CHAPTER VIII
THE DELIVERY OF THE LETTERS
Will was disposed to be taciturn on the way to Chartley. Francis did not know whether he suspected her design was more than to see Mary or not, but summoning all the finesse of which she was mistress she made herself as agreeable as she could, relating stories and incidents of the chase, until long before the plain which lay between Stafford and Chartley was crossed, Will’s surliness had vanished.
The sun was an hour high when they reached their destination. Chartley, grim and gray in the morning light, rose before them. The manor was large and roomy, surrounded by such a high wall that none, unless he were endowed with the wings of a bird, could scale its heights. A moat encompassed the whole. The castle with wall and moat forming a stronghold well suited to its present use as prison. 76
As they crossed the drawbridge and entered the portals Francis was surprised to see sentinels everywhere. Her spirit sank a little and her heart quailed as she noted all of the means employed to insure Mary’s safe-keeping.
“My father was right,” she thought. “To obtain entrance is not all. There will still be difficulty, I fear, in seeing her. What if she comes not to the garden? But courage! Poor lady! I marvel not that she doth wish to gain her liberty. Methinks I should die were I to be deprived of my freedom!” Thus she mused little dreaming that not many weeks would elapse ere she would be put to the test.
“There are the gardens,” said Will breaking in upon her thoughts. “’Tis there that I have often seen the queen. See, the guard is leaving.”
“Don’t they guard her through the day, Will?”
“Ay, master. But the sentinels stand not at the doors and windows as they do at night. The walls only are guarded through the day. There she is, forsooth.”