11
At two o'clock in the morning, on 10 February 1567, a violent explosion shook the city of Edinburgh, bringing people running to Kirk o' Field. They found the house a smouldering heap of rubble, while in the orchard lay the dead bodies of Darnley, naked beneath his nightgown, and his valet, Taylor. Marks on their throats indicated that both had been strangled: certainly they were not killed by the explosion, which had perhaps been intended to destroy the evidence of murder. It was thought that Darnley, sensing that something was wrong, had left the house with his servant to investigate and been attacked outside. An elderly neighbour had heard him plead, 'Pity me, kinsmen, for the sake of Him who pitied all the world!' The first person who ran out into the street nearby after the explosion was Captain William Blackadder, Bothwell's man, who was promptly arrested but swore he had merely been sharing a drink with a friend in a neighbouring house.
When the news was brought to the Queen, who had been awakened by the blast, she expressed shock and horror, and vowed that her husband's murderers would be speedily 'discovered' and punished. She expressed her belief that the murderers' intention had been to assassinate her also: had she not decided to attend the masque at Holyrood, she too would have been murdered, and she wasted no time in penning letters to foreign courts announcing her 'miraculous' escape.
There was no doubt that Darnley had been murdered: many people had a motive for doing away with him, or stood to gain from his death. Chief among them was the Queen herself, who had long since ceased to love him and had discussed ways of ridding herself of him. She also regarded him as a dangerous liability, and had recently complained to Archbishop James Beaton that it was well known how her husband was plotting to kidnap their son and rule in his name.
Bothwell wanted Darnley dead so that he himself could marry the Queen and rule Scotland. He was 'high in his own conceit, proud, vicious and vainglorious above measure, one who would attempt anything out of ambition', as one contemporary described him.
Then there were the other Scots lords, who hated Darnley, many still nursing a sense of betrayal over his treacherous behaviour to them after Rizzio's murder. The finger of suspicion even touched foreign princes with vested interests in Scotland: the Catholic champions, Philip II, Charles IX and the Pope, had no wish to see Catholicism besmirched by the scandals surrounding Darnley. Conversely, Queen Elizabeth was anxious to promote the ascendancy of the Protestant establishment in Scotland, as led by Moray, and Darnley was an obstacle to this.
But, for most people, in Scotland and elsewhere, the evidence pointed overwhelmingly to Bothwell - and, quite soon, to Mary.
On 24 February, having received from her agents in Scotland a far more sinister account of Darnley's murder than appeared in the official version that would shortly be sent to her, Elizabeth wrote to Mary from Whitehall with serious urgency. Instead of her usual'Ma chere soeur , she began,
Madam: my ears have been so astounded and my heart so frightened to hear of the horrible and abominable murder of your former husband, our mutual cousin, that I have scarcely spirit to write; yet I cannot conceal that I grieve more for you than him. I should not do the office of a faithful cousin and friend if I did not urge you to preserve your honour, rather than look through your fingers at revenge on those who have done you that pleasure, as most people say. I exhort you, I counsel you, I beg you, to take this event so to heart that you will not fear to proceed even against your nearest. I write thus vehemently, not that I doubt, but for affection.
Catherine de' Medici commented to her circle that Mary was lucky to be rid of the young fool, but warned her former daughter-in-law that, if she did not immediately pursue and punish the murderers, France would deem her dishonoured and would become her enemy.
Mary, concerned to dissociate herself from the crime, ordered an inquiry, but the depositions of witnesses were extracted in often suspicious circumstances, even under torture. The Earl of Moray, who stood to gain power in Scotland if his half-sister were to be overthrown, was to retain control of all these documents and, therefore, they are unreliable as evidence. It is possible that Mary, whose health at the time was poor, was paralysed by indecision and reluctant to act against the man who, a week after Darnley's murder, was named in anonymous obscene public placards that appeared in Edinburgh as the chief suspect, Bothwell.
Darnley's parents suffered anguish, not only as a result of their son's death, but also because the Queen seemed to be doing so little to bring the culprits to justice. Elizabeth released a distraught Lady Lennox from the Tower and placed her in the care of Sir Richard Sackville. De Silva reported that the Countess believed that Mary 'had some hand in the business' as an act of 'revenge for her Italian secretary'. The Earl of Lennox successfully pressured Mary into allowing a private indictment of Bothwell for the murder of Darnley, but after an insulting travesty of a trial, which intimidated witnesses were too frightened to attend, he was acquitted on 12 April.
On 24 April, Mary, again convalescent after an illness, was travelling back to Edinburgh after visiting her son at Stirling, when Bothwell, reckless with regard to his reputation or hers - and possibly with her consent and foreknowledge, for she turned down an offer to rescue her - abducted her and bore her off to Dunbar, where he 'ravished' her, thus ensuring that it was impossible for her to refuse to marry him.
Shortly after the abduction, Lord Grey arrived from England with orders to tell Mary that Elizabeth was 'greatly perplexed' because the Queen of Scots had failed to bring to justice her husband's murderers yet had showered favour upon 'such as have been by common fame most touched with the crime'. Mary, of course, was incommunicado, and the message was never delivered. When Elizabeth learned that Mary had surrendered herself to Bothwell, she was shocked.
On 3 June, the Church of Scotland denounced Bothwell as an adulterer with one of his wife's maids and granted her a divorce. This left him free to marry Mary, their Protestant nuptials taking place on 15 May at Holyrood Palace. Afterwards, Mary asserted that she had had no choice in the matter, but there were many who thought her conduct depraved, and were now convinced that she had connived with Bothwell to murder Darnley.
Elizabeth could only deplore her cousin's behaviour, which contrasted so unfavourably with her own at the time of Amy Dudley's death, and in a letter to Mary she wrote, 'Madam, it has been always held in friendship that prosperity provideth but adversity proveth friends, wherefore we comfort you with these few words.' She had learned of Mary's marriage, and, to be plain with you, our grief has not been small thereat: for how could a worse choice be made for your honour than in such haste to marry a subject who, besides other notorious lacks, public fame has charged with the murder of your late husband, besides touching yourself in some part, though we trust in that behalf falsely. And with what peril have you married him, that hath another lawful wife, nor any children betwixt you legitimate!
Thus you see our opinion plainly, and we are heartily sorry we can conceive no better. We are earnestly bent to do everything in our power to procure the punishment of that murderer against any subject you have, how dear soever you should hold him, and next thereto to be careful how your son the Prince may be preserved to the comfort of you and your realm.
Elizabeth told Randolph that she 'had great misliking of the Queen's doing, which she doth so much detest that she is ashamed of her'. Yet there were other reasons for her disapproval of the marriage. Randolph had long since warned her that Bothwell was 'as mortal an enemy to our whole nation as any man alive', and she feared that, to gratify his ambition, he might incite Mary to become her enemy. Bedford was therefore instructed to 'comfort' any Scots lords who 'misliked Bothwell's greatness'.
Two days after the wedding, Mary was already regretting what she had done, for Bothwell was proving a stern husband, frowning on frivolous pleasures and displaying jealousy of the influence of any other lords. The French ambassador saw her looking very sad and heard her wishing for death; at one point she was calling for a knife with which to kill herself. He noticed also that, despite her mental anguish, she could not resist Bothwell's physical attraction.
The Scots lords found the marriage intolerable. Having just rid themselves of Rizzio and Darnley, they were in no mood to endure the ambitious and ruthless Bothwell as King of Scots, and they were soon preparing for an armed confrontation with him. This took place on 15 June at Carberry Hill. Very little blood was spilt, but at the end of the day Mary was in the custody of her nobles and Bothwell had fled back to Dunbar, whence he escaped to Denmark via the Orkneys. The lords assured the Queen that they intended no harm to the Crown, but she soon found herself under guard like a common felon.
Thus she was led weeping and mud-spattered back to Edinburgh, and here it became starkly apparent how her subjects now felt about her. As she rode through the packed streets, they reviled her as an adulteress and murderess, and screamed, 'Burn the whore! Kill her! Drown her!'
'I will hang and crucify them all,' she cried, but her humiliation was complete. Placards depicting her as a mermaid - a symbol for a prostitute - confronted her at every turn. It was clear that her reign was effectively over.
Two days after her degradation in Edinburgh, Mary was imprisoned in the fortress of Lochleven, which stood on an island in the middle of a lake in Kinross. She had nothing with her but the clothes she wore, and some weeks after her arrival she miscarried of twins, losing so much blood that she was obliged to rest in bed for some time. Meanwhile, Mary's lords were doing their best to whip up public opinion against her, and deciding how best to dispose of her.
Elizabeth, hearing of these events, was deeply concerned at the implications of the imprisonment of a queen by her subjects. Whatever Mary had done - and Elizabeth, deploring her behaviour, had little sympathy for her on a personal level - she was still an anointed sovereign, to whom 'by nature and law' her people owed loyalty and obedience, and their treatment of her was setting a dangerous precedent. It was unthinkable that a queen could be thus divested of her regal authority. Alarmingly, seditious ballads applauding Mary's deposition had begun to appear in England. For these reasons, Elizabeth was determined to fight for Mary's release.
On 20 June, one of Bothwell's servants was arrested and made to deliver to the Earl of Morton what later became known as the 'Casket Letters' - a collection of correspondence said to be between Mary and Bothwell which, if authentic, appeared to incriminate the Queen of being an accessory to murder. The lords responded by telling Mary she must choose between being put on trial, with the Casket Letters being offered as evidence, abdicating, or divorcing Bothwell. She refused to consider any of these options, asking only, according to her enemies, to be allowed to sail away on a boat with Bothwell to wherever fortune would take them. Meanwhile, the Pope, having heard about her recent behaviour, refused on 2 July to have anything further to do with her.
Early in July, Elizabeth sent Throckmorton back to Scotland to bring about a reconciliation between Mary and her peers and insist on her restoration. When that had been accomplished, he was to demand that Darnley's murderers be pursued and brought to trial. Above all, he was to ensure that Prince James, whose dynastic importance Elizabeth appreciated, was kept safe; if possible, the child should be brought to England to be reared under her protection. This was, Throckmorton told Leicester, 'the most dangerous legation in my life', and he took his time travelling north, only to be overtaken by a royal courier who commanded him, in the Queen's name, to make haste.
Public opinion in Scotland, fanned by John Knox, was violently opposed to Mary, and Throckmorton's intervention was greatly resented. He was denied access to her, and the lords were even talking of executing her and breaking off their alliance with England in favour of a new one with France if Elizabeth did not offer her support. All Throckmorton could do was send Mary a letter advising her to divorce Bothwell. Mary refused, even though her situation was now desperate.
The lords, having refused to sanction James's removal to England, now decided that Queen Mary must be forced to abdicate in favour of her son. Weakened by her miscarriage, she was in no fit state to resist, yet on 24 July, when Lord Lindsay came to demand that she sign away her throne, she refused to do so, demanding to be heard by the Scots Parliament. Lindsay threatened that if she did not co-operate, he would cut her throat, at which she capitulated. Five days later her infant son was crowned James VI at Stirling, according to the Protestant rite. On the day of the coronation there were noisy celebrations at Lochleven, with Mary's captors going out of their way to insult her.
On 27 July, an outraged Elizabeth commanded Throckmorton to demand of the Scots, 'What warrant have they in Scripture to depose their Prince? Or what law find they written in any Christian monarchy, that subjects may arrest the person of their Prince, detain them captive and proceed to judge them? No such law is to be found in the whole civil law.' If Mary was deprived of her throne, she threatened, 'we will take plain part against them to revenge their sovereign, for an example to all posterity'.
In Throckmorton's opinion, expressed to Leicester, any attempt to rescue Mary would only lead to her being killed, though at the same time there is little doubt that, had not Elizabeth reacted as violently as she did to their treatment of Mary, the Scots lords might have executed her without more ado. Throckmorton was grateful for having been able to communicate to Mary how zealous Elizabeth was in her cause, 'which I am sure the poor lady doth believe'. But relations between Elizabeth and the men who should have been her Protestant allies were now, thanks to her interference, so frigid that war seemed a very real possibility.
Despite this danger, the Queen, supported only by Leicester, was resolved to pursue the matter to a successful conclusion in the face of pleas and warnings from Throckmorton and Cecil, who wanted to foster friendly relations with Moray and were alarmed at their mistress's obsession with bringing the Scots to heel. Not content with demanding Mary's release, she was now doing her best to subvert Moray's efforts to establish stable government, and deliberately snubbed the Earl by imperiously recalling Throckmorton, thereby demonstrating that she did not recognise his authority. It was no more than a gesture, however, for Moray was well entrenched in power, and few Scots wanted the disgraced Mary restored, as Throckmorton had tried to explain to Elizabeth. Nor did Moray take her displeasure too seriously: as he commented to Cecil, 'Although the Queen's Majesty, your mistress, outwardly seems not altogether to allow the present state, yet doubt I not but Her Highness in her heart likes it well enough.'
Nevertheless, on 11 August, the Queen, in a foul temper because of the pain caused by 'a crick in the neck', sent for Cecil and, in 'a great offensive speech', soundly berated him and his fellow councillors for not having thought of any way in which she could revenge the Queen of Scots's imprisonment and deliver her. As Cecil hedged, the Queen began shouting that she would declare war on the Scots, and he should warn Moray and his lords that if they kept Mary locked up, or touched her life or person, Elizabeth, as a prince, would not fail to revenge it to the uttermost. When Cecil tried to defend Moray, the Queen retorted that any person who was content to see a neighbouring prince unlawfully deposed must be less than dutifully minded towards his own sovereign. Cecil persisted, however, reminding her that, if she threatened the Scots with war, they might well carry out their threat to execute Mary.
A week later the Secretary, who knew that his mistress had no real intention of going to war with her neighbour, was nevertheless gloomily reflecting on how her behaviour was wrecking the fruits of his seven or eight years of successful diplomacy with Scotland. Although she was no longer talking of war, she was still loudly denouncing Moray. Cecil was aware of her motives, knowing that she did not wish people to think her prejudiced against her cousin and that she was fearful in case her own subjects might be emboldened by the example set in Scotland to do the same to her. When, on 22 August, Moray was appointed head of a council of regency, Elizabeth refused to recognise his authority, just as she would not acknowledge James VI as King of Scots. It was not until October that she calmed down and faced the fact that she could not change the situation in Scotland.
Elizabeth had sent Sussex to the Imperial court at Vienna in June to invest Maxmilian II with the Order of the Garter and to inspect the Archduke Charles. The reports he sent back were encouraging: Charles was tall with reddish-brown hair and beard, 'his face well-proportioned, amiable, and of a very good complexion; his countenance and speech cheerful, very courteous and not without some state; his body well- shaped, without deformity or blemish; his legs clean, well-proportioned and of sufficient bigness for his stature'. There was not 'any thing to be noted worthy misliking in his whole person'. A fluent speaker in four languages, of which German was his mother tongue, he was popular in his own country and reportedly wise, liberal and courageous. He excelled at hunting, riding, hawking and all the manly exercises, and Sussex praised his horsemanship fulsomely. He was intelligent, highly- educated, and very rich, living in 'great honour and state'.
The only remaining obstacle to the successful conclusion of the marriage negotiations was the religious issue, since Charles would not, even to please Elizabeth, renounce his faith. The Emperor was prepared to compromise: if the Queen would relent and allow his brother to attend mass in private while publicly accompanying her to Anglican services, the Archduke would undertake never to do anything to undermine the Church of England and would be ready to marry her at once. In October, Sussex wrote urging Elizabeth to accept this offer, commenting in a private note to Cecil, 'The universal opinion is, that if Her Majesty will not satisfy him for the use of his religion, she wanteth or meaneth never to proceed in the matter.'
Knowing this issue to be highly contentious, Elizabeth asked her councillors for their advice. Cecil and Norfolk were in favour of accepting the compromise, but Leicester, who believed the marriage would herald his ruin, Northampton, Pembroke and Knollys were against it. Yet, even though she realised she could not delay much longer in giving the Archduke an answer, the Queen could not make up her mind, and for several weeks opposing groups of councillors warred to bring her over to their point of view. In Vienna, Sussex was furious to hear that Leicester was using every means at his disposal - 'the like hath not been seen' - to sabotage the project, including instructing zealous Protestant preachers to inveigh against the Catholic Archduke from the pulpit.
At length, Leicester emerged victorious, for on 10 December Elizabeth brought eight years of negotiations to an end by writing to Sussex to say that it was against her conscience and her policy of religious uniformity to allow Charles to practise his religion in private. Even if she personally permitted it, it was unlikely that Parliament would, and she could not act without the consent of Parliament. This signified the end of the hopes of Cecil, Norfolk and Sussex, who all blamed Leicester for this dismal outcome and foresaw 'certain mischief resulting from Elizabeth's continuing failure to marry. The Emperor was 'much appalled' and turned down Elizabeth's request that Charles visit her to discuss the religious issue - as she had known he would - while a despondent Sussex handed over the Garter and began his long journey home.
In reaching her decision, Elizabeth had, however, acted wisely in saving England from the threat of religious controversy and the possibility of rebellion or even civil war. She had not forgotten how violently the English people had reacted to the news that her sister intended to marry Philip of Spain, and she was also aware how much attitudes towards religion had hardened during the past decade. She wished to make it clear to her subjects that she would do nothing to forfeit their love and loyalty, and that she would never allow the laws of her country to be broken, even by her husband.
The collapse of the Habsburg marriage negotiations coincided with the beginning of a period of cooler relations between England and Spain, which was sparked by the rudeness of the outspoken John Man, Bishop of Gloucester, whom Elizabeth had sent as her ambassador to Spain, and who, once there, openly vilified the Catholic faith and the Pope, and warned his mistress to shun 'the powers of darkness'. After Elizabeth had recalled him, at Philip's insistence, in the spring of 1568, she sent no more ambassadors to the Spanish court. De Silva returned home at the same time, to be replaced by the aggressive Don Guerau de Spes, who was hostile to the English.
A serious conflict had also broken out in the Netherlands, where over the past few decades many of Philip's subjects, particularly in the northern provinces, had converted to the reformed faith, and there was growing resentment of their autocratic Catholic ruler. Catholic churches were desecrated and Imperial officials attacked. Threatened with a breakdown in law and order, Philip sent an army of 50,000 men under the command of the formidable Duke of Alva to crush the rebels. Having carried out its task with terrible efficiency, the army stayed put at Brussels, almost on Elizabeth's doorstep, thus causing the greatest consternation in England.
The Queen's sympathies were naturally with the Protestant rebels, whose leader, William the Silent, Prince of Orange, had fled to Germany, but she was reluctant to respond to their appeals for help because of the proximity of that huge Spanish garrison. There was widespread fear in England that it would be only a matter of time before Alva received orders to invade England: it was no secret that Philip still cherished hopes of Elizabeth's conversion to Catholicism, and there was always the possibility that he might decide to force the issue. It was therefore imperative that Elizabeth order a strengthening of England's navy - her only protection against the Spaniards.
By March 1568, relations between England and Scotland were noticeably warmer, with Moray and Cecil corresponding on a regular basis and Elizabeth suggesting to Moray that she petition the King of Denmark, who had shut Bothwell in prison, to send back his captive to Scotland to stand trial for Darnley's murder.
The following month, Elizabeth who had been casting covetous eyes at Mary's jewels, particularly a six-stringed loop of large pearls, arranged with Moray to buy them for 12,000 ecus, outbidding Catherine de' Medici. When they arrived on 1 May, she could not contain her excitement, but showed them off to Leicester and Pembroke. The pearls were featured thereafter in several state portraits of the Queen.
On 2 May, Mary escaped from Lochleven. George Douglas, the laird's brother, 'in fantasy of love with her', under cover of a May Day pageant arranged for a servant to steal the laird's keys and help the disguised prisoner to hasten to a waiting boat. Douglas then escorted Mary to Hamilton Palace, where she was joined by several lords and an army of 6000 men. As soon as she heard of this, Elizabeth sent a handwritten message of congratulation, offering help and support.
But it had not arrived when Mary's force suffered a crushing defeat at Langside on 13 May at the hands of Moray's troops, and she fled in panic from the battlefield knowing that all was lost. For three days she rode southwards, shaving her head to avoid recognition, and existing on a diet of milk and oatmeal. On 16 May, she escaped from Scotland and crossed the Solway Firth to Workington in Cumberland, hoping to obtain refuge in England and announcing that she had come to place herself under Elizabeth's protection. Bitter and vengeful, she was desperate for military aid so that she could crush her enemies for good.
The English authorities, however, were not sure how to receive her, and placed her under guard at Carlisle until instructions about what to do with their uninvited guest arrived from London. Her arrival posed a dilemma for the government that would exercise it tor the next two decades.
The Queen insisted that Mary must be restored at once. Cecil argued that it was folly to assist a queen who had schemed and plotted against her for years and was, in every sense, her enemy and no political innocent. Mary should be sent back to Scotland immediately. Elizabeth protested that to do so would be to send her to her death - it was unthinkable that she should do such a thing.
It was difficult to determine what should be done with Mary, since every option open to Elizabeth carried its dangers. The last thing she wanted was to go to war with Scotland on Mary's behalf, and she felt it would be infinitely preferable if she could bring about a reconciliation between Mary and the Scots lords on terms favourable to England. It would be insane folly to send Mary abroad to France or Spain, yet if Elizabeth left her at liberty in England, she would be an inspiration to every Catholic malcontent in the kingdom. The Queen was aware that there were those of the old faith, at home and abroad, who regarded Mary as having a better title to the English throne than herself, especially in the Catholic north, where Mary had been cultivating support for years and where there was spontaneous rejoicing at her coming to England. Those who had met her were beguiled by her beauty and charm, and also by her powers of persuasion. It therefore required no great leap of the imagination to envisage her becoming a force for rebellion, or treason, and there was always the fearful possibility that King Philip might decide to divert that great army in the Netherlands to England in support of her claim.
In the end, Elizabeth decided that Mary must remain, not in prison, but in honourable custody as her 'guest', and under constant observation. 'Our good Queen has the wolf by the ears,' commented Archbishop Parker. Elizabeth sent Sir Francis Knollys to Carlisle to welcome Mary and take charge of her. He was to say that it would be impossible for Mary to be admitted to Her Majesty's presence 'by reason of the great slander of murder whereof she was not yet purged': until Mary had been formally cleared of Darnley's murder, Elizabeth, as an unmarried Queen, could not see her or welcome her to court. Mary wept when she heard this.
Elizabeth had made noises about wanting to recognise Mary as Queen of Scots and receive her as an equal, but she had been easily overridden by her councillors, who could not comprehend why she would contemplate replacing a friendly Protestant neighbouring administration with a Catholic queen who had never renounced her claim to be rightful sovereign of England. Elizabeth wrote to Mary explaining her decision: 'If you find it strange not to see me, you will see it would be malaise for me to receive you before your justification. But once honourably acquitted of this crime, I swear to you before God, that among all worldly pleasures [meeting you] will hold the first rank.' The French ambassador drily observed that, once the two queens were in each other's company, they would be at loggerheads within a week as their friendship turned to envy and jealousy. He believed Elizabeth would never let Mary come near her.
Having heard that Mary had no change of raiment, Elizabeth declared she would make good her wants, and sent with Knollys a parcel of clothing. To his mortification it contained 'two torn shifts, two pieces of black velvet, two pairs of shoes, and nothing else'. To cover up his embarrassment he told Mary that 'Her Highness's maid had mistaken and sent things necessary for a maidservant'. In fact, Elizabeth herself had selected the items, intending that Mary should understand she was dependent on English charity, and when Knollys failed to write of Mary's gratitude, she indignantly sent to ask if her cousin had liked the clothes she had sent her.
Mary was angered by this 'cold dealing', and on 13 June replied:
Remove, Madam, from your mind that I am come hither for the preservation of my life, but to clear my honour and obtain assistance to chastise my false accusers; not to answer them as their equal, but to accuse them before you. Being innocent as, God be thanked, I know I am, do you not wrong me by keeping me here, encouraging by that means my perfidious foes to continue their determined falsehoods? I neither can nor will answer their false accusations, although I will with pleasure justify myself to you voluntarily as friend to friend, but not in the form of a process with my subjects.
This could not be achieved, of course, unless Elizabeth agreed to see her, and in her frustration she veered from outbursts of anger to spells of passionate weeping, in which she complained of her 'evil usage'.
The Council was not impressed, and on 20 June backed Elizabeth in her refusal to receive Mary, declaring that the Queen could not 'suffer her to depart without a trial'. Of course, English courts had no jurisdiction over foreign princes, so Elizabeth ordered what amounted to a political inquiry - 'a trial of Mary's innocence' before what was in effect a tribunal, although it was not referred to as such. Its purposes were to determine whether Mary had been in any way guilty of Darnley's murder and whether she should be restored to her throne. Six earls were appointed to act as commissioners under the chairmanship of Norfolk, their function being to consider the evidence. The Queen announced that she herself would act as judge between Mary and her Scots subjects.
In a letter to Mary, asking her to proclaim her innocence, Elizabeth wrote, 'O Madam! There is no creature living who wishes to hear such a declaration more than I, or will more readily lend her ears to any answer that will acquit your honour.' Once Mary had been acquitted, she would - she promised - receive her at court.
By now, it had dawned on Mary that she was effectively a prisoner of her cousin. When told of the impending inquiry, she furiously protested that, as an absolute prince, she would have no other judge but God: 'I see how things frame evil for me. I have many enemies about the Queen, my good sister, such as do all they can to keep me from her at the solicitation of my rebellious subjects.' There was a good deal of truth in this, but Mary clung to the notion that the inquiry was Elizabeth's way of helping her regain her throne, especially when Elizabeth informed her that its real purpose was to examine Moray's conduct towards his sovereign, and assured her that judgement would not be given unless it was against him or his party.
On 20 June, the Council categorically advised Elizabeth against doing anything that might assist Mary's restoration. She refused to listen: she had given Mary her word, and would stand by it. Subjects had to be shown that they could not depose princes at will. But the strain was telling on her, and in one letter she begged Mary to 'have some consideration of me, instead of always thinking of yourself.
In July, Mary was taken to Bolton Castle in Yorkshire, which was to be her lodging for the foreseeable future. It was sufficiently far from both Scotland and London to pose any great security risk. At Bolton she kept state like a queen and was allowed to indulge her passion for hunting, but she was constantly guarded. Sir Francis Knollys was her 'host', but had a difficult time coping with her tears and tantrums as she chafed against the restrictions upon her liberty.
There was by now a strong 'Queen's Party' in Scotland, and two members of it, Lord Herries and the Bishop of Ross, took it upon themselves to go to England and plead Mary's case. 'If Queen Mary will remit her case to be heard by me as her dear cousin and friend', Elizabeth told Herries, 'I will send for her rebels and know their answer why they deposed their queen. If they can allege some reason for doing so, which I think they cannot, then I will restore Queen Mary to her throne, on condition that she renounces her claim to England and abandons her league with France and the mass in Scotland.' These were tough terms, but the promise was implicit, and Mary was desperate. On 28 July, she agreed to 'submit her cause to Her Highness in thankful manner'. What she did not know was that all parties were determined that she should not speak in her own defence. Nor was she aware that, on 20 September, Elizabeth assured Moray that she did not mean to restore Mary, despite reports to the contrary. Armed with this knowledge, he agreed to attend.
The inquiry opened at York on 4 October. Elizabeth had ordered her commissioners to press for Mary's restoration on terms favourable to the English, but to her annoyance, there were endless intrigues and delays, and very little was achieved, although it became transparently clear that Moray's chief objective was to keep Mary out of Scotland. Provoked by Elizabeth's anger at his initial failure to make the 'rigorous accusations' he had assured her would prove Mary 'privy' to murder, and fortified by her reassurance that if his proofs were convincing there would be no question of her pressing for Mary's restoration, he at length revealed the existence of the Casket Letters. He intended, at the right psychological moment, to produce them in evidence against Mary - in fact, they were to constitute the chief evidence against her. But the question was asked then, and has been asked countless times since: were they forgeries?
The Casket Letters no longer exist, having disappeared in 1584, although copies of nine of them survive in various archives. The original documents comprised eight letters said to be from Mary to Bothwell, twelve transcriptions of French sonnets, a written but undated promise to marry Bothwell, signed by Mary, and two copies of their marriage contract. All were contained in a small silver-gilt box of about thirty centimetres in length, engraved with an F for Francis II, which may be the one now on display at Lennoxlove House in Scotland. According to the Earl of Morton, this casket had been found in a house in Potterow, Edinburgh, and since then controversy had raged over the authenticity of its contents. There were claims that, although the letters were genuine, the Scots lords had inserted incriminating passages into them. Some said the love letters had been written to Bothwell by another lady. None of these theories were put forward in Mary's defence. When Moray produced these contentious documents at the inquiry, he insisted that the letters purportedly written by Mary were in her handwriting. Mary denied this, but was never allowed to see them. Many modern historians believe therefore that the Casket Letters were forged in an attempt to convict her. If, however, they were authentic, then they were conclusive proof that she was guilty of complicity in Darnley's murder.
Norfolk did see the originals and was in no doubt as to who had written them; in fact, he was utterly appalled at their contents, writing to Elizabeth that they described 'such inordinate love between [Mary| and Bothwell, her loathsomeness and abhorring of her husband that was murdered, in such sort as every good and godly man cannot but detest and abhor the same'. The widowed Duke was therefore astonished at a suggestion made by William Maitland, on a hunting expedition, that he consider marrying Mary himself, especially since the terms of his appointment as chief commissioner forbade him from doing so on pain of death. Knollys thought the marriage might be a good way of keeping Mary under control, but Elizabeth, alerted by the French ambassador and Cecil's spies, most certainly did not, and sharply reproved Norfolk for even discussing such an idea.
'Should I seek to marry her, being so wicked a woman, such a notorious adulteress and murderer?' he protested.
I love to sleep upon a safe pillow. I count myself, by Your Majesty's favour, as good a prince at home in my bowling aUey at Norwich as she is, though she were in the midst of Scotland. And if I should go about to marry with her, knowing as I do that she pretendeth a title to Your Majesty's crown, Your Majesty might justly charge me with seeking your crown from your head.
At this, Elizabeth appeared outwardly mollified, and no more was said then about the marriage. However, a seed of ambition had been sown in Norfolk's mind.
When Elizabeth received copies of the Casket Letters, she claimed to be convinced that they were genuine, stating that they 'contained many matters very unmeet to be repeated before honest ears, and easily drawn to be apparent proof against the Queen'. Irritated by the lack of progress made by the commissioners, and suspicious of Norfolk's loyalties, Elizabeth adjourned the inquiry to Westminster and appointed Leicester, Cecil and other councillors - most of whom were no friends of Mary - as additional commissioners. Meanwhile, Cecil was urging that Mary be moved to the greater security of Tutbury Castle in the Protestant Midlands, but Elizabeth demurred, wishing to preserve the fiction that Mary was a royal guest and not a prisoner to be shunted from stronghold to stronghold. Even Leicester could not persuade her that Cecil spoke sense.
Although she accepted an English prayerbook, Mary remained a devout Catholic, and - in an effort to wipe out her unfortunate recent history - had told King Philip she would die for her faith. The new Spanish ambassador, Don Gerau de Spes, shared the concern of his master for Mary's welfare, and by 9 November had decided upon action, having contacted her known supporters in England. Overestimating the numbers of her partisans, a mistake made repeatedly by foreign Catholic powers in the years to come, de Spes believed that it would not be difficult to arrange Mary's escape, nor even a rebellion against Elizabeth, with the intent of deposing her and setting up Mary as queen in her place.
It appears that Mary was plotting against Elizabeth almost as soon as she arrived on English soil. She told Knollys she had no desire to cause any more trouble, yet both the Council and Moray, having censored and read all her correspondence, suspected she was not telling the truth. In September she had told the Queen of Spain that with Philip's help she would 'make ours the reigning religion' in England; Philip, however, was just then too shocked by her conduct seriously to contemplate forceful intervention on her behalf. It was probably the realisation that Mary would not scruple to intrigue against her that prompted Elizabeth to assure Moray that the tribunal would after all pronounce on Mary's guilt or innocence, on the basis of the proofs contained in the Casket Letters.
Elizabeth was at Hampton Court when the Westminster tribunal met on 25 November. On the following day Moray accused Bothwell of Darnley's murder and Mary of having guilty foreknowledge of it. Her commissioners demanded that she be allowed to reply to this charge herself. On 4 December Elizabeth agreed this was reasonable, but declared that 'for the better satisfaction of herself, Moray must first present his proofs. She then refused to allow Mary to give evidence in her own defence, even though her cousin was insisting vehemently that the Casket Letters were forgeries and claiming that it was easy to copy her handwriting. She had still not been allowed to see them. Elizabeth stated that it would be degrading for Mary to have to give evidence, but in reality she did not want her beautiful, appealing cousin winning hearts and minds by publicly protesting her innocence, for then it would be virtually impossible to present the Casket Letters as credible evidence.
On 6 December Mary's commissioners withdrew from the inquiry. It seems that even they were not wholly convinced of their mistress's innocence. On 7 December, Moray again accused Mary of murder and produced the Casket Letters, to sensational effect, with the result that the commissioners spent the next few days comparing the handwriting with authenticated samples of Mary's. Mary herself repeatedly begged to see copies of the Casket Letters, but her pleas were refused. The Queen pleaded with her several times to reply formally in writing to the accusations made against her, but she repeatedly refused to do so unless Elizabeth promised that the inquiry would bring in a verdict of not guilty. This, of course, was out of the question.
The English commissioners and Council unanimously accepted the Casket Letters as authentic, on the grounds that they contained information 'such as could hardly be invented or devised by any other than [Mary] herself, for that they discourse on some things which were unknown to any other than to herself and Bothwell'. They were divided, however, as to how to proceed against Mary. The last thing Elizabeth wanted was for her cousin to be proclaimed guilty of murder, but she did see the necessity for Mary to accept her deposition and live quietly in England as a private person for the rest of her life, and told Knollys to persuade Mary to agree to this. Another option was for Mary to rule Scotland as joint sovereign with James VI, with Moray acting as regent. Alternatively, Mary could remain titular Queen but live permanently in England while Moray ruled in her name.
On 14 December, Elizabeth summoned her councillors and nobility to Hampton Court to hear the commission's proceedings read out to them and inspect the Casket Letters. The peers expressed their gratitude to Elizabeth for letting them know the particulars of the inquiry, 'wherein they had seen such foul matters as they thought truly in their consciences that Her Majesty's position was justified'. Mary's crimes were now so apparent that she could never be received at court. However, she could not be declared guilty unless she had put forward a defence, and this she had consistently refused to do, unless it was to Elizabeth in person - which, again, was out of the question.
A week later Elizabeth, still upset by the impact of the Casket Letters, as well as by the death of her old tutor, Roger Ascham, sent the commissioners to give Mary a detailed report of the inquiry and a letter in which the Queen informed her that, 'As one Prince and near cousin regarding another, we are heartily sorry and dismayed to find such matter of your charge,' and giving Mary one last chance of stating her defence. Mary did not respond.
Given the strength of English public opinion against Mary, Elizabeth could not allow her to be declared innocent, yet neither did she want a queen to be subject to the judgement of a tribunal, and in January 1569, the commissioners delivered the only verdict possible - that nothing had been proved against Mary. Mary herself refused to acknowledge that they had the jurisdiction to deliver any verdict at all.
But Elizabeth dared not set her at liberty: she posed too great a threat, even as a prisoner, for already there were signs that Catholics in England were beginning to regard her as their figurehead. As for Mary, she seemed more interested now in claiming the English throne than in recovering the Scottish one.
'The Queen of Scots', Cecil warned Elizabeth, 'is, and always shall be, a dangerous person to your estate.'