by Georgina Lee
But this was nothing compared to the earl’s behaviour when I was nine. One morning I came down for breakfast at the usual time to find my grandmother, uncle Charles and the steward, Joseph, talking earnestly by the front door. The servants were shifty and nervous and I knew something was amiss. It did not take long for me to discover that my uncle Charles had been the victim of an attempted attack by the earl’s men on the previous night. This was bad enough, but it was believed the earl was planning an imminent attack on Chatsworth. I was told to gather everything I wished to take to Hardwick, as my grandmother and I would be taking refuge there for the time being. My uncles William and Charles would stay behind with some Chatsworth men to resist them.
All day long the house was a hive of activity as carpenters reinforced the main oak door and the downstairs windows were clad with wooden panels. Horses were assembled to pull waggons for the valuables; my grandmother went round each chamber pointing to different items she wished to take there, as servants packed it all in straw lined crates. By late afternoon we were ready to follow and I watched from the coach as my grandmother kissed her sons goodbye and wished them luck.
“This is quite an adventure for you, child,” she said to me as we set off on the journey, which would take us about an hour. Agnes was in the coach with us and two large chests of coins, as well as my grandmother’s jewellery caskets. Four armed guards rode alongside the coach. I was too excited to speak at first and I could see that Agnes was white with terror, her hands shaking as she clutched one of the smaller caskets.
“We shall be quite safe at Hardwick, he would not dare to seek us there, you must not fret.”
Her words did little to reassure either of us, and I looked anxiously out of the window as we made our way onto the road. I was not told the reason for the earl’s behaviour and I was too shy to ask, but eventually I managed to wheedle it out of a servant that the earl thought my grandmother was stealing money and goods from him. I wanted to ask her why did she not just give him what he wanted and save all this upset, but as we went on that journey, she made her feelings clear.
“If my husband thinks to get the better of me, he is mistaken. How dare he think that he will take my money and goods from me! I have not come this far in life to have everything stolen from under my nose. I have always had to fight for my rights and I am not going to stop now. Husband or no husband, he has no right to act in this way. Your poor uncle Charles was terrified, he thought the mob would have killed him.”
Agnes and I sat in silence, we were not required to respond and thankfully the journey passed without incident. I kept thinking we would be ambushed along the road, but all was quiet. It was nearly dark when we arrived at our destination and I was packed off to bed with my supper tray. All that night I lay awake, thinking about Chatsworth and what might be happening there. I did not think of the earl as a violent man, but I was now very afraid of him, as I knew he did not like me. My imagination ran riot as I saw him storming Hardwick too, and holding me as hostage until my grandmother agreed to give him what he wanted. These were tense days and I was glad of my studies to take my mind off everything. I was told nothing by my grandmother and I did not expect her to confide in me. She was her usual self, busy and in charge. Life returned to some sort of normality, but then within three years, my aunt’s future was finally decided.
After 17 years as a prisoner, in the October of 1587, my aunt was found guilty of high treason; the penalty for which has always been death. The evidence was called The Babbington Plot after the main plotter, Anthony. He had been a page in my grandmother’s house and evidently fallen under my aunt’s spell, so I was told. Convinced that it was right to help her escape, he planned to murder Queen Elizabeth and release Queen Mary, with help from a Spanish invasion. Sir Francis Walsingham, spymaster for Elizabeth, managed to obtain irrefutable evidence that she was involved, and lost no time in placing the evidence before his sovereign. Afterwards it was said that Elizabeth was overwhelmed with guilt over her decision to execute another anointed queen, and blamed her ministers for their pre-emptive haste in carrying it out, despite the fact that she had signed the death warrant.
So within a few months, after a short trial, Queen Mary was beheaded at Fotheringhay Castle. My grandmother told me the news as gently as she was able, but I was only 11 years old and took it badly. I could not believe that I would never see her again, and the brutality of her death shocked me deeply. For one queen to inflict such a fate on another was truly horrific. For many weeks I lay in bed, sobbing and clutching the Book of Hours, which she had left me. Inscribed in her own hand she had written Ce livre est a moy, Marie Reyne; it was something I treasured. Was she really guilty as they claimed? Or was the evidence trumped-up by Sir Francis Walsingham? I believe we shall never really know.
My grandmother took the news in her stride; I do not think she was sorry. When I was older I learnt that she considered my aunt to be the main cause of the breakdown of her marriage. I suspect that it would have collapsed anyway; she was not an easy person to live with. I do not mean to give you the impression I was unhappy during those years. With all this turmoil going on, she was a permanent and reassuring presence in my life and was always there for me. People thought she was a formidable person, and she could be, but she was also very emotional, sometimes in tears over a trifling matter, usually connected with the family. I learnt when to keep to myself and avoid becoming involved if possible.
I recovered in time, and resumed my studies again, but I nearly fainted with excitement when in 1588, aged 13, I was told that Queen Elizabeth had summoned me to Court at last. This was something that had always been expected and my grandmother was in a frenzy of planning and organisation. I was measured for new gowns and shoes, my existing clothes were sorted and some of them discarded as they were deemed not smart enough. I was given a list of the most important people and told to study it with care. My grandmother gave me lessons on how to conduct myself at Court, instructing me on the strict rules of etiquette, even including the correct way to stand and walk! I was bewildered with all the regulations, there seemed to be so much to remember and I knew everyone would be watching me.
“I learnt what was required when I was sent to the Zouche and Grey households as a girl,” she told me one afternoon as I watched Agnes pack her clothes. “ With your rank of course, you will not have had that training, so I must make sure you know everything.”
I nodded, eager to please. “ I have already learnt a great deal, lady grandmother.”
“But you do not know everything, child. As long as you stay close to me, you will be all right. The Palace of Whitehall, where we shall be staying, is vast and covers many acres. You must not wander anywhere, as it is easy to get lost. You must understand that this is a great opportunity and an honour for you to be invited to Court. Her majesty wishes to meet you at last and we must make the most of it. That is an important idea to aspire to, I have always done so myself. You do not want to reach your old age and find that you have regrets about wasted chances.”
“Will I have to study?”
“I shall tell your tutor to give you some work whilst you are away, but not a great deal. Your time will be spent in other ways, socialising, shopping, sewing with other ladies. There will no doubt be plenty of entertainment and hunting. It is never boring at Court.”
I could hardly wait for the day to arrive; this was surely where I was meant to be and I knew my destiny awaited me.
Our journey began at daybreak, but I was awake long before then, my stomach fluttering with nerves and excitement. The servants had already loaded everything into our three coaches and stood by the front door to see us off. The horses pawed at the ground impatiently, it seemed they were just as keen to get started too. My grandmother and I were in the middle coach, with the money and jewellery, the guards rode beside us as usual, I was used to their presence now. The other two coaches contained our clothes and a coffer of business papers that always went with my grandmother.
Agnes sat in the last coach, with my own recently acquired lady-in-waiting, Rachel. Both were as excited as me, and it was only my grandmother who remained calm, having made this journey many times before and seemed quite undaunted by the whole enterprise. I only hoped that I could live up to the high expectations that she had of me.
That first journey to London was an adventure in itself. There was so much to see as we travelled south and I spent all the time gazing in wonder at the view. Whenever we stopped, I noticed that a great fuss was made of us and as soon as a landlord saw the Shrewsbury Coat of Arms, nothing was too much trouble. But my grandmother knew how to get the best service; a rider was sent ahead with promises of extra money if she was pleased.
I was fascinated with the people, whose accents were so different. They regarded us with a mixture of curiosity and awe, I supposed because we were very wealthy and titled. I followed the lead of my grandmother and accepted such attention as my due. Agnes came into her own and fussed about, running her fingers along the tops of tables to check for dust and examining the food before she would allow us to eat it. My grandmother watched her indulgently and explained that her maid was very protective and we must allow her these little foibles. We fell asleep each night, my grandmother and I sharing a chamber as usual, in strange beds, with unfamiliar sounds and creaking floors all around us.
By the time we arrived on the outskirts of the city, I was almost bursting with excitement. The vile smell was the first thing I noticed and wrinkled my nose in displeasure. My grandmother laughed and reached for a silver filigree pomander for me to hold under my nose. It was filled with heady spices and herbs such as cinnamon, rosemary and camomile, so I tried to look positive and hoped the wind was blowing the other way. I shall never forget that first journey to London.
The coaches made their way at a slower pace, avoiding people, waggons, coaches and cattle. It was very busy and I could not help but stare at everyone and everything. Some of the individuals seemed very dirty and poor, barefoot and dressed in rags, as they begged for money or food. There were also finely clad merchants hurrying about their business, their arms carrying documents to different houses. Through open doorways, I glimpsed servants at work and children playing, shop windows with fine clothes on display, offices with clerks bent over desks and curious bystanders looking at us.
Stallholders yelled to attract attention from behind their wares, everything from vegetables to drinking goblets and street criers shouted public announcements over the noise of it all. Chickens pecked about in the dirt and someone on a floor above threw slops from a bucket, narrowly missing our coach. Billowing smoke belched from rooftops as we passed narrow lanes to our right and left, with hanging shopkeepers’ signs: locksmiths, tailors, brewers, butchers, bakers. The ground was covered with all sorts of mud and straw debris, where bedraggled dogs sat lazily in the sun and wooden scaffolding sometimes encroached onto our path, as yet another property was being built. The whole experience was overwhelmingly fascinating to me; I had never seen such a varied assortment of individuals or city life on this scale. Some of the lanes were so narrow, the coach could barely pass through and my grandmother pulled the curtains across to give us privacy. As we got nearer to Whitehall, the houses were grander and my grandmother pointed them all out to me, saying she had already been a guest of their owners and no doubt there would be many invitations for us both too. The River Thames was wider than I had imagined and so busy! It seemed everybody was going somewhere at the same time.
Suddenly we had arrived and the coach slowly came to a halt; we had entered a large courtyard full of activity. Servants ran about with trays of silver goblets to welcome visitors, horses and coaches were either preparing to leave, or like us, had just arrived. I saw maids shaking blankets from upstairs windows that were flung open in the sunshine, cartloads of fresh meat and loaves of bread were being unloaded and, watching it all, a group of male courtiers stood idly in one corner. Then the Lord Chamberlain himself appeared to welcome us, very formally and correctly. We partook of some wine before following him inside, where he took us through a labyrinth of passages and chambers to reach our allocated apartments.
I ran through them with glee, unable to contain my delight any longer. Everything was just as I imagined, the finest furnishings in red damask silk, featherbed mattresses with crisp white linen sheets, highly polished oak furniture, thick embroidered curtains at the windows and fresh rushes on the floors. Agnes and Rachel got to work as soon as our trunks were brought up, laying out our gowns and unpacking. My grandmother told me to rest before supper and I lay on my bed in the corner, but I was far too excited to sleep. She sat down and began to write brief letters telling friends of her arrival before summoning a messenger to dispatch them. I was finally in London, at Court; I wished I could stay here forever.
Oh, what a little innocent I was in those days! My happiness was short-lived because within twenty-four hours of arriving, we were on our way back to Derbyshire in disgrace and it was all my fault. I shudder to think of it now, all these years later. I never even got to see a glimpse of the queen, let alone be presented to her.
Our visit had started well enough. The first night, I sat at dinner next to Lord Burghley and Sir Walter Raleigh; even though I say so myself, I think I made a favourable impression on them. Lord Burghley was her majesty’s chief advisor, an old man of 68, I was much in awe of him as he was exceptionally wise and faithful to the queen, who showered him with well earned, prestigious positions throughout his life.
Sir Walter was a talented author, poet, navigator and adventurer, as well as being a handsome and distinguished courtier. I had many questions for him about his expedition to North America where he had tried to establish the first English colony of Virginia, three years previously. I spoke to them in both French and Italian and they were kind enough to ask me to play a tune for them on the virginals. The queen herself did not appear, she was indisposed, but my grandmother assured me I would see her soon.
The next morning we were served a delicious breakfast made by the Court kitchens. I soon discovered there was a great deal of complex ceremony involved with the serving of every meal, much more than at home. It took nearly an hour for the tables to be prepared with tablecloths, napkins, washing bowls, towels, jugs of washing water and salt. The servants bowed frequently and were very solemn as they laid out dish after dish.
As it was a Friday, only fish was placed before us. There were baked herrings, eggs, kippers, salt fish, porridge, sprats and battered apple rings fried in butter, together with freshly baked bread and dishes of butter with golden honey. To drink we were offered ale, beer or wine in fine Venetian glasses; I noticed my grandmother admiring them and suspected it would not be long before similar ones appeared on our table at home. I was too overwhelmed to eat anything and picked at my food as I watched everyone around me.
We sat in the Great Hall, at the top table of course, and it was a noisy affair. My grandmother presented numerous people to me, of whom I can remember very few. They all looked down on me with kindly interest, as one would a piece of rare china. I met some of my grandmothers lady friends too, Frances Cobham and Lady Dorothy Stafford, who were very gracious and patted my head, saying what a pretty little thing I was. I was not required to say anything, but just to smile sweetly, and my grandmother seemed pleased.
Later we made our way to chapel and as she was deep in conversation with her friends, I was obliged to wait outside for her. After about five minutes of standing like a statue as everyone stared at me, some with a smirk on their faces I have to say, I decided I would go into chapel on my own. I did not see any harm in it.
The Lord Chamberlain saw me approach and frowned. This should have been a warning to me, but I knew no better. He told me to stand back and allow the other ladies of rank to precede me. I was very annoyed by what I perceived to be his insolence, and refused. I told him that by God’s will, this was the very lowest place I could possibly be given. He repeated his request twic
e more, but I stood firm, despite everyone now staring at me. Out of the corner of my eye I saw my grandmother gasp, and I realised I had made a faux pas, but it was too late. I stood awkwardly, calling his bluff. I felt myself blush from the roots of my hair down to my feet. I was surely in the right, I may be only a girl, but I was after all, the highest-ranking lady at Court after the queen. A stunned silence descended as all eyes continued to stare, waiting to see what would happen.
After what seemed like an age, from the back of the queue I heard a male voice.
“If the lady will allow me, I would be honoured to escort her into chapel.”
All eyes now swivelled to see an exceptionally attractive, tall young man stroll through the throng, who stood back to let him pass, as Moses did with the Red Sea. His tight fitting clothes accentuated his masculine frame and the ladies followed him hungrily with their eyes. There was a challenging glint in his blue eyes, which seemed at odds with his air of lazy indifference. His black velvet doublet had been left open showing a glimpse of bare chest, perhaps a little too carelessly. I thought at once that he was not shocked by my breech of etiquette, as everyone else seemed to be.
When he reached me, he removed his feathered hat with easy nonchalance and bowed low.
He took my hand and kissed it elegantly, murmuring, “Robert Derevaux, Earl of Essex, at your service, m’lady.”
I looked up at him and as soon as I gazed into those mesmerizing eyes, I was lost. Can one so young fall in love so easily? I did. Robert Deveraux had everything I imagined my future husband to possess. Of course he was ten years older than me, but what did that matter? My mouth was too dry to respond and he bent down to whisper in my ear, “come, we shall sit together and give the gossips something to talk about.”
With that, he guided me past the Lord Chamberlain, who had been forced to concede, and we made our way triumphantly into chapel, where we sat together all through the service and he tickled the palm of my hand every so often, making me squirm with pleasure.
