CHAPTER XXII

ARABELLA DANCES INTO COURT

The death of Mary Queen of Scots was the signal for the Countess to insure that Arabella should be as near the Court as possible. She was kept hard at her lessons, but, though the various members of the family were at variance over property, the Dowager was far too wise to spoil the girl’s prospects by forbidding her intercourse with her “Court-like” aunt, Gilbert’s Mary. As regards the young Shrewsbury pair she was, of course, at once a possible stumbling-block and a possible stepping-stone to their advantage. Her parentage gave her social precedence, and though her present worldly status was not very great, she might at any time, by an important marriage, assume a position far above them and be regarded as a source of Court favours. In fact, both sides of the complicated family co-operated to help her on in the world.

Already at the age of thirteen she was introduced to the Court. Her young uncle, Sir Charles Cavendish, writes of it with great appreciation: “My Lady Arbell, has been once to Court. Her Majesty spoke twice to her ... she dined in the presence, but my Lord Treasurer had her to supper; and at dinner, I dining with her, and sitting over against him, he asked me whether I came with my niece. I said I came with her: then he spake openly, and directed his speech to Sir Walter Rawley, greatly in her recommendation, as that she had the French, the Italian, played of instruments, dances, and writ very fair; wished she were fifteen years old, and with that rounded Mr. Rawley in the ear, who answered it would be a happy thing.... My Lady Arbelle and the rest are very well, and it is wonderful how she profiteth in her book, and believe she will dance with exceeding good grace, and can behave herself with great proportion to everyone in their degree.”[87]

Old Lady Shrewsbury worked hard for Arabella and played for Elizabeth’s favour now more than ever, with a keen hope of seeing the girl named as her Majesty’s successor. James of Scotland was, of course, playing a similar game, and while he pressed the Queen in regard to the succession, up to the point of making her angry, he kept on good terms with Arabella, to whom he wrote now and then an affectionate, cousinly letter. His tactics were practical, for he now proposed as her bridegroom Esmé Stuart, a piece of diplomacy on which, under the magnificent guise of her restoration to her own title of Lennox, he must have prided himself enormously. This offer was declined; a shortsighted refusal, as it proved both in the future and in the present, for matters in regard to Elizabeth’s favour did not prosper. Old age and bitterness made her resentful and increased her hydra-headed suspicion. It was always so easy for any ill-minded person to raise a papistical scare and accuse Arabella—whose aunt, the young Countess, was notoriously in favour of the proscribed priesthood—as being the heart and soul of every such plot.

Yet the Dowager Countess still laboured on. We find Arabella sending the Queen a “rare New Year gift,” to which her Majesty’s return was acknowledged by a confidential correspondent as a very poor one. The Queen, however, in discussion with the writer announced her intention to be kind and promised to be “very careful of Arabella.” Again this was a case of “Words, words!”

It was in 1592 that Arabella refused Esmé Stuart. In 1596 no less a person than the French King discussed her as a possible bride for the Dauphin. Meanwhile she, who was in no sense an _intrigante_, and seems to have inherited all the simplicity of her mother, with the energy and the _joie de vivre_ of her grandmother, was in no way concerned in the wretched schemes attributed to her by wild gossip. She was more desirous of love and companionship than of place and glory, and of a decent competence than the splendour of courts. In her twenty-eighth year (1603) she attempted to make her own choice. It was a curious one as regards discrepancy in age. She sought to betroth herself to a boy fifteen years old, young William Seymour. This was no less than the grandson of that same unhappy Earl Hertford who had wedded poor Lady Catherine Grey. The whole affair would be puzzling if it were not for the fact that Arabella’s thoughts were turned in this direction by the fact that he, like herself, was partly of royal blood. At the same time, he was not hampered by the possession of a crown, and with all the attendant difficulties and dangers of a royal marriage. The matter did not go very far, for the bare suggestion of such a thing aroused the most absurd excitement in the Queen’s mind. Arabella was at once arrested.

Elizabeth, it will be remembered, was already dying by inches in the cold spring of 1603. The accusation that Arabella’s action killed her has no ground whatsoever; but it was an unfortunate moment to incur royal displeasure. Naturally when the question of succession came up finally and Elizabeth was asked if she could contemplate young William Seymour’s father, Lord Beauchamp, as her heir, the old irritation against the Hertford marriage flared up in that memorable dying retort of hers: “I will have no rascal’s son in my place.”

Bitterly indeed must Bess Shrewsbury have raved at Hardwick against the unjust fate which caused the fortunes of her “juwell” to decline so miserably at this critical moment. The succession of James was thereby assured, and when it became fact was a bitter pill for Talbot and Cavendish to swallow. By this time the good Burghley was dead, and his son, Sir Robert Cecil, undertook to mediate for Arabella with James. She was for the moment removed to polite imprisonment in the country, whence she wrote breezy and innocent letters to her family, notably to her step-uncle, Edward Talbot, in which she disclaims her guilt in a somewhat veiled and fantastic manner. “Noble gentleman,” runs one sentence, “I am as unjustly accused of contriving a comedy as you in my conscience a tragedy.”

While she awaited the King’s pleasure James was making his first royal progress, and Gilbert Shrewsbury had the honour of entertaining him magnificently at Worksop Manor, which must have made the Dowager fearfully jealous. Cecil set to work as soon as possible on his protégée’s behalf, and, seeing that she presented no problem of political danger, eventually procured her liberty—that is, with certain reservations. He undertook that she should reside with the Marchioness of Northampton at Sheen.

All this while the Countess Dowager kept well in the background. Arabella, she knew, was of an age to manage her own affairs, and could deal shrewdly and promptly with Cecil in regard to her maintenance by the King in her right as one of royal blood. She managed this difficult situation so well that she was presently taken into the bosom of the Court. This happy event was gracefully achieved thus. The arrival in England of the Queen-Consort some months after her husband was the cause for further display on the part of both Cavendishes and Talbots. Bess Shrewsbury planned a great reception for Anne of Denmark at Chatsworth, and tendered the invitation through Arabella. It was declined, and it has been suggested that the royal motive for this was the unhappy association of the great hostess with the mother of James. Though the mere fact of the Countess’s former position of assistant-gaoler may not have sufficed, memories of strife and “scandilation” would certainly stick in the memory of those who surrounded James, and their advice could scarcely favour the invitation. Arabella was, however, authorised to go to Welbeck to assist her uncle, Sir Charles Cavendish, to receive Anne. At the same time she was to be introduced to the young Princess, to whom she was appointed State governess. Earl Gilbert’s house was once more honoured, and his wife and he incited to impoverish themselves anew for their second magnificent royal entertainment in the year of the accession.

At Welbeck Sir Charles Cavendish vied with his half-brother and contrived an elaborate sylvan pageant in which Arabella figured as Diana. Poor Diana! At twenty-seven she could personate with zest the chaste, invincible, tireless goddess. Could she have foreseen that rôle assigned to her for life by the criminal selfishness of James, she would have forsworn all courts in that hour, and preferred the groves in which she and William Seymour would willingly have walked in years to come, hand in hand, poor and happy.

So—as in Elizabeth’s day—the girl, spirited, cultured, good, and warm-hearted, danced herself into the heart of Queen Anne, and above all into that of the young Elizabeth, whom she charmed instantly. Away went Arabella now to Court in the new Queen’s train, and thenceforward appeared constantly in the company of her clever, tart, intriguing Shrewsbury aunt. Her uncle Gilbert kept a steady eye on her. For she was lively, brilliant; not beautiful, but of great magnetic attraction. Withal, she was quick of tongue, and he feared lest she should slip into indiscretion of speech and give advantage to back-biters at Court.

She escaped at least one danger this autumn—infection from the plague. In spite of all her duties and dangers she was in close touch with her relatives. Naturally there were difficult moments. Now she displeases her tremendous grandmother, and now her pugnacious aunt. Again and again she tries to act as go-between, and at odd times secures favours for one or the other—a barony for William Cavendish, a bride for his son. At intervals she visited her grandmother, but generally with a view to making peace between Gilbert and the hostess of Hardwick. To him she wrote in a very touching manner after a visit to the old lady: “I found so good hope of my grandmother’s good inclination to a good and reasonable reconciliation betwixt herself and her divided family that I could not forbear to impart to your Lordship with all speed. Therefore I beseech you, put on such a Christian and honourable mind as becometh you to bear to a lady so near to you and yours as my grandmother is. And think you cannot devise to do me greater honour and contentment than to let me be the only mediator, moderator, and peacemaker betwixt you and her. You know I have cause only to be partial on your side, so many kindnesses and favours I have received from you, and so many unkindnesses and disgraces have I received from the other party. Yet will I not be restrained from chiding you (as great a lord as you are) if I find you either not willing to be asken to this good notion or to proceed in it as I shall think reasonably.... If I be not sufficient for this treaty never think me such as can add strength and honour to your family.”

Such matters were hard for both sides, and one’s sympathy inclines to the ageing, fighting, building Dowager. “Your unkindness sticks sore in her teeth,” wrote one of Gilbert’s informants. To Gilbert, however, she managed to maintain a proud front, and busied herself about a fresh building enterprise.

This project was partly the outcome of her extraordinary pugnacity. Her neighbour, Sir Francis Leake, had designed and was building in the county a fine house, Sutton, which rivalled Hardwick in magnificence. Invidious comparisons were evidently drawn, and she declared scornfully that she would build as good a house “for owls” as he for men. The mansion she built was therefore called Owlcotes, and was not far from Hardwick.

The first year of Arabella’s royal post was certainly one fraught with peril, for it closed with the trial of Sir Walter Raleigh, accused, as all will remember, of plotting to dethrone James in favour of Arabella. Even Henry Cavendish was suspected of complicity. It is not necessary here to go into the details which proved Arabella’s innocence. It was quickly proved and her Court life went on as before, gaily, with masques, drawing-rooms, ballets, and even the nursery games in which it pleased the ladies of the Danish Anne to indulge.

At the close of her second year at Court (1605) another proposal, this time from the King of Poland, reached Arabella and was refused. She does not yet seem to have tired of the frivolous and exhausting life, though her letters—whimsical, affectionate, quaintly sententious, often highly graphic—are shortened at times, and, though loyal, she complains roundly of “this everlasting hunting.” For in their passion for sport King and Queen dragged their courtiers hither and thither, and the latter were often miserably housed and served during these expeditions.

The Dowager at Hardwick was well informed of Court affairs, for she paid a handsome retaining fee to no less a person than the Dean of the Chapel Royal in order that he should keep her well posted. In this year (1605) she was taken seriously ill and summoned Arabella. The girl was evidently afraid of her, for she took precautions to insure welcome in the shape of a letter from the King himself, desiring the Countess to receive her granddaughter with kindness and bounty. This incensed the old lady a good deal. Though she was now more or less like a sleeping dragon guarding her hoard, as in the Norse legend, she could still rouse herself to snarl in a letter. She did not write to the King direct, but devised an epistle to the Dean, in which she emphatically declared her astonishment at the royal message. This he was ordered to show to the King. “It was very strange to her,” she said, “that my Lady Arabella should come to her with a recommendation as either doubting of her entertainment or desiring to come to her from whom she had desired so earnestly to come away. That for her part she thought she had sufficiently expressed her good meaning and kindness to her that had purchased her seven hundred pounds by year land of inheritance, and given her as much money as would buy a hundred pound by year more. And though for her part she had done very well for her according to her poor ability, yet she should always be welcome to her, though she had divers grandchildren that stood more in need than she, and much the more welcome in respect of the King’s recommendation; she had bestowed on Arabella a cup of gold worth a hundred pound, and three hundred pound in money which deserved thankfulness very well, considering her poor ability.”

James could afford to laugh at such a communication, which fortunately did not prejudice Arabella in his eyes. Her return to Court was not long delayed, for her grandmother recovered, and the Court lady was once more free to stand godmother to royal babies, play, hunt, and dance, and suffer perpetual financial embarrassment owing to the ridiculous expenditure to which courtiers of both sexes were put in making royal gifts and providing the costly, fantastic costumes which the successive masques entailed.

It was during the production of the famous “Masque of Beauty,” written for _Twelfth Night_, and produced in honour of the visit of the King of Denmark, that Bess Shrewsbury sank into her last illness. For this masque Arabella, it is recorded, appeared in jewels and robes worth more than £100,000. From such scenes of colour and luxuriance she was called to that stately, lonely deathbed at Hardwick.

Of the Countess’s danger her relatives were fully aware, and the various family partisans took good care to be on the look-out for any hostile movements with regard to property from their opponents. The following extract from one of Gilbert’s letters to Henry Cavendish gives an ugly little picture of the situation. The date is January 4th, 1607:—

“When I was at Hardwick she did eat very little, and not able to walk the length of the chamber betwixt two, but grew so ill at it as you might plainly discern it. On New Year’s Eve, when my wife sent her New Year’s gift, the messenger told us she looked pretty well and spoke heartily; but my Lady wrote that she was worse than when we last saw her, and Mrs. Digby sent a secret message that her Ladyship was so ill that she could not be from her day nor night. I heard that direction is given to some at Wortley to be in readiness to drive away all the sheep and cattle at Ewden instantly upon her Ladyship’s death.

“These being the reasons that move me thus to advise you, consider how like it is that when she is thought to be in danger your good brother will think it time to work with you to that effect, and—God forgive me if I judge amiss—I verily think that, till of late, he hath been in some hope to have seen your end before hers, by reason of your sickliness and discontentment of mind. To conclude, I wish and advise you to take no hold of any offer that shall be made unto you, etc.

“You have not been forgot to my Lady, neither for yourself nor for Chatsworth, but we have forborne to write you thereof, knowing that one of your brother’s principallest means to keep us all so divided one from another, etc.”

“Your good brother” is certainly William Cavendish, of whom the whole family were wildly jealous, and who planned to seize certain cattle belonging to the Countess, in advance of his brothers, so soon as she had drawn her last breath.

Very few details are extant of the death of the great Bess. Grateful pensioners she had, and certainly some devoted servants. Her intimate friends were few, and nearly all her contemporaries predeceased her. We come across nothing more interesting as a bare record of her death than the following entry in Simpson’s _National Records of Derby_ for 1607:—

“The old Countess of Shrewsbury died about Candlemas this year, whose funeral was about Holy Thursday. A great frost this year. The witches of Bakewell hanged.”

So into limbo this contemptuous entry dismisses a great lady. Pouf! Out with the candles! The frost is over; some women have been hung at Bakewell; an old lady is dead.

To the end she never ceased her doughty and defiant game with stone, wood, and mortar. While her “home for owls” was in erection there came that same “great frost” named in the old Derby chronicle. Naturally the mortar at “Owlcotes” froze. The masons could do nothing. Instantly she issued orders that it was to be thawed with boiling water. This was unavailing, and the order came to use ale also, in the hope that the thicker fluid might prevent crystallisation. About this there is the true Elizabethan touch. But even ale, poured out like water, failed, and my Lady went out—with the holy candles.

How Arabella—faithful, loyal, vital, intense—danced, toiled, and loved—to her doom; how energetic, ambitious Mary Shrewsbury, like her mother before her, enjoyed imprisonment in the Tower because of her match-making intrigues; how William Cavendish became not only an earl, but one of the first colonists in Virginia and Bermuda; how Henry Cavendish died of his “sickliness and discontentment of mind”; how Henry Talbot, also, passed away before he could share the splendour or the thriftlessness of his race; how Charles Cavendish made Bolsover Castle a fit guesthouse for the King, for whom his son prepared a famous masque and banquet; how Gilbert Shrewsbury, his presence-chamber crowded with spongers and creditors, pawned his plate and jewels, and how his younger brother and chief enemy, Edward Talbot, became eighth Earl in his stead, belong to an epoch which escapes the limit of this survey.