by Georgina Lee
“She can do no wrong in my husband’s eyes.”
“Is that so? You are not jealous of them are you?”
Bess pauses, torn between her pride and an honest answer.
“I find it hard to see them together. You will think me foolish.”
“Not at all. We all know the Scots Queen’s character and her capabilities.”
“He spends a great deal of time with her. I do not know what they find to discuss.”
“How do you know this? I hear you are with them but seldom.”
“I am told by my servants, who are very loyal to me. When I do go there, I feel an outsider, as if I am an intruder. Our days of sewing together are long gone.”
“Perhaps that is just as well. I would not wish you to become too friendly with her.”
“There is no danger of that your majesty, for I find I have a strong dislike for her.”
“There is much to dislike. But perhaps you should spend more time at Sheffield or wherever she is being held, then you would see for yourself and take steps to distance them from one another.”
“I have spent much time in the past and neglected my other duties and businesses, which I have been content to do, as it was by your gracious command …”
“But now …?”
“I wish to be at home, with my family at Chatsworth. I serve no purpose now as a jailor to the Scots Queen, she tells me nothing when I do see her, and our relationship is very strained.”
“I see.”
“It dates back to when she wrote to you, my lord, and accused me of scheming and telling lies. I truly believe she wishes to cause conflict between my husband and myself.”
“This is the sort of situation that I was hoping to avoid.” The queen frowns and looks at Lord Burghley for affirmation.
“It must be hard for you, countess,” he says. “But to reassure you, we do not take her words seriously, you need not be concerned.”
She looks doubtful. “There is nothing I can do to stop the Scots Queen, but I do try to be a good wife, if only my husband would allow me to live again with him.”
The queen takes her hand and her voice is kind.
“You have carried out your duty and have done it well. The Scots Queen remains a threat to my throne, but I know the earl will continue his vigilance. I have been reflecting on your daughter Elizabeth, I was angry with the marriage at first, it should not have taken place without my permission …”
Bess lowers her eyes and prepares for her wrath.
“… but time moves on. How is she coping with widowhood?”
“Elizabeth is a worry to me. Since the death of her husband she has hardly eaten or slept, but stares all day through the window at the river and trees. She hardly acknowledges Arbella, and leaves her care to myself or the nurse.”
“What does your physician say?”
“He has not been able to help. He says she has a form of madness brought on by the shock of Charles’ death. He says women are sometimes afflicted after the birth of a child.”
“And his treatment?”
“He recommends shaving her head and bleeding.”
The queen instinctively touches her red wig. “Oh! I hope that has not been carried out!”
“No, I would not allow it. I believe in time, she will find her path in life once more; she has lost her way, that is all. We will look after her and make sure she is cared for, with plenty of rest and good food, but it breaks my heart to see her thus.”
Tears begin to swell in her eyes and the queen leans forward to put her arm around her friend.
“Do not distress yourself, Bess. I am sure that all will be well in the end.”
They are silent for a moment as Bess struggles to regain her composure. “Forgive me, your majesty.”
“Not at all. It must be a great trial for you. You have not told me of Lady Arbella, how old is the child now?”
“She is but two years of age and the bonniest little soul you can imagine!” At the mention of her granddaughter, Bess’ eyes light up, her tears momentarily forgotten. “She is a source of such joy to me, and I see her every day. I have just had a portrait of her commissioned and it hangs at Chatsworth. I am every day hopeful that your majesty will visit us soon. Derbyshire is not so far, and I have some splendid building work to show you.”
“I should like to visit your beloved Chatsworth, Bess, I feel I am missing something very special. It is finding the time to come that is difficult. But I shall try at the end of our summer progress. It is not so far from Buxton, I believe?”
“A days ride in the summer, with good weather, your majesty. And we are honoured that the Earl of Leicester is to take the waters at Buxton and stay with us.”
“I shall think on it and speak to Lord Burghley.”
He smiles at her encouragingly and Bess decides to press on with other important issues.
“May I be so bold as to ask you of another matter? The Scottish government is refusing to acknowledge Arbella’s claim to the Lennox title …”
“Yes, I believe that is the case.”
“I would be most grateful for your majesty’s help in this matter. I have written several times and pleaded on her behalf, but I know that your intervention would carry so much more weight. She is the legal heir, daughter of Charles Stuart, she should have what is rightfully hers without question.”
“Of course. I will do what I can Bess, but you know I have no jurisdiction over the Scots. I can only appeal to their better nature. But we shall invite Lady Arbella to Court when she is older.”
“Thank you, your majesty. I shall pray for a satisfactory outcome.”
“We shall speak again. You will dine with me tonight.”
They both get up and Bess curtseys once more.
“I am your devoted servant, as always.”
The ladies-in-waiting, who have been watching from the corner, immediately stand and follow her through the door. Bess breathes a sigh of relief that the meeting has gone well and accompanies Lord Burghley out of the chamber. They pass through the throng of courtiers who are still standing idly and gossiping. Having noted Bess’ relaxed demeanour, it is concluded that the queen has been lenient towards the Countess of Shrewsbury, and that she is still welcome at Court. Some smile as she passes by, and she thinks how fickle they are, one minute condemning her, the next fawning over her.
“Are you in good health, my lord?” She notices that he leans more heavily on his staff than previously.
“I have been better, countess. My duties continue to occupy me by day and night.”
“Her majesty relies on you, I know you work harder than ever.”
He gives her one of his rare smiles. “I think there are few people who would be allowed to enjoy the favour of the queen after such an event as your daughter’s wedding. You were wise to stay away until the dust had settled.”
“I am favoured indeed, I never forget it.”
“Her majesty admires your determination. You have a strength of character unusual to most of your sex. That you have been chosen as a wife by two of her majesty’s most loyal subjects, speaks louder than any words of praise.”
“You are very kind, my lord”
They have reached the door of his study and he holds the door open for her. “But your husband writes to me about you almost daily. I would speak with you now, please come in. Some wine, countess?” he indicates to the servant, who pours two goblets and leaves them alone. They sit and Bess waits for him to speak first.
“It is not a task I relish, that of intermediary between a married couple, but I hope as a long standing friend of you both, you will allow me to speak freely.”
She nods, and he takes a deep breath, clearly embarrassed.
“The earl tells me that you are extravagant, always wanting more money for your family and building work. He says that you have deliberately gone against his wishes several times, and complains that that you are coming between him and his son, Gilbert.”
She is mortified;
it is unbelievable to her that George has been writing about their marriage to a third party. But when she answers, her voice is strong and gives no hint of her inner turmoil. “My husband was upset about Elizabeth’s marriage at the time and chastised me for my part in bringing it about. I have promised him that I will not do such a thing again without his approval and I have kept my word. I am entitled under our Marriage Settlement to payments from him, and there are amounts outstanding. He says he does not have it to give, which I find unlikely. As for Gilbert, it is true that on occasions he takes my side instead of his father’s, which does brings difficulties, but I cannot help it if he feels more empathy with me than his father. These are domestic matters common to all families, I cannot think why he is taking up your valuable time with it.”
Lord Burghley is not comfortable about mentioning this matter to Bess, but he has agreed to speak to her in order to pacify George. He shifts in his seat before continuing. “He seems to think you are the cause of all his problems.”
“How can I be? I am not responsible for everything.”
“I agree, but he has somehow got it into his head that you are. He also blames your son Charles, for coming between Gilbert and himself. I hear they are still close since they were educated together.”
“He has bothered you with this pettiness? I am sure you do not wish to be burdened with our problems. You have great matters of state that are far more important.”
“He also writes to her majesty and the Earl of Leicester about your troubles.”
Bess is now incredulous and beginning to become angry with George. Lord Burghley wishes he had never started this embarrassing interview. He spreads his hands in a gesture of finality.
“I think enough has been said. I would not presume to offer advice to either of you. You are now aware of your husband’s views, I cannot do more.”
“May I ask how often my husband writes to you?”
“Almost daily. His letters have increased in number and complaint since last year when his daughter Catherine died,” he hesitates, unsure if he should continue.
“What is it my lord?”
“Have you noticed any change in his behaviour lately?”
“I am not sure of your meaning.”
“There is something about what he writes that is … not right.”
“He has been very tired of late.” Bess tries to think. “He still frets over the cost of the Scots Queen to his purse and his gout and arthritis still give him much pain.”
“This is different. I have noticed an irritability in his letters, a lack of patience, an irrational thread that runs through all his correspondence.”
“He is irritable yes, but who would not be with such ailments?”
“You are probably right, I am imagining it. Forgive me Bess; I wanted to mention it to you whilst you are here at Court. I fear I may have made matters worse.”
“No, you have not. I appreciate your frankness and I am glad you have spoken to me about it. I will try to find out what is troubling him. I am sorry that you have been bothered, I had no idea that he was writing to you.”
“I hope you will not allow my words to affect our friendship.”
“Of course not,” she murmurs. “Thank you, my lord. I realise it has not been easy for you to discuss this matter with me.” They both stand and he responds to her curtsey with a formal bow. In the corridor outside she tries to calm her thoughts then looks down in puzzlement at her hand, which feels wet. She has been clenching her fist so tightly that she has drawn blood.
1577
The talk with Lord Burghley has disturbed Bess more than she cares to admit. She longs to speak to George about it, but that conversation will have to wait until she sees him. In the meantime, she stays at Court for a few more weeks, enjoying the atmosphere and spending time with her old friends such as Dorothy and Blanche. There are the usual banquets and masked balls to entertain visiting dignitaries, the opportunity to buy and show off the latest fashions, and to see others and be seen. As always, gossip and intrigue is rife and, despite her promise, it is a chance for Bess to indulge in some speculative matchmaking, a subject still close to her heart. But at the end of the visit, she is ready to return to Derbyshire and entertain the Earl of Leicester, who is to take the waters at Buxton. His health has been poor lately and the queen has given instructions to George for his diet. He is to stay at Chatsworth on his way back to London and his presence will be a great coup for the Shrewsburys, with the surrounding Derbyshire nobility anxious to be included on their guest list. On the morning of his expected arrival, the house is in a flurry of activity.
“Hurry, his grace will be here soon,” Bess orders her servants as they put the finishing touches to the bedchamber prepared for him.
“Is everything ready?” George comes in from outside, having scanned the park for signs of their guest’s entourage.
“I think so.”
She looks around and gives a nod of satisfaction, dismissing the servants. The earl is to be given the best accommodation that Chatsworth has to offer, and Bess hopes the queen will stay in it one day. There is an elaborately carved oak bed, which dominates the chamber, lavishly hung with thick scarlet damask curtains. Soft featherbed mattresses are covered with sweetly scented linen sheets, embroidered with the Shrewsbury Coat of Arms. Brightly coloured tapestries of biblical scenes have been hung around the walls and new woven rush matting placed underfoot. Bowls of dried lavender sit on the windowsill and vases of delicate pink roses fill the air with their lingering scent. A silver edged looking glass hangs on the wall opposite a large oil painting of the queen, beneath which is a table bearing a silver ewer, basin and comb, together with several linen towels. A large chest has been covered with Bess’ favourite Turkish carpet, taken from her own chamber and a close stool in the corner completes the accommodation. A door to a small chamber leads to where his servant will sleep. Less ornate bedchambers have been prepared for the other gentlemen in the party.
“I hope all goes well,” George fingers the curtains nervously.
“It will,” Bess responds confidently. “It must. I have long waited for such a visit. The Earl of Leicester is the nearest we have to a king, and we will be one step nearer to the queen herself coming here. She was very positive when I spoke to her about it.”
“You are aware that he has permission to meet the Scottish Queen.”
“That will be an interesting encounter.”
“In what way?”
“Well, to see how he responds to her charms, of course. Most men seem to be smitten, even yourself.”
“What do you mean?” he replies angrily, reddening.
Bess walks over to join him at the window and avoids his gaze. “You spend a great deal of time with her. I have seen how you fawn over her, yes, your majesty and no, your majesty. It makes me sick to my stomach.”
“I do no such thing! I have to watch her; you know that is my task! I most certainly do not fawn over her as you say. Your imagination is overactive. I care nothing for her other than she is my prisoner.”
Bess turns to face him and her voice was icy. “You can deny it all you choose, I know what I see with my own eyes.”
“Nonsense!”
“I still cannot forgive you for writing about our troubles as you did. It is so disloyal to discuss our private lives with others.”
“Oh do not start about this again! You have made your feelings very clear since you arrived back from Court.
“Why should I not? I was so angry, have you stopped writing and complaining about me and Charles?”
“I shall stop when you cease your endless demands for money, and you behave like a wife should do to her husband.”
“I cannot do more! What is it you expect of me? To agree with your every thought? To have no mind of my own?”
“Now you are being foolish.”
“When was the last time I asked you for money? I wager it is so long ago that you cannot even remember.”
He gives a grunt of displeasure and sits on the bed.
“Do not sit there!” she shouts. “You will crease it before he arrives!”
Scowling, he gets to his feet and listens impatiently as Bess continues, her strident voice carrying through the open window.
“You do not pay me what I am due, you have broken your word to me and I have no redress. All you do is complain about me to everyone, it is so humiliating! No doubt you discuss me with the Scots Queen as well …”
“I do no such thing!”
“Of course you do – I can imagine the two of you, all cosy in her chamber while I am at Chatsworth. What do you tell her about us?”
George does not get a chance to reply as a servant comes running in, slightly breathless.
“Your graces, the Earl of Leicester approaches.”
“Tell the other servants to take their places,” Bess orders. “Come husband, let us do all well for this important guest. Nothing must mar this visit.”
George looks at her in bewilderment. He cannot cope with sudden changes in mood. Without replying, he brushes past her, his fingers gripping his stick awkwardly and they hurry downstairs to the courtyard.
A group of six gentlemen are dismounting from their horses, as Bess and George appear to welcome them. The Earl of Leicester is not mounted, but sits on a litter; the bandage on his leg hides a painful boil. Servants rush forward to help him and Bess curtseys deeply, her face a wreath of smiles.
“Your grace, we are deeply honoured by your visit to our humble home. You and your friends are most welcome.”
“Bess, you are kindness itself.” He steadies himself and reaches for her hand, kissing it gallantly.
“And your husband, good day to you.”
He gives a courtly bow towards George who bows in return.
“You know my brother of course, and may I present my fellow travellers, all fit and well after taking the Buxton waters and enjoying a very strict diet.” His eyes are twinkling in amusement. There is general laughter at this comment, which Bess understands to mean the opposite. George regards them stony-faced as he bows again, missing the joke.