Scarcely had the young king arrived at his father's house when he caught the small-pox. He was in great danger, and the queen sent her physician to him, without going to see him herself, as long as he was seriously ill. She remembered, no doubt, that while in a dying condition the preceding summer, at Jedburgh, her husband had not troubled himself to go and see her. When Darnley was convalescent, Mary consented to a fresh reconciliation. She repaired to Glasgow and took the king with her to Edinburgh. She took up her residence as usual at Holyrood, but the fear of infection caused Darnley to be installed in an isolated house, where the queen went to see him. Rumours of conspiracy were already afloat; the insolent Darnley had few friends and many enemies. He was, however, warned by the Earl of Orkney that if he did not promptly quit this place, he would lose his life there, but the king had been smitten again with a capricious passion for his wife. He only saw through his eyes, and a word from the mouth of Mary soon quieted his suspicions. On the 9th of February, 1567, the queen supped with him, then left him at eleven o'clock for a ball which she was giving at Holyrood, in honour of the marriage of one of her servants. Three hours after her departure, at two o'clock in the morning, the house in which Darnley was alone with five servants, was suddenly blown up, and the body of the unhappy king was found in the garden, beside that of a page, without trace of burning or of any violence, while the other victims remained buried beneath the rubbish. No one had escaped. The blow had been struck by a sure hand. Mary was again a widow.
The public voice immediately accused the Earl of Bothwell. His violent passion for the queen was known; it was even whispered that it was mutual, notwithstanding the signs of grief shown by Mary, who remained shut up in an apartment hung with black. The details of the crime indicated long premeditation and skilful accomplices. Nearly all the ministers of the queen, Maitland especially, were implicated in the suspicions of the public. Nobody laid hands upon the principal person accused, even when the Earl of Lennox demanded his arrest. He was allowed to take possession of Edinburgh Castle before a warrant of arrest was granted against him. He appeared at the bar of the court of justice, but rather in triumph than as an accused person. The Earl of Lennox, alarmed at the attitude of the assassins of his son, had fled and taken refuge in England. Bothwell was acquitted, and bore the sceptre before the queen at the opening of Parliament. Darnley had been sleeping only one month in his bloody tomb, and already the rumour was afloat that the queen was about to marry the Earl of Bothwell, whom general opinion regarded as the murderer of her husband. Bothwell had been married six months before to the sister of the Earl of Huntley.
In the midst of this court agitated by such violent passions and tainted by such dark acts of treachery, the queen had a few faithful friends, and these warned her of the sinister rumours which circulated concerning her. Her honest envoy, Melville, relates how he took her a letter from England upon this subject; the queen showed it to the Secretary Maitland: "Bothwell will kill you," said the politician; "retire before he comes within this place." And, as Melville persisted, the queen sharply replied that matters had not yet come to that, although she refused to go into details.
Bothwell had, however, taken his precautions and secured powerful partisans. He brought together at a banquet all the principal members of Parliament, and there, protesting his innocence of the murder of Darnley, he announced his intention of marrying the queen. Whether from fear or from promises of advantage, the guests signed a document which Bothwell produced, recommending the earl for the husband of Mary, and they undertook to favour the marriage by every means. Four days later Bothwell gathered together a thousand horses. He planted himself in the way of the queen, who was returning from Stirling, between Linlithgow and Edinburgh, where she had been to see the little prince. He fell upon the royal escort, and himself laying hands upon the bridle of Mary's horse, he dragged her, with her principal councillors, into Dunbar Castle, exclaiming at the moment of the capture, "that he would marry the queen, whether people wished it or not, whether she wished it herself or not," he detained her for five days in the fortress, without her subjects attempting the slightest effort to deliver her. On the 29th of April, when she was restored to liberty, the queen appeared before the session court, announcing with shame that notwithstanding the outrages which the Earl of Bothwell had made her suffer, she was disposed to pardon him and to raise him to fresh honours. On the 15th of May, the marriage was celebrated publicly at Holyrood, according to the Protestant rites, and in private according to the Catholic rites. Bothwell had legally separated himself from his wife; the murderer had obtained the object of his crime.
Hitherto silence had been preserved as to the guilt of Bothwell, but the public conscience was shocked by the marriage. At the same time burst forth the plots which had long been in preparation to hurl Mary from the throne. Scarcely had she, whether willingly or under compulsion, concluded this odious union, when revolt suddenly threw off its mask. The great nobles had signed the engagement of Bothwell; now they loudly accused him of the murder of Darnley, manifested their fears for the life of the little prince, and announced the intention of delivering the queen from the yoke of her husband. An attempt to take possession of Bothwell's person having failed, the confederates marched upon Edinburgh, where they seized the government; but Mary rarely shrank from violence; she was resolute and quick; on the 15th of June, a month after her marriage, she was at Carbery Hill at the head of the troops that she had raised, in the face of the army of the insurgents. No blows were struck. The ambassador of France, the aged Le Croc, endeavoured to negotiate between the two parties. The forces of the confederates increased every moment; the soldiers of the queen appeared valiant. Bothwell proposed single combat to the hostile chiefs. Several accepted, but without result. It was at length agreed to allow Bothwell to proceed without obstacle, provided the queen should consent to return to her capital, where her faithful subjects surrounded her with honour and respect. Two hours later Bothwell departed at a gallop, and placed himself in safety; but Mary was a prisoner, and she was conducted to the house of the Provost of Edinburgh, where she remained shut up for twenty-four hours without being approached by any one. On the morrow, after nightfall, a numerous guard took the captive to Lochleven Castle, under the custody of William Douglas and his mother, formerly the mistress of James V. and the mother of Murray. Bothwell soon left the kingdom.
The anger of Elizabeth, at the news of the arrest of Mary, was violent and unfeigned. Not that she took much interest in the rival whose power she had incessantly endeavoured to ruin, through fear of the enterprises which she might attempt against England, but the outrage suffered by the Queen of Scotland cast a reflection upon all sovereigns. It was a blow at the regal dignity, the fruit of the pernicious principles which Knox and his adherents propagated. Sir Nicholas Throgmorton was sent to the confederate noblemen to command them to deliver their queen; but Cecil was in no such haste as his mistress to see Mary out of prison. His private instructions relaxed the ardour of the negotiator. The lords of the council had lost no time. Lord Lindsay appeared at Lochleven, the bearer of an act of abdication in favour of the little prince. The queen was invited to sign it; she refused. Lindsay took hold of her arm, and squeezing it in his iron gauntlet, "Sign," he said, "if you do not wish to die as the assassin of your husband." The queen signed without looking at the paper, merely raising her sleeve to show to those present the traces of the violence which she had just suffered. The uncouth warrior was himself ashamed. "I did not know that the flesh of women was like newly-fallen snow," he muttered; but he carried away the document. King James VI. was proclaimed and crowned on the 20th of June, and on the 22nd of August the Earl of Murray, who had returned to Scotland, after a prudent absence, was declared regent of the kingdom. He paid a visit to his sister at Lochleven, and asserted that he only accepted that office out of consideration for the prayers and tears of Mary. In the month of December, an act of the council declared the queen an accomplice in the murder of her husband, and in the abduction of her person by Bothwell. The deed was proved, it was said, by a correspondence between Mary and Bothwell, recently discovered by the Earl of Morton. The responsibility of the deposition of the queen fell entirely on her own head, and was but the just punishment of her crimes.
Justice or the violence of men might take everything from Mary Stuart, except the power of her charms. Even at Lochleven, she contrived to make partisans and win friends. On the 2nd of May, 1568, the lords of the council suddenly learnt that the queen had escaped from Lochleven, through the skill of a young man who had contrived to steal the keys. She arrived by night at Hamilton Castle, and had already revoked her abdication. A week had not elapsed before she had gathered an army around her.
The situation was critical, but the regent and his friends contrived to face the danger. As Mary advanced towards Dunbarton Castle, she encountered a body of troops, small in number, but disciplined and well armed; her partisans sprang to the combat with more zeal than strategy; they were soon defeated and put to flight. The deserted queen at first escaped the pursuit of her enemies, but she felt that she was closely pressed. The thought of the horrors of a prison chilled her with fear; she had expected death when she had been in the hands of her revolted subjects; she resolved to place herself under the protection of her good sister, Queen Elizabeth, and to proceed to England. The friends who yet surrounded her were opposed to this project. The Archbishop of St. Andrew's implored her upon his knees to abandon it; but Mary would listen to nothing; she stepped into a little fishing-boat to cross the Solway, and landed, on the 16th of May, at Workington, a fortnight after her escape from Lochleven, hence to direct her course at once towards Carlisle. Arrived there, she despatched a messenger to solicit an interview with Elizabeth. The fugitive queen was already lodged in a fortress, rather as a prisoner than as a sovereign, when she received the reply of Elizabeth to her request. The Queen of England could not see her, it was said, until she should have cleared herself of all suspicion with regard to the death of her husband.
Elizabeth had refused to grant the title of regent to Murray, and she had appeared to espouse the cause of Mary; but the policy of Cecil received too opportune an assistance from the imprudent confidence of the Queen of Scotland, to allow the opportunity to pass without profiting by it. The captive committed the mistake of asking that, if the queen could not protect her, she would at least allow her to traverse her kingdom, to go and beg the support of the foreign princes, "the King of France and the King of Spain being bound to come to her assistance on this occasion." The Catholic confederation in Scotland, at the threshold of England, was too real a danger for the wisdom of Elizabeth not to be struck with it. She consented to the proposal of Cecil, and offered to serve as arbitrator between the Queen of Scotland and her subjects, through the agency of an English commission. Mary indignantly refused. She could not and would not degrade the crown of Scotland to the condition of vassalage; she was the queen and independent. The judges who were suggested to her, had at all times fomented the agitations against her, and supported her enemies. She asked for no other favour than liberty to return to Scotland, or to repair to France. She had come to England upon the faith of the assurances of friendship which Queen Elizabeth had transmitted to her while she was at Lochleven. "Being innocent, as, thank God, I know I am, do you not (she asked) do me a wrong by keeping me here?"