I believe you know the whereabouts of my lord Angus,” she said. “I command you to tell me what you know.”

“Y-Your Grace …” stammered the man. “I know nothing.”

“I will have the truth!”

The man had turned pale but he did not speak.

Wearily she studied him. What was the use of venting her anger on one who was merely trying to be loyal to his master?

She dismissed the man and for some days she was sunk in despair. Her plot with George Douglas was known—to his cost, and to hers most likely. They would watch her more closely than ever. They would probably prevent her from seeing her son.

She felt desperate and alone.

Then Angus returned. As soon as he came into her presence she opened her attack.

“You have been long absent, my lord.”

“I had business to attend to.”

He came to her and placing his hands on her shoulders, drew her toward him, but she withdrew herself impatiently.

“There are certain matters I wish to discuss with you. First… the rents of Ettrick.”

A faint color showed under his skin. “What of these?”

“I think you are aware of my meaning. I have discovered that these have been passing to you.”

“And why should they not?”

“Because they do not belong to you.”

“You once said that you would give me all I desired.”

She laughed bitterly. “That was long ago. You once said that you would always be faithful to me.”

Had she not been so angry she would have noticed the apprehension leap into his eyes.

“And,” she went on, “I shall never forget how you deserted me when you believed me to be dying, how you ran as hard as you could to make sure of a welcome in the opposite camp. And now I discover that during my absence you have appropriated money which belongs to me.”

“I am sure you gave me Ettrick in those early days,” he mumbled.

“I should have remembered,” she said. “I remember too much of those early days. I know now how ready you are to deceive and desert me, that you give your allegiance to others.”

He misunderstood her, believing her to have discovered more than she had.

He muttered: “I was betrothed to her before we married.”

“Betrothed,” she murmured.

“I would have married her,” he went on sullenly, “had I not been forced to marry you.”

She thought she must be dreaming. What was he talking about? Betrothed? Forced to marry?

“So,” she said, “these absences of yours…”

“Of course. What do you expect? You ran away, did you not? What was I supposed to do all that time?”

“Some husbands would have accompanied their wives,” she retorted, but she was not thinking of what she said; she was trying to grasp his meaning.

“Most husbands,” he replied, “are masters in their own houses.”

“Not all aspire to marriage with a queen,” was her proud answer.

“In which case they may call themselves lucky.”

He was off his guard now. She would get the truth of what lay behind this. “How long has she been your mistress?” she hazarded.

“Since you went into England.”

“I see,” she said bitterly. “And I'll dare swear all the Court is aware of this.”

“There are always gossips.”

“And it seems this time there is strong foundation on which to base the gossip.”

“What did you expect?” he cried.

“Fidelity!” she answered. “Respect. Gratitude for all I have done for your family. Affection for your wife and daughter.”

“I look upon her as a wife, and I have given her daughter my name.”

Margaret could find no words to express her grief and rage. She felt as though she had lived through this scene before. She was back in those early days of her marriage with James when she had discovered that he had illegitimate children. She remembered the pain of discovering that he chose the society of other women in preference to hers.

Why must I suffer this disillusion twice? she asked herself. Why must my second husband treat me as did my first!

She looked at him—the handsome Angus with whom she had planned to live in love all her life. She felt cheated now as she never had when he had deserted her at Morpeth.

She could see it all so clearly; his betrothal to a woman with whom he was in love; the pressure of his family when it was known that the Queen delighted in him; his reluctant agreement to follow the wishes of his family and his Queen.

It was too humiliating to be borne.

“Leave me,” she cried. “I would be alone.”

So now she had the details. He had been betrothed to Lady Jane Stuart, the daughter of the Lord of Traquair; he had deserted her to marry the Queen, but he had never forgotten her, and when his wife left Scotland he made haste to rejoin Lady Jane. He took her away from her family; he insisted that she travel with him wherever he went, as though she were his wife; and her family made no protest. This was not merely Archibald Douglas who had made their daughter Jane his mistress; it was the Earl of Angus, the husband of the Queen.

Jane had borne him a daughter who was known as the Lady Jean Douglas, and it seemed that her mother, and he too, would make this child's position comparable with that of his daughter born in wedlock to the Queen, the Lady Margaret Douglas.

This was not to be tolerated.

Then she made up her mind what she would do.

Angus had been betrothed to Jane Stuart before his marriage to the Queen. Could this be grounds for divorce?

Very soon the news was out, as she intended it should be.

The Queen no longer lives with Angus; she is contemplating divorce.

J
AMES
H
AMILTON
, E
ARL OF
A
RRAN
, W
AS
O
N
H
IS
W
AY
to see the Queen. Arran was a proud man; through his mother, Princess Mary, the daughter of James II, he had royal blood in his veins and he never forgot it. It was for this reason that he had been so angered to see the rise of the Douglases through the Queen's marriage with Angus. That he, Arran, who might become a claimant to the throne of Scotland, should have to take second place to that pretty boy was unendurable. There was one person in Scotland whom Arran hated above all others, and that was Angus.

Thus when he heard of the friction between the Queen and her husband he hastened to plead for an interview with Margaret, that he might place himself and his power at her disposal. He was ready to stake his future on this; and he was determined that if she wanted a divorce from Angus she should know that all the influence of the Hamiltons was behind her.

Margaret received the Earl who wasted no time in opening up the subject which was of such importance to them both.

“I come to commiserate with Your Grace,” he told her, “and to place myself at your service.”

“I thank you, my lord.”

She signed for him to be seated and she marveled that a man who was an enemy one day seemed to become a friend the next.

“It is a matter for rejoicing among those who are Your Grace's friends that you should have decided to cast off the Douglas. Madam, we have long been aware of his unworthiness.

“I alas have remained blind too long,” answered Margaret; at which Arran bowed his head in assent.

“But now,” went on Margaret, “I see him for what he is and, believe me, my lord, I shall not rest until I can no longer call myself his wife.”

“A divorce should be arranged with all speed. The Douglases should be stripped of the power which came to them through this marriage.”

Margaret looked at him and smiled wryly, thinking: That it may be bestowed on the Hamiltons?

Hamiltons, Douglases, Hepburns, Homes—they were all ambitious men, all seeking favors which would strengthen their families and make their clans the strongest in the land. Still, she must try to look to her own advantage as they did to theirs. The Hamiltons were certainly one of the most powerful families in Scotland, and Arran stood at their head. She must use them as they would, if they had the opportunity, use her.

She, who could love fiercely, could hate with the same passion; and now, almost as great as her desire to have the care of her son, was that to rid herself of the husband who had put her in the difficult position she now occupied, and then had rewarded her with his infidelity.

“There is little opposition in the land against the suggested divorce?” she asked.

“There is great rejoicing, Your Grace.”

Yes, she thought, among the Douglases' enemies. She could imagine the consternation the matter would have brought about in her husband's family.

“Why, Your Grace,” went on Arran, “when you are free of the Douglases, I doubt not that your friends will wish to see you restored to that position which was yours before the unfortunate marriage. I have discussed the matter with the Earl of Lennox who is of my mind; and the Bishops of Galloway and Argyle are as eager to see the bond between you and Angus severed. Your Grace would find yourself supported by many powerful friends.”

“I find that reassuring,” answered Margaret.

“Have no fear, Your Grace. This is the best step you have taken since you entered into that marriage; and in truth I come on behalf of your friends to tell you of the pleasure this has given them.”

They talked awhile of the affairs of Scotland, and Arran asked after the health of the little Lady Margaret Douglas.

Margaret, who could never resist showing her pride in her children
, sent for the child that Arran might see for himself what a bonny creature she was.

Arran confessed himself delighted and charmed; and when little Margaret had left them he began to talk of his son with deep affection—and Margaret sensed the implication behind his words. He was telling her that his James, who would one day be Earl of Arran, had the blood of Royal Stuart in his veins; and since one day it would be necessary to find a husband for the Lady Margaret Douglas, the son of Arran should not be considered unworthy.

Margaret allowed him to see that she had grasped his point and was not displeased by it.

When Arran left her Margaret congratulated herself that with the influential lords to back her she stood a very good chance of regaining the Regency, which would mean control of her son; as for Arran, he saw in this the downfall of his enemy Angus.

There were two factions in Scotland now, one under Arran, the other under Angus. The Douglases rallied to the support of the head of their House, and among them were men made influential by the honors Margaret herself had showered on them at the time of her infatuation with her husband.

It was believed by many that the return of Albany was imperative to restore order; and news was carried to him of the trouble between two of the most powerful families in the land and of the Queen's determination to divorce her husband; moreover the suggestion of a betrothal of Margaret's daughter and Arran's son was alarming, for it could unite Douglases and Hamiltons against him.

But the political position had changed, because there was now a rapprochement between France and England. François and Henry had decided to meet and were making preparations for the Field of the Cloth of Gold; and Henry's daughter, the Princess Mary, had been betrothed to the Dauphin. Although François wished Albany to return to Scotland in order to safeguard French interests, he knew that Henry was eager that the Duke should remain in France. It was not the moment to antagonize Henry.

Meanwhile the news of Margaret's intentions to divorce Angus reached the English Court.

Henry grew scarlet when he read his sister's letter.

He could not believe it. He went to his wife's apartment, his eyes ablaze, and signed to her women to depart. Katharine, terrified at his appearance, hurried to him and begged him to tell her what ill news he brought.

“T-That a sister of mine,” he stuttered, “could so far forget her duty… her honor…to suggest such an action!”

“Your Grace, Mary…”

“Nay, not Mary. Margaret. Listen to this: ‘I am sore troubled with my lord Angus, since my last coming into Scotland, and every day more and more so. We have not been together these last months…'” Henry stopped; it was as though the words choked him.

Katharine said gently: “Alas, so she is not happy in her marriage. Poor Margaret! I am sorry for her.”

“Whether she be happy or not, it is not for her to talk of… divorce!”

“Divorce!” cried Katharine, and she began to tremble with horror.

“I said divorce. Angus does not please her so, look you, she plans to divorce him. She will dishonor her marriage vows. She will disgrace us all. A sister of mine to talk of divorce!”

“Oh, Henry, we must persuade her how wrong this is.”

“Persuade her! I shall forbid her. I shall make her see her duty to her family—if she has so far forgotten her duty to God and the Church. I'll not have divorce in my family, I do assure you. No, Kate, you will sit down and write to her at once. And so shall I. You will tell her how she has wounded you, shocked you beyond belief. While I…I will remind her that I am the King of a great country, and not only that, the head of a great House. There shall be no divorce in my family. I'll not stomach the disgrace.”

“Henry, how right you are…as always. Divorce! It is too dishonorable to be thought of.”

“Go to, Kate. Write to her, and I will do the same. Then our letters shall be sent by special messenger, that she may profit from them and put an end to this disgraceful plan before it goes too far.”

When Margaret read the letters from her brother and sister-in-law she shrugged aside their advice. It was all very well for them to be so self-righteous; they did not know what it meant to be entangled in an undesirable alliance.

She was surprised that she could hate anyone as fiercely as she now hated Angus. There was anger against herself in that hatred. How could she have been so foolish as to lose all sense of proportion merely because of a momentary infatuation for a handsome boy?

How different had been her first marriage. James had at times humiliated her, but in public he had constantly shown her respect. She remembered how he had always uncovered his head in her presence. He only asked that she accept his infidelities which, being the sensual man he was, he could not curb. He would never have deserted her when she was dying. And he had conducted his love affairs with a certain dignity. He had tried to make up for his shortcomings by giving her extra pleasure; Angus had stolen her rents.

She hated Angus and, even if she had to admit that this was largely because he was a living reminder of her own folly and the source of all her troubles, that did not make her hate him less.

There was one who reminded her a little of her first husband; that was Albany. They had some quality, these Stuarts, which was unique. No, she had never seen others with quite the same charm of manner. James had had it to a large degree; Albany slightly less; but he was certainly a charming, courteous man.

If one were a queen it was necessary to marry wisely. Suppose she and Albany were free to marry—there could not be a wiser match in Scotland, for marriages were often the links which bound countries together, and made friends of enemies. A marriage between herself and Albany—and there would have been no conflict in Scotland; she would never have been cut off from her son; she and Albany would have been joint guardians of the young King. What a happy state of affairs compared with what now confronted her!

And was not too late to put matters right.

She was determined to divorce Angus no matter what difficulties
were put in her way; and she was sure there would be difficulties. She could imagine her brother Henry sending off deputations to the Pope, asking him not to grant a divorce to his erring sister, for the sake of the honor of the Tudors. She would have to fight for her divorce; but she would get it in the end. And then if Albany's wife died—for how could she live long; the poor woman had been ailing for some time—he would be free too.

She closed her eyes and pictured him. Black eyes alive with passion. Poor man, married to a woman who for so long had been an invalid.

Arran was persuading her to join with those who were urging Albany to return, because Arran had long decided that when the Duke came to Scotland he would favor the Hamiltons and become the enemy of the Douglases.

She had listened thoughtfully to what Arran had to say; she had nodded when he enumerated the reasons why the return of Albany would be good for Scotland. And all the time she had been thinking of him—black-eyed, black-bearded, the courteous knight with all the charm of his Stuart ancestors.

She said: “I will write to Albany and join my pleas to yours. I think that he might be willing to help me in my divorce. He should stand well with Rome, as I believe his master does. Yes, my lord, I am convinced that you are right. Scotland needs Albany at this time.”

She thought: And it may be that Scotland's Queen does too.

It was not easy to obtain a divorce. There were too many people of influence who were against it. Time passed and still Margaret remained unsatisfactorily married to Angus.

Henry and Katharine had crossed the Channel and had had a meeting with the King of France in circumstances of most reckless extravagance, with each King trying to outdazzle the other.

Francois, mischievous in the extreme, using every means at his disposal to disconcert the King of England, having in his possession at this time the letter which Margaret had written to Albany, thought it would be amusing to show Henry how his sister was working against his wishes and was warmly inviting Albany back to Scotland.

Henry read the letter and quietly handed it back to the King, but when he was alone his choleric anger broke forth.