Katharine was waiting to take her fond farewell, and Mary kissed her gentle sister-in-law with tenderness.
Somewhere among those assembled was Charles; she dared not look at him; she was afraid that, if she did, she would cling to him and refuse to go aboard.
The Queen’s fleet was not far out from Dover when a storm arose. Her women were terrified, but Mary remained calm.
“If this be the end,” she said to Lady Guildford, “then I shall at least be spared the months to come.”
“You are inviting death,” scolded her lady-governess.
“Why not, when life has lost its savor?”
“This is wickedness, my lady, and tempting Providence. Do you forget there are other lives in danger beside your own?”
Then the Queen became grave; and she knelt down and prayed that they might reach the French coast in safety. The storm grew wilder, separating the ships so that many were blown in the direction of Flanders, which, had events been different, might have been their destination. Others were tossed toward Calais; and the Queen’s vessel, isolated, was brought, not without much difficulty, into the harbor of Boulogne. At the entrance of this harbor it ran ashore, and for some time it seemed as though all aboard were in the greatest danger. The people of Boulogne, who had been awaiting the arrival of the Queen’s fleet for days, attempted to send out small boats to take the passengers from the ship, but even these could not be brought onto the beach.
Then one of Mary’s knights, a certain Sir Christopher Garnish, begged leave to carry her ashore; and he waded through the water holding her in his arms.
Thus Mary came to France.
Exhausted by her ordeal, Mary was lodged in Boulogne for several days; but messengers in the meantime had hastened to Paris to tell the King of her arrival. Delighted, Louis immediately sent the Ducs de Vendome and de la Tremouille to welcome her and to bring her by degrees to Abbeville where he himself would be waiting for her.
All along Mary had been playing a delaying action. She could not leave Boulogne; she was too weary after her sea crossing; she must wait for the rest of her fleet to arrive, for they contained her wardrobe, and her bodyguard.
She was sorry when, sooner than she had believed possible, the missing vessels arrived in Boulogne; for then there was no longer any excuse to delay.
The journey southward must begin, and Mary rode out of the town attended by her archers and horsemen, her baggage and her chariots.
It seemed to her that she heard the notes of doom in the sound of the horses’ hooves for every hour now brought her nearer to the husband who could only bring her happiness by his death.
Within a few days the cavalcade would be in Abbeville; they had rested at the mansion of a nobleman who was eager to do the Queen honor as he had been commanded by the King.
Nothing must be spared in making her welcome, Louis had said; and he expected obedience.
A rich apartment had been allotted to her, the walls of which were hung with tapestries and cloth of gold; and as she was being prepared for the day’s journey she heard the sounds of arrival below, and a great fear came to her. Could it be Louis, impatient to see his bride, who had ridden here? They were within a few days of Abbeville, so it was possible.
“Holy Mother,” she prayed, “help me. Do not let me betray the loathing I know I shall feel. Let me forget for a while the beauty of my Charles, that I do not compare him with my husband.”
“Go to the window and see who comes,” she said to her women; and it was Lady Guildford who, knowing her mistress’s feelings better than most, apprehensively obeyed.
She stood for some seconds at the window, and Mary, suddenly impatient, joined her there.
It was an elegant company and the center of attraction was an extremely tall man who sat his horse as though he had lived all his life in the saddle. He was laughing and, suddenly, seeming to know that he was watched, raised his eyes and saw the two at the window.
He snatched off his hat and bowed. Mary could not take her eyes from his face because it was such an unusual one. He radiated vitality in a manner she had only seen equaled by her lover and brother; his eyes were dark as sloes, but his most arresting feature was a nose so long that it gave a humorous touch to his face.
Mary turned away from the window because she feared she had stared too long.
“It is not the King,” she said to Lady Guildford.
“Some noble Duke, I’ll swear,” was the answer, “sent to welcome Your Grace.”
The chatelaine of the mansion asked permission to enter.
She curtsied and lifting her flushed face to Mary said: “Your Highness, the Duc de Valois is below and asking permission to be brought to you.”
“Pray bring him to me,” said Mary.
When they were alone, Lady Guildford said: “Do you know who this is? The Duc de Valois is also the Duc de Bretagne and Comte d’Angouleme. Moreover he is the Dauphin.”
“I have heard much of him.”
Lady Guildford caught her mistress’s hand. “Have a care, my dearest lady. This man could be dangerous. He will be watching you. He may well be your enemy. Do not forget the crown of France is at stake. If you give the King of France an heir, this man will no longer be the Dauphin. He stands to lose a throne.”
There was no time for more, because the door was opened and in came Francois, the heir presumptive to the crown of France, his brilliant eyes amused, his long nose giving him a look of slyness, his sensuous lips curved in a smile.
