by Georgina Lee
Contents
Dedication
Acknowledgements
List of Main Characters
April 1565 (two months later)
September 1567 (Two years later)
Westminster Palace, London. December 1567 (3 months later)
The Earl of Shrewsbury’s London Residence. December 1568
A year later
1572
1574
1577
1577
One month later
August 1577
3 Days later (10 August 1577)
1578 – Westminster Abbey
1578
1582 – 1584
1584 – Buxton, Derbyshire
Winter 1584 – 1585 London
November 1584 – London
Tutbury – December 1585
Chatsworth – February 1587
Wingfield Manor – June 1588 (3 years later)
Shrewsbury House, Chelsea – 1590
Wingfield Manor, Derbyshire
1590 – 1591
November 1591
Shrewsbury House, Chelsea – April 1592
Hardwick Hall – August 1592
Old Hardwick Hall – September 1592
Hardwick Hall – March 1593
Lambeth Bridge, London (Two days later, 6.55am)
Hardwick Hall – November 1595
31 October 1597
1598 – 1599
New Hardwick Hall – 1601
February 1601
25 December 1602 – Hardwick New Hall
3 January 1603 (Nine days later)
16 February 1603
27 March 1603
April 1603
Hardwick Hall Gardens – August 1603
1605 – 1608
Hardwick Hall
Authors Note
Copyright
“I assure you, there is no other Lady in this land that I better love and like.”
Queen Elizabeth I.
Dedication
For my husband and daughters, with love
Acknowledgements
I am very lucky to have my husband Bob, who has always encouraged me to fulfil my dreams. My daughter Lauren, and my friend Tessa, spent many hours proofreading and giving me valuable feedback, for which I’m very grateful – many thanks to all of you.
Image 94085 – Elizabeth Hardwick, Countess of Shrewsbury (Bess of Hardwick) 1590, attr. to Rowland Lockey, Hardwick Hall, Copyright National Trust Images/John Bethell.
Image 184795 – Copyright National Trust Images/Robert Morris.
List of Main Characters
Elizabeth Talbot (Bess) – Countess of Shrewsbury, previously Lady Elizabeth St Loe, Lady Elizabeth Cavendish, Elizabeth Barlow, nee Elizabeth Hardwick.
George Talbot – 6th Earl of Shrewsbury, fourth husband of Bess, Knight of the Garter, Member of the Privy Council, Lord Lieutenant of Yorkshire, Derbyshire and Nottinghamshire, jailor to Mary Queen of Scots.
Lady Frances Pierrepoint nee Cavendish – eldest daughter of Bess and Sir William Cavendish.
Sir Henry Pierrepoint – married to Frances, son-in-law of Bess.
Henry Cavendish – eldest son of Bess and Sir William Cavendish, stepson and son-in-law of George Talbot.
Grace Cavendish nee Talbot – daughter of George Talbot, stepdaughter and daughter-in-law of Bess, married to Henry Cavendish.
Sir William Cavendish – son of Bess and Sir William Cavendish, married first to Anne Keightly then Elizabeth Wortley.
Sir Charles Cavendish – youngest son of Bess and Sir William Cavendish, married Margaret Kitson then Catherine Ogle.
Elizabeth Stuart – nee Cavendish, daughter of Bess and Sir William Cavendish, married Charles Stuart, 5th Earl of Lennox.
Mary Talbot nee Cavendish – daughter of Bess and Sir William Cavendish, stepdaughter and daughter-in-law of George Talbot, wife of Gilbert Talbot, became Countess of Shrewsbury on the death of her father-in-law in 1590.
Gilbert Talbot – son of George Talbot, stepson and son-in-law of Bess, husband of Mary Cavendish, became 7th Earl of Shrewsbury on the death of his father in 1590.
Lady Arbella Stuart – only daughter of Elizabeth and Charles Stuart, Bess’ granddaughter, had a claim to the English throne.
Agnes – personal maid to Bess.
Joseph – secretary to Bess.
Edward St Loe – brother of Sir William St Loe, (from Bess’ third marriage) and enemy of Bess.
Queen Elizabeth – Queen of England from 1558 – 1603.
Frances Cobham – lady in waiting to Queen Elizabeth and friend of Bess.
Lady Dorothy Stafford – lady in waiting to Queen Elizabeth and friend of Bess.
Mary Stuart – deposed Queen of Scotland.
The Earl of Huntingdon – commanded to guard Queen Mary.
Lord Burghley – previously Sir William Cecil, Lord Treasurer, loyal advisor to Queen Elizabeth for most of her reign.
Sir Francis Walsingham – Principal Secretary and spymaster to Queen Elizabeth.
Duke of Norfolk – high ranking Catholic aristocrat.
Robert Cecil – son of William Cecil, (Lord Burghley) 1st Lord Salisbury, Secretary of State to Queen Elizabeth and then James I.
Hersey Lassells – young man in Shrewsbury household where Queen Mary is imprisoned.
Sir Ralph Sadler – commanded to guard Queen Mary.
Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester – Queen Elizabeth’s favourite, Knight of the Garter, Master of the Horse, Privy Councillor.
Margaret Stuart, Countess of Lennox – friend of Bess, mother of Charles Stuart, grandmother to Arbella Stuart.
Charles Stuart – son of Margaret Stuart, husband of Elizabeth Cavendish, father of Arbella Stuart.
Sir Amias Paulet – Queen Mary’s jailor after George Talbot has been relieved of the post.
Mr James Starkey – Arbella’s tutor and chaplain for Bess.
Master Dodderidge – elderly servant of Bess.
Sir Henry Brounker – sent by Queen Elizabeth to question Arbella.
Robert Deveraux, Earl of Essex – stepson of Robert Dudley (Earl of Leicester), Master of the Horse, Member of the Privy Council, Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, favourite of Queen Elizabeth.
Timothy Pusey – loyal steward to Bess.
Edward Seymour – grandson of Lady Katherine Grey and Lord Hertford, Arbella proposed marriage to him.
John Stapleton – Catholic friend of Henry Cavendish.
Henry Grey, Earl of Kent – distantly related to Arbella Stuart.
Eleanor Britten – housekeeper and mistress of George Talbot.
Master McLean – lawyer.
James Stuart – King James VI of Scotland (1556 – 1625) & I of England (1603 – 1625) son of Queen Mary of Scotland and Henry Stuart, Lord Darnley.
John Stanhope – one time friend of Gilbert Talbot, later his enemy.
Mistress Digby – gentlewoman and neighbour of Bess, attended her on her deathbed.
Dr. Hunton – attended Bess on her deathbed.
Prologue
London – February 1565
Freezing and bitter blasts of air blow down on the mourners standing beside the open grave in the churchyard of Great St. Helen’s in Bishopsgate. The grey sky holds a threat of snow and a few tiny flakes high enough to hit the bare branches of the trees. The church bell ceases it’s clanging; the priest pauses with a frown to wipe his reddened nose with a handkerchief. The people round the grave are finely dressed in expensive velvets and furs, their pendants and rings set with gold and precious stones. In vain the ladies fight to keep their hoods in place as the wind spins itself around them. They try to stifle the stench from the city, always a hazard on a windy day, with delicately woven silver pomanders, filled with arom
atic spices. A group of soldiers in uniform stand solemn and dignified, oblivious to the weather, there to pay their respects to a well loved Captain of the Guard.
As the priest intones the words of burial, everyone glances surreptitiously at the widow dressed in deepest black, who stands stiffly apart from everyone, her eyes never leaving the face of her brother-in-law, Edward St Loe. Outside the graveyard, a small group of onlookers are braving the cold to gawp at the ceremony. Although not as good as a burning or an execution, it is entertainment, of a sort. They notice the expression on her face too, for it is impossible to ignore.
The look she gives him is of a piercing intensity. Had it been one of love, he would have been basking in its passion. But it is not of love, or any gentle emotion that would have given some warmth on that winters morning. It is an unblinking and unremitting stare, full of hatred, designed to bore into his very soul. But he is the only person there who appears not to notice. He too is staring, but at a fixed point in the distance as he shifts from one foot to another. Not once does he glance at his late brother’s wife. It is as if she does not exist.
The coffin is lowered into the ground, and when the priest finally closes his prayer book there is an uneasy silence, broken only by the crows plaintively cawing as they circle overhead. With an effort, the woman shifts her gaze to the newly dug ground below, and gracefully bends down to pick up a handful of earth to throw over the coffin. The gravediggers move forward now, their spades at the ready, eager to get their job done and return to the warmth of their brazier.
People begin to turn away, they too are anxious to get indoors and out of the cold. If they wait a moment, they will see her blink away the tears she has tried so hard to hide from Edward. But he is already striding back towards his coach, his simpering wife in his wake. A handful of the mourners remain and they gather around the woman, whispering soothing platitudes. “I will see justice done. He will not get away with murder,” she murmurs fiercely.
No one doubts it. She is known for her determination and strong will. They nod in agreement and lead her away from the grave towards the coaches waiting to take them to the sanctuary of the queen’s palace, where wine and beer will flow freely for the remainder of the day at the drinking – the usual event that follows a funeral at Court.
Thus the Lady Elizabeth St Loe of Chatsworth in Derbyshire, better known as Bess, lays her third husband, William, to rest. But the worst of her personal battles has yet to be faced.
April 1565 (two months later)
The two coaches are in convoy, as they make their way north along the muddy and rutted road. The long journey from Somerset to Derbyshire has not been aided by a catalogue of bad luck from the beginning. The weather has got warmer now that spring has arrived, but heavy rains have flooded the highways and lanes, causing delays along the route and the drivers refuse to travel until the weather improved. Within the first week, a horse becomes lame, one of the grooms hits his head on a low stable beam and a tooth-drawer has to be found for one of the servants who had a painful abscess. The more experienced travellers in the party know such setbacks are commonplace and that it is only a matter of time before there is another problem. It is therefore not a great surprise when suddenly there is a lurch to one side, and the sound of splintering wood as the front coach hits a large rut in the road. The driver curses, having been distracted for just a few moments, and pulls the four horses to a standstill. The servants in the second coach exchange a look of alarm, as they too have had to stop abruptly. They sit wedged together amongst chests of clothes, sheaves of documents, coins and valuables. Bess’ maid, Agnes, had fallen asleep and cries out to be so rudely woken up.
Both the drivers get down to examine the damage to the wheels and there is much muttering and shaking of heads. Inside the first coach, Bess and her fourteen-year-old son, William Cavendish, sit waiting. They are travel weary and both long to be in the comfort of their home, but they know that no amount of shouting orders will make a difference. Patience is needed when travelling.
“Is there any food left? We might as well eat while we are not moving. Shall I call a servant?”
William gets up to open the door.
“Leave them. Their work will start again soon enough.”
Bess looks gloomily out of the window, resigned to yet another delay. He pulls the wicker hamper out from under the seat and opens the lid. Inside there are two capons, some salt fish, assorted cheeses, figs, almonds and a custard tart. He realises he is hungry, and has not eaten for several hours.
“Will you join me, lady mother?”
He begins to assemble a meal for himself on a silver plate. Bess shakes her head.
“I do not have much appetite. This dispute over your stepfather’s will has upset me, especially so soon after his death.”
“You did not seem upset in the Court of Probate.”
“Just because I do not show emotion, it does not mean I am unmoved. I know Edward hates me, which I can bear, but I will not have William’s last wishes overruled. I have been expecting trouble over the will. When a man who has children from a previous marriage leaves everything to his widow and her heirs forever, it is bound to cause problems. I never thought it would be his daughter Margaret who contested it though, Edward must be behind it.”
William cuts himself a chunk of cheese and reflects for a moment.
“I think everyone was surprised that he left nothing to his two daughters.”
Bess looks indignant and opens her mouth to reply, but he is quick to speak first.
“I know, they already had generous dowries.”
“He was a generous man. His death was so sudden, I never had a chance to say goodbye.”
He looks sympathetically at his mother.
“What will happen now?”
“I shall continue the legal fight over my husband’s home of Sutton Court and try to prove that Edward murdered him with poison.”
She sighs; her eyes filled with unshed tears. “I know it is almost impossible to prove. He may never be brought to justice.”
“Well, you have done everything possible for the moment. We shall soon be home and other matters will occupy you.”
The carriage door opens and the driver’s face appears, looking grim.
“My lady, one of our wheels has cracked. Not badly, but if we continue carefully we will still reach Wirksworth by nightfall.”
“My mother and I could move to one of the other carriages and go on ahead,” William ventures.
The driver shakes his head. “I would not advise it, master William. To separate would be dangerous; there is always the risk of robbers. We should continue together without delay.”
“Very well; let us get on.”
Bess waves him away and puts a cushion behind her back.
“I am going to try and sleep for a while. I suggest you finish eating and do the same, William.”
She closes her eyes and William studies his mother for a few moments as he chews on some almonds. He knows she is an extraordinary woman, quite unlike the mothers of his school friends, who had been shocked to discover that Lady St Loe deals directly with lawyers and bailiffs, with no male family member to speak on her behalf. He has never seen her at a loss for words or unsure of herself. Sir William Cavendish, his father and Bess’ second husband, died when he was only six and he can barely remember him. Longing to be given some responsibility for the running of her business affairs, he knows that will have to wait a few more years. His mother has told him that his education is very important if he is to succeed in the world.
The coaches rumble on slowly through the Staffordshire countryside, which will soon give way to the open windswept moors of Derbyshire. William tries to rest, but cannot settle. He wanted to ride alongside the carriage, but Bess forbade it. For a while he contents himself by looking out of the window. There was hawthorn blossom in Somerset but, as they move further north, the signs of spring disappear and the temperature falls. He should have been stud
ying at Eton with his elder brother Henry, but before he returns to his studies he is determined to make the most of his freedom.
It is several hours before they see the outskirts of Wirksworth where they are to spend the night and have the wheel changed. The landlord of the inn is slightly nonplussed to find such a distinguished guest on his doorstep unannounced, but he rallies quickly and is able to provide his best letting rooms for Bess, with hot water, fresh linen and a hearty meal. The driver is sent off in the gathering dusk to find another wheel while the servants chat to one another as they unload the valuables into Bess’ chamber. By closing time the wheel has been replaced and everyone is in bed, for Bess has ordered an early start in the morning and, God willing, Chatsworth is now only a day’s ride away.
After a breakfast of bread, butter and omelettes, washed down with ale, the party leaves at daybreak. A watery sun breaks through the clouds as they make their way onto the open road, and Bess throws coins out of the window for a handful of beggars. Then she settles back under several blankets and opens some letters to re-read. Already she is compiling a list of tasks to do when she arrives home. On his mother’s suggestion, William reads Chaucer, which is one of his schoolbooks, and for the most part, the journey passes in companionable silence, only stopping briefly to water and feed the horses. By mid-afternoon they reach the edge of the Chatsworth Estate and the familiar blue of the Cavendish Livery is visible on the doors of the wayside dwellings in the hamlets. Tenants doff their caps and women curtsey along the way, curious to see their mistress again after her recent loss. Bess puts away her papers and watches the approach with a rising sense of anticipation. They pass large swathes of hilly, open moorland where her sheep step nimbly over narrow streams as they graze amongst yellow gorse bushes. The trees are not as tall here; the ever-present wind cuts them short like an invisible scythe as they grow up from the damp and stony ground.
She never fails to be in awe of the craggy cliffs and rocks that are the hallmark of her home county, so unlike anywhere else she has visited in England. Roads are little more than tracks that have been carved over many years by travellers passing through, for they do not often stay. Most visitors find the landscape dark and forbidding, with great rocks scattered down the hillside as if they were dice thrown haphazardly and left forever where they landed. Strangers in winter often find the county bleak and snowdrifts can be many feet high. Travellers have been known to disappear, their frozen bodies only found after the thaw. The summers are short and arrive suddenly, almost without warning, when the hillsides are covered with purple and pink heather which change colour as the sun passes overhead, casting long shadows on the grey rocks. To Bess growing up, it was all magical and majestic in turn, and she loves and respects its power and drama. At last the house itself appears in the distance, silhouetted against the sunset, the river sparkling beneath it.