‘Seven years ago,’ he said. He spoke French: he knew, or had guessed, that Mary was most comfortable in this tongue, Scots being her second language and English a distant third. His manner was polite but relaxed. ‘I’m Sir Ned Willard.’
Alison thought his careful good manners cloaked a dangerous toughness, like a velvet scabbard for a sharp-edged sword. She spoke warmly in an attempt to soften him. ‘Sir Ned, now!’ she said. ‘Congratulations.’
‘You’re very kind.’
Alison remembered that Ned had pretended to be merely a clerk to James Stuart, a pretence that had been revealed when he spoke so challengingly to Pierre Aumande.
Mary said: ‘You tried to persuade me not to go to Scotland.’
‘You should have taken my advice,’ he said unsmilingly.
Mary ignored that and got down to business. ‘I am the queen of Scotland,’ she said. ‘Queen Elizabeth won’t deny that.’
‘No, indeed,’ said Ned.
‘I was illegally imprisoned by traitors among my subjects. Again, I feel sure my cousin Elizabeth will agree.’
They were not quite cousins, of course, but more distantly related: Elizabeth’s grandfather, King Henry VII of England, was Mary’s great-grandfather. But Sir Ned did not quibble.
Mary went on: ‘And I came here to England of my own free will. All I ask is the chance to speak to Elizabeth in person, and to beg for her assistance.’
‘I will certainly give her that message,’ said Ned.
Alison suppressed a groan of disappointment. Ned was prevaricating. That was bad news.
Mary bristled. ‘Give her the message?’ she said indignantly. ‘I expected you to bring me her decision!’
Ned was not flustered. Perhaps it was not the first time he had had to deal with an angry queen. ‘Her majesty can’t make such a decision immediately,’ he said in the calm tones of reason.
‘Why not?’
‘Other matters must be resolved first.’
Mary was not to be fobbed off that easily. ‘What matters?’
Ned said reluctantly: ‘The death of your husband, Lord Darnley, the king consort of Scotland and the cousin of Queen Elizabeth, remains . . . unexplained.’
‘That is nothing to do with me!’
‘I believe you,’ said Ned. Alison suspected he did not. ‘And her majesty Queen Elizabeth believes you.’ That was not true either. ‘But we must establish the facts to the satisfaction of the world before you can be received at Elizabeth’s court. Her majesty hopes that you, as a queen yourself, will understand that.’
This was rejection, Alison thought, and she wanted to weep. The murder of Darnley was not the real issue; it was a pretext. The plain fact was that Elizabeth did not want to meet Mary.
And that meant she did not want to help Mary.
Mary came to the same conclusion. ‘This is cruelly unjust!’ she said, standing up. Her face reddened, and tears came to her eyes. ‘How can my cousin treat me so coldly?’
‘She asks you to be patient. She will provide for all your needs meanwhile.’
‘I do not accept this decision. I shall sail to France. My family there will give me the help Elizabeth denies me.’
‘Queen Elizabeth would not want you to bring a French army to Scotland.’
‘Then I shall simply go back to Edinburgh, and take my chances against my treacherous half-brother, your friend James Stuart.’
Ned hesitated. Alison saw that his face was a little pale, and he clasped his hands behind his back as if to stop himself fidgeting uneasily. The wrath of a queen was a dreadful sight. But Ned held all the cards. His voice, when he spoke, was strong and his words were uncompromising. ‘I’m afraid that will not be possible.’
It was Mary’s turn to look fearful. ‘What on earth can you mean?’
