by Georgina Lee
“She did not have to live with her,” was my reply.
He chuckled. “You will not miss her and yet you still cry.”
“It is just the shock, death is always a shock, even when expected.”
“But she was very old, over 80?”
“And never a day’s illness; I wish I could be so fortunate. But these are my private family matters,” I said briskly, not wishing to discuss it further. “Tell me of your writing. I enjoy your plays, my favourite was Volpone, I first saw it two years ago at the Globe. The King’s Men are always excellent at comedy, but I have often wondered where you find your inspiration?”
He gave a smug smile of satisfaction. “That is simple, look around you.”
I did as he suggested and observed the usual groups of courtiers, standing around gossiping, whispering, never missing anything, their eyes curious as always. Finely dressed in velvets and furs with sparkling gold and precious stones, they seemed to shout: look at me, I am very wealthy and better than you. And I was one of them, it sometimes pained me to admit to myself.
“You can see my inspiration, Lady Arbella. All of man’s strengths and weaknesses are here in this Hall. There is envy, lust, pride, ambition, treachery, greed, love, hate...” he paused. “Can you see it too? Human nature remains the same whatever the age.”
At first I did not reply and continued studying them as if seeing all these people for the first time. They were the king’s favourites of course, you could smell them long before you saw them, for they had a scent sweeter than any lady. I heard that some of the king’s favourites would share a bed with both ladies and gentlemen, sometimes both at once. I was no longer shocked by such occurrences, they had become so commonplace that I almost thought of it as normal. I persisted in my questioning.
“But you are also inspired by the classics too? Such stories have stood the test of time very well; tell me, why are so many plays set in Italy?”
“To avoid the censor, of course.”
He suddenly became restless, crossing and uncrossing his legs.
“ I hate this place. It is full of conceited popinjays, fawning over the king. And the amount of money wasted here makes me sick.”
“Why do you come here then?”
“The same reason as we all come here. You look for a husband and I look for a patron and an audience. We are all looking for something, some of us do not know what it is though.” He leant towards me and lowered his voice, “I think you would rather not be here either.”
“This is where I belong. You flatter yourself sir, if you think to know my feelings. You must excuse me.”
I stood up, his familiarity was too much to tolerate.
“Yes, keep telling yourself that, my lady, and all will be well.”
As I hurried away from his mocking gaze, my cheeks were flushed; I would make sure not to engage in conversation with him in the future.
Over the next few days, I mulled over Master Jonson’s words, which have bothered me. Why did he think I would rather have been somewhere else? Did it show in my demeanour? How I longed to be with William; if he were at Court, life would have been so much better. But I could not see William living at Court for a while yet, his education was very important and I certainly did not want to stand in his way. My only escape was spending a few days with aunt Mary and uncle Gilbert at Shrewsbury House in Chelsea, but I longed to have somewhere of my own, a place to escape from the trials of Court life.
I started to look for a house of my own to buy, I could not afford anything grand, but Mrs B. accompanied me to look at properties and I found myself more and more drawn to Blackfriars. As the name suggests, it used to be an area that was previously inhabited by men of religion, but now it was a fashionable part of London with newly built houses, luxury shops and many churches where one could hear controversial sermons.
But before I could proceed with this dream, just before Christmas of 1608, I was taken very ill with smallpox. Lady Skinner, a dear friend, looked after me as if I were her own daughter and took turns with Mrs B. to sit with me. She was very much against the usual treatment of bloodletting and insisted on more gentle treatments of herbal remedies, rest and warmth. She told me this was how Queen Elizabeth managed to survive the illness and if it was good enough for her late majesty, then surely it would be good enough for me.
For many days I was unaware of my surroundings and the doctors attending me. All I can remember is the terrible feeling of the spots all over my body, the aching in my bones and the overpowering weakness that threatened my very existence. William was forbidden to come to me, although he wrote and his letters were read to me as I was too weak to read them myself.
Few people entered my bedchamber, most were too afraid of catching it themselves and I would not wish them to, it is a vile illness. But God was kind to me and I recovered, thanks in no small part to my two dear friends. I have some pox marks left on my face but in time, they did fade, and as I have never been considered a great beauty, it did not matter very much.
After some months, when I felt stronger, I resolved to undertake my progress in the summer. I had never done one before, and as I started to plan, I realised that a lot of organisation was involved. Crompton helped me with everything, there were letters to write to everyone informing them of the date I hoped to be with them. The route was planned carefully, with notice given to landlords en route, to expect my party, with adequate stabling for the horses. I had to decide who to take with me, then there were gifts for my hosts, for I could not appear empty handed. My coaches needed painting, especially my coat of arms; I ordered new garments to be made and my jewellery to be cleaned. But first I had to get permission from the king.
As usual, I had to wait several days before I was granted an audience in his private apartments. I was given a time early one morning; it was only to be brief, as he was going hunting. I followed the Lord Chamberlain with my head held high, past a few bleary-eyed males who looked as if they had just risen, and tables showing the remnants of last night’s revelry.
I looked in disgust at overturned gold cups with wine stained floors and soiled napkins, half eaten dishes of food, on not just the table, but on the floor, and decks of cards with other gambling evidence scattered over tables. There was a stale odour of male occupancy, which no amount of sweetened water could disguise. At least there was no trace of stale tobacco, the king hated it, so no one could smoke in his presence. Costly Venetian wine glasses lay smashed and were crunched underfoot, muddy footprints soiled the upholstered chairs and his hunting dogs roamed the chambers sniffing anything and everything they could find. Servants were clearing away the debris and there was much for them to do. Eventually I entered the king’s withdrawing chamber as he was eating his breakfast, and he beckoned for me to sit beside him. After curtseying low, a page pulled up a chair and I sat on the edge of it.
“Good morrow cousin, I trust you are well this morning,” he said, his mouth full of food. Not waiting for my response, he pushed plates of hard boiled eggs and a sirloin of beef towards me.
“Thank you your majesty, I have already eaten,” I replied sweetly.
He grunted and took a long swig of wine before picking a piece of meat from his front tooth. I supressed my desire to recoil and gave him my best smile.
“I have come to ask permission to go on a progress this summer, by your gracious leave.”
“A progress? Whatever would you want with a progress?”
“I know I have never done one before, certainly not on my own. There are many family members and friends I should like to see who cannot, for various reasons, come to Court.”
The king seemed intent on staring at his wine glass and concentrating on that piece of meat in between his teeth. I wondered if he had heard me; a minute passed and I frowned uncertainly. The king’s accent seemed to have lessened slightly since he moved to London, but it was still necessary to concentrate when listening to him and I was mortified if I ever had to ask him to repeat wh
at he said.
“A progress on your own, that is highly unusual,” he said eventually. “But I suppose there is no reason why you should not do so, with the correct chaperones and guards. I will take advice on it, but I do not believe there are any threats to kidnap you, not after the Gunpowder Plot was foiled. We showed them what we were made of, did we not? The queen has no objection I assume?”
“I believe the queen thinks such a progress would be very beneficial to my health and has encouraged me to do it.”
I had already taken the precaution of speaking to Queen Anne. He belched loudly, then turned to spit onto the floor before gesturing to the page, who brought a gold basin of warm water and a towel for him to wash his hands.
“If I may ask about another matter, your majesty?”
“I can guess what it is you wish to say.” A note of resignation entered his voice and I hurried on before I lost my nerve.
“I was wondering if there is any further progress in the negotiations for my marriage?”
“These matters take time, cousin. My duties as your king are enough to occupy me from morning till night and we do not consider finding a husband for you to be urgent. We are much more concerned about the rumours of your Papist sympathies.”
My heart skipped a beat, but I had my answer ready and my voice did not falter.
“These rumours are all lies your majesty, I have no Catholic leanings. I am a true Christian of the new faith and I was brought up this way by my lady grandmother, the late Countess of Shrewsbury, who served Queen Elizabeth with great steadfastness and devotion.”
At the mention of my grandmother’s name, he looked at me and stood up, his two pages rushed forward to pull back his chair.
“Hmm. That is true, we had no reason to doubt her loyalty. But you are writing to the Prince of Moldavia I believe, who is very taken with you. These negotiations cannot be rushed and you know I have my own children to think of as well.”
“Does your majesty consider an Englishman to be a suitable choice for me?” I persisted.
“I believe it could be permitted, yes.”
We were interrupted by a group of male courtiers who entered from a side door and immediately his face broke into a broad smile.
“Now cousin, you must leave me; the business of the country awaits my attention. Enjoy your progress and keep Lord Salisbury informed of your whereabouts. We shall see you on your return and hear tales of your travels.”
My audience was at an end and I curtsied again after murmuring my thanks. As I reached the door, I saw he was surrounded and had already forgotten our conversation. I found it frustrating that the king would not allow himself to converse with me on serious matters or encourage the education of women. There have been famous men in the past, of course, who believed in nurturing the intelligence of females. Sir Thomas More made sure his daughters received the same knowledge as his sons, and it was usual for highborn ladies throughout Europe to be well versed in languages, the classics, philosophy and theology.
My grandmother had been determined that I should have the best possible education. It had done me no good in this Court though, but I was glad to have been the recipient of it. I supposed I should be grateful to my grandmother that she took the trouble; her own education was quite basic, but it had not hampered her success in life.
I made the way back to my own apartments with ambivalent feelings. Of course I was pleased to have permission to travel, but I was no nearer my fervent desire to have William as my husband. I was still too afraid to approach the king about it, although I began to realise that one of these days, I would have to ask him. Suddenly it occurred to me that the one person who would have known exactly how to go about it and advise me, was not longer here. This was a problem that my grandmother would surely have taken up with her usual determination, if she approved of the marriage. I could speak to aunt Mary of course, but it was not the same.
Eventually I found myself a house in Blackfriars for the price of £200. It was not large, but quite adequate for my needs. On three storeys, it sat in the middle of a narrow, busy street where people were constantly passing through, and there was always something happening. The previous occupant was the Earl of Hertford’s brother who had moved to somewhere larger. Another advantage was its closeness to Baynard’s Castle, where my cousin Mary lived with her husband the Earl of Pembroke, so there was at least one of my family members nearby.
I had to make some building alterations to it, as I was not quite happy with the layout of the chambers. Crompton dealt with the builders and they commenced the work before I moved in. The memories of my grandmother’s constant building work made me very loath to be anywhere near such noisy activity, but I visited every other day to look at progress.
Aunt Mary promised to give me some furniture from Shrewsbury House and gradually I acquired my own. I had not realised all the implements needed to stock a kitchen. There was over 50 of them, all with some use, none of which I was able to name. I was very excited about this, the first real home of my own. It was nowhere near as grand as the houses my relations have, but every brick of it was mine. I found a good cook and persuaded two Hardwick servants, Dodderidge and Freake, to come and live in the household.
William was as excited as me about the new house. He watched indulgently as I showed him everything I had bought for it; he travelled from Oxford to be with me for a week.
“So how much time will you have to spend at Court now?” he asked me as we sat outside to eat our first meal in the tiny back garden after moving in. There was still some warmth in the sun and a freshening breeze made being outside very pleasant. My garden was little more than a patch of earth really, but soon I planned to have pots of herbs growing and climbing roses to adorn the walls.
“As little as possible,” I told him, as I broke bread and cut myself some cheese.
The wooden table wobbled and he put a wedge of paper under one of the legs to steady it. There was not much privacy here, all the properties were cheek by jowl, on top of one another and all around there were the sounds and smells of other people living their lives. The aroma of cooking wafted around us, freshly baked bread and roasting meat made my mouth water. We could hear snippets of conversation from neighbours, a servant being scolded, a baby crying, a man coughing. All day there was the rattle of coaches and horses going over the cobbled street and the sounds of daily activity such as women washing or beating carpets. I loved to be a part of this ordinary, everyday existence; this was life as I had never experienced until now.
“How is that possible? I thought the queen needed you.”
“The king stays more and more at Hampton Court or is hunting at Royston, and the queen’s court is at Somerset House, I am sorry, Denmark House as it now is called. His vulgarity has finally proved too much, but she has more than enough ladies to attend her, anyway they see me as too serious. I am just not frivolous enough. They all play such silly games, well into the early hours of the morning, you have no idea how very tedious it is.”
“Do not belittle yourself, my love,” William told me and stroked my cheek tenderly. “I am glad that you are not frivolous. I would certainly not wish you to be like some of the other ladies at court.” He paused. “I have been thinking about our future. I think the time is coming when we need to approach the king for permission to marry.”
“William, you have not asked me yet,” I told him, looking as severe as I was able. “I may refuse you.”
His face fell and I had to stifle a laugh. “You must ask my uncle Gilbert too and all must be done correctly.”
“Of course. I was not suggesting...”
“I am teasing you!”
But he had already gone down on one knee before me.
“Lady Arbella Stuart, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?”
“Of course I will, my dearest love.”
I could not stop my tears of sheer joy running down my cheeks and he kissed them away, pulling me close.
; “I shall write to the earl today.”
“Then I will seek an audience with the king. He can surely have no objection now.”
“We must keep it a secret for the moment, you must tell no-one, not even your aunt Mary.”
He got up and pulled me to my feet, taking me in his arms and we kissed. I was never so content; I was to be married at last. That feeling of being in love and its pleasures were all the more potent for me as I had waited such a long time. We were going to be so happy together.
William could not stay with me of course, so he rented chambers nearby. We rode every day in the king’s private hunting ground of Hyde Park. I looked forward to it so much. Tethering the horses under the shade of a tree, we munched apples whilst reading poetry to one another and discussed the works of Plato and Socrates.
I know these were simple pleasures, but I valued them highly. I made him come with me to the shops at the Royal Exchange one morning, but he seemed very bored by the experience, so we did not repeat it. We also paid visits to friends, and dined at Shrewsbury House with uncle Gilbert and aunt Mary. The freedom to do as I please never failed to delight me and in the anonymity of the city, it was easy for me to blend into the crowd. When I was kept locked up at my grandmother’s house in Derbyshire, I was a target, everyone knew where I was, but here I could disappear. In any case, the king had more than enough heirs, which of course changed everything.
I was unable to keep my happy news to myself and told aunt Mary once William had gone back to Oxford. We were sitting in her coach on the way home from visiting a friend. Her reaction was not quite what I expected.
“You want to marry him?” she cried, looking at me in dismay.
“Yes. Why do you look at me like that?”
“You could not have chosen a worse family with which to align yourself. Your uncle and I suspected this would happen; we saw the way you looked at him when you both came for dinner last week.”
