by G Lawrence
“Should I take a wandering Cain as my husband?”
Fenelon looked utterly mortified by my comment, as I had intended. I was furious, not only to hear that Alençon, or Anjou as he now had to be called, had escaped his mother’s clutches and was wandering about France like an aimless wastrel, and they still wanted me to wed him, but about many other things I had heard from my new ambassador to France, Lord North.
North had gone to France to improve relations, but had been received with great discourtesy, and then was forced to watch as Catherine de Medici dressed two of her court dwarves up in fine dresses, and set bright orange wigs on their heads. Despite the fire of the wigs, there were noticeable strands of grey laced into them. With their faces painted thick with flour and paste, their foolish wigs and grand dresses on, the fools had sauntered into the French Court and danced a silly jig before Lord North. They were, of course, meant to represent me. Catherine and her son, annoyed England had grown closer to Spain, were publicly insulting me.
North was only further mortified when Catherine had turned to the new Duc d’Anjou, then still with her, and asked him how he liked his bride. Any opportunity to pretend these women were not meant to be me was lost, and North had sent a full report. His quill had clearly been shaking with indignation as he wrote, for the letter was a ghastly mess. Soon after this shameful display of spite, the new Duc d’Anjou had escaped. There were reports he was wandering about Europe.
“I little wanted a prisoner for my husband, my lord,” I said, my tone cool. “I wish for a lost prince even less. I am also disturbed by the insults directed at me by your new King and his mother. Do the French think it amusing to mock their allies? Is it a new form of wooing I am unaware of?”
“My mistress sends her utmost apologies if you took offence at the pageant at her court, Your Majesty,” the ambassador said. “Her fools were not intended to represent you. She is heartbroken to think you would imagine such a thing.”
Unlikely, I thought. That would mean she had a heart to be broken.
“Then why was my erstwhile suitor asked if he liked his bride?” I demanded.
“Lord North misinterpreted the situation,” said Fenelon. “His French is sadly not perfect, Majesty. He misheard the Mother of the King.”
“My French is flawless, lord ambassador, and I have spent many an afternoon conversing with Lord North, finding no fault in his skills.”
“Perhaps it is different to a foreigner.”
“Are you insulting my skill at languages, my lord? I would take care if I were you. I might misinterpret something, since we English are apparently so unskilled at understanding.” Before he could lie anymore, I went on. “Tell your Queen I will not accept the Duc d’Anjou under these circumstances. If she finds her son, brings him home, and manages to keep him there, I may reconsider, but not now. At this present moment I find my faith in the French shaken, by her and her son.”
The ambassador departed with a furrowed brow, clearly wondering how he was to make right all the wrong his master and mistress had done. I was mightily displeased with France, but Spain was always an unknown entity as a friend and ally, and with Mendoza causing strife about court, I had to keep France on my side. I was not about to allow the matter to drop without punishing the ambassador, however. He endured a number of excruciating interviews with me, and reported back to his King that it would be wiser to avoid insulting the Queen of England at the present moment.
As one marriage stalled, another had gone ahead.
“What?” I screamed in Cecil’s face when the unfortunate man came with his news.
Cecil wisely took a step back.
It transpired Margaret Lennox had indeed been invited to Rufford Abbey. The Abbey stood on the outskirts of Sherwood Forest, perhaps apt, as rebellion had taken place there anew. Charles Stuart was with his mother, and when they stopped at the Abbey, Bess had carted her daughter there too. Margaret had become ill, either by accident or design, and they had been forced to tarry at Rufford for some days. As Bess was apparently consumed by tending to her sick guest, Charles and Elizabeth had found unprecedented freedom, spent days and evenings in each other’s company, and had fallen in love. Within days, as the mothers had no objections, and clearly did not think I needed to be consulted, the wedding went ahead. The newly married pair consummated their match that night. Should a child come of their union, especially if it were a boy, he would have a greater claim to my throne than even King James, since my godson was an alien and this child would be a native of England.
“I want Bess and Margaret thrown in the Tower!” I screamed, incandescent with fury.
Cecil went to send men north to bring both unfortunate countesses and their offspring to London.
“I think the Queen of Scots was party to this,” I said to Cecil when he returned. “This is a plot against my throne. They mean to create a new heir, one with her support, and use him against me!”
Cecil agreed. He thought this was part of a wider conspiracy of treason. When word reached my Lennox cousin and her new family, Margaret was said to be in a flux of fear, and Shrewsbury almost fainted upon hearing of my wrath. There were quick protests that Margaret could not leave as the weather was so poor, and Shrewsbury sent hurried letters, attempting to demonstrate his innocence as well as that of his wife and Margaret.
I did not believe Shrewsbury. Margaret and Bess were well aware Charles required my permission to wed. They had ignored it, and there would be consequences. Enemies of Margaret and the Shrewsburys started coming to me, telling me of their many sins, and I listened. When anger is riled, it wants food to fill its belly.
When Cecil’s messenger rode back, travel-stained and weary, he told Cecil that the new family were affecting astonishment, pretending they had had no idea I would be so opposed.
“Hah!” I exclaimed. “That might have worked once, cousin, when you allowed Henry Darnley to wed my cousin of Scots, but not this time.”
The two women had not only betrayed my trust, but had flouted the Royal Marriage Act. In Margaret’s case, for the second time. I am sure Bess thought the risks worth the spoils; she had just succeeded in elevating her daughter to the higher nobility, and any Lennox-Talbot heirs might find their way to the succession, especially since there would be no question of their legitimacy. Unlike Katherine Grey, Margaret Lennox had been careful. The priest had been of my clergy, banns had been read, and there were many witnesses to the marriage. I also had no doubt that whilst Margaret was probably less than pleased about the drop in status Charles’ new wife brought to their blood, she had gained money. Bess was land-rich, and great benefits would come from her in the future. Elizabeth Cavendish came with a dowry of three thousand pounds, although there was some confusion as to whether that had been paid, and Bess also made a loan available to Margaret.
Cecil wrote to Shrewsbury, telling him how much trouble he and his wife were in. Not only had they flaunted my authority and the laws of England, but had allowed their daughter to become wed to a relative of their prisoner! This connection to Mary of Scots could not be ignored. Bess and Shrewsbury were now tied to her fortunes.
Shrewsbury wrote back, protesting they had been obliged to offer shelter to the Countess of Lennox, because she had fallen ill. During their stay, he wrote, the two young people had fallen desperately in love, swearing never to be parted. Shrewsbury stressed they had shown interest in Charles as a son-in-law in the past, and permission had not been expressly denied, so they thought they were fine to proceed. “It has been talk between them more than a year past, and not thought worthy of Her Majesty’s hearing,” he explained.
“Is Shrewsbury succumbing to the frailties of his dotard years?” I sniped when Cecil presented the letter. “Or attempting to play the innocent? Does he think me a fool to fall for ridiculous lies?”
Cecil pursed his lips, but said nothing. He was aware of the dangers of my temper. Shrewsbury was a fool to think he could pass this all off as an accident of fate. This
had been planned… The route taken by the Countess; her avoidance of the properties I had named, but not of the people I had wished her to stay away from; the sickness which fallen upon her the instant they entered Rufford, and the ‘accidental’ love that had blossomed… all of this was a plot.
Margaret was ordered to return to court in mid-November. “And tell her to bring the happy couple,” I barked at Cecil. “Old and young clearly need reminding of their place.”
I knew it would make Bess nervous to see her daughter carted off to London to face me. I enjoyed feeling her terror wafting on the northern wind.
I was more disappointed with Bess than Margaret. My Lennox cousin had always been up to something, so her betrayal was not unexpected. Bess was another matter. This was one of my friends, one I had placed a huge measure of trust in, and she had betrayed me. I wanted her to suffer.
But I knew I could not bring her to London. Bess was useful in the household of my royal cousin, and had worked as a spy for me. Remove her, and I lost one of my eyes. But I would make her nervous. By God, I would!
I waited eagerly to accost Margaret and her son, but had to wait longer than expected. Countless excuses arrived at court; they were being held up by the weather, the roads, lame mules, swollen rivers...
“She hopes I will have calmed by the time she reaches me,” I muttered, reading Margaret’s latest excuse. “She hopes in vain.”
In truth, I was ready, and more than willing, to tear the Countess of Lennox limb from limb.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Richmond Palace
Winter 1574 - 1575
“I am so pleased to see Your Majesty looking so well.”
Margaret Lennox’s voice was shaking, betraying terror. I coldly looked her up and down. “I wish my heart were as hale as my body,” I said, my tone like frost. “But I am wounded, cousin, by your latest betrayal.”
The Countess had attempted to delay at every stage of her journey, hearing that my anger, far from cooling, had grown hotter with each new dawn.
Margaret looked haggard, as well she might. Not only was she in fear for her life, but she had ridden through mists, tempests, squalls and driving rain to reach me. Each time she had tried to stop and rest, I had sent men to harry her to London.
Margaret stumbled to explain herself, protesting the marriage had come about by accident, because of love, and she had only acted as she had because of the violence of her son’s feelings for Elizabeth Cavendish. “He would have no other bride, Majesty,” she said, twisting her hands. “And, as any natural mother, I felt his pleas in the deepest reaches of my heart.”
“And your duties as a subject and kinswoman simply were forgotten under the force of this motherly love?” I sneered. “Play not the innocent with me, cousin, nor take me for a fool. This was planned, done with your permission from the start. You duped me into thinking you a natural woman once, by protesting you made this journey to see your grandson, but I see I was a fool, a fool to listen to such declarations and think for one moment they could be honest. There is no honesty in you. You, cousin, are a creature of lies.”
“Majesty, I swear…”
“Make no more protestations as false as your sorry heart,” I snapped. “Leave, but know this matter is far from over.”
Margaret scurried away, her face pale.
Unfortunately for Margaret, her account did not agree with Shrewsbury’s. A storm of letters had come to London from Shrewsbury’s quill. Each one attempted to make the marriage sound as innocent as possible, and yet he had admitted that Bess and Margaret had been planning this for more than a year, making it clear that when the two women protested it had come about by chance, they were lying.
“Fool Margaret was not to get her story straight with her allies before she left,” I said to Hatton.
Her enemies were frothing at the mouth to see her fall, but a few days later she received help from a surprising source. “Margaret of Lennox has asked for my aid,” Robin said.
“She wants you to plead with me?”
Robin inclined his head. “Indeed.”
“And what did she say?”
“The same as she told you, Majesty.” He offered a grim smile. “She also protested several times she had not gone to Chatsworth or Sheffield Castle, just as you had asked, and claimed there was no idea of marriage until the moment Charles and Elizabeth met.”
“If she thinks declaring she remained away from the properties I named will save her, she is an imbecile. This was a conspiracy.”
I commanded a commission of enquiry set up to look into this marriage and ascertain if it was part of a wider plot. Walsingham led it and the Earl of Huntingdon was sent to question Bess, Shrewsbury, Mary of Scots and Margaret. I sent Huntingdon precisely because Mary feared him.
Mary’s servants were questioned, threatened with imprisonment and torture, and we found that the Bishop of Ross and the Laird of Kilsyth, both supporters of Mary, had visited Margaret before swiftly departing from England. Kilsyth had been a supporter of Henry Darnley’s, and Ross had been embroiled in the Ridolfi plot. This suggested there was something nefarious going on, and the Scots’ Queen was right in its rotten core.
In response to letters sent by my Council to Scotland, Kilsyth was banished from his homeland. Morton thought that the laird might have persuaded Margaret that Mary of Scots was innocent of Darnley’s murder, leading to rapprochement between the two women, and this clandestine marriage.
Other links between the two women were found, and I became positive this was a plot intended to unseat me and place Mary of Scots upon my throne, with any child of this marriage to follow her, as payment for her support for the union.
Shrewsbury wrote, protesting there was no conspiracy, but he could see that his wife and his new kin had not thought about the political ramifications of the match which, he noted, was unwise. He also said this showed the innocence of the marriage.
I was long past listening.
Margaret was arrested on the 27th of December, just as poor Walsingham retired from court again due to ill health. Margaret was sent to the Tower of London. Charles and Elizabeth were put under house arrest at Hackney and, deciding eyes on Mary were no good if not working for me, I sent for Bess, so she could answer for her part.
As Margaret entered the Tower, yet again, she wailed to the Lord Warden this was the third time she had imprisoned there, “Not for matters of treason, but for love matters.” She had indeed been incarcerated by my father for seeking to marry without permission, but her trips to the Tower during my reign had been for treason; marrying her sons where they had no right.
As we waited for Bess to receive my summons, Shrewsbury wrote. From the tone of his letters, I wondered if he had not been duped by Bess, for whilst he maintained his story, and defended the Countess of Lennox, there was a febrile edge to his tone.
“Perhaps Bess tricked her husband into this,” I said to Kate Carey. “Bess has always been the brains in that marriage.”
Shrewsbury protested it was every parent’s natural right to organise their children’s marriages, and therefore the match should not be objected to. He understood, he wrote, that the panic this had caused was not due to the hatred some courtiers held for Shrewsbury and his wife, as Bess thought, but was due to the suspicion this marriage had been brought about in order to provide a new heir to the throne of England. He declared this was not the case.
“It is also the fact that you and your cursed wife are now related to your own prisoner!” I cried, throwing his latest letter across the room.
Bess’ enemies were already speaking loud and clear. They had long claimed she was too close to Mary of Scots, and Bess had now proved this, in their eyes. Although commanded to come to London, Bess pleaded she needed to remain in the north as her youngest daughter was about to give birth.
“She may stay for the birth, but then is to come to London,” I growled. Although I wanted Bess before me, I had her daughter under my command. The
Countess would not flee England, or risk my further wrath, whilst I had Elizabeth.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Oatlands Palace
New Year’s 1575
It was not an entirely merry Christmas we passed that year. Celebrations went on, but since there was an air of fear tarrying on the wind, seeping from the Tower where Margaret was daily protesting her innocence and bewailing her execution, as she was certain I was about to murder her, our festivities were subdued.
At New Year, I was pleased to find Lettice at court. With members of my family rebelling against me, I wanted to keep company with the old, loyal Carey strain. “You are a sight for these weary eyes,” I said. “And you look stunning, cousin. Motherhood drains some women, but it seems to only enhance your looks.”
“You are too kind, Majesty,” she replied, enacting a rather short curtsey. Inwardly I sighed. When Lettice was absent, it was easy to forget she was often a touch disrespectful.
