Haddon has terraced gardens which hardly receive the attention they
deserve, so much is the interest of the visitor absorbed by the house.
Eyam Hall, in the village rendered famous by the heroism and energy
of its rector during a visitation of the plague, has a simple
lay-out of walls and steps and formal paths. Locko rejoices in terraced
gardens judiciously laid out, and resulting in admirable though simple
effects. But the finest gardens are at Melbourne, in the south of the
county, where stately vistas cross each other and give distant glimpses
of urns or statues, which themselves are worth careful inspection
when at length they are reached. The effect is increased by placing
some notable feature, such as a fine vase, at the meeting of several
avenues; seen thus again and again from unexpected points, it adds to
the apparent extent and intricacy of the lay-out. There is a long walk
completely tunnelled over with dense yew hedges, and down in the bottom
is a placid pool where sportive cupids play.
[Illustration: North Lees Hall.]
[Illustration: Foremark Hall (Garden Front).]
Such is a brief glance at some of the more noteworthy houses of the
county; others there are waiting for the explorer to discover, as he
will do in almost any expedition he can make, whether it be among the
pasture land of the south, or the more bleak and invigorating hills
which culminate in the wild plateau of Kinder Scout.
WINGFIELD MANOR HOUSE
IN PEACE AND IN WAR
By G. le Blanc-Smith
Derbyshire, if unable to boast of that share of stirring episode with
which war and the hate of man have impregnated other counties, if
unable to show the numerous stately castles and religious houses of its
neighbouring shires, can at least proudly name a house which, while
being a gem of architecture, yet was so cunningly situated by its owner
as to prove a menace to the surrounding country, and a fortress which
required no mean ability to compass its surrender, at the same time
being of a nature so secure that it was used as the prison-house of the
greatest political prisoner in our island’s history.
Such is Wingfield Manor House; beautiful, stately, isolated, and—in
ruins; mansion, fortress, and prison. In no way does this manor house
resemble its more ambitious neighbour, Haddon Hall. Haddon is just as
weak, strategically, as Wingfield is strong, for the latter is perched
on a hill top, whose sides may be well described as precipitous, at
least on two sides. Another side of the hill, while less steep, is
useless for purposes of cavalry attack, whilst the fourth is more level
in character.
[Illustration: The Tower, and Rooms occupied by Mary Stuart: Wingfield.]
With the early history of the manor we have no concern, save in so far
as it affects that of the manor house. In the year 1440, the manorial
rights were vested in Ralph, Lord Cromwell, but his undoubted rights to
its possession were not absolutely proved till this date owing to
a prolonged law suit with Sir Henry Pierpoint over the finding of an
inquisition taken at Derby as long before as 1429. It was then found
that Ralph, Lord Cromwell—a man of immense wealth—was heir, _inter
alia_, to the estates, owing to his relationship with Margaret de
Swillington, heiress of John and Robert, her brothers. Briefly, Lord
Cromwell traced his descent from the family of De Heriz, who, in the
person of one Mathilda de Heriz, was connected by marriage ties to a
certain Thomas Beler, or Bellers. This man’s sister married Sir Ralph
Cromwell, and owing to these marriage ties Lord Cromwell laid claim to
the property, as being a descendant of a de Heriz, whilst Sir Henry
Pierpoint, on his side, claimed an equal right to possession as being
a descendant of Sarah de Heriz and Robert Pierpoint; Sarah being aunt
to the member of the same family from whom Lord Cromwell proved his
descent, _i.e._, Mathilda, who married Thomas Beler. Why the family of
de Swillington was introduced it is hard to understand; but perhaps it
was in the nature of a red herring, used to draw the scent from a good
point in the adversary’s case, or to cover a weak spot in the claim of
the opposite side.
However, it is with the fortunes of Lord Cromwell that we are
concerned, and we find that, three years after his possession was
assured to him, he was taken under the wing of King Henry VI., and was
enriched by appointment to the lucrative posts of Treasurer of the
Exchequer,[39] Constable of Nottingham Castle, and Steward and Keeper
of Sherwood Forest. Within the next two or three years he was further
advanced in royal favour and finances by being appointed Master of the
Royal Hounds and Falcons. From these appointments it may be fairly
deduced that he was a good financier and even better sportsman.
[39] The emblem of this office, double money bags, is carved over the
entrance gate to the inner courtyard.
Shortly after his lawsuit was satisfactorily settled, he proceeded to
erect the beautiful manor house. He did not, however, live to enjoy
his new possession for very long, as he died January 4th, 1455, being
buried in a church which his enormous wealth had enriched, _i.e._,
Tatteshall, Lincolnshire. Ralph, Lord Cromwell, sold the reversion
of this manor during his lifetime to John Talbot, second Earl of
Shrewsbury, who was to occupy it after his (Cromwell’s) death. The
new owner had much to do in the way of roofing and plastering his new
possession, so we may safely conclude that it was far from finished
by Lord Cromwell. Owing to the condition of the fabric, its new owner
was unable to inhabit it for some time; but after spending large sums
of money in roofing, etc., he finally occupied it in 1458, coming into
residence with a numerous retinue. After his death at Northampton,
in 1460, the manor and manor house descended in his family for many
years, being apparently a much favoured country seat. The death of his
grandson, the fourth earl, here was apparently quite unexpected, for,
on July 6th—only twenty days before his death—he humbly prayed, through
the Earl of Southampton, that King Henry VIII. would deign to visit his
“pore house at Wynfeld and hunt in Duffelde Frithe” on his approaching
visit to Nottingham.
The following account of his funeral is quoted from Holmes’ MSS. (Harl.
Lib.):—
“The xxvi of July Anno Regis Hen. viii tricesimo, departed out of this
world the right noble & puissant George, Earl of Shrewsbury & Lord
Talbot, Furnival, Verdon & Strange of Blackmoor, & High Steward of the
King’s most honble. household etc. on the 27^{th} of March (?) this
noble earl was removed from Wynefield to Sheffield with women and tall
yeomen, & the same night his dirige done & his body honourably buried.
“The morrow after his masses solempnely sung—,first one of the
Trenitie, another of Or. Lady, and the third of Requiem.”
The fifth earl, Francis, was born in 1500. At the age of forty-four he
was made Lieut.-General of the North; a year later he was installed
Knight of the Garter, and was later made Justice in Eyre of the forests
north of the Trent. He was a commissioner in the trial of Sir Nicholas
Throckmorton, a leading light in Wyatt’s insurrection, who was tried
and found “not guilty” by the jury; but the judges, in their wrath at
this finding, compelled the jury to enter into recognizances of £500
each for their appearance in the famous Star Chamber when called upon.
On their appearance, as desired, the unfortunate men were thrown into
prison for daring to give judgment according to their consciences.
The fifth earl died on September 21st, 1560, and was followed by his
son George in the possession of Wingfield.
It is to this sixth Earl of Shrewsbury, and to his times, that we owe
much of the glamour and interest of Wingfield’s history, owing to the
fact that for well nigh sixteen years he was the custodian of that
unhappy lady, Mary Queen of Scots. For various lengthy periods the poor
harassed Queen was a close prisoner within the all-too-hospitable walls
of this manor house. The Earl’s charge of Queen Mary was no sinecure it
seems, as according to Blore:—
“In this service he preserved his fidelity to Elizabeth unshaken;
but he was so perpetually teized (_sic_) by her suspicions and those
of her ministers, that his office, which might otherwise have been
desirable to so great a nobleman, as a distinguished mark of honour
and confidence, appears to have inflicted upon him a severity of
punishment little inferior to that of his unfortunate captive. The
fear of Elizabeth’s displeasure induced him, at times, to a moroseness
in his behaviour to Mary, which implanted in her bosom sentiments of
distaste and resentment, that her high spirit could not be subdued,
by her sufferings, to dissemble; whilst at other times by real or
colourable marks of kindness and attention to Mary, he drew upon
himself the malevolence of a wife, ever alive to jealousy and prepared
to empoison his comforts, and the suspicions and rebukes of his Queen,
who had no trifling satisfaction in mortifying and humiliating the
greatest of her subjects.”
He was, in other words, “between the devil and the deep sea.” The
custody of the prisoner Queen was first placed in Lord Shrewsbury’s
hands during January, 1569, while he was in residence at Tutbury
Castle; her removal to Wingfield took place on April 20th of the same
year.
Three weeks later she was suddenly and mysteriously seized with a
violent attack of some malady, which caused grave anxiety to her
custodian. Two physicians were promptly dispatched by the Privy Council
to undertake her cure, and these worthies gave but a bad account of
the sanitary conditions of her prison quarters. Their report seems to
have considerably nettled the Earl of Shrewsbury, who retorted that
“the very unpleasant and fulsome savour, in the next chamber, hurtful
to her health” was directly owing to the “continual festering and
uncleanly order of her own folke.” Since the cause was known to him,
it seems strange that he did not try to do something to better it. The
unfortunate Queen was removed with all speed to Chatsworth—where her
moated bower still remains—for this princely residence was brought to
the Earl by his second matrimonial venture, Elizabeth, better known as
“Bess of Hardwick.”
June 1st once more saw her installed in her old apartments at
Wingfield, they having been cleaned and sweetened. In the following
August she once more fell ill of the same malady, and requested the
Earl to find her another prison-house. She was therefore removed to
Tutbury, between which place and Sheffield she alternated for the next
fifteen years. Once more her custodian had to complain that his mansion
and her rooms, “in consequence of the long abode here and the number of
people, waxes unsavoury.” This is hardly to be wondered at when it is
remembered that at her second period of captivity at Wingfield, after
fifteen years’ absence, the poor Queen’s personal attendants numbered
47 persons in all: 5 gentlemen, 14 servitors, 3 cooks, 4 boys, 3
gentlemen’s men, 6 gentlewomen, 2 wives, and 10 wenches and children.
The year 1584 again saw the captive Queen at Wingfield, and the Privy
Council proposed that she should be incarcerated in the castle of
Melbourne, also in Derbyshire; but, owing to the fact that there were
structural alterations of an extensive nature required there, it
was decided to saddle the poor Earl of Shrewsbury with his weighty
responsibility once more. Orders to this effect were dispatched to
him on March 20th, 1584, till such time as Melbourne Castle was
prepared—which never came to pass. These orders to the Earl commanded
the removal of the Queen from Sheffield to Wingfield, and “that for
the more safety in conveying the said Queene, in case you shall find
it necessary, for your assistance you may use the ayde of the sheriffs
of our countys of Derby and Leicester.” Whilst the Earl’s duties
to his sovereign kept him at Court, the Queen’s custody was in the
hands of Sir Ralph Sadleir, Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster, and
a distinguished soldier. Sir Ralph wrote, on August 25th, 1584, to
Sir Francis Walsyngham, and informed him that he had begged the Earl
of Shrewsbury not to transport the Queen to Wingfield till further
instructions from the Sovereign were received. He continues by saying
that he would rather “keep her here (Sheffield Castle) with 60 men than
at Wingfield with 300.” In a paper read before the members of the Royal
Archæological Institute, then visiting the manor house, by the Rev. J.
Charles Cox, the author stated that:
“having carefully gone through the whole of the documents in the
Public Record Office pertaining to Mary Queen of Scots, as well as the
little known Talbot papers at the College of Arms, and the Shrewsbury
papers at the Lambeth Palace Library, I have come to the conclusion,
for reasons that would be far too long to now explain, that the Earl
of Shrewsbury, worn out by the jealousy, meanness, and cruelty of his
wife, as well as by the suspicions and displeasure of Queen Elizabeth
and her Council, and filled with a growing sympathy for his prisoner,
did his best to bring about this second sojourn at Wingfield in the
hopes of her escape.”
An excellent guard was placed over the Queen, for Sir Ralph Sadleir
set a watch of eight soldiers at night time, taking turns in watches
of four, to patrol the immediate vicinity of the Queen’s apartments in
the inner courtyard. Two other soldiers kept a day and night watch in
the house itself, at the entrance to her rooms.
The captive Queen arrived in September, 1584, for this second enforced
visit, with a huge retinue, which must have seriously taxed the
accommodation of the manor house. The Earl of Shrewsbury had 120
gentlemen, yeomen, and servants; Sir Ralph Sadleir followed suit with
50, whilst there were 40 trained men at arms. Including the prisoner’s
personal retinue, there were 257 persons herded together within these
walls, the Queen and her suite occupying fifteen rooms; yet, despite
guards and precautions, one man alone was able to plot with the Queen
herself for her release.
The daring plot was the child of the fertile brain of one Anthony
Babington, whose family seat was at Dethick, about five miles to the
west. Babington was in a way a fanatic, and the pity for, and desire
to liberate, his beloved Queen was the mania which brought him to the
scaffold. Stained with walnut juice, and disguised in gipsy garb, he is
said to have constantly visited the captive, and a curious tale is told
of his visits. Just outside the Queen’s rooms grows a huge walnut tree,
and tradition hath it that this tree is sprung from a walnut dropped by
Babington himself when on one of his surreptitious visits.
[Illustration: The Porch of Banqueting Hall: Wingfield.]
This plot was not the first having the same end in view, for in 1569
a certain Leonard Dacre was implicated. Now if this was a relation of
the Earl of Shrewsbury’s, through his mother, Mary Dacre, the Earl may
well have been the instigator of the plot, for we have seen how little
he cared what became of his charge. What is more likely than that he
should choose Dacre, a relative, to assist the enterprise—and bear the
blame—as a blood tie would be less an object of suspicion, and at the
same time more loyal to his employer? Dacre’s plot at once aroused the
slumbering suspicions of Elizabeth, and she, giving as a reason that
Lord Shrewsbury’s health was not of the best, directed the Earl of
Huntingdon to watch the Queen. The immediate outcome was a reduction in
her retinue to thirty persons, with the object of avoiding the influx
or substitution of suspicious persons. Other futile attempts, devoid of
interest, were made at various times and by various persons to effect
the release of this interesting prisoner.
It is easy to understand how in a house like this, teeming with menials
and servants, the substitution of a servant for a spy or messenger
for Mary Stuart would be an easy matter. The kitchen staff must have
been enormous, as, according to Sir Ralph Sadleir’s report, the daily
meals of the Queen “on Fishe days and Flesh days” consisted of “about
16 dishes dressed after their owne manner, sometimes more or less, as
the provision serveth.” The price of necessary foodstuffs at Wingfield
at the time was not high according to present day reckoning, for “a
good ox cost £4, sheep £7 a score, veal and other meats reasonable
good charge, about 8s.” Wheat was priced at £1 a quarter; malt at 16s.
a quarter; hay 13s. 4d. a load; oats 8s. a quarter; and peas 12s. for
the same quantity. The drink bill—no small item in those days—run up by
Queen Mary was for ten tuns of wine annually.
The captive’s linen was provided by the Earl of Shrewsbury, for
that supplied by Queen Elizabeth was declared to be “nothing of it
serviceable, but worn and spent.”
The before-mentioned report of Sir Ralph Sadleir states that the
Queen’s stable held four good coach horses of her own; her gentlemen
had six, and the total number kept was about forty.
It would thus seem easy for a stranger to obtain a post among such
numbers without a fresh face being observed, and in the crowded
kitchens the entrance of a disguised stranger through the little door
opening towards Dethick and the west would possibly be unobserved.
Then, among the number of servants some might be won over by a bribe,
a note concealed in food might reach the Queen; or among the stable
helps one might be found who could give news to the captive for some
trifling reward. Chances seem to have existed on every hand. But to
return to the ill-fated Babington. Babington had been brought up by
his mother and two guardians in an atmosphere of stout but secret
Roman Catholicism, and no doubt his situation at the age of sixteen
as Queen Mary’s page was productive of a chivalrous love for the fair
captive. At nineteen years of age he was the moving spirit in a plot
to conceal two Jesuits; and three years later his thoughts reverted
to the release of the Queen, whose plight had so strongly appealed
to his youthful mind. The following year he formed a plot for Mary’s
release and Queen Elizabeth’s assassination; but all the while the
busy spies of Walsyngham were quietly collecting material from the
correspondence relative to his cherished scheme, and were suiting their
actions to his, with a view to successfully foiling his attempt. He
was hunted down, but escaped till 1587, when he was caught and tried
with a dozen other well-born youths, and met his death on September
20th at Lincoln’s Inn Fields. In the report of the apprehension of the
conspirators is the following:—
“The names of sooche as are touched as made partyes of the
confideracye,” followed by the names of Ballard, Savage, Tycheborne,
G. Gifford, St. Donne, Tylney, and Gage; “and there were,” the report
continues, “13 who were at large, vizt., Babington, Barnewell,
Salisbury,” etc.
The Queen, who was removed from Wingfield on January 13th, 1585, was
incarcerated at Tutbury. A curious tradition of late years has been
put forward; it is to the effect that _her son was born at Wingfield_!
The authority for this has been traced to a statement in a guide book
to the effect that “Mary Stuart was made a prisoner, and it was at
Wingfield Manor that she spent part of her confinement.” This erroneous
reading has obtained a footing, and should be promptly eradicated. Thus
is “history” made.
On the death of the seventh Earl of Shrewsbury, his three daughters,
co-heiresses, divided the estates, Wingfield falling to the eldest,
Lady Pembroke. The new owners were now in troublous times, and during
the Civil Wars the manor house was stoutly held for the Parliamentary
forces. The little garrison of about one hundred men at arms was
reduced to sixty at the request of the Parliamentary leader, Fairfax,
who was forcing his way northwards into Yorkshire. Sir John Gell
complied with the request in 1643, and left the house too weakly
defended; the close of the same year saw a vigorous and successful
attack by the Royalist troops under the Earl of Newcastle, and the
manor house, after a twelve days’ struggle, was occupied on December
19th. On the day following Sir John Gell arrived, and proceeded to
stir up the new owners, who were as yet far from fully acquainted with
their new quarters. Preliminary skirmishes took place in the vicinity,
in which two columns of horse lost their colours, these being sent to
London by the triumphant Gell.
The Earl of Newcastle passed on the command to Sir John Fitzherbert, of
Tissington, who held the house for six months. The Wingfield garrison
proving troublesome to the Parliamentary forces, Sir John Gell was
told off to retake the manor house, which he did with difficulty, as
it required all the forces at his command, reinforced with 200 foot of
Colonel Hutchinson’s. Gell sent to Nottingham for troops, asking for
“assistance to beleaguer Wingfield Manor, because it was as great an
annoyance to Nottinghamshire as to Derbyshire.” This diplomatic request
was productive of the desired result. Strict siege was laid to the
manor house for fifteen days, after which Gell’s troops were called off
to repel a threatened Royalist attack; this they accomplished to their
satisfaction, and they once more returned to the siege. The naturally
strong situation of the house was nearly an insurmountable obstacle
to Gell, and he found that unless his artillery was considerably
reinforced by heavier pieces, he should be compelled to starve the
gallant little band out as the only practicable means of reducing their
fortress to submission. This plan was evidently not to his liking, as
he was likely at any time to be set upon by small bodies of Royalist
troops, whose harassing action would compel a temporary raising of the
siege, and consequently a corresponding influx of provisions to the
defenders during the absence of the beleaguering troops. He therefore
requested heavier pieces of ordnance from Major-General Crawford, and
on receipt of his new artillery he set to work to make a breach in the
walls with all dispatch. So great was his success and so true his fire
that after only three hours’ assault with his “foure great peeces for
battering,” the whole defending force of 220 men surrendered themselves
on condition that every man should be allowed to return home unharmed.
It is hard to determine whether it was fear of the ultimate result
of the use of these heavy guns, or the sight of the actual damage
done, which caused this sudden collapse of the defence on the day of
the great assault, July 20th, 1644. The heavy guns were, it is said,
situated on the flat ground on the east of the house, and on the other
side of the valley—a distance of one and a quarter miles. Some assert
that the range from here (Pentrich Moor) was too great, and that the
guns were brought round to the west side and placed in a wood, a breach
being opened from there. Should this have been the case, the breach
would be in the south-west angle of the larger courtyard, and the
approach to this is of such a nature that an entry would be a matter
of difficulty. The necessity of an armed assault on the breach was
nullified by the collapse of the defence.
[Illustration: The Window in the Banqueting Hall: Wingfield.]
The death of the Royalist governor, Colonel Dalby, who succeeded
Colonel Roger Molineux, can have had no part in causing the surrender,
for, according to Pilkington, he was traitorously shot by a deserter,
who had recognized him despite his disguise of a common soldier, and
who is said to have put his musket through a hole in the wall of the
porter’s lodge and shot him in the face. Pilkington also asserts that
one of the cannon-balls which he saw weighed 32 lbs.! This was in 1789.
The surrendered garrison was a resourceful one it appears, as the
besiegers either having cut off the water supply (presumably in pipes)
or else seized the source of this necessary fluid, they promptly dug a
well in the south courtyard, and therefrom secured a sufficient supply.
This well fell in about 1850, and the hole was filled up.
An old account of the capture of the manor house runs thus:—
“Colonell Gell finding that his ordinance would do noe good against
the Mannor and understanding that Major General Craford had foure
great peeces, sent two of his officers unto him to desier him to send
them for three or foure days for battering; and in soe doinge he would
doe the countrey good service, because it was a place that could not
bee otherwise taken without they were pined (starved) out.”
The stirring times of war now left the house, and its further use as a
fortress was nullified by an order for its dismantling on June 23rd,
1646.