by Kate Hubbard
If Bess and William’s households were to some degree interchangeable, so too were their interests. Henry Travice, William’s main man of business, also worked for Bess, and Edward Whalley and George Chaworth, Bess’s lawyers, were also used by William. Timothy Pusey reported to both mother and son. In April 1604, he informed William that Bess had agreed to lend one Francis Needham £500, ‘upon good security’ and for the express purpose of buying a castle; that Jones of Bampton had failed to repay his loan; and that there was ‘no good agreement’ between Henry and Grace Cavendish – ‘he hath charged her to be a harlot to some of his men and named the men to her.’7 Grace told her brother, Edward Talbot, who passed it on to Bess, that she and Henry felt very ‘hardly dealt with’, by both Bess and Gilbert – Bess was not prepared to help them unless Gilbert did too, and Gilbert, with huge debts of his own, was neither willing nor able to do so. ‘The Earl’s jewels and plate are laid to pawn’, wrote Edward, ‘and there is as many suitors every day at his chamber as at the most noble men in the Court, but they come only to crave their debts.’8 Bess was fond of Grace, and remembered her in her will, but she remained resolute in her determination not to bail Henry out. A New Year’s gift of £20 was as much as he could hope for, as in 1605, when he thanked her for her ‘bountiful goodness’ and, with a show of abasement, sent some ‘poor and homely things’, all that ‘this place can afford.’9
By 1605, Bess, hitherto robust, seemed decidedly less so, as those with a vested interest – those in need of or counting on her money – were quick to note. For Gilbert Talbot and Henry and William Cavendish, much depended on her death: the reversion of Talbot lands that constituted Bess’s jointure would provide Gilbert with a badly needed stream of income; Henry still hoped that she might leave him the contents of Chatsworth, or money to relieve his debts; William, the sole executor of her will, was simply anxious to keep as much of her estate as possible to himself, to the exclusion of his siblings.
Since Bess preferred not to communicate with Gilbert, he relied on his own network of supporters and informers to keep him abreast of developments at Hardwick. Derbyshire neighbours like Sir John Harpur and Sir Francis Leake* supplied him with news, while he supplied them with gifts of venison. So from Francis Leake, Gilbert learned that William Cavendish’s wife Elizabeth was very sick at Owlcotes and that it was said that ‘my old lady and she have had some discontenting speeches’.10 William took the line of least resistance with Bess, but Elizabeth was possibly less willing to dance to the tune of her powerful mother-in-law.
In February 1605, John Harpur sent Gilbert a bulletin: Bess’s ‘old infirmity’ had returned and ‘takes more hold of her as it seems than formerly it hath done’; she hadn’t left her chamber for the last month, during which time, with William Cavendish in London, Sir John Bentley had been ‘disposing of her worldly business’ (Bentley, a lawyer, made himself useful, and in return Bess was ‘very bountiful’ in the shape of loans). Gilbert and his supporters regarded Bentley as a ‘meddler’. Bess, continued Harpur, had sent for Henry Cavendish a few times, which had given Henry reason to hope that she might go to Chatsworth ‘and furnish the house there and then give him present possession thereof and of much land thereunto adjoining’. Harpur thought otherwise: ‘I assure myself that her end is to draw him to make some further assurance of his lands.’ He would wait for Henry to come to Hardwick in the next week or so, as expected, and then ride over to Tutbury, to discover ‘how far and upon what terms her Lady’s bounty will extend’.11 Not far at all was the answer. Bess had no intention of extending her bounty to Henry and every intention of preventing him from occupying Chatsworth.
Rumours of Bess being ‘exceeding sick and in danger of death’ had reached Arbella too. Despite the breakdown of her own relations with her grandmother, Arbella made some efforts to reconcile Bess and the Shrewsburys, offering to be ‘mediator, moderator and peacemaker’. However, this was largely for Gilbert and Mary’s sakes – ‘you know I have cause only to be partial on your side, so many kindnesses and favours have I received from you and so many unkindnesses and disgraces have I received from the other party’.12 But with ‘the other party’ thought to be dying, and mindful of the pearls and jewels and £1,000 that had been denied her, Arbella hurried to Hardwick. She came armed with a letter from the King asking Bess to treat her kindly, and an offer that she felt confident would restore her to favour.
On the occasion of the christening of his daughter Princess Mary, to whom Arbella was asked to be godmother, the King, in expansive mood, let it be known that he would be dispensing peerages: Arbella was offered a patent for a peerage, to fill in as she wished. On arriving at Hardwick in March, she was able to tell Bess that it was in her power to award a baronetcy to William Cavendish. The elevation of her son and designated heir could only have delighted Bess, but she was under no illusions about Arbella’s motives. She found it strange, she told Dr James Montague, Dean of the Chapel Royal, and one of her court informers (he had been given £300 to keep him sweet and was left £20 in Bess’s will), that Arbella had been so anxious to visit her, ‘from whom she had desired so earnestly to come away’. She felt that she’d done quite enough for her granddaughter already – lands bringing in £700 a year, with another £100 on top of that – and besides, she had other grandchildren in greater need.13 Nevertheless, Arbella came away from Hardwick with a gold cup worth £100 and £300 in cash.
Back at court, William was reported as waiting ‘hard on my Lady Arbella for his Barony’, though some thought that he’d be disappointed since he was ‘very sparing in his gratuity’, and while he ‘would be glad if it were done’, he ‘would be sorry to part with anything for the doing of it’. This was not how things worked at court, where the rules of the marketplace applied and there was ‘an equal proportion’ between ‘liberality’ and ‘courtesy’, a fact that William was forced to acknowledge – having stumped up £2,000, he became Baron Cavendish.14
That her grandchildren should marry well was a matter of the highest importance for Bess. In 1603, she had sounded out George Clifford, Earl of Cumberland, about a match between his daughter and her grandson, William Cavendish’s son ‘Wylkyn’.15 Two years later, this was still under discussion, but it had now become a double match: Wylkyn and Cumberland’s daughter, and William’s sister and Cumberland’s nephew, the son of his brother George Clifford.16 Large-scale entertaining was now rare at Hardwick, but the Cumberlands needed to be wooed. In July 1605, they were invited to Hardwick.
The Earl, his brother and their entourage were ‘greatly entertained’, as John Harpur reported to Gilbert. Their days were spent hunting, with hounds, in the park and – a particular prize – a ‘great stag which had been long preserved’ was killed. In the evenings they gathered for dinner in the High Great Chamber. They would have sat at the ‘long table of white wood’, covered with damask tablecloths, on benches upholstered in pale blue satin, embroidered with cloth of gold and needlework flowers, with black silk fringes and needlework stools. The table would have been laid with some of the best pieces from Bess’s enormous collection of plate – the ‘great gilt standing cup like a gourd’ perhaps, the gold standing cups, the six candlesticks ‘wrought with stags and talbots’, or the six ‘like galleys’, the gold cups and spoons, the gilt basins and ewers, salts and porringers, with Bess presiding in her needlework chair with a gold silk fringe and a footstool made of watchet (light blue) velvet.17
Having dined, and this being high summer and the evenings long, the Cumberland party might have proceeded to the rooftop banqueting house for a dessert course. At Hardwick there was, unusually, a banqueting room on the ground floor and a small banqueting house in the south orchard, but by far the grandest and most thrilling was, as at Longleat and Wollaton, on the roof. Whether or not Bess’s arthritic knees were up to climbing the ‘lesser stairs’ – its oak steps dramatically sloping today – is doubtful, but her guests would have done so, emerging into the north turret and from there making t
heir way across the leads to the south turret, with its painted plasterwork ceiling and walls almost entirely made of glass. Here, bathed in golden evening light, they would have been served assorted sweetmeats: ‘suckets’ (preserved fruits), marchpane (made of ground almonds), jellies (made from boiled calves’ feet flavoured with sugar, spice and wine), ‘caraway comfits’ and ‘sweet fennel comfits’ (bought readymade), whilst surveying spectacular views.18
Bess’s hospitality notwithstanding, the double marriages came to nothing. If this was a disappointment, Bess could, and did, take satisfaction in the very fine matches made by her granddaughters Mary and Alethea Talbot – Mary married William Herbert, Earl of Pembroke, in 1604, and two years later, Alethea married Thomas Howard, Earl of Arundel.
Fifteen long years after Shrewsbury’s death, Bess’s battles with Gilbert over her jointure continued, conducted on much the same lines as her battles with his father – both parties entrenched in their respective positions, both refusing to give an inch. Gilbert hardly needed further reason to infuriate Bess, but such was provided in 1604, when she discovered that, in order to repay a debt, he had borrowed £5,000 from Sir Fulke Greville, Treasurer of the Navy and poet, secured on Talbot lands that had been settled on Bess. When Greville demanded his £5,000, Bess found herself having to assure him that she and Gilbert would, if necessary, sell land in order to raise the money.19 Whether it was necessary, we don’t know, but it’s not hard to imagine Bess’s indignation.
Gilbert smarted under the ‘manifold injuries’ that he felt he’d suffered at Bess’s hands: the ‘spoil and waste’ of land that was not rightfully hers, by felling timber and mining coal; the bringing of suits; the ‘foul maintenance’ of Gilbert’s ‘most base and paltry enemies’. Bess claimed that the land in question was part of her jointure, that Gilbert owed her £4,000, that he was buying land ‘over her head’ and supporting those who were bringing suits against her.20 All of which, as one of Gilbert’s informants put it, ‘doth stick sore in her teeth.’21
There were some, however, who felt that Bess’s campaign against Gilbert was hardly in her own interests, given that he was her son-in-law and the father of her granddaughters. In April 1605, one Thomas Woodward, reporting a conversation with John Bentley, wondered at Bess’s ‘injurious course against so noble a person and her own progeny’, especially given the ‘rising of her happy fortunes’. Bentley had pointed out that Bess had a ‘good estate’ for her lifetime, and if the lands bought by Gilbert ‘should come to her own issue what cause hath she to complain’? It seemed ‘unnatural’ to Bentley for Bess to ‘contend’ with Gilbert when he ‘placeth in great honour her grandchildren’ (the marriages of Alethea and Mary Talbot). But for Bess, injustice trumped familial ties. She admitted that she was ‘glad of the good bestowing’ of Alethea and Mary, but claimed that Gilbert had simply been acting in his own interests, not ‘for her sake’. However, she softened somewhat and told Bentley that since there were currently no suits between her and Gilbert, she didn’t rule out reconciliation.22
That was off the cards just two months later, when Gilbert brought yet another suit against Bess for the recovery of estates held as part of her jointure (a suit that would be won by Bess).23 In August, Roger Manners told Gilbert that he’d tried to talk to Bess of ‘pacification’, but had ‘found her far off from any agreement’ and unwilling to listen to him. ‘What I said, she told me that she had heard by others and I seeing her so resolved left her to her own wisdom.’24 It’s doubtful that Bess had ever much listened to well-meaning advice, and she certainly didn’t wish to do so now. As always, she preferred to trust to ‘her own wisdom’.
23.
‘Not over sumptuous’
Feuding between Bess and Gilbert took a back seat with the eruption of another Catholic conspiracy, the Gunpowder Plot, in November 1605. Led by Robert Catesby (Francis Tresham, eldest son of Sir Thomas, was also involved), the plotters intended to blow up the House of Lords, along with the King and his sons, at the State Opening of Parliament. Their cover blown, the conspirators fled to the Midlands. This, presumably, explains why the Privy Council – rather curiously, considering that Arbella was no longer at Hardwick – instructed the Derbyshire justices to look out for Bess: ‘as Lady Shrewsbury, Dowager, dwelling at Hardwick is a widow and solitary, we request you to have a care of her safety and quietness and if Lord Cavendish shall have occasion to ask your assistance in her behalf that you will aid and assist him for securing her safety.’1
Eight surviving conspirators came to trial on 27 January and were sentenced to be hanged, drawn and quartered. Bess, at Hardwick, was avid for news and James Montague duly supplied it: ‘for the late executions of the traitors, I am sure your Honour hath heard how they died. There was but 2 of the 8 that would freely confess their fact to be a sin against God.’ He went on to tell of the ‘apprehension’ of Henry Garnet, who had been found in a priest hole at Hindlip Hall on the same day as the trial. Garnet, a prominent Jesuit, who certainly knew of the plot, thanks to the confession box, without actively furthering it, was nevertheless regarded by Montague and a great many others as ‘the most dangerous man to this state that liveth’.2 In March, Montague reported that Garnet was in the Tower, awaiting execution, and that Parliament was busy with anti-Catholic legislation: ‘to compel every man to the communion . . . within the space of two years or else they shall be in the nature of recusants.’3
There was no suggestion of Gilbert Talbot being involved in the Gunpowder Plot, but he was implicated by association: Garnet was known to Mary; and Gilbert’s cousin, John Talbot, had hidden one of the conspirators. Gilbert himself would have preferred his wife not to flaunt her Catholicism, telling Cecil that he wished she could follow ‘the rare and excellent example’ of those who were ‘resolute against crosses’ (Mary openly wore hers around her neck). But he was no more successful than had been his father when it came to controlling his wife.
For Mary’s sake, Bess made occasional friendly overtures towards the Shrewsburys, as in January 1606 when she wrote affectionately to her ‘very good son and daughter’. A visit, it seemed, was in the offing. Bess insisted that she would be ‘heartily glad’ to see them at Hardwick; indeed, there was nowhere they would be ‘more welcome’. Gilbert, as usual, was engaged in a lawsuit, and Bess claimed to be ‘as desirous it should go well as your selves can be’. ‘I shall think it long till I see you both’, she finished, and added a postscript – Mary was to tell her brother Charles, who had been unwell, ‘to keep good diet.’4
But the visit to Hardwick was never made and Gilbert and Bess were soon at loggerheads once more, with new suits brought against Bess. John Harpur told Gilbert in June that Bess was looking ‘well for her [eighty-five] years’, but suffering from an arthritic hip and walking with a stick. Her temper was not of the best either – she was ‘very impatient at every occasion or word which any speaketh’, and Gilbert’s suits were called to mind ‘very often’. Harpur added that William Cavendish and ‘his Lady’ had returned to Hardwick recently and Bess had ‘used them well, which was not expected by some about her.’5 It seems that even William couldn’t count on his mother’s favour.
Of Bess’s children, only Charles Cavendish, who was living at Welbeck Abbey, which he bought outright from Gilbert in 1607, seems to have successfully distanced himself from his mother – both her tongue-lashings and her control. Crucially, he had no need of her money. Equable, contented and rich, he was free to pursue his own interests – music and architecture in particular. Charles was an enthusiastic amateur architect* and in letters to Gilbert and Mary Talbot, in the spring of 1607, he set out something of an architectural manifesto, balancing aesthetics with practicalities. Gilbert had asked him to come up with a ‘platt’ for a house. Charles was not entirely happy with his ‘first draft’, partly because he had not been the ‘drawer’, but ‘if the general convenience be liked the rest will easily be amended, as windows, chimneys, doors and such like. I have kept myself to the
proportion of lodgings your lordship gave me, which was 6 or 7, only I have lodged the builder conveniently besides, which few think of. If you or my sister were to build I would advise you to this platt, some small things corrected.’ He went on to outline the ‘imperfections’ in another ‘platt’ by a rival ‘inventor’: the hall had too many doors and would fill the house with ‘noise and smell’; the great chamber only had windows on one side; there was no chapel or gallery; and the chimneys would smoke.6
In a further letter to Mary, Charles assured her that his plan would result in a ‘sweet and fair and easy house’, one fit for entertaining royalty. The kitchen would be separate from the main building, the gallery ‘most fair’ with the addition of two vaults, no room would be ‘annoyed with any stair except servants’ chambers’, and there would be ‘fair vaults on the garden side’. For Charles, a house ‘without such singularities’ would be ‘greatly defective’. He had thought about site and positioning too. As he didn’t know ‘the seat’, he might have erred ‘in placing the principal rooms’, but this could easily be altered. He felt that it was important to angle a house so ‘all sides . . . have the sun and yet not in a direct line.’7