Jean thanked her, and when she had reclothed Annabella in the chemise and settled her beneath the coverlet, she put the cup to her mistress’s lips. “ ’Twill be bitter,” she said, “but it’s strengthening, my lady.”
Annabella sipped, making a face, for the tea was bitter. She began to cry again. “I’ve lost my bairn,” she sobbed. “I’ve lost my wee laddie.”
“There will be others,” Jean said low. “There is a bond of passion between ye and my brother that makes it impossible to believe otherwise.”
“Where is Angus?” Annabella asked.
“Probably wi’ Bothwell and his men fighting Chancellor Morton and his men,” Jean said. “I saw Morton’s men in the courtyard.”
“Poor queen,” Annabella sad sadly. “She can trust no one.”
“She can trust Bothwell,” Jean replied. “Now go to sleep, my lady. Ye’re safe, and I will sit by yer side.”
“I want to go home,” Annabella said low.
“Soon,” Jean promised. “Soon.”
But it was not as soon as they wished. Mary Beaton did not come back, and after telling Jean to remain as long as she liked, the serving woman, Susan, disappeared. Holyrood Palace was suddenly very quiet but for the occasional tramping of booted feet in the corridors outside.
When morning dawned gray and drizzly, Jean Ferguson, assured that her mistress would not awaken for some time, made her way to the kitchens to fetch them some food. The queen’s French cook and his assistants were surprised to see her, but glad to share what news they had, along with some food.
“Bothwell and Huntley are gone,” the cook told her in his mixture of French and Scots English. “Ze queen’s attendants have all been dismissed.”
Jean, whose own mother was French, understood him, and was able to communicate with the cook. “Who is left in the palace?” she asked.
“La reine, and the craven coward she wed who calls himselfle roi,” the cook responded. “The old dowager of Huntley, who is caring for our mistress. Ruthven’s and Morton’s men. They say the Earl of Moray has returned from exile, and will reason with his sister. How is it ye remain? Almost everyone was sent away.”
“My mistress was gravely injured in defense of the queen,” Jean said. “She has miscarried her bairn. She insisted on being taken out of the queen’s sight lest she cause the queen distress. Mistress Beaton offered her chambers.”
“Your mistress lived through the night?”
“She is young and will survive, but I must bring her nourishment to help strengthen her so we can leave this place,” Jean explained.
“Sit down,” the cook said. “I will prepare something myself forla pauvre.”
Jean sat, and immediately a mug of cider and a bowl of hot oats were given her. She ate quickly as the cook prepared a meal for Annabella. The tray she carried back upstairs to Mistress Beaton’s quarters contained an egg custard, a soft fresh roll, butter, jam, and a cup of wine with herbs. The few guards she passed glanced briefly at her, then nodded for her to go on. Reaching her destination she slipped back into the chamber, setting the tray aside, and seated herself back down next to the bed, waiting for her mistress to awaken.
In midmorning, Annabella opened her eyes. At first she was confused as to where she was, and why. Then the memory of the previous evening flooded back, and she sat straight up. “Jeannie!”
“I’m here,” her tiring woman said. “I’ve brought ye some food.”
Annabella shook her head. “I canna eat! I want to leave this place.”
“Eat what I’ve brought ye,” Jean said quietly. “Then I will find a way for us to return back to the house.” Bringing the tray, she set it on her mistress’s lap. “The queen’s own cook made ye this nice egg custard. ’Twill strengthen ye. And the wine has healing herbs for ye.” She sat back down and, spooning a bit of the custard, held it to Annabella’s lips. “Come, now, my lady; eat,” she coaxed.
Taking the spoon from Jean, Annabella ate. She wasn’t a silly bairn. She had suffered a needless loss, but she was alive. Alive to plot her revenge, and she would.
“I will find a litter for ye, and we will return to our house as quickly as possible. I have nae doubt Angus will be worried,” Jean said. “I know ye’re weak, but if we can reach the house I can nurse ye better.”
“Find someone to carry us there,” Annabella said. “I dinna want to remain here. What word of the queen?”
“Her French cook says she is confined to her apartments wi’ old Lady Huntley to watch over her. Her servants have been dismissed by Morton, but they’ve nae gone far. The rebels conspire wi’ one another, and the Earl of Moray will come soon. They believe that, even though she sent him away, he is the one who can best reason wi’ her.”
“He has arrived rather quickly from his exile in England,” Annabella said dryly.
Jean snickered. “Aye. He hae been waiting in the background during all of this, and was certainly involved in the plot to murder the little toad man. I saw his body at the foot of a flight of stairs. They had stripped him naked and he was covered in stab wounds. I hope someone has the kindness to bury him.”
“He was a fool,” Annabella said in a hard voice as she spooned the egg custard into her mouth. “He made no effort whatsoever to placate those in positions of power who resented his influence wi’ the queen. Indeed, he flaunted himself about. But God knows I should not have wished such a fate upon him as he suffered last night.”
