O ne rainy afternoon in 1572, in the gloom of Tutbury Castle in Staffordshire, a captive Mary Queen of Scots turned to her needlework. Four years into her imprisonment on the orders of her cousin, Elizabeth I, the deposed Scottish queen found solace in embroidery. Amidst the glimmer of candlelight, she suffused the works she created alongside her household with symbolism and secret messages.
In one panel, a ginger cat plays with a mouse — surely an allegory of Mary’s plight at the hands of her royal cousin. In another, an oversized gloved hand holding a pruning knife descends from a cloud to strip away a barren branch of a vine — a veiled reference to Mary’s claim to the Tudor throne, and a dig at Elizabeth’s lack of issue. If only the deus ex machina -like hand had been real, it would have solved all of Mary’s problems.
Instead, she had to rely on her own deft fingers wielding a needle..
