Transcriber’s Note:

The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.

BESS OF HARDWICK

AND HER CIRCLE

BY THE SAME AUTHOR

A LADY OF THE REGENCY

JOURNEYMAN LOVE

THE APPRENTICE

TALES OF RYE TOWN

THE LABOURER’S COMEDY

THE ENCHANTED GARDEN

THE EASY-GO-LUCKIES

THE STAIRWAY OF HONOUR

HAPPINESS

Photo by Richard Keene Ltd. Derby, after the painting at Hardwick Hall.
Elizabeth, Countess of Shrewsbury.

BESS OF HARDWICK
AND HER CIRCLE

BY

MAUD STEPNEY RAWSON

WITH THIRTY-EIGHT ILLUSTRATIONS

INCLUDING A PHOTOGRAVURE FRONTISPIECE

London: HUTCHINSON & CO.

Paternoster Row ❧ 1910

TO MY HUSBAND

To you belongs, for many a reason, this, my first essay in history, which I have carried to its end with many misgivings, but with much delight in the matter itself.

The orthodox may be affronted at two brief incursions into fiction which they will find in it. Let them skip these judiciously, magisterially. For my own part, I needed consolation at times for certain hard and bitter facts of the history. Therefore, since the way was sometimes long, and the wind, in my imagination, very cold—as it whistled in and out of the ruins of those manors and castles where the Scots Queen and her married gaolers dwelt, or as it drove the snow across the splendid grey façade of Hardwick (to say nothing of the draughts of the sombre, public research libraries)—I first drew my Countess down from her picture-frame to marshal her household, and then lured her child and her child’s lover after her to gladden your road and mine.

And so I give you—besides all the thoughts which have gone to every scrap of writing I have ever done—these last, which curl and stiffen and again uncoil themselves about this hungry woman of Elizabethan days. Into her life and much-abused toil, we, who have neither gold nor heirs for whom to store it, can look together in love and pity.

Thus even while we rejoice over our diminutive home, may we never forget to give thanks to the spirit of those who built the great houses which nourish the little ones, and who, in place of the “scarlet blossom of pain” that grows at great door and little, shall give to us in the end the perfect English rose.

M. S. R.

Little Orchard,

Streatley,

Berks.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

All complete letters herein quoted have been put into modern spelling. These, with the exception of one or two fragments and when the source is not otherwise indicated, have been selected from the transcripts in Lodge’s Illustrations of British History, from the originals amongst the Talbot, Howard, and Cecil MSS.

The Author gratefully acknowledges the special permission of his Grace the Duke of Devonshire to include in this work reproductions of many of the fine pictures at Hardwick Hall, as well as a number of views of that noble building.

CONTENTS

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

BESS OF HARDWICK

AND HER CIRCLE

CHAPTER I
THE RED-HAIRED GIRL

Among the hills and dales of Derbyshire, that great county of august estates, there came into the world in the year 1520 a certain baby girl. Her father, John Hardwick of Hardwick House, and her mother Elizabeth, daughter of Thomas Leake of Hasland, in the same county, christened the child Elizabeth, naturally enough after her mother. Like the great Queen of England to whom she was senior, and with whom in after years she had so much traffic of a highly dramatic kind, this Elizabeth has come down to posterity under the shorter name of Bess.

Derbyshire, always a great county, was specially important in her day. Far from London and Court it seemed like a little England within England. Its great families wove its life step by step, its varied landscape, its heights and dales rendered it an important strategical centre in the event of rebellion, and the roughness and slough of pack-road and cart-road made even local expeditions affairs of moment. The little red-haired baby girl inherited from her native soil, from her race, and from the neighbours about her all that sense of county importance, that desire to found, establish and endow a great family with great estates which her life developed to so remarkable a degree. That consciousness of county importance was inevitable in those days when families gave their names not only to their mansions, but to the hamlets or village which clustered round them. Bess of Hardwick was brought up amongst them all—the Hardwicks of Hardwick, the Barleys of Barley (or Barlow), the Pinchbecks of Pinchbeck, the Blackwalls of Blackwall, the Leakes, and the Leches. Not all of them were so very opulent. The Hardwicks, though not rich, were of honourable standing as county gentry, and the Barleys and Leakes were of the same social rank. John Hardwick could not afford to give his daughters large dowries, and consequently when my Lady Zouche, her aunt, took Bess into her household in London the parents were probably glad enough to embrace such a social chance for her. Up to this time she led naturally the life of the ordinary young gentlewoman of tender years, said her prayers, learnt to sew and embroider, and had seen something of the ordering of a household and the disposal of country produce, while she heard and treasured up such scraps of news as filtered through to her family and neighbours by letters and travellers who came to the houses about her, or such rumours as were bruited in the county town. She was but twelve years old when she made her entry at once into my Lady Zouche’s house and into history. We are told that she had reddish hair and small eyes, but no picture of her remains to give any idea of her appearance at this moment when she left her childhood behind her. Physique she must always have had, and with it tenacity and tact in furthering her own prospects. She was of the type in which the art of “getting on” is innate. London and my Lady Zouche’s excellent social position gave her her first chance.

Photo by Richard Keene, Ltd., Derby
HARDWICK OLD HALL
Page [2]

There is almost a touch of Becky Sharp in the way that this young girl, dowerless save for the forty marks of dot allotted by John Hardwick to each of his daughters, settled down in that household. There came to London one of her Derbyshire neighbours—a youth of the Barley or Barlow family, named Robert. Under Lady Zouche’s roof he fell sick and the little niece helped to tend him. Whether he also fell in love, whether Mistress Hardwick the mother was minded to “settle” one at least of her girls early, or whether Lady Zouche was of a strong match-making tendency does not appear. But a marriage between the niece and the guest was arranged and quickly carried through. A strange pitiful affair it must have been—that London wedding between the red-haired child and the sickly young man—a ceremony trailing after it a sorry hope of happiness in the midst of physicking and nostrums, weakness and watching, until the death of the bridegroom before the bride had reached her fourteenth year. His death left no apparent gap in my Lady Zouche’s household and no mark upon history. But it bestowed on the child-wife the dignity of widowhood, and such importance, plus her forty marks, as attached to any property that Robert Barlow left her. The Barlows were not wealthy. Some of them in after years were in sore straits for a living. The State Papers show the existence of piteous letters from a certain Jane Barlow who writes in January, 1583, to her father, Alexander Barlow, “from a foreign land.” She is in extreme want, forced to borrow money to carry on her “business,” and assures him that the meanest servant he has “liveth in far better condition than she.” There is nothing to show that the Barlows applied to their relation “Bess” in after years for help. Such property as there was passed to her, and she travelled out of their ken into richer circles.

In 1547, at the age of twenty-seven, a woman in the height of her powers and the perfection of her womanhood, with considerable knowledge of the world and a tremendous store of physical and mental vitality, she secured a second husband and a man of considerable means—Sir William Cavendish. He was the second son of Thomas Cavendish, and his family, like that of Bess, took its name from its hamlet or manor. Says the pompous Bishop Kennet of those days: “The Cavendishes, like other great Families of greatest Antiquity derived a Name from their Place of Habitation. A younger branch of the Germons, famous in Norfolk and Essex, settled at Cavendish in Suffolk, and from that Seat and Estate were soon distinguished by that Sirname.” Thomas Cavendish, like the father of Bess, was “a well-to-do but undistinguished Squire,” but his sons made names for themselves.

From a photo by Richard Keene, Ltd., Derby, after the painting at Hardwick Hall
By permission of his Grace the Duke of Devonshire
SIR WILLIAM CAVENDISH
Page [4]

In 1539 his son William was appointed one of the auditors of the Court of Augmentation. This Court, of which one at least of the members had been employed as a commissioner for the surrender of religious houses, was ostensibly founded to ensure the increase of the royal exchequer to such a point as would enable the sovereign duly to establish and strengthen the defences of the realm. Within a year Mr. Cavendish had so well played his cards and acquitted himself that he received from Henry VIII a grant of Church property—the lordships and manors of Northawe, Cuffley, and Childewicke in Hertfordshire. In 1548, the year after his marriage, he was further rewarded not only by the post of “Treasurer of the Chamber to the King” which, we are assured, was “a place of great trust and honour,” but the knighthood which brought his third wife the title that raised her above the majority of her fellow-gentlewomen. He did not bring her a virgin heart, for he had been twice married and twice a widower without male heir. But he conferred on her important social position, a great deal of land—additional prizes fell to his share in the way of lesser glebe properties, abbeys, and rectories, because his appointment in the royal exchequer kept him au courant of the places which were being given or going cheap in the market—and she in her turn brought him the sons he doubtless so greatly desired.

Never surely did a couple settle down so whole-heartedly or so harmoniously to the founding of a family, to the increase and consolidation of their patrimony. As to the first—their offspring—Sir William made a proud and careful list in writing, being, as Collins[^[1]] says, “A learned and exact Person.” He had in all sixteen children, eight of whom were borne to him by “this beautiful and discreet Lady,” as Collins describes Bess Cavendish.

The fact that his second wife’s name was also Elizabeth has at times given rise to misstatements with regard to the place and date of his third marriage, but he was careful to record this: “I was married to Elizabeth Hardwick, my third wife, in Leicestershire, at Brodgate, my Lord Marquess’s[^[2]] House, the 20th of August, in the first yeare of King Ed. the 6, at 2 of the Clock after midnight.”

Of the eight children of this marriage six survived. The others were Temperance, “my 10 childe and the second by the same woman,” and Lucrece the youngest. The surviving daughters were Frances Cavendish, the eldest, married to Sir Henry Pierrepoint, of Holme Pierrepoint, Notts; Elizabeth Cavendish, who espoused Charles Stuart, Earl of Lennox; and Mary, the youngest girl, who became the wife of Gilbert Talbot. Of the three sons, the eldest, Henry Cavendish, who settled later at Tutbury Castle, married Lady Grace Talbot; William Cavendish, who wedded successively Anne, daughter of Henry Kighley, of Kighley, and Elizabeth, daughter of Sir Edward Boughton, and to whom his adoring mother left Chatsworth; and Charles. Frances Cavendish by her marriage became the ancestress of the Earls and Dukes of Kingston, and (through a female heiress) of the Earls Manvers, inheritors of the Pierrepoint property. Her brother Henry, though he died young, was the ancestor of the Barons Waterpark; while William, duly knighted in time, was the first Earl of Devonshire and progenitor of that great ducal house. Mary, though her husband was but a younger son of the Talbot race, became eventually Countess of Shrewsbury on his unexpected accession to the title; while Charles, besides a knighthood, secured as bride one of the twin heiresses of the Barony of Ogle, by which means the possessions of Welbeck Abbey and other great estates were insured to the Cavendishes. All these matters, however, belong to the future. The present was all-important to the welfare of Sir William and his lady. A fast growing family must be provided for, and scattered estates meant waste of cost and labour. The clear, keen eyes of the newly-wedded Bess looked far into the future. She did not care for the notion of separation from her own lands and the unwieldy business of dealing with her husband’s estates in different parts of the South of England. At the time of their marriage he had sold the aforesaid manors in Hertfordshire, Lincolnshire, Cardigan, and Cornwall, in favour of others in Derbyshire, Nottingham, and Stafford. The county instinct of his wife asserted itself. Her heart was in Derbyshire where her own dowry was concentrated. She desired the transfer of her bridegroom’s interests and property thither. Her resolution and her vitality naturally carried the day, and Sir William sold all the rest of his southern estates and settled with her in a manor which had originally been built by her old county friends the Leeches (or Leches) of Leech—Chatsworth.

Photo by Richard Keene, Ltd., Derby
HARDWICK OLD HALL: THE GIANTS CHAMBER
(So called from the two colossal figures, dubbed Gog and Magog, in raised plaster-work over the fireplace)
Page [6]

Gradually her great hobby asserted itself—the desire to build—and this constructive energy, as her story will show, went hand in hand with her master passion, the love of power and possession, to the end of her days. The mansion of the Leeches did not please her. It must be rebuilt for the glory of the Cavendishes. Her knight yielded to the wish. They set about the work quickly, living meanwhile, one supposes, in the original mansion. Hardwick Hall, it will be remembered, was not yet hers. John Hardwick, her father, had passed away in the nineteenth year of Henry VIII. That reign was at an end, and the reign of Edward VI drawing to its close. Hardwick House eventually became the portion of the red-haired daughter, some say through the will of her brother, who apparently died without heir. But for the moment the Cavendishes needed a fine house for domesticity on a large scale and old Chatsworth did not suffice them. Elizabeth Cavendish had plenty to do in founding her family. These were great and busy times for the great lady. Shoulder to shoulder husband and wife worked at their building, at their estate, at the management of their tenants, their parks and palings, their farms and holdings. The red-haired girl was in her element as matron and comptroller and lady bountiful. Fortune smiled on her enterprise, and when the crown of Edward VI descended to Mary of England, Sir William Cavendish still held securely his valuable post in the Exchequer.

It is a fine English picture as one looks upon it, this married life of the Cavendishes—knight and lady amongst their babies, enlarging their county circle, increasing their county honours, holding intercourse with Court and capital, with market and county town.

Here is a letter on domestic matters from Sir William to his lady showing his trust in her management of their joint affairs:—

“To Bess Cavendish,

“My Wife.

“Good Bess, having forgotten to write in my letters that you should pay Otewelle Alayne eight pounds for certain oats that we have bought of him over and above twelve that I have paid to him in hand, I heartily pray you for that he is desirous to receive the rest at London to pay him upon the sight hereof. You know my store and therefore I have appointed him to have it at your hands. And thus fare you well. From Chatsworth the XIIIth of April.

W. C.”

And here is a characteristic letter from his good lady during her absence from home in 1552 to her man of affairs, in which she soundly takes him to task for discourtesy to her “sister Jane,” orders beer to be brewed against her own return, and issues commands for building and repairs:—

“Francis, I have spoken with your master for the deals or boards that you wrote to me of; and he is content that you shall take some for your necessity by the appointment of Neusante, so that you take such as will do him no service about his building at Chatsworth. I pray you look well to all things at Chatsworth till my aunt’s coming home, which I hope shall be shortly, and in the meantime cause Broushawe to look to the smithy and all other things at Penteridge. Let the weaver make beer for me forthwith, for my own drinking and your master’s; and see that I have good store of it, for if I lack either good beer or good charcoal or wood I will blame nobody so much as I will do you. Cause the floor in my bedchamber to be made even, either with plaster, clay, or lime: and all the windows where the glass is broken to be mended: and all the chambers to be made as close and warm as you can. I hear that my sister Jane cannot have things that is needful for her to have amongst you: If it be true, you lack a great of honesty as well as discretion to deny her anything that she hath a mind to, being in my house; and then assure yourself I cannot like it to have my sister so used. Like as I would not have any superfluity or waste of anything, so likewise would I have her to have that which is needful and necessary. At my coming home I shall know more, and then I will think as I shall have cause. I would have you give to my midwife from me, and from my boy Willie and to my nurse from me and my boy, as hereafter followeth: first to the midwife from me ten shillings, and from Willie five shillings: to the nurse from me five shillings, and from my boy three shillings and four pence: so that in the whole you must give to them twenty-three shillings and four pence. Make my sister privy to it, and then pay it to them forthwith. If you have no other money, take so much of the rent at Penteridge. Tell my sister Jane that I will give my daughter something at my coming home: and praying you not to fail to see all things done accordingly, I bid you farewell. From London the 14th of November.

“Your Mistress,

“Elizabeth Cavendish.

“Tell James Crompe that I have received the five pounds and nine shillings that he sent me by Hugh Alsope.

“to my servant Francis Whitfield,

give this at Chatsworth.”

CHAPTER II
THE MISTRESS BUILDER

Upon this scene of household importance and intimate family life, making, if not for happiness in the fullest sense of the word, at any rate for prosperity and success, fell for a second time upon the married life of Bess Hardwick the great shadow. Sir William Cavendish, so accomplished in business, so doughty a husband, so excellent a host, died in 1557.

His wife made a note of the event in her own hand:—

“Memorandum, that Sir William Cavendish, Knight, my most dear and well beloved husband, departed this present life on Monday, being the 25th day of October, betwixt the hours of 8 and 9 of the same day at Night, in the year of our Lord God 1557, the dominical Letter then C. On whose soul I most humbly beseech the Lord to have mercy, and to rid me and his poor children out of our great misery.

“Elizabeth Cavendish.”

This was probably the greatest grief of her life, and all her after energies were spent in furthering the welfare of her Cavendish children.

Now followed a period of widowhood, during which no substantial or interesting episodes bring the lady’s name to the front. But she did not lose her hold over society and the Court. Nor did she lay aside her wise, worldly habits. She was still the grand dame—dispenser of charities, recipient of Court letters, mistress of masons and woodmen and grooms, resting securely upon her hoard like the dragon in German legend, assuring herself and the world, “I lie and possess, and would slumber.” But hers was not the nature to be quiescent very long. And she had incentive enough to action. She had six children to further in the world. Daughters must be married, sons must be brought into the charmed circle of the Queen, to run the gauntlet of suspicions, favours, and coldnesses from her and bear the jealousy and competition of others till the right opportunity came for advancement. Moreover, there was Chatsworth to complete—alone. At thirty-seven, gifted with excellent good looks, an indomitable will, and a constitution robust and healthy, it was not the moment for such a woman to permit either her schemes or her zest in life to collapse. So she keeps to her road, moving no doubt daily between the old Chatsworth and the new, the beloved fabric which for her was at once the mausoleum of her greatest happiness, the eloquent witness of her aspirations for her children, and a lasting memorial of her Cavendish ambitions. So one beholds her working onward, building for the future, impatient no doubt of the present. Fully accustomed now to take command of her life and affairs, she controls every item of the building of her new house. One can picture her easily enough walking or driving to and fro, while she issues commands for the felling of wood, signs orders for the selling of coals and stone, for the transplantation of trees, the manufacture of hangings, the transport of Derbyshire marbles, the employment of artificers in mosaic, and plaster and wood. She had built six Cavendishes, bone of her bone, flesh of her flesh, and now she was building a great and perfect house for them and theirs. In it she would reign, so long as she lived, supreme. One pictures her again and again—a vigorous, vital woman, in proper and dignified weeds, with shrewd and genial face in which the lines of intrigue and sorrow had not yet deepened, moving amongst her army of workmen, fully conscious of the country life about her, though possibly not playing for a while a very active part in it. But the old zest of living, the old desire of the world, the joys of which she had tasted only at brief intervals during the babyhood of her six children, were ineradicable. She had acres and gold, she needed a helpmeet more than many women. No country gentleman of sufficient importance presented himself for whom she would think it worth while to give up the pretty delight of being addressed as “my lady.” In this dilemma Fate brought her face to face with Sir William St. Lo.

He was of excellent birth, and, like her second husband, a widower. His family was, of course, originally Norman. State papers show that a Margaret de St. Low or Laudo parted with certain rights in Cornish property in the reign of Henry III. By the seventeenth century the family seems to have concentrated in Gloucestershire, where it held the manor of Tormarton, twenty-two miles south of the county town. “Livery” of this manor, we read, was granted to William St. Loe by Elizabeth.

William and his brother John had fought bravely in Ireland against Desmond. In 1536 the former—the family name is spelt variously as Seyntlow, Seyntloe, and Santclo—is mentioned in despatches. There is a vivid glimpse in various letters of an attack on the castle of “Carreke Ogunell.”[^[3]] Says Lord Leonard Grey, writing to Henry VIII in England, “It was taken by assault by William Seyntloe and his men before scaling ladders could arrive.” But the writer is not quite sure if the success was due to “hope of fame or lack of victuals, for a halfpenny loaf was worth 12d., but there was none to be sold.” The castle has marble walls thirteen feet thick. It is the strongest Lord Leonard has ever seen. An Englishman could take it at a rush, in spite of the fact that besides being set in a fine moat, “in an island of fresh water,” the place was guarded with watch towers of hewn marble. But Lord Leonard does not think that any Irishman could have built it!

Later there is mutiny and rumour of sore disruption in the English-Irish army. Young Captain St. Loe’s men forgather with discontented spirits, and the whole of his stalwart retinue of three hundred, “men of high courage and activity,” revolts so badly that, though he and his captains are cleared of all blame, it is necessary to “bend the ordnance” on the mutineers and proceed against them in “battle array.” Little wonder that the men, henchmen and yeomen, doubtless, of Gloucestershire, hated the campaign. Even Lord Leonard himself shared the destitution of the privates and was pinched for the lack of a loaf. “And so,” he goes on after his comment on the price of bread, “I among others lay in my harness, without any bed, almost famished with hunger, wet, and cold.”

Fortune and personality carried William St. Loe onward. In the forties of the sixteenth century he appears as seneschal of Waterford, and complains bitterly of the way in which he is hampered in office by the Lord Chancellor in Ireland. The contention of his official companions, however, as given in a letter to the Court, describes him as “a good warrior, but unfit to administer justice.” Military disorder is stated to be the result, and if the complainants only “had the disposal of the farms Seyntlow now has” things would be very different. It is suggested that he is turning into a regular freebooter.... And so on.

However this may be, we find the gentleman in 1557 not only safely established in England, but holding important Court posts with high-sounding titles. He is at once Grand Butler of England and captain of the Queen’s Guard. In these capacities Bess Hardwick, as Lady Cavendish, must have already met him. Had she not married him and had he lived long enough, she might have been committed to his tender mercies and guardianship in a very different sense. But at present her genius for intrigue only threw her into the apparently pleasant fetters of marriage. This “Grand Botelier,” this dashing swashbuckler who now rode at the head of the royal guards, and was in constant touch with the governor of the Tower, with the interior of which building she made acquaintance later, took her as his second wife. The whole thing seems to have been most amicable, affectionate, and excellent—amicable and affectionate on his part, excellent from her point of view. It did not interfere with his important duties; it did not necessarily nail her to the Court. Above all, it did not interfere with her building. Indeed, it gave her the more heart to it because the good captain would now assume by her side the duties of Derbyshire host. Moreover, he could help her materially in her building. She did not need his advice about architecture of course. But she saw that she could draw under her hand the dues of his manor in Gloucestershire for the glory of the Cavendishes and the surer foundation of her own comfort. The fine dashing soldier had children. Yet this was no serious block in her way. She might arrange it all, while leaving them not destitute but dependent on her wise financial dispositions. The marriage was duly solemnised and gave satisfaction. The Queen approved of my Lady St. Loe, and the more so because the latter did not wish to monopolise her bridegroom. There was enough at the Derbyshire estate to amuse her, and Sir William’s letters to her kept her advised of things “about” the Queen’s Majesty. Scottish affairs were brewing hotly. Elizabeth was but newly a queen. There were processions and enactments, enquiries, and excursions at Court. Bess Hardwick held the post of Lady of the Bedchamber, and naturally took the keenest interest in all that went on. Except through letters, reliable news did not filter at all to the wilds of the Peak and its lovely dales. But Sir William loved her and appreciated her deeply. In his affectionate letters he identifies her quaintly and sweetly with her house. “My honest, sweet Chatsworth” is one of the expressions. Elsewhere she is “My own, more dearer to me than I am to myself,” and in another letter he has seized her enthusiasm for management and construction, for he calls her “My own good servant and chief overseer.”

Occasionally Bess wanted her “grand botelier” to herself, and it must have been hard for Sir William to tear himself away from the rich security and ease of the house. One of his letters from Court shows that he is in trouble with his Queen for delayed return.

Photo by Richard Keene, Ltd., Derby, from the picture at Hardwick Hall
By permission of his Grace the Duke of Devonshire
SIR WILLIAM ST. LOE

“She hath found great fault with my long absence, saying she would talk with me farther and that she would well chide me. Whereunto I answered, that when her highness understood the truth and the cause she would not be offended. Whereunto she says, ‘Very well, very well’; howbeit, hand of hers I did not kisse.”

A portrait which hangs in the great gallery at Hardwick shows the writer of the following letters (quoted in Hunter’s Hallamshire) in his habit as he lived—a kindly fellow, but at this period not a man of power.

Sir William Saint-Loe to Lady Saint-Loe.

“My own, more dearer to me than I am to myself, thou shalt understand that it is no small fear nor grief unto me of thy well doing that I should presently see what I do, not only for that my continual nightly dreams beside my absence hath troubled me, but also chiefly for that Hugh Alsope cannot satisfy me in what estate thou nor thine is, whom I regard more than I do William Seyntlo. Therefore I pray thee, as thou dost love me, let me shortly hear from thee, for the quieting of my unquieted mind, how thine own sweet self with all thine doeth; trusting shortly to be amongst you. All thy friends here saluteth thee. Harry Skipwith desired me to make thee and no other privy that he is sure of mistress Nell, with whom he is by this time. He hath sent ten thousand thanks unto thyself for the same: she hath opened all things unto him. To-morrow Sir Richard Sackville and I ride to London together; on Saturday next we return hither again. The queen yesterday, her own self riding upon the way, craved my horse; unto whom I gave him, receiving openly for the same many goodly words. Thus wishing myself with thyself, I bid thee, my own good servant and chief overseer of my works, most heartily farewell: by thine who is wholly and only thine, yea and for all thine while life lasteth. From Windsor the fourth of September by thy right worshipful master and most honest husband master Sir

“William Seyntlo, esquire.

“Commend me to my mother and to all my brothers and sisters, not forgetting Frank with the rest of my children and thine. The Amnar[^[4]] saluteth thee and sayeth no gentleman’s children in England shall be better welcome nor better looked unto than our boys. Once again, farewell good honest sweet.

“Myself or Greyves shall be the next messenger.

“To my own dear wife at

Chatsworth deliver this.”

Sir William Saint-Loe to Lady Saint-Loe.

“My hap is evil, my time worse spent; for that my reward as yet is nothing more than fair words with the like promises. Take all in good part; and if I should understand the contrary, it would trouble me more than my pen shall express. I have leave to come and wait upon thee, I and my brother Clement, with two or three good fellows more: [we] had been with thee by this day if it had not been for our —— matter, the which I will not leave over rawly. I will forbear the answering of all particularities in thy last letter written unto me, for that God willing I will this next week be the messenger myself. Master Man came home the night before the date hereof. He putteth me in great hope of the matter you know of. Thus trusting that God provideth for us all things for the best, I end; committing thee and all thine which are mine unto his blessed will and ordinance. Farewell, my own sweet Bess. From Master Man’s house in Redcross Street, the 12th of October, by him who dareth not so near his coming home to term thee as thou art: yet thine

“William Seyntlo.

“My cousin Clarke saluteth thee, who was by me at the writing hereof.

“To my own good wife at

Chatsworth deliver this.

In this letter he complains of the heavy charge for his hired Court apparel.

Sir William Saint-Loe to Lady Saint-Loe.

“My honest sweet Chatsworth: I like the weekly price of my hired court stuff so evil that upon Thursday next I will send it home again, at which day the week endeth. I pray you cause such stuff as Mowsall left packed in a sheet to be brought hither by the next carrier: there be hand towels and other things therein that I must occupy when I shall lie at Whitehall. My men hath neither shirt nor any other thing to shift them until that come. Trust none of your men to ride any [of] your housed horses, but only James Cromp or William Marchington; but neither of them without good cause serve speedily to be done. For nags there be enough about the house to serve other purposes. One handful of oats to every one of the geldings at a watering will be sufficient so they be not laboured. You must cause some[one] to oversee the horsekeeper for that he is very well learned in loitering.

“The Queen hath found great fault with my long absence saying that she would talk with me farther, and that she would well chide me. Whereunto I answered that when her highness understood the truth and the cause she would not be offended. Whereunto she said ‘Very well, very well.’ Howbeit hand of hers I did not kisse.

“The Lord Keeper hath promised me faithfully to be at both days’ hearing; and that if either law or conscience be on my side I shall have it to my contentment. Vaughan is come unto town, but not yet Bagott. Stevens and we shall go through on Friday night next, at which time his brother will be here, who hath disbursed seven hundred of the twelve hundred pounds. I have an extreme pain in my teeth since Sunday dinner. Thus with aching teeth I end, praying the living [God] to preserve thee and all thine. Written at London, against my will where I am if other ways our matters might well be ended, this 24th of October:

“Your loving husband with aching heart until we meet,

“William Seyntlo.

“If you think good, lease your fishing in Dove unto Agard. We are the losers of suffering it as we have done.

“To my loving wife at Chatsworth

give this with speed.”

This next letter is from Sir George Pierrepoint in gratitude of her kindly offices. His family was afterwards closely connected with that of Bess of Hardwick, for her eldest daughter married Sir Henry Pierrepoint.

Sir George Pierrepoint to Lady Saint-Loe.

“Right worshipful and very good Lady: after my heartiest manner I commend me to your Ladyship: even so pray you I may be to good Mr. Seyntloe: most heartily thanking you both for your great pains taken with me at Holme, accepting everything (though it were never so rudely handled) in such gentle way as you did; which doth and will cause me to love you the better while I live if I were able to do you other pleasure or service; and the rather because I understand your Ladyship hath not forgotten my suit to you at your going away as specially to make Mr. Sackville and Mr. Attorney my friends in the matter between Mr. Whalley and me, wherein he doeth me plain wrong (as I take it is my conscience) only to reap trouble and unquiet me. But I trust so much in God’s help, and partly by your Ladyship’s good means, and continuance of your goodness towards me, that he shall not overthrow me in my righteous cause. And touching such communication as was between us as at Holme, if your Ladyship and the gentlewoman your daughter like or be upon sight as well as I and my wife like the young gentlewoman, I will not shrink from it I said or promised; by the grace of God who preserve your Ladyship and my Master your husband long together in wealth, health and prosperity to his pleasure, and your gentle heart’s desire. From my poor house at Woodhouse the 4th of November 1561, by the rude lusty hands of your good Ladyship’s assuredly always to command.

“George Pierrepoint.

“To the right worshipful and my

singular good Lady, my Lady

Sentloo at London this be delivered.”

This other letter is highly typical for the good lady’s literary style and her attitude towards her employees. It is to James Crompe, her man of affairs.

“Crompe, I do understand by your letters that Wortly saith he will depart at our Ladyday next. I will that you shall have him bound in an obligation to avoid[^[5]] at the same day, for sure I will trust no more to his promise. And when he doth tell you that he is any penny behind for work done to Mr. Cavendish or me, he doth lie like a false knave: for I am most sure he did never make anything for me but two vanes to stand upon the house. I do very well like your sending sawyers to Pentrege and Medoplecke, for that will further my works: and so I pray you in any other thing that will be a help to my building, let it be done. And for Thomas Mason, if you can hear where he is, I would very gladly he were at Chatsworth. I will let you know by my next letter what work Thomas Mason shall begin at first, when he doth come. And as for the other mason which Sir James told you of, if he will not apply his work, you know that he is not the man for me; and the mason’s work which I have to do is not much, and Thomas Mason will very well oversee that work. I perceive Sir James is much misliked for his religion; but I think his wisdom is such that he will make small account of that matter. I would have you tell my aunt Lenecker that I would have the little garden which is by the new house made a garden this year. I care not whether she bestow any great cost thereof; but to sow it with all kinds of herbs and flowers and some pieces of it with mallows. I have sent you by this carrier three bundles of garden seeds all written with William Marchington’s hand; and by the next you shall know how to use them in every point.

“From the Court the 8th of March,

“Your mistress,

“E. Seyntlo.”

The “Aunt Lenecker” (more correctly known as Lynacre) was a Leake and sister of Lady St. Loe’s mother. She seems to have lived for some years with her niece, possibly since her first widowhood.

Nothing very exciting happened to the St. Loe couple in their short married life. When not at Court they paid visits, were entertained, or entertained their own visitors, as scraps of correspondence show. They must have had traffic already with the great family of Talbot—which, besides Sheffield Castle, owned so many large seats in Derby and Nottingham—and both of them naturally held intercourse with “Mr. Secretary Walsingham” and “Mr. Treasurer Cecil.”

When Sir William St. Loe died—tolerably soon, alas!—Bess Hardwick had gone far with her building, social and actual. Her third widowhood found her richer, bolder, better known at Court, and able to play her part in an ever-widening circle of the powerful and prosperous.

Such a lady would naturally make enemies. In 1567 she was slandered by Henry Jackson, an ex-scholar of Merton College, Oxford, the tutor of her children. Instantly the matter went to the Council, and the Council wrote in September to the Archbishop of Canterbury. “Lady St. Loo, widow, having retained as schoolmaster Henry Jackson ... is disturbed by scandalous reports raised against her family by him; you are to examine the matter thoroughly and speedily with the assistance of the Solicitor-General Mr. Oseley and Mr. Peter Osborne or other Ecclesiastical Commissioners, that the lady’s good name may be preserved; if he has unjustly defamed her he is to be severely punished,” runs the digest of the draft in the State MS. And immediately upon the conclusion of the examination the Queen herself intervenes on behalf of the lady “who has long served with credit in our Court,” and forthwith she commands the punishment of the wicked clerk: “extreme punishment, corporal or otherwise, openly or private, and that speedily.”

Besides the danger of slander there was the trap of intrigue. Up to the present Bess Hardwick had kept clear of mischief, but, native curiosity apart, she could not, as Lady of the Bedchamber, help being often the recipient of the secrets of her friends. The romantic love story of Lady Catherine Grey, who held a similar Court post to herself, brought her into a tight place. For the benefit of those who do not recall the tale it shall be set forth again here.

The Lady Catherine was the sister of Lady Jane Grey. By a curious combination of circumstances—the exclusion given by the will of Henry VIII to the posterity of Margaret of Scotland, the publication of the will of Edward VI, and the non-repeal of certain Acts of Parliament—it was judged that the right to the crown rested with the House of Suffolk. To this great house Lady Catherine was the heir. She was formally contracted in extreme youth to Lord Herbert, the son of the Earl of Pembroke. But the wise Earl, in dread of the acute complications which such a marriage might entail, arranged for a divorce. This probably affected the lady but little. She was young, she was attractive and romantic, she could meet cavaliers enough and to spare in the immediate circle of the Queen. But, as all the world knows, her Majesty, while she kept a dozen men languishing about her, was very loth to have any of her ladies wed. Love affairs must be very secret, lest the parties incurred her disfavour and the loss of benefits. As for Lady Catherine, her birth, as has been shown, rendered her a mark for all manner of suspicion. At Court she was the close companion of Lady Jane Seymour, daughter of the Duke of Somerset. This Lady Jane had a brother, no less than the Earl of Hertford. What more inevitable than a love affair between him and Catherine? There were sorrows enough in the background of her history, slavery enough—despite pageant and hunting and the comings and goings of great persons from foreign courts—to endure at the hands of the energetic, alert, excitable, witty, jealous royal mistress. Little by little the love story wove itself in the manner of every love tale. A community of interest, a series of assemblies which passed in array her Majesty’s ladies before the eyes of her gentlemen, little incidents which brought out the personalities of the two, mere propinquity, a look here and a word there, did their work. The two were soon secretly plighted, with the Lady Jane to share and shield their dear secret. Many anxious moments must have gone to their councils. To declare their troth would only be a signal for their instant separation. The same result would arise if they humbly asked the royal permission to be betrothed. To marry and fly would only savour of deep State conspiracy. To marry and bide quietly and then face the astonished and scandalous world with an air of “Indeed, and it is true. So part us you shall not. And, moreover, ’tis our affair. Wherefore, fling your mud elsewhere!” seemed the wisest way in the end, and also followed the line of least resistance.

One morning—surely as crisp and heartening a day as could be desired for such a purpose—the Queen’s Majesty went to Eltham in Kent to hunt. My Lady Jane and my Lady Catherine stayed behind. When all was quiet they left the Palace (Westminster) “by the stairs at the orchard” and strolled quietly “along the sands.” Those sands led to the Earl of Hertford’s house in “Chanon Row.” He was waiting for his lady; he did not even leave her to call the priest. That was the Lady Jane’s errand. There is something very delightful about this incident, and the steady chaperon’s part undertaken by the Earl’s sister. The priest came, the wedding took place. After the brief ceremony there could not be much dalliance or entertainment. It was not yet the time to give the secret to the world. The ladies must reach the Palace again before hue and cry could be raised. They did not go back by “the sands,” probably because the tide had risen. They went back by boat. The Earl did not accompany them. But he led his bride and his sister to the boat which waited for them at the foot of the water-stairs of his house. He assisted them in—it must have been very hard to let go the hand of the woman so newly pledged to him—and the shallop went quietly on its way and delivered its fair passengers at the Palace stairs without exciting comment. A little later the two ladies were demurely seated at dinner “in Master Comptroller’s chamber.” Probably neither of them played that evening much of a table part.

The bride was left to bear the onus of the affair. After a few stolen meetings the Earl went to France. And presently the world began to point and stare. The report grew, but no one seemed able to credit it. At the close of August, 1561, the Earl’s mother wrote to Cecil mentioning the rumour, denying all knowledge of it, and hoped that the wilfulness of her unruly child, Hertford, would not diminish the Queen’s favour. On the same date Sir Edward Warner, Lieutenant of the Tower, wrote to the Queen stating that he had questioned Lady Catherine as to her “love practices,” but she would confess nothing. It is said that Lady St. Loe burst into tears when Lady Catherine made confession to her. Probably the older woman knew what was in store for them both. The royal warrant to Sir Edward Warner not only required him to “examine the Lady Catherine very straightly how many hath been privy to love between her and the Lord of Hertford from the beginning,” but continues: “Ye shall also send to Alderman Lodge, secretly, for St. Low and shall put her in awe of divers matters confessed by the Lady Catherine; and so also deal with her that she may confess to you all her knowledge in the same matters. It is certain that there hath been great practices and purposes; and since the death of the Lady Jane[^[6]] she hath been most privy. And as ye shall see occasion, so ye may keep St. Low two or three nights, more or less, and let her be returned to Lodge’s or kept still with you, as ye shall think meet.”

After poor Lady Catherine took Lady Loe into her confidence, she made frantic application for help to Lord Robert Dudley—not yet Earl of Leicester—so high in the Queen’s good graces. In this there is sheer drama as well as pathos—this confession and piteous appeal from the young and comely lady of quality, whose only fault was that she had married for love, to the handsome, pampered, arrogant cavalier, the Queen’s darling. Lady Hertford went to his very chamber in Court to implore him to stand between her parlous state as prospective mother and the Queen’s anger. Yet nothing in such contingencies could divert Elizabeth’s fury, or make her act in a humane fashion. Lord Hertford was summoned to England to undergo trial with his wife, and very soon both were committed separately to the Tower. But before this could be done the farce of a public enquiry had to be played. A commission was ordained, pompously headed by no less a person than Archbishop Parker. The accused were requested to produce, within a given time, witnesses of their marriage. That they failed to do this is extraordinary. The priest seems to have disappeared, and Lady Jane Seymour appeared unable to find him or to assist in furnishing the required evidence. But as this couple could not satisfy the Commission in time they were sentenced to be imprisoned during the Queen’s pleasure. “Displeasure” would be the correct word. For Elizabeth knew little but vanity and vexation of spirit at this period. The very word marriage must have been a red rag to her. With the strong vitality and virility of her father warring within her against the heritage of the feminine instincts of her mother, Anne Boleyn, with countless suitors and innumerable flatterers to encourage and keep at bay alternately, with one eye fixed on Mary of Scotland and another on the “devildoms of Spain,” her life just now was a constant turmoil. Her whole entourage was forced to share in it. She would not decide upon a consort to help her; she belittled the estate of marriage one day and dallied with it the next. No wonder that poor Mr. Treasurer Cecil wrote as he did on the eve of the New Year of 1564. Schemes matrimonial whirled round him like the winter snow. Elizabeth was being wooed by a French monarch and an Austrian Emperor at the same moment; the Lennox family and Mary of Scotland were working to achieve the marriage of the latter with Darnley, and the Lady Mary Grey, fired no doubt by her sister’s intrigue and sick of loneliness, had actually surreptitiously married John Keys, the Serjeant Porter to the Queen. Meanwhile the Earl and Countess of Hertford were in the Tower. In addition, the Queen was putting up her beloved Dudley, now Earl of Leicester, to oppose Darnley as a possible consort for Scottish Mary. Shrewd old Cecil shows, however, that she is only half-hearted about it: “I see the qn M^ty very desyroos to have my L. of Lecester placed in this high degree to be the Scottish Queen’s husband, but whan it commeth to the conditions which are demanded I see her then remiss of her earnestness.”[^[7]]

He concludes wearily enough:—

“This also I see in the Qn Ma^ty, a sufficient contentation to be moved to marry abrood, and if it is so may [it] plese Almighty God, to leade by the hand some mete person to come and lay hand on her to her contentation, I cold than wish my self more helth to endure my yeres somewhat longar to enjoye such a world here as I trust wold follow: otherwise I assure yow, as now thyngs hang in desperation, I have no comfort to lyve.”

My Lady St. Loe, as confidante, was forced to weather the storm and endure reprimand. The married lovers, meanwhile, dragged out their days in durance. Their son was born in the Tower. In vain they languished, pined, and implored the intercession of friends. In 1562 the Earl was allowed a little more ease. Husband and wife managed to meet again. Another child was born to them, and my Lord was duly fined fifteen thousand pounds by the Star Chamber, for this event was construed into a new State offence. In 1563 the dreaded plague caused Elizabeth to remove her poor love-birds from the Tower. Lady Catherine went to the house of her uncle, Sir John Grey, in Essex, and he was roused to uttermost compassion and distress by her wretched mental and physical condition. It was in mid-Lent that he wrote to Cecil emphatically and ironically:—

“It is a great while me thinkethe, Cousin Cecile, since I sent unto you, in my neices behalf, albeit I knowe, (opportunitie so servinge) you are not unmindful of her miserable and compfortlesse estate. For who wantinge the Princes favor, maye compt himselfe to live in any Realme? And because this time of all others hathe ben compted a time of mercie and forgevenes I cannot but recommende her woefull liffe unto you. In faithe I wolde I were the Queen’s confessor this Lent, that I might joine her in penaunce to forgive and forget; or otherwise able to steppe into the pulpett to tell her Highness, that God will not forgive her, unleast she frelye forgeve all the worlde.”

This letter is worth quoting because it shows the prevailing attitude of the Elizabethan courtier. No one who lacked the favour of the sovereign could be accounted as one living. Lady Catherine, once under that heavy cloud of disfavour, never emerged, but died broken and miserable within six years of her unhappy marriage. Wherefore Lady St. Loe had chance enough to learn her lesson, and was fortunate in that her share of the affair was visited only by a cross-examination and warning. She was not at all the sort of woman to brook being left out in the cold. She was too wise, of course, ever to have engulfed herself in a marriage of this sort, but in such a case, had she not managed to divert Elizabeth’s anger by some master stroke of wit and diplomacy, she would certainly not have languished of “woofull griefe” nor starved herself to death, like Lady Catherine, for sorrow.

At such a time and in face of the fresh hubbub caused at Court by the marriage of Lady Mary Grey (“an unhappy chance and monstruoos,” comments Cecil, in a letter to the English Ambassador in France), the peace and security of Chatsworth offered themselves as a happy refuge against all complications. There is a grotesque humour in Cecil’s use of that word monstrous, for Lady Mary was almost a dwarf, and Keys, whom Cecil calls “the biggest gentleman in this Court,” had secured his post of Serjeant Porter owing to his magnificent size and height. He was twice Lady Mary’s age, and was a widower with several children. The Queen clapped him in the Fleet, and condemned Lady Mary to confinement in the houses of successive friends. The pair never met after their hasty wedding.

Thus, on all sides, Court was a place of “dispeace,” while in Derbyshire Lady St. Loe had good neighbours, people of quality and substance, and was safe within her parks and palings. She did not share her royal mistress’s distrust of matrimony, for she was free to choose her next lord, and there was no reason why she should remain a widow longer than she could help.

It is not to be suggested for a moment that she had no suitors and that she was not the subject of all kinds of matrimonial gossip. One Fowler (subsequently committed to the Tower in connection with the discovery of suspicious papers) opines in his “notes” that “either Lord Darcy or Sir John Thynne are to marry my Lady St. Loe, and not Harry Cobham.” Doubtless the Cobham match would have pleased her well, and she would have been quite in her element in the place which afforded a seat and a surname to that noble and splendid family upon whom the evil days of Jacobean confiscation and the betrayal of Sir Walter Raleigh had not yet fallen. A sister of Lord Cobham was married to Mr. Secretary Cecil, “and the match would have been advantageous, but possibly my Lady, with her deep insight into character, divined that the gentleman was not of the steady stuff which makes for worldly security.” Moreover the best matches are by no means to be found near the Court, and close at hand, in the same county, lived one greater than the Cobhams, a man whom many a maid and every widow would be proud to espouse. He was a widower, an earl, the owner of seven seats, bearer of a high government post, and he came of a long line of distinguished soldiers. Lady St. Loe went to work wisely. She had the assistance of her dear gossip and contemporary, Lady Cobham. No one could have acted the go-between more discreetly. Before long the fashionable world had something to talk about in the announcement of the fourth marriage of Bess Hardwick.

CHAPTER III
“A GREAT GENTLEMAN”

The fourth husband of “Building Bess” was no less a person than George Talbot, sixth Earl of Shrewsbury. Though the name does not appear in the great roll of the prominent soldiers at the battle of Hastings, the first Talbot—then Talebot—of whom anything noteworthy is recorded, won the first title, a barony, for his family at the close of the career of William the First. Thenceforward the Talbots march magnificently through the history of England—great gentlemen, castellans, commanders, governors, judges, lords-lieutenant. They wielded authority in Wales, fought in France, Scotland, Ireland, Castile, occasionally fell under suspicion of conspiracy, and emerged without hurt. Once and once only was their pride humbled in the dust, when the hitherto invincible tactics of John Talbot, the greatest general of his day, the chief glory of all the Talbots before and since, were overcome by the generalship of the Maid of Orleans. It must have hit the great general very hard to find himself in prison on French soil for three long years at the hands of a woman. Neither force nor strategy freed him, but mere money. He had married a rich wife—heiress to all “Hallamshire,”[^[8]] including the castle of Sheffield. In 1432 he agreed to pay a large ransom, and hurried back to England, bursting with purpose and revenge. Instantly he raised a fresh force, rejoined the English army in France, and fought with such terrible and triumphant results that his name, like that of Bonaparte, figured for generations as a bogy with which to scare fractious children. It was this tremendous campaign which won for his race the great earldom of Shrewsbury.

George, the sixth earl, the great gentleman now dealt with, inherited all the administrative qualities of his ancestors, though he was less intimately associated with war than his father Francis. It was well also that his duties should have been to a greater extent civil and defensive than military and aggressive. For he had stepped into a great inheritance, and his burdens, as householder and county magnate, were stupendous. The manors and castles of Worksop, Welbeck, Bolsover, Sheffield, Tutbury, Wingfield, and Rufford were all his. He came into his own in 1560. The greatest gift he received in that year was the Garter which the Queen bestowed on him. Five years later he was appointed Lord-Lieutenant of the counties of York, Nottingham, and Derby. Subsequently the post of High Steward in the place of the unhappy fifth Duke of Norfolk was added to his honours. In the third year of his lieutenancy the affair with Bess Hardwick was in full swing.

From both sides it was a reasonable and profitable alliance. He was a widower with sons and daughters who needed mothering. Her children needed a father. There was wealth enough to provide for all. Yet possibly family dissensions might arise amongst the young folk. But against this risk my lady had devised a splendid scheme of protection—the intermarriage of some of the children. They were but children, the two couples—Gilbert Talbot, the fifteen-year-old second son of the Lord-Lieutenant and Mary Cavendish, and the bride’s son Henry Cavendish, to whom Grace Talbot, the Earl’s daughter, was given as wife.

The aforesaid childish marriages were settled and carried through forthwith. Shortly afterwards the wedding of their elders took place with due magnificence, while the bride, besides her Cavendish and Barlow properties, brought to her fourth husband the Gloucestershire estate of St. Loe.

If the Cavendish epoch had been one of security and happiness, the Shrewsbury epoch promised to be one of sheer brilliance and delight. It is true there were one or two dissentient voices. Said a certain John Hall, under subsequent examination upon his arrest for Scottish conspiracy, that, though he served as a gentleman of the Earl’s household for some years, he so misliked my Lord’s marriage with this wife, as divers others of his friends did, that he resigned his post. Yet the Queen and her circle approved. That was the main thing. The following letter from a kinsman at Court emphasises the fact:—[^[9]]

“May it please you to understand that Mr. Wingfield hath delivered your venison to the Queen’s Majesty with my lord’s most humble commission, and your Ladyship with humble thanks from both your honours for her great goodness.

“[I] assure your Ladyship of my faith, her Majesty did talk one long hour with Mr. Wingfield of my Lord and you so carefully, that, as God is my judge, I think your honours have no friend living that could have more consideration, nor more show love and great affection. In the end she asked when my Lady meant to come to the Court: he answered he knew not: then said she, ‘I am assured if she might have her own will she would not be long before she would see me.’ Then said, ‘I have been glad to see my Lady Saint-Loe, but now more desirous to see my Lady Shrewsbury.’ ‘I hope,’ said she, ‘my Lady hath known my good opinion of her; and thus much I assure you, there is no Lady in this land that I better love and like.’ Mr. Batleman can more at large declare unto your honour. And so with most humble commendations to my very good Lord, I wish to you both as the Queen’s Majesty doth desire; and so take my leave in humble wise. From St. John’s the 21st of October.

“Your honours to command,

“E. Wingfield.”

There was certainly nothing whatever in this marriage to upset Elizabeth’s plans. Indeed, it really paved the way for her schemes and made it easier for her to utilise not only the Earl’s wealth, his authority and position, but all his country seats in turn for the greater security of her life and throne.

My Lady Shrewsbury was forty-eight, my Lord had been but eight years an Earl. Time had not yet marked on his face the lines of anxiety and care which the next twenty-three years were to bring him. He was at the zenith of his career, and the Queen hinted mysteriously that ere long she would show him still more emphatic proofs of her trust and affection in so splendid a servitor. It is in a very happy and devoted vein that he writes love letters from Court just after marriage to his second bride, in which he addresses her as “sweet none.”[^[10]]

It is regrettable that these letters to his “none” are not more numerous. Otherwise the Earl’s correspondence all his life was enormous, and the masses of letters which mirror contemporary history and his duties in connection with them are nearly all comprised in that rich heritage of manuscript known as the Talbot Papers. Cecil is his constant correspondent. As Lord-Lieutenant of three such great counties he would naturally be kept au courant of great happenings. Is there fear of French invasion? Immediately the Lords of the Privy Council send him instructions. He is to organise companies of demi-lances, to find horses for them—“a good strong and well-set gelding and a man on his back meet to wear a corselet and shoot a dagge” runs the specification. Did her Majesty receive “letters out of Spain”? Copies of the same were sent to the Earl “to the intent that you may thereby see what the humour and disposition of those parties [i.e. the King of Spain and his emissary] tend unto.” Did France goad Mary of Scotland into that unforgettable offence—the adoption of the English royal arms? Then also must his lordship be acquainted with the fact and its immense possibilities. Presently active Scottish hostility seemed imminent, and the letter which travelled to my Lord from Berwick to bid him have all his men in readiness to move to the Border is cumbrously and theatrically endorsed “Haste, haste, haste, haste, post haste with all possible haste.”

After a portrait at Rufford Abbey
GEORGE TALBOT, EARL OF SHREWSBURY

After a portrait in the possession of the Duke of Portland
ELIZABETH COUNTESS OF SHREWSBURY
Page [38]

The marriage of Mary and Darnley, the exciting news of the force raised by the rebellious Earls of Moray and Arran against their Queen immediately after the ceremony, the perilous position of Mary betwixt her enemies—between Moray’s force on one side, secretly encouraged by Elizabeth, and Elizabeth’s forces, supplemented by two thousand Irish and the Earl of Argyle’s company, on the other—the details of field-pieces and “harquebusses,” all these events and matters passed in review under the eyes of the splendid and cautious Earl of Shrewsbury. Scarcely a day went by but some important paper or letter, official or private, was put into his hands. At every turn he was helping to “make history,” while he was a keen spectator of the Scottish drama up to the point when Mary fled out of her own country to implore the aid and protection of her sister sovereign.

It is now that the plot—Elizabeth’s plot which she had kept up her sleeve—begins to peep out. The first authentic news of it apparently went to the other Elizabeth, the newly made Countess of Shrewsbury, in the following letter from the English Court. The signature is torn off, but the correspondent has weighty news to tell, in spite of his deprecatory attitude towards mere rumours:—

“My most humble duty remembered unto your honourable good Ladyship. If it were not for my bounden duty’s sake I would be loth to write, because there is so small certainty in occurrences, but (seeing I am bound to write) it is but small that I see with my own eyes that is worth writing, and therefore I am forced to supply by that I do hear; which I write as I hear by credible report, otherwise I should not write at all, and therefore if I do err it is pardonable. The news is here that my Lord your husband is sworn of the Privy Council; and that the Scottish Queen is on her journey to Tutbury, something against her will, and will be under my Lord’s custody there.”

The rest of the letter is perhaps worth quoting, because it gives a picture of public events and suggests such a spacious background for the present life of Bess Hardwick. It deals with the war now beginning between Spain and the Netherlands, owing to the barbarous treatment of the latter by the Duke of Alva, and the commotion occasioned by it in France.

“The report is that the Duke of Alva hath for the lack of money disarmed the most part of his army; and they are not paid for that is past; but rob and steal, and much molest the country. And being divers garrisons at Maestricht of the Walloons the Duke sent to discharge them and sent Spaniards in their place, who have shut the gates of the Spaniards and refuse to deliver the town before they are paid their due.... In France there is a great stir to let the Prince of Condé to join with the Prince of Orange, so that the King divides his force, the Duke of Anjou to stop the passage of the Prince of Condé, etc., etc.”

The letter ends with intimate details:—

“And so eftsoons Jesus preserve you and send my cousin Frances a good hour and your honour a glad grandmother.

“Scribbled at London ... January, 1568.”

Evidently this “Frances” is the eldest daughter of the Countess, who married Sir Henry Pierrepoint, and whose child is awaited.

Matters as regards the Earl of Shrewsbury did not move so fast as one would expect. It was not till June of 1568 that the final orders reached the Earl to make ready his “castle” of Tutbury for the reception of his romantic royal prisoner. Mary was now at Carlisle, and the part which the Earl was to play in her entourage as suggested in contemporary letters has more the character of that of a prominent cavalier in a princely retinue than that of a military gaoler. The description in the French ambassador’s letter reads well:—

“A castle named Tutbury, which is only one hundred miles from here”—London—“and is a very beautiful place as they say, especially for hunting, in which, whenever it takes place, the Earl of Shrewsbury, who has a portion of his estate in that neighbourhood, is ordered to give her his company, along with other Lords and gentlemen thereabout.”

The Queen was feeling her way, slowly sounding the Shrewsburys’ relatives, careful always to assert her appreciation not only of lord, but of lady. My Lord came to Court, and still her Majesty beat about the bush.

The following letters[^[11]] from the Earl belong to this epoch of the lives of the newly wedded pair:—

“My dear none, being here arrived at Wingfield late yesternight from Rofford, though very weary in toiling about, yet thinking you would be desirous to hear from me, scribbled these few lines to let you understand that I was in health and wished you anights with me. I picked out a very good time, for since my coming from home I never had letters but these this morning from Gilbert, which I send you. I mind to-morrow, God willing, to be with you at Chatsworth: and in the meantime as occurrences [befall] to me you shall be partaker of them. I thank you, sweet none, for your baked capon, and chiefest of all for remembering of me. It will be late to-morrow before my coming to Chatsworth, seven or eight of the clock at the soonest: and so farewell, my true one.

“This 28th June.

“Your faithful husband,

“G. Shrewsbury.”

“My dear none, having received your letter of the first of December which came in very good time, else had I sent one of these few remaining with me to have brought me word of your health, which I doubted of for that I heard not from you of all this time till now, which drove me in dumps, but now relieved again by your writing unto me. I thank you, sweet none, for your puddings and venison. The puddings have I bestowed in this wise: [a] dozen to my Lady Cobham, and as many to my L. Steward and unto my L. of Leicester: and the rest I have reserved to myself to eat in my chamber. The venison is yet at London, but I have sent for it hither.

“I perceive Ned Talbot hath been sick, and [is] now past danger. I thank God I have such a none that is so careful over me and mine. God send me soon home to possess my greatest joy: if you think it is you, you are not deceived.

“I will not forget to deal with the Master of the Rolls for young Knifton. He seems to be much my friend, and is now in dealing between Denenge and me, for the lease of Abbot Stake, agreed upon by me and Tamworth he should so do. He holds it at a thousand marks: and the Master of the Rolls hath driven it to five hundred pounds, which methinks too much for such a lease, yet because it lies so, as I am informed, amongst Gilbert’s lands, I have made my steward to offer four hundred pounds, and to get [delay] till the next term, because I would have your advice therein. And for that I live in hope to be with you before you can return answer again, you shall understand that this present Monday in the morning finding the Queen in the garden at good leisure, I gave her Majesty thanks that she had so little regard to the clamorous people of Bolsover[^[12]] in my absence. She declared unto me what evil speech was against me, my nearness and state in housekeeping, and as much as was told her, which she now believes with as good words as I could wish, declaring that ere it were long I should well perceive she did so trust me as she did few. She would not tell me therein, but [I] doubt [not] it was about the custody of the Scottish Queen. Here is private speech that Gates and Vaughan should make suit to have her, but this day I perceive it is altered. I think before Sunday these matters will come to some pass, that we shall know how long our abode shall be, but howsoever it falls out, I will not fail but be with you before Christmas, or else you shall come to me.

“The plague is dispersed far abroad in London, so that the Queen keeps her Christmas here, and goeth not to Greenwich as it was meant. My Lady Cobham, your dear friend, wishes your presence here: she loves you well. I tell her I have the cause to love her best, for that she wished me so well to speed as I did: and as the pen writes so the heart thinks, that of all earthly joys that hath happened unto me, I thank God chiefest for you: for with you I have all joy and contentation of mind, and without you death is more pleasant to me than life if I thought I should long be from you: and therefore, good wife, do as I will do, hope shortly of our meeting, and farewell, dear sweet none. From Hampton Court this Monday at midnight, for it is every night so late before I go to my bed, being at play in the privy chamber at Premiro, where I have lost almost a hundred pounds, and lacked my sleep.

“Your faithful husband till death,

“G. Shrewsbury.

“Wife, tell my daughter Maule that I am not pleased with her that she hath not written to me with her sister: yet will I not forget her and the rest, and pray God to bless them all.

“To my wife the Countess of Shrewsbury at Tutbury give this.”

The daughter “Maule” here named is evidently Mary. Besides Gilbert and Grace Talbot, married as stated to the Cavendish daughter and son of Lady Shrewsbury, the Earl’s children were Francis, the eldest (who married Anne Herbert, daughter of William Earl of Pembroke, and did not inherit, since he died in 1582); Mary, who married Sir George Saville, Kt.; Catherine, who married Henry Earl of Pembroke; Edward, who married Jane (elder daughter of Cuthbert Lord Ogle, co-heiress with the wife of Charles Cavendish), and succeeded to his father’s title, after Gilbert, as eighth earl; and Henry Talbot, who married Elizabeth, daughter of Sir William Rayner, and left two daughters.

The next letter from the Earl gives the Queen’s important decision:—

“My dear none, I have received your letter of the 8th of December, wherein appeareth your desire for my soon coming. What my desire is thereunto, I refer the same to your construsion.[^[13]] If I so judge of time, methinks time longer since my coming hither without you, my only joy, than I did since I married you: such is faithful affection, which I never tasted so deeply of before. This day or to-morrow we shall know great likelihood of our despatch. I think it will be Christmas Even before I shall arrive at Tutbury. Things fall out very evil against the Scots’ Queen. What she shall do yet is not resolved of.

“As it chances, I am glad that I am here: for if I were not I were like to have most part of my leases granted over my head: there is such suit for leases in reversion of the Duchy. My park that I have in keeping called Morley Park is granted in reversion for thirty years, wherein I have made some stir. My good neighbour hath a promise of it, and if I can get it put in I am about to get a friend of mine to put the forest of the Peak in his book. I have offered a thousand pounds for a lease in reversion for thirty years. I must pay Denege five hundred and forty-one for his lease of Stoke. How money will be had for these matters assure you I know not. I will make such means to Mr. Mildmay for the stay of Tutbury tithe, as I will not be prevented: for it is high time, for there was never such striving and prancing for leases in reversion as be now at this present.

“My L. Steward hath been sick and in danger, but now well. My L. Sheffield is departed this life; and my L. Paget just after. Your black man is in health.

“Your faithful husband till my end,

“G. Shrewsbury.

“From the Court this Monday the 13th of December. Now it is certain the Scots’ Queen comes to Tutbury to my charge. In what order I cannot ascertain you.

“To my wife the Countess of Shrewsbury

at Tutbury give this.”

It was not till just the close of 1568 that Shrewsbury was certain of his new duty and in a position to write that triumphant postscript. Within a month, in the beginning of the New Year, he had taken over from Sir Francis Knollys the task which was to prove so engrossing, stupendous, so provocative of every imaginable complication, official and domestic.

Imagine the excitement of my Lady at such a juncture! She knew the Scottish Queen only by hearsay, and her curiosity must have been kept at boiling pitch while her heart swelled with importance in the anticipation of the additional chatelaine’s duties thrust upon her by the august guest. She had known what it was to deal with a princess in captivity, for she had been acquainted with Elizabeth before her accession. The present matter was far more vital, more portentous. The Queen who rode wearily from Bolton Castle to Sheffield and thence to Tutbury must be humoured as Queen, served as queens are served, but a network of rules were being prepared, not only for her own retinue and the household, but for earl and lady.

The Earl, foreseeing all such domestic complications, had asked the Council for directions as to the treatment of his prisoner. “Remembrances for my L. of Shrewsbury” stands at the head of notes, in his handwriting, all duly numbered. Of these No. 5 reads, “For my wife’s access unto her, if she send for her.”

To this the reply in Cecil’s handwriting is, “The Queen of Scots may see the Countess, if she is sick, or for any other necessary cause, but rarely. No other gentlewoman must be allowed access to her.” The remainder of the rules are strict enough, and the pleasant country-house picture drawn by the French Ambassador, De la Forest, in the letter quoted, is rudely effaced by these details. Shrewsbury is to be well fortified by an array of facts against the Scottish Queen, lest her pleading should win his sympathies and her captive condition arouse his indignation too deeply. How the regulations at every turn reveal Elizabeth of England—at once autocratic and apprehensive of her own importance, at once trustful and suspicious! The document is so vital a part of the household appanage of the Shrewsburys from this moment until the close of their wardership that it is worth quoting in the concise form in which, partly in the original and partly as abstract, it is given in Leader’s admirable Mary Queen of Scots in Captivity.

“A memorial of certain thinges imparted by the Q. Matie to the erle of Shrewsbery, for the causes following. Gyven at Hampton Courte, the xxvjth day of January 1568, the xjth year of her Mates reign. The Q. has chosen him in consequence of his approved loyalty and faithfulness, and the ancient state and blood from which he is descended, to have the custody of the Queen of Scots.

“The Earl is to treat her, being a Queen, of the Queen Elizabeth’s blood, with the reverence and honour meet for a person of his state and calling and for her degree. He must ask Lord Scrope and the Vice Chamberlain [Knollys] about the ceremonies used by them towards her, that ‘she may not find herself to be in the usage of herself abused, nor by this removing to have her State amended.’

“Whatever honour he gives her he must take care that by no pretence she finds any means to gain any rule over him to practise for her escape. She must have no opportunity either to escape nor yet to practise with anyone to help her to escape. He doubtless knows how important it is to the Queen’s honour and reputation and quietness that Mary does not depart without the Queen’s assent. No persons must be in conference with her except those already placed about her as her ordinary servants, and those who have special licence from the Queen. The latter for no longer time than is mentioned in the licence.

“If any persons coming to visit the Earl or anyone in his household, proffer to come to her presence, or to have conference with any belonging to her, or if she invites them to come to her presence in the house or abroad, under colour of hunting, or other pastime, he shall warn them to forbear, and if needful use his authority to make them desist, and send their names to the Queen.

“Persons coming out of Scotland to see her, if of degrees above that of servants, or if noted to be busy men and practicers, must be remitted to the Queen for licence. If they are mean servants or persons coming only to have relief of her, he shall not be so straight towards them as to give her occasion to say she is kept a prisoner, and yet he must understand their errands and not suffer them to abide where she shall be, or to hover about the country.

“He must make a view of all her ordinary servants when he first takes the charge, and cause a household roll to be made of those necessary and of those who were with her at Bolton. With the advice of the Vice Chamberlain, he must reduce the number, omitting those who are superfluous and who are fit rather for practices than service.... Her diet must be kept at the former rate, and payments made by the clerk who was sent for that purpose from the Queen’s household. He (my Lord Shrewsbury) must consult the Vice Chamberlain as to the watching of the house, as he knows her condition and the disposition of those about her. The Queen intended her first to be placed at Tutbury Castle but as the house is not fit, if she is nearer the Earl’s house of Sheffield than Tutbury, she shall remain there till further orders. If she is at Tutbury, it is left to the Earl’s discretion to allow her to remain, or to remove her to Sheffield or any other of the Earl’s houses.

“Because it is thought that she will try to make the Earl think her cause worthy of favour, and that she is not well used in being restrained from liberty, the Queen has ordered, that beside the knowledge which the Earl has of the presumptions produced against her for the murder of her husband, and her unlawful marriage with the principal murderer Bothwell, he shall also be informed of other particulars too long to write here, that he may answer her and her favourers. He may say, as of himself, that if she is known to utter any speeches touching the Queen’s honour or doings, it may be an occasion to publish all her actions, which once being done cannot be revoked, but many things must follow to her prejudice.

“The Earl will be allowed wages for 40 persons at 6d. a day, to be used at his discretion.”

As a matter of fact the house at Tutbury was certainly “not fit” for the reception of any guest. The Shrewsburys made application to the Queen for hangings and necessaries in the way of furniture; and these were promised. But they did not arrive. Mary was growing obstreperous and visited all her misery and annoyance on her present gaoler, Sir Francis Knollys. He, poor man, was in despair, with his wife dying, and his piteous requests for discharge from duty unheeded by Elizabeth. No wonder he wrote at last to say that he would take the matter into his own hands, “and as sure as God is in heaven, repair to Court, and suffer any punishment that may be laid upon him, rather than continue in such employment.”

And still the much-needed furniture was not in its place. At last my Lady Shrewsbury, no doubt in desperation, took down such hangings as there were at Sheffield, and with the help of the borrowed details set to work to prepare Tutbury. A supplementary instalment of household articles from Court helped to complete the necessaries. The journey from Bolton began on January 25th, in morose, biting weather. It brought Mary of Scotland to the single gate in the wall surrounding Tutbury on the afternoon of February 4th, a Friday. The position of this place was fair enough in the beautiful valley of the Dove, but it was not all the French Ambassador imagined it, and my lady and her household were sore put to it to make it habitable. The scene of commotion and bustle must have palpitated with drama. With messengers bringing letters and the rumours and counter-rumours which filtered through from the country folk the ten days of Queen Mary’s journey southward must have been a period of extraordinary tension for all immediately concerned. The condition of that busy, expectant household at Tutbury under my Lady’s command is best suggested in the imaginary dialogue overleaf.

CHAPTER IV
HUBBUB

Scene: The presence chamber of Tutbury Castle on a raw day of February, 1569. A casement flapping in the wind. Crimson velvet drapery lies on the floor, and two women squat there, stitching at it. Beyond, through an open door, a suite of smaller rooms full of furniture.

First Sewing Woman. You tug too much of the velvet over to you, Mary. Let be, and be content with your share.

Second Sewing Woman. I only desire to help you, Richardyne. I scarcely can hold my needle for the cold.

1st S.W. Then shut the window, you fool.

2nd S.W. Nay, fool I am not, though I be younger than you. For I did not set the window open. It was the cook. Call him to fasten it.

1st S.W. The cook indeed! His part is to bake and stew, not hang out of the casements.

2nd S.W. Will there be a great feast, do you think, when this Queen comes?

1st S.W. There will be feasts every night.

2nd S.W. Lord! how happy it will be! They say she loves dancing.

1st S.W. Who told you this?

2nd S.W. The post that brought my Lord’s letter from Bolton. He knew, for he spoke like a Scottish man.

1st S.W. Now I see why the fiddler has come from Chatsworth.

2nd S.W. Yes, to make music he has come. He begged my Lady so sore to keep him here that she promised the poor wretch at last——

1st S.W. There he is, playing down by the kitchen.

2nd S.W. He is coming here. [Gets up hastily and trips over the velvet. Enter a youth with branches of laurel and ivy. He puts them on a table, and is about to retire when the fiddler enters playing and bowing.]

The Youth. What do you here, old scraping John?

Fiddler. More than you, fellow of discord, with idle arms.

The Youth [angrily]. They are only waiting to pound thee.

Fiddler. I am my Lord’s servant more than you. He has many boys like you who can stand and stare, but only one who can fiddle.

The Youth [advancing]. Look to thyself. Thy catgut will not shield thee much.

Fiddler [from behind the table]. Help, help, Master Crompe!

The Women [rising and flinging the velvet over the chair]. Help, help—porter, cook, men, all of you!

1st S.W. [to the youth]. Boy, do not brawl in the presence chamber.

2nd S.W. No, no, it is foolish. We each must work to-day that we may dance another day. And how can we dance if you break the fiddler’s head?

The Youth [furious]. He is a lewd fellow, smooth and gentle to you wenches, but a liar——

Fiddler. Master Crompe. He calls me a liar. [Enter the Steward, Crompe.]

Crompe. Stop your bellowing, all. You, Fiddler—drown the chatter with your music, if music you must make. Her Ladyship comes. You—boy, go to the bed-chambers above and help to carry down the napery which she will give you. Oh! there is more to accomplish than any hands can do. The stables are not yet ready, two of the scullions are drunk and must go, the carpenters are short of wood for the mending of the walls of my Lord’s guardroom, the roof of the dining-hall leaks, and the roll of canvas for the wall behind the dais, which is mossy and wet, has not come from France. [Goes out shaking his head.]

2nd S.W. [mimicking him]. Lord, oh, Lord! the sky will tumble on our heads.

1st S.W. Get back to work, girl. These velvets are for the Scots Queen’s bedroom.

2nd S.W. Is that true? I will stitch hard if—Master Fiddler will play.

Fiddler. All work, not forgetting the business of eating, goes better to music. [Begins to play, walking up and down the room.]

2nd S.W. [laughing]. I cannot sew. There is an itch in my ankles.

1st S.W. Fudge!

2nd S.W. Do you think it is the plague that I have?

Fiddler. It means that you must dance and not sew.

[2nd S.W., jumping up, gathers up her petticoats, and prances in time. The Fiddler plays on, and the youth, entering with napery, thrusts it on to the large table and joins the dance.]

2nd S.W. Faster, Master Fiddler, till feet are as hot as toasts.

[In the middle of it, with a jingle of keys and a rustle of skirts, enter my Lady of Shrewsbury with a long roll of paper in her hands.]

Bess [in the doorway]. Is this how my command is obeyed?

[The music dies away with a trickle, the dancers fall back against the wall.]

1st S.W. [rises and curtsies]. Richardyne’s feet were cold, my Lady, and she danced to save them from blains.

Bess [drily]. A mess of mustard were the quicker way, I think, to cure that. [To the youth.] And you—have you also frozen toes?

Youth. Y—yes, my Lady.

Bess. Then go and keep watch outside the castle gate in the wind. That will warm you quick enow. You can play Jumping Joan all the while and nobody to stop you. But so soon as you see a light upon the hill it is the signal that the Queen has passed the woods and is close. [Exit Youth.] [To the Fiddler.] Remember—you—you must not intrude if you are to be suffered here. You must stay in the kitchens till you are wanted.

Fiddler. My Lady, I went looking for you and thought to find you here to know my duties.

Bess. Like enough! Make no noise till you are ordered. [He turns to go.] Stop! What tunes can you play?

Fiddler. A hundred and more—“The Derby Ram,” “The Nun’s Green Rangers,” “The Unconscionable Bachelors,” “The Derby Hero,” “The Bakewell”——

Bess. Silence! I do not desire to listen to your dictionary. How do you call the air you played but now?

Fiddler. The title I know not, my Lady, but the song of it begins—

You have a lodging in my heart

For which you pay no rent.

Bess. Marry, and you chose that to greet the Queen?

Fiddler. It is for you to choose, my Lady.

Bess. Go to, go to. Back to the kitchens with your fiddle. I will choose later. [Enter Master Crompe.] Crompe, Crompe, did you hear what he said—the name of his tune?

Crompe. Yes, my Lady.

Bess. He is an impudent fellow, Crompe.

Crompe. Innocent I trust, my Lady.

Bess. There was a wink in his eye, Crompe. [Stamps her foot.] “You have a lodging in my heart”—forsooth!—“For which you pay no rent!” Mark that, Crompe. It mislikes me much. He should play that to my Lord Treasurer at Court. An’ the next letter gives no surety of that I will no more tear down my tapestries to furnish a prison-house.

Crompe [soothingly]. My Lord has her Majesty’s promise in writing that the furnishments shall be sent. And for the present we can make shift.

Bess. Well, well, time passes and nothing is finished. [Seats herself at the table.] Bring me the ink, good Crompe, that I may check the appointments in the Scots Queen’s chambers. [Crompe goes out.] Crompe, Crompe, who has littered this room with this green stuff?

1st S.W. I heard Mistress Elizabeth Cavendish command the branches to be gathered for garlands.

Bess. Garlands?

2nd S.W. For the Queen’s welcome.

Bess. Idleness and foolery. Garlands! [Catches sight of her daughter Elizabeth in the doorway.] Bet, why do you bring confusion into my plans?

Elizabeth. Lady mother, there were no flowers. I have sought in the lanes, and there is no joy in them. And so I would twine the laurels and ivy into chains and see the leaves shine in the firelight.

Bess [sharply]. No time for garlands. There will be chains enough truly. Go, fetch me this green stuff away. Throw it out of the window, Crompe. Bet, fetch your needle and mend me yonder cushion. [Goes to door and calls.] Mrs. Glasse! Wenches! [Women come running. Mrs. Glasse, the housekeeper, follows with a bundle of linen.]

Bess. Listen to me, all of you. Here is my Lord’s tale of the things which must be ready. As I read so do you answer, Mrs. Glasse. Thirty pallets must be ready.

Mrs. Glasse. Only twenty have mattresses, my Lady.

Bess. Have you not five feather-beds, woman?

Mrs. G. Only three, my Lady. The two others have been taken for the captain of the soldiers that is coming.

Bess. By whose order?

Mrs. G. I know not.

Bess. Take them away instantly and put instead the old mattress from the old state-couch. The other five must make shift without mattresses.

Mrs. G. My Lady, there are not pillows for more than fifteen beds.

Bess. But yesterday I gave you out ten new ones.

Mrs. G. We still lack fifteen, save your Ladyship will allow those of chaff to be used.

Bess. Use anything, all you can lay hands upon. Lord, Lord! all my substance is swallowed, and still you cry “More pillows!” Beshrew me if you do not eat pillows. Alice, are the ewers and basins in place?

Alice. Yes, m’lady, though one is cracked and two were broken early this morning by my Lord’s hound, which sprang through the window, so that I dropped them in my fright.

Bess. Lord! these people eat ewers as fast as pillows! Take away the cracked one and put brass ewers for the other two. No, stay. Leave the cracked one. They say this Queen’s folk have a crazy fancy for little dogs and darlings. If we place them new pitchers, they will only break those also.

Alice. Little French dogs...? Oh, they will be sport!

Bess. Hold thy idiot’s tongue. Pray Heaven they do not bring monkeys also, like Lady Catherine Grey[^[14]] when she went to the Tower. Kate, where is the Queen’s coverlet? [Girls bring it forward.] There is an ugly darn in it. It shall be hidden with some gold lace. Fetch my Lord’s old riding-cloak and rip the galloon quickly from it. Do not use the broad, but the narrow. It will seem well enough. To work, to work!

[Re-enter Crompe.]

Crompe. The cook and his fellows be ready, my Lady.

Bess. Let him come. [Enter a procession of kitchen men with dishes.]

Bess [reading from the roll before her]. A pair of capons stuffed with chestnuts.

Cook. The garnishing has yet to be done, my Lady.

Bess. A brisket of pork.

Cook. Boy—bring it round.

[A cook’s boy parades with the dish.]

Bess. Six carp—these should be served hot.

Cook. My Lady, they simmer slowly.

Bess [reading]. A roast of beef.

[Two boys parade it and pass on.]

Bess [going on with the list, while the dishes are presented in turn.]