MAKE-BELIEVE
All the mighty fuss and preparation aforesaid sufficed only to make
Tutbury barely habitable. The airy, pleasant impressions of the French
Ambassador were literally castles in the air compared with the fastness
itself to which Mary of Scotland travelled. To begin with, her retinue
numbered sixty persons, and Heaven knows where they all slept that first
night. Mary’s own rooms were small enough, and she complained bitterly
of them and of the condition of the whole building. Here is her
description in a subsequent letter:—
“I am in a walled enclosure, on the top of a hill, exposed to all the
winds and inclemencies of heaven. Within the said enclosure, resembling
that of the wood of Vincennes, there is a very old hunting lodge, built
of timber and plaster, cracked in all parts, the plaster adhering
nowhere to the woodwork and broken in numberless places; the said lodge
distant three fathoms or thereabouts from the walls, and situated so low
that the rampart of earth which is behind the wall is on a level with
the highest point of the building, so that the sun can never shine upon
it on that side, nor any fresh air come to it; for which reason it is so
damp, that you cannot put any piece of furniture in that part without
its being in four days completely covered with mould. I leave you to
think how this must act upon the human body; and, in short, the greater
part of it is rather a dungeon for base and abject criminals than the
habitation fit for a person of my quality, or even of a much lower....
The only apartments that I have for my own person consist—and for the
truth of this I can appeal to all those that have been here—of two
little rooms, so excessively cold, especially at night, that, but for
the ramparts and entrenchments of curtains and tapestry which I have had
made, it would not be possible for me to stay in them in the daytime;
and out of those who have sat up with me at night during my illnesses,
scarcely one has escaped without fluxion, cold, or some disorder.”
As for the gay hunting parties which had been anticipated, the only
exercise allowed her was in a palisaded vegetable patch called by
courtesy a garden.
The first fortnight of that time must have placed a severe strain on the
temper and endurance of the autocratic chatelaine. She was not to have
access to the royal prisoner, she must obey the orders of her
gaoler-husband, himself constantly on tenter-hooks lest his cranky abode
should suffer sudden attack from Mary’s friends, lest sickness should
attack her, or quarrels be brewed between her motley household and his
own. My Lady Bess—for once—must keep herself well in the background and
still contrive provision for that big household. Doubtless it was she
who backed the Earl in his determination to secure at once an
understanding with the English Queen as to the household expenditure of
the prisoner. He put in a claim for £500 as a preliminary, and a weekly
allowance of £52 was arranged. Whether he received it remains to be
seen. Mary was not yet entirely a prisoner. That is to say she did not
realise herself as one. Her sister-queen was too crafty to permit that.
Shrewsbury, who found Mary calm and, at the outset, bearing household
inconveniences cheerfully—hopeful that they were but temporary—gave her
a little leash here and there. She evidently insisted on seeing Bess
Shrewsbury. “The Queen continueth daily resort unto my wife’s chamber,
where, with the Lady Leviston and Mrs. Seaton, she useth to sit working
with the needle, in which she much delighteth, and in devising of works;
and her talk is altogether of indifferent and trifling matters without
ministering any sign of secret dealing and practice.” So wrote my Lord
gaoler to reassure all at Court who might suspect him of insufficient
strictness. The fact is, a long and detailed letter to Sir William Cecil
from Nicholas White, the first visitor of importance who had spoken at
length with Mary at Tutbury, had sounded the alarm. “If I,” says this
gentleman, “might give advice there should be very few subjects in this
land have access to or conference with this lady. For, beside that she
is a goodly personage ... she hath withal an alluring grace, a pretty
Scottish accent, and a searching wit crowned with mildness. Fame might
move some to relieve her, and glory joined to gain might stir others to
adventure much for her sake. Then joy is a lively infective sense, and
carrieth many persuasions to the heart which ruleth all the rest. Mine
own affection by seeing the Queen’s majesty, our sovereign, is doubled,
and thereby I guess what sight might work in others.” This was the
impression she made on a young and gallant courtier loyal enough to
Elizabeth. Here, again, she is in the form of a veritable problem as
viewed by her first warder, Knollys, who delivered her into Shrewsbury’s
charge. Knollys also pours out his impressions to Cecil:—
[Illustration:
_Photo by Richard Keene, Ltd., Derby, from the picture at Hardwick
Hall
By permission of his Grace the Duke of Devonshire_
MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS
]
“This lady and princess is a notable woman; she seemeth to regard no
ceremonious honour beside the acknowledging of her estate regal; she
sheweth a disposition to speak much, to be bold, to be pleasant, and to
be very familiar. She sheweth a great desire to be avenged of her
enemies, she sheweth a readiness to expose herself to all perils in hope
of victory, she delighteth much to hear of hardiness and valiancy,
commending by name all approved hardy men of her country, although they
be her enemies, and she concealeth no cowardice even in her friends. The
thing that most she thirsteth after is victory, and it seemeth to be
indifferent to her to have her enemies diminished either by the sword of
her friends, or by the liberal promises and rewards of her purse, or by
division and quarrels raised among themselves: so that for victory’s
sake pain and peril seemeth pleasant unto her: and in respect of
victory, wealth and all things seemeth to her contemptible and vile. Now
what is to be done with such a lady and a princess, or whether such a
princess and lady to be nourished in one’s bosom? or whether it be good
to halt and dissemble with such a lady I refer to your judgment.”
[Illustration:
_Photo by Richard Keene, Ltd., Derby_
MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS’ APARTMENTS AND DUNGEONS AT TUTBURY
Page 66
]
It did not take Shrewsbury and his lady long to realise what they had
undertaken to nourish in their bosom. The great thing was to distract
her with light and little things. Of these she had sufficient at first
to prevent her from much brooding in the intervals of writing her vivid
and endless letters to France, to Scotland, to Burghley, and to the
English Queen. Gentleman visitors being practically taboo, there
remained only the Countess of Shrewsbury as a set-off from Mary’s own
ladies. These were few—Mrs. Bruce and Lady Livingston, who was ailing,
while of the “four Maries,” whose beauty and grace helped to weave the
romantic legend of the vanished Court at Holyrood, there remained in the
royal service but one, Mary Seton. Her Queen took a special interest in
her, and was very dependent on her. Mary Seton surely knew her mistress
through and through. Her post must at times have been one of great risk
and mental torture. She was constantly in personal attendance, dealing
with the Queen’s wardrobe and dressing her hair—for in this, history
says, she was as clever as any skilled perruquier. Mary at first
scarcely had a rag to cover her. Two bits of black velvet and some
darned underclothing had been doled out to her, by Elizabeth, on her
arrival in England. Much scorn and merriment they surely caused in the
Scotch Queen’s closet! Clothing to wrap her, hangings—that veritable
“rampart” of tapestries of which Mary spoke in the letter quoted—were
necessary for her existence, and she would have her environment gracious
and artistic even if the tapestries were of sacking. With the aid, no
doubt, of Bess the chatelaine, some appearance of regality was contrived
and maintained—so the letters of the day show—as best might be. The
Shrewsburys had no objection to that. Everyone entered apparently on the
surface into the little game of make-believe which “this Queen here” (as
she is constantly described in letters from the houses in which she was
immured) played throughout the fifteen years of her life under the
Earl’s roof. For Mary was ever an arch-romanticist. This sense of
romance constituted two-thirds of her attraction. Both Queens were
playing waiting games, but Mary was determined to play hers effectively
in spite of all conditions. And thus we have that vivid picture of her
pretence court carried on under the eye of Bess Shrewsbury. The Scots
Queen, seated on her dais under her canopy bearing the elusive legend
“En ma fin est mon commencement,” issued her orders touching her
household, received eagerly all scraps of news which filtered through to
her and any visitors that were permitted. But the more interesting part
was that of the Earl’s lady, who stood as the social barrier between the
outer world, so full of stirring incident, and the mock court indoors.
How much to tell her Scottish majesty and how little, what gossip to
retail and what to suppress, was no light task for a talkative,
energetic lady, who knew the ins and outs not only of the English Court
but the character of its mistress. Mary was always good company.
Elizabeth gave her subjects plenty to talk about. One wonders, in the
light of a certain letter which Mary afterwards wrote to the Queen, how
far[15] Bess Shrewsbury allowed her tongue at this juncture to trip out
of sheer vivacity and desire to please her prisoner-guest. Just now,
however, it is too early to imagine intrigue in this direction. The
women could safely discuss clothes and the new fashion of doing the
hair. Mary Seton was acknowledged to be the best “busker of hair in any
country,” “and every other day she had a new device of head-dressing,
without any cost, and yet setteth forth a woman gaily well.” Mary loved
her wigs, her headdresses, embroidery, her little pets, and the
contriving of presents of needlework. With these Bess could sympathise.
On occasion she wanted French silks, and when Mary wrote to France a
list of goods which she desired, she would send for a length of silk for
my Lady, and a friendly transaction took place between the two. Truly a
charming relationship! And all the time Mary was not too bored, for she
was writing love letters to her new suitor—the Duke of Norfolk.
Let us take in the political situation for a moment. It was the spring
of 1569—just two years since the murder of Darnley, since when Mary had
the impression of a procession of violent events to wipe out of her
mind. Events since that horrible night had travelled at a wild speed.
Her abasement before Bothwell, her desperate game of bluff—that is to
say, her mad marriage with him, in spite of the opposition of all her
friends, while she yet wore her discreet mourning for the wretched
Darnley—her sudden awakening to bare realities, and the shock of the
knowledge that she had given herself wholly to a mere adventurer, and a
brutal one at that—these were some of the sinister facts over which, in
this solitude and stillness of her English life, she had time enough to
brood. Then came the final revelation of the almost wholesale perfidy of
her Scottish noblemen, and the three weeks of her ghastly third
honeymoon, which amounted to nothing but a preliminary imprisonment,
ending in the gross insults of the populace, which drove her distracted
on her way to the fortress of Lochleven. The detection and flight of
Bothwell, her Scottish imprisonment, her escape and her flight to
England—all these were part of the crimson pageant from which she had
emerged, shattered in body, soul-worn, to face the problem of her life.
Her baby boy was far from her in the hands of her brother and worst
enemy, Earl Moray, the traitor to whom the power of Elizabeth gave
approval as regent. But Moray himself had executed a _volte-face_. For
his own purposes he now assumed a highly moral and affectionate tone
towards his kinswoman. He advised this, her fourth marriage, on the
score that it was the best chance of wiping out the stigma which clung
to her in connection with her passion for Bothwell and her illegal union
with him. “Take a suitable and godly person to be your spouse and you
will at once assume a very high place in my excellent esteem” was
practically his attitude. Mary knew his power. Was not the villain in
constant intercourse with Cecil, Elizabeth’s right hand? She knew also
that marriage was the only way out of prison and back to her throne.
Three husbands had failed her. Even Moray conceded that she “had been
troubled in times past with children, young, proud fools, and furious
men”—the anæmic Francis II, Darnley, and Bothwell. As a woman she could
attract any man she chose. And the Duke of Norfolk was one of the
premier gentlemen of England, inclined to espouse her faith, and had
powerful friends among the nobles near the Border. The plan was
exciting. France and Spain must back her up in it. It was very difficult
to send and receive letters. No wonder that the strain of this secret,
with the bad weather and the difficulties under which the Tutbury
household laboured of securing sufficient provisions and sufficient fuel
to warm the cranky building, resulted in the illness of the prisoner.
After much letter-writing there came from Court the permission for
removal for which the Earl and Mary longed. The household was to take up
its abode now at Wingfield Manor. Away went my Lady ahead to put up the
curtains and see to the carpets and pallets and other upholstery, and a
week or two later away went the cavalcade after her. Her chatelaine’s
art and dexterity had freer play here. Wingfield Manor, in its ruins,
suggests a house of grace, comfort, and importance, well proportioned,
and soundly built in a stately manner. Even Mary, aware of its tolerably
fortified nature, its guardroom and dungeons, its massive keep and
earthworks, conscious of the nightly sentinels under her windows, could
call it “a fair palace.” And my Lady was surely in her element. It was
not exactly the rich domestic peace, the family life for which she or
her husband had bargained. They were forced to isolate themselves from
their children to a great extent, lest the comings and goings connected
with their own family should entice strangers or messengers of doubtful
character. But the eyes of England were upon the Earl and his lady.
Where Mary was there abounded romance, intrigue, and mystery. Spain,
France, Scotland, all were watchful, waiting for the least news. And
possibly the Queen’s command and the distinction conferred on the
Shrewsburys carried them far along the painful task on which they had
embarked. There is no doubt that Bess had a better time of it in the
bargain than her lord. The ultimate responsibility was his. Moreover,
his was a nature conscientious almost to a morbid degree. He was forced
to receive attacks without and within and to keep his head cool. He must
report himself in long letters to Mr. Treasurer, he must bear with the
complaints and entreaties of his captive. Mary was not so much of a
prisoner that she could not rush to his suite of rooms and upbraid the
authority by which her Scottish messengers were detained and her letters
examined. Her abuse and lamentation, defiance and tears were shared
alike by husband and wife. In reporting all this in detail to the Court,
he insists upon the necessity of his wife’s co-operation. In the same
breath he makes it piteously clear that the matter is not one for
diversion or satisfaction to either of them. In this picture he draws of
their joint life in such letters, Tutbury or Wingfield shelters not one
prisoner, but three. The royal lady is scarcely a moment out of their
sight or hearing. The only advantage of her constant invasion of my
Lady’s chamber is that the latter may watch her the more closely and
report more minutely upon her looks and words.
[Illustration:
_Photo by Valentine and Sons, Dundee_
THE RUINS OF WINGFIELD MANOR
Page 70
]
Already by this time the Shrewsburys could enter into the feelings of
Sir Francis Knollys when he longed to shake off his irksome duties. Had
the Earl foreseen the extent of the burden thrust upon him he would have
followed the example of his comrade-in-arms and begged for instant
release. All he could and did do, however, was to endure, while
protesting his loyalty.
There was excitement enough in store for everyone when Mary’s adviser,
the Bishop of Ross, was actually permitted to join the Wingfield
household. This was the signal for the crowding of Scottish folk to the
vicinity. These came constantly to pay their court to Mary, thereby
increasing all the domestic complications of Earl and lady, to say
nothing of the added cost in catering and stabling entailed by such
“traffic.” Nor did it help them that Mary should fall ill. After delays
two physicians were sent from Court, and besides insisting upon a
thorough ventilation and cleaning of her apartments they advised her
removal to yet another of the family mansions.
This time it was to Chatsworth that the cavalcade travelled. The busy
Countess had not yet completed her great scheme of building. Yet a part
of the then “new house” was sufficiently completed for use, and though
there was as yet no stately presence chamber here, nor ballroom, nor
great dining-hall, as at Wingfield, the surroundings were sylvan and
reassuring, and the little raised and moated garden where Mary would
take the air was far more agreeable than the tangled garden patch at
Tutbury. In May the change to the meadows by the Derwent must have been
delicious. By June 1st the visit was ended and away went the cortège
again, my Lady Bess included, back to Wingfield. The Earl, for the first
time since Mary’s arrival, took a few days’ leave of absence and again
went to Chatsworth. This brief absence immediately gave rise to trouble
and suspicious reports. While struggling with indisposition he hurried
back, and had just time to report that all was well at Wingfield when
ague and fever laid him low. His wife took command of the situation. His
condition was so critical that she wrote to Cecil asking that some
arrangement “for this charge” should be made in case he should grow
worse. Cecil took action at once, but before any change in the command
at Wingfield could be made the Earl was recovering, and his wife wrote
to reassure the Queen, through Cecil, and put in a word for her own
loyalty:—
[Illustration:
_Photo by Richard Keene, Ltd., Derby_
MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS BOWER, CHATSWORTH
Page 72
]
“Of my duty in all respects, God, that is my witness of my doings and
meanings, will defend me, I trust, against the evil that malice would
unto me. No enemy would I willingly refuse to be my judge in this case,
that hath power to think and speak truly, but most heartily do I thank
you for your right friendly admonition, knowing that I cannot too much
remember my duty, like as I would be no less sorry if I were not
persuaded that you did write only of good will, without all cause of
suspicion. I have hitherto found you to be my singular good friend, and
so I trust you will continue, which God grant I may requite to my
desire.”
Poor Shrewsbury did not recover quickly. He suffered mentally as much as
bodily all through this summer of 1569, and begged a few days’ grace to
visit the baths at Buxton. This was withheld and delayed, and, in
despair, he went without permission. Immediately the Queen was told of
it and instructed Burghley to pounce on him in a letter. Naturally he
hurried home full of abject apology, and, though he found the household
at Wingfield tranquil, was much annoyed at the insanitary state of the
manor in consequence of the number of people in and about it. A little
crowd of no less than two hundred and fifty persons now constituted the
entourage of prisoner, Earl, and Countess. In order to wipe off all
undesirables, he recommended another change of domicile—this time to his
estate of Sheffield.
The Earl possessed two manors here—the Lodge or Manor on the hill, and
the Castle in the valley above the meadows—now built over—where the Dun
and Sheaf joined their waters. This move was regarded as a most
excellent method for change and expansion. Both houses were habitable,
there was good fishing, and plenty of ground for exercise without going
out of bounds. Nothing was lacking now to hasten the departure save the
royal permission.