A CERTAIN JOURNEY
It was now the autumn of the year 1574. The Shrewsburys had for the time
being come triumphantly out of official complications, and despite their
grave responsibilities lived as comfortably as might be, though they
were often separated, because the wife, at any rate, had other duties
besides that of gaolership. What social life was permitted to them by
the restraint entailed by this charge could obviously be enjoyed only by
the Countess, and even she must have found it difficult to meet her
cronies, get her children married and provided for, and keep a firm hand
on domestic expenditure at the various houses she owned. The guarding of
Mary of Scotland certainly had its interesting, romantic side, and this
to some extent was a set-off against the greyer side of the business and
its financial disadvantages. Just now the chances of Mary were at their
lowest. Bothwell was dying in exile,[25] the Duke of Norfolk had shed
his blood vainly for her, Charles Darnley, “The Young Fool,” as Mr. Lang
most justly calls him, though dead, with all his vanity, treachery, and
vice, could still harm her cause, more latterly perhaps through the
popular stigma which attached to her than by the hatred of his
relatives, the family of Lennox. His family, sorely chastened by
Elizabeth for his marriage with Mary, was, since his death, held in less
odium at the English Court, though it did not suit the Queen’s gracious
meanness to raise it out of poverty. Elizabeth and Darnley’s mother,
poor soul—Countess of Lennox, _née_ the Lady Margaret Douglas—had buried
the hatchet after the boy’s death. For the benefit of those who forget
her story—or ignore it—a word as to this lady:—
[Illustration:
_From a contemporary picture_
LADY MARGARET DOUGLAS, COUNTESS OF LENNOX
MOTHER OF LORD DARNLEY
Page 120
]
The daughter of Queen Margaret of Scotland (a Tudor, and sister of Henry
VIII) and of the Earl of Angus, a mere boy, she was born in a wild
moment of flight over the border into England. The very castle into
which her mother crept after the long journey on horseback was
immediately besieged. Thereafter the child Margaret became a bone of
contention between her divorced parents—as history tells. After three
years of babyhood in the shelter of her royal uncle’s English Court she
spent her youth in France and Scotland, often latterly a wanderer from
castle to castle, abhorred by her mother the Scots Queen because of her
devotion to her outlawed father. For years she had neither house nor
pin-money, but was dependent always upon such hospitality and shelter as
her father’s friends would yield her in their Northern fortresses.
Though her mother never forgave her for her defection, the fortunes of
the girl—beautiful and of imposing personality—mended and brought her at
last into the sunshine of Tudor favours. Henry VIII had compassion on
his niece and made her playmate of Princess Mary, at which time she so
won his affections that he settled an annuity upon her and her father.
Subsequently she was first lady-in-waiting to Anne Boleyn, and was
installed as one of the household of the baby Princess Elizabeth. While
Katherine of Aragon was being divorced and the star of Anne Boleyn waxed
and waned she witnessed strange moments, and watched the violent changes
by which her uncle declared now this one and now that one of his
daughters illegitimate. Her own fortunes, even as a princess of the
blood royal, were—in spite of her uncle’s genial expressions—nothing too
secure, and marriage and a dowry were still dreams of the future.
Possibly the King’s erotic irregularities allowed him no time for the
love affairs of others, but at any rate he manifestly did not, like some
of his successors, intend to doom his lady wards to perpetual virginity.
When Lady Margaret showed favour to Lord Thomas Howard, kinsman of the
Queen (Boleyn), Henry seemed to have winked at the courtship. So soon,
however, as he killed his second consort and degraded her baby girl to
the ranks of the illegitimate, matters assumed a very different colour.
For the Lady Margaret Douglas was now the nearest heir to the throne. He
married immediately, but no heir was speedily born. Meanwhile the Lady
Margaret’s love affair grew and culminated in a formal if secret
contract—that is to say a solemn betrothal, in every respect binding.
Henry regarded this as a double offence. His blood niece, his heir
apparent, had contracted herself without his permission; moreover she
had pledged herself to a near relative of the abhorred Boleyn. He
behaved in his proper, kingly, melodramatic way, sent man and maid to
the Tower, speedily convicted them of high treason, and sentence of
death followed. The execution of this, as usual, was delayed. The State
document condemning both is, as all the world knows, one of the most
disgracefully illegal concoctions ever produced by the blundering rage
of a ruler and the hypocrisy of his ministers. In addition it furnished
the precedent for the gross interference of that ruler’s daughter,
Elizabeth, in like cases. In addition to proving the Lady Margaret
guilty of treason, it professed to prove her illegitimacy also, and so
cleared the way for Henry’s future whims. The unhappy Lord Thomas, after
a year or two, succumbed to close confinement and sorrow and died in the
Tower. His lady was removed to Sion House Court, near London, one of the
few religious houses upon which her uncle found it convenient to smile
because it could play a most useful part in his affairs as a polite
place of detention for ladies of quality who drooped under his
displeasure. The birth of his prince—Edward VI—made him relent towards
his niece, and she came about the Court once more, though her old
penchant for the house of Howard, of which a second member—nephew of her
betrothed—now wooed her, thrust her into shadow again. This was probably
a harder blow than the first, though she was not this time shivering
under the fear of the axe. For she had been fully restored to her old
place; she had once more taken part in that melodramatic domestic
merry-go-round of Henry’s consorts. She was first lady to the new royal
Anne of Cleves, she had apartments assigned to her at Hampton Court, and
she was “first lady” again to Anne’s successor, Katherine Howard. A
weary period of detention at Sion House followed—sharply ended because
the King now wished to shut up Katherine Howard there. So Lady Margaret
was moved on to the care of the Duke of Norfolk on the East coast. The
third Katherine whom Henry wooed—the widowed Parr—put an end to this
banishment, and by her tact and kindness reconciliations took place all
round in the royal house. Lady Margaret played bridesmaid and
lady-in-waiting once more, and her uncle began to bestir himself about
her marriage. The man she wedded at the age of thirty-two after so much
tossing and chasing, imprisonment and poverty, was the very Matthew,
Earl of Lennox, whose claim to the Scots Crown had by James V of
Scotland, on the death of his two sons, been preferred against those of
the Earl of Arran. Both earls were kinsmen of James, and because of
their high ambitions were engaged in undying feud. The birth of a royal
Scots heir, in Mary, reduced both lords to the same level, but did not
diminish the pertinacity of Lennox, who returned from France to England
with the design of wedding Mary’s mother, Mary of Lorraine, as soon as
her widowhood pointed her out as eligible. He was a handsome fellow and
perfected in the graces of courts after his long apprenticeship in
France, but he did not have his way, and emissaries from England schemed
to throw Lady Margaret Douglas in his path. England was eager that he
should serve her purposes. As consort of Mary of Lorraine and financed
by France he would be the worst enemy of England. With Lady Margaret
England dangled before him a good dowry. The marriage, adorned by the
blessing of Henry VIII, took place with great éclat in 1544, and the
King flourished his sanction in a speech including the important
declaration, “in case his own issue failed he should be right glad if
heirs of her body succeeded to the crown.” Nevertheless, though her
husband was promised the regency of Scotland, and she was awarded
residence in a royal palace (Stepney), she did not retain the King’s
favour. Quarrels ensued; whether brewed by the spies in her own
household in London or in Yorkshire (where she established herself in
order to be nearer her husband, engaged in Border invasions), or by her
act does not appear. Just before Henry died the breach was complete, and
in spite of her having given birth to three legitimate Tudor heirs, of
whom Henry Darnley was the second, her rights and those of her offspring
from the regal succession in England were wiped out.
With a strength, as of Antæus, the much-buffeted lady overrode trouble
and travelled to London with her child Henry, now the eldest (her
first-born died in infancy), to pay her respects to her cousin, the new
King, Edward VI. How she faced the situation is a marvel. Her husband’s
Border cruelties had made him unpopular, and she was coldly looked upon.
Her position for some years was most equivocal, since, in spite of her
close relationship to the queen dowager of Scotland, she could not
present to this lady, her sister-in-law, her husband Earl Lennox,
traitor to Scotland, or her sons, in whom the Tudor blood was tainted by
that of Lennox. She lived, however, in stately fashion in Yorkshire,
followed eagerly the ritual of the Romish Church, and educated her
children in it. Quarrels with her father Angus, discussions as to the
disposal of his property, the birth of her eighth child, and the
impaired health of her lord engrossed her now sufficiently. Then came
another subtle and sudden change of fortunes with the death of Edward
VI, the abortive scheme on behalf of Lady Jane Grey, and the sudden
triumph of the claims of Princess Mary over those of her younger sister
Elizabeth.
During the reign of Mary of England Lady Lennox passed into calmer
waters. She did not abuse her opportunities, but the Queen’s favour did
not make Margaret or her children heirs designate to Mary’s crown.
Exit Mary, enter Elizabeth, and with Elizabeth a short time of
prosperity! Matthew Lennox secured eventually his regency in Scotland,
and his wife was in waiting upon Elizabeth at Windsor. She must have
felt like a bat emerging from a cellar after the constant misfortunes
and rebuffs of the past. Disfavour, dispeace were, however, always her
portion, and very soon closed in upon her. This time the occasion of
disturbance was France. Its king died. Mary of Scotland became queen
consort. Lady Lennox saw a rich chance of using influence so puissant
for reinstating her husband and herself in Scotland. She sent one
messenger of congratulation and again another. This seems to have been
Henry Darnley, now her eldest son, who was just fifteen. Thus did she
begin to lay the train of circumstances which exploded in the horrors of
the night of Kirk-o’-Field. From this till the actual Darnley marriage
it was the Lady Lennox even more than her husband who invited intrigue.
She, like other keen aristocratic plotters of the day, employed not only
codes, emissaries, and spies, but conjurors. Little she guessed at the
eavesdroppers who lurked in the corners of her great house at
Settrington, and of the spies whom the Earl of Leicester and Lord
Burghley employed to catch every suspicious word and record every
private interview within her walls. One fine day the Queen’s officers
invaded and seized her household, conjurors included, and she and her
family were summoned sharply to Court. A sorry journey that, though not
the first piece of pitiful travelling she had done. Servants, children,
lord and lady reached the capital, and were disposed of in various
quarters. The Lennoxes were ordered to their own apartments in
Westminster Palace, while some of their retinue were put into the old
Gate House prison close by. How young Lord Darnley managed to evade
watching and quietly lose himself in London is a mystery. This did not
make things easier for his parents, who were instantly punished by
separation and imprisonment, he in the Tower, and she to strait keeping
under the roof of Sir Richard and Lady Sackville, the Queen’s cousins,
at Sheen. Lady Lennox’s religion and the unjust suggestion that she had
been responsible for the harsh treatment, by the late Queen, of her
sister Elizabeth, seemed to aggravate the case of both prisoners. After
sickness, pleadings, and indignation, husband and wife were permitted to
share confinement at Sheen. It would have been best for them if they had
been kept there indefinitely. How Elizabeth ever came to free them in
the midst of her suspicions and fears in regard to the marriage of Mary
of Scotland is extraordinary. That she should actually have been
prevailed upon to give the Earl and his eldest son a passport into
Scotland is still more so. With the Darnley marriage began Lady Lennox’s
long incarceration in the Tower itself—a more pitiful imprisonment than
any she had experienced. Her children were far from her; her husband and
eldest son were too wise to risk their fate by obeying Elizabeth’s
absurd order to return to Court. Freedom came hand in hand with the
terrible news of Darnley’s murder. What could the woman do but break
forth into loud complaints and passionate accusation in the royal
presence? Was it strange that, worn with imprisonment, the beauty of her
prime gone, her face disfigured with many sorrows, her dignity and royal
blood degraded, she should address a petition begging the Queen to
commit Mary to trial and secure the speedy execution of justice?
Elizabeth would not have her hand forced. “It was not becoming,” said
she, “to fix a charge so heinous upon the princess and her kinswoman
without producing the clearest evidence.” She would not actually accuse,
but she would not clear her enemy.
Thus there was reason enough for Elizabeth’s later clemency towards the
Lennoxes. It suited the purpose of queen and prisoner that they should
now join issue against the murderess, “the hure,” against “Bothwell’s
wench.” It suited Lennox well that he should be installed guardian of
the future James I, and Lady Lennox, as his grandmother, was now
accorded a far more important position than she could have taken had her
daughter-in-law been above suspicion. It is true that financially she
was never unembarrassed. A mansion at Hackney, formerly the property of
the ruined family of Percy, was awarded to her as a residence, but it
does not seem to have been much of a home, or at least, her manner of
living there seems to have been anything but luxurious. She does not
appear to have been much at Court. Gilbert Talbot alludes to her in a
letter already quoted, and written in this summer of 1574: “My Lady of
Lennox hath not been at the Court since I came.” Up to the present her
attitude towards Mary was unchanged. When Lord and Lady Burghley visited
Chatsworth in 1570, Margaret Lennox thought it necessary to flog a dead
horse and add by letter her exhortations to the warnings of Elizabeth
that Mr. Secretary should be on his guard against the wiles of Mary.
Even Margaret—a woman—knew the force of the personal equation in this
case. She is careful to add: “Not for any fear you should be won, which
as her Majesty tells me she did speak to you at your departing, but to
let you understand how her Majesty hath had some talks with me touching
my Lord.... Her Majesty says that Queen works many ways—I answered her
Majesty was a good lady to her and better I thought than any other
prince would have been if they were in her case, for she staid
publishing abroad her wickedness which was manifestly known.” In the
self-same summer from Chatsworth Mary, the daughter-in-law, writes to
her. The content and tone of the letters is pitiful enough.
“Madame,—If the wrong and false reports of enemies well known as
traitors to you, alas! too much trusted by me, by your advice, had not
so far stirred you against my innocence (and I must say against all
kindness) that you have not only as it were condemned me wrongfully, but
cherished, as your words and deeds have testified to all the world, a
manifest misliking against your own blood, I would not have omitted this
long ago duty in writing to you, excusing me for those untrue reports
made of me, but hoping with God’s grace and time to have my innocence
confirmed, as I trust it is already, even to the most indifferent
persons. I thought best not to trouble you for a time till now another
matter is moved that toucheth us both, which is the transporting of your
little son, and my only child, to the which I were never so willing, yet
I would be glad to have your advice therein, as in all other things
touching him. I have borne him, and God knoweth with what danger to him
and to me, and of you he is descended. So I mean not to forget my duty
to you in showing therein any unkindness to you notwithstanding how
unkindly you have dealt with me, but will love you as my aunt and
respect you as my mother-in-law. And if it please you to know further of
my mind, in that and all things betwixt us, my ambassador, the Bishop of
Ross, shall be ready to confer with you.
“And so after my hearty commendations, remitting you to the said
ambassador and your better consideration, I commit you to the protection
of Almighty God, whom I pray to preserve you, and my brother Charles,
and cause you to know my part better than you do—By your loving
daughter-in-law.
“(To my Lady Lennox, my mother-in-law.)”[26]
This letter was delivered to Lady Lennox in the Queen’s presence some
months after it was written, and Elizabeth was still at work defaming
the writer to her mother-in-law. That was during the close of 1570. In
1574 their relations were in no wise altered. Lady Lennox evidently
still believed her son’s wife guilty, while she pathetically insisted
upon her rights as the grandmother of a king. In this capacity she
applied to the Queen for a safe-conduct to her northern house of
Settrington—now restored to her—whither she wished to repair with her
son Charles because she had been informed of a plot to carry off her
royal grandson and bring him to England. This seems to have been a
rather well-worn excuse and was mistrusted by Elizabeth, who about this
time began to entertain doubts of her lady’s real attitude towards the
imprisoned “dowager of Scotland.” She and Lady Shrewsbury were old
acquaintances at Court. The latter heard of the projected long journey,
and invited the party to break it at one of the Shrewsbury “places.”
Chatsworth offered itself as most suitable, but she was right in her
surmise that this choice would only appear in a suspicious light to
Elizabeth, who anticipated it in the admonition she bestowed on Lady
Lennox before her departure. Her Ladyship showed a fine indignation at
such a suggestion, but one wonders whether this was not merely a piece
of “bluff,” for the complicity of Mary had been repeatedly denied by
Bothwell and by other Scottish lords implicated in the dark business at
Kirk-o’-Field. At any rate this northern journey gave colour to all
kinds of imputations. It was suggested that Lady Lennox’s ultimate aim
was simply a visit of tender enquiry and that she was bound actually for
Scotland to assure herself of the welfare of the boy James. It was
thought, again, that she herself would kidnap the child and bring him
into England for her own purposes or for those of her daughter-in-law.
At all events she had her way and started. Lady Shrewsbury also knew
that Chatsworth was much too near Sheffield Castle to allow of the
reception of this guest without literally disobeying orders from Court.
She decided, therefore, upon Rufford Abbey as the most suitable place.
Unhappily the scheme which lay behind this hospitality has not descended
to posterity in the form of letters. But gradually the motives
underlying the invitation show themselves clearly enough. Lady
Shrewsbury had still one unmarried daughter for whom she was exerting
herself to find a good match. She had her eye upon a certain young
Bertie, a son of the Duchess of Suffolk by a second marriage. This
affair could not be accomplished, and she therefore worked upon the
Duchess’s sympathy so as to secure her co-operation in a new direction.
Lady Lennox and her son Charles on their journey halted first at the
gates of the Duchess’s house. Six miles away was Rufford, where Lady
Shrewsbury had taken her daughter and made all ready for goodly
entertainment. To the Duchess’s house she sent a messenger, and backed
up the invitation by a personal visit. Lady Lennox accepted the
invitation, and with her son, coach, baggage-carts, mules, and
attendants arrived at the Abbey. Previous to this there must surely have
taken place an interesting three-cornered interview between the three
great ladies. Though the Duchess of Suffolk may have been genuinely
interested in helping to find a husband for wistful young Elizabeth
Cavendish, one cannot acquit her of a certain malice. Her part in the
transaction wears a very innocent air. Nothing happened under her roof
for which she could be called to book by the Queen. At the same time she
was a hot Protestant and could not have felt any very great sympathy for
the Lady Lennox, nor for Lady Shrewsbury, who, as regards mere creed,
must always have been a religious opportunist.
At Rufford Lady Lennox fell ill. There was excuse enough after the
exposure to cold and flood in the uncertain autumn weather during which
she undertook her journey. She was forced to keep her room. Nothing
could have fallen out more happily to assist the plot of the hostess.
Her hands were occupied with her friend’s ailments. Their children must
amuse one another. In five days the close companionship between Charles
and Elizabeth could not but grow, fostered by the cleverness of the
girl’s mother. Free to go and come in gardens and woodland, young and
lithe, eager to escape from rules and duties and tutors, to forget sad
things—Elizabeth Cavendish, the grim details of Sheffield Castle, its
alarums and excursions, Charles Stuart, the tragedies of his family—they
wooed each other readily. Glimpses of their courtship are visualised for
the reader in imaginary dialogue following.