by Georgina Lee
It had long been my suspicion that my grandmother’s servants spied on me, although there was no real evidence, but I was being watched, that much was certain. I declared that I would not eat any food until I was released from my prison here. They could not make me eat, but they would have to take notice if I wasted away, indeed, it would serve them all right.
But it was not me that needed watching, as we all discovered. One morning soon after this, my tutor, James Starkey, was found hanging from the neck in his chamber, quite stiff and lifeless. I felt sick when I was told and everyone was very shocked. In the end, he had done nothing to help me in my plan to marry Edward, but he must have thought that he was implicated, and been so afraid that he decided to commit the worst sin of all. He left a note saying that he knew about my plan to marry Edward and that if he had a thousand lives he would willingly give them all up to redeem the least part of my reputation. I was so sorry that he felt this way; we were all unaware of how desperate he was. He was a good tutor to me, kind and sympathetic, especially when I would cry in front of him, which was not infrequently. He was the only person I have ever known to take his own life. I spent many hours afterwards studying my Bible and found some references to suicide, which did give me some comfort. In particular, Luke 18:1 says:
“And he told them a parable to the effect that they ought always to pray and not lose heart.”
Poor Mr Starkey was not able to do that, and I could not help but feel we had all failed him. My grandmother was as horrified as the rest of us and wrote immediately to his family, praising his good points and how we were all very sorry. I wished to attend the funeral, but I was told I must rest in bed. The whole household was very subdued for weeks afterwards. Not long after this tragedy, we heard from Court that the queen was very ill and it gave me a glimmer of hope to think she would not be alive much longer. I was confident that when she died, and James became King of England as well as Scotland, that he would release me from my restricted life of captivity.
In the meantime, whatever I did was wrong. My grandmother made it plain what she thought of me; she could not bear to have me near her person (her words, not mine.) She told me I must stay awhile at Oldcotes, the house she had built for uncle William. This suited me well, as I was fond of his new wife Elizabeth, and she understood my grieving as Ash Wednesday approached, the second anniversary of Robert’s execution. I had plenty of time to think about my future whilst I was there, and I began to see everything more clearly and positively. By the time I returned home with William, Elizabeth and the boys, I felt capable of almost anything.
On our return, uncle Henry wrote secretly to me with an escape plan for the day after Ash Wednesday, and I prayed it would be successful. My page Richard Owen, together with another trustworthy servant, Henry Dove, (I was sure he was in love with me) went to an inn at Mansfield to meet him. The plan was that I would say I wished to take a walk, but there would be some of his armed men in the wood nearby waiting to escort me away. He was vague about what would happen to me afterwards, but I did not care.
My only concern was to get as far away as possible and I had every faith in my uncle’s determination to help me. The difficult part would be keeping it from my grandmother. The separation appeared to have helped her feelings, as on my return, she greeted me quite warmly, kissed me on both cheeks and gave me a present of a gold bracelet. I was polite, but could not bring myself to display any love, not after everything we have been through.
Ash Wednesday arrived, and the household began the time of fasting and prayer without red meat during Lent. I was still refusing to eat as a protest, but Rachel tried to tempt me with dainty morsels of food and I had a few mouthfuls to keep her happy. She seemed to care about me and I would have liked to think she did, but then I remembered who paid her wages, and maybe I was not so sure. I gathered together a small bag of my most precious possessions including Robert’s last letter and a likeness of my mother, painted the year before she died. I was determined to leave the house with only the clothes I stood up in and that parcel.
I believed if Robert could have seen me now, poised on the brink of taking some control of my life, he would be have been very proud of me. I went through the motions of studying and sewing as the day wore on and tried to act normally. I even joined my grandmother for a fish supper and ate a little, which pleased her. I begged the excuse of a headache and went up to bed early, dismissing Rachel, as I wanted to be alone. Everything was ready for tomorrow, and I looked searchingly through my bedchamber window into the darkness. I knew uncle Henry was out there somewhere and I did not have long to wait now.
The following day, I set off on my walk at noon and only reached a short distance when a servant approached and reminded me it was time to eat. I hesitated, but did not want to arouse any suspicion, so I reluctantly returned to the house. The plan had already gone wrong, but the day was not yet over. My heart skipped a beat later, when two servants appeared to tell my grandmother that uncle Henry and his friend John Stapleton were at the gates and wished to see me. I knew he would not forsake me; I got up to go and see them, but my grandmother put a firm hand on my shoulder.
“Sit, child, you are not going anywhere.”
I did as I was bid, watching her intently. She turned to the servants and told them that uncle Henry may come up and see me, but Stapleton was not be admitted under any circumstances.
“Why not?” I asked.
“He is a known Catholic, I will not have him in the house.”
I saw uncle William exchange a look of alarm with her, and I was pleased to have got them worried. Elizabeth looked at me sympathetically, but she was in no position to help. We waited a few minutes for uncle Henry to make his way from the gate and up to the Long Gallery. He arrived with a swagger and bowed in an exaggerated way, making several sarcastic comments about uncle William and what an unloving family we were.
He then said he wished to take me for a walk, a perfectly harmless proposition, but my grandmother refused point blank, and became angry with him. She accused him of causing trouble and that he should know better. I stood up and shouted that I was a prisoner, just like my aunt Mary, the Scottish Queen. In the end, I was permitted to walk in the garden for no more than two hours with uncle Henry; we set off, one arm linked through his and my other arm holding my small bag of precious possessions.
“Your ordeal is nearly over, Arbella,” he whispered to me as we descended the stairs, and I was so excited I could not speak. “We shall leave now, my friend Stapleton is waiting with horses for us.”
But as we emerged through the front door, we saw that there were about 10 of my grandmother’s men standing solidly as guards before the gates. They looked impenetrable and intimidating; I hesitated and turned to uncle Henry.
“What shall we do?” I murmured, a little frightened by such a show of force.
“I have gold coins, they will soon dance to our tune. Wait here.”
He disengaged himself and approached the men. “Who is in charge here?”
“I am, sir.”
One of the group stepped forward and I saw uncle Henry offer him gold coins, but the man shook his head and looked up at one of the windows where my grandmother and the others were watching the proceedings. My uncle returned to me, his face a mask of disappointment, “We will not be cowered by a bunch of Hardwick thugs, they will not dare to stop you.”
But we were wrong; for the men closed ranks and began to push me back whilst allowing uncle Henry to come forward. I had never been manhandled like this before, and I was shocked to think my grandmother had given orders for this to happen. Within a few minutes I was several feet away from my uncle and panting with the strain. I realised how weak I was, the combination of not having a proper meal for so long and the brute force of the men, meant I was no match for them. I sank to the ground in frustration and began to sob.
“It is too dangerous, you might get hurt, I shall come back another time,” uncle Henry shouted as he disappear
ed through the gate and into the lane. The gatekeeper immediately turned the lock and I knew I would not be going anywhere.
“I beg you not to leave me here!” I cried.
The men ignored me and returned to their duties, so that within a minute I was quite alone in the garden. Far above me, I could hear the sound of a skylark and I envied its freedom more than I could say. The garden walls moved closer and closer, stifling my breath as my legs quivered like jelly. I lay down on the stony path and closed my eyes. My humiliation was complete, what have I ever done to deserve such treatment? I did not believe that my grandmother loved me, as she has always claimed. These were not the actions of a kind person. I looked up at her figure by the window, but I could not read her expression, no doubt she was gloating over my feeble attempt to get the better of her. Then Elizabeth appeared at my side, her pretty face full of concern, and helped me to come back indoors, where I was put to bed with a warm drink and told to rest. I cried myself to sleep, was there going to be no end to my misery?
The next day my grandmother summoned me to her study where she told me she had written to Sir Henry Brounker and Robert Cecil again, telling them of this latest attempt to free me. She also said she was going to write a codicil to her will, changing it so that uncle Henry and I did not receive any legacy on her death. I replied that I did not care as I did not want her money, but it was very unfair to deprive uncle Henry for my sake. The animosity between us was now palpable; I was shocked at the depth of my hatred for her.
“Sir Henry will no doubt be here within the week once he receives my letter, so you had better be prepared for more questioning from him,” she told me in a tired voice. “Go to your chamber now, child, I have work to do and you have taken up enough of my time already.”
We then had a terrible argument where we both shouted at one another. I could not control my emotions any more and forgot that I must always show respect for my elders. It was not a pleasant scene and I was not proud of my part in it. I stormed out whilst she was still speaking to me, and of course, this made her even more angry.
Upstairs, I found Elizabeth waiting for me and she put her arm round me in a sisterly way. I leant on her and could not stop my tears. She told me that she thought Queen Elizabeth was dying and I should not have to wait much longer to be free. This rallied me and I got up quickly to write to her once more, begging to be allowed to come to Court. I did not receive a reply and thought that this was a good omen, as it probably meant the queen was too ill to put pen to paper. I continued to wait, but thankfully, I did not have to wait much longer.
I can remember exactly what I was doing when the news came from Court that Queen Elizabeth had departed this life in the early hours of 24 March 1603. I was looking at all my gowns with Rachel, sorting through them and deciding which ones to keep and which to throw away. A servant came running into the chamber and announced that my grandmother wanted everyone, without exception, to assemble in the Hall at once. I knew this could only mean one thing and dropping the gown I was holding, I ran downstairs where already about 50 household members were standing about and talking in hushed tones.
As soon as my grandmother appeared, flanked by uncle William and Timothy Pusey, her faithful assistant, everyone fell silent and waited. After a minute, she seemed satisfied that we were all present, and announced with brimming eyes, that our gracious sovereign Queen Elizabeth, had passed away peacefully in her sleep and that now King James of Scotland was our new sovereign.
There were a few gasps at the news, but we all knew it was not entirely unexpected. A few of the older servants, who had known no other monarch, began to sob quietly and my grandmother signalled for the chaplain to lead a short prayer for her soul before we all went about our business. I avoided her eye and went back to my chamber, sitting on the bed in a state of disbelief that what I had longed for all these years, had finally happened. I would very soon be summoned to King James’ side to take my rightful place as the highest-ranking female, after his wife, Queen Anne, of course. For the next few days, my grandmother and I did not speak, I could not trust myself to enter into a conversation with her and I believe she felt the same.
I felt a strange mix of emotions. There was elation of course, and relief, but also a nervous excitement. I would soon be meeting the king and queen for the first time. Supposing they took a dislike to me, or I to them? I had heard that the Court would change once under the control of a man. ‘A Petticoat Court’ was how one courtier had famously described Queen Elizabeth’s reign. I believed some of the men at her Court were jealous of her power; certainly the Duke of Norfolk had coveted her crown, and paid the ultimate price, as Robert had done after him. Poor Robert, when I think of him now, I am still filled with sadness. He was so misunderstood and much maligned. I was sure that in his heart, he had not wished the queen any harm. He was led astray by his companions. But all that was in the past now, and I was determined to look to my future, away from here, away from my grandmother, the jailor.
It was less than a week after the queen’s death that word came from the king that I was to leave at once for Wrest Park in Bedfordshire to stay with the Earl of Kent, who is a distant relative of mine. I had already given orders for my possessions to be packed and the trunks sat waiting in the Hall, everyone obliged to walk around them as they passed through. My grandmother summoned me to her study as usual; she was uncharacteristically subdued and looked at me sadly. I refused her invitation to sit down and focused my eye on the letter with the king’s seal that she held in her hand.
She told me that I would leave at first light on the morrow and I could take any of my servants with me. When she added that I would have a prime position at the queen’s funeral, I exploded into a rage. I was not going to attend the funeral, the queen refused to see me when she was alive, why should I make an effort now she is dead? Naturally this response shocked her, but I stood firm. I am my own mistress now. I was unmoved by her tears when she cried out that I was breaking her heart. Such dramatics are wasted on me. Have I not cried myself to sleep so often when she has only been a few feet away and done nothing to help me?
That night I hardly slept at all, I was in a fever of excitement. The following morning, I ate little for breakfast and watched impatiently as my trunks were loaded; all my clothes, books, musical instruments, everything, was taken. I wanted nothing left at Hardwick. I took one last look at my bedchamber with its stifling, stuffy air of the past and gave a deep sigh of relief. When the time came at last for me to leave, my grandmother stood in the doorway, the wind whipping round her black gown and her face a picture of abject misery. Her little dog whimpered in the corner and also regarded me mournfully.
I felt so claustrophobic even in those last few moments; it was all I could do not to run out into the fresh air. She had lined all the servants up to wish me farewell and most of them managed a smile for me as I walked past them. One of the younger servants rushed up to me in a flurry of nervousness and handed me a small posy of dew drenched rosemary, tied with purple ribbon. I was immediately gratified, as this pungent herb was mentioned in one of Will Shakespeare’s recent plays, Hamlet, as being for remembrance. Although surprised that this lowly servant knew about such connections, I thanked her kindly before turning to face my grandmother.
“I hope your journey goes well, child,” she said and leant forward to embrace me. I could not bring myself to return her affection and stood woodenly, waiting for a moment to take my leave without further delay.
“Next time I see you, I expect you to be looking much better. You must keep well, plenty of good food and rest. There will always be a home here for you, I hope you will remember that.”
She hesitated, her eyes searching my face for a response, and upon realising none was forthcoming, she stepped back and allowed me to pass. I got into the coach quickly and the driver urged the horses on, pass a small crowd of tenants who had lined the lane to see me off. I waved back at them and my last glimpse of Hardwick was the imposing E
S that dominate the house and surroundings. My new life had begun.
I was 27 years old when I was finally free of my grandmother. You may think I have been histrionic in describing my existence with her as living in a prison, but that is exactly how it felt. When I think of all the wasted years, it makes me want to weep. No amount of money or luxury can compensate for one’s freedom, if there is any real luxury at all in this life, it is in the ability to choose one’s destiny. It is the freedom to take a walk whenever and wherever one chooses, a simple enough way to spend the time and one that, up until that moment, I had not been permitted to do.
The Earl of Kent and his family were not strangers to me; his nephew is married to my cousin Elizabeth, uncle Gilbert’s daughter. I have no great fondness for the earl however, he is elderly and strict; I cannot forget how harsh he was at the Scottish Queen’s trial. I heard he was over zealous for my aunt’s death, which many thought unbecoming for a man of his rank.
But once I arrived at Wrest Park, the Bedfordshire air, surroundings and lack of restraint were beneficial to my health, and I began to feel better. My appetite returned and I had colour in my cheeks once more. The old earl kept to his study and I went for long walks alone around their garden and land, sometimes venturing onto the country lane. The son of the house, a lanky, dull individual, found me one afternoon and urged me to return at once to the safety of the grounds. He watched me as I reluctantly ambled back, before turning his horse and spurring it on towards the town. I suppose with all the uncertainty of that time, he was concerned for me, but even that limited amount of freedom was wonderful.
I was becoming aware of my importance as nearest kinswoman to the king and the consequences it would bring, whether I wanted it or not. For the first time without the guiding, experienced hand of my grandmother, I realised that I knew next to nothing about the politics and intricate workings of the Court. I did not send gifts to such men as Robert Cecil to win favour or employ spies as my grandmother had always done, nor had I cultivated friendships that would benefit me in some way. I was glad that aunt Mary and uncle Gilbert would be there to guide and protect me; but neither of them had my grandmother’s iron will, experience and vast sums of money, without which, at that time, I was foolish enough to think that I could manage quite well.