Before the death of old Lady Lennox, Arbella and her mother had spent some of their time in London but now, as she reminded the Council, Bess was in sole charge of her little grand-daughter. Since she could not be content that the child should be anywhere 'where I may not sometimes see her and daily hear of her well-doing' she was put to the expense of keeping her in house 'with such as are fit to attend upon her and be in her company'. 'For', Bess continued, 'I have an especial care of her standing and condition, not only such as a natural mother hath of her best beloved child, but much greater in respect of how she is in blood to her Majesty: albeit one of the poorest.'
It may not have been entirely tactful to remind the Queen quite so obviously of Arbella's close relationship to her. At any rate, Elizabeth remained unimpressed by the pathetic picture Bess was painting of her poor, orphaned grandchild, and she refused to allow Arbella a penny more than ;i(^200 a year. The Queen may well have derived a certain amount of quiet amusement from the fact that
the Countess of Shrewsbury's vaunting ambition was leaving her out of pocket.
Bess was far too astute, and too thrifty, to pay for anything if she could persuade someone else to foot the bill, but Arbella's maintenance cannot really have put a very serious strain on the Cavendish and Talbot resources. Certainly, she never went short. Bess was genuinely fond of the child and, besides, she knew a good investment when she saw one.
So the best teachers continued to be engaged and Arbella learnt to dance, to take part in the sports and pastimes proper to her rank and to embroider as skilfully as her grandmother. Nor was her musical education neglected. The Elizabethans were enthusiastic amateur music-makers and anyone with the least pretensions to culture was expected to be able to read music at sight. 'Supper being ended', wrote one gentleman, 'and music books according to the custom being brought to the table, the mistress of the house presented me a part, earnestly requesting me to sing. But when after many excuses, I protested unfeignedly that I could not, everyone began to wonder and some whispered to others demanding how I was brought up.' No one, if Bess had anything to do with it, should be given the chance to make any such disparaging remarks about Arbella's bringing-up.
In the general flowering of the arts which took place during Elizabeth's reign, music held a pre-eminent place. All the Tudors, perhaps it was their Welsh blood, were skilled performers. Henry VIII's talents both as performer and composer, have been well publicised. His daughter played both lute and virginals and encouraged musical talent at her Court. She maintained 'a number of young boys who are required to devote themselves earnestly to the art of singing, and to learn to perform on various sorts of musical instruments, and at the same time to carry on their studies. These boys have their special preceptors in
all the various arts, and in particular excellent instructors in music' Besides the Children of the Chapel Royal, there was no lack of professional musicians to play at Court banquets and festivities and in the public theatres, where, for an hour or more before the play began, the audience could enjoy 'a delightful musical entertainment on organs, lutes and flutes'. Music was an essential part of everyday life enjoyed by all classes: from those whose music came from street singers, the cries of vendors of hot mutton pies, new oysters and lily white mussels, or a fiddler at a village wedding; to the elegant gentleman serenading his lady with the latest air by Dowland or Orlando Gibbons, or a group of courtiers listening to a consort of viols at some great nobleman's house. Arbella certainly took pleasure in her music, and her cousin, the composer Michael Cavendish, was to dedicate a book of songs to her.
Although she spent most of her time in Derbyshire, Arbella did occasionally visit her Cavendish and Talbot relations and her earliest surviving letter is addressed to her grandmother while on one of these trips. 'Good lady grandmother, I have sent your ladyship the ends of my hair, which were cut the sixth day of the moon on Saturday last, and with them a pot of jelly which my servant made. I pray God you find it good. My aunt Cavendish was here on Monday last; she certified me of your ladyship's good health and disposition, which I pray God long to continue. I am in good health. My cousin Mary hath had three little fits of an ague, but she is now well and merry. This with my humble duty unto your ladyship and humble thanks for the letter you sent me last, and craving your daily blessing I humbly cease. Your ladyship's humble and obedient child, Arbella Stewart.'
Bess probably wanted Arbella's hair for some special purpose. Many Elizabethans, from the Queen downwards, took a close interest in astrology and in magic, both black and white. It was the converse side of their nature - the
need to propitiate the unseen, dimly understood forces which ruled their lives, the urge to ghmpse something of an unknowable, uncertain future. The twelve-year-old Arbella's painstaking letter, with its scraps of family news would have been welcome to her grandmother, but news of far greater importance had reached her in the year 1587 in a letter from her youngest son, Charles Cavendish, when Arbella had been in London staying with Gilbert Talbot and her aunt Mary.
'My lady Arbell hath been once to Court', wrote Charles. 'Her Majesty spake unto her, but not long, and examined her nothing touching her book. She dined in the presence, but my Lord Treasurer bade her to supper; and at dinner, I dining with her and sitting over against him, he asked me whether I came with my niece or no ? I said I came with her. Then he spake openly, and directed his speech to Sir Walter Raleigh, greatly in her commendation, as that she had the French, the Italian, played of instruments, danced, wrought needlework, and writ very fair; wished she were fifteen years old, and with that rounded Mr Raleigh in the ear, who answered him it would be a happy thing. At supper he made exceeding much of her; so did he in the afternoon in his great chamber publicly . . . and since he hath asked when she shall come again to Court.'
The meat of Charles Cavendish's letter was contained in the opening sentences. It was natural that Lord Burghley, who had once been William Cecil, a good family man and an old friend of Lady Shrewsbury, should single out her grand-daughter for special attention and kind remarks; what really mattered was that Arbella had 'dined in the presence'. The tables for dinner at Court were laid with tremendous ceremony. The yeomen of the guard, dressed in scarlet with a golden rose on their backs, would bring in a course of twenty-four dishes, served on gilt plate, while twelve trumpets and two kettledrums
made the hall ring, but the Qiieen only dined in public on special occasions, such as Christmas. At other times the maids of honour would lift the meat off the table and carry it into an inner room. Elizabeth took her meals alone 'with very few attendants'. 'It is very seldom that anyone, foreigner or native, is admitted at that time', wrote one observer, 'and then only at the intercession of somebody in power.' But Bess's dearest jewel had been given all the honours. She had received her full due as a princess of the blood and joined the select band who ate with the Queen in private. Nor was this all the recognition Arbella had received. Elizabeth had been overheard to say to the French ambassador's wife: 'Look at her! Look at her well. One day she will be even as I am, and will be a great lady. But I shall have gone before her.'
This was the sort of thing Bess had been waiting to hear. True, the Queen had not named Arbella as her heir in so many words - Elizabeth seldom said anything in so many words - but surely her meaning was plain. All the careful planning, the sleepless nights, the danger and the nervous tension, all the trouble and expense, would be worth it pressed down and running over, if only Bess could live to see her grand-daughter become Queen of England. As she sat reading the news from London that day in 1587, the achieving of her life's ambition seemed a matter of time alone.
/^ The Shrewsbury Scandal
By the year 1584 the alHance which had once existed between the Queen of Scots and the Countess of Shrewsbury was at an end and the two ladies were zestfully engaged in a battle which recognised few of the rules of war. Bess had accused Mary of having had illicit relations with her husband - she is even said to have sta
rted the rumour that the Queen of Scots had borne Shrewsbury a child. Mary retaliated by doing her utmost to ruin Bess. 'I entreat that you will more distinctly show to Queen Elizabeth the treachery of my honourable hostess, the Countess of Shrewsbury', she wrote to the French ambassador. 'I had the sure promise of the said Countess', she went on, 'that if at any time my life were in danger, or if I were to be removed from here, she would give me the means of escape, and that she herself could easily elude danger and punishment in respect to this. She made her son Charles Cavendish swear to me in her presence that he would reside in London on purpose to serve me and warn me of all which passed at the Court, and that he would actually keep two good strong geldings specially to let me have speedy intelligence of the death of the Queen, who was ill at the time, and that he thought to be able to do this . . . The said Countess and her sons used every possible persuasion to prove to me the danger to which I was exposed in the hands of the Earl of Shrewsbury, who would deliver me into the hands of my enemies or allow me to be surprised by them, in such a manner that, without the friendship of the said Countess, I was in a very bad case.' These were only minor examples which Mary wanted the ambassador to bring to the Queen's attention (without, of course, disclosing the source of his information), by which Elizabeth could judge what had gone
to make up 'the warp and woof of the intercourse' between Mary and Bess, whom the Queen of Scots could *place in a terrible position, by giving the names of those persons who, by her express order, have brought me letters in cipher, which she has delivered to me by her own hand'. If Elizabeth decided *to make skilful enquiry' into Bess's misconduct, Mary 'could disclose other features of greater importance which would cause considerable discomfort to others about her.'
The unfortunate Earl of Shrewsbury, caught in this murderous cross-fire, could only pray to be delivered from two demons - his wife and his prisoner. The Great Shrewsbury Scandal did, in fact, result in Mary being removed from his custody and in a permanent estrangement from Bess, but it was to leave him a broken man, both mentally and physically.
Why did Bess do it ? She seldom did anything without a reason, but why had she chosen to stir up trouble on such a dramatic scale? Why had she set out, apparently quite deliberately, to wreck her own marriage ? The answers to these questions are not easy to find, but perhaps a closer look at the three people involved and the situation they were trapped in, may provide some clues. By 1584 Mary Queen of Scots had spent fifteen years in the Shrewsburys' care, but she had never become resigned to her loss of liberty and intrigued incessantly with anyone who seemed to offer her the slightest hope of escape. Ever since her flight across the Border, Mary had been the focus of plots by those who favoured her title to the EngUsh throne. The Queen of Scots had always been political dynamite, but as the international situation worsened and the cold war with Spain grew hotter, the government became increasingly nervous of attempts to assassinate Elizabeth and put Mary in her place.
The awesome responsibility of guarding Mary was taking its toll of the Earl of Shrewsbury. His position was
not made any easier by the constant complaints of his prisoner and constant interference from London. Financially, too, it was a continual drain, especially after Elizabeth decided to economise by cutting down his expense allowance. *I do not know what account is made of my charges sustained in the keeping of this woman', he wrote to Lord Burghley in July, 1580, 'but assuredly the very charge of victual of my whole household, with the entertainment I do give to my household servants, is not defrayed with the allowance I have had from her Majesty; besides the which I dare be bold to say the wine, the spice, and the fuel that are spent in my house yearly, being valued, come not under ^1,000 by the year. Also the loss of plate, the buying of pewter, and all manner of household stuff, which by them is exceedingly spoiled and wilfully wasted, stand me in ;^ 1,000 by the year.' The Earl was not including the annuities he had given to his servants, 'to the end to be more faithfully served by them and to prevent any corruption that by want they might be provoked into'; nor the extra money he was spending on the soldiers employed to garrison the household. *I do leave out an infinite number of hidden charges which I am driven into by keeping this woman', he wrote, *. . . but I do trust that her Majesty, of her own consideration, will so well think of these things that she will not abridge any thing of that which she hath hitherto allowed.'
Elizabeth may have been hoping to force the Queen of Scots into contributing towards her own upkeep, thereby reducing the amount of money she had available to pay her agents and messengers. At any rate, Shrewsbury's protests fell on stony ground. To do him justice, it was not merely the fact that his personal fortune was disappearing at the rate of thirty pounds a day (at least by his own reckoning) which was upsetting him so much. He felt that his honour was at stake. He had never pestered the Queen with unreasonable demands, he reminded Burghley
plaintively, nor had lie c'er complained about the heavy burden his mind had borne and his body had sustained, for he considered himself *happy and fortunate in living to do her Majesty true and loyal service'. But if his only reward was to be 'by abating the allowance that hitherto I have had, the world must needs think that either my deserts have been very small, or else her Majesty doth make very small account of me'. It was not just the money, the Earl repeatedly assured Lord Burghley. No money could have recompensed him for the loss of liberty, the *dangering' of his life and the many other discomforts he was exposed to; but 'good my lord', he wrote, '. . . deal so with her Majesty for me as I am not offered so great a disgrace as to abate any part of the allowance'.
Among the many discomforts suffered by the Earl and Countess of Shrewsbury was the disruption of their family life. 'It seems her Majesty has no liking our children should be with us (where this Queen is)', the Earl had complained on another occasion, '. . . which is a great grief unto us. Therefore I pray you, if you shall not think it will be offence to her Majesty, at your good leisure to move her Highness that I may have liberty to go to Chatsworth, to sweeten my house; and that my children may come to me, with her Majesty's favour, when I think good, else they shall not enter within my doors.' The Queen was apparently afraid that too much coming and going by the young Talbots and Cavendishes would provide opportunities for Mary to send and receive uncensored messages. Elizabeth had even objected when Bess's daughter Mary, Gilbert Talbot's wife, came to Sheffield to have her first baby, as it would be 'cause of women and strangers' repair thither', although Shrewsbury assured the Council that only the midwife had been admitted and he himself had christened the child 'to avoid such resort'.
The restrictions imposed on her freedom of movement by the Queen of Scots' constant presence, the perpetual
nagging from Elizabeth, her husband's morbid dread of offending the Queen and his nervous preoccupation with his charge would have been irksome to any woman - to one of Bess's independent, energetic temperament they were becoming intolerable. In fact, signs that her fourth marriage was not proving quite so successful as her previous ones had begun to appear as early as the 1570's in a somewhat hectoring letter addressed to the Earl. 'If you cannot get my timber carried', wrote Bess, 'I must be without it, though I greatly want it; but if it would please you to command Hebert, or any other, to move your tenants to bring it, I know they will not deny to do it. I pray you let me know if I shall have the ton of iron. If you cannot spare it, I must make shift to get it elsewhere, for I may not now want it. You promised to send me money afore this time to buy oxen, but I see out of sight out of mind with you.'
Shrewsbury, for his part, was jealous of Bess's Cavendish sons. He also resented her absorption in her building and business interests, and it wasn't long before they were quarrelling bitterly over quite trivial issues. Both husband and wife used Gilbert Talbot, Shrewsbury's eldest surviving son, as a confidant and meeting Gilbert at Bolsover one day, the Earl's conversation soon turned to his marital troubles. According to Gilbert's detailed report to Bess: *Quoth he, "Gilbert, w
hat talk had my wife with you?" "Marry, my lord," quoth I, "it hath pleased her to talk with me once or twice since my coming; but the matter she most spake of is no small discomfort for me to understand." Then was he very desirous and bade me tell him what. I began: "Truly, sir, with as grieved a mind as ever I saw woman in my life, she told me your lordship was vehemently offended with her, in such sort and with so many words and shows in your anger of evil mind towards her, as thereby your ladyship said you could not but stand doubtful that all his wonted love and affection is clean
turned to the contrary, for your ladyship further said you had given him no cause at all to be offended".'
This particular quarrel had arisen over some upholsterers sent by the Earl to Sheffield Lodge and refused admittance by one of Bess's servants, either out of genuine misunderstanding or deliberate malice - the servants in a great household were not above fomenting interesting rows between their employers. Shrewsbury refused to listen to Gilbert's explanations, 'saying it was to no purpose to hear my recital of this matter; for if he listed, he said, he could remember cruel speeches your ladyship used to him, which were such as, quoth he, ''I was forced to tell her she scolded like one that came from the Bank" . . . (the Elizabethan equivalent of Billingsgate). So being alighted from his horse all this while, he said, "Let us get up and be going; and I shall have enough to do when I come home".' Gilbert was then obliged to break the news that Bess had departed for Chatsworth in a rage. This was too much for the Earl. ' **What", quoth he, "is she gone from Sheffield? Is her malice such that she will not tarry one night for my coming?" ' Again he refused to listen to Gilbert's attempts to smooth things over, 'saying all the house might discern your ladyship's stomach against him by your departure before his coming. "You know, Gilbert", quoth he, "how often I have cursed the building at Chatsworth for want of her company. You see she careth not for my company, by her going away. I ^vould not have done so to her for five hundred pounds." '
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