‘It was Beaton brought in that old quean, that liggar-lady of Bothwell’s, that lickorish, ramping Reres. Mother’s sister of Beaton’s she is, own sister to the wise wife of Buccleuch, with witchcraft in the marrow of her. What made Beaton do it? Let God tell you if He care. I think the Lord God may well have covered His face to hear her tales. Such a tainted history I never listened to—pourriture de France! Oh, Master, I’ve heard the Count of Anjou and his minions, and Madame Marguerite and all hers at their wicked talk. I’ve heard Bothwell blaspheme high Heaven in three tongues, and had the bloat Italian scald my ears with a single word. But the Reres beats all. Good guide us, where hath she not made herself snug? Whose purchase hath she not been? Man, I cannot tell you the tales she told, nor one-quarter the shamefulness she dared to report. And the soft lingering tongue of the woman! And how she lets her scabrous words drop from her like butter from a hot spoon! My poor lamb was weary of bed and body, I’ll allow. I’ll own the old limmer made her laugh; she never could refuse a jest, as you know, however salted it might be. No: she must listen and must laugh, while I could have stabbed the old speckled wife. But my Queen Mary kept her at the bedside; and there they were, she and this Reres, for ever kuttering and whispering together. ’Twas then, in my belief, the cast was made, and the wax moulded and the spells set working.
‘For mark you this. The pains came on o’ the Wednesday morn, in the small grey hours; and by nine o’clock the child was born alive. It wailed from the first—never was such a fretful bairn; and she could hear him, and grieved over it, and could not find rest when most she needed it. And then—when they put it to her—she could not nurse it. Oh, Master, I could have maimed my own breast to help her! She tried—sore, sore she tried; she schooled herself to smile, though the sweat fairly bathed her; she crooned to it, sang her French, her pretty stammering Scots; but all to no purpose—no purpose at all. The child just labbered itself and her—my bonny lamb—and got no meat.
‘Master, it fairly broke her spirit. She did not fret, she did not lament, but lay just, and stared at the wall; and not a maid nor woman among us could rouse her. The old Reres tried her sculduddery and night-house talk, but did no better than we with our coaxing and prayers. She had no heart, no care, no pride in the world; but just let all go, and thrung herself face to the wall.
‘The lords came about her, and she showed them their prince: you could see she scorned them on their knees, and herself to whom they knelt. The craven King came in behind them, and she bade him kiss his own son. She looked him over, with all the dry rage withering her face—you’ld have said she had chalked herself!—and spoke him terrible words. “I may forgive, but I shall never forget,” she said: and to an Englishman who was with him—“He has broken my heart.” A King! He’s a spoiled toy in her hands; and the like is all the glory of Scotland—a thing of no worth to her. What hath changed her so but witchcraft? Ah, what else hath such a wicked virtue? Soon after this she sent for Bothwell; and when he came she was up and about—mad, mad, mad for her pastime; drinking of pleasure, you may say, like a thirsty dog, that fairly bites the water. Oh, Master, I am sick at the heart with all I’ve seen and heard!’
‘Let me comfort my Heart and Joy!’ said the really loving Master, and applied himself to the marital privilege. Extracts from his Diurnall, with which I have been favoured by a learned Pen, shall follow here—not without their illustrative value in this narrative. I omit all reference to the redding of the hay, the wool sales of each week, statistical comparisons of the lands of Beltrees with other sheep-ground, Sandy Graeme’s hen, the draining of Kelpie’s Moss, a famous hunting of rats on Lammas Day, and other matters of a domestic or fleeting interest.
It is not without pain, be it added, that I allow the Master to display himself naked, as it were, and far from ashamed. It will be seen—I regret to say it—that he was not above trafficking his good wife’s heart, or sending her to grass—in pastoral figure!—when the milk ran dry. Commerce and the Affections! Well, he was not alone in Scotland; there were belted Earls in the trade with him—canny chafferers in the market-place, or (in Knox’s phrase) Flies at the Honeypot. He was no better than his neighbours; and you will hear the conclusion of their whole matter, from a shrewd observer, at the end of this book.
The first date in the Diurnall of any moment to us is—
July the 22.—Yester-een my dear wife Mary Livingstone, blessed be God, returned to her home. Being comforted and stayed, she had much to rehearse of Court doings. Great tales: Forbes of Reres’ lady, a very gamester; the Earl of Both., and others. Harsh entreaty of the K—— before many witnesses. Mem. Not to forget own advantage in such news, nor the Earl of Bedf(ord) and Mr. C(ecil).[4]
July the 24.—I wrote out my proffer fair for the Earl of Bed(ford). John Leng rode with it, a sad [discreet] person. Wool sales this week ... Sandy Graeme: havers anent his hen.... M(ary) L(ivingstone) easier in mind, haler in body. Spake freely of the Court. The Q—— sent a French youth for the Earl of Both., and when he came saw him alone in her chamber. This would be great news for Engl(and), but and if they would pay my price. Mem. To be stiff, not to abate. Æquam memento rebus in arduis servare mentem.
July the 27.— ... M. L(ivingstone) saith that her mate Fl(eming) would give all lawful things to have back the Sec(retary), even to her allegiance as a subject; so intemperate is the passion of love in women. Saith that the Earl of Both. desires the K—— to recall Mr. A(rchibald) D(ouglas) in order that he may betray my Lo. of M(oray) to the Q——. Maybe the K—— would do it, if he had enough credit with her. The K—— hates my lord of Both. as mortally as ever he did the late Italian, but not with any more reason; at least M. L(ivingstone) will not admit any. Pressed her, but as yet fruitlessly. She is clear that there will be open strife between the Earls of Both. and Mo(ray): but the darker man hath a sure hold on himself and his friends. Mem. To write all this fairly to-morrow in the new Spanish cipher. Mem. 2. She saith that the Earl of H(untly) is now Chanc(ellor) and a declared lover of the Q——. Harmless, because the Q—— hath little to give but scorn to them that openly love her.