by Georgina Lee
I saw little more of Robert during the time we were at Court. He made one unexpected visit to Shrewsbury House just before our return, and I had some time alone with him. I longed to tell him how I felt, but I did not get the chance. We were interrupted by my grandmother coming home early from a shopping expedition, and that was the last time I saw him before we left for Derbyshire. But there was an unfortunate consequence to our friendship. The queen’s attitude cooled towards me, I saw it in her eyes within a day, although she went through the motions of graciousness when I was in her presence. My grandmother had been right, as usual; she tried to warn me, but I could not help myself.
We started our journey back to Derbyshire in the July of 1592, eight months after we arrived in London. There had been another outbreak of plague in the city, so it seemed timely that we left. My marriage negotiations continued to be agonisingly slow and shrouded in mystery. When I was bold enough to ask the queen about it, she was evasive and told me not to concern myself, as the matter would be decided soon enough. Lord Burghley just told me to be patient, so I had to be content with snippets of information that might be out of date or untrue. The son of the Duke of Palma was a name that had been mentioned in the past as a possible suitor for me, but obviously at the time of the Spanish Armada’s attempted invasion, it was quickly abandoned.
I found it all very frustrating that my future was so far out of my control. I looked at the life my grandmother led and I was filled with envy. She had everything she desired, she chose her own paths in life and made all her own decisions. Her late husband had been a source of discord, but after his death there was nothing to prevent her from doing exactly as she wished. I wondered if I would ever have the same freedom.
My grandmother spent huge amounts of money on that visit. It was vulgar to mention the cost of anything, but I saw her accounts book and the total was over £6,000! She always recorded every penny she spent. On our return, she had 12 extra coaches containing bolts of material, the finest Spanish leather to make into shoes or gloves, ermine for me, lace, embroidered panels for garments, hair decorations, headdresses, pearls and gold chains. There were covered carts piled high with furniture, such as expensive Italian carved chests, carpets and tables, all making their way slowly north in convey behind us. More armed outriders escorted gold and silver plate that she bought from Sir Christopher Hatton’s heir in Northamptonshire, together with some tapestries, which were destined to be hung at the New Hardwick Hall, when finished. The convoy was an ostentatious show of her vast wealth for all to see and I sometimes felt embarrassment at the contrast between us and the ordinary people who watched us pass by.
We also had the portrait of me that was commissioned in London. I was quite pleased with it, although I had to borrow some of my grandmother’s jewels for the sittings, as my own Lennox inheritance from my late grandmother had been ‘lost’ en route from Scotland. Lord Burghley did approach King James about it on several occasions, but there was still no sign of them.
I tried to look happy for my cousin, Grace Pierrepoint, who was married later that year. She is a similar age to me and although we were always friends, I found it hard to accept she was to have a husband before me. Uncle Gilbert and aunt Mary were still not on speaking terms with my grandmother since she refused to help with their debts after the old Earl of Shrewsbury’s death. I dared not broach the subject with her, as I knew she would be very displeased at my impertinence.
Aunt Mary continued to write to me regularly, and I was grateful for her kindness, she at least understood my trials like no one else, except Robert. I was so pleased that he said he would begin writing to me once more. His letters were always full of life and I felt a little nearer to Court when I read them. He told me that our correspondence was only for us and must be destroyed when read. I found it impossible to burn them and hid them under a loose floorboard near my bed when I returned home.
But so many people were jealous of him. Who would not have been when he was so brave and handsome? He believed Robert Cecil was always undermining him and finding fault in his ideas, so it was just as well that the two Bacon brothers, Francis and Anthony, were good friends to him. He told me that he quarrels a lot with Sir Walter Raleigh, much to the annoyance of the queen. My grandmother would put on a show of liking him, but I knew she did not do it for my sake, but because he was the queen’s favourite. My wait continued and there seemed no end in sight.
There had been quite a change at Hardwick in our absence. The building of the New Hall had reached the roof and even the old Hall had been worked upon. There was no escape from the noise, dust, hammering and banging. Nearly four hundred men were there each day and it was full of activity during daylight hours. Uncle William’s wife, Anne, was with child and must have found it especially tedious.
Another great worry was the discovery of a plot to kidnap me, as told by a Jesuit priest. There may have been a connection between him and my tutor Morley, who proved to be a papist. My grandmother dismissed him, becoming suspicious when he said he would work for nothing. He had been my tutor for years and there seemed no reason to doubt him, he was very clever and had left university at Cambridge to take up the position. As he enjoyed music, like myself, he was a good companion. So I was temporarily without a tutor, which I found not to my liking, as when I was working at my studies, I had less time to think about my future. These plots against me were very disturbing and I became so fearful whenever one came to light. Also it meant that my security was tightened and I had even less freedom.
The days and nights passed into months and there was still no word from the queen. Nothing was told to me of any prospective suitors and I was expected to be docile and undemanding. The waiting was interminable. I tried to keep positive and not give way to despondency, but with each passing year, my youth was slipping away, it was very hard. Every so often, I sneaked into my grandmother’s study and opened the drawer where she kept her personal letters. I discovered that Lord Burghley hinted that his son would be a possible suitor for me. When I read that, I was horrified, as Robert Cecil was certainly not my idea of a husband. He was not handsome and had a bad limp; I thought I would rather remain unmarried.
I did not see Robert for three long years and I suddenly had an idea, wondering why I had not thought of it before. I wrote and invited him to celebrate my twentieth birthday on 10 November 1595 and, to my joy, he accepted. My grandmother was absolutely furious at my temerity of course, but there was nothing she could have done about it as the queen knew, and had given her permission. He arrived with two friends the day before my birthday and I could not have wished for a better present. As the New Hall was still unfinished, we entertained him in the Old Hall, and he received the highest attention.
But my plans did not come to fruition. I had hoped we would be able to spend time with one another, perhaps ride out, just the two of us, or sit together at meals to talk and laugh. But my grandmother had other ideas, and invited all our family, as well as neighbours from noble families who were naturally keen to meet him. I should have guessed that someone so important would be a popular attraction.
My uncles monopolised him, talking about battles and politics until late into the night. He was kept busy all day, hunting, fishing and playing bowls with the men, I hardly saw him at all. Seated next to my grandmother, as a guest of honour, he smiled at me, but I was at the other end of the table and could only look at his dear face from afar. He brought with him news of the Court and it was a welcome diversion from the monotonous routine here. Both my grandmother and I received presents from him, hers was a crate of the finest claret, but my own, was a pair of exquisite, outdoor boots in soft, white Spanish leather with wooden heels, the height of fashion.
“I had to guess your shoe size,” he told me gravely as I accepted the gift. “I hope they fit.”
Before I could respond, he crouched down and removed my existing slippers. There were some gasps from the other guests at his forwardness, but he did not care. He once
told me that life’s petty rules did not apply to him; he made his own rules as he went through life. His fingers caressed my skin as he put the boots on my feet and I resisted an urge to kiss the top of his head as he knelt before me.
The boots were beautiful to look at and comfortable to wear. I was speechless with gratitude and could only murmur my thanks, as there was a ripple of light applause. He stood up and kissed my hand before being distracted by uncle William and taken away. My grandmother looked stony-faced and told me to show one of the lady guests some flowers at the other end of the house. I knew what she was doing; keeping us apart, and I despised her for it.
However my patience was rewarded when four months later, in the spring of 1596, I was summoned to Court again, and this time it was aunt Mary and my uncles Gilbert and Charles who escorted me. I cannot describe the delight I felt in having some time away from my grandmother. When I left she was anxious for my safety and spoke very sternly to everyone who accompanied me. I was so excited as I was sure I would be able to spend time with Robert at last. Our journey was without incident and no sooner had we arrived, than I was asking about him.
“They say the Earl of Essex has just set sail for Spain, highness,” Rachel said as she helped me change for supper. She had just been with the other servants and was full of news.
“Why?”
“He has gone with Sir Walter Raleigh and the English fleet to destroy the new Spanish Armada which is being built at Cadiz. They will be gone some time I imagine.”
“I see.” I bit my lip; this was obviously part of the plan, to invite me when he was not here.
“ Although it is well known they dislike one another, so it will not be a smooth expedition. But there is more talk...” she hesitated.
“Tell me all,” I commanded and waited as she arranged my hair.
“The earl has a mistress, they say.”
“Those gossips will say anything!” I retorted. “ I do not believe it.”
“Half the ladies at Court are in love with him.”
“And the other half?” I enquired crossly.
She raised her eyebrows and the conversation came to an abrupt end as we were disturbed by aunt Mary who was wearing yet another new gown. Despite claiming to be penniless, she always seemed to have new clothes and her jewellery collection grew at the same rate. I suspected that she wore a crucifix hidden under her gown, a dangerous habit, especially here at Court. I overheard Uncle Gilbert questioning her about it once, but she would not be drawn into an argument and I could not help but admire her determination.
The two of them had a very extravagant lifestyle; they regularly entertained their friends and gave lavish parties, with no expense spared, when the serious gambling went on into the early hours. They enjoyed many of the pastimes that London had to offer and watched plays in a box at the Rose Theatre, before inviting large numbers of their friends home to join them for supper at their London home of Cold Harbour House. Uncle Gilbert told me once that it is expected of them as Earl and Countess of Shrewsbury.
Uncle Charles also enjoyed himself, but did not seem to get into debt in the same way; he had reluctantly left his wife, Catherine, behind in Derbyshire, with their sons William, and baby Charles for that visit. I suspected this was deliberate so that he could chaperone me, and I was sometimes glad of it, especially when I was cornered by a particularly boring, elderly member of the Court. The queen did not pay me much attention, there was no private audience with her and she barely acknowledged me. She was looking old and tired, accentuated by the fact that her advisors were now younger, replacing the old guard. A new order was slowly being born.
Not long after our arrival, uncle Gilbert was honoured by the queen and commissioned to visit the French King and award him the Order of the Garter, as well as present the recently appointed English Ambassador and validate a new treaty against Spain. He was delighted to have been chosen and went off to Paris looking highly pleased with himself. His success was short lived though, as he was not so happy to discover on his return, that John Stanhope has been knighted and given the position of Treasurer of the Chamber. This was a job that my grandfather Sir William Cavendish held under Henry VIII, and uncle Gilbert had assumed it would pass to him. As Sir John was his enemy, there was much bad feeling about it.
But then aunt Mary disgraced herself by suggesting to the queen that her daughters could be my maids of honour. Apparently the queen replied icily that only princesses of royal blood are entitled to have maids of honour. Once more, my London visit was cut short and we were obliged to return to Derbyshire. There were to be no more masque balls or plays or any of the other wonderful diversions at Court.
I was brought very low in spirits at the thought of returning to my grandmother’s house with no sign of a husband for me, not even one on the horizon. I began to wonder if the queen had any intention at all of finding me a husband. She had kept many potential suitors in suspense over her own marriage, expertly steering her indecision to the inevitable conclusion. Having declared herself the Virgin Queen, it was clear she had no wish to have a husband or children.
Was that to be my fate as well? Was I to take the throne after her, too old to bear children and finish my days as a bitter old woman? I had seen the queen and the life she led, alone and with heavy responsibilities on her shoulders, a target for assassination and political unrest, hated by Catholics and the Pope. It was true she had been a good queen to her people, and achieved much in her long reign, but there was a heavy price to pay for it. The more I thought about it, the more I shrank from the idea of having a crown placed on my head. Now that I was older, I understood all it would mean. No longer did I secretly and childishly dream of being Queen Arbella, now my hopes for the future were much more simple.
It was my great fear that the queen would never give permission for me to marry. Any children of mine would increase the threat to her throne, as she would see it. My position was impossible, nothing cheered me and I could not see my life getting better in the foreseeable future.
OCTOBER 1597
We finally moved into the New Hall at Hardwick in time for my grandmother’s seventieth birthday. I have never seen a house like it. It was almost finished, apart from the High Great Chamber, which would take another two years to complete. At last we were able to see it properly, without workmen, scaffolding and all the muddle that goes with building. It was a relief to have the use of it after so many years in the making. It is not big, certainly nowhere near as large as Chatsworth, but it could not have been made any clearer who was the owner.
At the pinnacle of the towers in each corner, there are large wrought iron initials ES for Elizabeth Shrewsbury, which completely dominate the roof and sky. The accommodation is arranged over three storeys, and unusually, the main reception chamber sits on the top floor, so that guests must climb the long, ceremonial, stone curved staircase to reach it. There are detailed carvings of coats of arms, (my grandmother’s entwined with the queen’s) as well as oak panelled walls with richly coloured hanging tapestries. The large windows in the best chambers are glazed with costly hand made, glass panes that give views of the surrounding Hardwick farms.
The light flooded in through these windows in such a way that made me shade my eyes, I always found it uncomfortable, but everyone else thought it was very fine. Or least that was what they told my grandmother, and who would dared to have disagreed with her? She was very excited about this building and told me that it was as much mine as hers, but of course that was nonsense, as it was plain to see that her mark was everywhere, on each and every wall, ceiling and square inch of the place. I hated it.
When my grandmother told me that I would still be sharing a bedchamber with her, I was filled with resentment. Why should I have to do so? When was I ever going to be allowed some freedom? These surroundings were very luxurious, but I was alone in my lack of enthusiasm for this grand house. When I supervised the removal of my belongings to the New Hall, I am afraid I showed lack of grace
and good humour, which my grandmother ignored.
But all the costly items in the world could never have taken away the sadness we all felt last year when little Gilbert, aunt Mary’s son, drew his last breath, a terrible shock. This was followed closely by aunt Anne, uncle William’s wife, who died only a few months after we moved into the New Hall. She had not been at all well during her pregnancy and giving birth was just too much for her. As two of their daughters had also died young, this was another cruel blow, but thanks be to God, the baby boy survived and my uncle called him James, a brother for Wylkyn.
That year, we always seemed to be standing by coffins as they were lowered into the ground and the sounds that dominated the house were those of my grandmother weeping. No one had much to be joyful about during those days, and then in August of 1598, we heard news from Court that Lord Burghley had died and the queen was in deep mourning for him. He had been a good friend to my grandmother and I knew she would miss him too.
I was beginning to appreciate a little more of the politics at Court now and I realised the importance of maintaining good relationships with the men close to the queen. The old guard from her earlier years were gradually dying and being replaced with Robert Cecil, Sir Walter Raleigh and of course, dear Robert. These men were of a different generation to my grandmother, but she maintained contact by letter and sent gifts at Christmas, as she still did with the queen.
I did not pretend to understand the intricacies of the relationship between my grandmother and Robert, but I think they both realised, to keep favour with the queen; it was necessary at least to show a degree of outward friendship. It was impossible for her not to know that Robert and I were exchanging letters, but she seems to have been content to allow me to carry on with the correspondence. Now that I saw fewer and fewer people, this was especially welcome. Aunt Mary was still hardly speaking to my grandmother, so this meant that I still saw little of my cousins, Mary, Elizabeth and Alathea. Instead I gave Wylkyn lessons in Latin and we would speak to one another at mealtimes about silly topics, which annoyed my grandmother, as she did not understand what we were saying.
