Bess - A Novel

by Georgina Lee

  William leans out of the window to get a better view. Even the horses sense they are almost at the end of their journey and quicken their pace. Bess and Sir William Cavendish bought it sixteen years previously when she had persuaded him to move from London during all the uncertainty of Queen Mary’s reign. Bess began to build on to it a few years later and now there are four towers and a large quadrangle.

  As the carriages draw to a halt, there are shouts of excitement and the large wooden door opens as the children run out to greet them, closely followed by their nursery maids and Joseph, the steward. Bess is first out of the coach and gathers the younger ones around her skirts, delighted to see them.

  There is Mary, the youngest, and Elizabeth, aged nine and ten years respectively. Her eldest daughter, the dependable and matronly Frances, is next to reach her. Only seventeen, but already happily married to a wealthy neighbour Henry Pierrepoint, she has travelled from her home nearby to be with the rest of the family. Bess caresses her cheek, touched that she is there to welcome her home.

  Henry, her eldest son and heir, stands and waits until his mother notices him, aware that, unlike William, he does not have permission to be home from Eton. Bess raises her eyebrows at him and he shrugs his shoulders in a gesture of defiance, although just fifteen, he looks older and worldly wise for his years.

  Charles is the last to be greeted, two years younger than William, he gives her a shy hug and she ruffles his hair fondly, remembering that soon he too will be off to Eton with his brothers. Bess looks at Joseph, and notes with relief that he is smiling too. Hopefully that means nothing untoward has happened since he last wrote to her. After all the greetings are over, Bess takes charge.

  “Now I am going to bathe and change my clothes and then we shall have our supper together.”

  “Are we really to eat with you, lady mother?” Mary looks suitably pleased.

  “Yes, my love, you are. Then afterwards I want to see Henry in my study.”

  Henry smirks, completely unconcerned. Bess turns to the nursemaids.

  “Have the children been good?”

  “Most of the time m’lady,” one of them is bold enough to reply.

  “Then they shall be rewarded with presents tomorrow, when the unpacking has been done.”

  There are more squeals of delight as Bess disengages herself from them.

  “Now, go indoors, I must speak to Joseph.” They all surround William and disappear indoors.

  She approaches him as he stands silently on the edge of the group. He is a short, thin man with rather a solemn expression and little sense of humour, but Bess knows she can trust him implicitly; she would not have left her domain to anyone else.

  “Welcome home, your ladyship.” He bows formally. “My condolences on the loss of Sir William. The manner of his death shocked us all.”

  “Yes, I find it hard to believe I shall not see him again. But I have employed spies who are trying to find some evidence against his brother. I know Sir William did not die of natural causes.”

  Joseph nods in sympathy.

  “But it is good to be home, Joseph. I have been away too long. What news since your last letter?”

  “The list of petitioners waiting to see you grows ever longer and the administration of all the estates needs your attention. But the rents are all paid up...”

  “And my building work?”

  “Progress has not been a fast as you would wish, but work is always slower in the winter.”

  “But some progress has been made since I left?”

  “Yes, your ladyship.”

  “Good. I will go through everything with you tomorrow. Tonight I shall spend with my family. Thank you Joseph, I do not know what I would do without you.”

  He bows again and turns towards his own quarters. Bess makes her way through the Great Hall, and gathers up her skirts as she climbs the stairs to her bedchamber. Always quietly efficient, Agnes has already laid out a clean gown on the oak carved four-poster bed, and is fussing over the temperature of the bath water that the servants have carried up from the kitchen. Bess rescued her one day as she was passing through the streets of Derby in her coach. Agnes’ uncle, her only relative and a sadistic drunk, was beating her so hard that Bess feared he would kill her. When she ordered the coach to stop, and then challenged him, he expressed sneering surprise that a fine lady should show so much interest in her. With eyes as black as pitch and her limbs trembling uncontrollably, Agnes had stared in wide-eyed terror as Bess descended from the carriage and stood in front of her tormentor. She told him if he did not stop at once, she would summon the magistrate and he would find himself on a charge of attempted murder. By this time, a small crowd had gathered to witness the spectacle of Bess berating this well-known scoundrel, and knowing her reputation, they had no doubt who would come off the better.

  Within seconds, he had disappeared down a dingy alleyway and the two women were speeding towards the safety of Chatsworth, where Agnes soon filled out with three good meals a day and a safe bed to sleep in at night. She quickly proved to be an invaluable aid to Bess, for she was willing, hard working, good with a needle and could dress her mistress’ hair with dexterity and skill. Unsurprisingly, after such a rescue, she was devoted to Bess and would have died for her if the situation arose. It was Agnes who had given instructions before they left home so hastily for the preparation of Bess’ homecoming. The floor is laid with fresh herb rushes, and a pretty bowl of dried lavender sits on the window seat, its delicate fragrance filling the air. Amongst other personal items on the bedside table, there is a likeness of Sir William St Loe, painted just after they were married. She regards it for a few moments with sad affection, for the few years they had together were very happy.

  A log fire burns in the stone fireplace; it’s warmth so welcoming after the long journey. Beautiful tapestries, embroidered by her own hand, hang on the walls and heavy Persian rugs are draped over two oak storage chests. The servants finish their work by sprinkling the surface of the water with dried rose petals before curtseying and closing the door. Bess undresses with Agnes’ help, and sighs with pleasure as she lowers herself into the soothing water. Closing her eyes, she relaxes for the first time in weeks. Agnes bustles about warming her clothes in front of the fire, and pours her mistress a glass of wine.

  “You must rest m’lady. These last few weeks have been a great trial.”

  “When have you ever known me to rest?” replies Bess wryly.

  “Seven years of marriage, and now for the third time a widow – what bad luck! I wonder that you have found the strength to carry on. There are many women who would have been overcome by such grief.”

  Agnes starts to gently sponge her mistress’ back. Bess sips her wine and allows Agnes to carry on talking, for there is something reassuring about her concern. And she is the only person that Bess would allow to talk to her in such a manner.

  “The late master will be sorely missed for sure and the children losing a stepfather is hard for them. And all this nasty business with Edward St Leo as well, as if you have not got enough to cope with. With all the travelling to Somerset to the late master’s home ...”

  “Sutton Court,” murmurs Bess, only half listening.

  “Yes m’lady. And I suppose you will want to build more and more. To be sure, it all looks very fine when you have finished and the third floor you are adding to this grand house will no doubt be a picture. But while all the work is being done, there is so much noise and dust, banging of hammers and sawing wood. Those workmen will shout and whistle all day, every day.”

  “Then you will be pleased to hear I am thinking of extending and improving my childhood home of Hardwick Hall, far enough away from hammers and whistling workmen. One day I may even build a new house there.”

  “And what does your dear mother think of these plans?”

  “I think it will please her, despite the inconvenience of the workmen. When my father was alive, it provided a good income from managing th
e land. I was just a babe in arms when he died, and my poor mother was left with a young family of seven children.”

  Agnes makes sympathetic noises as she helps Bess out of the bath and wraps a towel around her. “You have come a long way since those days, m’lady.”

  “And still further to go, with God’s help.”

  Soon she is dressed, and sits while Agnes combs her long hair, which hangs in lustrous curls to her waist. Bess peers at herself in the looking glass. The tiredness and travel weary look have gone from her face, and she is now relaxed and at ease. Although not beautiful, her complexion and colouring are very attractive. The unusual combination of her reddish flaxen hair and sparkling mint green eyes, similar to the queen herself, prove an alluring magnet for men, and she is never short of admirers. She has a natural charm, but beneath it lies the strongest of characters. Agnes thinks to herself that it will surely not be long until her mistress remarries.

  With one last look, Bess sweeps out of the room, leaving Agnes to start the unpacking from the chests that have been brought up. In the courtyard, the grooms carry lanterns as they attend to the horses and bed them down for the night. The kitchen is full of noise and steam as the preparation of the food is underway, delicious smells of roasting meat waft outside. Bess’ three Irish wolfhounds languish in front of the stone-carved fireplace, her striking portrait on the wall looking down on them as servants bustle about their work.

  The table in the Great Hall is set, pitchers filled with weak wine and ale, the children sit talking and arguing, their nursery maids nearby. Bess stands for a moment in the doorway and savours the scene. Her beloved children, for whom she has such high hopes, are growing up fast. Now that she is again a widow, she knows that this can only be achieved by careful planning on her part. Their future has always been a priority. There is much to think about and Bess realised long ago that the best person to rely on is herself. Her pragmatic nature tells her that she has to get on with her life for there is no one who will do if for her. Not for the first time, she is at a crossroads and the decisions she takes in the next year will be pivotal in realising her hopes and ambitions, not just for herself, but also for her children. But tonight, she is happy to be home and to put such thoughts aside. Her family is waiting and she hurries forward to join them.

  September 1567 (Two years later)

  There is a great deal to keep Bess occupied as she mourns the loss of her third husband and the time passes quickly. From her previous marriages she has inherited land, property and mines, which she carefully manages, for she is an astute businesswoman and likes to be in control of her finances. She spends many hours each day closeted with Joseph in her study as they read and discuss contracts and building plans; she is always building and lending money. All her investments must be overseen to ensure their profitability. Farms managers and bailiffs report to her weekly, aware that she does not suffer fools gladly.

  Bess runs Chatsworth House and its land as efficiently as if it was one of her many businesses and personally supervises much of the household management. A dairy provides butter, cream and cheese all year. There is a brewing house for ale and beer, together with a laundry, stables, coach house, fish farms and a dovecote. Bee hives supply honey and beeswax for furniture, the acres of gardens and the vegetable plot are tended by a team of gardeners. Different varieties of herbs grow in abundance and are used in cooking and around the house for moth proofing and sweetening linen. Wheat and barley grow in nearby fields. Fresh eggs are available daily from the poultry farm and there are deer, rabbit and wood pigeon in the park. Mutton, pork and beef are on the menu often, except of course for fish days, every Friday and during Lent. The huge kitchen is always busy and noisy, even when there are no visitors. It’s vaulted ceilings rise high above the hearths, the brick ovens and roasting spits where servants work in the heat all day, carrying out orders from the old and irritable French cook who presides over everything with a fearsome reputation. He is not beyond slapping the more lazy boys round the head when they let the fire go out, or are slow to pluck a chicken. In the middle of it sits the huge oak table, above which hang a large variety of kitchen equipment such as pots, knives, frying pans, cleavers, axes, graters and chafing dishes.

  With such a large household and family to manage as well, Bess has little free time to call her own. But it is outdoors where she loves to think and make decisions, walking at any time of year amongst the many symmetrically arranged flower beds, hedge walks and knot gardens that surround the house. Here she can sit and contemplate, as the trickle of water fountains and birdsong are the only sounds, and where sweet scented roses, gillyflowers, primroses and lavender are grown. It is one of her favourite pastimes to picnic with the children in the orchard. In a good year, there can be plenty of apples, cherries, pears and figs for them all to enjoy.

  Today she is in the garden with Elizabeth and Mary. It is one of those late summer days when the sun is still warm, and ripening blackberries wait to be picked from the hedgerows. Rugs and cushions have been laid out under the shade of the trees and she watches her daughters play skittles, amidst much laughter and inevitably some arguments. The air is hot and humid, there is no cool breeze, so she fans herself and enjoys some candied apricots from a bowl nearby. A wasp lands on a fallen apple and she swats it away. Having been busy all day, she allows herself a rare hour of relaxation and lies back, her half-closed eyes focusing on a couple of butterflies as they dance overhead.

  “Lady mother, you are not watching! You promised to keep score.” Elizabeth’s voice rings out across the grass and Bess sits up, shading her eyes against the setting sun.

  “We do not need mother to keep score, I can do it perfectly well!” Mary is indignant and throws down the ball before flopping down beside her mother.

  “It is too hot!” she complains.

  “You are giving up because you were losing,” Elizabeth says smugly as she joins them, sitting down neatly and hugging her knees. She starts to pick some daisies and make a chain.

  “Tell us about father.”

  “Again?” Bess laughs and shakes her head.

  It is information that they never seem tired of hearing and she obliges, a smile on her face as the memories surface.

  “I married your dear father when I was only nineteen and he was forty. Because he had proved himself in the Court of King Henry, he was rewarded by a knighthood and made a member of the Privy Council.”

  “What did he do to earn such an honour?”

  “He was an accountant, a very good one too. Your father was a clever man, and like me, not high born.” Her voice becomes wistful.

  “You could not wish to meet a kinder man, I saw him as not only my husband, but the father I never knew. Our age difference of nineteen years never bothered either of us. He taught me all I know about business and finances, I owe him much. We were always so busy during those years, having you children and giving splendid parties. We knew everyone of importance,” she adds with pride.

  “Tell us what you planned with him for the future.” This time it is Mary who poses the question. She rolls over and looks at Bess earnestly.

  “It was our ambition to create a dynasty.”

  “What is a dynasty?” Elizabeth looks up from her daisy chain.

  “A family that rules by wealth and power. We only wanted the best for our children. You will all marry well; I shall make sure of it. The boys will have the best education that money can buy and there is no reason why you should not rise to the top of the tree. I have vowed to continue these plans without your father by my side.”

  Her two daughters look at her in wonder; it all seems too much to contemplate.

  “Was he very different from your first husband?” asks Elizabeth

  “Very much so. Arthur was the son of a neighbour; he was like my own family, not wealthy, but able to live in some comfort. We were both young and the marriage was arranged by his father; we did fall in love though, and I nursed him through his final illness.
We were only wed for eighteen months.”

  “It must have been hard to have all your husbands dying.”

  “Mary! Do not be so tactless!” exclaims Elizabeth.

  “It is all right, she means no harm,” Bess reassures her. “It was hard, but it has made me a stronger person.”

  “And a richer one,” Mary observes.

  “Now you go too far, child!” Bess frowns at her precociousness.

  “Well I for one, will miss our papa William,” says Elizabeth. “He was not like a real soldier at all, more like a big brother.” She has finished the daisy chain and leans forward to tie it round Bess’ neck.

  “When you are older, you will realise it is not always easy to have stepchildren, my own are grown up now and I rarely see them. But I could not have asked for a better stepfather for you all.” She smiles. “Thank you for this, Elizabeth; it is very pretty.”

  Just then, their attention is caught as one of the youngest servants walks towards them and they watch him approaching. They have not heard a carriage approach and Bess is not expecting any more letters today. He bows and looks slightly flustered.