Bess - A Novel

by Georgina Lee

  “Your grace, may I join you?”

  She looks up to see Lord Burghley’s son, Robert Cecil, standing in that awkward way of his beside her.

  “Of course.”

  He half stumbles into the chair and they wait while a servant silently refills their glasses. Robert is physically stunted with a curved back that often gives him pain, although he would never admit to it. His rise in Queen Elizabeth’s Court, under the expert guidance of his father, Lord Burghley, has been nothing short of meteoric, having taken over the duties of Sir Francis Walsingham, after his death last year. At almost thirty years of age, it is widely acknowledged (with bitterness by some) that he has a glittering career at Court ahead of him.

  “Is your father not attending the festivities tonight, Master Cecil?”

  “Alas no, the queen has excused him. He is not in the best of health and retires early each night. I am afraid the times when he works into the early hours of the morning are long gone.”

  He reaches into his silk waistcoat.

  “He asked me to show you this miniature of the Lady Arbella, it is a copy of the one sent to Spain.”

  Bess takes the small gold edged portrait and studies it with interest. “For her proposed marriage to son of the Duke of Palma? It is a fair likeness. I myself commissioned another portrait of her recently, it hangs in my house at Chelsea.”

  “I was sorry to have missed your banquet last week. I hear it was very lavish with no expense spared.”

  She hands back the miniature and smiles at him. “I have been entertaining and seeing my old friends. Now that my finances are in order, I am able to spend as I wish.”

  “And lend money as you wish too.”

  “I help my friends, and am glad to do so.”

  “But you also lend to courtiers so that they may build grand houses for the queen to visit.”

  “You seem to be accusing me of doing something wrong!” She laughs lightly. “Do you not approve?”

  “It is not for me to approve or disapprove, your grace. But you must admit it is very unusual for a woman to have such …” he searches for the word.

  “… wealth? Power? Business acumen?” They both smile and Robert is quick to respond. “My father always said you have a manly understanding of money and business. There are many men who would dearly love to have your grasp of these matters.” He looks around the Hall. “I can name at least half a dozen of such men within a few yards of us.”

  “I shall take that as a compliment,” she says and gazes at him over the rim of her glass. At that moment, he sees a fleeting glimpse of a younger Bess, the one that captured the hearts of her four husbands. But the image fades as quickly as a petal falling from a rose.

  “How long shall we have the pleasure of your company at Court this time?”

  “Long enough to see a decision about my Arbella’s future.”

  He grimaces, and sips his wine.

  “On that subject her majesty will not be drawn. She enjoys the negotiations as you know, not for herself any more, but for others.”

  “As older ladies, you must allow us some diversions.”

  “I would not wish to curtail such activities for you.” His voice is teasing but she realises the light-hearted banter disguises the seriousness of the subject. There are no two ways about it; Arbella is a problem for the queen, who is now well past child bearing, and made it very clear years ago that she will not marry. Many doubt that these negotiations with Spain for the marriage of Arbella will be a success, as it would be unthinkable to allow a foreign power to have control over someone so close to the throne.

  Bess and Robert watch the others for a few minutes in silence. It is the usual scene of expensively clad courtiers, some watching and gossiping, whilst others are dancing energetically, their faces flushed in pleasure. The silver and gold platters of food are being cleared away and taken back to the kitchens by the numerous servants who deftly avoid the Court jester performing some acrobatics. The queen giggles like an empty headed milkmaid with the Earl of Essex and shows no sign of retiring to her bed, although it is nearly midnight. Robert turns back to Bess, his teasing manner gone. “You have been in London for some time now. Are you not curious to see how your building work is progressing in your absence?”

  “By the time I return to Hardwick, the New Hall will be well under construction and the alterations to the Old Hall are nearly complete now. Everything is going well, but I always enjoy my time at Court. I believe I must be one of her majesty’s longest serving ladies-in-waiting.”

  “Certainly, you are of a similar age.”

  “And seen many changes, yes.”

  “Did you hear about the play to be performed tomorrow here at Court?”

  “Written by the playwright Will Shakespeare? About Henry VI is it not?”

  “Yes, you may wish to see it as one of your late husband’s ancestors has a prominent role.”

  Bess is intrigued. “In that case, I should certainly watch it, although I am not a great admirer of the theatre, unlike my sons, especially William.”

  Arbella flounces over to them, her face a picture of abject misery.

  “Whatever is the matter, child?” asks Bess.

  “Sir Walter has gone to dance with Bess Throckmorton again! I was hoping he would dance the Volta with me.”

  “How do you know the steps of that dance? It is not suitable for you.”

  Robert tactfully looks the other way and Arbella gives him a stony glare before sitting down heavily with a loud sigh.

  “Some say those two have been doing a lot more than dancing,” he whispers to Bess.

  “So I hear. There is always some scandal to keep the tongues wagging. I have seen it all before, I am glad to be out of it, but there is some pleasure to watch it from afar.”

  He nods gravely and stands up, bowing with as much grace as can muster. “I beg you would excuse me, countess. Lady Arbella.”

  Arbella ignores him and Bess waits until he is out of earshot.

  “You were very rude just now, Arbella! Robert Cecil cannot help his deformity; you are very un-Christian to treat him so cruelly. It is not the way to behave at all; you must show kindness and be thoughtful to others. Remember everyone is watching you, I cannot emphasise how important it is that you make the best of impressions whilst you are here.”

  She pouts and does not reply, but studies a loose thread on her gown. Exasperated, Bess taps her knuckles sharply with a spoon and Arbella looks up, her eyes brimming with unshed tears.

  “Do try to look happier! How are we ever going to find you a husband if you are never smiling?”

  It is a question that seems unanswerable at the moment.

  Shrewsbury House, Chelsea – April 1592

  Bess and the family have been enjoying themselves in London for the last five months. The proposed marriage with Arbella and the Duke of Palma is no further forward and Bess is becoming increasingly frustrated at the lack of progress. Despite her grandmother’s earlier warning, Arbella is still pining over Robert Devereux, Earl of Essex, although he is now married.

  One spring afternoon Arbella finds herself on her own, Bess having gone shopping with friends; other family members are either out or occupied elsewhere in the house. She is restless, getting up and sitting down again several times an hour as she attempts to read or embroider. The view from the window does not please her, there is little traffic passing through this part of Chelsea. There are few ladies at Court that Bess will allow her to fraternise with, as they are not considered suitable for one reason or another. She has her own ladies-in-waiting, but they are older and always seem to be disapproving of her, no matter what she does. Tired of their veiled looks, she has dismissed them for the rest of the day.

  She idly starts to scratch her initials with her ring on the stone window sill and has got as far as completing the letter A when she hears the clatter of horses hooves and a rider stops outside the house to dismount. To her horror and delight, she sees it is the
Earl of Essex, and pulls back quickly from the window. There is a knock at the front door and after a moment, the butler comes into the chamber, his face showing disapproval.

  “His Grace, the Earl of Essex is here, highness.”

  “To see me?”

  “Yes, highness. I have informed him that her grace is not at home, but he wishes to stay nonetheless. Do you wish me to show him in?”

  “Certainly, and bring us some refreshment.”

  Arbella rushes over to the looking glass to check her appearance. She wishes now that she had worn a different gown; he has surely seen this one before. When the butler announces him, Arbella literally goes weak at the knees, and has to hold on to a chair for support. He grins at her as if such a reaction is quite what he expected.

  “Lady Arbella.” Giving a sweeping bow he removes his hat, and she responds with a curtsey before gesturing for him to sit down opposite her.

  “No, I shall sit next to you, all the better to admire your beauty.”

  She flushes and fingers her necklace.

  “This is an unexpected surprise, your grace.”

  “Will you not call me Robert?”

  “Very well, you may call me Arbella. My lady grandmother is out, I do not know when she will return.”

  “I have not come to see your grandmother.”

  He lights the tobacco in his pipe that most men seem to smoke nowadays, and inhales deeply before placing his arm along the back of the chair.

  “My lady grandmother does not like the smoke from pipes.” Arbella looks worried. “I fear you will have to put it out.”

  “Just one smoke will not hurt,” is his reply and gives her his most inviting look. “Is the countess out spending her vast wealth again? They say she must have spent over £5,000 so far during this visit. How vulgar!”

  She looks shocked to hear him speak so freely and he laughs. “Why do you not accompany her? I have yet to meet a woman who does not like to shop and spend money.”

  “I spend more than enough time in her company, I do not seek it out.”

  “No, I do not suppose you do,” he replies thoughtfully. “It must be hard for you, especially as you are so young and alive.”

  A servant appears with a tray of sweetmeats and wine, she places it in front of them and curtseys before closing the door quietly behind herself. They pick up their glasses and Arbella begins to nibble on some marchpane.

  “It is to be regretted that despite our noble births, we are at the mercy of others all the time,” he says.

  “Yes, I long to be able to choose my own destiny.”

  “You should be able to do so, and to marry where you choose, whether it be prince or pauper.”

  She wrinkles her nose. “I shall not marry a pauper.”

  “If you loved him, surely that would be enough. Love would overcome all difficulties.”

  “That is easy to say. Anyway, I never meet any men I would wish to fall in love with.”

  “You have met me,” he teases. “Am I not your idea of the perfect man?”

  To emphasise his point, he places the pipe on the table and in a swift movement he is kneeling on the floor in front of her.

  “I hardly know …”

  Embarrassed, she looks down, and he puts his hand under her chin to tilt it up again.

  “I am sorry Arbella, I must not tease you, it is unfair. You and I are alone here, we could do anything we chose to do.”

  Their eyes lock and his gaze is hypnotic; she cannot break away from it.

  “Anything at all,” he repeats and gently strokes her cheek.

  Arbella is feeling faint with desire for him and as his face looms closer, she feels his other hand sliding up the inside of her gown with practised ease.

  “But Robert, your wife …” Her voice of protest is nothing but a whisper.

  “Shhhh …” Their lips are now almost touching and she cannot stop herself from kissing him, something she has wanted to do since that shameful day he escorted her into chapel. She has never been kissed by a man before and she experiences a tantalizing glimpse of what she is missing.

  Suddenly the mood is shattered as the door is flung open and Bess stands on the threshold, her face a mixture of surprise and anger. The pair look dumbstruck and quickly separate, Robert springing to his feet, and Arbella blushing deeply.

  “Arbella, go to your room!” she barks, standing aside for her to pass. Arbella runs out without a glance at either of them. Bess takes her time and shuts the door before looking at him with contempt.

  “So my Earl of Essex! Is this how you behave when I am not here?”

  “You misunderstand, countess, I meant no harm, truly.” He picks up his hat, which has fallen to the floor.

  “You have acted without any respect for my granddaughter, who is still of tender years and …”

  “… hardly tender, she is seventeen, old enough to be a woman and one with passions and desires.”

  “Which you have tried to take advantage of!”

  “She seemed very willing to me,” he replies lazily.

  “How dare you suggest that Lady Arbella has encouraged you! I have a good mind to tell the queen of this attempted seduction. I do not think you would be so much in the royal favour then!”

  “You must do as you please, but I doubt the queen would take any action against me. In case you did not know, I can do no wrong in her eyes.” Placing his hat on his head at a jaunty angle, he checks it in the looking glass and she watches with narrowed eyes.

  “People like you at Court will soon be dead,” he tells her. “Your time is nearly over and a new order is coming. Arbella and I will be at the centre of it all. Your days are numbered, countess.”

  “On the contrary, it is your days that are numbered. You are a man with little judgement, and much arrogance. Your famous good looks, charm and birthright have brought you thus far, but I do not see a future for you.”

  “What would you know? An old lady in her dotage!”

  “I have seen decades of life at court and I know who is going to win, and who will lose. You are a loser, and your ambition will be the undoing of you.”

  “So you can foretell the future! Your ambition does not seem to have done you any harm.”

  “My ambition did not pose a threat to the throne of England.”

  “Really? By marrying your daughter to Charles Stuart?”

  “There is a big difference between you and me. I am loyal to the queen and you only have loyalty to yourself.”

  “Come, let us not part on bad terms. We could be useful to one another. If I promise not to seduce your little one, can we be friends?”

  He has moved closer and she detects the smell of leather and musk.

  “I do not wish to be your enemy,” replies Bess carefully.

  “Good, we are in agreement. I bid you good day, countess.”

  He bows before leaving, nonchalant and supremely self-confident, she is not at all surprised that her granddaughter is smitten with him. Going to the bottom of the stairs and looking up, she sees Arbella crouched at the top, evidently trying to listen to every word that has been exchanged.

  “Come downstairs, child.”

  Arbella uncurls herself and descends slowly, apparently deep in thought.

  “Are you all right?” Bess asks and beckons for her to come closer.

  “I am, thank you, lady grandmother.” She does not go to Bess but stands a few feet away, her arms stiffly by her side.

  “Did anything happen between the two of you?”

  “No.”

  “How long had the earl been here?”

  “Not long.”

  “You did not invite him did you?”

  “No.”

  Bess sighs that she is not more forthright. “You must not be alone with the earl again. I have already told you that you are not to become close to him and you know the reason. If I had not disturbed you, I shudder to think what would have happened.”

  Arbella is staring at
the floor, then she looks at Bess who is shocked by the fierce passion in her eyes. “I could have married him! Why was he not put forward as a suitor for me?”

  “No child, you could not have married him. That would not have been possible.”

  “Why not?”

  “The queen would not have given permission,” replies Bess wearily, tired of always being asked the same question and having to give the same unsatisfactory answer.

  “You did not get permission for my parents.”

  “That was different.”

  “Neither of you want me to be happy!” she shouts. “I like Robert, he makes me feel good and he understands me as no one else does. You are jealous, both of you! I am young, pretty and clever! You are two ugly, old women who take pleasure in spoiling my life!”

  There is a resounding slap as Bess’ right hand finds sharp contact with Arbella’s left cheek. In the few seconds of stunned silence that follows, Arbella’s eyes start to fill with tears before she runs upstairs, her sobs reaching hysterical wails by the time she is out of sight.

  Bess is shaking with emotion. She has never raised her hand to her own daughters and certainly not to her grandchildren until now. Going to her chamber and shutting the door firmly, she sits at her desk, alone and pensive, drumming her fingers on the wood. She feels no pride in what she has done, but Arbella was rude and what she said was very unpleasant. If anyone was to hear her speak of the queen with such hatred, the consequences do not bear thinking about. With a terrible sense of guilt, Bess realises that because she has spoilt and indulged her so much, this behaviour cannot all be blamed on Arbella alone. She hopes it is not too late to put it right.

  The return journey back to Derbyshire is leisurely, as Bess has acknowledged to herself that this will be her last visit to Court and she makes the most of it. She parts from the main convoy and stays with Sir Christopher Hatton’s heir, Sir William, overnight. Then she is welcomed at the home of her daughter, Frances and son-in-law Henry, who are planning the imminent wedding of their daughter, Grace. Bess provides the dowry of £700, together with money for the two newlyweds to set up home. Her last visit is to another old friend, Sir Francis Willoughby, who has recently completed elaborate alterations to his house, which Bess wishes to see, as she is looking for decorating ideas for the New Hall, not yet complete. By the time her coach arrives at Hardwick, she is eager to put her plans into action.