“BRUITS”
In a letter quoted in the previous chapter Lord Burghley had told Lord
Shrewsbury that the Queen herself would write to him on the subject of
the new-old rumours about Mary’s escape. Elizabeth, of course, did
write, and very seriously, about these reports “from sundry places
beyond the sea,” and in that letter (of September, 1577) she gave her
servant full powers to use his own discretion in making things secure.
But by the spring of 1578 she was not quite so sure of him. The
mischief-making at Court had done its usual work. The Queen was very
cruelly placed always between two parties—Mary’s friends and Mary’s
enemies. To all, as her courtiers, she must preserve a certain show of
grace and unswerving discretion, holding always the balance between the
Argus-eyed alertness of the first and the many-winged suspicions of the
last. These suspicions were often grossly exaggerated. There were some
at least who desired the prisoner’s freedom, but not her usurpation of
the English throne and a third religious revolution. On the other hand,
there were men, who, though powerful under Elizabeth, could quickly have
transferred their allegiance to the other sovereign. Again, at all hours
“posts” from various ports could bring in secret information under the
excellently inclusive system organised by Elizabeth’s chief adviser.
Tugged this way and that in her fears for the stability of the kingdom,
and at times driven to a pitch of intense alarm, the Queen’s confidence
in the capacity of the Earl at Sheffield varied according to the tales
poured into her ear.
A crisis of this kind had been slowly brewing since the autumn, till in
the opening of this year it was actually decided to remove Mary to
Leicestershire, and place her under the roof and guard of Lord
Huntingdon. Everything was arranged, even down to the despatch of the
usual warnings to the surrounding officials of the counties through
which the Scots Queen must pass. And then—the usual hitch. Shrewsbury,
of course, scented trouble and disgrace, and before definite orders
could reach him as to the change, he wrote to the Queen: “To answer
somewhat,” he rightly says, “in this letter is part of my duty, lest my
silence should breed suspicion.” And no wonder! For “I am informed that
there are reports ... that I am too much at the devotion of this lady,
and so the less to be trusted, and that it was considered better to
dispose her elsewhere out of my custody, to my dishonour and disgrace.”
He pleads stoutly, as always, for the recognition of his
single-heartedness and loyalty. He desires only “to be acquitted of
blame by the Queen’s own goodness.” He challenges her equity and good
faith: “I presume with your favour not to excuse myself, but to be
cleared thereof by your own just judgment.”
He points out that had he desired to espouse Mary’s cause he might have
done so far earlier in the day:—
“When her liberty was sought, and her case pleaded with sword in hand,
herself in force enough as she supposed to achieve her highest
enterprise, if any hope had been to her of my inclination that way I
might have had an office at her hand with little reward as the greatest
traitor they had, and been offered golden mountains.” But even Mary, as
he points out, knows her ground, and would not attempt to approach him:
“She was without hope of me and durst reveal nothing to me.” He hates
the notion of any upheaval in the realm: “A change bringeth nothing but
destruction of him that desireth it.”
The Queen, after her usual custom after writing a letter of admonition,
softened it down by a kind and rather contradictory little message, to
which he alludes in a postscript: “Thanks for your gracious messages by
my son Gylbard, among others, that I should not credit bruits, but you
would be careful of me.” Elizabeth also included gracious messages to
his “daughter Lynox and her child,” the which, he assured the Queen,
were a great comfort to Lady Shrewsbury.
For the rest, how could the poor fellow help believing “bruits”? This
kind of gracious royal message was very well in its way, but he must
have known that it amounted to nothing. There arose, as he was well
aware, other kinds of rumours concerning him and his which were much
less mendacious, though they were probably grossly increased by
scandalmongers.
Family correspondence has proved how strained were the conjugal
relations of Earl and Countess, and how a barrier beginning, seemingly,
with a foundation no less tangible than an armful of tapestries (but
subsequently solidified by the sheer masonry of Chatsworth) had grown up
between them. All matters of private dispute were complicated by their
own difficulties in regard to the tenants of their various estates and
any neighbours with whom they were on bad terms. Little by little the
fact that the house of Shrewsbury was not at peace with itself must
penetrate to the greater world. Servants carried the news into the
county. If my Lord blazed and my Lady retorted fiercely and shrilly,
matters could not be kept within four walls. And so, though it belongs
to a year later than the crisis which now brooded, a very long letter is
here inserted because it is so pertinent to the affairs of the Talbots
and Cavendishes. Without going needlessly into business details here, it
must be explained that all the disputes with tenants, etc., to which the
letter alludes, were calculated from the Queen’s point of view to
disaffect the people in the immediate neighbourhood of the Earl, and
give them ground for opposing him and furthering the cause of Mary
merely out of spiteful motives. Certain tenants complained, it seems,
that they had been turned out of properties leased to them by the Earl,
and actually carried the matter up to the Lords of the Council for their
arbitration. The Lords took no violent action in the matter, while the
Earl denied the charges, and brought countercharge of ill-treatment.
Eventually, after correspondence and discussion, the Council discharged
the complainants without punishment beyond a little admonition; and
after due examination of the man Higgenbotham mentioned in this letter,
decided that his offence was exaggerated, and recommended him to the
Earl’s clemency. Eventually the unfortunate Earl had to give in and
reinstate his restive men of Glossopdale in their farms, so that his own
popularity might be assured in order to serve the purposes of his Queen.
The letter from Gilbert is addressed to “My Lord, my Father”:—
“My duty most humbly remembered, right honourable my singular good Lord
and father. Your letters, sent by my lacquey of the 10th of this May, I
received the 13th, at which time my Lord of Leicester was at Wanstead
where he yet remains, and therefore I presently delivered your
Lordship’s to the Queen’s Majesty to Mr. Secretary Walsingham, to be
delivered by him, the weather being wet and rainy and therefore no hope
that her Majesty would walk or come abroad, so as I might deliver it
myself. But whilst I stood by he read your Lordship’s letter to himself,
the which he liked very well; and said that he perceived thereby that
your Lordship meant to deal well with your tenants, whereof he was very
glad, for that he knew also that it would very well content her Majesty;
but very little more speech he had with me at that time, and, since, I
hear that he has delivered your Lordship’s letter to her Majesty, the
which she also has taken in very good part. The other letter, to my Lord
Leicester, I sent forthwith to him to Wanstead, but he returns not till
to-morrow, having been there all this week; and I hear nothing from him
thereof. I likewise delivered your Lordship’s letter to my Lord
Treasurer, who liked it very well; and said that he was very glad that
your Lordship took his plain dealing with you in his letter in so good
part. And thus this tragedy I hope is at an end, until the coming up of
Higgenbotham, with such proofs as your Lordship shall send against him.
“We have had no little ado with these unreasonable people of Ashford,
whereof this bearer can inform your Lordship at length; but now they are
all returned back again, and none of those letters that were sent up to
the Council, or any other concerning that matter, were delivered, but
sent down to my Lady again; yet it was thought good that I should make
my Lord of Leicester privy to the coming of these persons; the which I
did the same day that they came to town; and, when I had told him at
length how the case stood, he agreed with me that it was a plain
practice;[56] yet, nevertheless wished that (if by any means possible)
we should stay them from complaining; saying, in general words, that if
they were not stayed, there would fall out greater inconvenience both to
your Lordship and my Lady than you were aware of, how false and untrue
soever their complaints were. But, before that, he enquired of the town
where they dwelt, which when I had described to him, he well remembered,
and that he had angled and fished at the end of that town; and said that
he thought it belonged wholly to my Lady; and asked whether your
Lordship did meddle therewith or not. I answered him that your Lordship
had wholly left it to my Lady, to use at her pleasure, and was not privy
that her Ladyship dealt therewith. ‘Well,’ quoth he, ‘but for all that
assure yourself that whosoever set these varlets and the others on, had
no less evil meaning towards my Lord than my Lady; for there is no
difference made, neither in the Queen’s opinion nor any others but
whatsoever concerns one of them, touches them both alike; and yet,’
quoth he, ‘I never heard of any practice for the removing of my
Lordship’s charge, but, amongst other things, this was ever one: that
there was no good agreement betwixt my Lord and my Lady: and that it was
informed, both to the Queen and others, that there was a secret division
between your doings, and,’ quoth he, ‘if it were known I verily believe
the same has now been informed, and it is not long since I heard it,
when I am assured that there never was any such thing; but,’ quoth he,
‘by the Eternal God, if they could ever bring the Queen to believe it
that there were jars betwixt them, she would be in such a fear as it
would sooner be the cause of the removing of my Lordship’s charge than
any other thing; for I think verily,’ quoth he, ‘she could never sleep
quietly after, as long as that Queen remained with them’; and, next to
this it troubles the Queen most when she hears that you are not so well
beloved of your tenants as she would wish, which was the cause of her
late earnest letter, ‘the which,’ quoth he, ‘I could not stay if my life
had lain thereon. Well,’ quoth he, ‘I am glad all these former matters
are so well satisfied; and, to conclude,’ quoth he, ‘I pray God that my
Lord and Lady have none but faithful and true servants about them, and
that none of them do, by indirect means, cause it to be informed
sometimes hither that there are mislikes or disagreements betwixt them
when there are none at all.’ I leave to write unto your Lordship my
answers to many of these his Lordship’s speeches, for they would be too
long; and your Lordship may think that either I answered according to my
duty, and to the truth, or else I forgot myself overmuch. All this
speech I had with him before he went to Wanstead, which is five days
since. The secret opinion is now that the matter of Monseigneur’s[57]
coming and especially the marriage, is grown very cold, and Simier like
shortly to go over; and yet I know a man may take a thousand pounds in
this town, to be bound to pay double so much when Monseigneur comes into
England and treble so much when he marries the Queen’s Majesty, and if
he neither do the one nor the other, to gain the thousand pound clear.
This is all the news that I hear. And thus, my wife and I, most humbly
beseeching your Lordship’s daily blessings, with our wonted prayer, upon
our knees, for your long continuance in all honour, most perfect health,
and long long life, I cease.
“At your Lordship’s little house near Charing Cross, this present
Friday, late at night, 15th of May, 1579.
“Your Lordship’s most humble and
obedient loving son,
“GILBERT TALBOT.
“I wish it would please your Lordship to remember my Lord Chancellor
with some gift. It would be very well bestowed.”
Thus, because of the possibility of larger treasons, the warder of Mary
of Scotland and his family must needs swallow their private grievances,
forgive their truculent tenants, and appear wreathed with smiles. They
must maintain their estate, in spite of their increasing liabilities and
the churlishness of the Royal Exchequer, and above all they must keep my
Lord Treasurer well supplied with _douceurs_.
Why they did not sell a portion of their vast inheritance at this
juncture in order to make matters comfortable one cannot understand. In
London the Earl’s creditors were pressing him, and he was too
conscientious to let the matter stand longer than avoidable.
A new responsibility was about to be thrust on the Talbots in securing
the hereditary rights of their grandchild Arabella. For the Dowager Lady
Lennox died in this year quite suddenly at her house at Hackney. It was
odd that the guest who last saw her was the man whom she had accused of
slaying his wife, and whose treachery she had once denounced. Lord
Leicester went down to talk business with her at Hackney, relating, no
doubt, to the sorry state of her financial affairs, and stayed to dine
with her. Just after he left she was taken violently ill, and died two
days later. What she had to bequeath—and Heaven knows it was little
enough—in the way of jewels she left to Arabella Stuart. With the death
of her son, Lennox, the ties which bound her to life practically
disappeared, and she succumbed at the age of sixty-seven to a disease
which must have been aggravated by the terrible misfortunes of her
extraordinary life. Her own dowry of Scottish lands made her no return
because of the war-bound condition of her native country; the sons who
owned the estates conferred on her husband by Henry VIII were all dead.
Her land in Yorkshire passed from her with the death, one presumes, of
her last son, and her fatherless granddaughter was, as Strickland says,
“heiress to nought but sorrow and a royal pedigree.”
It was evident that a push must be made to protect the rights of the
child. Queen Mary herself sent for the old lady’s jewels on behalf of
her little niece, but on the other hand she urged her son’s guardians to
put forward his claims. This was not with a view to destroying the
chances of Arabella, but merely to assert his family rights, lest he
should be regarded as a foreigner. A counterblast to this was the action
of Elizabeth, who took the child under her protection. This fulfilled
the heart’s desire of Elizabeth Shrewsbury. Yet it did not avail her
much. The right to do as he chose with the earldom was by young James,
under the influence of his nobles, claimed for Scotland, and he was made
to grant the earldom to the Bishop of Caithness, a man advanced in years
and without heir, chosen purposely for present convenience until another
Stuart—Esmé Stuart, Lord d’Aubigny, should claim it. Lord and Lady
Shrewsbury wrote in deprecation to Lord Leicester on the subject,
entreating Elizabeth’s intervention:[58] “Unless the Queen will write in
most earnest sort to the King of Scotland on her little ward’s
behalf ... we cannot but be in some despair.... The Bishop of
Caithness ... is an old sickly man without a child; and I think it is
done that D’Aubigny, being in France and the next heir male, should
succeed him. My wife says that the old Lord Lennox told her long ago of
D’Aubigny’s seeking to prevent the infant.”
Subsequently Mary declined to open any negotiations with Esmé Stuart in
her own affairs, both because she did not trust him and because she was
desirous not to give offence to “our right well-beloved cousin,
Elizabeth, Countess of Shrewsbury.” This is proof enough that her first
move in regard to the matter had been one of pure policy and was to be
regarded as quite apart from her private sentiments. It were well if she
had never sent the recommendation.
Other rumours of the moment gathered special force, and were perhaps of
more importance to the nation at large than was the possible escape of
Mary. They were rumours of the Queen’s marriage. Anjou’s wooing was a
long business. It lasted over nine years. Elizabeth was just now
revelling in rather a skittish mood in spite of the wild “bruits” about
her health. It was said that she was threatened with epilepsy; at all
events she could enjoy herself, and receive fantastic love letters,
while she shortened the leash by which she held Mary, and docked her of
any semblance of liberty. It did not seem to depress the Virgin Queen
that her royal suitor was only twenty. She always pretended great
coyness towards all gentlemen, and there is an odd touch in the way she
scolded Gilbert Talbot for inadvertently gazing upon her in her early
morning deshabille as she stood at a casement.
“On May Day I saw her Majesty, and it pleased her to speak to me very
graciously. In the morning about eight o’clock I happened to walk in the
Tiltyard, under the gallery where her Majesty used to stand to see the
running at tilt; where by chance she was, and looking out of the window,
my eye was full towards her, she showed to be greatly ashamed thereof,
for that she was unready, and in her night stuff; so when she saw me
after dinner, as she went to walk, she gave me a great fillip on the
forehead, and told my Lord Chamberlain, who was the next to her, how I
had seen her that morning, and how much ashamed she was. And, after, I
presented unto her the remembrance of your Lordship’s and my Ladyship’s
bounden duty and service; and said that you both thought yourselves most
bounden to her for her most gracious dealing towards your daughter my
Lady of Lennox; and that you assuredly trusted in the continuance of her
favourable goodness to her and her daughter. And she answered that she
always found you more thankful than she gave cause....”
That last sentence rings with ironical truth. As they read it Earl and
Countess might well merge their differences and smile unanimously—a
somewhat bitter smile!