by Georgina Lee
Afterwards my grandmother beckoned for me to go over to her, so we were forced apart. I guessed she would be displeased, but nothing prepared me for what was to follow. With her hand clamped over my wrist, she half dragged me back to our apartments, her face a mask of fury, struggling to contain her anger. Throwing me down on the bed, for the first time in my life, I felt the full force of her dominating personality and temper.
“Who do you think you are? Demanding to precede the other ladies indeed! Have you lost your senses?”
“I thought I should go ahead of them, it is my place.”
“No it is not!” she thundered. “I told you to stay beside me and not to put yourself forward, but it seems you are incapable of obedience to your elders. You should have waited until I was ready. Would that have been so difficult? Of all the people to escort you, it had to be the Earl of Essex, the stepson of the queen’s first favourite, Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester.”
“Why should he not escort me? I thought he was very kind.”
“Have you not been listening to me, child?”
I was prevented from answering by a knock on the door and she went to open it. A page handed her a note and she read it quickly, her expression grew even more furious as she dismissed him curtly.
“Her majesty has commanded us to return home at once. I hope you are pleased with yourself!” she said, her eyes blazing.
“I do not understand,” I sobbed. “You have always told me I am a princess...”
“The Earl of Essex has shown you marked attention and that is something the queen will not tolerate. He is her favourite; no other ladies may amuse him or arouse his interest in any way. Now we must return home in disgrace, everyone will know the reason and it will take a long time for the queen to forget your indiscretion, if she ever does. I am very disappointed in you; this whole journey has been a waste of my time and money.”
There was nothing more I could have said. I remained silent, hoping she would calm down. I waited in misery for her to leave me alone, knowing she would want to limit the damage by speaking to her friends about it and also there was our hasty departure to arrange. She shouted for Agnes crossly and tore up the note before throwing the pieces over me. I turned towards the wall and curled up in a ball, completely shattered by this turn of events. At that moment, I just wanted to die of shame.
Looking back on that incident now, I realised the embarrassment I must have caused my grandmother and it made me cringe at my ignorance. But I was very young and, in time, it was forgotten. I came to realise that there were far worse mistakes to make when it came to displeasing the queen; and I understood the reason that my grandmother went to so much trouble for the queen, always pleasing her, buying expensive gifts and the like. Her majesty controlled us all, more so in London of course. I think one of the reasons my grandmother continued to live in Derbyshire, was to keep that distance, there was some freedom to be had in being far from Court. But much later, I discovered that the queen was anxious for my security. The Spanish were preparing to invade our shores, as revenge for the execution of my aunt and I was safer at Hardwick.
But having seen what London had to offer, I began to resent being so far away from it and with each birthday I became more and more restless. I listened with envy to any of the servants talking about trips to local towns like Chesterfield, which seemed a world away from my dull existence at Hardwick. I watched visitors come and go from the house, and pestered them with questions of their travels, much to the amusement of the family.
My grandmother and I still shared a bedchamber and I had no privacy. This I hated most of all, but when I broached he subject, I was told my grandmother knew what was best for me. One day, I forced the issue and demanded to be told the real reason. My grandmother put her sewing down reluctantly and used that voice she always used when she told me something unpleasant.
“I think the time is right to tell you. As you have a potential claim to the throne, there are evil people who plan to kidnap you, convert you to Catholicism and murder Queen Elizabeth.”
My eyes widened in surprise as she continued.
“There are still some Catholics who believe the new faith is wrong and wish to have a Catholic queen on the throne of England again.”
“Like the Tudor Queen Mary?” I asked.
“Yes, those days were frightening indeed. Most people do not wish to be under the rule of Rome once more. The queen wishes you to be kept safely here with me, away from any danger.”
“But for how long?”
“Only until a suitable husband can be found for you, child.”
“And how long will that be? When can I return to Court?”
“It may surprise you to know that negotiations have been going for some years, with European foreign ambassadors on behalf of their masters as well as other English nobles.”
“What are their names?” I asked.
“The Earl of Leicester’s baby son before he died, and Esme Stuart, although for years I have my sights set on someone much higher for you.”
“Who might that be, lady grandmother?”
Her eyes lit up. “No less than King James himself, but do not repeat that to anyone. Names are being put forward to the queen all the time. These are matters of state, they do not concern you.”
“If I am to marry, then they are of concern to me,” I replied boldly. “Has her majesty named me as her heir yet?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I do not know, child. She has not named anyone.”
I did not reply as this information sank into my head. I noticed that she had not mentioned Robert Deveraux as a possible suitor for me and I imagined this was because he was so favoured with the queen. It was very unfair.
I found the waiting interminable. Life with my grandmother did not improve; we were still sharing a bedchamber, I was still kept strictly with no sign of a husband for me. The Earl of Shrewsbury died on a chilly November morning in 1590 and my grandmother was once more a widow. She was now the wealthiest woman in the kingdom, after the queen. She seemed to grow even more in stature, if that was possible. She took to wearing widow’s black gowns with expensive lace ruffs, and had more energy than ever.
Uncle Gilbert was now the Seventh Earl of Shrewsbury, making aunt Mary the new countess. I was dismayed when my grandmother refused to help him with money any more, saying she had already helped him so much in the past and he still owed her a large sum, which he showed no sign of repaying. I listened as he pleaded with my grandmother in her study, then there was the slam of a door and it all went quiet. I could not understand her refusal as she had more than enough money and could easily spare some for her family. Uncle Gilbert was furious and refused to speak to her ever again.
So I was deprived of direct contact with them and it was a bitter blow. But uncle Henry was her own flesh and blood, her first-born son, and my grandmother refused to help him any more too. His heavy drinking and gambling, together with having various mistresses around the county and constantly being in debt, had made him into the black sheep of the Cavendish family. I always enjoyed his company though, I supposed that is what got him into trouble, he liked life too much. In contrast, uncle William (my grandmother’s favourite son) was the opposite: sober, upright, reliable, but he was a boring companion.
Soon after, the building work at Hardwick took on a new and exciting change. My grandmother, having considerably altered and enlarged Hardwick Hall over the last few years, started to build a new Hall, just yards from the old one. She told me excitedly that she had wanted to build there for many years and this house would be exactly as she wished for us. I quickly corrected her that I should only live there until I married, and she smiled in agreement, humouring me as usual. The digging for the foundations began just before Christmas in 1590. It was just a year later that I began to think my life really would change for the better, when my grandmother told me we were going to London on an extended visit, with uncles William, Charles
and their families.
We stayed at Shrewsbury House in Chelsea, which now belonged to my grandmother. It seemed strange to me that we were setting out as winter approached, but once my grandmother had made her mind up, she did not change it. The preparations for the journey had become familiar to me and I was allowed to give instructions to my own ladies-in-waiting for the packing of my gowns and clothes. With so many of us staying in London, my grandmother had already enlarged the house to accommodate everyone in comfort, and I knew that cattle and sheep had been herded down to provide meat for us and the many visitors we would no doubt be entertaining. Our household of ladies, gentlemen and best servants travelled with us, although some had gone on ahead to be ready for our arrival.
I suspected that as my grandmother was in her sixty-fourth year (although you would never have believed so,) this could be the last time she travelled to London. On the morning we were finally ready to set off, I thought that we looked like a small army, with no less than twelve waggons and over forty horses, together with coaches for the family and their own servants. It was a long, slow journey and I had to supress my impatience to arrive, but my grandmother was in high spirits, throwing money to beggars, tipping landlords generously when they excelled themselves for her and having church bells rung in a town to herald her arrival.
I had to sit with her of course in the cumbersome coach that she would not change, and there were the inevitable guards riding alongside us. To pass the time, I read or looked out of the window, but it was a relief when we eventually arrived at our destination and the uncomfortable lurching of the coach was gone.
Within hours, my grandmother made appointments for us to be measured for new gowns for we must be seen at Court wearing the best of everything. Her own seamstresses worked with the London women to produce the garments as quickly as possible. I chose exquisite silks, damasks and soft velvet brocades in rich colours for my new wardrobe, a contrast to my grandmother in her black gowns. I learnt that black fabric dye was even more costly and never worn by poor people; I was glad I did not have to wear it, as I did not think it would suit me.
This was a happy time, I was pleased to be with my family, who provided a welcome diversion from the many hours I was forced to spend alone with my grandmother. I was determined that this visit would be a success, I had learnt much in the five years since I was 13, and I was full of optimism that a husband would be found for me very soon.
My grandmother was first married when she not much older than me, so my time was surely coming. I was also hopeful to see Robert again; we had exchanged some letters since I last saw him. The queen recently made him Master of the Horse, Privy Councillor and Earl Marshall, much to the disapproval of her other senior courtiers, so rumour had it.
Sir Walter Raleigh and Robert Cecil apparently could not disguise their animosity for one another. My grandmother told me that it was very different in the earlier days of the queen’s reign when powerful men worked together, instead of squabbling amongst themselves. I was also to have another portrait of myself, my grandmother said it was long overdue. Miniature likenesses have been painted of me to show to foreign princes, although I had not seen the work; I hoped I was shown in a good light.
After a few days, we were ready to board my grandmother’s own luxurious barge and travel down river to Whitehall, where the queen and her Court were making their own preparations for the Christmas feasts. At last I was able to enjoy all the many entertainments on offer and as my grandmother was so busy talking to her old friends, she did not notice if I was not with her all the time. Inside the royal palace was the one place that she considered me to be safe enough to leave to amuse myself. The freedom that it gave me was long overdue.
I had several audiences with the queen, although I was quite nervous in her presence. Her appearance was dazzling in every way. She wore elaborate, intricately embroidered gowns of rainbow colours that provided a canvas for the sparkling, precious jewellery that she wore. Pendants, necklaces, bracelets and earrings were all displayed every day, she was never seen without all these costly baubles. There were two rings that particularly interested me: the coronation ring and her special ruby and pearl locket ring that was rumoured to contain a miniature portrait of her mother, Ann Boleyn. I was informed never, ever, to mention that name to her and no one dared. We spoke of innocuous subjects such as my education, poetry, music or the latest play; all these subjects were of interest to the queen as she was an intelligent, accomplished woman.
Of similar age to my grandmother, her majesty’s grey hair was hidden beneath a red wig, also draped in more sparkling jewellery, and her face was heavily whitened to hide the effects of smallpox. Like many people, most of her teeth were black, and she smiled without opening her mouth. The contrast between the look of her majesty and my grandmother could not have been greater, but both were intimidating to me in so many ways and they made me conscious of my own youth and inexperience. Her ladies-in-waiting accompanied her wherever she went, a flurry of wellborn females who attended to her every wish. When younger, it was a role that my grandmother was proud to have held for many years.
I was still awed by everything at Court. For the twelve days of Christmas, there were banquets every evening, with hundreds of candles lit in every corner of the lavishly adorned halls. The tables were laden with silver and gold platters of a wide variety of foods, and red-berried holly and ivy trailed as swags along white linen tablecloths. The air was full of expensive scents from precious oils, brought from the Far East; it mingled with the mouth watering smell of roasting meat, oranges and spices that wafted up from the kitchens throughout the day.
Outside, the markets were busy with visiting stallholders who brought their wares from all over the country especially for Christmas. With the other Court ladies, I loved to browse and buy pretty ribbons, silks, gloves, leather purses, hats, floral waters and hair washes. Many of the ladies copied the queen by applying borax and sulphur or white lead and vinegar to their skin. I myself spend many hours with Rachel trying to curl my hair with forks and wires, often with burnt results. Sometimes I longed for the bygone days when Queen Anne Boleyn was alive, as fashionable hair then was very simple, it certainly was not so at that time.
The courtiers showed off their wealth with the finest ermine and fur-trimmed garments, the ladies dressed in brightly coloured silk and satin gowns, precious stones caught the light on their hands, necks and hair. Both ladies and gentlemen wore pearls, the men as a single earring and the women displayed as many as they could afford. My grandmother had a particularly long and costly five strand pearl necklace, a statement of the highest wealth. After just a few days, everyone of importance was presented to me, but the one person I really wanted to see, was always occupied, usually with the queen herself.
One evening, her majesty was indisposed and did not appear for the banquet. Her throne was conspicuously empty, but there was a playful moment when Robert sat there, laughing for a few moments with his friends, before getting up hastily. I noticed not everyone found it so amusing. He came over to me and bowed.
“Lady Arbella, I trust you are well,” he said.
“Very well, your grace. I had thought to see you sooner, I have been at Court these four days.”
“Alas, I have been much occupied with her majesty.” He took hold of my hands. “But this evening I shall devote myself to you.”
“Is that wise?” I reluctantly pulled my hands free.
He shrugged and waved for a servant to bring him a drink. “I am surely permitted to talk to the other ladies here, and it is a long time since we have seen you at Court. Does your grandmother still keep you on a tight rein?”
“She does.” I looked round and sure enough, my grandmother was watching us out of the corner of her eye as she talked to a friend.
“You have not written to me lately. My life in Derbyshire is vey dull, and you know how much I look forward to your letters.”
“Yes, I have a good reason for it, my wife wo
uld not consider it seemly.”
I looked at him in shocked silence.
“Come, Arbella, my little Arbella, you did not think that I could stay unmarried for ever did you? My wife is the daughter of Sir Francis Walsingham, perhaps you have heard of her?”
Of course I have heard of Sir Philip Sidney’s widow, Frances. I wished her to be dull and ugly, but she was none of these things, quite the reverse, I was forced to admit to myself. I pulled my hands away and struggled to remain in control of my emotions. He tipped his head back to drain the glass and set it down on the table beside us.
“It will not change anything, we shall still be friends. Do not be alarmed, Frances is not at Court; she expects our first child in the New Year. I promise to write to you again, as we used to. Will that please you?”
“I suppose so.” I could not keep the sullen disapproval out of my voice.
“Good. Now we shall dance.”
He pulled me to my feet and led me into the middle of the dancers, everyone stared and the whispering began. My grandmother had half risen and waited to see what we were going to do.
We danced and I followed the steps without thinking. I could not bring myself to smile, although this was what I have dreamt of for so long. I felt a change had come upon him since we last met, but I did not know what it was. Maybe it was I who had changed. The music washed over me, lulling me into a fantasy world where only the two of us were alive. His touch felt just as I imagined; the heat of his body as it brushed mine made me dizzy with desire. He was a master of seduction and I began to despise myself for being so weak.
When the music ended, he kissed my hand and I curtseyed quickly, making my escape. I saw his startled look and the staring faces of everyone, but my evening was over and I hurried back to my bedchamber where I could have some precious time alone. The last thing I wanted was my grandmother fussing over me. When she finally appeared, I pretended to be asleep, my pillow wet with salty tears; I did not even say my prayers that night, for I was far too upset.
