by Tracy Borman
The Queen’s women were expected not just to tolerate her frequent bouts of temper but also to show her utmost devotion and reverence at all times. By nature possessive, Elizabeth could not abide any of her ladies to take a leave of absence. They were expected to attend her even if they were ill, and although in theory each had specific times of attendance, in practice they were never off duty and could be summoned day or night.
Although service to the Queen often involved considerable personal sacrifice, there was still a clamor for places. This suggests that there were material benefits to service at court. Her ladies could expect to receive gifts of clothing, jewelry, and other accessories, from both the Queen and those wishing to gain access to her. Shortly before her coronation, it was reported that the Earl of Arundel had given two thousand crowns’ worth of jewels to the Queen’s ladies in an attempt to buy himself the office of Lord Steward. Toward the end of the reign, the French ambassador’s wife “gave among the Queen’s maids French purses, fans, and masks, very bountifully.”55 Often, if Elizabeth did not care for a gift that had been presented to her by a suitor or supplicant, she would pass it on to one of her ladies.
Undoubtedly the greatest perk of all for women at court was the unrivalled access to the Queen that their service entailed. As one recent commentator has remarked: “Guaranteed access to the monarch was guaranteed power.”56 The vital importance of gaining a personal audience with the sovereign in order to plead a case or promote a suit had been proved time and again. Katherine Howard’s fate might have been very different if she had succeeded in gaining the king’s presence. Elizabeth herself had begged to be allowed to see her sister, Mary, when she had stood accused of involvement in the Wyatt rebellion. She had known as well as her contemporaries that few, if any, persons would risk pleading the cause of those in disgrace.
Yet from the beginning of her reign, Elizabeth made it clear that she did not wish her ladies to meddle in politics. The Count de Feria reported to Philip II: “A few days after the Queen’s accession she made a speech to the women who were in her service commanding them never to speak to her on business affairs, and up to the present this has been carried out.”57 Writing later in the reign, Rowland Vaughan recalled, “none of these (near and dear ladies) durst intermeddle so far in matters of common wealth.”58 But this belies the true influence that these women enjoyed. Elizabeth may have banned her ladies from discussing “business affairs,” but it was almost inevitable that she would talk to them about the latest developments at court. Much as she might wish to leave the world of politics and diplomacy behind as she entered her privy chamber, it was not as straightforward as that.
CHAPTER 8
The Virgin Queen
And, in the end, this shall be for me sufficient, that a marble stone shall declare that a queen, having reigned such a time, lived and died a virgin.1
Elizabeth spoke these words to the first Parliament of her reign in February 1559. Few members of the audience believed her. They probably reasoned that her statement was either the result of maidenly modesty or statecraft, aimed to increase her value as a potential bride.
It was inconceivable that the Queen would not wish to marry. Surely, as a “weak and feeble woman,” she was desperate to find a husband who could take over the reins of government and enable her to fulfil her more natural function of childbearing. This was certainly the assumption made by large numbers of her subjects, including most—if not all—of her Privy Council, who were convinced that the only way to secure the new regime was if their royal mistress produced an heir. Shortly after her accession, Philip II had told Elizabeth that she should marry him in order to “relieve her of those labours which are only fit for men.”2
The social conventions of the day dictated that marriage was the desirable state for all women, not just queens. Those who remained single were derided as freaks of nature, and a contemporary song claimed that women who died as virgins “lead apes in hell.”3 As well as relying upon a husband for spiritual and emotional guidance, it was widely believed that every woman needed an outlet for her sexual urges, which would otherwise cause serious harm to her well-being. One contemporary authority even claimed that women who did not have sexual intercourse would be tormented by “unruly motions of tickling lust,” and would also suffer from poor complexions and unstable minds caused by a “naughty vapour” to the brain. Elizabeth herself admitted: “There is a strong idea in the world that a woman cannot live unless she is married, or at all events that if she refrains from marriage she does so for some bad reason.”4
Disregarding their royal mistress’s apparent aversion toward marriage, her councillors proceeded to cast about for a suitable candidate. Among the first to be put forward was the Archduke Charles of Austria, a cousin of Philip II, who wished to see this heretical queen safely allied to a Catholic prince. Although Elizabeth had expressly forbidden her ladies to meddle in political matters, she soon came to appreciate how useful they could be in the various marriage negotiations that followed her accession. This included acting as intermediaries with the archduke’s representatives, the Count de Feria and Bishop de Quadra, who were the Imperial and Spanish ambassadors, respectively.
De Quadra was soon able to report to his master that the Queen favored the Archduke Charles’s suit because “her women all believe such to be the case.”5 Meanwhile, Baron Breumer, another envoy of the archduke, commissioned François Borth, a young man “on very friendly terms with the ladies of the Bedchamber,” to report anything of interest that he gleaned from his conversations with them.6
Elizabeth secretly engineered all of these conversations. She instructed Lady Mary Sidney, sister of Robert Dudley, to give private assurances to the Count de Feria and de Quadra that if they pressed the archduke’s suit to the Queen, they would be sure of success. “The lady would not speak herself, but urged that I should go, and said if I broached the matter of the match to the Queen now she was sure it would be speedily settled.” This placed Mary in a rather awkward position, for she knew that if Elizabeth married a foreign prince, this would undermine the position of her brother, who—although he was already married—seemed to be doing everything possible to secure her as his own bride.
Noting the ambassadors’ skepticism, Lady Sidney reassured them that “it is the custom of ladies here not to give their consent in such matters until they are teased into it,” and added “that if this were not true, I might be sure she would not say such a thing as it might cost her her life and she was acting now with the Queen’s consent.” De Quadra was so convinced by this that he wrote immediately to Philip II, predicting confidently that the marriage would take place. He later noted that Lady Mary had conducted herself so “splendidly” that she deserved a rich reward from his master.7
Having, as she thought, reached a successful conclusion with the ambassadors, Mary reported their conversation to her mistress. “It seems the Queen answered her that it was all well,” reported de Quadra. When he next saw Lady Sidney, she told him that she had been instructed to say no more on the matter for now, “and she was obliged to obey, although she was sorry for it, as she knew that if she might speak she could say something that would please me; but this must suffice.” Lady Sidney was exceeding her commission, and she was soon made to look a fool because of it. Just a few days later, the Queen told de Quadra that “her answer was that she did not want to marry him [the Archduke] or anybody else … She says it is not fit for a queen and a maiden to summon anyone to marry her for her pleasure.”8
De Quadra and the Count de Feria assumed that Lady Mary had deliberately misled them. In vain, she protested that she had faithfully relayed Elizabeth’s messages, and not wishing to believe that she herself had been duped, she assured them “now more than ever that the Queen is resolved on the marriage.” However, when her brother, Lord Robert, reprimanded her for “carrying the affair further than he desired,” she was greatly alarmed, realizing that he had been against the proposal all along. Horrified a
t the thought that her brother intended to forsake his own marriage vows and take Elizabeth for himself, she went at once to de Quadra and urged him to speak directly to her royal mistress. Highly affronted at being so deceived by the English queen, he accused Lady Mary of tricking him, but upon calmer reflection he realized that she had been fooled just as much as he. “I am obliged to complain of somebody in this matter,” he wrote to Philip, “and have complained of Lady Sidney only, although in good truth she is no more to blame than I am.” Humiliated and aggrieved, Lady Mary claimed that she had been exploited by both the Queen and her brother and bitterly regretted having agreed to be an intermediary in the matter. “She says she will make known to the Queen and everybody what has occurred if she is asked,” reported de Quadra with some sympathy.9
This episode was enough to discourage Lady Mary from thenceforth getting involved in anything other than her routine duties at court. But there were many others willing to take her place—notably Kat Astley, who was desperate to see her former charge take a husband at last. By now, Kat enjoyed a level of favor unmatched by any woman and by few men. Although councillors such as William Cecil and Robert Dudley were undoubtedly the most influential when it came to affairs of state, Kat acted as the Queen’s confidante on both private and public matters, and the fact that she was the person who shared most of Elizabeth’s time gave her unparalleled importance at court. Everyone knew it. As one foreign ambassador observed, Mistress Astley “had such influence with the queen that she seemed, as it were, patroness of all England.”10
Her position gave Kat a unique insight into Elizabeth’s increasingly intimate relationship with Robert Dudley. The Queen had known him since childhood, and the two had become close during her years of uncertainty under Mary Tudor, when Robert had been one of the few men brave enough to pledge his allegiance. Theirs was a meeting of minds as well as hearts, and they rapidly developed a relationship that many said went beyond the niceties of court gallantry. In fact, the pair acted more like lovers, even in public, as they shared intimate conversations and spent many hours together hunting, dancing, and enjoying other court pastimes.
Elizabeth used her ladies to facilitate meetings with her favorite. Often this involved a great deal of subterfuge, such as in November 1561, when she disguised herself as the maid of Katherine Howard (later Countess of Nottingham) in order to enjoy the secret pleasure of watching Dudley shoot at Windsor.11 Meanwhile, Lady Fiennes de Clinton helped to arrange for Elizabeth to dine with Sir Robert at his house. Philip II’s envoy heard of this and reported: “The earl of Leicester12 came from Greenwich to the earl of Pembroke’s house on the 13th, the rumor being that he was going to his own home. The Queen went there the next day disguised to dine with them, accompanied by the Admiral [Lord Clinton] and his wife.”13
But Robert Dudley was already married, and the Queen was risking her reputation in showing him such unbridled favor. This was even more serious than the Seymour affair, because her marriage was now one of the most critical matters of state. By making an advantageous match—preferably with a powerful foreign ally—she could secure her throne and, of course, produce heirs. But the more she cavorted with this married favorite, the less desirable a bride she became to other suitors.
Before long, Elizabeth and Dudley were causing a scandal not just in England but also in courts across Europe. Desperate to salvage her mistress’s reputation and prevent her from throwing away everything for which they had fought so hard, Kat did what nobody else dared and confronted the Queen. One day in August 1559, she flung herself at Elizabeth’s feet and passionately implored her to see reason and put an end to the “evil speaking” by marrying one of the many suitable contenders for her hand. She pleaded that if she did not do this, the country would be plunged into civil war, because Dudley had such powerful adversaries. Rather than see this come to pass, Kat said, she would have “strangled her majesty in the cradle.”
A shocked hush descended among the ladies of the privy chamber who were witnessing this extraordinary scene. Nobody had ever dared to speak thus to the Queen: she had made it clear, even to the most senior members of her council, that her marriage was not a fitting subject for lesser mortals to meddle with. Furthermore, her temper was already gaining notoriety, and one of the surest means of inflaming it was to challenge her authority. Now here was Mistress Astley chiding Elizabeth as if she were her own daughter rather than the Queen of England. But to their surprise, Elizabeth responded graciously, thanking her old governess for her words, which she said were “outpourings of a good heart and true fidelity.” She went on to assure Kat that she would consider marrying in order to dispel the rumors and set her subjects’ minds at ease, but added that marriage was a weighty matter and that she had “no wish to change her state” at present.
Kat knew Elizabeth well enough to see that there was little substance in her promise, and that it came from the politician rather than the woman. She therefore renewed her entreaties to end the liaison for her own good and that of her country. The thought of giving up Lord Robert was too much for Elizabeth to bear, and suddenly throwing off the pretense, she cried that she had “so much sorrow and tribulation and so little joy” in the world that she would not deny herself this one happiness. Then, with a flash of temper, she added that if she wished to lead an immoral life, “she did not know of anyone who could forbid her.”14
For all her defiance, Elizabeth had clearly been shaken by her old governess’s words. Coming from one with whom she had experienced the danger of scandal firsthand, they would have had a powerful impact. Although she chose not to follow Kat’s advice to marry, the evidence suggests that she did heed her words about Dudley. Thus, when, a little over a year later, his wife was found dead under apparently mysterious circumstances, Elizabeth did not seize the opportunity to marry him but instead distanced herself in order to avoid being implicated in any scandal. How much this was due to Kat’s advice and how much to her own shrewdness is not clear, but she must certainly have recalled the warning that had so shocked her before. Furthermore, it seems that Dudley himself blamed Mistress Astley for the Queen’s refusal to marry him. Relations between the two became distinctly hostile, and in January 1561 he took petty revenge on her by accusing her husband of some misdemeanor. John Astley was subsequently “committed to his chamber” and banished from court for six weeks. It was no doubt thanks to Kat’s influence with the Queen that he was then reinstated with full honors.15
Although Elizabeth had made it clear that the idea of marriage was not appealing to her, Kat persisted in her efforts to persuade her to the contrary. As well as having her mistress’s welfare at heart, perhaps there was an element of penance in her actions. The memory of her own indiscretion and recklessness over the Seymour affair no doubt provoked a fierce determination to safeguard Elizabeth’s reputation above all else. She therefore championed the various suitors for Elizabeth’s hand in marriage with great enthusiasm.
Among them was the new king of Sweden, Eric XIV, who became one of the strongest contenders in the early 1560s. His chancellor, Nils Gyllenstierna, arrived in London in spring 1561 to prepare the ground for a visit by the king, who had been rumored to be coming to England for some time. Although she received Gyllenstierna with all due courtesy, Elizabeth would not actually commit to marrying his master, and eventually, after a year of fine words and false promises, the chancellor returned home disappointed.
Kat Astley was determined not to let the matter rest there. Throughout the negotiations, she had been working behind the scenes to try to further the match, assisted by her husband, John, who was apparently equally keen to see it accomplished. Kat had enlisted the services of one John Dymock, a message bearer with whom she had formed an acquaintance “in the time of her troubles.” She knew that Dymock had been commissioned by William Cecil to accompany Eric XIV’s agent, Arnold Walwicke, to Sweden “to see how things stood.” She therefore resolved to make sure that Dymock carried a favorable report of her mistre
ss’s intentions toward the Swedish king to counter any rumors to the contrary. Dymock later reported that Mistress Astley had “solemnly declared that she thought that the Queen was free of any man living, and that she would not have the Lord Robert.”
Kat and her husband then cooked up a further scheme to convince Eric of the Queen’s intention to marry him. Their inspiration came from John’s position as keeper of the jewel house. Dymock had planned to take some jewels to Sweden in order to sell them to the royal family for the new king’s coronation. He first asked John Astley if the Queen might like to buy some herself. John duly went to show the jewels to his royal mistress, who took a liking to one of them—a large ruby—but said that she could not afford to procure it. Seeing his chance, Astley suggested that Dymock should offer to sell it to the Swedish king so that he could send it back to Elizabeth as a token of his affection. The Queen smiled at the suggestion and joked that “if it should chance that they matched, it would be said that there were a liberal king and a niggardly princess matched.” Undeterred, when shortly afterward John saw her playing with a ring on her finger, he suggested that she should let Dymock take it to Eric as a token of her affection. Elizabeth demurred, but Astley succeeded in persuading her to send some other, less personal gifts, including a pair of black velvet gloves, “a fair English mastiff,” and a French translation of Il Cortegiano, a guide to what constitutes the perfect courtier. Eric was more generous with the gifts he sent in return, which included two large jewels and a portrait of himself. He also sent Mistress Astley two sable skins “lined with cloth of silver and perfumed” as an incentive for her to help his cause.16