by G Lawrence
“Oh!” she exclaimed. “I am sorry, Your Majesty, but it was not that I was thinking about.”
“What was it then?”
Bess glanced around in a covert manner. “Your Majesty, do you remember when I fell ill earlier in the year?”
I nodded. “Of course, you were absent from court and I missed your company.”
“At one point, Majesty, it was quite serious. Had I not been given an emetic, the physicians believed I might have died.”
“I did not know it was so severe, Bess,” I consoled, wondering where this was going. Was Bess still sick?
“There have been difficulties, Majesty, between my husband and his brother. When I fell ill, my beloved started to investigate and found a certain Master Draper, named Hugh, who owned an inn in Bristol. He was a known associate of my brother-in-law, Edward St Loe. Draper was arrested recently, Majesty… and charged with necromancy. He was trying to conjure my death.”
“Bess!” I exclaimed, horrified. “You should have told me this sooner!”
“You have had your own troubles of late, Majesty.” There was pity in her eyes. “I had no wish to burden you with mine.”
“Has anything further happened? Has the man been questioned?”
She stepped closer. “Draper was committed to the Tower, Majesty, and is held there still as the investigation goes on…” Bess paused as though she did not want to say something and yet could not stop herself, “… But then I had a letter from William’s mother, wherein she called her own son, Edward, a devil, and insinuated he was behind the attempt on my life. My beloved husband is working with your officers to find anyone involved, Majesty. And others have been found, but…”
“But what, Bess?”
“All who have been arrested thus far, Majesty… they are all associates of my brother-in-law. I fear that as my husband searches for those responsible, he will find himself looking into a face most familiar.” Bess leaned back. Her eyes were troubled, but steady.
“You suspect your brother-in-law poisoned you?” I asked. “But why? What gain is there to be had from such evil? Does he hate you, Bess?”
“On the night I fell ill, Majesty, William and I were both at our London house,” she whispered. “He was called away, on an errand for you, shortly before dinner and told me not to wait for him. Had he been there that night, and not with you, Majesty, he may have fallen ill as well.”
I gasped. “You think the intent was to murder both of you?” Such an act would certainly make more sense than poisoning Bess alone.
She nodded her head slowly. “For William’s estates and money,” she said. “That, I believe was the motive, madam; money. My husband is the elder brother and holds all rights to the St Loe lands and wealth. His brother is a strange and devious man, and if his own mother suspects him…” She trailed off, and I stared at her with grave eyes.
“And all this was going on this past year, and neither you nor St Loe told me?”
Bess’s lips puckered. “William had no wish to burden you, Majesty,” she confessed. “And the investigation goes on, with help from your officers. William is held in high regard and many have rushed to help us. Please do not be angry that we did not tell you. We discussed it, but both of us believed there was nothing more you could do for us, and we were getting all the aid we needed from your men.”
“But still, you are troubled, Bess. I see it.” I put my hand to her soft, plump cheek. Many women faced with such a situation would have laid down and wept with helpless fright, but Bess was made of a different mettle. Troubled, concerned and worried she was, yes… but she was also active and alert, energetic and wary. She was a woman after my own heart; a fighter, a survivor.
“The events have pressed upon us, I will not deny it, Majesty,” she admitted, running a hand over her gown of rich crimson velvet. “William grows worried if he does not hear from me often when we are apart.” She smiled. “He is very protective, but I have taken steps to assure our safety. I have gone through all our servants and dismissed those I had reason to doubt. I am careful with my food, as William is now, and have told all my children to do the same, even though I do not think they are in danger, for none are of William’s line and therefore cannot inherit since they are all the children of my second husband.”
“When you are at court, Bess, your meals will be made in my personal kitchens,” I said on impulse. “And those of St Loe, too. I will order it this day and extend it to all ladies of the Bedchamber and my chief guardsmen. Then it will not attract attention. As long as you are at court, I will have you protected.”
Bess fell to one knee. “Majesty, you are most generous… I was not expecting such an offer when I spoke to you…”
“I know that, Bess.” I put a hand on her shoulder and tapped for her to rise. “But I insist that you keep me advised about this. If there is any evidence found to implicate Edward St Loe, I assure you, I will make sure the full weight of the law falls on his head.”
“That would be the greatest gift of all, Majesty,” Bess said with a hungry grin that made me want to laugh. Bess was a rare creature with the courage of a warrior inside the body of a delectable woman.
“Tell me of other things, Bess,” I said, indicating for her to walk with me. “How goes your building work at Chatsworth? St Loe tells me you are redesigning the whole building. He groans often about the costs.”
Bess chuckled, falling into step with me. “My beloved exaggerates, Majesty, as men are prone to do.”
“They do, don’t they?” I mused. “It is strange that oftentimes they accuse our sex of being the one to give in to histrionics and embellishment when they are so often taken with the urge for exaggeration.”
“A common mistake, madam. So often we see flaws in others before recognising them in ourselves.”
“Wise words, Bess.” I stopped by a portrait of my father at the end of the hall. Done in his youth, it showed him at his most vibrant and handsome. It was easy to see why so many had swooned over him. We stood there for a while until I continued. “You will keep me apprised on these matters, Bess?” I asked. “I am fond, both of you and of William, and if there is anything I can do to help, please ask. Although, unlike Cecil, I do not believe that every person in this world is out to poison me, I am well aware there are many of my enemies who might try. You may even say, Bess, we are in the same position. Let us foil our enemies by surviving.” I took her hands. “But if there is anything I can do…”
“I am honoured, Majesty,” she said. “But we are in good hands. We will be safe. We will be careful, and cautious.” She beamed at me suddenly. “We follow your example, Majesty,” she went on. “Many times when you were a girl you faced danger and survived, as you do now, too. So as you follow the example of your ancestor, Richard, we shall emulate our courageous Queen.”
“How you flatter me!” I put my arm through hers. “Come, enough of this miserable talk. Let us dispel the troubles we face with a game of cards in my chambers. You shall play me, Bess, and as I rob you of your good coin, you will tell me of all your plans for Chatsworth.”
Chapter Eight
Westminster Palace
Winter 1560
It was a season of death and deceit.
Death was plain to see. Deceit, as ever, was cloaked.
In early December news arrived from France. The young King, François II, had died. Although we had received word from Throckmorton that François was taken ill early that winter with a series of fainting fits, we had not thought he was in peril of his life. The King was in Orleans when he began to suffer from a pain in the ear, leading to his royal physician, Ambrose Pare, wanting to perform the invasive and controversial procedure of drilling a hole into the King’s skull to relieve the pressure on his brain. The dangerous procedure, unsurprisingly, was not allowed by François’s mother, Catherine de Medici. Writhing in pain and slipping in and out of consciousness, the young King died on the 6th of December. There were immediate rumours of poison. Man
y suspected leading Huguenots in France, as the King had been opposed to the rise of Protestantism. But this was never proven.
François had been only seventeen months on his throne, and was but sixteen years old when Death took him.
There had been much trouble in his reign, even though it was so short. He maintained an unpopular, repressive attitude towards Protestants, which had led to an attempted coup against François and the house of Guise, Mary Stewart’s uncles. With intervention from his mother, Catherine de Medici, talks had opened with Huguenot leaders, but small local revolts appeared all over France in response to François’s increasingly controlling methods. This had led, much to our benefit in England, to the French being unable to send more men to Scotland to support the Regent, Mary of Guise, when her nobles had risen against her. Since this had been to our advantage then, I had not been unhappy that François was having difficulties.
The main problem for his rule, however, came not from those of my faith, but from the Guise. Although their sister had ruled as Regent in Scotland, and their niece sat upon the throne of France, many viewed the staunchly Catholic Guise as interlopers. They were power-hungry, grasping and had controlled the young King and his wife like little puppets. Antoine, King of Navarre, was seen by those opposed to the Guise as the true choice for François’ chief advisor, since he was a Prince of the Blood, and a descendant of Louis IX, but the crafty Guise had maintained their sway over the court and King.
In terms of finance, France had been weakened. Decades of war against the Hapsburgs and Imperial Spain had led to massive debts. The Guise, in their roles as advisors, imposed harsh austerity upon France to try to rectify this… something which was clearly never going to make them more popular. The Guise delayed payments to the military, to officials and to merchants who supplied the court, causing endless problems. They also reduced the size of France’s standing army and many ex-soldiers became beggars, adding to existing tensions within the realm.
The past year had seen many arrests, searches of houses and confiscation of property from suspected Huguenots. Many in France wanted the Protestant religion to be recognised and a decree for freedom of worship to be allowed, but the Guise furiously opposed this. This had led to the failed coup, and many whispered that the rebels had the secret support of Louis, Prince de Conde, the younger brother of Antoine, King of Navarre.
With whispers of conspiracy in her ears, the Dowager Queen, Catherine de Medici, had offered concessions to French Huguenots and amnesty was granted, but it was too late to stop revolt. Rebels tried to move against their King, leading to a great spilling of blood on both sides. The Dowager decided that persecuting Protestants only made matters worse, and so the royal Council offered clemency to the Huguenots, in return for peace. Public assemblies of Protestant worshippers were still banned, but the prisoners of religion were set free and an edict had been signed forbidding harm against a person for their faith. There were indications that, one day, freedom of conscience would prevail in matters of religion. It did not legalize Protestantism, but was enough to rattle the Guise and encourage Huguenots. Gaspard II, the Admiral de Coligny, had read a petition from Huguenots of Normandy before a much amazed court, asking for full freedom of religion. It was not granted, but it was increasingly clear that France was divided on the matter of religion.
Encouraged by the boldness of their leaders, Huguenots in France had begun to congregate openly for religious services. Law officials intervened to disperse them, and to arrest ringleaders, but the sheer size of some of the gatherings, over a thousand souls in some cases, made it impossible to detain all of them. Riots and acts of civil disobedience had increased in France, and armed Huguenot militia attempted to overrun the city of Lyon. The King had responded with violence. There were arrests and executions as the heavy hand of the King pressed upon his subject’s throats. Peace had been restored by force, but Huguenot anger lay barely concealed under the skin of France. When the French lost control of Scotland, with the death of Mary of Guise, the Guise had signed the Treaty of Edinburgh with England, which brought an end to French occupation of Scotland. My cousin of Scots had been unwell when this treaty was signed on her behalf, and was horrified when she discovered its terms. It promised that she would cease to use the arms of England as her own, and would stop styling herself Queen of England. Mary remained adamant she would never ratify it.
And now, with his country simmering in half-revolt and beset with religious upheaval, the young King had died. He had no children and his throne passed to his younger brother, Charles… a boy who was just ten years old. Catherine de Medici hastily stepped forward to become Regent, and many believed this spelled the end of the Guise. Catherine had hated their influence over François and would not allow them to exert the same power over Charles. I did not believe we had seen the last of the Guise. They were still powerful, rich and ambitious. Such creatures do not set their dreams aside. Even as I read about the hysterical grief of my cousin over her husband’s demise, I knew her uncles would have a part to play still in the destiny of France.
There were consequences for England from this death. It became apparent, early on, that Catherine de Medici did not want Mary Stewart to remain in France. Perhaps it was just that then there would be one too many Dowager Queens, or perhaps this much-overlooked Queen had finally seen a chance to secure true power, but for whatever reason, Catherine de Medici did not want her daughter-in-law in France. The grieving widow would be sent back to Scotland. Mary Stewart, that arrogant young woman who had already given me so much trouble, was about to become my neighbour. She was eighteen when François died; a young, fresh damsel with much charm and beauty. I was not best pleased to hear she would be returning to the land of her birth.
Upon hearing of François’s death, my cousin Margaret, Countess of Lennox, sent her eldest son, Henry Stewart, Lord Darnley, to France. Although it was reported that Darnley, an oafish, feckless young man, was sent to comfort his cousin Mary, I was sure Margaret had sent him to propose marriage. Margaret had always aimed above her station, and saw a chance to make her darling son a king. She did not consult me before she sent Darnley to France, knowing I would not have allowed it. But what Margaret clearly did not know was that Cecil had men planted in her household. When I heard of her plans, I had her placed under house arrest, and Darnley too, upon his return.
Darnley was of royal blood. His mother was the daughter of my aunt, Margaret Tudor, from her second marriage to Archibald Douglas, the sixth Earl of Douglas. Darnley’s father, Henry Stewart, Count of Lennox, held ties to the crown of Scotland and had once attempted to woo Marie of Guise in an effort to become the King of Scots himself. Darnley therefore had the blood of two royal houses in his veins. His mother had been born in England, whilst her mother, Margaret Tudor, had been on the run from enemies in Scotland. Since she had been born an English subject, many Catholics considered Margaret to be my true heir, even though my father had excluded the heirs of his eldest sister from the succession. Brought up as a princess at my father’s court, and a firm friend of my now-dead sister, Margaret Lennox had thought my sister would name her Queen upon her death. She had been awfully disappointed to find that, despite all our differences, my sister held the claims of royal blood in greater esteem than that of noble.
However diluted Darnley’s royal blood was, it was for me to decide whom he would marry, not his mother. Margaret Lennox despised me as a bastard and believed she had a better claim to my throne. This led to her often flirting with danger to defy me. Fortunately, Mary of Scots believed it was too soon to consider a new husband, as Throckmorton told me when he wrote of her great grief and sorrow at the loss of her husband.
“Although there is often a false habit for royal couples to claim great and endless love for one another,” he wrote. “In this case, of the Dowager Queen and her beloved, there was only truth in all reports. They loved each other from the time they first met as children, and it is the greatest sadness to the Dowager of Franc
e that she was never able to bear children for her sweet lord. We should, all of us, look on such elegance of feeling, and honour it. For a woman to know such devotion to her duty, and also to her lord husband, is a thing to be praised and extolled in this world.”
I screwed up the parchment and threw it far across my chamber. Throckmorton was admonishing me for my single state, and extolling Mary’s worth by comparing her virtues to my apparent lack of them. God’s Bloody Cross! I fumed. Does Throckmorton think he is subtle? I wanted to slap Throckmorton, and slap him hard. I had to make do with kicking a cushion across the floor.
Just as I was recovering from this latest news, trouble broke out at court. On St Andrew’s Day, an argument occurred between Robin’s supporters and men from the retinue of the Earl of Pembroke. Long in cahoots with Arundel and Norfolk, Pembroke had been setting himself up in opposition to Robin and the tension from this alliance was spilling out and infecting their men. One of Robin’s supporters had brushed against a man of Pembroke’s causing an affray to break out, with blows exchanged as well as insults. I ordered the men involved arrested, and fines were charged for causing disorder at court, but there was little I could do about the wrath within their hearts. I brought Robin to me, and asked him to make peace with his enemies.