“Jacques,” said Mary, “I have to thank you for the manner in which you dealt with my affairs. But for you, I am sure, the Countess of Shrewsbury would have been allowed to go on repeating her scandals.”

“It was a great pleasure to me,” Jacques replied, “to achieve an apology in the presence of the Council.”

“You found the Queen of England fair and just?”

“I did, Your Majesty.”

Ah, thought Mary, if only I could see her. If only I could have a chance of talking to her.

Failing that, it was comforting to have someone such as her good and loyal French secretary to look after her affairs.

But there was one other piece of news which Jacques must break to her. He knew that it was going to cause her sorrow and he dreaded telling her. Since he had entered the castle and seen young Bessie Pierpont, he was yearning to be done with business and be with her. He was surprised that he could feel little else but this great need to be with Bessie.

“I have news of Your Majesty’s son.”

The Queen’s expression changed; she clasped her hands together.

Jacques did not look at her as he said: “His Majesty of Scotland finds it difficult to act as joint sovereign with yourself. He has therefore entered into a treaty with the Queen of England as sole sovereign of Scotland.”

Mary looked at her secretary as though she had not heard him. Slowly the implication of what this meant came to her. So he is repudiating me! she thought. At last my enemies have succeeded in taking him from me utterly. He . . . my own little Jamie, now finds his mother an encumbrance. He tells me that I am, in his opinion, no longer Queen of Scotland.

She said slowly: “Is this indeed so?”

Jacques answered gently: “I fear so, Your Majesty.”

Mary covered her face with her hands.

“Your Majesty would wish me to leave you?” whispered Jacques.

The Queen nodded.

BESSIE WAS HOVERING near the door of the Queen’s apartment, and as he came out she threw herself into his arms.

“It has been so long . . . .” she whispered. They were kissing, exploring each other’s faces with their lips.

“Bessie . . . my Bessie . . . .” murmured Jacques.

“You can have no idea how desolate this place is without our secretary Jacques.”

“Can it be as desolate as the English Court without Bessie Pierpont?”

“Oh Jacques . . . what shall we do . . . ?”

“There is one thing we must do . . . and that quickly. Marry.”

Bessie laughed. “I hoped you would say that.”

“Do you think they will allow us to?”

“The Queen never refuses me anything.”

“What of your grandmother?”

“I believe I am a little like her. I am going to do the deed and tell afterward . . . as she did in the case of Arabella’s parents.”

Jacques was thoughtful. He had to remember that he was after all only a secretary. He wondered what action would be taken by the Shrewsburys if he married their granddaughter. He was passionately in love with this charming young girl, but he had to think for them both. It would be disastrous if for the sake of a brief week or so of passion they allowed their entire future to be jeopardized. Jacques was really in love for the first time in his life, but ardently as he desired Bessie, he could yet consider the years ahead of them. Bessie was not only to be his wife, but the mother of his children. This was no sudden blazing passion; he had watched Bessie grow since she was a child of four, and the happiest moments of those long ago days had been when she sat beside him, the tip of her little pink tongue showing at the corner of her mouth as she bent over a Latin exercise with which he was helping her. He had loved her then, and now that she was a woman he desired her as he had never desired a woman before; but the tenderness, the longing to protect had remained; and this he knew to be love in all its aspects.

Thus when he had danced at the English Court, when he had paid the gallant compliments expected of a Frenchman, he had never ceased to dream of young Bessie Pierpont, and all other women could be nothing but passing fancies to him.

He took her face in his hands and kissed her gently.

“My Bessie,” he said, “my true love Bessie, I shall love you until I am laid in my tomb.”

“And I you, Jacques,” she declared solemnly.

“And because I love you as I do I will curb my need of you until that time when I can be sure that in taking and sharing the delights which must surely be ours, I can assure myself that no harm shall come to you.”

“There is no time like this moment, Jacques,” cried Bessie. He embraced her with such fervor that she cried out in her ecstasy. But he released her suddenly and shook his head.

“First there shall be marriage,” he said. “It is how it must be, since you are Bessie my only love. But there will be obstacles and, because I will not have you hurt, we must be patient. Little Bessie, from this day we shall begin to make our plans.”

SIR RALPH SADLER was dismayed. He had often heard of the schemes which had harassed Shrewsbury during his term as jailor; having been with the Queen, and perceiving her patience, he had been inclined to believe most of them to be exaggerated. “All that happened in the early days of her captivity,” he told Somers. “Now she is too old and ill to think of escape. We should be grateful for that.”

And now it seemed that he had been wrong.

One day while he was at supper his servant came to tell him that a man was at the castle begging an interview, as he had news of great importance which he believed Sir Ralph must hear.

Sir Ralph allowed the man to be brought to his presence and found him to be a certain Humphrey Briggs, an uncouth and unprepossessing man—clearly one who bore a grievance.

“What is your business?” asked Sir Ralph.

“I come to your honor because I feel there is news I should give you.”

“Well, let me hear it.”

The man hesitated.

“You want payment?”

The dull face brightened. “It’s important news, Your Honor. Touching our Lady Elizabeth herself.”

“It sounds like treason. In that case, man, you would do well to tell me quickly, for it is treason to hold back anything that threatens the Queen.”

Briggs looked a little taken aback. He stammered: “I’m a good subject of the Queen’s, Your Honor. I serve the Queen . . . .”

“Then prove it by telling me what news this is.”

Briggs, now alarmed, decided to forgo hopes of reward and content himself with revenge. “I worked for Nicholas Langford, Your Honor.”

“And he has dismissed you?” asked Sir Ralph shrewdly.

“’Twas no fault of mine.”

“Never mind. Tell me.”

“My master, with the help of his secretary, Rowland Kitchyn, hears the Mass regularly in his house . . . and that’s not all. He receives priests in his house, Your Honor; and he writes letters.”

“Letters?”

“To the fair devil of Scotland, Your Honor. And with one end. He is with them that wants to see her in place of our own good Queen. And that’s why I thought it right to tell Your Honor . . . .”

Sir Ralph nodded.

“You may go to the kitchen,” he said. “There they will give you food.”

“I’m a poor man, Your Honor . . . .”

“It will be necessary for me to look into this matter,” said Sir Ralph. “I know you to have been a servant of Nicholas Langford and to have been dismissed by him. You bear a grudge against him. But if I find your information to be true, have no fear that you shall lack a reward . . . but first it must be proved.” He waved his hand for the man to go; and when he was alone he wrote down the names of Nicholas Langford and Rowland Kitchyn, and planned how he would begin his investigation.

IT WAS NOT EASY for Bessie to hide her happiness. Mary noticed that the girl seemed subdued and it occurred to her that she was, after all, no longer a child and that perhaps it was high time she married.