Виктория Холт - The Captive Queen of Scots

Bess’s reception of the news astonished Mary, who had expected the Countess to be as angry as she herself was. Instead Bess laughed heartily.

“I never heard anything so ridiculous in my life,” she said at last. “Your Majesty should put the matter from your mind, because I am sure no one will believe such a silly rumor.”

“I do not like it,” Mary pointed out.

Bess snapped her fingers. “Your Majesty should laugh at it. Of all the absurd things which were ever said about anyone, this is the most ridiculous. Who of any sense is going to believe it?”

“There are many who are always eager to believe the worst.”

“Even they cannot believe this.” She asked permission then to send for her husband, and Mary readily gave it.

When the Earl appeared it was Bess who told him, amid laughter, what had been said.

The Earl looked grave and said he shared Mary’s view of the matter; but the Countess laughed at them both.

“When slander is carried too far,” she assured them both, “it becomes absurd and no one believes it.”

She was watching her husband closely. How embarrassed he was! Embarrassed to be suspected of carrying on a love affair with a Queen! Yet he was delighted to do so with a serving wench!

Ah, George Talbot, she said to herself, you are going to be very sorry you ever deceived Bess of Hardwick. This is only a beginning.

What would these two say if they knew that the rumors concerning their scandalous conduct had been started by her?

This was the beginning of her revenge. She was going to expose George Talbot as a lecher; but never should it be known that he had so demeaned his wife by preferring a serving girl. His infidelities must be with a Queen already notorious for her fascination and her scandalous life.

When they returned to their apartments she twitted the Earl with references to “his love, the Queen”; and although she knew this increased his embarrassment she continued to plague him.

But of course that was only a beginning.

THE COUNTESS WAS IN DISPUTE with her husband. She had hoped that, in view of the unpleasant rumors concerning him and the Queen, and her lighthearted treatment of them, he would have been disposed to grant her this little request.

All she was insisting on was the passing over of certain properties to her sons, but the Earl was adamant, being weary of the demands of the family she had had by a previous husband.

“Very well,” said Bess, “if you will not show me a little consideration, why should I bother to help you in your difficulties? Why should I pretend not to believe these stories of your lechery?”

“Pretend not to believe them!” cried the Earl aghast. “But you have clearly said that you do not.”

“Of course I said it. What else did you expect? That I wish to tell the world that you are carrying on an adulterous intrigue under our own roof?”

“So . . . you believe that of me . . . and the Queen of Scots!”

Bess faced him and looked unflinchingly into his face. “My lord, I know you to be an adulterer. Pray do not think to deceive me on that point.”

She was glad of his perturbation. He was going to pay for all the stolen pleasures with that serving woman. Eleanor Britton indeed. She wanted to shout at him: If it had in truth been Mary I would have more easily forgiven you, but since it is that slut I never shall!

But no. She would remain calm. She was going to turn this situation to advantage. It was more than revenge on Shrewsbury that she sought. She was going to discredit the Queen of Scots at the same time. A Queen who had borne two or three children to Shrewsbury would not gain the support that a virtuous Queen would receive. There would be few to pity one who could behave so during her imprisonment. And if Elizabeth should die and Mary should have become unpopular, Arabella might have a very good chance of reaching the throne.

Bess had two great desires now: to take revenge on Shrewsbury and, even greater still, to sweep Arabella Stuart to the throne of England.

So she was going to see that the whole country heard of this scandal. It was necessary to soothe her own vanity which had been so outraged by Shrewsbury’s intrigue with a serving girl, and to help Arabella on her way to the throne.

She knew the way to make everyone aware of this matter.

“I shall no longer live under the same roof as you and your paramour,” she said. “I am leaving at once for my own house of Chatsworth.”

With that she left him, and before the day was out had made her preparations and departed.

THE QUARREL between the Earl and Countess of Shrewsbury was the main topic of conversation, not only in Sheffield Castle but at Court.

From Chatsworth Bess had started a suit in Chancery against the Earl, and had written to Elizabeth telling her of what she called his lewd and unhusbandly conduct.

Shrewsbury also wrote to Elizabeth. His wife, he feared, was a malicious and wicked woman; the scandals she had uttered concerning him and the Queen of Scots were undoubtedly without foundation; he was sure Her Majesty would understand that in the circumstances he must beg to be relieved of his duties, and he prayed that she would appoint another guardian of the Queen of Scots to take his place.

Elizabeth was annoyed. Shrewsbury had been Mary’s jailor for so long and had proved himself to be a good jailor; she knew full well that the cost to him of such a task had been tremendous, but he was rich enough, she consoled herself. Elizabeth was parsimonious by nature; it was a habit learned in her days of poverty, when she had had to scheme with her governess to procure some trifling garment or a new ribbon for a gown. She was always delighted when she could pass on some responsibility to one of her nobles—letting him shoulder the cost; and this for many years Shrewsbury had been doing very satisfactorily.

She replied firmly that she was not yet ready to relieve Shrewsbury of his task and that if he were going to take every rumor seriously he was indeed a fool.

Nevertheless she sent for Bess.

They eyed each other shrewdly and, for a few fearful seconds, Bess believed that the Queen was seeing through her motives. If it occurred to Elizabeth that the Countess had any thought of promoting young Arabella Stuart, she, Bess, had better tread very warily; it was a very short step from the moment of understanding to the Tower, and an even shorter one to the block.

“What’s this I hear about the Queen of Scots and Shrewsbury?” the Queen demanded.

“It is a rumor, Your Majesty, spread by their enemies.”

“Poof!” Elizabeth’s gaze did not leave the Countess’s face. “Your trouble is over these estates which you are trying to get for Cavendish’s children. You don’t believe these rumors, do you?”

Bess lowered her gaze and tried to look troubled.

“It’s nonsense,” thundered Elizabeth. “You are too clever not to have seen at once if any such thing was going on under your roof. I refuse to believe anything but that. And what is more, I shall write to Shrewsbury and tell him so.”

Bess was relieved yet disappointed. But she would not return to Sheffield. She went back to Chatsworth and Elizabeth wrote to Shrewsbury quoting what she had said to Bess.

It was her way of telling Shrewsbury he was to remain at his post despite scandals.

FROM CHATSWORTH Bess pursued her plans with her usual energy, and so widespread were the scandals concerning Shrewsbury and the Queen of Scots, and such appealing letters did Elizabeth receive from the latter, that she was at last convinced that she must remove Mary from Shrewsbury’s care.

She had heard that Mary’s health had deteriorated rapidly since she bore the additional burden of this scandal, and she gave permission for her to visit Buxton.

Mary’s sojourn at the Spa had its usual beneficial effect and when she had returned to Sheffield Castle Elizabeth wrote to Shrewsbury telling him that she had at last decided to relieve him of his duties.

She was appointing in his place three gentlemen—Sir Ralph Sadler, Sir Henry Mildmay and Mr. Somers.

Shrewsbury received the news with mixed feelings. It was impossible, he knew, for him to continue as the Queen’s guardian when such rumors were rife. It was fifteen years since Mary had come under his charge, and the relationship between them had grown cordial. They understood each other, and parting in such circumstances must necessarily be painful.

He decided that he would not break the news to her at once, for he knew that she did not like Sadler, and would be distressed at the thought of a new jailor of any kind.

He came to her apartments and told her that he had news.

“I am to go to Court,” he said, “where I shall endeavor to plead your cause with Her Majesty.”

Mary impulsively held out both hands to him and he took them.

“I shall miss you when you are away,” she told him.

“Have no fear that I shall not do my best for you while I am there. In the circumstances . . . ”

Mary broke in: “My lord, what has happened has distressed us both, but you more; I am accustomed to insults. And you have lost your wife.”

Shrewsbury said bitterly: “It was no great loss, I come to believe, Your Majesty.”

“It is always sad that there should be such quarrels. I begin to think that not only am I cursed but that I bring bad luck to all around me.”

“Your Majesty should be of good cheer. I doubt not that you will now have a new lodging.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. Sir Ralph Sadler, who will be with you during my absence, thinks that you should stay at Wingfield Manor, while some other lodging is made ready for you.”

“So it is Sadler!” She smiled ruefully. “I shall pray that you soon return. It will be strange to leave Sheffield after so long.”

“I sincerely hope that you will find a lodging more to your liking.”

“You might ask the Queen if I could lodge at Low Buxton. I verily believe that if I could do so I should quickly regain my health.”

He looked at her sadly. He felt it was wrong to deceive her, yet he could not tell her yet that he was in fact saying goodbye.

THE CORTÈGE MADE ITS WAY SLOWLY along the rough roads. It would not reach its destination before nightfall, but there was not one member of the party who was eager to reach Tutbury Castle.

Seton, riding beside her mistress, noticed a certain alertness in her face. Mary was always mildly excited at the prospect of moving. Did she still dream that a band of gallant friends would waylay the party and free her at last from the captivity of years? Seton believed that she did; that in spite of encroaching age and even more unwelcome infirmity, Mary would always hope for what now seemed the impossible.

Seton moved painfully in the saddle. She was even more crippled with rheumatism than her mistress. But how could one live for years in drafty castles, never being allowed to take enough fresh air, without becoming infirm? They should be thankful perhaps that they were as healthy as they were.

The last months had not been easy, and in desperation Mary had sent Jacques Nau to London to plead with Elizabeth for her liberty. The seeds of scandal which Seton was sure had been scattered by the revengeful Bess of Hardwick, had taken root here and in France and Spain. Mary tried to vindicate herself in Elizabeth’s eyes by suggesting that none was safe from Bess’s evil tongue and hinting at the scandals the Countess had whispered to her concerning Elizabeth; but no sooner had she done this than she regretted it. Elizabeth, however, wisely chose to ignore both Mary’s hints and Bess’s gossip.

Was there no end, Mary asked herself, to the tribulations she must endure? And now that she had new jailors in place of the Shrewsburys, Mary was learning how free she had been in the charge of the Earl.

Seton could not help feeling a certain satisfaction because Sir Ralph Sadler had suffered from the rigors of the Queen’s prison and had found Wingfield and Sheffield so bad for his health, that in a few months he had become almost crippled with rheumatism and was restive to be released from his duty.

“Poor Sir Ralph,” Seton whispered to the Queen, “he at least suffers with his limbs as we do.”

Mary turned to look at her friend and in the harsh light noticed how worn her face was . . . worn with pain, anxiety and frustration. Poor Seton, thought Mary. When I look at her it is as though I look into a mirror. My pain and anxieties are marked on my face even as hers are. If she could have married Andrew; if she could have been the mother of healthy children . . . But what was the use of entertaining such thoughts? They were two women, unlucky in love; doomed, it seemed, to be prisoners for the rest of their lives.