A Woman of Passion

by Virginia Henley

  “I cannot believe it has been four years,” Elizabeth said, putting a cautionary finger to her lips. Though Bess and Elizabeth had corresponded, they'd had to read between the lines. None of their private thoughts could be put down on paper. Whenever Bess had a child, she had told Elizabeth, who had written back to congratulate her, and when Sir William died, Elizabeth had sent her condolences.

  Elizabeth took Bess into a private sitting room with a blazing fire. Bess kissed Cat Ashley, and that good woman took her embroidery and sat at the door as a watchdog so that the two friends might share their intimate thoughts.

  “You are much thinner, Bess. Being widowed has robbed you of your lovely round curves.”

  “A part of me died with William, but you know what that is like, Your Grace.”

  “I do. But the sharp sorrow is tempered by poignancy and memories, even though they are bittersweet. I have learned there is something harder to bear than sorrow. It is fear—stark terror. When she sent me to the Tower, I did not believe I would come out alive. Even when I was released and sent to Woodstock, I could not sleep for fear of a dagger in the night; I could not eat for fear of poison. Her spies are here at Hatfield.”

  Bess realized what Elizabeth said about fear was true. Bess herself had not lived a day without the terrifying emotion since William had told her of his trouble. “Your Grace, that is the reason I came. I wanted to ignite a tiny spark of hope.” Bess lowered her voice. “Lady Catherine Grey told her mother that Mary is ill. She is grossly swollen, but not with child. Philip has gone back to Spain in disgust.”

  For a moment Elizabeth's amber eyes glittered gold. “She will never name me her successor. For months they have been trying to marry me to Spain, but so far I have eluded their trap.” They talked on for two hours. Elizabeth told Bess how sick and tired she was of living a nun's life and wearing severe gray dresses every day of her life. Bess told Elizabeth of the massive burden of debt she owed the Crown and how she was struggling to hold on to what was hers.

  Bess dared not stay longer in case she aroused suspicion. “I must go, Your Grace.”

  “Bess, you have given me hope that there is a light at the end of this very long tunnel. Promise you will come again if you hear anything—anything at all!”

  On the drive back to Brentford, Bess felt good about her visit. If she could bring a little warmth, a bit of happiness, or a glimmer of hope to the ones who mattered in her life, it would help to fill the emptiness inside her.

  One month inexorably followed another, and at the end of each one, Bess heaved a heartfelt sigh of relief that Parliament had not yet signed the bill to recover what she owed the Crown. It was an intimidating prospect to pit her will against the government, to pay regular visits to her lawyers and browbeat them to use every means in hope of delaying the day of reckoning.

  In order to assure herself things were being run properly in the north, Bess made hurried visits to Derbyshire and took her mother back to Chatsworth as caretaker, to be in charge of the magnificent house that was all but closed down. In the carriage Bess's mother tried to give her daughter some advice.

  “Bess, darling, you are so slim these days; you are working and worrying yourself into a decline. Don't you think it would be more sensible to sell Chatsworth and rid yourself of this massive burden of debt? Then you could marry a country squire and live in peace and comfort for the rest of your life.”

  Bess stared at her mother in horror. “A squire? A bloody country squire? Bite your tongue! I should hope my ambition would allow me to look higher than a squire! But in any case I shall never marry again!”

  Back at Brentford Bess burned candles long into the night, balancing her income with her output and cutting corners to make ends meet. Her sons were growing so rapidly, none of their clothes fit them, and on top of that she had no choice but to find the money for tutors. She couldn't afford to send them off to school, and they were becoming little hellions without the strong influence of their father.

  Late one June night Bess was surprised by a visitor. When she realized the well-built, handsome man was Robin Dudley, she took him upstairs to her private sitting room.

  “Lady Cavendish, you are even more beautiful today than the first time I met you.”

  “My lord, I am almost thirty.”

  His dark brown eyes shone with amusement. “Never admit to more than twenty-seven; it is a perfect age for a woman.”

  Bess laughed. “All right, then, I won't.” She sobered quickly. “You are back from France. Was it very bad?”

  “It was a bloody, shameful, ignoble defeat. We lost Calais.”

  “I know. Mary's reign has been a disaster for everyone —for your family, for mine, and now for England.”

  “Lady Cavendish—Bess, I know I can trust you, but may I speak plainly and in confidence?”

  “Robin, you may say anything to me.”

  “Have you seen Elizabeth?”

  “Five months ago I took her the news that Mary was ill.”

  “I am longing to see her, but I dare not go yet. Will you visit her again and tell her that Mary is incurably ill? I cannot reveal my sources, but Mary is still refusing to name Elizabeth her successor. So when she dies it may mean civil war to put Elizabeth on the throne. But whatever it takes we will do it. Just tell her that the wheels have been set in motion. She will understand.”

  “That would take a great deal of money and troops.”

  “We have pledges of both.” His eyes lifted and he glanced about the lovely room. “You lease this house from Sir John Thynne?”

  “He is a dear friend of mine.”

  “He is a dear friend of Elizabeth also. He is a great landowner who has pledged his fortune. William Parr, another mutual friend, has secured a pledge of ten thousand troops from the captains who garrison Berwick.”

  Bess experienced a surge of euphoria. Was it really going to happen at long last?

  This time Bess asked her friend Sir John Thynne to accompany her to Hatfield. Within days of their visit, Elizabeth received Count Feria, the Spanish ambassador, and this confirmed to her that her sister's reign was ending and they were desperately scrambling to secure Elizabeth's goodwill.

  By August the road to Hatfield was thronged with crowds of well-wishers on their way to curry favor with the future Queen of England. By the look of things, there would be no need of civil war to put Elizabeth on the throne; the people were not even waiting until Mary was dead to switch their allegiance.

  Though life at Hatfield changed drastically, Bess's life remained the same. Living quietly at Brentford, she endured a long, tense autumn, trying to live within her means and juggling her accounts. Bess knew she faced an uncertain future with insolvency staring her in the face. In the deep recesses of her mind, a tiny glimmer of hope flickered. If Queen Mary died and Elizabeth came to the throne, could the new monarch be persuaded to reduce the overwhelming Cavendish debt? But Mary did not die; she clung to life tenaciously, refusing to pass the Crown to a sister she hated.

  At the end of September, Bess traveled up to Derbyshire before the harsh winter weather gripped the north. She had a large enterprise to oversee, disputes with tenant farmers to settle, leases of small manor houses to negotiate, land to drain and enclose, and a dozen other matters to discuss with her bailiffs. She tackled everything with a furious energy and strength of purpose, determined to be back home with the children before the anniversary of their father's death.

  On October 25 Bess and her children held a commemorative service to honor the memory of their beloved father, and the following day Bess went by barge to London and took flowers to St. Botolph's. As she laid them on the grave, she said, “I cannot believe it has been only a year. Oh, my love, it has been the longest year of my life. Dear God, I don't know how I'm going to face another one.”

  As she knelt quietly, she felt a small measure of peace descend upon her, and her uncertainties melted away. Somehow she had survived and would find the strength to continu
e. Bess knew she had just as much courage, energy, and determination as she'd always had. The thing she missed was the joy in life. As she stood up a gust of wind whipped her skirts into the air, exposing her legs in their black lace stockings. Bess laughed quietly. “You are a damned rogue.”

  During the first week of November, London was abuzz with the news that Mary had finally named Elizabeth her successor, and the queen's servants went to Hatfield to inform Elizabeth.

  Mary Tudor finally died on the seventeenth day of November. When Bess heard the news she burst into tears. They were neither tears of sorrow nor joy; they were tears of pure, unadulterated relief. “Elizabeth doesn't know yet,” Bess said to Jane. “It will take hours for a courier to ride to Hatfield. I must pack and leave immediately; the road will be clogged with courtiers.”

  Bess opened her journal to record the momentous news, and as she wrote the date at the top of the page, a great shudder racked her body. “Dear God, it was exactly a year ago on this very date that I sailed upriver to Whitehall and cursed her.” Bess clearly remembered the words she had hurled in passionate fury: I will see you in your grave, you bitch!

  TWENTY-FOUR

  The Great Hall of Hatfield Palace was packed with more people than it had ever held before. Bess knew almost everyone present. She stood laughing and talking with Robert Dudley and his beautiful sister Mary Sidney. Earlier she had received a kiss of greeting from Lord William Parr, Sir John Thynne, Sir Henry Brooke, William Herbert, the Earl of Pembroke, and a dozen other noblemen. Bess had forgotten she knew so many earls of the realm.

  A pair of strong arms grabbed Bess from behind. She turned and cried out with delight. “Ambrose Dudley! God's feet, you were a pink-cheeked boy when last we met, and now you're an old man.”

  “You still look and feel like a young girl, my beauty.”

  Bess tapped him with her fan. “I'm almost”—she glanced at Robin—“I'm almost twenty-seven.”

  Robin threw back his head and laughed at the private joke. They were all giddy with excitement. Bess had stayed up half the night with Elizabeth and her ladies. “I shall never sleep again!” the radiant young queen had declared. “The lights in my palaces will burn all night, and I shall dance until dawn. No more rules to follow! I, and no one else in my realm, shall make the rules.” Elizabeth stripped off her prim gray dress and threw it upon the fire. As it blazed up, her laughter held a hint of the hysteria she felt. “From this day forward my gowns will be magnificent and I shall change them a half dozen times a day.”

  Bess drawled, “I pity your poor ladies of the bedchamber.” But completely understanding Elizabeth's intoxication, she prompted, “What about jewels?”

  “God's feet, the Crown jewels now belong to me— and I shall wear every last one!”

  Cat Ashley brought her a bedgown. “My lamb, you must get some sleep. Tomorrow you have to give your first address as queen.”

  Elizabeth turned and stared at her, then her glittering eyes looked at each one in turn. “By Christ's precious blood, no one will ever say must to me again. I will have no mistress, and I will have no master, for as long as I may live!”

  As Bess stood with the Dudleys awaiting their new queen, she knew exactly what to expect of Elizabeth. She would be vain and demanding and imperious, but she had an unshakable belief in her destiny and would make a glorious monarch. She was more shrewd and clever than any man breathing, and devious too. Bess was certain that Elizabeth had been born to be queen.

  “Where the devil is she?” Robin demanded impatiently.

  Bess smiled up at him. “It gives her pleasure to keep us waiting.”

  At last Elizabeth made her appearance in the Great Hall, and the cheers were deafening. She did not hold up her hands to make them stop but stood basking in the tumultuous ovation. It lasted for a good half hour before the crowd stopped chanting, “Long live the queen.” Only then did Elizabeth begin to speak. Her composure was extraordinary. She was in complete control.

  “This is the doing of the Lord, and it is marvelous in our eyes. I owe my allegiance and my Crown to the people of England. The burden that has fallen upon me maketh me amazed, and I have chosen the most worthy men in the realm to help me carry this burden. Today I appoint Sir William Cecil as my principal secretary of state and head of my privy council.

  “My other councillors will be William Parr, Marquess of Northampton, and the earls of Arundel, Bedford, Derby, Pembroke, and Shrewsbury. Others will be chosen in good time.

  “I appoint Lord Robert Dudley as my master of horse. I appoint Sir William St. Loe as captain of the queen's guard. William Paulet, Marquess of Winchester, remains as lord treasurer, and I appoint Sir Nicholas Bacon as lord keeper of the great seal.”

  Bess was delighted. Bacon was Cecil's brother-in-law and a learned lawyer, who had been head of the Court of Augmentation. He had always accommodated the Cavendishes whenever William had wanted to exchange a piece of land.

  Elizabeth continued, “I appoint Mistress Catherine Ashley as head lady-in-waiting and mistress of the robes. Today I appoint four new ladies-of-the-bedchamber: Lady Catherine Grey, Lady Mary Sidney, Lady Lettice Knollys, and Lady Elizabeth Cavendish.”

  Bess was stunned. Elizabeth had rewarded everyone Bess knew with an important appointment, but Bess herself had never once thought of an official place in Elizabeth 's Court for herself! Bess wasn't even sure she wanted it. She had too much on her plate now; how would she juggle this appointment with all her other responsibilities? But of course Bess realized immediately that she could not turn it down. Doing so would be an unforgivable insult to Elizabeth. Bess was practical enough to understand that if she was ever to prosper again, it would be through royal patronage.

  That evening, Bess was introduced to Lettice Knollys, who was the queen's Boleyn cousin. All the ladies Elizabeth had appointed thanked her profusely, then Bess summoned the courage to ask her first favor. “Your Majesty, may I return to Brentford to inform my family and see to my wardrobe?”

  “Bess, your official duties won't begin until my coronation. By all means return home to see to your wardrobe. I already have my sewing women working day and night. When I enter London I have decided to wear royal purple velvet. I shall go straight to the Tower—to the Royal Apartments this time, of course. Cat's husband, John, is to be my master of the jewel house. It will take me a week to try on everything! We shall celebrate Christmas at my Palace of Westminster, and my coronation will take place in January, to symbolize a new year, a new reign.”

  The following morning Bess returned to Brentford. Elizabeth was intoxicated by her new power and busy from dawn to dusk making plans. Bess knew she would not be missed. Elizabeth had dreamed and fantasized for years about this moment. The last thing the new queen wanted was advice from another woman.

  Jane and Aunt Marcy sat entranced as Bess told them what had gone on at Hatfield. “Elizabeth appointed me a lady-of-the-bedchamber. I wish she hadn't. How on earth will I manage everything? I will have to live at Westminster Palace and go with the Court wherever Queen Elizabeth chooses. You and the children will have to live here at Brentford.”

  Marcella clapped her hands. “It is exactly what you need, Bess. You belong at Court! You will thrive on being at the center of the universe. Elizabeth will gather about her the greatest men in the realm—where better to catch yourself a husband?”

  “I will never marry again,” Bess said firmly.

  “I know better,” Marcella contradicted.

  Bess chose to ignore her prophesy. “I am not ambitious for myself, but my children are another matter entirely. My Court connections could be invaluable to them. Hell's teeth, if only I had money for their dowries.”

  “You need a rich, indulgent husband,” Marcella pointed out. “Marriage is always the answer.”

  “You've managed to avoid it all your life,” Bess said dryly.

  “Ah, that is because I am not a man's woman. But you are, Bess, deny it how you will!”

 
“It is a bloody good thing I won't have to go into debt for new clothes. I have a wardrobe of magnificent gowns.”

  “Need I remind you they came from a rich and indulgent husband?” Marcella pressed.

  “Cavendish did indulge me, shamelessly. I'll never love again. I gave William my whole heart, and when I pledged my love, it was forever. I could never feel that way about any other man.”

  Bess spent Christmas with her children at Brentford, then her barge was piled high with her lavish wardrobe of expensive garments and personal belongings as she embarked from Brentford to Westminster Palace in time for the New Year's revels.

  Bess knew exactly what to expect at Court. As well as excitement and grandeur, there would be backbiting, petty jealousies, plotting, and mongering for power. All of them, including herself, were opportunists who would have to continually vie with each other to keep their place in the pecking order.

  Bess was given chambers close to the Royal Apartments. She was well-pleased, for only a privileged few would have access to Elizabeth's private apartments, which lay beyond the Privy Chamber. Her two luxurious rooms were next to those assigned to Lord Dudley's sister, Mary Sidney, whom she had known for years.

  Mary helped Bess hang her gowns in the commodious wardrobe. “Your clothes are beautiful; you have such exquisite taste. Which shall you wear tonight?”

  “There is to be a ball tonight?” Bess asked faintly.

  Mary laughed. “There is a ball every night, unless it is a masque or a play or a musical extravaganza. The New Year's Eve ball tomorrow night is a masquerade, but not just any costume will do. We are all to be gods and goddesses of mythology.”

  “That doesn't give me much time for a costume. Is Her Majesty to be Circe again?”

  “Ah, no. The queen is to be Venus, and my dearest brother Robin is to be her Adonis.” Mary rolled her eyes and they went off in peals of laughter.