by Tracy Borman
But what of Elizabeth? Did she believe her cousin guilty of the despicable crimes that were outlined in those scandalous letters? Her immediate reaction suggests that she did not. Terminating the conference on the basis that nothing had been sufficiently proved on either side, she gave Moray leave to return to Scotland. However, her actions toward Mary—both then and over the ensuing years—indicate that whether or not she truly believed in her guilt, it suited her to act as if she did. Any pretense that Mary was being kept under armed guard for her own protection was abandoned. When she was moved to the insalubrious Tutbury Castle in Staffordshire, it was as Elizabeth’s prisoner.
The constable of Tutbury, George Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury, was entrusted with the heavy responsibility of taking charge of the captive Queen of Scots. Shrewsbury was the fourth husband of the indomitable Bess of Hardwick, who had had a difficult relationship with the English queen ever since becoming embroiled in the Katherine Grey scandal. But as much as she might distrust her, the Queen still respected Bess for her strength of character and her determination to carve out a role for herself in a world dominated by men—just as she herself was having to do. Geography also helped to restore Bess to favor. The court was too small to contain the overbearing personalities of these two matriarchs, but now that Bess was many miles away in Staffordshire, the tension between them dissipated. As far as the Queen was concerned, Bess’s qualities were best viewed from a distance.
Bess soon justified the Queen’s trust, for she became just as much Mary’s keeper as her husband was. She even placed her own spy in the Scottish queen’s household “to give her intelligence of all things,” and reported everything back to her royal mistress, who praised her for this “manner of service.”35
Mary was outraged when she realized that, far from restoring her to her throne, her cousin was instead imprisoning her like a common criminal. So confident had she been in Elizabeth’s “fair promises” that she had vowed to be back in Scotland at the head of an army within three months of her flight to England. Now here she was, some eight months later, a captive of the English queen, with apparently little prospect of ever returning to Scotland. In her fury, she protested that her imprisonment was entirely unlawful: she was a queen in her own right, and Elizabeth had no jurisdiction over her.
Mary was, of course, quite correct, and her cousin knew it. But Elizabeth herself was held captive by the political pressures that now surrounded Mary. Moray would brook no schemes for her restoration in Scotland. If she was sent across the channel, there was a danger that the French would seize the opportunity to intervene in Scottish affairs, which would almost certainly be to England’s detriment. And if she remained in England, she would provide a figurehead for the growing number of plots against Elizabeth’s regime. Little wonder that the ever-perceptive Lord Burghley told his royal mistress: “The Queen of Scots is, and always shall be, a dangerous person to your estate.”36
While Elizabeth wrestled with the issue of what to do with Mary, the months dragged on. In a letter to Pope Pius V, Mary woefully referred to “the Queen of England, in whose power I am.”37 Meanwhile, the Venetian ambassador remarked: “The Queen of Scotland is now an object of compassion.”38 But Mary was far from being the hapless victim that she liked to portray herself. In fact, she was ruthless in her desire to reclaim not just her Scottish throne but also a promise of the English succession. Even Sir Francis Knollys, who had been somewhat beguiled by her during his visit to Carlisle in May 1568, admitted: “The thyng that most she thirsteth after is victorye,” adding that she did not care how she attained it.39 The fact that she was already drumming up support from among Elizabeth’s enemies proves the point. Therefore, while in theory the English queen held all the cards and, with Mary as her captive, had the power to decide her fate, the reality was far more complex. At times, Elizabeth seemed almost intimidated by the beguiling Scottish cousin whom she had never met. Mary’s unquestionable legitimacy made her feel insecure about Elizabeth’s own claim to the throne, and her image as a Catholic martyr, a mother separated from her son, and a heroine in need of rescue understandably caused her English cousin many misgivings. Far from relishing her role as jailer, Elizabeth felt imprisoned herself. “I am not free, but a captive,” she lamented in despair. On another occasion, she exclaimed to a visiting ambassador: “I am just as anxious to see Mary Stuart out of England as she can be to go!”40
The almost mythical status that Mary had begun to assume in her cousin’s mind contributed to the latter’s reluctance to meet her. Perhaps Elizabeth feared that she would fall under Mary’s spell, as so many others had before her. She once told the French ambassador: “There seems to be something sublime in the words and bearing of the Queen of Scots that constrains even her enemies to speak well of her.”41 Mary herself seemed to believe that this was the reason why Elizabeth hesitated to meet her, and referred to it in one of her many letters begging for an audience: “Good sister, change your mind … Alas! do not as the serpent that stops his hearing, for I am no enchanter, but your sister and natural cousin.”42 Others believed that Elizabeth was reluctant to bring Mary to court because she was aware of how many supporters she had there. “It is not believed that Queen Elizabeth, for her own reasons, will allow the Queen of Scotland to come to the Court, suspecting probably some ulterior motive, inasmuch as the Queen of Scotland is nearest in blood to the Crown of England, and beloved by some of the chief personages, although they dare not say so openly; and this is thought to be the cause why no interview will take place.”43
As Mary continued to besiege her cousin with increasingly insistent letters that she should arrange for them to meet, Elizabeth lost her temper. “In your letter I note a heap of confused, troubled thoughts, earnestly and curiously uttered to express your great fear and to require of me comfort,” she began, “that if I had not consideration that the same did proceed from a troubled mind, I might rather take occasion to be offended with you than to relent to your desires.” Chiding her for writing a letter “so full of passions,” she went on to remind Mary that if she had only heeded her advice, she would not be in such a predicament: “I will overpass your hard accidents that followed for lack of following my counsels … I, finding your calamities so great as you w[ere] at the pit’s brink to have miserably lost your life, did not only entreat for your life but so threatened such as were irritated against you that (I only may say it) even I was the principal cause [to] save your life.”44
Far from being chastised by her cousin’s letter, Mary seemed to step up her involvement in the various plots to place her on the English throne, or at the very least incite Elizabeth to name her as heir. “This Queen sees that all the people in the country are turning their eyes to the Queen of Scotland, and there is now no concealment about it. She is looked upon generally as the successor,” observed Philip II’s envoy as early as July 1569.45 Later that year, the first serious threat to Elizabeth’s throne came with the rising of the staunchly Catholic earls of Northumberland and Westmorland. This was prompted by the arrest of their ally at court, the Duke of Norfolk, whom Mary had been plotting to marry. Although the rebellion was crushed, it had prompted the Pope to act against this heretical English queen. In 1570 he issued a bull of excommunication, declaring Elizabeth a usurper and absolving her subjects from allegiance. It also sanctioned any rebellion against her and even encouraged assassination attempts. This intensified the threat posed by Mary, who increasingly identified herself with the Roman Catholic faith in order to become a figurehead for opposition to her cousin. By the following year, it was said that she was “favoured by all the Catholic party in England.”46
Although she involved herself in ever more plots and conspiracies, Mary also hedged her bets by professing her loyalty toward Elizabeth, evidently still hoping that the Queen would one day restore her to her Scottish throne. Elizabeth gave her words little credence, especially when fresh evidence of Mary’s intrigues came to light on such a regular basis. In 1571 the most
serious plot yet was discovered. It had begun the year before, prompted by the Earl of Norfolk’s release in August 1570. Plans for him to marry the captive Queen of Scots were revived (even though she was still married to Bothwell, who was now a prisoner in Denmark), and in early 1571 Mary wrote to the papal agent, Roberto Ridolfi, urging him to solicit help from the Pope, Philip II, and the Duke of Alva. She wanted those potentates to know of “the evil entreatment which I undergo of my person, and other indignities and affronts to which I am subjected, the jeopardy in which I stand of my life, menaced as I am with poisoning and other violent deaths.” Mary criticized her cousin for feigning a “willingness to entertain the suggestion of my liberation, to amuse herself at my expense,” and accused her of having been “many a time … on the point of compassing my death.”47
Although Mary did not sanction Elizabeth’s being deposed or assassinated, this letter was still treason. There was other evidence against her, for she had embroidered a cushion as a gift for the Duke of Norfolk, and the design showed a hand clipping off a barren vine so that the fruitful vine might flourish. The message was clear: She, the fertile Queen of Scots, should supplant her childless cousin.48 As the plot developed, it was agreed that the Duke of Norfolk would arrest Elizabeth and place Mary on the English throne. When the English queen heard of this, she was said to be “mightily incensed.”49 She had been informed of the plot in late summer 1571 and had lashed out at the French ambassador when he came to pay court to her a few weeks later. Evidently ignorant of the plot himself, he had made the blunder of suggesting that Elizabeth should improve the conditions under which her cousin was kept. “The Queen burst into a most ferocious rage at this and dwelt very strongly upon the evils which she said were being brought upon this country by the queen of Scotland,” the ambassador reported to the French king. “She afterward went on to speak of the plots which she and the duke of Norfolk were weaving jointly with your Majesty to turn her off the throne … She screamed all this out with so much vehemence that almost everybody in the palace could hear her.”50
Elizabeth was so infuriated with her cousin that it was widely expected she would put her to death. Norfolk was convicted of treason in January 1572 and executed later that year. Many of her councillors urged her to mete out the same treatment to Mary, notably her spymaster, Sir Francis Walsingham, who declared: “So long as that devilish woman lives neither her Majesty must make account to continue in quiet possession of her crown, nor her faithful servants assure themselves of the safety of their lives.”51 Another courtier remarked: “The Queen of Scotland has been the most dangerous enemy in the world to our Queen.”52 But Elizabeth demurred. No matter how much of a danger her cousin had become, she was still an anointed queen, and Elizabeth flinched from putting her on trial. She therefore delayed enough for matters to settle down once more, and Mary was left to languish in captivity. Elizabeth did, however, insure that she was placed under much stricter supervision. Mary complained bitterly at this, but her cousin scolded her for “filling a long letter with multitude of sharp and injurious words” and added, rather patronizingly, “It is not the manner to obtain good things with evil speeches.”53
Although Elizabeth refused to punish Mary in the way her councillors wished, the Ridolfi plot had put paid to any lingering plans she may have had to restore her cousin to the Scottish throne. She therefore formally recognized James VI as King of Scots. In confirming Elizabeth’s suspicions that she still hankered after the English crown, Mary had forfeited her liberty for good.
CHAPTER 11
“That She-Wolf”
Little had been heard of Margaret Douglas since 1571, when her husband, the Earl of Lennox, was assassinated in Scotland. She seemed to have settled into a quieter life at her house in Hackney, east London, with regular visits to court. But as ever with this formidable matriarch, a fresh plot to further her dynastic ambitions was never far away. In 1574 she resolved upon one last throw of the dice. Although her grandson, James, was due to inherit the Scottish throne when he came of age, Margaret knew from bitter experience how fast the political tide could turn there. She therefore alighted upon another potential path to the crown of England: her only surviving child, Charles. He had always been rather neglected by his mother, who had favored his elder brother, Henry, and referred to Charles as her “greatest dolour.” But now that he had reached the age of eighteen, she appreciated that he could be useful in the marriage market. The countess resolved to find him a bride of noble blood, knowing that this would significantly bolster the chances of her dynasty succeeding Elizabeth, who, aged forty and still unmarried, looked increasingly unlikely to produce any heirs of her own.
On the pretense of wishing to take Charles to visit his infant nephew, Margaret sought the Queen’s permission to journey to Scotland. Elizabeth was immediately suspicious, all too well aware that there was usually something sinister behind her cousin’s requests for leave of absence. She was convinced that the countess intended to pay a secret visit to her daughter-in-law on her journey northward. Perhaps she wished to give Margaret enough rope to hang herself, for she eventually agreed to her request on the strict condition that she should go nowhere near Chatsworth House, where Mary was being held by the Earl and Countess of Shrewsbury. Margaret assured her that she still hated her daughter-in-law and had no intention of visiting her. She added, for good measure: “for I was made of flesh and blood and could never forget the murder of my child … for if I would, I were a devil.”1
Shortly after embarking, Margaret had an apparently spontaneous change of plan when she received an invitation from the Countess of Shrewsbury to break her journey at Rufford, one of her estates in Derbyshire. Margaret knew Bess well from the days when they had attended court, and she readily accepted the invitation. Bess, who was every bit as ambitious as her former companion, had a daughter, Elizabeth Cavendish, who was just a year older than Charles and still unmarried. From her perspective, the Countess of Lennox’s son was an ideal candidate, and she was keen to bring the marriage to pass. The chances are that the two women had concocted the whole scheme long before Lady Margaret left London. Events soon unfolded to their satisfaction. Far from having to be forced to marry, Charles and Elizabeth fell in love at first sight, which made their alliance seem all the less contrived. After only a few days at Rufford, the pair were married with great haste. Neither Margaret nor Bess had seen fit to seek the Queen’s permission first, even though the 1536 act made it treason not to.
It was only a matter of time before Elizabeth found out. She reacted with predictable fury, railing against her cousin and Bess for such a blatant act of defiance. She was not fooled by their protestations that the couple had fallen in love of their own accord and that they had not had the heart to prevent the union. Her greatest venom was reserved for Margaret, who had yet again proved disloyal. Convinced that an elaborate plot lay behind the marriage and that Mary, Queen of Scots, was somehow involved, she ordered Margaret and her son to come to London immediately. Upon arrival, they were initially confined to the countess’s house at Hackney. Meanwhile, Bess and her daughter were to remain under guard at Rufford until the Earl of Huntingdon, who was leading the inquiry, had completed his investigations.
The Queen’s anger at these two troublesome old women increased when she learned that Elizabeth Cavendish was already pregnant. Any child from their union would in theory have a claim to the throne, however distant, thanks to Charles’s royal blood. The last thing Elizabeth needed was yet another potential claimant. Determined to exact revenge, she promptly threw Margaret into the Tower.
This was Margaret’s third spell in that fortress, and, by now used to the routine, she wasted no time in pleading her case. She insisted that there had been no plot to marry their two children and that by the time she discovered her son’s love for Elizabeth Cavendish, “he had entangled himself so that he could have done no other” than marry her.2 Claiming to be suffering “great unquietness and trouble … with the passing these
dangerous waters,” the countess begged to be set at liberty. Reflecting upon her various incarcerations in the Tower, she added a final lament: “Thrice have I been sent into prison not for matters of treason, but for love matters. First, when Thomas Howard, son of the Duke of Norfolk, was in love with me; then for the love of Henry Darnley, my son, to Queen Mary; lastly for the love of Charles, my younger son, to Elizabeth Cavendish.”3
Elizabeth punished the other miscreant rather less harshly. She issued a sharp reprimand to Bess and ordered that she and her daughter continue to be held at Rufford until the Earl of Huntingdon had completed his investigations there. This comparative leniency may have been thanks to the intervention of Bess’s husband, whom the Queen greatly esteemed. Or perhaps by now Elizabeth and Bess had developed an understanding. Elizabeth knew of Bess’s fierce dynastic ambition, but she also knew that she was unlikely to flout the Queen’s authority. Indeed, she had proved her loyalty by spying upon Mary, Queen of Scots. She therefore soon forgave her for this latest transgression, calculating that such a show of leniency was more likely to win Bess’s loyalty than a strict punishment.
If the Queen had been inclined to show any such clemency toward her much-imprisoned cousin, she soon changed her mind when she learned that the countess had been corresponding regularly with Mary, Queen of Scots, throughout her incarceration. In an astonishing about-face, Margaret was now all kindness and affection toward the woman who just a few years previously she had denounced as a wicked murderess. Sending Mary little tokens of her esteem, she signed her letters: “Your Majesty’s most humble and loving mother and aunt.” It is likely that Mary’s son, James, was responsible for this rapprochement. He represented their joint hopes for the future, the best chance that both women had to see their bloodline succeed to the English throne. Margaret was therefore anxious not to do anything that might distance herself from him. But it did not suit Elizabeth’s purpose at all that these two women were back on good terms, and she took a dim view of Margaret’s sending the beleaguered Scottish queen letters and gifts from the Tower. She could do little to prevent Mary’s subsequently altering her will to include her brother-in-law, Charles, and restoring to Margaret “all the rights she can pretend to the earldom of Angus.”4