Arbella

by Georgina Lee

  The king has sent Dr Nicholas Felton to give me what is deemed ‘spiritual guidance.’ I think the real reason is to find out if I have any Catholic leanings, as I have been the centre of so many papist plots. I found him to be a moderate man with good judgement, but I have been in no mood to indulge those who would find fault with me, and I sent him on his way.

  I have been in bed for a while, I cannot say for how long. Different doctors have come asking to inspect my urine and bleed me, but I refused to co-operate with them. How do I know they have my best interests at heart? It would suit the king very well to have me dead, then he need not think about me ever again. No, they shall not have access to my body and I have ordered Patti not to allow them into my presence.

  But I am finding it harder and harder to write any more. I am so very tired all the time and have no interest in doing anything. The thought of food and drink makes me feel sick. Most days I cannot face getting up from my bed, although I hate being there as I cannot sleep at night. I do not know what to do with myself any more. Patti tries hard to improve my mood, but there is nothing anyone can do, except the king; I am completely at his mercy. Why can one man have so much power over me? This was a man who put his arm round me as a cousin and welcomed me to his Court not that many years ago. I have always treated him with respect and humility, I have spent many hours in happy occupation with his wife and family; I have always done my duty as a good subject. All this counts for nothing, he seems only to care about his favourites and his hunting. Why should I be so punished for marrying where I have found true love? I would agree to any of his conditions if he would only release me and let William and I be together.

  When I feel well enough, I spend time staring out of the window, towards the view of Tower Green, where executions of the nobility takes place. If I am particularly low in spirits, I begin to wonder if I too, will be executed and have my head severed from my body. Even that horrific thought leaves me strangely unmoved. I have reached the stage where I care not what the king decides to do with me. My life on this earth is nothing and I feel as if I am being treated as nothing. I know as sure as the sun rises each morning that he is not going to release me now, or at any time in the future; impossible to imagine a punishment more cruel. As a Christian, I should forgive him, but I cannot bring myself to do so.

  Patti is still with me, although I have been in these quarters now for much longer than a week. She is very kind to me and although she does not say much, the fact that I am not alone means a great deal to me. I have told her of my memories about William: our first meeting, the happy times we shared together, his habit of curling my hair around his finger and kissing it. She listens attentively and humours me, although it must be dull words for someone else. I even talked of my life at Hardwick with my grandmother, of the luxury and comfort I experienced that was blighted by lack of freedom. How I hated it and thought myself very ill-treated! I realise now that compared to my existence in this place, it was a trifling inconvenience.

  Sometimes Patti just sits beside me and holds my hand; I find this simple gesture a great comfort. I think about my dear William every day and give thanks to God that he at least, managed to escape successfully and have a new life abroad. As time passes, my memories of his face have become blurred, and I can no longer conjure the sensation of his touch or the sound of his voice. I keep his letters close to me at all times, re-reading them constantly. The papers have become worn and fragile, and need to be handled carefully, lest they should tear.

  I try to imagine what he is thinking and doing at different times during the day. Does he ever think of us? Does he ever remember our conversations and shared moments? Is he full of regret that he ever got involved with me?

  I miss so much of life. Those simple outdoor pleasures, like walking through wild flower meadows and smelling the sweet earth after ploughing. Of riding through sun dappled woods, browsing amongst market stalls and watching plays or listening to music. I shall never see Hardwick again, or anywhere I have lived in my lifetime. I am resigned from this day and have accepted my fate. At last I am at peace; there was no other choice. My tears have all been shed. I have written one last letter to the king, but it sits unfinished on my desk. If he ever has sight of it, he will see the page is blotted with my tears; anyway, I tell Patti to destroy it. There is no hope left for me now and I am laying down my quill for the last time.

  11 SEPTEMBER 1615

  Sir Gervase Helwys closed and locked the last door to Arbella’s chambers and wiped away a tear quickly, lest anyone should see him. Not usually given to sentimental feelings of any kind, he was unnerved by the way this particular prisoner affected him. The sight of those large grey eyes regarding him mournfully, and that painfully thin body lying in bed, would be hard for anyone to ignore. Going over to his desk, he poured himself a goblet of wine and sat down. He thought about how the people seemed sympathetic to her plight, and that even the queen had been trying to secure her release. To no avail though, his majesty was adamant that she must remain. All this, for marrying where she pleased.

  In the time that he had known her, she had gradually become lower in spirits and a shadow of her former self. In the last few months she had rapidly lost weight, having finally refused all food and attention from her physicians, who seemed unable to help her. There was an air of complete hopelessness in her chamber, and although such despair was common amongst prisoners, he had yet to hardened himself to it from a woman, even now. He knew she had given up the fight. Something inside him was dismayed by her continued imprisonment, for it was not as if she had committed some heinous crime. Only last week he had overseen the execution of two women who had been found guilty of murder. But they had been feckless and violent, quite different from Lady Arbella.

  At that moment, his wife appeared, bearing down on him with her usual inquisitive air. She was a puffy faced woman who smiled rarely and was used to getting her own way. Once, she had been quite attractive, but not any more. He turned to face her reluctantly.

  “Well husband, how is she tonight? Still being dramatic?”

  “She is still refusing to eat, yes.”

  “Why do you waste your time with her? She is just another rich, spoilt courtier who has displeased the king.”

  “She is royal, I must be seen to be doing my duty.”

  “Fie! There is nothing more you or anyone can do for her. If she wants to be a martyr, then let her; I shall lose no sleep over it.”

  He did not reply and she idly picked up a book from his desk.

  “Is she very lean? They say you can see her bones.”

  “Who are they?”

  “The guards, of course. If you would let me see her for myself, then I would not need to ask them.”

  “She is not a freak show for anyone to mock.”

  His wife hit him playfully with the book before replacing it.

  “Well, it sounds as if you will not have to see her much longer. I will be glad when she has gone, she gets far too much attention while your other duties have been neglected. She is not the only prisoner here, although you would never think so.”

  “I do believe you are jealous,” he told her mildly.

  “I most certainly am not! Her looks have disappeared, and her jewels have all been sold. She no longer has the king’s favour and is heavily in debt. Why should I be jealous of her?”

  “No reason.”

  He got up, tired of her attempts to goad him.

  “As you say, it will not be for much longer.”

  “The sooner the better,” she retorted. “Why, prisoners like her have a comfortable time of it, with extra fires and food, their own furniture and a lady in waiting, unlike everyone else.”

  Suddenly his patience snapped. “Have you no feeling, woman? Lady Arbella married for love, that was her only crime. She has been kept in captivity now for five years and still paying a heavy price for it.”

  “She is not the only royal woman to have found herself here.”

&n
bsp; “She is the only one on my watch, and it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.”

  His wife stared at him, then gave a smirk. “I hope you are not falling in love with her!”

  “Do not be foolish, she is young enough to be my daughter. She should not be held here like a common criminal, she could have been sent in exile to Europe and reunited with her husband.”

  “Are you going to be telling his majesty your thoughts on the matter?”

  “Of course not; you must not repeat my words to anyone.”

  She closed her lips in a thin line, annoyed that he had admonished her.

  “I am always discreet, as befits my position as your wife.”

  He supressed an ironic smile and pushed his chair back under the desk.

  “This is a bad business, the king will be ill-judged when she finally dies, which please God will not be too long now and her suffering will be at an end. Come, let us eat, we are late this evening.”

  “You are becoming too soft for this job! I will see you downstairs.”

  With a parting glare, she went to tell the servants that they were ready for supper.

  He took one last look at the locked door. It crossed his mind then, that no-one could know if Lady Arbella would have had a happy life in Europe with her husband, had they been allowed to be together. Perhaps after a year or two, they would have found they were totally unsuited, and the marriage was a failure. It made him feel better to think so.

  “You old cynic!” he muttered, and snuffed out the candles, before slowly going to join his wife.

  The End.

  AUTHORS NOTE

  Arbella seems to have been treated with undue harshness by King James I, as it could be argued that she and her husband William, posed no real threat to his throne. Unfortunately for them both, at the time of their marriage, James was becoming increasingly ill with porphyria, the heredity disease passed on through his Stuart mother, Mary Queen of Scots. It is now thought that Arbella herself also suffered from the condition, as well as Prince Henry, who died so prematurely. There were rumours after her death that she had given birth to a son. It was certainly possible that she could have become pregnant. The matter was investigated, but no evidence was found, and it was predictably denied by those closest to her, including Mary, Countess of Shrewsbury and Mrs Bradshaw.

  After her death on 25 September 1615, public opinion considered the king’s behaviour towards his cousin to be tyrannical. Several poets wrote with feeling about her, as she was well known and loved in the country. In response to the rumour that she had been poisoned, a post mortem was carried out, and the surgeons found all her internal organs to be good, although they wrote that she had an ‘unhealthy liver’ and was ‘very lean’. She was hastily placed in a lead coffin and buried in Westminster Abbey at night, four days later, within the same vault as her aunt, Mary, Queen of Scots and Prince Henry.

  William Seymour was pardoned by James I and allowed to return to Court within months of Arbella’s death. He married Frances Devereux, daughter of Arbella’s first love, Robert. Outliving Arbella by nearly 50 years, he distinguished himself at the Courts of King Charles I and II. He called his eldest daughter, Arbella, in memory of his first wife.

  Mary Talbot, Countess of Shrewsbury continued her refusal to answer questions relating to Arbella. She was allowed to nurse her ailing husband Gilbert, eventually being released from the Tower when she was 70 and dying nine years later in 1632.

  It is highly likely that the physical and mental state of James I influenced his decisions about Arbella. His long held fear of assassination and obsessive belief in obedience to the sovereign, together with increasingly severe and frequent attacks of porphyria, proved a damming combination. The symptoms were extremely unpleasant: diarrhoea, vomiting, violent headaches, extreme weakness, photophobia, rigours, laboured breathing, bodily pains and rambling speech. He died in 1625, after gradually becoming less and less involved with affairs of state.

  Queen Anne had a reputation as empty headed and frivolous, but she was a patron of the arts, including playwright Ben Jonson, and architect Inigo Jones, ensuring a legacy of artistic history during that period. Denied any official part in politics by her husband, she used her influence subtlety as far as possible, and although she tried hard to save Sir Walter Raleigh, she was not successful. Her health became poor and she developed heart failure, eventually dying in 1619.

  Sir Walter Raleigh was released from the Tower to search for El Dorado, the mythical city of gold in Colombia. When he returned empty handed, he was re-arrested and accused of previously plotting to have Arbella as queen. The public were dismayed when James ordered his execution on 29 October 1618.

  Crompton and Edward Kirton eventually served as MP’s with William’s patronage.

  If you would like to see where Arbella grew up, Hardwick Hall in Derbyshire still stands as one of the finest examples of a Tudor home in England. The Tower of London is open to visitors all year, more information can be found on their websites: www.hrp.org.uk/tower-of-london and www.national/trust.org.uk/hardwick

  Georgina Lee

  Oxfordshire.

  This eBook is published by

  Grosvenor House Publishing Ltd

  28-30 High Street, Guildford, Surrey, GU1 3EL.

  www.grosvenorhousepublishing.co.uk

  All rights reserved

  Copyright © Georgina Lee, 2016

  The right of Georgina Lee to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with Section 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

  The book cover image is copyright to Georgina Lee

  ISBN 978-1-78623-791-0 in electronic format

  ISBN 978-1-78623-927-3 in printed format

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.