Bess - A Novel

by Georgina Lee

  “Have you forgotten your manners that you come into my chamber so rudely?”

  “Why are all my letters given to you first? They should be left on the hall table for me.”

  “All correspondence is brought to me because this is my house. Even William’s letters come through me, do they not William?”

  “It has never been a problem for me, lady mother,” he dutifully replies.

  “You see? Do not fret Arbella, I do not open the letters, even though I could open yours if I chose to.” She begins to shift through the ten or so letters on a pile beside her and singles out one, which she hands to Arbella.

  “From the Earl of Essex,” she tells her.

  An expression of delight crosses Arbella’s face at this news. “I shall read it upstairs.”

  “Do not enter my chamber again without knocking, child,” Bess tells her sternly, but Arbella is already running upstairs, the letter clutched to her breast. Timothy gets up and shuts the door.

  “One wonders what the earl has written about his recent exploits,” William says. “Or perhaps we should ask ourselves what Arbella finds to write to him about?”

  “She will write about her unhappy life here with me, I expect.”

  “If the news is to be believed, he will not be writing letters for much longer,” says Timothy.

  “He does have a certain following. The people did see him as a hero after the victory at Cadiz. Then he spoilt it all by his foolhardy management of the Irish expeditionary force and negotiating with that rebel Tyrone in Ireland,” William’s voice is derisory.

  “I always knew his ambition would be his downfall,” Bess says and opens one of her drawers.

  “Robert Cecil has kept me up to date with all the earl’s plots and plans.” She puts half a dozen letters on the desk.

  “Read them if you will. I am going to speak to Arbella and will return shortly, then I want to talk to you both about an inventory I wish to be made for the new house. I shall have a new will drawn up, so you will need to contact my lawyers,” she pauses. “Master Hardy will do it.”

  She follows her granddaughter upstairs and finds her on the bed, avidly reading the letter. Arbella looks up crossly; she had been hoping to have some rare privacy.

  “I must speak to you about the Earl of Essex,” Bess tells her firmly.

  “If you are going to say that he has displeased the queen, then I already know about it.”

  “Do you? How much do you know?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He is in serious trouble, he may lose his head.”

  At this, Arbella goes pale. “No, that will not happen! The queen adores him, she would never do such a thing.”

  Bess sits down with a sigh of reluctance. “Child, you must understand that he has started to take too much on himself in matters of state, often without the queen’s knowledge or consent. He has been secretly negotiating with the Irish leader and made agreements with him that were not to our advantage. He has publicly insulted the queen, even half drawing his sword on her when she boxed his ears …”

  Arbella gives a cry of frustration and puts her hands over her ears.

  “I will not listen any more! This is all lies!”

  Bess pulls her hands away. “You can listen and you will! He is a traitor. Robert Cecil tells me …”

  “Oh that dwarf would say anything to gain favour! He hates Robert and is jealous of him! It is not difficult to know why is it?”

  “Arbella, Robert Devereux is on the way down, very publicly and very dramatically. I want you to realise that his end will be coming soon and there is nothing you can do about it. I know you are fond of him …”

  “You have never liked him!”

  “My feelings towards him are irrelevant. I maintain a relationship with him as he is the queen’s favourite, but no, compared to his stepfather the Earl of Leicester, he is not someone I would call a friend.”

  “Why do you always spoil everything for me?”

  “What do I spoil for you? You have a family who love you and everything money can buy, you are a very lucky girl.”

  “Am I?” she cries, throwing the letter on the bed in a fit of temper. “I do not think so. Look at this house you have built for yourself …”

  “And for you.”

  “No, lady grandmother, this house is not for me. It is for you, everything about it has your mark on it. Do you know the only part of me that is here; is my coat of arms, placed in a corner out of the way? In years to come, that will be the only record that I, Arbella Stuart, Countess of Lennox, was ever here. History will remember you, with your almshouses at Derby and your huge initials at the pinnacle of the towers here, but me? No, I shall die in this corner of Derbyshire, old and lonely, the best part of my life gone, spent waiting for a husband that others say they will find for me. Now I must watch my younger cousin Elizabeth plan her wedding, have you any idea how it makes me feel? No, you do not care!”

  After this long speech, she starts to bang her head against the wall; Bess gets up quickly to stop her. It is not the first time she has acted in this self-destructive manner, but Bess considers it to be nothing more than dramatics from a young woman seeking attention.

  “Now, child, calm down. It is not as bad as you say. You must not get so upset.”

  Arbella slides down the wall and sits on the floor as if exhausted by life itself. Bess sighs, impatient to get back to work.

  “Are you still here?” Arbella looks up at her.

  “Am I not always here for you?”

  “Yes,” she nods miserably. “You are always here and I am always here. You are my destiny and I am yours. I shall be quiet now.”

  “I shall send for your lady-in-waiting.”

  “I do not wish for her! Why can I not be left on my own?”

  “I thought she would be able to comfort you, someone nearer your own age.”

  “No you did not. You have your servants to spy on me all the time. I long to be alone, with my own thoughts. Is that such a crime?”

  “Of course not.” Then Bess has an idea and forces her voice to be cheerful.

  “Would you like to come to one of my jewellery caskets and choose a pretty brooch or ring? I think that would cheer you up.”

  Arbella shakes her head, for once unimpressed by this offer.

  “I do not want your brooches or your rings or anything you can give me. I want the Earl of Essex to stay alive and be unmarried, I want to leave this house forever and never return, I want a husband and a home and children of my own to love and cherish.”

  She recites all these requirements with a monotonous tone before ending by crying out in despair, “I want my own life! Why is that so impossible?”

  “We cannot always have what we want,” Bess tells her gently.

  “You did!” she retorts fiercely.

  Bess is not going to crouch down to Arbella’s level, and after a few moments she quietly leaves the chamber to return to her meeting with William and Timothy. Meanwhile Arbella remains on the floor staring straight ahead. She makes a pact with herself; if the earl is executed, she will take matters into her own hands and do something positive to change her life before she is completely suffocated by her captivity. Getting up abruptly, she goes over to a secret drawer in her desk and removes a letter. Hiding it from her grandmother is essential as it is from her Uncle Henry, and as far as she knows, Bess has not seen it. She reads;

  My dear niece Arbella,

  I read your letter with great sympathy as I understand all to well the overwhelming force of my lady mother’s personality, made all the more difficult by your being kept as a prisoner. It may reassure you to know that many people are dismayed at your lack of freedom over so many years, and feel it is very unjust. My lady mother has had much practise in her role as jailor, and one I fear she takes to with consummate ease.

  I wish to help you in any way I am able, as I realise you have no other family member to turn to. When the time is right,
we shall be able to take you away from Hardwick and your life will truly begin anew. I am in contact with people who strongly sympathise with your position, to the extent of endangering their own lives.

  But we must be very careful, as I am sure you realise. Hide this letter or burn it, for if it was to fall into the wrong hands, you know what the consequences would be. Wait patiently, for I will not let you down, I remain your affectionate Uncle Henry.

  Written this day v March 1600 at Tutbury Castle.

  Arbella reads it again and yet again before taking it to the fire and watching it burn. Already an idea is beginning to form in her head, but she needs to think more deeply about it. Having Uncle Henry on her side is reassuring, and she does not feel quite so alone.

  February 1601

  Another person who is sympathetic to Arbella is her tutor, Mr Starkey. The two of them spend time each day in each other’s company at her lessons. He is a chaplain by profession, but has an extensive knowledge of the classics, as well as languages such as Hebrew and Spanish. A quiet, reserved little man, he finds Arbella to be an excellent pupil who has above average intelligence. It is now two weeks since the execution of the Earl of Essex for treason and when the messenger arrived with the news, Arbella had hysterics and nothing could calm her for several hours. Eventually she fell into an exhausted sleep, watched over by Bess and her maid. Reluctantly, she returns to her studies within days, but everyone can see she is withdrawn and quiet; spending hours on her own in her small study off the bedchamber that she is still forced to share with Bess. Mr Starkey shares the concern of the household, and decides to broach the subject over lessons.

  “I was shocked to hear the news of the Earl of Essex, I know he was a good friend to you. I think you have taken it badly, and I cannot help but feel that you have much on your mind.”

  Arbella looks up from her book and her expression is neutral. “I am quite well Mr. Starkey. I hope you do not think my studies are suffering.”

  “Not at all. You are still a diligent pupil, one of the best I have ever had the privilege to teach. No, I am simply concerned that, well, given the life you are forced to lead here, a virtual prisoner…”

  He realises he has said too much, and looks about nervously, but Arbella lowers her voice. “You are kind to be concerned. My life is one of misery and loneliness, despite all the luxury of my surroundings. The dowager countess still treats me as if I were a young child, and not a grown woman. You have seen for yourself how I am made to suffer …” She begins to cry, and Mr Starkey looks at her apprehensively.

  “… but I am in the process of planning my escape from here. You must keep it a secret of course, I know I can trust you, you are a dear friend.”

  “Oh, I wish you had not told me about this plan,” he replies nervously. “For if I am asked, I shall have to tell the truth. I am honoured to be considered your friend, but I am only your tutor.”

  “You will not be asked, and I would not expect you to lie for me. My uncle Henry is going to take me away from this place. Will you help me too? Please say you will.”

  This was not what he was expecting, and caught unawares, he can only stare at her in dismay.

  “I can see you are reluctant and I understand, of course. But ask yourself this question, if you shall not help me, will you not have it on your conscience that you passed by on the other side and refused to help another fellow Christian in distress? I would beg you on my knees if it would sway your decision.”

  “Oh, please do not even think of it!” he replies, horrified at the idea.

  “This is the depth of my despair, Mr. Starkey. You have no idea how I envy the women servants here, they have a freedom denied to me, they can pass through these wretched gates and go where they will. Anyone within these walls can do so, except me, and yet I am the highest-ranking woman in the land after her majesty. Do you think that is fair? Do you think that is right?”

  “No! I do not, highness. I wish to help but I do not see how someone as humble as myself …” His voice trails off half-heartedly. She leans forward on the desk, her face earnest, her eyes brimming with tears.

  “But you will not have to do much, perhaps take a letter or perform a minor errand. It will be enough that I have someone in the house that I can trust to act for me, and not my grandmother. Do not forget that one day I shall be in a position at Court to return your favour. How would you like to be the tutor to royal children?”

  He does not reply, and Arbella presses home her point.

  “Just think of it. You would have fine clothes, a handsome salary, even more than you receive here, all the benefits and privileges of a royal tutor, as well as access to the royal family. It is every humble tutor’s dream, is it not?”

  His mind is racing now with the possibilities of a position at Court, something that he had always thought was beyond his reach. She is right, what tutor would not wish of such a life? He smiles and gives a solemn bow.

  “You may rely on my help for this matter, highness.”

  Arbella claps her hands and wipes her tears away. Her plan is falling into place, slowly but surely.

  25 December 1602 –

  Hardwick New Hall

  Christmas Day dawns with dark clouds rolling across the red streaked sky and a sharp, fierce wind from the north that finds its way through all the many windows of the new house. It blows around the chambers from the rooftops down, reaching every corner, permeating cupboards and drawers, so everything feels icy cold to touch. It brushes the backs of peoples’ necks and turns their fingers numb. The inescapable whining moan never seems to lessen; making windows rattle and draughts race through open doors. As servants go back and forth to the brewing house, dairy and smithy that are close by, they are bent with the effort of remaining upright. The workmen do not appear today, but are in their homes celebrating as far as their means will allow, with their families.

  Bess is now seventy-four years old, and each day tries to ignore her ageing body’s aches and pains. With great reluctance, she has taken to using a walking stick, which gives warning to the servants as they hear it tapping along the stone floor towards them. She has also acquired Caesar, a little brown dog of dubious ancestry that terrorises the Irish wolfhounds as they lie in front of the fire. Cossetted under the many layers of scarlet wool blankets and bed hangings on and around her bed, she knows the best way to keep warm even in the bleakest of Derbyshire winters. Her bedchamber fire is always kept burning brightly, and she has started to work here lately, as it is by far the warmest place in the house. She has been pleased with Arbella’s behaviour these last few months, noting that she has not been complaining or disagreeable at all, but quietly working at her studies. Now that she is over three score years and ten, Bess re-wrote her will last year with William and Arbella as the main beneficiaries. Mary and Charles are notably omitted, due to their taking Gilbert’s side over legal wranglings against her, but she has already been generous with gifts of money and land to them both. She also was able to read through the completed inventory of the New Hardwick Hall and reflect on everything therein, a tidy sum’s worth by any standard. Another task completed, was the commission of her burial tomb, made from stone mined from her own quarries, to await her final resting place in Derby.

  She is spending the Christmas celebrations with William and his new wife, Elizabeth. Their children, Wylkyn and James, together with the Pierrepoints, Frances, Henry and their children, Bessie, Robert and Grace, all of whom arrived a week ago, are also staying. As Ruby dresses her hair, now faded to white, she watches Arbella who has her back to them as she lies on the bed. It occurs to Bess that she has not had a proper conversation with her granddaughter for a few days.

  “You may go now,” she tells Ruby who puts down the comb before curtseying and leaving. Arbella turns over with a grunt of displeasure.

  “Why can I not have my own chamber in the new year? It is always so very hot in here!”

  Bess finishes arranging her hair, and looks over at
Arbella with some impatience.

  “I feel the cold more than you do. My bones are much older; and you know why I must have you near me.”

  “No-one is going to kidnap me here! I am too well guarded and locked up all the time.”

  She gets up and walks over to one of the many large windows, gazing at the outlook she knows so well. From this view, the sodden fields stretch into the distance as far as the eye can see. There is no sign of life, except the sheep huddling under the trees for shelter. She gives a loud, frustrated sigh.

  “How much longer will I have to stay here?”

  “Do not keep asking me that question,” replies Bess, her voice straining to be patient. “I do not know, how many more times do I have to tell you? If I knew, then I would say so.”

  “But what will happen when the queen dies?”

  “It is not for you to speculate! Do not even think of the queen dying, it is tantamount to treason.”

  “It is just between the two of us. We are alone.”

  “It makes no difference.” Bess goes over to her and holds her shoulders in both hands. “I know you are unhappy and wish to be far from here. If I could change it, I would, but there is nothing I can do.”

  Arbella pulls away from her. “I do not believe you! You like having me here with you. You enjoy keeping me in your control all the time. I hate you!”

  “You do not mean that, child. You are upset. I thought that lately you were coming to terms with your situation.”

  “Well I am not, nor will I ever.”

  “Let us go to breakfast, and after we have been to chapel, we can all open our presents. Will it not be pleasant to spend this special day with all the family?”

  She does not reply and Bess ushers her through the door to join the others. The new chapel is on two floors, the upper level for the family, and the lower level for the servants. It has fine embroidery of the Crucifixion and three pictures of the Virgin Mary on the wall. The communion rails have been carved from oak trees on the estate and, on fine days, the sunlight streams through the windows, reflecting the wood that has been so carefully polished with bees wax. As Mr Starkey welcomes them, he notes that Henry, Grace, Mary, Gilbert, Charles and Catherine are absent, but it is not his place to ask the reason.