"I leave it to the King who gave it me" - she appointed Bothwell to the tutelage of her child in the event of her not surviving it, and to the government of the realm.
The King came to visit her during her convalescence, and was scowled upon by Murray and Argyll, who were at Holyrood, and most of all by Bothwell, whose arrogance by now was such that he was become the best-hated man in Scotland. The Queen received him very coldly, whilst using Bothwell more than cordially in his very presence, so that he departed again in a deeper humiliation than before.
Then before the end of July there was her sudden visit to Bothwell at Alloa, which gave rise to so much scandal. Hearing of it, Darnley followed in a vain attempt to assert his rights as king and husband, only to be flouted and dismissed with the conviction that his life was no longer safe in Scotland, and that he had best cross the Border. Yet, to his undoing, detained perhaps by the overweening pride that is usually part of a fool's equipment, he did not act upon that wise resolve. He returned instead to his hawking and his hunting, and was seldom seen at Court thereafter.
Even when in the following October, Mary lay at the point of death at Jedburgh, Darnley came but to stay a day, and left her again without any assurance that she would recover. But then the facts of her illness, and how it had been contracted, were not such as to encourage kindness in him, even had he been inclined to kindness.
Bothwell had taken three wounds in a Border affray some weeks before, and Mary, hearing of this and that he lay in grievous case at Hermitage, had ridden thither in her fond solicitude - a distance of thirty miles - and back again in the same day, thus contracting a chill which had brought her to the very gates of death.
Darnley had not only heard of this, but he had found Bothwell at Jedburgh, whither he had been borne in a litter, when in his turn he had heard of how it was with Mary; and Bothwell had treated him with more than the contempt which all men now showed him, but which from none could wound him so deeply as from this man whom rumour accounted Mary's lover.
Matters between husband and wife were thus come to a pass in which they could not continue, as all men saw, and as she herself confessed at Craigrnillar, whither she repaired, still weak in body, towards the end of November.
Over a great fire that blazed in a vast chamber of the castle she sat sick at heart and shivering, for all that her wasted body was swathed in a long cloak of deepest purple reversed with ermine. Her face was thin and of a transparent pallor, her eyes great pools of wistfulness amid the shadows which her illness had set about them.
"I do wish I could be dead!" she sighed.
Bothwell's eyes narrowed. He was leaning on the back of her tall chair, a long, virile figure with a hawk-nosed, bearded face that was sternly handsome. He thrust back the crisp dark hair that clustered about his brow, and fetched a sigh.
"It was never my own death I wished when a man stood in my road to aught I craved," he said, lowering his voice, for Maitland of Lethington - now restored to his secretaryship - was writing at a table across the room, and my Lord of Argyll was leaning over him.
She looked up at him suddenly, her eyes startled.
"What devil's counsel do you whisper?" she asked him. And when he would have answered, she raised a hand. "No," she said. "Not that way.""There is another," said Bothwell coolly. He moved, came round, and stood squarely upon the hearth, his back to the fire, confronting her, nor did he further trouble to lower his voice.
"We have considered it already."
"What have you considered?"
Her voice was strained; fear and excitement blended in her face.
"How the shackles that fetter you might be broken. Be not alarmed.
It was the virtuous Murray himself propounded it to Argyll and Lethington - for the good of Scotland and yourself." A sneer flitted across his tanned face. "Let them speak for themselves."He raised his voice and called to them across the room.
They came at once, and the four made an odd group as they stood there in the firelit gloom of that November day - the lovely young Queen, so frail and wistful in her high-backed chair; the stalwart, arrogant Bothwell, magnificent in a doublet of peach-coloured velvet that tapered to a golden girdle; Argyll, portly and sober in a rich suit of black; and Maitland of Lethington, lean and crafty of face, in a long furred gown that flapped about his bony shanks.
It was to Lethington that Bothwell addressed himself.
"Her Grace is in a mood to hear how the Gordian knot of her marriage might be unravelled," said he, grimly ironic.
Lethington raised his eyebrows, licked his thin lips, and rubbed his bony hands one in the other.
"Unravelled?" he echoed with wondering stress. "Unravelled? Ha!"His dark eyes flashed round at them. "Better adopt Alexander's plan, and cut it. 'Twill be more complete, and - and final.""No, no!" she cried. "I will not have you shed his blood.""He himself was none so tender where another was concerned,"Bothwell reminded her - as if the memory of Rizzio were dear to him.
"What he may have done does not weigh upon my conscience," was her answer.
"He might," put in Argyll, "be convicted of treason for having consented to Your Grace's retention in ward at Holyrood after Rizzio's murder."She considered an instant, then shook her head.
"It is too late. It should have been done long since. Now men will say that it is but a pretext to be rid of him." She looked up at Bothwell, who remained standing immediately before her, between her and the fire. "You said that my Lord of Murray had discussed this matter. Was it in such terms as these?"Bothwell laughed silently at the thought of the sly Murray rendering himself a party to anything so direct and desperate. It was Lethington who answered her.
