by Georgina Lee
A few weeks after this nocturnal visit, Bess presents herself at Mary’s door one morning with the usual intention of sewing with her. She is greeted by one of her ladies, looking very concerned.
“Our queen is ill, your grace; she has a fever and we cannot rouse her.”
“Take me to her.” Bess follows them to Mary’s bedside and is shocked at her appearance. Lying inert on the bed, her breathing is shallow and drops of perspiration trickle down her flushed face.
“Are there signs of … ?”
The lady-in-waiting is quick to reassure her.
“No, we do not think it is the plague, there is no rash or swelling.”
Bess looks relieved as such an illness is always of great concern and usually fatal, also it would spread like wildfire amongst everyone.
“I will send for our physician.”
“No, your grace, she would not wish to see your physician; her majesty has her own, here amongst her Court. He knows her well and she would want him to treat her.”
“Very well. You may tell the guard to summon him at once.”
Within minutes the physician appears, followed closely by George, who pulls Bess over to the corner.
“What is wrong with her?”
“She looks very ill, but there are no plague symptoms, praise be to God. Her physician will be here shortly. I suggest you wait outside, for the ladies do not approve of you being here.”
He glances round the chamber and sure enough, Mary’s ladies are eyeing him disapprovingly, so he leaves quickly. Bess and the physician emerge after an hour, the latter looking full of his own self-importance. He is a stocky little man with a habit of licking his lips before speaking in his broad Scottish accent.
“Well, what is your diagnosis?” George asks anxiously as he locks the door again.
“Can we talk privately?”
“Downstairs,” replies George curtly and leads the way.
Once in the privacy of a chamber away from Mary’s apartments, the physician turns to them gravely.
“My queen is seriously ill and I blame the conditions under which she is kept to be responsible. It is most disgraceful that she is locked up and denied freedom. The strain of such a life is affecting her majesty’s health, which has never been robust. I have never seen her as bad as she is today …”
George holds up his hands impatiently, “… what is your diagnosis?”
“My diagnosis,” he emphasises each syllable with a haughty stare at him, “is that Queen Mary is suffering from an imbalance of the humours, caused by her unsuitable and inappropriate captivity by yourselves. This has weakened her body and she has succumbed to the epidemic of influenza that has been claiming victims throughout the land for the last eighteen months. I have seen all the symptoms before. This is very alarming and you would do well to inform your queen at once.”
“And your treatment?” Bess speaks before George, who looks too stunned to respond. The physician turns his gaze on Bess with reluctance.
“My treatment will consist of bleeding and purging. Her majesty will need a special diet that I myself will formulate. I will also consult the stars to ascertain the most propitious time to act. She will need constant attendance day and night.”
“Will she survive?” George finds his voice at last, although it is little more than a whisper.
“If God is willing,” he replies coldly.
“We shall do all to help in this matter,” Bess tells him. “You must inform us how we may be of assistance for her majesty to recover. Her health is most precious to us.”
He looks disbelievingly at Bess before bowing to them both.
“I must return to my patient. You will be told what is required shortly.”
The physician leaves them and George sits down heavily in his chair.
“This is a calamity! You know this influenza epidemic has killed thousands of people. God’s bones! What will they say in London? How has she caught it? No one else is ill.”
“You must write to Sir Francis at once,” she pauses, her face thoughtful. “She would be far more comfortable at Chatsworth.”
“No, I am not moving her again.” George shakes his head. “Every time I dread an ambush from her supporters.”
“How will they possibly know? If we move her tomorrow it will be quite safe. It is only eight miles and the roads are good at the moment.”
“I am very reluctant, Bess.”
“Husband, she cannot be properly cared for here. The number of her household has doubled which has given us the same problem with the privies as we had at Tutbury. It would only be for a week or so to give enough time for sweetening of the privies here, then she can return if she is well enough.”
He still looks doubtful but she continues.
“Now that most of her Court are boarded out, they will not need to come here during the day so that will help the situation.”
“I suppose what you say does make sense.”
“I think it is for the best, I will make the arrangements and inform the Chief Guard. Will you tell her or shall I?”
“You can tell her.”
He does not want to face the stern Scottish faces in Mary’s bedchamber twice in one day and sits down at his desk.
“All will be well, George,” she reassures him before leaving.
“You have more faith than I,” he replies and picks up his quill to write again to Sir William Cecil. He is finding the care of Mary ever more troublesome.
As soon as permission is granted, the whole household moves to Chatsworth where Mary slowly recovers from the influenza. Thankfully only a handful of the household succumb to it as well, much to the relief of everyone. Bess is able to enjoy some time at home, a rare luxury these days. The house is quiet, the children are all away. Henry is at Court, acting as a gentleman page for the Earl of Leicester, William is studying at Cambridge and Charles is still a pupil at Eton. Elizabeth and Mary are serving as gentlewomen in different noble households, as Bess did. They will learn the social skills required at Court and make important friendships and contacts that will help them in later life. Frances and little Bessie, living nearby, visit whenever they can.
Bess has time again to devote herself to the administration of her lands and properties, spending hours once more with Joseph as they work to keep the books and accounts balanced. She misses the challenge and stimulation of the work, but George is not so happy. He considers the security at Chatsworth to be inferior, and is constantly checking on the guards and locks, scanning the road for signs of an approaching kidnap attempt and is generally on edge all the time. It is a relief for him when everyone is back at Wingfield again.
One afternoon, not long after their return, he is standing in the Hall talking to his manservant when there is the sound of fast approaching horse hooves through the open front door. The servant goes to look, as George waits, his face tense.
“It is the rider from the queen, your grace.”
They watch as he dismounts, taking some letters from the leather pouch round his body. The rider has spared no horses to arrive at Wingfield in the shortest time. Dishevelled and dirty, he doffs his cap and hands the letters to George, who quickly opens the one bearing the Royal Seal. Starting to read it, he frowns. The rider clears his throat and George looks up in annoyance.
“You may go,” he tells him sharply.
The servant indicates for the rider to follow him to the kitchen, where he will be given some refreshment after his long ride. The letter is brief, but to the point, and he swears under his breath.
“Bess! Bess? Where are you?” He begins to walk towards her study.
“She is outside, your grace,” one of the servants replies, as she carries some linen upstairs.
He finds Bess in the rose garden, talking to the gardener.
“Read this!” he fumes and hands her the queen’s letter. The gardener bows his head and tactfully disappears out of sight. Bess scans it quickly then looks at him angrily.
&n
bsp; “So her majesty has finally discovered that the Duke of Norfolk and the Scottish Queen were planning to marry – and she blames you for not informing her.”
“Why am I to take the blame? Cecil, Walsingham and Leicester all knew about it. Not one of them had the guts to tell her!”
“How did she find out?”
“I do not know; but it was bound to happen sooner or later.”
“I can well imagine the queen’s rage. Now she orders us to take Mary back to Tutbury.”
“To punish her, I imagine. But look …” he jabs at the last sentence with his arthritic finger.
“Lord Huntingdon is to come and ‘assist’ me! What an insult!”
“Perhaps she thinks you are still recovering from your recent illness.”
“Her majesty knows I am quite well now. I have written several times to reassure her. No, it is a deliberate undermining of my authority. This is the thanks I get!”
“It is an insult to both of us.”
“How can the queen question my trust and loyalty?”
“I know, husband. It is very unfair,” she replies and touches his shoulder.
They stand dejectedly for a few moments, with George barely able to contain his fury. “The implication is that I am not capable of this task.”
“I am trying to remember the appearance of this Lord Huntingdon; do you know him?”
“We met briefly, a few years ago. He is a strutting peacock, he will relish this opportunity to show off his authority, damn him!”
“He will be here tomorrow, that does not give us long.”
“Oh my Bess, what a task we have been given!”
She can think of nothing that will comfort him and suggest they go back inside. Bess had been due to sew with Mary that afternoon, but somehow she does not have the will for it now and shuts herself in her study with her paperwork and instructions that she is not to be disturbed. George wanders around the house and gardens, finding fault with anything and everyone wherever possible. From their upstairs window, Mary and her ladies watch and listen, but it doesn’t take them long to find out what has made their jailors so annoyed. The household waits with a sense of dread for the arrival of the Earl of Huntingdon.
By noon the following morning, their newly arrived guest and his pistol carrying men have made a thorough search of Mary’s chamber. Drawers are pulled out and upturned, their contents thrown on the floor, rugs lifted, boxes and chests opened and examined, even the clothes of her ladies are rifled through, much to their chagrin. They have been given no explanation for the search, and after the respectful handling by the Shrewsburys; they are shocked at the violence of the actions. Mary herself stands apart from it all. After her initial surprise, she is now calm.
“What is it that you seek to find?” she asks. Bess and George wait in the doorway, both fuming in silence. The Earl of Huntingdon has not been swayed by Mary’s looks, and is not intimidated by her royal status. He has been given his orders and will carry them out, to the letter. “Do you have something to hide?” he asks brusquely.
“I have nothing to hide,” Mary responds quietly. “You may search all you wish, you will not find anything.”
He grunts and after another ten minutes, has to admit defeat.
“Queen Elizabeth gave orders for your chambers to be thoroughly searched.”
“For what reason?”
He gestures for the men to leave. Bess and George move out of the way, regarding them with annoyance.
“Do not pretend you do not know the reason, madam!”
There is a gasp from Bess to hear Mary addressed in this way and George can remain silent no longer.
“You forget yourself Huntingdon! You are addressing an anointed queen.”
He ignores George and stands threateningly in front of Mary.
“The proposed marriage between yourself and the Duke of Norfolk has come to the attention of Queen Elizabeth who is extremely displeased. No one of royal blood may marry in England without the permission of our queen. Perhaps you had forgotten that you are now a prisoner on English soil?”
“I am hardly likely to do so am I?”
“The Earl of Shrewsbury tells me that your household numbers sixty or more attendants. That is far too great a number. You will have to reduce it to thirty by the end of the week.” He walks toward the door. “Oh, and you are to return to Tutbury as soon as possible.” At this, Mary’s face looks crestfallen. He pauses in front of the Shrewsburys.
“I suspect some of your servants of being sympathetic to the Scottish Queen, they are to be dismissed at once.”
George and Bess can only look at him in resentful mortification. He then turns on his heel and strides out of Mary’s apartments, leaving everyone to come to terms with the imminent new regime.
There is worse to come though. The Earl of Huntingdon is waiting for them in the Hall. He accuses Bess of being too friendly with Mary, and that both of them treat her with too much affection.
“I have treated the Scottish Queen with respect, as is her due,” Bess replies firmly.
“You spend every day in her presence. She has given you gifts,” he says meaningfully.
“We sew together, that is all. She has to pass the time somehow. I have a few small trinkets from her, it is true.”
“Can you deny that you enjoy her company?”
“Where are these questions leading? Is it a crime if I enjoy sewing with her?” Bess is becoming even angrier and suspects that the Earl of Huntingdon has taken too much on himself. George stands beside her, his face like thunder.
“Countess, you and your husband have incurred the queen’s displeasure. This plan to marry the Duke of Norfolk can never come to anything. Did you encourage it?”
“Of course not!” George opens his mouth to speak but Bess holds up her hand to silence him.
“Our orders are to treat the Scots Queen with the respect and dignity her royal personage demands. At the same time, we are to watch her and report back on anything that could be regarded as dangerous. How are we supposed to do that if we do not spend time with her?”
“There has been far too much freedom allowed. Well, that is all going to change. We leave for Tutbury as soon as possible.”
“It will take a few days to organise the move,” Bess says defiantly. “We have carried out our duties to the best of our ability. Queen Elizabeth will not find anyone who is more loyal and trustworthy than my husband and I. You have performed your duties here with no finesse whatsoever. I will be going to London myself shortly and I shall speak to Sir William Cecil about your behaviour. I’ll warrant he will not be pleased with you.”
There is an awkward silence then Huntingdon gives a short laugh.
“Speak to whom you choose, countess. Like you, I am also just doing my duty. Make the arrangements to leave as soon as possible.” Powerless to protest, they watch him leave and look at one another.
“I did not know you were planning to go to London.” George sounds peeved.
“I was not, but I think it would be a good idea. We can put our case directly to the queen. We need to tell our side of the story.”
“But you will help the move back to Tutbury first?”
“Of course, I would not leave you to do that on your own.”
George looks at her gratefully. He leans on the stick he had started to use and pulls himself up with some effort.
“Is your gout troubling you again?”
“It never really leaves me. My arthritis has got worse these last few days too.”
“Shall I recall the physician?”
“No, Bess, he can do nothing. I am getting old.”
“Indeed you are not, we are of an age.”
“Yes, but you are the picture of health, sweetheart.”
It is true. Bess at forty-two looks years younger than her husband, who is only a year older. The contrast between them has begun to show only months after they had started to have the custody of Mary.
“I w
ish I could do more to help you, but I do have business interests that need my attention,” she tells him.
“Yes, as do I.” They begin to walk along the corridor. “But you must go to Court and see everyone. You must put our case most strongly. I only wish I could go with you, instead of which I have to suffer the company of Huntingdon. Think of me when you are enjoying the diversions of the Court.” His voice has become full of self-pity and Bess has to stop herself from tutting at him. Instead, she promises him that she will, and hurries away to prepare for the journey.
Bess has been glad of an excuse to travel to London after the months of being tied to supervising Mary. After the household has been moved back to Tutbury, she loses no time in making arrangements to leave. George is envious and keeps saying he wishes he could go with her. She promises to try and limit the damage done by the Duke of Norfolk’s proposal and to write to him every day. He watches as she settles into the Shrewsbury coach with Agnes at her side, and the retinue makes its way along the narrow road until they are out of sight. He goes to his study and shuts the door, feeling very sorry for himself. Their journey proceeds with relative ease, and by the end of the week they are comfortably accommodated in private chambers close to the queen’s apartments. Bess promised George that her visit would be as short as possible, so Agnes is sent out shopping on her behalf to the newly built Royal Exchange in Cornhill. Here she will buy from the many shops such as haberdashers, milliners and apothecaries. Bess loves to shop, but she will have to wait until her next visit to browse for herself. She has requested an audience with the queen, Sir William Cecil and Sir Francis Walsingham, which is scheduled for the following morning. The court is full of the news that Duke of Norfolk has been sent to the Tower in disgrace. But the gossips say the queen has calmed down by now, much to Bess’ relief. As the queen’s diary is very busy, she can only spare half an hour, so Bess knows she will not have long to put her case. After breakfast they assemble in the Privy Council chamber and once the usual pleasantries are over, Bess hastens to reassure them.