by Georgina Lee
“I had hoped to spend some time alone with you since you have been at Court, but your duties have prevented me from having that pleasure. I realise of course that the queen’s service must take priority, but for man such as myself, who is in love, it is a hard cross to bear.”
Bess looks suitably embarrassed. She raises her head to meet his gaze but betrays no emotion.
“You cannot be unaware of my feelings for you. Your recent letter has given me hope that we have a future together,” he says.
“Forgive me, your grace, but may I ask why have you chosen to honour me in this way?”
“Why should I not? You are one of the most sought after ladies of the Court. Your many virtues attract not only myself, but others. It seems you can have any husband you choose.”
“On the contrary, for you are the one who may have the pick of the ladies at Court. You are the highest ranking aristocrat after his grace, the Duke of Norfolk. There are many who would desire to be your wife.”
She looks at him seductively and murmurs modestly, “I would bring little to the marriage.”
“I disagree. I believe a marriage between us could be mutually beneficial.”
“In what way?”
“We cannot discuss this matter here. Are you able to meet me tomorrow morning after breakfast in the queen’s privy garden?”
“Her majesty has a gown fitting, so I should be able to slip away unnoticed.”
“Good. Until tomorrow, my lady.” She stands aside for him to leave and stopping in front of her, they look into each other’s eyes for a few seconds to exchange a look of understanding, before she closes the door behind him. Taking a deep breath, she goes over to the looking glass. Her face betrays nothing except her usual calm expression. Calling for Agnes, they begin the task of choosing what to wear for the meeting. Bess knows she cannot underestimate the importance of seeing him alone tomorrow morning. For the moment at least, the feast is forgotten.
The following morning Bess dresses carefully to see the earl. She has decided on a pale lilac gown with a deep burgundy velvet cloak, together with her favourite headdress of cream pearls.
Agnes helps her with undisguised excitement, knowing her mistress has an assignation, but not with whom.
“Good luck, my lady,” Agnes whispers as she leaves the chamber. She is rewarded with a brief smile from Bess, who will not admit to feeling slightly apprehensive.
The queen has woken with a headache and told the dressmaker to wait until she feels better. Blanche is her sole attendant and she will not allow anyone else to apply cold herbal compresses to her forehead, so the other ladies are at their leisure. A few have slipped away to quieter parts of the palace for secret trysts with their lovers, whilst others sit around in their bedchambers reading, playing cards or gossiping. Usually the Great Hall is filled with courtiers hoping to speak to the queen, but this morning it is deserted, save for a few servants sweeping the floor.
Bess walks purposefully through a side door and makes her way across the courtyard. The morning is damp, and she silently curses her soft leather shoes, which look pretty but do not keep her feet dry. Above her, a wisp of wood smoke from the many chimneys that burn within the palace drifts downwards, and she coughs as it catches in her throat. Two female servants carrying baskets of laundry look at her curiously as they pass. In a couple of minutes she arrives at the entrance to the gardens and pauses to compose herself, smoothing the folds of her gown and adjusting her headdress. She soon sees the earl, sitting on a bench, looking expectant. He jumps up when he sees her approaching, and she curtseys in response to his formal bow.
“I have laid a rug for your comfort this morning.” Inclining her head at his thoughtfulness, she sits gracefully, arranging her skirt with care.
“You are very kind.”
“I would not wish you to be cold on such a day.” Remaining standing, he fiddles with his gold rings and she smiles to herself at his nervousness.
“I will come straight to the point, by your leave. Since my dear wife died earlier this year, I have been brought very low and I have come to realise that I miss the company and companionship of someone to share life’s journey. I can think of no-one better than you.”
“Your grace, I am honoured that you should think of me in this way. But I should remind you that I am not a slip of a girl to be dazzled by a title or wealth. I have buried three husbands and I have no desire for a fourth.”
“Do you not have feelings for me, as I have for you?”
“I am very fond of you, but marriage ... I am not sure.”
“But what can I do to help you decide in my favour? I would do anything, I mean what I say.”
Bess savours those last five words before replying.
“You mentioned yesterday that a marriage between us could be mutually beneficiaI. I assume you are thinking of joining our two families together by the marriage of our children, are you not?”
“Yes!” he says quickly, and sits down beside her, his eagerness all too visible.
“You have no doubt heard that some years ago I arranged for my daughter, Catherine, to marry the Earl of Pembroke’s son, Henry, and for my son and heir, Francis, to marry the earl’s eldest daughter, Anne.”
“I remember.”
“So, your son Henry Cavendish would marry my daughter, Grace. One of your daughters would marry my son, Gilbert; thus uniting the Shrewsbury and Cavendish families.”
“It should be my Mary. She is only twelve, so I would not consent to a full marriage until she was of age.”
“Of course, my own Grace is but eight years old, and I would wish the same for her.” He pauses before continuing, “but your son, Henry ... ?”
“You have heard tales of his behaviour.”
“I confess that I have and it worries me.”
“Let me reassure you. Henry is young and immature. With the right guidance, I am sure that he will settle down, and by the time Grace is of age, he will be ready for marriage and its responsibilities. I am afraid he has mixed with some bad influences at school.”
“Just so, the young can be reckless.” He is thoughtful for a few seconds. “But I am not averse to making my proposition as attractive as possible for you. You will not find me ungenerous. In short, I am willing to consider whatever conditions you propose.”
Bess is silent as she gets up from the bench and begins to walk up and down the path. He watches anxiously.
“I must keep Chatsworth as my own,” she says eventually.
“Yes, if that is your wish. I would have control of your Barlow, Cavendish and St Loe lands for my lifetime.”
“Then they would revert back to me.”
“Of course.”
“I wish for these agreements to be drawn up legally, there must be a marriage jointure.”
“Naturally. You may have your own lawyers draw up the documents. We can agree on the finer points later.”
“No, I would prefer us to be clear at the outset, I do not wish any misunderstanding between us.”
He looks mildly surprised but shrugs.
“What else do you desire?”
“I wish for the rents of several of your properties to be made over to me for my lifetime together with the manors of ... ” she pretends to think about it. “... Handsworth, Over Ewedon and, shall we say Bolsterstone, given to me outright?”
“Yes, that would be acceptable to me. I do so dislike discussing these financial marital arrangements. I find it quite distasteful, but of course it must be done.”
“I would also like us to buy Sutton Court, my late husand’s home, from his daughter.”
The earl makes a gesture of mock surrender. “Is that everything?”
Bess looks uncomfortable but she knows it must be said. “We have not discussed the marriage bed.”
“We have not,” he agrees. “Are you worried about it?”
“Not worried, but I am forty and past child bearing. I am not sure what we should expect from each other.
”
He takes her hand and gently guides her so that they sit together.
“My love, do not fret. Our past marriages have given us both sons and daughters enough. But I would hope we shall enjoy each other, not only in the bedchamber, but as companions through the rest of our lives.”
“We are not young, I have some grey hairs,” she says ruefully.
“As do I. Such matters are unimportant. Our two families will be joined together and we can grow old as we watch them thrive.”
“You do not want a young wife to warm your bed?”
He chuckles and shakes his head as if the idea is amusing.
“You told me I could marry anyone I chose. It is you Bess, who lifts my heart. I do not want some empty headed young woman who is younger than my children.”
Bess smiles at the idea, but he becomes serious.
“Do you want a marriage only of convenience?”
“Do you?”
“I confess I do not, for I find you the most beautiful and desirable of women.”
He kisses her hand before adding shyly, “How do you find me? Am I agreeable to you?”
“Most certainly, I have found you more than agreeable for a long time.”
“So if I consent to all your conditions, will you agree to marry me?”
She nods, unable to hide her delight. “Yes, I will marry you after our children’s betrothal.”
“Then I am the happiest man alive.”
He puts his arm round her waist, not caring now if they are seen and Bess responds to his kisses. She is going to be Elizabeth Talbot, Countess of Shrewsbury. At that moment she has to stop herself from shouting it from the rooftops.
The Earl of Shrewsbury’s London Residence. December 1568
It is evening and Bess waits for George to come home. He is late back from his audience with the queen, and should have returned over two hours ago. The servants have been instructed to have his supper ready within minutes of his arrival, and a boy is given the task of watching and waiting by the kitchen door. From here, there is a good view of the River Thames with it’s numerous rowing boats, barges and wherrys that carry passengers and goods up and down stream, even at this late hour. They glide past the murky shadows of buildings and alleyways frequented by thieves and beggars, who loiter there each sunset. Voices carry to the far banks where swans huddle together as the gentle swish of the oars stroke the dark lapping water. The air grows colder as the night progresses, and a fog descends, swallowing the shapes and figures so that eventually it cloaks everyone and everything. But inside, Bess has both light and warmth. She peers at intervals through the windows, although she can see nothing.
In the ten months since Bess and George Talbot married, there has been a mixed response at Court to the news. The queen and Bess’ friends all expressed their delight, but there were others who had not been so generous. There is still whispering in corners that Bess is a fortune hunter, a scheming, gold digger who would no doubt see this fourth husband into an early grave too. But other news has been occupying the gossips, which is far more interesting. The country was shocked in May at the news of the Scottish Queen Mary, whose nobles rebelled and forced her to abdicate in favour of her baby son, James. She fled Scotland and is now under guard in the north of England. Meanwhile, Bess has been busy in Derbyshire with her eldest daughter Frances, for the birth of her first grandchild, a daughter they named Elizabeth, who quickly becomes known as Bessie. As soon as she felt Frances and the baby were well enough, Bess travelled to London, anxious to be on hand for George if needed.
At last the lights of the Shrewsbury barge come into view and it moors up silently. The kitchen boy runs back inside to tell the cook, who begins to hastily put the finishing touches to the supper. A servant carries a lit torch as he escorts George to the house, followed by his secretary weighed down with books and documents. Bess hears him speak briefly, then the door opens and he comes towards her with outstretched arms. He looks tired, but smiles at her before they embrace without speaking while the servants are already laying food on the table.
“Come and stand by the fire, you look so cold,” she urges him when he has washed his hands from the silver jug and bowl on the table.
“I would have been home sooner, but I kept being delayed by people stopping me to talk.”
They wait as wine is poured and the servants leave, shutting the door behind them. She cannot contain her curiosity any longer.
“Well, husband, what news do you have?”
He takes a long swig of wine and helps himself to a dish of roasted venison and peacock in jelly. Bess toys with some pickled conger eel, but she cannot eat until she knows what has happened at Court today. George relishes her impatience and wipes his mouth on a napkin, his expression gives nothing away.
“George, please!” she pleads.
This time he looks smug and leans back in his chair.
“You may rest easy, Bess. I have been chosen by her majesty to guard the Scottish Queen Mary. She told me there was no one she could trust as much as me for the task. I am now a member of the Privy Council,” he adds proudly.
“This is wonderful news!” Bess can barely contain her excitement.
“At present Mary is being held at Bolton Castle, as you know. She is shortly to be moved, but it has not been decided where she will go yet.”
“To the Tower of London perhaps?”
“No, that is considered too close to the queen. Sir Francis Walsingham and Sir William Cecil want her to be kept in the country. Tutbury Castle in Staffordshire has been suggested; it was used as a hunting lodge by my family, but needs some work before we take up residence.”
“We, why do you say “we” husband?”
George pours himself some more wine.
“Her majesty is keen for your involvement. We are both to watch Mary and report to Sir Francis Walsingham on what she says and does.”
“Is she truly a threat to the throne?”
“It is believed so, certainly a focus for Catholic unrest. Remember how she called herself Queen of England after the death of her first husband, King Francis?”
“I see.”
“You seem troubled?”
“Not at all, I am just thinking of how this will change our lives.”
“It will not be for long, a year or two at the most.”
“What will happen then?”
“The queen will decide her fate in due course. No doubt marriage to a foreign prince or she may take the veil …”
“That would hardly be appropriate!”
“No, perhaps not. Her alleged involvement with the murder of her second husband Lord Darnley would of course preclude it. That is not for us to worry about. Our task is to guard her well and keep her majesty and Sir Francis informed. It should not be too arduous. The queen will provide an allowance of course. We will have to journey to Tutbury shortly and make preparations. Her majesty has made it clear that Mary is to be accorded every comfort expected for a queen.”
“I long to see her. They say she is very beautiful.”
“Do they?” He says it a little too quickly.
“And very accomplished.”
“You will see her soon enough and be able to judge for yourself. But do not fret my Bess, I only have eyes for you.”
“I should hope so.”
“That is another reason why the queen chose me. I am happily married and unlikely to fall in love with her.”
“I would certainly not wish you to fall in love with anyone!”
George smiles at her indignation, then becomes serious.
“It is said that men are swayed by her beauty and cannot think properly. The queen needs her jailor to be immune to such behaviour. Also of course we are both of the new faith and loyal to the queen. This is a job not without danger, Bess. The Scots and English Catholics believe she is the rightful Queen of England and will stop at nothing to place Mary on the throne. You know already of the attempts on our own queen’s life.”<
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“But think of the prestige it will give us! We shall prove that we are up to the mark. We will rise in her majesty’s estimation. Who knows what other honours she will bestow on you?”
Her eyes shine to think that George has been chosen for this important job, amongst all the others at Court.
“Steady Bess, let us take one step at a time. First we must prepare Tutbury to be fit for a queen. We shall travel there and assess what is needed, there is not much time.”
Bess is already beginning to think of the necessary arrangements. This is an exciting end to their first year of marriage.
Queen Mary stands in the middle of the chamber in Tutbury Castle where she is to be kept under guard and looks at everything with distaste.
“This is an outrage! Am I still to be locked up like a common criminal? It is shameful enough that I am bundled about like an unwanted parcel from place to place. But now you expect me to occupy apartments that are only fit for being pulled down. When am I to see your queen? Is she aware of these appalling conditions?”
George and Bess watch from the chamber door, having escorted her and her ladies from the main gate. Preparations have been hurriedly taking place for the last few weeks to make the castle ready, which is no easy task as it has been empty for years. The journey from Bolton Castle in midwinter has been especially tedious, and the travellers are cold, tired and dispirited. Coach after coach has just driven through the gates of Tutbury, and the courtyard is full of horses and various members of Mary’s court as they disembark and look at the surroundings without enthusiasm. The Chief Guard tells George that Mary had been taken ill en route, and thus delayed their arrival. He adds that it had been very trying to travel under the conditions of security that he was obliged to use, and he is heartily pleased to find they had arrived without mishap. George nods grimly, anxious to move her to safety. After being formally welcomed by the Shrewsburys, she is ushered towards the tower where she is to be lodged. Inside, the fire does little to dispel the chilly temperature and despite her best efforts of bringing tapestries and furniture from Chatsworth, the accommodation is not what Bess would have wished. Studying her charge now, with fascination, she cannot help but think, so this is the queen who has scandalised the country. But Mary does not at this moment seem capable of such behaviour and she often touches the crucifix that hangs round her neck, as if to reassure herself of its presence.