by Georgina Lee
“My lord, her grace is asking for you, she is very agitated.”
William puts down his spoon at once and runs upstairs to his mother’s bedchamber, Mistress Digby following behind at a slower pace. When they reach the bed, Bess raises her hand and looks at him fretfully.
“I must talk to you about my will, I have been lying awake all night worrying about it. You must make sure all my wishes are carried out. I am relying on you, William, you are the only one who understands and is capable of continuing my work.”
She coughs and Mistress Digby is immediately at her side, straightening her pillows and wiping her mouth.
“How are the negotiations progressing between you and Henry with regard to the sale of Chatsworth?” Bess manages to ask when she has recovered her breath.
“I have offered him £5,000 for Chatsworth with £500 a year whilst you are alive.”
Bess manages a roguish look at him. “William! You know as well as I do, that he will never receive the first annual payment! I have lived for over eighty summers, I will not see another one.”
“Lady mother, you will outlive us all.”
She gives a croaky laugh, which quickly becomes another coughing episode, and he watches with concern as she recovers momentarily from it.
“I will go and make up another poultice for you,” Mistress Digby tells her and goes back downstairs, not trusting anyone else to do it.
“Have you checked the water from the well?” she asks him, without preamble.
“The well? Why should I do so?” William replies, the puzzlement showing on his face.
“I am afraid it has been poisoned.”
“No, you can rest easy, it has not been poisoned.”
“Are you sure?”
“Quite sure, do not worry.”
She mutters something under her breath and he wonders if she is thinking back to when her third husband, Sir William St Loe, died. It was never proved that his brother Edward murdered him, an event that she has not mentioned to him for over forty years.
“Are my builders still working?”
“Only just, the mortar is not setting properly.”
“Tell them to pour boiling ale on it.”
Closing her eyes, she drifts off to sleep again and he returns downstairs to find Elizabeth and Mistress Digby talking quietly.
“We think you should send for the others,” Elizabeth tells him. “The end cannot be far off now.”
“Yes, I agree. I will send a messenger at once.”
He makes his way to the study with a heavy heart. His mother has been a constant and loving presence in all of his fifty-six years, and it will be hard to adjust to life without her. Dr. Hunton arrives the next day although there is little he can do, but Bess seems calmer if he is there. He says that Bess has a congestion on the lungs and her heart is weakened by old age. The days pass and Bess clings on to her life, drifting in and out of consciousness, whispering odd phrases or coherent sentences. There is always someone with her. The servants creep round the house, afraid to see her so struck down on her deathbed. Then one February morning William approaches her bed and whispers that Frances, Mary, Charles and Gilbert are on their way.
“So I am dying then,” she says and gives him the ghost of a smile. “My building …?”
“Work has been stopped, it has just been too cold. Do not worry yourself about such matters now.”
At this news, she seems to sink into the bed and he knows the reason. Locals say that when she stops building, she will die. He can think of nothing to say that will reassure her.
“Arbella?” she croaks.
Not trusting himself to tell her that Arbella has made excuse after excuse not to make the journey, he shakes his head, wishing it was not so. The faintest frown appears on her brow, but she betrays no other emotion.
The others arrive just as dusk is falling, their journey made hazardous by the deep snow and ice.
They are chilled to the bone, and after warming themselves by the fire in the Great Hall and drinking hot mead, they troop up to Bess’ bedchamber and crowd round the bed. Shadows from the flickering candles dance round the walls and the sound of the howling wind echoes relentlessly up the valley. For a few minutes, no-one speaks, lost in their own memories and thoughts. All are shocked to see Bess, always so vital and alive, reduced to an inert, pale figure under the bedclothes. Dr. Hunton makes a tactful retreat downstairs, his patient is beyond help.
“Lady mother, we are all with you.”
Frances reaches for her hand, already cold, despite the warmth given by the fire.
“Why is it is so unbearably hot in here?” mutters Henry, pulling at his shirt.
“Be quiet!” Mary tells him. “Show some respect.”
“Too late for that.” Charles leans against one of the bedposts and wipes his eyes.
“Is this the pearl bed that will be yours?” Gilbert asks and receives a glare from Mary for his trouble. He raises his eyes to heaven and pulls out his pipe.
“Gilbert! We do not wish to breathe the smoke from that wretched pipe. Take it outside!” Mary snaps.
“Why not wait in the antechamber, it is cooler in there?” Frances suggests. “Mary can stay with her now; we can take it in turns.”
Mary sits on the edge of the bed and assumes a caring expression as she looks at her mother.
In the antechamber, they find extra chairs have been provided for them, and on the table, more food and drink. Charles puts another log on the fire and they sit uneasily to wait.
“Is Arbella not coming?” says Frances. “She does know, I assume.”
“Oh yes, she knows all right. She is not going to put herself out,” Henry tells them with a superior air.
“I see.” Frances hides her disappointment at this news but says no more as she thoughtfully watches the flames.
“You have been very quiet, William, that is not like you,” Henry observes.
“There is not much to say. I have spent the last few weeks here, at her side each day.”
“Acting as nurse maid I suppose, how very heroic.”
“One of us has to do it; the businesses do not run themselves. There will be a lot of administration afterwards, and I have orders from our lady mother for legacies and other legal matters.”
“Of course you do,” sneers Gilbert. “You are the only one she trusts.”
“Why is that, Gilbert?”
“I do not know, could it be because you have always been the favourite?”
“If I have been the favourite it is because I have never disappointed her like the rest of you. I have always been loyal.”
“Only because it suited you to do so.”
“All you ever wanted was her money!”
“And you do not?”
“For the love of Christ, stop this bickering!” Frances tells them. “You will disturb her with all this arguing.”
They look through to where Mary is whispering to Bess, who is now awake and seems to be responding to questions. William is alarmed, he does not wish Mary to be alone with Bess, as bequests could be promised without his knowledge and may cause trouble in the future. He goes to Mistress Digby, and tells her quietly to interrupt them without delay. After a minute, Mary joins her them, and the atmosphere is heavy with unsaid words and simmering resentments. Gilbert strides over to the table and helps himself to a large glass of claret.
“This is folly, she could linger for weeks; we all know how tough she is. I have business affairs to attend to, I cannot be waiting about here indefinitely.”
“No-one is making you stay, you are free to go,” says Frances.
“We all have other matters to attend to,” Henry adds.
“You should not be here in any case; or you, Gilbert.” William glares at them. “You both caused our mother a lot of heartache over the years.”
“If she had a heart,” Gilbert is heard to mutter.
“That is enough!” William’s voice is strident, as he looks contemptu
ously at them. “You should be ashamed of yourselves. Our mother is on her deathbed and you are still bickering. You make me sick!”
He storms out and Henry exchanges a look of sympathy with Gilbert. The hours pass slowly. Servants bring more candles so that Mary and Frances can sew, whilst the men pace restlessly or read. They avoid each other’s eyes and from time to time, one of them sighs heavily or yawns. Finally Charles can stand it no more.
“Well, I am for my bed. There is nothing more to be done tonight.” He drains his glass and the others murmur agreement. Eyeing Bess cautiously, they all file out to make their way to the bedchambers that have been prepared for them. Mistress Digby has made herself comfortable in a nearby chair and her eyes are closed as William approaches the bedside. He looks fondly at his mother’s face, now serene and at peace. She is still breathing, but only just, and does not seem to know he is there.
“The world will not see the like of you again.” Leaning forward, he plants the lightest of kisses on her forehead. “You were one in a million.”
As he walks through the door, a glint of metal catches his eye on the floor underneath a chest. Bending down, his hand reaches out and he is surprised to find the key to her bedchamber, usually kept on the inside of the lock. He places it in his pocket and goes downstairs to write again to Arbella. He wonders if she will regret not being here to say a last goodbye to her grandmother.
The End.
Authors Note
Bess is a character that has intrigued me for a long time. She has not had a particularly good press through the centuries, having been called a shrew, selfish and unfeeling, in the past. Her immense wealth and successful entrepreneurial skills must have provoked jealousy within the limited expectations and opportunities for women during the Tudor period. But she outlived four husbands, were they all taken in by her charms or has time distorted her true character?
Evidence from surviving letters written by eminent members of the Court of Queen Elizabeth 1st, show that she was highly respected and admired. The queen herself once said that there was no other lady in the land she loved so much. This contrasts sharply with the opinion of the Earl of Shrewsbury, her fourth husband, during the latter years of their marriage. But perhaps it is understandable when it is now thought he was suffering from the early onset of dementia, as well as being in constant pain from gout and arthritis. He was also having to simultaneously deal with Mary, Queen of Scots, as well as Bess and Queen Elizabeth, all strong-minded women, so it must have been quite a challenge for him at times.
After Bess’ death, William was in sole control of her estate, and there was the inevitable wrangling and legal battles between the siblings over her will. He became the 1st Earl of Devonshire in 1618, before dying seven years later, outliving Henry, Charles and Gilbert.
Charles lived to be sixty-three, despite the bullet wounds, and his second marriage was a happy one. His bloodline lives on through the Dukes of Newcastle, Portland and the Barons Ogle.
Henry eventually sold Chatsworth to William for £8000. He had no legitimate heir and died the same year as Gilbert.
Arbella grew increasingly frustrated by the search for a husband and took matters into her own hands once more by secretly marrying William Seymour, (the brother of Edward, whom she had previously approached) in 1610. King James changed his mind about giving permission for them to wed, and Arbella was again imprisoned. She escaped, hoping to meet her husband and flee to France, but the plan went wrong and she was finally kept in the Tower of London, where she died in 1615, having become anorexic and depressed, her fragile mental state completely broken. It is now thought she suffered from porphyria, a hereditary genetic disorder, inherited from her Stuart line.
Mary Talbot helped Arbella in her attempted escape and was initially sent to the Tower for a year. She was accused of being ‘obstinately Catholic’ and King James suspected her of plotting to overthrow him. Having nursed Gilbert through his final illness in 1616, she was again sent to the Tower for refusing to answer questions, finally being released in 1623, when she was seventy. She died nine years later, almost as old as Bess.
If there are any historical inaccuracies I hope the reader will note that it is a work of fiction, although I have tried to stay as close as possible to the facts. There are some characters, such as Bess’ mother, Elizabeth Leche, that are only briefly mentioned in the book, and this is partly because I felt the list of characters was already long enough. Bess’ ambition to create a dynasty has been realised, as her descendants number the Dukes of Devonshire, amongst others.
If you are interested in finding out more about Bess, a visit to her magnificent home of Hardwick Hall in Derbyshire is highly recommended, together with the splendid Chatsworth House (although it is not the same building now that Bess commissioned.)
For more information log on to www.national/trust.org.uk/hardwick and www.chatsworth.org
Georgina Lee, Oxfordshire.
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Copyright © Georgina Lee, 2014
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