XII    

EVERYONE thanked God once they had safely reached the small fishing port of Roscoff. Odd-shaped rocks crowded the bay which was said to be a nest of pirates and smugglers. It was here that the young Queen first set foot on French soil. The royal party then entered the main street. The Queen was carried on a litter, her dress of sparkling gold, her red-gold hair, her luminous skin and almond-shaped eyes causing gasps of pleasure and admiration from the crowds.

‘La reinette! La reinette!’ was the cry that sped through the town and brought people running. The four Marys still felt somewhat unsteady but the relief of being safely on dry land soon made them feel better.

The house in which they first rested was an ancient building with gargoyles on the chimney stack. Along a passage the Queen and her Marys found a grey stone cloister. Behind it there was a cellar storeroom and from there a door led out to a small boat-shaped garden with a tall turret on its seaward angle. The Queen led the four Marys up this turret, racing in front of them with Marie hastening to try and catch up. This caused much agitation to the Queen’s guardian, Lord Erskine, who sent attendants after the Queen to plead with her to return to the house.

They left the next day on a journey that was to last two months before they reached the French Court. At Morlaix, the Queen was welcomed by the Lord of Rohan and the nobility of the country. The Queen and the Marys, Lady Fleming and Marie were lodged in a Dominican convent, then the Queen was taken to church where a Te Deum was sung in honour of her safe arrival.

During their time at Morlaix, and despite Marie’s lack of encouragement, the Earl of Edinburgh seemed intent on forming some sort of relationship with her. He rode beside her at every opportunity, sat next to her at table, and continually sought her company. Jamieson was surprised to find himself drawn to her, but he was intrigued by her spirit and resourcefulness—especially in escaping the consequences of Machar McNaughton’s death.

‘Already Mary is being hailed as a brave little queen who has been forced to flee the barbaric Scots and the cruel English, for the safe arms and loving heart of France,’ he said with one of the smiles that seemed to harden not soften his eyes.

‘As long as they keep her safe,’ Marie replied. ‘That is all that matters.’

‘Yes, of course.’ He smiled again. ‘But she is still the Queen of Scots.’

‘Nobody is denying that,’ Marie said. ‘But she was not safe in Scotland.’

‘Ah, the wicked English and their spies?’ the Earl said, thinking all the while of the English gold he himself had taken so often. He was also beginning to think that as well as being a beauty, perhaps in years to come this Marie Hepburn could be a useful way into the Queen’s confidence. Randolph, his paymaster at the English Court, would be greatly impressed to learn that he had a contact amongst the Queen’s closest companions.

As Marie looked at him she could not determine whether he was being sincere or sarcastic, and she certainly had no inkling of the devious thoughts that were racing through his mind.

The second stage of the journey was supervised by the Queen’s grandmother, Antoinette de Guise, a strong woman who had borne twelve children, of whom ten had survived to form the most powerful family in France.

‘Ma chère enfant,’ she remarked to Mary, ‘I must see to your wardrobe as soon as possible. You need far more gowns and stomachers. And you haven’t nearly enough bonnets and caps and shoes. The French Court demands a much higher standard of elegance than you have been used to. Nevertheless you are très belle, a credit to your name. Lady Fleming is pretty, and she too is tolerably well turned out. So is your other tutor. But …’ She pursed her lips in disapproval. ‘The rest of your train, with the exception of the dear Earl of Edinburgh, who is always most elegant, are thoroughly ill-looking and farouche. They are not even, in my opinion, properly washed.’

The four Marys, always in the Queen’s company as they were duty-bound to be, overheard the criticism with bad grace.

But they soon forgot their resentment and became infected by the Queen’s enthusiasm and enjoyment, as they continued with their journey overland to the Loire. There a beautifully decorated barge was waiting to carry them along the great river towards the castle of Saint-Germain-en-Laye, where the royal children were supposed to be waiting to meet them. On the journey Marie even became much better-tempered with Guthrie Jamieson. Or perhaps it was because she was enjoying herself that she no longer noticed the Earl so much.

During the long journey both Mary’s guardians, Lord Erskine and Lord Livingstone, fell ill, but Duchess Antoinette’s formidable presence overcame all difficulties. She was always well-prepared to cope with any misfortune. It was even rumoured that she kept her coffin at the entrance to her private chapel, and she was always dressed in black.

She told Lady Fleming and Marie, ‘The King is away campaigning at present, but will return soon. But he has left orders about the precedence that Mary has to be given. Mary has to walk before his daughter, the Princess of France, firstly because she is going to marry the Dauphin, and secondly because she is already a crowned queen of an independent country.’

‘And I’m also told,’ the Duchess continued, ‘that the King has sent written instructions for the thorough cleaning of the castle of Saint-Germain. Every corner, every nook and cranny, has to be absolutely spotless, in honour of the Queen’s arrival.’

As it turned out, so detailed were the King’s instructions and so thorough the cleaning operation, that the royal children were still waiting at the medieval fortress of Carrières when Queen Mary and her suite arrived there.

By that time Marie had coached the Queen diligently in French and she had proved so quick and eager to learn, she was already able to hold quite a reasonable conversation in the language. The Duchess of Guise had tutored the Queen in the ways of the French, and special attention was paid to preparing her for the important day when she would meet her future bridegroom.

Even more important still was her first meeting with the King. But that was still some time away. First there was the meeting with the French royal children. The result of all Marie’s efforts was that the Queen could greet the royal children and converse with them quite happily in their own language, and the meeting went exceptionally well. But what delighted Marie more than anything was the meeting of the Queen and the Dauphin, Francis. She knew that Mary was a kind-hearted child, generous in spirit and in practice. Her tenderness towards the frail little Dauphin, however, touched Marie’s heart and gave an insight into the Queen’s character that would always stay with her. It was obvious that, from the moment they met, the Dauphin liked Mary.

The meeting with the King of France was as successful as the meeting had been with his children. He came to the nursery once they’d eventually arrived and settled in the castle of Saint-Germain. Marie marvelled yet again at the royal child’s grace and charm. The King of France was clearly impressed, describing Mary as ‘the most perfect child I have ever seen.’

When the King visited the nursery he always brought with him a beautiful cultured lady that Marie assumed to be the Queen. She learned later that the woman, who took such an interest in the royal nursery—the children’s education, ailments, food, their general upbringing—was Diane du Poitier, the King’s mistress.

The true Queen was the sinister Italian, Catherine di’ Medici. It was rumoured that Catherine had already caused the death of more than one person at the Court. It was even said that she dabbled in sorcery and the occult at the castle of Blois. Marie soon realised what a dangerous woman Catherine di’ Medici was. However, they did not see too much of her and Marie’s fears faded.

Often Marie thought how lucky she was. Fully occupied with the world of the royal child, Marie hardly saw the Earl of Edinburgh. The terrible events in Scotland had faded far into the distance, and only occasionally did the nightmare of the murder return to haunt her. Then one day when they were at the castle of Blois, an ambassador from Scotland came to pay court to the King and brought much news and gossip from the country of her birth. One piece of news that filtered down to the royal nursery was about a man being executed for the murder of the Duke of Glasgow.

Marie went cold with horror. A wave of guilt crushed her, as the terrible realisation dawned that some poor unfortunate had suffered in her place for the crime she had committed.