Bess - A Novel

by Georgina Lee

  The hearing has been set for next week, and she summons William and Charles to her chamber at Court for the first of several meetings. It is early morning, and the two sons are slightly bleary eyed. William, his face set in a frown, clasps his mother’s hand in a gesture of reassurance. Charles smiles at her encouragingly with confidence he does not feel. She greets them with a kiss, and tells them to eat the simple breakfast of buttered bread and honey that Agnes procured at such an early hour from the kitchen. Bess was unable to sleep with her mind so troubled and has been up since dawn.

  “It is not just me who has been been accused of spreading malicious gossip and lies about my husband and the Scots Queen; it is you two as well. This is an insult to the Cavendish family, and we shall fight it every inch of the way.”

  “The earl has some powerful allies on the Council,” says William. “He is not the only one with powerful friends,” Bess replies with determination. “I have powerful friends too, but he will still have to prove that we began this rumour and produce evidence to that effect. Like us, he will have his spies around the Court and will send his friends to try and obtain information against us.”

  “Gilbert says his father’s personality is not was it was. Apparently he is irritable much of the time and very impatient over small matters. The other day he went into a rage over a small piece of meat that was thrown away. The cook was reduced to tears and she said she would leave if he continued to complain,” says Charles.

  “All these disagreements must take a lot of his time and energy. He did not look at all well when we saw him at Chatsworth on the night he stormed the house,” William observes.

  “We must be completely prepared for this hearing. I want us to make a list of the sort of questions we shall be asked and have our answers ready. It is important that we present a united front and our stories coincide with one another.”

  “Will the earl be present?” Charles hopes he has other business to keep him from it.

  “I would imagine he would want to be there to witness our discomfort.”

  “It will be the first time you have seen him for months, lady mother.”

  “Yes; your stepfather wants to be rid of me.”

  William and Charles exchange a look and begin to protest.

  “It is all right, you need not leap to my defence. I know how he feels about me and I know there is nothing I can do now to save my marriage. It saddens me very much that I have failed, and it is made worse, because I do not think I have done anything that warrants his extreme reaction.”

  “It is almost as if he has become another person,” muses William. “I was talking to an old friend last week who said that his wife’s father had become very forgetful and aggressive in his dotage. Quite out of character for the old man and he now manages to upset all his family.”

  “Do you think it a form of madness?” asks Charles.

  Bess and William look uncertain, but it is William who finally answers. “I think there is definitely an element of madness in the earl’s behaviour. Unfortunately, because he is such a powerful figure, he can do much damage, unlike an ordinary man in his own home.”

  They reflect on this thought for a few moments before Bess returns to the matter in hand.

  “Charles, I want you to use all your contacts at Court to find out what my husband is doing to obtain evidence against us. Speak to servants; it is surprising what they know. William, I want you to come with me to meetings with my legal advisors and help to devise a strategy. When we appear before the Council, it is important that we remain calm and do not lose our tempers. Do not allow yourselves to be over-awed by the proceedings. Answer the questions truthfully and with sincerity. Just tell the truth and, God willing, we shall win the day.”

  “I am not looking forward to it,” confesses Charles and he bites his fingernail anxiously.

  “Neither am I,” William agrees. “But there is time to prepare and we shall make good use of this week ahead.”

  She smiles, willing them to be strong. It will not be easy; the whole Court is aware of the hearing and will be watching closely. “Go now, Charles, I want you to report back to me every day. William, we need to start writing a draft statement for the Council this morning, we must get to work.”

  He kisses his mother’s hand and leaves, aware that Bess is depending on him. William has already found quill and parchment. The breakfast sits untouched.

  When George leaves Mary in the care of Sir Ralph Sadler once more, he believes he will return to his duties in a few weeks. Before his audience with the queen, he spends a few days entertaining friends at his grand house in Thames Street near London Bridge. They are a captive audience for his grumblings and grievances; forced to listen over many varied dishes of food and copious amounts of best claret. He tells them that Bess is a shrew, a liar and has a wicked tongue; they nod in agreement. They tell him that it does not matter if they are born high or low, some wives are like that, and it is the cross that men have to bear. After finally being granted an audience with the queen, he is disappointed to find that she is not particularly sympathetic towards his side of the story with Bess. She listens to his complaints but he notices she and Lord Burghley take care to be non-committal. When the queen tells him he is to be relieved of his duties, he finds himself with a strange mixture of feelings. Relief of course, for now he will no longer have to dip into his purse and worry every day and night about her security. Someone else will have that task. But a part of him will miss it too, the prestige and authority it brought, together with the company of Mary herself. There is no doubt in his mind that she is a captivating and fascinating woman that men find very attractive. Now he will not see her again; he will miss her.

  Afterwards, he makes his way back to the house feeling tired and dispirited; the dusk has brought a swirling damp fog, which does nothing for his arthritis and he longs for the warmth of the fire and a hot meal. Once inside, he looks in briefly at his study where his desk is littered with half forgotten requests, bills and petitions. He has tried to sort it, but he cannot seem to summon the energy. Two months ago he dismissed his faithful secretary because he did not trust him anymore and thought he was plotting against him. Without his help, everything takes much longer. He shuts the door and goes to the dining room where the long oak table has been polished and gleams in the candlelight. It has been laid for one, with silver ware and fresh flowers.

  “Good evening, your grace, are you ready to eat now?”

  His eyes follow the sound of the voice in the corner of the room and he sees a young, attractive woman waiting for him. She steps forward from the shadows and curtseys; he is surprised for he does not recognise her.

  “And the name is …?”

  “My name is Eleanor Britton, your grace. I have taken over as housekeeper since Mrs Black had to return to Kent.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  He sits down, slightly discomforted, as she is very comely. Tendrils of dark hair have escaped from her cap and as she leans forward to pour his wine, he cannot help but notice her ample cleavage.

  “Britton, I know that name.”

  “My nephew is the odd job man, John.” She ladles out steaming soup and places the bowl in front of him with some warm bread.

  “I will wait for your grace to ring when you are ready for the next course.”

  George grunts and picks up the spoon, he does not wish for her to see him eat, as his hands often let him down, riddled as they are with arthritis. She leaves silently, her movements deft and purposeful. The room is very quiet, so quiet he thinks he can hear his own heartbeat. He looks at the chair where Bess would sit when they dined together in the early days of their marriage. How could he have been so blind not to have seen her for what she really is? Why does everyone take her side?

  Even the queen does not say anything against her. Knowing that the hearing is the right course to take does not make it any less stressful for him. The rumour has upset him to the core, making him angry all the time
. He could not believe it when the Chatsworth items were brazenly taken back only days after he claimed them, but all his time has been taken up lately with the hearing. If only he did not feel so tired and could have some relief from the pain in his joints. There are times when he thinks the whole world is against him. He pushes his dish away and rings the little bell. Eleanor appears almost at once, bearing a tray of several hot dishes. He watches as she silently lays them before him, her eyes downcast.

  “You live locally with your husband?” he asks conversationally as he begins to pick at the mutton pie.

  “I am a widow, your grace. My late husband was of advanced years and died last Christmas.”

  “You have children of your own?”

  “No, there is just me and John.” She busies herself placing the dishes within his reach, and then goes over to put more coal on the fire. Through the cheap calico material that clings to her body, he can see her slim waist and the curve of her hips. She sees him looking at her and he hastily averts his gaze. There is a clatter as he drops the spoon and immediately she rushes to pick it up.

  “My fingers …” he mumbles, embarrassed, but she merely smiles kindly and hands it back to him.

  “My grandmother also suffered with arthritis. It was very hard for her.”

  George swallows and for some reason finds he is close to tears. Staring at his hand holding the spoon, he cannot bring himself to use it. Seconds pass before he looks up and finds she is gazing steadily at him in a way no woman has done for many years. She gently takes the spoon from him.

  “Will your grace allow me to help you?”

  Mesmerised, he waits patiently as she scoops a morsel of pie and begins to feed him. Her body is now so close that he can see the threads of material in her smock. He wants to touch her very much.

  “If your grace wishes, I can help you like this every day.”

  He opens his mouth obediently like a child and does not reply, but his eyes do not leave her face.

  “I can do anything you desire; you only have to ask.”

  With a mischievous giggle, she takes his hand and gently places it on her left breast

  George thinks he has died and gone to heaven. Mealtimes will never be the same again.

  November 1584 – London

  The hearing has been set for ten o’clock the following Wednesday morning, and Bess sits waiting as William is huddled over some papers, doing some last minute writing. Charles paces up and down the chamber, his leather boots squeaking on the oak floor. They are staying at the Earl of Leicester’s London house; a fact that has not escaped George’s attention and predictably annoyed him. In the days leading up to the hearing, all three have been busy preparing their defence. It has not taken them long to discover that George is in the process of suing the writer of the book claiming the story is true. But the origin of the rumour is going to be hard to prove, although they are not sure what evidence, if any, George will bring to the hearing.

  “Charles, you must eat,” she urges him.

  “I cannot swallow a morsel. I feel sick. I think I have eaten something that disagrees with me.”

  “You must overcome it; I need you to be strong. I do not know how long the hearing will last; it could continue for hours.”

  “Or days,” William says.

  “Oh no, I hope it will not be days.” There is a hint of despair in Charles’ voice; Bess gives an exasperated sigh. “For pity’s sake Charles, sit down. You are making me nervous.”

  He returns to his chair and half-heartedly attempts to eat some breakfast. The time passes interminably; no one speaks. Finally Bess decides it is time to make their way to the Palace of Whitehall, where they are to appear before the Queen’s Council. She has taken extra care with her appearance this morning, dressing in a sombre grey gown with a charcoal velvet cloak, trimmed with sable. A portrait of George looks down on them as they past through the hall, his face reproachful and aloof.

  “Why are you doing this to us, George?” she asks it and shakes her head.

  “He is jealous of the family,” suggests William.

  “I think he has lost his mind,” says Charles and sometimes Bess is inclined to agree with him.

  The whole Court has been talking of nothing else since George first made the accusation, and she knows that the outcome today will be closely followed. She is neither optimistic nor pessimistic, but determined to present her case calmly, which she believes will stand in her favour. Her greatest fear is that William or Charles will lose their temper, which could prejudice the case. All the members of the Council are known to George of course, and he has undoubtedly spoken to them already, to influence their decision. She knows they do not have a high opinion of a woman like herself, who is strong-minded when she should be compliant, and independent when she should be obedient to her husband. They climb into the coach and travel slowly through the busy London streets, the wheels splashing through puddles in the damp and misty air. William and Charles have had their instructions from Bess. They are not to speak unless directly asked a question. They are not to look shifty or guilty, but they must look the members of the Council in the eye, and hold their heads up. William shuffles his papers again and again.

  “We have done nothing wrong,” Bess reminds them. “You bear the Cavendish name; you are your father’s sons.”

  The journey is short and within ten minutes the carriage swings into a side courtyard and draws to a halt. They descend quickly, and climb the steps leading to the chamber where the hearing is to take place. To their dismay, there is a crowd of courtiers lining the route, who fall silent as they approach. One or two murmur “good luck,” but for the most part they just stare curiously. William and Charles quicken their pace as they walk, nodding to a few familiar faces. Bess keeps her face neutral, whatever the verdict, she wants to remain dignified. She sees her lawyer waiting for them and he bows formally as they approach.

  “Good morning, your grace. I am afraid I have bad news …”

  “Already?” William says.

  “I am not to be allowed to accompany you into the chamber.”

  “Why not?” asks Bess.

  “Their lordships will not allow it. I must wait outside.”

  William and Charles look at Bess, but she is not flustered. “Very well. So be it.”

  “Are you not going to protest?” asks Charles.

  “There is no point. I do not want to antagonise them before we have even started the hearing.”

  Before he can reply, the clerk of the court appears and tells them that the Council is ready to receive them.

  “Thank you, “she responds with a smile. They follow the clerk through the heavy door into a large panelled chamber, where three middle-aged men are sitting behind a long table. Bess recognises all of them as members of the Privy Council, and with a stab of disappointment, notices they are also all friends of George. The clerk of the Court sits down to the side and picks up his quill, evidently to record the proceedings. Then she looks to her right and sees that George himself is seated close to the table, a scowl on his face and his hand resting on his stick.

  “Good morning, my lords.” She curtseys and William and Charles bow. Bess turns to face George and her voice is light.

  “Good morning, husband. I trust you are well?” He stares through her and does not respond. But she can see he looks haggard, his lips downturned and tight; she turns back, waiting for the chairman of the Council to speak.

  “Good morning to you and your sons, countess. We all know the reason you are here before the Council, and I would like to proceed without delay.”

  William sees that no chairs have been provided for them and it seems they are expected to stand. He asks if they could sit down.

  “You may not,” the chairman replies abruptly.

  “Quite right,” they hear George mutter. Despite the occasion, Bess cannot help but suppress a smile. The chairman starts to read from a leathered covered book.

  “Elizabeth Talbot,
Countess of Shrewsbury, Sir William Cavendish, Sir Charles Cavendish, you have been summoned to appear before her majesty’s Privy Council in order to be examined as to the source of a most damaging and scandalous rumour concerning Queen Mary of Scotland and George Talbot, the Earl of Shrewsbury. The nature of this rumour is that the said earl has fathered a child borne to Queen Mary of Scotland since she has been in captivity here in England. This rumour has caused much distress to both parties and they strenuously deny any such involvement has ever taken place. They accuse you of not only being the source of the rumour, but of repeating it to several persons over many years, thus enabling it to thrive.”

  He pauses for breath and looks at Bess.

  “What have you to say on the matter?”

  “Anyone who knows me will maintain I am not capable of these falsehoods, especially one that is in such poor taste. We absolutely deny these accusations, and we will vigorously fight any attempts to lay the blame upon us.”

  “But you do not deny that you and your husband, the Earl of Shrewsbury, are estranged from one another and are not living as man and wife?”

  “It is true that we are estranged, much to my great disappointment, but I have no wish to damage the reputation of my husband or the Scottish Queen.”

  “But you do have a motive, being a spurned wife.”

  “I am not the only wife to live apart from her husband. On that basis every estranged wife has a motive to damage the reputation of her husband, whether he be titled or not.”

  “We have read your joint statement, and note that you suggest the pregnancy rumour could have been started because of a general dislike by the English of the Scots Queen. Explain yourself to us.”

  “My understanding is that this rumour began about ten years ago, possibly in a city tavern. The captivity of the Scots Queen has always been a subject of speculation and gossip. People will talk, especially after too much wine. I wonder that my husband has taken so long to feel aggrieved enough to demand action over it now. Our queen knows that the Scots Queen tried to cause problems between myself and my husband. I should not be surprised to learn that she has been instrumental in persuading my husband in this matter.”