by Georgina Lee
The king had a triumphant journey south after leaving Edinburgh. He travelled without the queen, as she was expecting her sixth child and also etiquette decreed that ladies of Queen Elizabeth’s Court could not wait on her until after the funeral. She wisely used the time alone to fight for custody of her eldest son, Henry, whom the king had kept away from her for five years, under the care of the Earl and Countess of Mar at Stirling Castle. This task proved difficult and emotional, as the countess would not release him to his own mother without permission of the king. All the turmoil and strain of this bitter quarrel caused to the queen to miscarry her child. Eventually the king was forced to concede and Prince Henry came to Court. Crowds of people lined their separate journeys to cheer and wish them God speed. The king stopped at uncle Gilbert’s house in Worksop for a few days and then travelled on to York Minster, where Robert Cecil waited to pay homage and meet him at last.
The funeral of Queen Elizabeth was set for 28 April in Westminster Abbey, but James waited until it was over before entering London. I did not attend and have no regrets about my decision; I was not to be brought onto the stage for a public spectacle.
Those courtiers, who were able to, left London in haste to welcome the king to England as he journeyed. Over anxious to ingratiate themselves, they encountered a problem that no one seemed to have thought about; for James spoke with a strong Scottish accent, which was sometimes difficult for those born far south of the border to comprehend.
But before that, I had the excitement of the journey and arrival at Court, for the first time, as an independent woman. After another recent outbreak of the plague in the city, it’s evidence was plain to see in the streets. Some dwellings were still boarded up because the law stated that the inhabitants of any house where the plague had been must remain inside for at least six weeks. I noticed watchmen standing outside the doors to make sure no one left; I felt sorrow for the poor people, but everyone feared the plague and it had no respect for gender, status or wealth.
I sat in my coach with the curtains tightly drawn and a handkerchief over my mouth, hardly daring to breath. I remember feeling sick with the lurching of the coach as it weaved around the crowds of people. It was a relief when I finally reached the safety of the Whitehall courtyard, which we must now call the king’s palace.
My apartments were not ones that I had been given previously, and consisted of several large chambers, all beautifully furnished, with heavy tapestries on the walls and carved oak furniture. The view from the windows was of the privy gardens with rose beds and pretty knot herb paths stretching down to the river bank; I looked forward to enjoying their scent and colour in a few months.
I suspected that some of my Hardwick servants were paid to spy on me by my grandmother, so I had left them behind, even Rachel. I chose my own maid/companion, a girl who first came to my notice at Court some years ago and was waiting for me to arrive. Patti is of similar age to me and I liked her face, it was one I felt I could trust. She also had the advantage of knowing most of the other servants, which was very useful. I decided to teach her to read and write, she was not stupid and seemed keen to learn. I told her we should start lessons as soon as possible and she looked pleased.
One evening, within a few days of my arrival, a page knocked at the door and said that I was to be presented to their majesties that evening, join them for supper in the banqueting hall, and sit at the right hand side of the king himself. I was immediately thrown into a panic of what to wear, despite having already decided beforehand. There followed a frenzy of looking at my gowns, which quickly grew into a pile on the bed. Eventually I chose one of purple silk with velvet trimmings and my best gold jewellery. After my rosewater bath, Patti helped me to dress.
“You look as pretty as a picture, m’lady,” Patti told me proudly and stood back to survey her work.
“ I hope I do not look as nervous as I feel,” I replied.
“Oh, do not forget your gifts. I will find a page to carry them for you.”
On the side table were two gold loving cups, specially engraved with the king’s coat of arms, which I commissioned for the king and queen. My grandmother always emphasised the importance of bringing a present for the sovereign and I knew it was prudent.
Even in such a short time, I surmised that the atmosphere of the Court had changed. It was not just that loud Scottish accents now dominated, or that there were many new faces; there was a shift away from the formal, restrained etiquette of Queen Elizabeth’s Court. The Scottish courtiers lolled about in clothes that had seen better days. They leant against walls all around the palace and smoked pipes, laughing excessively, and there was plenty of public, raucous horseplay between the men, something that Queen Elizabeth would never have tolerated.
The English nobles stood around pretending to be indifferent, but their eyes watched everything. If the Scots nobles noticed, they give no sign. Why should they? So I made my way past them, as I followed the page to the king’s private apartments. Outside the double door entrance, there were the usual guards and a group of Scottish men. I heard them before I saw them; their loud voices arguing with one another.
“Well, what do we have here?” one of them noticed me and leered in a most ungentlemanly fashion. I regarded him coolly and looked to the page to announce me, but he just grinned inanely and I realised I must tell them myself.
“I am the Lady Arbella Stuart,” I said, mustering as much dignity as I was able and their eyes looked me up and down.
“Who? What did you say, lass?” someone replied.
“She is the king’s cousin, you dolts! Stand back and let her pass.”
I looked at the only voice to show any respect and acknowledged him with a brief nod. At last they removed their hats and bowed deferentially, making a space for me to pass though. I then entered an antechamber where the Lord Chamberlain waited to announce me. The doors were opened and the king and queen sat on thrones at the far end of the Hall, looking expectantly at me.
Hesitating on the threshold, I scanned the throng of courtiers that stared openly at me. I recognised some of the faces, but there were many who were unfamiliar. Around their majesties, or I should say the king himself, were three very handsome young men. For a moment I was shocked at their impudence, as one had his arm on the king’s shoulder and the other two sat at his feet, their heads leaning against his legs. When he saw me he pushed them off roughly and got up to walk towards me. I bowed very low and curtsied in the hushed silence.
“Cousin Arbella!”
In a few seconds he was standing before me and I kissed his ring.
“Your majesty, I am honoured to meet you at last.”
He put his arm round me and pulled me towards him. I tried not to flinch at his familiarity, but perhaps this was the Scottish way. He led me back to the queen who was watching us benignly.
“My dear, I hope you and the Lady Arbella will be friends,” he told his wife.
I curtsied deeply again, but she rose to greet me with kisses on both cheeks.
“You are very welcome to Court.” Her voice had a soft Danish accent, which was in contrast to her husband’s.
“Your majesties,” I murmured. “I hope you will allow me to present you with a small token of my loyalty and devotion.”
The page carrying my gifts stepped forward with a bow and held them up.
“Delightful,” enthused the queen.
The king nodded in approval before they resumed their seats. James waved away the three men and they retreated to a corner, somewhat sulkily.
“Ignore them,” James told me. “They do not like to be dismissed, especially for the company of a woman!” He chuckled at his joke and the queen laughed a little too loud.
“You must be pleased to have escaped from your captivity,” he continued. “I was never happy about your confinement, but alas, my words fell on deaf ears.”
He already seemed distracted, focusing his gaze on the men.
“How was your journey to Co
urt?” asked the queen and we began a conversation about the recent weather.
James sat silently, stroking his beard, apparently deep in thought. I could not help but glance at him as we spoke. The king was 37 years old and had ruled Scotland through his advisors since he was a babe. He finally took control himself in 1581, so he was already experienced in his role. Of average height, he had brown hair and blue eyes that were slightly bulbous. When he walked towards me, I noticed his awkward gait and bandy legs, the result of a childhood illness I was later told. He seemed slightly plump, but his thick doublet would give that impression. Tapping impatiently on the arm of his chair, he interrupted us without preamble.
“Your grandmother, the dowager countess, I trust she is well?”
“Quite well, your majesty, considering her age.”
“ She does not come to Court now; probably too much for her. Her son entertained us lavishly at Worksop on our journey; we were glad of it, travel can be very tiring.”
I nodded sympathetically and a though suddenly occurred to him. “You are still unmarried of course, I shall give the matter my attention when I have time.”
“But meanwhile, you must spend time with me so I may get to know you,” Anne told me kindly with a smile, and then looked at her husband for affirmation. I was relieved to find her Danish accent was much easier to understand. I was very much afraid I would have to ask the king to repeat himself, as I found myself struggling to make sense of what he was saying.
“She must meet our children, do you not think, James?”
“Yes, yes, of course she will meet them,” he replied impatiently.
The queen seemed unperturbed by his sharp answer, or perhaps she hid it well. As I expected, she was very expensively dressed in a beautiful red velvet gown, trimmed with ermine and pink silk roses. Her fair, wispy hair was gathered up under a black velvet headdress of large pearls, and a great number of rings adorned her small fingers. I asked myself how could she even lift her hand, such was their weight. The precious stones, their colours as varied as a rainbow, caught the light and she looked at them occasionally as if to reassure herself they were still there. But her brown eyes looked at me with kindness and I felt a little reassured.
The king got up abruptly and signalled to one of the men in the corner.
“We shall eat now. Ludovic, you will escort the Lady Arbella into the Hall.”
A fair-haired young man approached me reluctantly, and I took his hand as we walked behind the king and queen. A strong scent of flowers surrounded him, and his skin was as soft as my own. I knew him to be the son of the king’s first favourite, Esme Stuart, 1st Duke of Lennox, now dead. I wondered if he knew that at one time he was mentioned as a possible suitor for me. I looked at him briefly, but his eyes were veiled and he looked straight ahead. Courtiers fell silent and bowed as we passed along the route to the hall, some five minutes away.
Curious stares followed us and I knew that I was an object of gossip. I hated to be looked at in this way, being judged on my appearance and the cost of my clothes and jewels. No doubt they thought me very plain and dull, but I held my head high. I reminded myself that I had as much right, if not more, than any of them to be at Court. There did not seem to be many women here, but that might be because I was so used to seeing a female dominated Court for as long as I could remember. Ludovic did not look or speak to me and I did not have the confidence to initiate a conversation with him. His indifference did little to boost my courage.
When we reached the Hall the noise stopped at once and heralds announced our arrival. Everyone stood and bowed as the king indicated for me to sit at his right hand, before gold basins and linen towels were brought for us to wash and dry our hands. This was how my first official meal with the royal family began; the king attacked the many dishes with relish, unlike myself, being too nervous to eat very much. I was shocked at his table manners, which were very uncouth. He ate noisily; with his mouth open showing his tongue, which seemed over large. He passed wind and belched frequently, wiping his face with the back of his sleeve and talked when he chewed.
“Not hungry, cousin?” he asked, reaching for a chicken leg.
I smiled and pushed the food around my plate. He said something else, but I could not understand him. On an impulse, I spoke in French to him.
*“Mille excuses Votre Majeste, je ne comprends pas votre accent. Puisque vous et moi sommes aussi a l’aise pour converser en Latin ou Français, pourrions-nous le faire dans l’une de ces deux langues car il me tarde de discuter de theologie et de philosophie avec vous.”
No sooner than these words were out of my mouth, than the hall fell silent and I looked round in confusion. People stared at me in shock with open mouths, the king’s face was dark with fury and he turned to face me.
“It is not the wish of your king to hear a woman speak in such a forward manner. By doing so, you are usurping the place of learned men, who are superior to you in intellect and reasoning; such behaviour offends us and you would do well to remember it.”
I blushed deeply and wished I could have got up and ran to the privacy of my apartments, but I had to stay and stammer my profuse apologies. A low murmur began as the courtiers resumed their conversations; I was completely mortified and did not dare to look up. The king ignored me for the remainder of the evening and when I finally managed to leave, I cried tears of frustration as I climbed the stairs to bed. This was not quite the picture of my life at Court that I had dreamed of for so many years.
*“Please forgive me, your majesty, I do not understand your accent. I am fluent in French and Latin, as you are, and I would be honoured to converse with you in these languages, especially about theology and philosophy.” *
After this inauspicious beginning, I tried very hard to make up for it, behaving with modesty and dignity at all times. The king let it be known that because I was unfamiliar with the ways of his Court, he had generously made allowances for me and was soon treating me kindly once more. Aunt Mary was made a Lady of the Bedchamber, so we were often with the queen’s other ladies and spent our time sewing, walking in the privy gardens and playing backgammon or chess. If the weather was good, we would ride out most days and I was proud of my ability on horseback, as I have always ridden well. The queen did not join us; having suffered many miscarriages, she was advised not to take any risks. Only three of her many pregnancies have survived, poor lady.
Prince Henry already showed signs of being quite different from his father; his manners were faultless, and he started imposing fines on those who swore in his presence. He learnt to fence, hawk and joust, often sitting next to me as we watched plays or enjoy a musical evening. He was like the younger brother I never had.
I saw little of the Princess Elizabeth, who was two years younger than Henry and had her own Court in the care of Lord and Lady Harington at Coombe Abbey. Prince Charles was the youngest, at three years of age, and was cared for by his guardian, Lord Fyvie in Scotland. Charles had problems with his legs and was not very strong. I knew the queen was devoted to her children and prayed daily that she would be reunited with them soon.
After a few weeks of this routine, I found myself becoming unexpectedly discontented, and I did not know the reason. I was at Court, where I have longed to be these many years, yet the hours seemed to drag along. The queen was kind, but when I tried to have conversations with her about the writings of Aristotle or the philosophy of Plato, she looked at me blankly with a nervous laugh. I mentioned it to aunt Mary one evening when we were alone.
“You are looking in the wrong place for an educated debate,” she told me as we put away our sewing to prepare for the evening ahead.
“Whom should I look to?”
“The king discourages such participation by women in his Court. He made that perfectly clear to you at that first dinner.”
“I know he does not like educated women. I did not think he would object to talking about subjects on a higher plane than what we ate for dinner. Not all men
feel as he does, do not forget I have had several books dedicated to me already; and Mr Chapman dedicated his translation of the Iliad to me, saying I was our English Athenia,” I could not help myself by adding smugly.
“Well, however that may be, it will not help your advancement at this Court. What about Sir Walter Raleigh? I thought you always liked talking to him about weighty matters.”
“Have you not heard? He has lost his position as Captain of the Guard so he might be leaving Court, apparently Sir Thomas Erskine is to be given the post.”
“Ah yes, another Scotsman.”
“It hardly seems fair.”
“At least he has released two of the Earl of Essex’s friends, imprisoned since his rebellion at the end of the late queen’s reign, so there is cause to celebrate a little.”
My eyes started to fill with tears at the mention of Robert’s name and she apologised, saying she had forgotten how much he meant to me.
“I never forgave Queen Elizabeth for his death.”
“I know, it was hard for you.”
I was silent for a few moments before looking carefully at her.
“Do you think I will be happy here, aunt?”
“Of course,” she reassured me. “This is what you always wanted, to be at Court; you have been deprived of it for too long. There were many people who thought your captivity in the hands of my lady mother was wrong.”
“Were they Catholics?”
“Some were of that faith, yes,” she lowered her voice. “I am of that persuasion myself.”