The Tudor Heritage

by Lynda M Andrews

  She found herself in a small chamber lit only by a single candle. She leaned her hot, aching head against the cool stone of the window recess and wondered for the thousandth time where her child was. She did not hear the door open behind her, nor did she perceive that she was not alone for some few minutes.

  “Mistress Allgrave, are you ill?” a voice enquired.

  Startled, she spun around and in utter confusion realised that it was the Queen who had spoken. She sank to her knees stammering her apologies but Elizabeth’s expression was one of concern. She realised that something was very wrong for Margaret Allgrave was one of the most poised women she knew and she again asked what was troubling her. To her consternation Margaret, unable to control her grief and anxiety, poured out the whole sad story.

  When she had finished she knelt sobbing while her Queen gently comforted her. Elizabeth’s eyes were pools of unfathomable blue as she looked down at the grief-stricken mother.

  How she envied Isabelle Allgrave. She had seized her chance of happiness with both hands and had fled with her lover for there was no crown to hold her back. She looked at the woman kneeling before her. The Allgrave child was indeed fortunate for this woman loved her selflessly and was demented with worry on her behalf. The love of a mother was something she had never known for Anne’s body lay headless and cold in its grave before she had reached her third birthday.

  “Come, Lady Margaret, you must cease to torment yourself,” she consoled, “she will be found.”

  Margaret became a little calmer. “Your Majesty has been most kind. I am sorry to have burdened you with my problems.”

  “Because I am a Queen 'tis often forgotten that I am also a woman,” Elizabeth answered sadly.

  It was thus that Richard found them, the red head bent comfortingly over the fair. He started to apologise but Elizabeth silenced him with a gesture.

  “You may take the Lady Margaret home. She is sorely grieved.”

  Richard raised his wife to her feet and after first making his obeisance to his Sovereign, led her to the door.

  Elizabeth’s expression hardened. “Sir Richard,” she called after him, “spare no expense nor effort to find Peter Barnes.” Although she had sympathised with the young couple she would not tolerate disobedience in any form. They had defied their parents and when found would be punished.

  Four

  Elizabeth was soon to learn of a more serious act of disobedience; this time from one of her more exalted subjects for in July 1565 Mary Stuart, Queen of Scotland and Dowager Queen of France was married to Henry Darnley the son of Margaret Lennox, herself the daughter of Margaret Tudor’s second marriage to the Earl of Angus.

  Elizabeth dismissed her ministers and sat in the warm dusk of the summer evening thinking angrily of the new King of Scotland. She had expressly forbidden him to go to Scotland and he had defied her. Her anger increased as she recalled his arrogant reply to her command—delivered by her ambassador—that he return immediately to London.

  He acknowledged no duty or obedience save to the Queen of Scots, he had impudently stated. “That the other, your mistress, is so envious of my good fortune I doubt not, but she may also have need of me as you shall know within few days. Wherefore to return I intend not!” he had informed her incredulous ambassador.

  The words “the other, your mistress” burned into her brain. “The arrogant, disrespectful, self-opinionated whelp!” she fumed. “Let him ever set one foot upon English soil and I will show him how much obedience he owes me!” Rising, she paced the room wrathfully. “King of Scotland!” she repeated and laughed aloud in derision for she knew Henry Darnley for what he was—a coward, a fool and a sot! Her Majesty of Scotland was welcome to him. Let him stay and face the civil war that daily threatened that barbarous land for Mary Stuart was showing a marked lack of aptitude for governing those unruly and devious subjects of hers and clung stubbornly to her Mass, in spite of the tirade of wrath directed against her by Master Knox and the divines of the Kirk of Scotland.

  She laughed again in the darkness. It was a small comfort that she had clapped Margaret Lennox into the Tower. She called for lights and sat down to pen a sharp note to her cousin.

  The reply she received to that note sent her into a right royal rage. She stormed about her apartments and it was heaven help anyone unfortunate enough to get in her way.

  She had never meddled between the Queen of England and her subjects, the firm strokes of Mary’s handwriting informed her, but now, induced by her good sister's example, she requested most earnestly the release and restoration to favour of the Lady Margaret Lennox. Further, she demanded that Elizabeth pass an Act of Parliament proclaiming she herself as heir and requested that her cousin abstain from all practices with the subjects of the Scottish Crown and only upon the fulfilment of these conditions would she renounce her claim to the throne of England during Elizabeth’s lifetime.

  Elizabeth flung the letter from her, her face as white as the parchment the offensive missive was written upon. Her eyes blazed with fury. “You will rue the day you married Henry Darnley, madam!” she hissed through clenched teeth.

  Within a few months her prediction became a fact for the Queen of Scots found out for herself that the handsome husband that she fatuously loved was a drunken, arrogant fool who was not above publicly insulting her whilst drunk.

  Elizabeth listened with grim satisfaction while the Earl of Leicester read her an extract of a letter he had received from Lord Randolph.

  “I know now for certain that this Queen repenteth her marriage, that she hateth the King and all his kin,” the Earl read.

  “She has made her bed. Now she must lie upon it,” Elizabeth replied. “She cannot say that I did not try to save her from herself for I expressly commanded Darnley to remain here.”

  “No doubt she now wishes you had kept him here by force,” Leicester replied.

  Elizabeth shrugged her elegant shoulders.

  “I have heard it rumoured that she has found comfort and solace elsewhere,” Leicester hinted.

  Elizabeth shot him a surreptitious look.

  “The Piedmontese,” he stated.

  She did not reply.

  “This Rizzio, a musician, a secretary or something,” he continued.

  “Or what?” she questioned sharply. “I do not believe such lies, if she has little else my cousin has dignity!”

  A few days later she was to hear with unbelievable horror the events which had taken place in Scotland. Darnley, his drink-fogged mind filled with jealousy, had collaborated with Ruthven, Morton, George Douglas and others to murder his wife’s favourite. They had inhumanly carried out the foul deed before the very eyes of their petrified Queen—heedless of the fact that she was carrying Scotland’s heir. Mary had been carried, only half conscious, to her room and the door had been locked upon her but she had managed to escape to Dunbar and within a week had returned to Edinburgh.

  Elizabeth, her previous differences with Mary forgotten for the moment, was vociferous upon the diabolical treatment of her cousin.

  Mary managed at length to disassociate her husband from the bad influence of his associates and on the 19th June, 1566, gave birth to a son who was called James. Sir James Melville rode post haste to London, arriving on the 22nd. Learning that Elizabeth was at Greenwich he arrived to find the court in the middle of a splendid reception. Not wishing to appear in his travel-stained condition he instructed a messenger to impart the news to Cecil who chose a quiet interval between dances to inform Her Majesty. As he whispered Melville’s message to her the laughter died in her eyes.

  “The Queen of Scots is the mother of a fair son and I am but barren stock!” she said sadly.

  Cecil remained silent for it was impossible to tell his Sovereign that it was solely through her own doing that she was childless.

  The birth of an heir to the throne of Scotland caused more speculation and grumbling amongst Elizabeth’s subjects. She was now thirty-two and with her father and
sisters history of lack of progeny it seemed to many that she had little time left to provide England with a son or even a daughter for that matter.

  In September, 1566 she called a Parliament and on the 18th October, the question of the succession was once more brought up. All the old arguments and reasons were again stated and on the following day Elizabeth informed Cecil, Francis Knollys and Sir Ambrose Cave to formally announce on her behalf that she was “moved to marry”. But the country had heard that once too often: this time more definite action was needed.

  The Lords were invited to join with the members of the Commons and all public business was suspended while both Houses debated the situation.

  When she heard of this, Elizabeth was livid. She sent immediately for the Lords and the more eminent Peers bore the brunt of her anger, the Duke of Norfolk, the Earl of Pembroke, Lord William Howard and the Earl of Northampton being in the forefront. A tirade of wrath was directed at these unfortunates but it was Leicester who felt the full lash of her tongue.

  “You, My Lord. You! If all the world forsook me I thought that you would be true!” she spat at him.

  “Madam, I am ready to die at your feet.”

  “What has that to do with this matter?” she screamed at him, her face distorted with fury. Turning from him to Northampton she raged. “And you, My Lord Northampton. You who when you had a wife already could quote Scriptures to help you to another. You dare meddle with marriage to me!”

  Still shaking with temper she dismissed them all.

  “How dare they presume to lecture me?” she fumed, unconsciously snapping the fan she held. “How dare they discuss me between themselves as though I were a brood mare to be auctioned to the highest bidder! I will show them who is mistress here!”

  She sent for the committee and they filed in, subdued but unrepentant. Twenty-five lay Peers, the Bishops of London and Durham and thirty members of the Lower House took their places.

  Sir Francis Bacon read the address acknowledging her sound government but expressing on behalf of both Houses the wish that she should marry, “where it should please, with whom it should please her and as soon as it should please her,” as they were very anxious that should she die without issue the succession would become disputed. He concluded that should she refuse to supply her loyal subjects with an answer “it would be a dangerous burden before God upon Her Majesty". Without waiting for an explosion of wrath at these words he continued, “we feel it our duty to present this petition and we humbly beg upon our knees for an answer before the end of this session.”

  She rose and surveyed them stonily. “If the order of your cause had matched the weight of your matter, the one might well have craved reward and the other much the sooner be satisfied.” She paused. “But when I call to mind how far from dutiful care, yea rather how nigh a traitorous trick, this fumbling cast did spring, I muse how men of wit can so hardly use that gift they hold. I marvel not much that bridleless colts do not know their rider’s hand, whom bit of Kingly reign did never snaffle yet,” she said sarcastically. “Whether it was fit that so great a cause as this should have had this beginning in such a public place, let it be well weighed. Must all evil tidings that might be recited be found little enough to hap to my share? Was it well meant, think you that these that knew not how fit this matter was to be granted by the Prince, would prejudicate their Prince in aggravating the matter?

  Her temper began to get the better of her as she continued. “I am not surprised at the Commons, they hath small experience and do act like small boys,” she said scathingly, “but that the Lords hath gone with them, I confess I am filled with wonder. There are many among you who did place your swords at my disposal when my sister was on the throne and did invite me to seize the Crown,” she looked intently at her Peers, “I know but too well that if a successor be named men would be found to approach him or her to disturb the peace of this realm and if it pleaseth me I could so name those persons!” Those upon whom her gaze rested quailed before her anger. “When time and circumstances allow, I will see to the matter of this petition but I would be sorry to be forced into doing anything which in reason and justice I am bound to do. I request that these words shall not be misrepresented!” she finished pointedly. She turned now in unconcealed fury upon the Bishops, directing her wrath at the heads of Grindal and Pilkington.

  “And you doctors,” she cried derisively, “you I understand make long prayers about this business. One of you dared to say in times past that I and my sister were bastards and you must needs be interfering in what does not concern you!” Her anger knew no bounds. She bent and removed a satin slipper which she hurled at them as she roared, “Go home and amend your own lives and set an honest example in your families. The Lords of Parliament should have taught you to know your place, but if they have forgotten their duty—I will not forget mine!”

  Having dealt suitably with them she turned upon the Lords.

  “Did I so choose I might make the impertinence of the whole set of you an excuse to withdraw my promise to marry but for the realm’s sake, I am resolved that I will marry and I will take a husband that will not be to the taste of some of you but it shall be done now and you who have been so urgent with me will find the effects of it to your cost! Think you that the Prince who will be my consort will feel himself safe with such as you, who thus dare to thwart and cross your Queen?”

  With eyes blazing fire she stormed out, leaving them to ponder her ominous words.

  Even after this outburst the Commons were unrepentant and continued to discuss the matter until she finally sent out an order that the subject was to be regarded as closed. But when the House met the following Monday it was debated whether such an order was infringing the liberties of Parliament. When she learnt of this act of outright rebellion as she considered it, Cecil thought she would be taken ill, so great was her rage. She sent for the Speaker and in no uncertain terms informed him that she demanded the subject be closed.

  The members of the Commons sent her a reply in which they thanked her for her promise to marry, declaring themselves her loyal subjects and stating that “they had deserved to be deprived, much to their discomfort and injury, from their ancient and laudable custom.” She was not deceived but knew when she had gone far enough.

  The storm gradually passed.

  Five

  Two years had passed since Isabelle Allgrave had fled with Peter Barnes and during those years there was an unspoken agreement between the members of the household. Isabelle’s name was never spoken although her mother prayed daily for her safety and clung to the belief that one day she would return home.

  In the months that had followed his conversation with the Queen, Richard had employed men to search for the couple but no trace had been found of them and he had at length abandoned hope of finding his daughter and was almost certain that she was no longer in England.

  Edward had become betrothed to Jane and now at nearly nineteen was due to be married. He had grown to resemble his father closely although in nature he was totally different. Richard had found him a place at Court hoping that in time he would quell his wandering, restless spirit—but Edward's heroes were men like Drake and Hawkins.

  Margaret was preoccupied at this time with the preparations for the forthcoming wedding. Although the ceremony was to be held at Rendcombe Hall, the home of Jane’s parents, there were innumerable things she must attend to and she would be quite thankful when the ceremony was finally over, she confided to Kate. Christmas festivities (such as they were since Isabelle’s flight) presented enough work without the fuss of the wedding.

  The young couple were married in December and shortly afterwards made their home with Edward’s parents. Margaret was fond of Jane. She would make Edward an excellent wife and would be a good mother to the children that would surely follow.

  She was sitting with Jane one dull afternoon in January. They were working together on a tapestry for, to her delight, Jane had proved to be an expert needlewoman
.

  “Do you miss your parents, Jane?” Margaret asked.

  The girl raised her gentle, grey eyes and smiled. “It would be untrue to say I did not, but I love Edward and I am happy here.”

  “Do you never wish that you could have stayed with them?” Margaret continued, thinking of that day long ago when Isabelle had declared that she never wished to leave her home.

  “Yes, but I know that it is not possible. Besides, I have always loved Edward and knew that one day I would marry him and come to live here,” she said shyly.

  Jane was a quiet girl but she had a deep insight into the feelings of those about her and she perceived the grief that bound her mother-in-law's heart. Putting down her needle she took Margarets hand and said gently. “Do not grieve. I, too, believe that one day she will come home.”

  “The worst part is the uncertainty of not knowing whether she is…”

  “You must never, never think it; not even for a minute,” Jane said firmly. “You would have heard ere now had anything… happened,” she finished awkwardly.

  “Oh, Jane. I do not know what to think! I lie awake at night tormented by doubts and worry. The days pass so slowly.”

  “I will try to help you to bear it, ” Jane promised.

  Margaret smiled at her. She could not have wished for a better partner for her son than this gentle, sweet-natured child.

  Three nights later Jane was woken from sleep by the sound of voices. She sat up in bed and pulled aside the curtains.

  “Edward,” she whispered, shaking her husband. There was no reply. “Edward!” She shook him harder.

  “What is the matter?” he asked sleepily.

  “There is someone on the stairs.”

  “‘Tis your imagination,” he replied, turning over.