Essex’s death left his wife widowed for the second time, and his five children fatherless. His two younger sons would both die young, but his eldest, Robert, was forced to live with the knowledge of his father’s treason. His grandmother, however, took a keen interest in his welfare, and he in turn was extremely fond of her.
LETTICE HAD LOST her adored son, but her husband Sir Christopher Blount still lived. Overcome, though, with grief over Essex’s death, she had been scrupulously distancing herself from Blount. On 24 February, Richard Bancroft, Bishop of London, had written to Cecil, reporting that during Blount’s last visit to London, he had brought with him Lettice’s ‘best jewels’, including ‘a clock or watch set with diamonds’ reportedly worth more than £400 (£40,000).55 Bancroft was acting on Lettice’s behalf, and though he did not know what had become of the jewels, he advised Cecil that if one of her trusted servants were sent to Blount, ‘to understand what he had done with them, they might so be got’.56 Whether this took place or not is uncertain, but it seems improbable that Lettice ever saw her jewels again. Further to this, in what was an attempt to protect herself, in March she claimed that Blount had ‘induced her to sell lands worth £5,700 (£574,000) and to part with others to the Earl of Essex, whose favour he courted, so that she has little but what came from her first husband, the Earl of Leicester’.57 She went further still, asserting that ‘These lands were extended for debts to the Queen, but Sir Christopher got a fresh lease and conveyed it away, and got others of her lands into his own hands.’58 Lettice had not only disassociated herself from her husband, but she had also now abandoned him to his fate.
Blount ‘was pressed with his own confessions, and the confession of the Earl of Essex himself, who had accused him as the inciter of him to this crime’.59 He had yet to stand trial for his treason, and did not do so until 5 March. He was still so weak from his injuries that he had to be carried to Westminster Hall in a chair. He was tried alongside four others: Sir Charles Danvers, Sir John Davis, Sir Gilly Merrick and Henry Cuffe, all of whom had participated in the rebellion. Blount strongly denied that he had wished any harm upon the Queen, although he, Danvers and Davis all admitted that ‘it was their design to come to the Queen with so strong a force, that they might not be resisted’.60 Like his stepson before him, Blount and those he was tried with were all found guilty and sentenced to a traitor’s death. However, he had resolved not to submit meekly to his fate, and at some time prior to 18 March he wrote to the Lord Admiral and Cecil:
If by the discovery of my former life you have found that the natural heart of this distressed carcass hath endeavoured out of his own motions to the preservation of my prince and country, and that whatsoever hath been rebellious in the same hath grown out of an extreme rot, with the happy taking away whereof all influence of disobedient humours are from my spirits removed, my confident hope is that your Honours will not only show the reports of my unspeakable sorrows, but will be yourselves affectionate petitioners to beg me out of the thralldom of Justice. I beg not the continuance of my life for my own benefit, but that her Majesty and you her noble Councillors will advise her how the same may, when her service requireth, be issued. I pray the Lord Admiral to beg me of the Queen’s Majesty for one of his assured and trusty men of war, and you, hopeful Mr Secretary, for a watchful and faithful falconer. Friends I have many, but desire not other solicitors than yourselves.61
He was desperate to live, and his plea did not end there. Another letter followed in a similar vein:
That I have lived thus long showeth the virtuous performance of your noble promises, and this God hath wrought by your means that her Majesty hath been pleased to turn the face of death from me, I beseech you, even as you have begun, continue to move her to mercy, whereof the more she bestoweth, the more in true glory and love of her people she increaseth. What my former carriage hath been is sufficiently made known to your nobleness; of what I might be is only in God’s hand and yours to assist her Majesty to conceive. But in this you may be confident, that by taking my life her Majesty little increaseth her coffers or addeth contentment to those that shall behold how sorrowful I die for the offence I have made to her Highness in this my last fault, that ever heretofore was so much hers, and ever hereafter should have been.62
Perhaps he also begged his wife to intercede, but if he did then no trace of it has survived, and she made no such attempt. Like Essex, Blount would have to die.
Blount was not granted the luxury of a private execution in the same manner as Essex. On the morning of 18 March, Blount and Sir Charles Danvers were led out to Tower Hill, where three days earlier a scaffold had been erected by torchlight.63 As they were of noble descent, their sentence had been commuted to beheading, but the three men condemned alongside them had been executed as traitors at Tyburn five days earlier.64 Having watched his colleague die first, as Blount mounted the scaffold he made a long speech in which he professed that he died a true Catholic, and took the opportunity to address one of the charges brought against him by his stepson:
Although the time now require to lay all other matters aside, and to crave mercy of God for my sins: yet seeing I am accused to have incited the Earl of Essex to this great crime, I will speak the truth as I desire the salutation of my soul. Above three years agone it is that I first perceived the Earl’s mind discontented, and inflamed with ambition.65
If she heard of her husband’s final speech, Lettice would doubtless have risen to her son’s defence. Despite his words, Blount insisted that neither he nor Essex ever ‘intended to do violence to her Majesty’s person’.66 Shockingly, he did admit that ‘if fortune had not failed our enterprises, I know not whether the matter could have been accomplished without blood drawn from herself’.67 He begged forgiveness of Sir Walter Ralegh, who was present ‘for wrong done you, and for my particular ill intent towards you’.68 Ralegh willingly gave it. He made no mention of his wife – perhaps he too had given up on their marriage – but he did refer to the Queen. Thanking her for the forgiveness he had been told she had granted him, he continued to beseech God to forgive him ‘and forgive me my wicked thoughts, my licentious life, and this right arm of mine, which (I fear me) hath drawn blood in this last action’.69 His final thoughts conveyed, Blount ‘subjected his neck to the stroke of the executioner with a mind undaunted’, dying ‘very manfully and resolutely’.70 Like Essex, Blount’s remains were interred in the Chapel of St Peter ad Vincula.
The events of February 1601 had been disastrous for Lettice: she had lost her beloved son, her husband, and had also faced the prospect of losing her eldest daughter, Penelope. With the deaths of Essex and Blount ‘was the rebellion pacified, and peace restored’, but Lettice’s family had been completely shattered.71 Once again she was forced to pick up the broken pieces of her life, and for the first time, she would do so alone.
CHAPTER 21
Mildly Like a Lamb
A MOOD OF SOMBRE despair lingered around the corridors of Richmond Palace in March 1603. The Queen had fallen gravely ill, and it was obvious that she would not recover. At the beginning of the month it had been reported that ‘All are in a dump at court; some fear present danger, others doubt she will not continue past the month of May, but generally all are of opinion that she cannot overpass another winter.’1 Time was not on Elizabeth’s side, and the forty-five-year reign of the Virgin Queen was drawing to a close: she was sixty-nine years old. The Queen herself, though, refused to give in to death. Rejecting all food and drink, she also refused to go to bed, knowing that once she was there she would never again leave it. Defiantly, she lay on the floor of her chamber on a pile of cushions, barely speaking to those who tried to rouse her. Lettice’s cousin, Robert Carey, a constant presence at court, remembered that ‘She remained upon her cushions four days and nights at the least. All about her could not persuade her either to take any sustenance or go to bed.’2 Elizabeth had sunk into a deep depression, for the previous month her close friend the Countess of Nottingham – Letti
ce’s cousin – had died.3 Everyone knew that ‘The Queen loved the Countess well, and hath much lamented her death, remaining ever since in a deep melancholy that she must die herself, and complaineth much of many infirmities wherewith she seemeth suddenly to be overtaken.’4 She also knew all too well that all eyes were now turned towards her successor.
As early as 1598, Lettice’s son Essex had been writing to the man that most believed would take Elizabeth’s place: James VI of Scotland, the only son of Mary, Queen of Scots. He was not alone, and others at court had also been cultivating the Scottish King’s favour. Following the disaster that had engulfed Lettice and her kin following Essex’s rebellion, the family had been left without a male figurehead and protector – a role that neither of Lettice’s sons-in-law, Lord Rich and the Earl of Northumberland, were prepared to assume. As such, Lettice and her daughters – Penelope, who had forfeited the Queen’s favour, and Dorothy – had prudently adopted quiet lives. It was left to other members of the family, chiefly Lettice’s Carey cousins, to ingratiate and align themselves with the new dynasty that it was believed would soon be in power.
Everyone at court, however, was neglecting one crucial point: Elizabeth had not officially named him as her successor. For many years she had steadfastly refused to confer this honour upon anyone, and even now in her final illness she would not be moved, fearing lest those around her should abandon her. Neither was James VI the only candidate for the English throne, for Arbella Stuart, granddaughter of Bess of Hardwick, also had a claim. It was, nevertheless, James’s that was generally believed to be the strongest, and most people were of the opinion that he would succeed smoothly.
Having finally been coerced into bed, as her closing hours drew in on 23 March, the Queen at last gave an indication of her heir. Robert Carey recalled that ‘by putting her hand to her head, when the King of Scots was named to succeed her, they all knew he was the man she desired should reign after her’.5 She was failing fast, and between two and three o’clock the following morning, Elizabeth I died ‘mildly like a lamb, easily like a ripe apple from a tree’. She had remained unmarried and childless until the end, with the result that her death signalled the demise of the Tudor dynasty: Henry VIII’s legitimate direct line was now extinct.
Not only did Elizabeth’s death mark the end of a significant era in English history, but with her also died more than two decades of rivalry with Lettice. Elizabeth had been in Lettice’s life since the very beginning, and had always had some hand in how the events of her life were played out. Until the end, the two kinswomen had never been reconciled; their former closeness had disappeared following Lettice’s wedding, and the damage had proved irreparable. It seems unlikely that Elizabeth felt any remorse about this as her end approached, and Lettice’s own feelings at her passing can only have been of relief and hope for the future. Theirs was a rivalry that Lettice, rather than Elizabeth, had survived. For both herself and her family the Queen’s death signified the lifting of the dark cloud that had hung over them all in recent years. It was now the beginning of a brand new and exciting chapter: it was one that Lettice was eager to begin.
AMONG THOSE WHO were by the Queen’s side when the end came was Lettice’s cousin, Lady Philadelphia Scrope. It was reportedly she who passed the news of the Queen’s death to her waiting brother, Robert Carey, who was determined to be the first to inform James of Scotland that he was now King of England. He immediately left Richmond for Edinburgh, and riding at breakneck speed he arrived in the Scottish capital two days later. Making his way to the Palace of Holyroodhouse, at midnight on 26 March Lettice’s kinsman was able to deliver this welcome news to James in person. James VI of Scotland was now also James I of England: for the first time, England and Scotland were united under a joint monarchy, ending centuries of conflict and strife between the two nations. It was the beginning of the Stuart dynasty.
For James, as the son of another of Elizabeth’s rivals, Mary, Queen of Scots, his succession was not just a personal triumph but one also for former supporters of his mother. When the King received the news he turned to Carey, saying, ‘I know you have lost a near kinsman and a loving mistress but take my hand, I will be as good a master to you.’6 He was true to his word, and not just to Carey.
ON 28 APRIL, Elizabeth I was given an elaborate state funeral at Westminster Abbey. The role of chief mourner that was often assigned to a family member was instead given to the Marchioness of Northampton, rather than to Lettice or any of her kin.7 The Queen was laid to rest in the same tomb as her half-sister, Mary, which was also close to the grave of Lettice’s mother. A magnificent monument, commissioned on the orders of Elizabeth’s successor, was erected and still survives as a lasting testament to this celebrated Tudor queen.
Meanwhile, the new King of England and his family were making their way towards London. James I was a mature man of almost thirty-seven years, who had become King of Scotland just a year after his birth following the forced abdication of his mother. Though his mother had been unashamedly Catholic, to the disappointment of her supporters James was a devoted Protestant. He therefore had no intention of restoring the Catholicism that his mother would have instilled had she succeeded to the English throne, and instead was intent upon continuing with Elizabeth’s religious policies. He was a highly intelligent man, but both his appearance and his habits drew comment from his contemporaries. He was of medium height, but in childhood he had suffered from rickets that made his steps uneven. It was also noted that he slobbered when he drank, and that he rarely washed. Even so, James’s popularity was bolstered by the fact that he had already done two things that Elizabeth had failed to achieve: he was married, his wife being Anne of Denmark, and the couple had three surviving children.8 More crucially, two of these children were boys: the affable and charming Prince Henry, and the awkward and gawky Prince Charles, who suffered from several physical deformities, but had survived against all odds. He was a weak child whose development was slow; he suffered from rickets and speech problems, and was three years old before he could walk. His problems with speech would continue for the rest of his life, and he spoke with a stammer.
Though Lettice herself remained at Drayton Bassett, her family were heavily involved in James’s smooth succession. Many of her siblings were still alive, and less than two months after his accession, her brother William was created Baron Knollys of Greys as a token of thanks for his support. The following August the King and Queen would do him the great honour of visiting him at Lettice’s childhood home of Greys Court, where they stayed for a night before travelling to Windsor.9 For Penelope, meanwhile, the arrival of a new monarch signalled a period of rehabilitation, and the new King favoured her. This became immediately apparent when she was sent north, there to accompany Queen Anne south from the Scottish border. The new Queen took an instant liking to Penelope, whom she appointed a member of her household, and she quickly became a favourite. With the onset of James’s reign, Penelope once more became the court darling, and regularly participated in the masques and entertainments that so delighted Queen Anne. Notable among them was Ben Jonson’s Masque of Blackness, performed at court on Twelfth Night in 1605, in which Penelope played the part of Ocyte. Her disgrace with Queen Elizabeth was all but forgotten. Her lover Lord Mountjoy, who had been in Ireland since the fall of the Earl of Essex, was also held in high esteem. Returning to England soon after James’s accession, he was reunited with Penelope and their children. On 21 July, Mountjoy was created Earl of Devonshire as a reward for his services.10 Queen Anne was also fond of Lettice’s daughter Dorothy, who was honoured when she was asked to stand as godmother to the King and Queen’s daughter, Princess Mary, following her birth on 8 April 1605.11 The Devereux family were very much back in the game.
James’s court was vastly different from Elizabeth’s. While the latter had been full of merriment presided over by a queen who loved to be seen and adored, James shied away from such attention. Never fond of showiness or display, he instead preferre
d outdoor pursuits, and was particularly enthusiastic about hunting. It was therefore his consort, Anne, and his heir, the popular and cultured Prince Henry, who largely embraced the visual aspects of court life and entertainment in James’s stead. Aside from a host of favourites, it was Essex’s former enemy, Robert Cecil, who established himself firmly by James’s side in politics. The King was heavily reliant on him, and it was Cecil who would dominate the political arena until his death in 1612.12
LETTICE WAS DELIGHTED by the change in her family’s fortune that James I’s accession brought, and she was grateful that his magnanimity also extended to her. James bore her none of the ill will so frequently demonstrated by his predecessor, and in a gracious move, he generously cancelled out all of the debts that had been owed to the Crown since Leicester’s death in 1588. Suddenly, all of the financial worries that had burdened Lettice for the last fifteen years vanished in an instant. It appeared that life was about to become prosperous, but it was not long before, once again, all that Lettice had striven for came under threat.
IN 1603, FIFTEEN years had passed since Leicester’s death. Although Lettice had nothing to do with her husband’s illegitimate son, Robin Sheffield, he still lingered in the background. Upon the accession of King James he decided that the time had now come to move into the foreground. Back in 1588, on the same day that the Earl of Leicester died, Lady Douglas Sheffield and her husband returned from the French court, where Sir Edward Stafford had been serving as ambassador. She once again resumed her post at court, and began to build a relationship with her son, Robin Sheffield. Leicester’s ‘base son’ was fourteen at the time of his father’s death, and as he grew, he too began to spend time at court. He was an intelligent man, and like his father had a keen interest in navigation. As such, he completed both a voyage to the West Indies and a disastrous circumnavigation – only one man returned alive, and all of the ships were lost.13 He had not forgotten whose son he was, and he was eager that those around him ought to remember it, too. In his will Leicester had left him well provided for – something that grated on Lettice, who had particularly resented Robin’s ownership of Kenilworth. Robin in turn was no fonder of Lettice, and shortly after Queen Elizabeth’s death he decided to prove that his parents had in fact been married, thus rendering him Leicester’s only legitimate male heir. His assertion was an attempt to lay claim to all of the titles and lands of his late father; if he were successful it would prove that Lettice’s second husband had been a bigamist, rendering her marriage null and void.
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