Neither Mary nor Alison had anticipated the reaction of the Scots. They were an upright nation, and Catholics and Protestants alike disapproved of this royal immorality. Mary's standing with the Scottish people fell off a cliff.
Alison felt that a storm of bad luck was sweeping over them when Bothwell kidnapped them and forced Mary to spend the night with him. In other circumstances the nation would have been outraged by this attack on their queen, and would have rallied to her defense; but by then her reputation was stained, and Mary could not feel sure of popular support. Together they decided the only way to restore Mary's respectability was for her to marry Bothwell, and pretend that he had not really raped her. Bothwell's fed-up wife obtained a quickie divorce that was not recognized by the Catholic Church, and they were married immediately.
That was the third mistake.
Twenty-six outraged Scottish noblemen raised an army and overwhelmed the forces of Bothwell and Mary. They captured her, forced her to abdicate in favor of her one-year-old son, James, and imprisoned her here at Loch Leven--without her baby boy.
All these events were undoubtedly watched avidly by Queen Elizabeth of England. In principle, Elizabeth supported Mary as the incontestably rightful queen of Scotland; but in practice no rescue party appeared on the horizon. Elizabeth's true attitude was probably that of someone who hears two drunks fighting in the street at night: it did not matter who won so long as neither tried to get into the house.
While Mary was with Darnley, Alison married a good Catholic, a man with hazel eyes and a mane of blond hair who reminded her of Pierre Aumande. He was kind and affectionate, but he expected Alison to serve him, not Mary, which she found difficult, even though she knew she should have anticipated it. She became pregnant but miscarried after four months. Soon afterward her husband died in a hunting accident, and it was almost a relief to Alison to return to her familiar role as Mary's dedicated right-hand woman.
And now this.
"No one else has loved me the way you love me," Mary had said during one of the long, dark Scottish evenings at Loch Leven, and Alison had blushed with a vague but strong emotion. "My father died when I was a baby," Mary had said. "My mother mostly lived elsewhere. All three of my husbands have been hopelessly weak in their different ways. You've been mother and father and husband to me. Isn't that strange?" It had made Alison cry.
Their jailer was Sir William Douglas, owner of Loch Leven. Mary had a remarkable power to win affection, and Sir William had fallen for her. He acted like an obliging host entertaining a distinguished houseguest. His daughters adored Mary--they found the notion of an imprisoned queen madly romantic--but his wife, Lady Agnes, was not seduced. Agnes had a strong sense of duty, and she remained insistently watchful.
However, Agnes had just given birth to her seventh child and was still confined to her room, which was one reason why this was the moment for an escape bid.
Mary was still being guarded by Captain Drysdale and his men-at-arms. But today was Sunday, May 2, so the soldiers were enjoying the May Day revels--and drinking more than usual. Alison hoped they would become careless by late afternoon, when she and Mary planned to make their getaway.
It would be difficult, but they had collaborators.
Also resident at Loch Leven were Sir William's handsome half brother George, nicknamed Pretty Geordie; and Willie Douglas, a tall fifteen-year-old orphan who Alison thought was probably an illegitimate son of Sir William.
Mary had set out to win the heart of Pretty Geordie. She had been allowed to send for her clothes--although not her jewels--and she was able to dress well. In any case, George was no great challenge: Mary had always been alluring, and here on this tiny island she had no rivals. With such a small group of people in a confined space, romantic emotions could heat up fast. Alison guessed it was not difficult for Mary to play the game, for George was charming as well as good-looking. Mary's feelings for him might even have been genuine.
Alison was not sure what favors Mary granted George: more than mere kisses, she assumed, for George was a grown man; but less than sexual intercourse, because Mary with her besmirched reputation could not risk the further disgrace of an illegitimate pregnancy. Alison did not ask Mary for the details. It was a long time since the happy days in Paris when they had been adolescent girls who told one another everything. But all that mattered now was that George was so badly smitten that he longed to play the part of the medieval knight, and rescue his beloved from the castle of despair.
Alison herself had worked on young Willie. Again it was no great challenge, even though Alison was almost twice his age. Only just out of puberty, Willie would have fallen in love with any attractive woman who paid him attention. Alison needed only to talk to him, and ask him about his life, while standing a little too close to him; and to kiss him in a way that was almost sisterly, though not quite; and to smile when she caught him staring at her breasts; and to make arch remarks about "you men" to bolster his courage. She had no need to grant sexual favors to this boy who was only just a man. In the deep recesses of her half-conscious mind she felt a tiny regret about this--something she was embarrassed to admit even to herself. But Willie had succumbed easily, and was now her slave.
George and Willie had been smuggling Mary's letters in and out of the prison for some months, but with difficulty. Escape would be much harder.
Mary could not cross the little compound without being seen, for it was home to about fifty people: as well as the family and the men-at-arms there were Sir William's secretaries and a large staff of household servants. The gate was kept locked, and anyone who wanted to come and go had to get it unlocked or climb over the wall. Three or four boats were always pulled up on the beach, but Mary would need a strong accomplice to row her, and she could quickly be followed. Then, on the mainland, she would need friends with horses to whisk her away to a hiding place somewhere safe from pursuit.
There was such a lot that could go wrong.
Alison found it hard to sit still during the morning service in the chapel. She was desperate to escape, but she also feared the consequences if they were caught: she and Mary would probably be confined to one room, perhaps even forbidden those walks along the top of the perimeter wall that, though depressing, at least gave them fresh air and a distant sight of the world outside. Worst of all, they might be separated.
Mary was nothing if not bold, and she was ready to take the risk, as Alison was. But the penalty for failure would be dire.
After church there were May Day festivities. Willie excelled himself as Lord of Misrule, doing a hilarious drunk act while shrewdly remaining one of the few people on the island who was completely sober.
Pretty Geordie was on the mainland, and should by now have been in the lakeside village of Kinross. It was his job to assemble horses and men to escort Mary and Alison away from there before they could be recaptured. Alison was frantic to know whether he had carried out his part of the plan. She was anxiously awaiting a signal from him.
Mary dined early in the afternoon with Sir William and the family, and Alison and Willie helped to serve. The dining room was on an upper floor of the square tower, with views, from the little windows, to the mainland; a necessary defensive feature. Alison had to stop herself constantly looking over the water.
At the end of the meal Willie left. The plan was that he would scramble over the wall and wait outside for a boat bringing a message from George saying that all was ready.
During the planning of the escape, young Willie had suggested that Mary should jump off the wall to the ground outside, a drop of seven feet that he did easily. As an experiment Alison had tried it, and had sprained her ankle. They could not risk Mary's being slowed by an injury, so Willie's suggestion had been dropped. Instead they would have to leave by the gate, which meant getting hold of a key.
Alison, as a noblewoman as well as a servant, was permitted to join the others at table as they sat chatting after dinner, eating nuts and fruit, Sir William sipp
ing wine. There was not much to talk about on Loch Leven, but conversation was the main form of entertainment for lack of much else.
It was Sir William's mother, Lady Margaret, who glanced out of the window and noticed something on the far shore. "Who are those horsemen, I wonder?" she said in a tone of mild curiosity.
Alison froze. How could George be so careless? He was supposed to keep his men out of sight! If Sir William became suspicious he could easily lock Mary in her room, and then the plan would be wrecked. Surely it could not have failed already?
Sir William looked out and frowned. "No reason for them that I know of."
Mary rose to the occasion brilliantly. "I must speak to you, Lady Margaret, about your son James, my brother," she said in a challenging voice.
That got everyone's attention. Lady Margaret in her youth had been one of the many mistresses of Mary's father, King James V. She had borne his illegitimate son James Stuart, the half brother Alison had met at St. Dizier with the enigmatic Ned Willard, when the two young men had tried to persuade Mary not to return to Scotland. For Mary to raise this topic was not good manners.
Embarrassed, Lady Margaret said: "James is in France."
"Visiting Admiral Coligny--the hero of the Huguenots!"
"Madam, there is nothing I can do about James, as you surely know."
Mary kept everyone looking at her instead of out of the window. Indignantly she said: "I have been fond of him. I made him earl of Moray!"
Margaret was intimidated by this suddenly angry young queen. Sounding nervous, she said: "And I know how grateful he is for your kindness."
No one was looking out of the window now.
"Then why has James plotted against me?" Mary cried. Alison knew that her anger, though calculated, was genuine. "Since I was brought here he has forced me to sign abdication papers, he has crowned my baby son as King James VI, and he has made himself regent. He is now king of Scotland in all but legitimacy!"
The Douglases felt sorry for Mary, but they undoubtedly approved of what James Stuart had done, and they looked awkward--which was fine, Alison thought, for they had forgotten about the horsemen on the shore.
Sir William tried to be pacific. "Of course this is not how you would wish it, madam," he said to Mary. "On the other hand, your child is king and your brother is regent, so the arrangement has a degree of legitimacy that cannot be denied."
Alison stole a glance out of the window. There was no sign of horsemen now. She imagined that George might have angrily told them to get away from the shore. Perhaps they had been in Kinross for an hour or two and were getting restless, letting discipline slip. But the semblance of normality had been restored.
The crisis was over, but it had underlined how chancy the whole plan was, and it left her feeling even more edgy.
Mary seemed to run out of patience. "I feel tired, after the May Day festivities," she said, standing up. "I'm going to rest."
Alison went with her. Outside the door, a dark and narrow spiral staircase of stone led up and down to other floors. They climbed to the queen's quarters.
Mary was not in the least tired. She was excited and jittery, constantly getting up from her chair to go to the window, then returning and sitting down again.
Alison checked their disguises, folded in a trunk under Mary's gowns. They had got hold of coarse homemade wool-and-linen kirtles of the kind worn over petticoats by the many serving women at the castle, complete with the type of headdress known as a Flemish hood, which covered the hair and made it difficult for others to see the face except from directly in front. Servants sometimes wore stout leather boots that were so hard Mary and Alison could not even walk in them, but fortunately the women also used their mistresses' cast-off silk and satin slippers. For weeks Alison and Mary had been wearing old shoes whenever they were alone, to make them look shabby enough to have been handed down.
Their main problem was Mary's height. That could not be disguised. No other woman on the island was anywhere near so tall. Alison could hardly imagine that they could get away with it.
She put the disguises away again.
They had to be patient for another hour, then at six o'clock Mary's supper was brought to her room.
As usual, it was served to her by Sir William, a courtesy by a jailer to his royal prisoner. Alison left the room and went looking for Willie to find out what was happening. Outside, a holiday game of handball was in progress, soldiers versus servants, with supporters cheering each side. Alison noticed that Drysdale, who was supposed to keep a close eye on Mary, was captain of the soldiers' team. That was good, she thought; he was distracted.
Willie was coming across the courtyard toward her, looking excited. "It's come!" he whispered, and showed her a pearl earring.
This was the signal from George on the mainland. The earring meant all was ready for Mary's escape. Alison was thrilled. But Willie had been less than discreet. "Close your fist!" she hissed at him. "We don't want anyone asking questions."
Fortunately the people in the courtyard were intent on the game.
"Sorry," said Willie. He closed his fingers around the jewel, then passed it to Alison with a display of casualness.
Alison said: "Now, slip over the wall and sabotage all the boats but one."
"I'm ready!" he said, pulling aside his coat to reveal a hammer hanging from his belt.
Alison returned to Mary's quarters. Mary had not eaten much. Alison could imagine why. She herself was so tense that she could not have swallowed food. She handed Mary the jewel, saying: "Here's the earring you lost. One of the boys found it."
Mary knew what it meant. "I'm so glad!" she said, beaming.
Sir William looked out of the window and grunted in surprise. "What is that foolish boy doing with the boats?" he said in a tone that combined fondness with exasperation.
Alison followed his gaze. Willie was on the foreshore, kneeling in one of three boats that were drawn up on the beach. What he was doing was not obvious to a distant observer, but Alison knew he was making a hole in the hull so that the boat could not be used to pursue escapers. Alison suffered a moment of pure panic. She had no idea what to do. She turned to Mary and mouthed: "Willie!"
Mary knew what Willie was supposed to do to the boats. Once again she showed her ability to think fast in an emergency. "I feel terribly faint," she said, and slumped in her chair with her eyes closed.
Alison realized what she was up to and played along. "Oh, dear God, what's wrong?" she said, putting on a frightened voice.
She knew that Mary was faking, but Sir William did not. Looking fearful, he came at once to Mary's side. If she died in his care he would be in trouble. The regent, James Stuart, would be obliged to deny that he had connived at her murder, and to demonstrate his sincerity he might well have Sir William executed. "What is it, what has happened?" Sir William said.
Alison said: "She should have strong wine to revive her. Sir William, do you have some canary?"
"Of course. I'll fetch it at once." He left the room.
"Well done," Alison said quietly to Mary.
Mary said: "Is Willie still at it?"
Alison looked out of the window. Willie was doing the same thing in a different boat. "Hurry up, Willie!" she murmured. How long did it take to make a hole in a boat?
Sir William returned with a steward carrying a jug of wine and a goblet. Alison said: "My hands are shaking. Sir William, will you hold the cup to her lips?"
Sir William obliged, taking the opportunity to put a hand tenderly behind Mary's head, and did not think to look out of the window.
Mary took a sip, coughed, and pretended to revive a little.
Alison made a show of touching her forehead and feeling her pulse. "You'll be all right now, Your Majesty, but perhaps you should retire for the night."
"Very well," said Mary.
Sir William looked relieved. "Then I'll leave you," he said. "Good night, ladies." He glanced out of the window. Alison looked too. Willie was no
longer on the beach. It was not possible to see whether he had succeeded in holing the boats.
Sir William left without making any comment.
The steward cleared the table and went out, then Alison and Mary were alone. Mary said: "Did we get away with it?"
"I think so. Sir William may forget what he saw from the window: he's been drinking all afternoon, and he must be at least a little fuddled by now."
"I hope suspicion doesn't make Sir William vigilant. Willie still has to steal the key."
Sir William kept the gate key close at hand. When someone went to the mainland or came back, he would either open the gate himself or entrust the key to a guard for a few minutes only. Otherwise no one needed to leave the compound: there was nothing outside apart from the boats.
Mary and Alison had to get out of the compound, and Alison's experiment had established that they could not climb over the wall, so they had to unlock the gate. Willie had assured Alison and Mary that he would be able to steal the key without Sir William's noticing. They were dependent on him.
"We should be dressed ready," said Alison.
They took off their costly gowns and put on the rough kirtles, then changed their shoes for old worn ones. The Flemish hoods covered their heads and usefully concealed Mary's distinctive auburn hair.
Now all they could do was wait.
Sir William liked Willie to serve his supper. His fondness for the orphan boy was what led everyone to speculate that they were father and son. But Willie's loyalty had been undermined by Alison.
She imagined that right now, one floor down, Willie was putting down and picking up plates and napkins and jugs. Perhaps the key lay on the table next to Sir William's wine goblet. She visualized Willie dropping a napkin over the key, then picking up both. Would he get away with it? How drunk was Sir William? They could only wait and see.
If the plan worked, Mary's escape would be a political earthquake. She would disavow the abdication papers she had been forced to sign, and claim her rightful throne. Her half brother James would assemble a Protestant army, and Mary's Catholic supporters would rally--those of them who had not lost faith in her. The civil war would be renewed. Mary would be cheered by her brother-in-law the king of France, who was fighting a similar long-running civil war with the Huguenots. The supportive Pope would be glad to annul her marriage with Bothwell. Speculation about possible husbands for her would be renewed in every royal court from Rome to Stockholm. The European balance of power would shift seismically. Queen Elizabeth of England would be furious.