Bess - A Novel

by Georgina Lee

  “It could soon be arranged, if that is your wish.”

  “I have only ten of my own horses here, I need more. Your queen, does she ride well?”

  “She is an excellent horsewoman and hunts whenever her state duties allow.”

  Mary pauses to cut a thread. “I hope to meet her one day.”

  Bess remains silent as Mary warms to her theme.

  “Yes, all our communication is through letters and representatives, which is not the same at all. If I could only speak to her face to face, I would be able to reassure her that I am no threat to her or her kingdom. Do you think it is likely we shall be able to meet soon?”

  “I do not know – perhaps it will be possible.”

  “As woman to woman, queen to queen, we have much in common.”

  Bess cannot help but raise an eyebrow in disagreement. For how could Mary who had been thrice married, accused of murder and adultery, made to abdicate her throne, a strict Catholic and a mother of a child who had been placed in the care of others, have much in common with the Protestant Elizabeth who was by her own wish called ‘The Virgin Queen’?

  Mary laughs, clearly amused at her own joke. “Do not be alarmed, countess! I realise that my past is very different from your own queen in many ways. But she was kept in the Tower, as a prisoner by her sister Mary, was she not? That much at least, we have experienced together.”

  “Those times were very dangerous, we are all glad to have them behind us,” replies Bess, and changes the subject quickly, holding up some embroidery threads.

  “Look at these colours, so beautiful.”

  Mary makes a noise of agreement while studying her work.

  “Come, countess, I am not stupid. I know why you are here with me.” Her voice is silky and her eyes remain downcast on her lap as she works her needle.

  “You wish to know my intentions, my plans, in fact everything about me so that you can report back to that spymaster Walsingham. Can you deny it?” Bess puts her needle down and looks at her steadily.

  “I will not lie to you, your majesty. I have been asked to report about you, it is true. Would you be surprised if it were not the case?”

  “Nothing about the court of your queen would surprise me.”

  Bess leans forward, her voice low although there is only the four of them in the chamber. “But I am not without sympathy for your present situation. Fate has brought us to this place at the same time. Neither of us really wants to be here. I myself would much rather be at home in Chatsworth, where I have every comfort, and I am close to my dear family. You of course, would rather be in Scotland as reigning queen over your people and with your baby son.” At that, Mary’s eyes began to fill with tears, and Bess puts her hand over hers in a gesture of comfort.

  “We must make the best of it and trust in God to help us.”

  “I know, I know, but it is so hard. If only I knew how long I was to be kept as a prisoner. Am I really so much of a threat?”

  “I fear so.”

  “I would do nothing to harm your queen, you must believe me. I have been most cruelly used. My only wish is to return home.”

  Mary drops her needlework and begins to sob uncontrollably. Her ladies begin to fuss over her and Bess stands up, realising that it was not a good idea to mention her son. The change of Mary’s mood has been sudden and taken Bess by surprise.

  “I will take my leave, your majesty. Hopefully when I return, you will be feeling better and we may resume our work.” Disappointed, she leaves, but is determined to return as soon as possible. But as the weeks stretch into months, the two women eventually establish a routine that suits them both. They enjoy sewing, and find it is not unpleasant to sit beside the fire in the mornings and work whilst talking to one another. The hours pass peacefully enough, and when George looks in on them sometimes, he feels excluded from their air of feminine solidarity and awkwardly leaves them. Mary believes that Bess is sympathetic towards her plight and for her part; Bess basks in the role of exclusive companion to her. In the afternoons, Mary is permitted to walk in the grounds with her ladies while George watches anxiously from an upstairs window as the guards patrol nearby. Sometimes in the evening, Bess returns for a game of cards before supper. She finds Mary seems content to listen to Bess speak of her family and building plans. Mary in turn tells Bess of her childhood and her time in France as the wife of the French king. They tactfully avoid any mention of Mary’s more recent life, by unspoken agreement.

  “What do you speak of?” George enquires as they eat supper one evening. Bess waits until the servants have closed the door.

  “Nothing important, you may be sure. Inconsequential talk that a man would find very dull.”

  “But tell me anyway. I am curious.”

  “Very well. We speak of the weather, which is always a safe subject. She tells me of the Scottish highlands and I tell her of the Derbyshire moors. We discuss hairstyles in the English and continental courts, fashion, the best cures for some ailments. She tell me of her childhood and the women who influenced her, her mother, Mary of Guise, the French Queen Catherine de Medici, Diana de Poitiers …”

  George holds up his hand, already bored. “Enough! I have no interest in such female chatter.”

  “Well, you did ask. I would have thought information from intercepting her letters was enough to keep you occupied.”

  “I was only wondering if she mentioned this idea of her marriage to the Duke of Norfolk? Several of her supporters have suggested it.” He gives a snort of derision.

  “She calls him ‘My Norfolk’!”

  “No, and I did not ask her about it. That would not be a subject she would discuss with me. In any case, she is still officially married to Bothwell.”

  “That could be easily annulled or she could divorce him, she has grounds enough.”

  “Where is Bothwell now?”

  “Last I heard he was languishing in a Danish cell. I doubt he will ever be free again.”

  “Hmmm. She has not met the Duke of Norfolk has she?”

  “No, why?”

  “He might be Catholic like Mary but physically …” she looks askance at him.

  “Yes, he is not the most attractive of men, I agree. But she will be attracted to him as a prominent member of the English Court. He of course will want the power that marriage will give him as King of Scotland.”

  “Can you imagine him so triumphant over the Earl of Leicester and William Cecil if that was to happen? He dislikes them both so much.”

  “I would rather not. They are aware of the suggestion, but no action has been taken yet.”

  “Why not?”

  She notices him struggling to place food on to his spoon, and sees that his hand is swollen, but knows he will not thank her if she offers to help. George suffers with arthritis and it has worsened lately.

  “An Englishman would be preferable to a foreigner who might raise an army against us.”

  “But Norfolk could raise the Catholics in the north.”

  He does not reply and she frowns.

  “Does the queen know?”

  “No one has dared to tell her.”

  There is an uneasy silence. Bess helps herself to more meat but he has pushed his plate away.

  “So, how do you find the Scottish Queen?” she asks conversationally.

  He drains his goblet and pours himself more wine. “You have seen for yourself, she is highly strung, very emotional, I do not understand why she has these vomiting episodes so often. She complains all the time.”

  “About what does she complain?”

  “Everything. The apartments are too small, too cold. The smell of the privies is overpowering when they are emptied each week. The wine is inferior; her horses are not being cared for as she would wish, her food lacks variety. I could go on. It is all very taxing.”

  “She is just not used to this way of life. You must try to understand.”

  “Understand!” George splutters. “I understand that she is cost
ing me a small fortune in coal and wood for her fire and the fires of her attendants. That is before all the cost of extra food for everyone here.”

  “But you have your allowance.”

  “I have not seen any sign of it yet. So far, I have paid for everything from my own purse.”

  “Write again to the queen, she has probably forgotten.”

  They both realise that this is a false hope, as Elizabeth is known to be very careful with money. He stares miserably at Bess, and she tries to rally him.

  “Write tomorrow and tell her majesty that you are out of pocket. I have some letters to go to Court myself. By the end of the week I warrant there will be a bag of coins for you.”

  “I hope you are right.”

  “But have you asked the queen if we could move Mary to Wingfield soon? You realise everyone is remarking on the smell from privies now!”

  “Yes, yes. She has given her consent. You are to go ahead and prepare it.”

  “I shall travel tomorrow, we will all be much more comfortable there. Which part of the house is Mary to have?”

  “The chambers that overlook the orchard. We shall be in the suite over the entrance porch so that we may see who comes and goes.”

  Bess looks pleased; she dislikes Tutbury as much as Mary does.

  “Will she be allowed more freedom there?”

  He grunts and pushes his chair back to stretch his legs.

  “Up to a point. Why do you ask me?”

  “I feel as much a prisoner as she does. We are tied here and cannot venture far.”

  “You are not so much a prisoner as I am. You will be able to travel tomorrow and have a rest from these onerous duties.”

  “Are they so very onerous, my dear?”

  “Yes, I am afraid I find them to be so.”

  “After so short a time?”

  George moves away from the table to stand by the fire, wincing in pain from his gout. “I can see how this is going to be already. Mary will be a constant thorn in my side, and I shall be out of pocket for my trouble.”

  “There is no reason to think that. These early days are troublesome, but Mary will settle down and realise that if she is co-operative and does not take part in any plans to take the throne or escape, she will be win our queen’s favour.”

  “Bess!” He looks at her sternly.

  “She has already proved herself capable of trying to escape from her Scottish captors. Letters are coming and going all the time between her and her supporters. You do not believe her to be capable of such honesty do you?”

  “I wish to give her the benefit of the doubt. She seems so sincere when I talk to her and I cannot help but think she may be our queen one day.”

  “Will you stop thinking such a treasonable idea!”

  “There is no-one to hear us speak of it. We do not know what will become of the Scottish Queen.”

  “We know that she is the centre of all Catholic hopes for the throne to replace our queen. Even as we speak, there are those who are plotting such an event with great fervour. That is why we must be on our guard at all times.”

  “Everything will be better when we are in Wingfield, you will see. The queen will send you some money, Mary will be happier with her apartments, the spring weather will be warmer so we will use less fuel, and I will send for the physician to attend you for your gout.” She gets up and stands on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.

  “There, now if you have finished your supper, shall we have a game of Primero?”

  He nods reluctantly and Bess calls for a servant to clear away before setting out the cards.

  It was to be the first of many evenings when George needed cajoling over Mary and his care of her.

  Much to the relief of Bess and Mary, the whole household is moved to Wingfield Manor within a few days of this conversation. Despite George’s security worries, the journey goes as planned, and as it is April, the gardens are full of blossom which adds to the sense of well being after the gloomy surroundings of Tutbury. Bess and George are so frequently in and out of Mary’s chamber that George decides to be constantly unlocking the door to her chamber is cumbersome and inconvenient. As long as the outer doors are secure, he begins to allow Mary some freedom within the house. A Scottish visitor appears one afternoon and requests to see his queen. He has various gifts, which after looking at them, George can find no reason to keep from her. Mary is delighted to receive him, and Bess has refreshments sent up from the kitchen for them.

  That night, Bess and George are sound asleep when there is a scratching at the door of their chamber and it is flung open to reveal Mary, in her nightshirt, carrying a lit candle.

  “Countess, you must help me!” she cries and approaches the bed.

  Bess sits up, befuddled, and peers into the darkness at her.

  “How did you find your way here? Are you quite well?”

  “No, I am not!” She begins to pace up and down in agitation. “My visitor today has brought me such bad news. I hardly know how to tell you.”

  “Is it your son, James?” asks Bess kindly.

  “No, it is not my little boy.” As she comes closer, they see that her face is red and swollen with crying. “My visitor today brought me such bad news. I … I am at such a loss.”

  Bess gets up and manoeuvres Mary into a chair as George looks on in horror.

  “Now you must tell us everything. What did your visitor tell you that was so terrible?”

  “He told me that I am seen as an adulteress by my people, they do not understand …” she wails, rocking backwards and forwards.

  “They are not aware of my whole story. But there is worse, they are calling me a murderer! Their own queen! I dread to think what lies have been spread about me and I am not there to defend myself. It is too much to bear. I am at such a loss, what am I going to do?”

  Bess looks at George who is becoming more furious by the second. Agnes appears, disturbed by the noise, but Bess waves her away and she retreats, her face a picture of alarm.

  “Please your majesty, you must calm yourself. I am sure it is not as bad as you believe.”

  “Yes, it is. You do not understand. I have no friends; there are no plans to return me to Scotland where I belong to rule over my people, where I have been brought up since birth to govern. I am at the mercy of your queen who sees fit to keep me under guard day and night. What is to become of me?”

  She starts to rub her blotchy, tear stained face nervously, as her eyes dart around the chamber.

  “I will be a prisoner forever, always under guard. I shall never see my son again or hold him in my arms! What have I done to deserve such treatment?”

  Further wails and sobs follow this exchange and Bess stands beside her helplessly. George beckons for her to come to him.

  “How did she get past the guards? Get rid of her! Can we have no peace even in our own bedchamber?” he whispers, highly embarrassed to be seen en deshabille by the Scottish Queen.

  “I am trying!” Bess retorts angrily. “If you think you can do any better, please do so.”

  They glare at each other and George pulls the covers up towards his chin. “Escort her back to her chambers at once, queen or no queen, I will not have this behaviour.”

  He reaches for the keys beside the bed and gives them to Bess.

  “Take her back and lock the door this time.”

  “You are the one who unlocked it!”

  “You made no objection at the time.”

  “I cannot just leave her in this condition.”

  “Her ladies can deal with her. It is not our responsibility to calm her when she is told what is merely the truth.” Bess bites her lip, but helps Mary to her feet.

  “Come, your majesty, you must go back to bed. I will take you, lean on my arm.”

  Mary allows herself to be taken back along the corridor, continually muttering to herself that she is a true Christian and why has God forsaken her? Her ladies are waiting anxiously in the doorway, unsure of what to do. Bes
s speaks to them quietly, but firmly.

  “Your mistress needs a cold compress on her eyes. I have tried to calm her. The news from her visitor has troubled her greatly. How long as she been like this? She will wake the whole house.” Mary’s senior lady-in-waiting looks at Bess with concern.

  “Since vespers. We could not stop her crying or going to your chamber.”

  “The earl has told me to lock the door again; he was not best pleased to have been disturbed in this manner. We will return in the morning, I bid you good night.”

  Bess shuts the door against further exchange and turns the key. The guard looks at her anxiously.

  “I am sorry, your grace, I could not stop her. I did not feel I was at liberty to touch her, she is a royal person,” he adds feebly.

  “It must not happen again. The earl is furious and he will see you in the morning.” She hurries back to the bedchamber where George is now glowering as he holds out his hand for the keys.

  “Have you locked it as I said?”

  “Yes, of course. Apparently she has been crying for hours.”

  She climbs back into bed, pumping up the pillows as she does so.

  “What did she expect us to do about it?” he asks irritably.

  “I have no idea.”

  “How did she get past the guards?”

  Bess says nothing. It is not perhaps the right moment to tell George that the guard on duty tonight is a callow youth who had obviously been overwhelmed by Mary’s status and hysteria. “This is a serious breach of security, we must take steps to make sure it never happens again.”

  “Yes, we will, husband. But no harm was done in the end and she is back under lock and key once more.”

  “Now I am wide awake. I doubt I will sleep again tonight,” he says resentfully.

  Bess lies down and closes her eyes. Mary’s hysterical outbursts are becoming more and more frequent and there is no doubt it is tiring to witness. George seems particularly affected by it, and is unsettled after each episode. He is obliged to write every day to Walsingham and Cecil with news of Mary, as they need constant reassurance that all is well. The happier mood that had descended on arrival at Wingfield is quickly being eroded by Mary’s behaviour, and he can see no way of improving matters.