Bess - A Novel

by Georgina Lee

  “Do not speak of Queen Mary in that insolent manner!” George shouts.

  “I speak as I find,” Bess replies, glancing at him with defiance.

  “My lord, I must remind you that you are here as a bystander and have no right of speech. I must insist that you remain silent,” the chairman tells him.

  George bangs his stick impatiently. Then Bess delivers her piece de resistance and waits for their reaction.

  “We will meet anyone face to face who claims that we are involved in any way with this rumour, and prove that they are lying.”

  Their lordships confer, looking more and more uneasy.

  “May I speak my lord?” William finds it hard to remain silent, and Bess gives him a forbidding look.

  “You may speak when it is your turn, Sir William. Countess, is it not true that you are on friendly terms with many individuals at Court and it would be quite easy for you to circulate such a rumour?”

  “I did not realise that having friends at Court was an indication that I was a gossip.”

  George makes a snorting noise, and the chairman frowns at him.

  “Do you have any evidence against us, my lord?” Bess asks, becoming bolder now that she gathers from the line of questioning that it is beginning to look unlikely. He sighs and pushes the book away from himself.

  “Well, Sir William, what is it you wish to say?”

  “Only this, her grace, the countess, would not demean herself by such behaviour and neither would I, or my brother. It is outrageous that we have been brought here today. The earl and his men attacked Chatsworth, causing my lady mother to flee in terror. He broke into the house by force with a mob of armed men and stole possessions that did not belong to him. My brother and I were gagged and tied up …”

  “Silence!” The chairman holds up his hand but William is not deterred, “… but no action is taken against him!”

  “William!” Bess says sternly, but he can only glare at George, who scowls back in equal measure. It is the first time they have come face to face since the night that Chatsworth was attacked.

  “Instead I am sent to prison, for what is termed my ‘insolence’ in trying to defend myself and my family.”

  “These matters are irrelevant to the proceedings.”

  “These proceedings are a farce, my lord, and have been brought against us by the Scottish Queen and the Earl of Shrewsbury to publicly humiliate and discredit us.”

  George gets to his feet, unable to remain silent for any longer.

  “Are you going to allow them to continually interrupt these proceedings or do I have to come round and take control myself?”

  The chairman looks at George sternly.

  “You are the person disrupting these proceedings! I must ask you again to remain silent or I shall have you removed from this chamber.”

  “He should not be here in any case,” Charles says boldly.

  “I will have silence!”

  George sits down in frustration. The chairman confers again with the other two lords for a minute, then he looks up, but before he can speak, Bess walks forward to stand directly in front of them. “My lords, I repeat my question; am I right in saying that you have no real evidence against us?”

  The chairman shifts uncomfortably, looking at George out of the corner of his eye.“The earl has not produced any evidence that we can realistically accept.”

  “You have before you my own evidence that certain prominent members of the Court deny any wrong doing on our part,” she tells him.

  He looks again at the names that Bess has called upon to take her side.

  “Yes, it is an impressive list.”

  “What is happening?” says George, very disgruntled. “This is highly irregular.”

  “We may be able to close this matter to the satisfaction of both parties if you would swear on your knees in front of us,” the chairman whispers to her.

  Bess thinks for a moment. “If we do, have I your word that we shall be completely exonerated and the matter is closed?”

  “You do, countess.”

  “Let me speak to my sons.”

  She steps back to William and Charles, who have not heard all that has just been said. When she tells them, they are furious.

  “No! I will not kneel before them. How dare they suggest it!” William says.

  “Nor will I!” agrees Charles.

  “We have no choice,” Bess tells them in a whisper. “Their lordships must be seen to take some action to satisfy the earl, or he will continue with his fight. If we do this, it will end it once and for all. It must be done; I am willing, you must follow my example.”

  In the meantime, George has approached the lords himself and is rapidly losing his temper.

  “That will not be sufficient to exonerate them! They will swear anything. They are guilty I tell you. Look at them, laughing at me and plotting schemes to injure me!”

  “We see nothing to suggest what you say. I must insist that you to return to your seat,” the chairman tells him. “You have not produced any real evidence against your wife and her sons. There is no more that we can do.”

  George reluctantly sits down again, swearing under his breath as he does so. Bess gathers her skirts and gracefully kneels, her back as straight as a ramrod. Her face betrays no emotion; she will not give George the pleasure. But William and Charles cannot hide their anger and kneel beside her slowly, with many furious looks at their stepfather, whose expression by now has changed to superior satisfaction. The clerk of the court produces a Bible, which he gives to Bess. The chairman indicates for her to begin, and in a clear, loud voice she does so, her eyes staring straight ahead.

  “I swear before Almighty God that I was not the author, inventor or reporter of the rumour that my husband, the Earl of Shrewsbury, had fathered a child by Queen Mary of Scotland. I also swear that whilst in the custody of the Earl of Shrewsbury, Queen Mary has always behaved with chastity and honour, as expected of a princess.”

  She hands the Bible in turn to William and Charles, who repeat the oath; their voices low pitched and resentful. The chairman nods and they all rise, as the clerk comes forward to take the Bible.

  “Very well, countess. We shall report that we found no evidence against you and your sons. You are completely exonerated and free to leave.”

  “This is a travesty of justice! Can you not see her for what she really is?”

  George is beside himself with frustration and rage. Their lordships get up quickly, gather their papers and with a nod to Bess, they exit through a side door, avoiding any further discussion with him. Bess turns to her sons and hugs them, the relief is overwhelming and they cannot quite believe it.

  “We have done it!” she says. “We must go and celebrate!”

  Grinning with delight, William and Charles slap each other on the back and follow their mother to the door. George is waiting for them and reaches out to grab Bess by the arm.

  “You may have escaped this time, madam, but I have not finished with you yet!”

  “Unhand my lady mother!” Charles is nearest and pulls his arm away.

  “Do not presume to touch your betters! I will have satisfaction; you may have won this battle, but do not think you have won the war!”

  He pushes roughly past them and walks towards his legal advisors waiting outside the door.

  Bess looks at him with resignation before going past the courtiers. It is not hard for them to see who has come off the better this morning.

  Tutbury – December 1585

  Mary is moved back to Tutbury, still considered the safest place for her. Her new jailor, Sir Amias Paulet, is quite a different character from George. In the damp and miserable surroundings, she becomes depressed and ill; maybe her days with the Shrewsburys were not so bad after all.

  Mary is in her bed, where she has lain for the last few weeks. She is weak and dispirited, and complains of constant aches and pains. Her hysterical outbursts are more frequent, and after having George a
s her jailor for so long, she is finding it hard to adapt to someone else. Her once beautiful face is ravaged by her confinement, and the stress of her situation has aged her. It is now fifteen years since she was first brought here, and the plots to release her have all come to nothing. Over the years the conspirators have been tortured and executed, but Queen Elizabeth is very reluctant to pass the death sentence on Mary herself, without irrefutable evidence to condemn her. It sits heavy on Queen Elizabeth’s conscience that Mary is an anointed queen, like herself.

  Sir Amias visits her once a day and this morning he is in a particularly severe mood. She hears the rattle of the keys in the door and turns away to face the wall; she does not wish to see him. He comes into the chamber and regards her motionless body with sour distaste. Even if he were not her jailor, Mary would have a dislike for him, as she considers him to be an ugly, fat man without any charm or redeemable qualities.

  “Your majesty,” he says, managing to inject a contemptuous sneer into the words. “How are you this morning?”

  His lips barely cover his yellow teeth and there is a greasy sheen to his face. There is no reply and one of her ladies appears from the other chamber.

  “Her majesty is much the same as yesterday, Sir Amias.” She places herself between him and the bed in a defensive position, which he neatly sidesteps to approach the bed.

  “I must see for myself,” he replies, as he peers closer.

  Mary stiffens and shuts her eyes. She cannot bear to see him; his presence makes her skin crawl. None of the ladies like him with his condescending manners and judgemental remarks. They have come to realise now that life under the earl’s care was infinitely better than his, and wish every day that he was back in his post, but they know he will never return.

  “If her majesty could have some fresh air …” the lady-in-waiting ventures.

  “Then open the windows!”

  “It would be better if her majesty could be allowed to walk outside when she is feeling stronger.”

  “I cannot allow that to happen. My orders are quite clear and I am following them strictly. No one will be able to accuse me of being lax in my duties as jailor.”

  “Could the food be improved? We asked about it last week, but it remains quite inedible.”

  “The food is more than adequate. I myself eat the same as you all. To over indulge and crave pleasure from eating, is gluttonous and a deadly sin.”

  The lady-in-waiting sighs and tries another approach. “Sir Amias, can you not feel how cold it is? We have barely enough wood to heat one chamber. I am sure that if your queen knew she would be horrified at these conditions.”

  “Do not presume to know the feelings of our queen! It is not for you for make such requests. I am simply following my orders and you must realise that I have no real power here. I am merely an instrument in this unsavoury business.”

  At this, Mary turns over and opens her eyes. When she speaks her voice is raspy and interrupted by coughing, but her eyes blaze in her pale face. “You call the captivity of an anointed queen an unsavoury business! Yes, you are right, where else in the world would this be allowed to happen? Since you have taken over the post as jailor, my life has become unbearable; for you are a nasty, unpleasant creature with no Christian virtues to your name, despite your outward show of piety. You are unkind and harsh, and God will punish you, as he will punish all of you that have used me so ill.” She has another fit of coughing and her lady-in-waiting holds a handkerchief to her mouth.

  Sir Amias looks unmoved.“If you mean I have not indulged you as the Earl of Shrewsbury did, then I am content, for it shows that I have done my duty, and I will continue to do so to the best of my ability.” He turns to go, but Mary cries for him to wait.

  “What is going to happen to me? Does your queen hate me so much that I am forgotten and left to rot in this hell hole?”

  “I can assure you that you have not been forgotten.”

  “You must know what plans there are for me? Will I be left to die here?”

  “Why do you ask me such questions? I am merely your jailor and hold no such power over you.”

  “But you made me remove my dais and cloth of state did you not? Such action was nothing less than vindictiveness.” She tries to sit up, her hands trembling as she clutches the sheets.

  “I must know what is to become of me. I cannot bear it any more. Your queen has pushed me to the depths of despair; I cannot continue like this.”

  Sir Amias does not reply, but stares at her with his beady eyes. Mary dissolves into sobs and he makes a tutting noise. “Come, these outbursts are wasted on me and the sooner you realise it the better. Life has been far too easy for you here. This is not meant to be a holiday! You are kept here because you are a threat to the throne of England. My queen is generous in her treatment of you, considering your scandalous past …” He shakes his head disapprovingly and gives another bow. “I shall take my leave.”

  Once he is gone, Mary recovers and reaches under her pillow for the letter that has been smuggled into her apartments. She gestures for her lady-in-waiting to read it again to her and her face registers a glimmer of hope as she listens. She closes her eyes and tries to sleep, her mind repeating a name over and over; Antony Babington, Antony Babington. Could his name hold the key to her freedom at last?

  Chatsworth – February 1587

  “So William, what news do you have to tell me?” Bess asks.

  She has already received word from her contacts, not only from Court, but from Fotheringhay Castle, where Mary was taken after her arrest. William has just arrived from London and sits with his mother as she watches him eat a beef stew. He is dusty and tired, but all this is forgotten as he tells Bess what the whole country is talking about: the charge of High Treason against Mary, her subsequent trial, swiftly followed by her execution only a few days ago. Sir Francis Walsingham, after years of patient waiting, watching and gathering information, finally obtained some hard evidence with which to convict her.

  “Where shall I start?”

  “At the beginning, in case I have missed something.”

  “You remember Anthony Babington?”

  “Yes, of course, he was a boy page for me and used to visit Mary when she stayed. He must have fallen under her spell at that time. I never thought anything of it, she always liked to spend time with children.”

  “And Thomas Morgan, the earl’s secretary at Sheffield?”

  “The man who spoke with a slight stutter?”

  “Yes, after he left the earl’s service he went to France as Mary’s agent, but Sir Francis had him constantly followed. After a while, Babington also went to France and made contact with him before returning to England, where he became involved with a group of Jesuit priests as they travelled round the country in secret. Letters from Mary to her supporters were hidden in beer barrels and copied, after being deciphered. The letters were read by Lord Burghley, Sir Francis and Sir Amias Paulet, so they were all aware of her intentions. They had the help of a turncoat priest called Robert Gifford, who told them of a plot to kill Queen Elizabeth and rescue Mary. The Pope was to send his troops with the Spanish, and invade England with the help of English Catholics. Mary would be made our queen and Queen Elizabeth …” He makes a cutting gesture across his own throat and Bess stares in horror. “Sweet Jesu!” she exclaims. “My blood runs cold at the thought of it.”

  “Babington was arrested when this letter was discovered and together with his co-conspirators, they were sent to the Tower.” His face becomes dark. “They were horribly tortured, lady mother.”

  She nods, knowing that it was inevitable. “And their trial?”

  “A foregone conclusion of course, they were all found guilty and sentenced to death by hanging, drawing and quartering – whilst they still lived.”

  At this, Bess goes pale. “Surely not? That is so cruel.”

  “It is the truth. Some are saying it was the queen’s command, whilst others say it was Lord Burghley’s. T
he men were dragged through the streets to Holborn, where a huge scaffold had been erected so that as many of the people as possible could witness it.”

  He takes a large swig of wine and wipes his mouth.

  “Babington was forced to watch the first one before his own death and he cried out, ‘Spare me, Lord Jesus!’ towards the end. At first the crowds were shouting for their deaths, but when they saw the butchery, they expressed disgust for the manner of their deaths and shouted ‘for shame’ and ‘have pity’ as they watched and groaned with the violence of it.”

  “May God have mercy on their souls.”

  There is silence in the chamber for a minute as the two bow their heads before he continues.

  “On the following day, the remaining conspirators were dead before the disembowelling and quartering was carried out.”

  “So the people made their feelings known and it was swiftly acted upon, by orders of the queen,” Bess replies.

  “I have never seen a hanging crowd so moved.”

  “But they still came to watch.”

  He shrugs, “such events have always held a fascination for the people.”

  “Was Babington allowed to speak?”

  “No, he was not. Truth be told, he was in no fit state for speech.”

  Bess sighs, the story is one of horror, but she is forcing herself to know the details of Mary’s death. She feels in a strange way that it is important before she can finally place her in the past.

  “After Mary’s trial, your husband was given the task of informing her that she was to die on the morrow.”

  “How do they say she took the news?”

  “Apparently quite calmly, I think she wished to be seen as a martyr. Everyone knew the verdict would be guilty, although Lord Zouche, rather bravely I thought, said he did not agree and wanted more evidence. Her priest asked for more time, but there could be no delay once Queen Elizabeth had signed the death warrant with the royal seal. Lord Burghley was not going to take any chances.”