Текст книги "The Captive Queen of Scots "
Автор книги: Jean Plaidy
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“Oh, Seton,” she said, when they were lodged in the apartment which had been put at their disposal, “I would not wish to dwell long in this place. I would rather face those bitter winds than live within these walls.”
“Your Majesty should be careful not to betray your revulsion; otherwise . . . ”
Mary finished for her: “My good cousin and dear sister might seek to make me her prisoner here. Yes, you’re right, Seton. I will take care.”
It was a restless night that was spent within those walls. Mary dreamed that she was a prisoner in the terrible dungeons to which, she had heard, there was no entrance except through a trapdoor above them, and from which escape was impossible.
Escape! Her mind was forever occupied with the thought of it. And that night it was as though the ghost of Richard II, who had met his mysterious and bloody death within these walls, came to her and warned her to escape from this prison—and any prison in which it might please the English Queen to incarcerate her.
How relieved she was to set out on her journey again; but depression descended on her when, at Rotherham, Lady Livingstone’s malady increased and all agreed that she was unfit to proceed; but as both Knollys and Scrope agreed that they dared not delay longer, Lady Livingstone was left behind while the rest of the party went on.
Mary’s head was aching, her limbs stiff and painful; but she was able to travel, and that was enough.
Her thoughts were with her dear friend Lady Livingstone, as she traveled on and spent the following night at a mansion near Chesterfield. This was a pleasant experience following on the stay at Pontefract, for here was a comparatively simple country house, presided over by a kindly hostess, Lady Constance Foljambe, who was determined to make the Queen of Scots as comfortable as possible.
The next morning, when Mary said goodbye to Lady Foljambe, she thanked her warmly for her hospitality and said how she would have liked to linger as her guest.
“Our house is always at Your Majesty’s disposal,” Lady Constance told her; and there was compassion in her expression. She knew what the Queen would find at Tutbury.
MARY SAW THE CASTLE in the distance. Set on a ridge of red sandstone rock, it was impressive, and she could see that it would be almost impregnable, for surrounded by a broad and very deep ditch, it was a natural fortress. She was shivering, not only with the cold, as she drew nearer.
The party crossed the drawbridge; this was the only means of entering the castle and Mary noticed that the artillery in the gateway towers would make escape difficult.
That set her thoughts on Willie Douglas, and she wondered where he was now, and if he would ever be with her in Tutbury. If he were, she could be sure that he would begin to plan her escape.
The Earl and Countess of Shrewsbury were waiting to receive her. She noticed with relief that the Earl had a kindly face and that he was a little embarrassed to receive her as his prisoner. He was a man of some forty years. And there was his wife. Mary was not sure of the Countess whom she judged to be some ten years older than her husband, a woman who was undoubtedly handsome; but there was a severe aspect in her features which was faintly disturbing. As they came forward to make their bows and curtsies it occurred to Mary that the Countess was not quite the kind of woman to whom she would have looked for friendship.
“I trust Your Majesty will be comfortable at Tutbury,” said the Earl, almost apologetically.
“We shall see that Your Majesty is comfortable at Tutbury,” the Countess quickly affirmed.
“I thank you both. It has been a long and weary journey, and I am very tired.”
“Then allow me to conduct you to your apartments,” said the Countess. “There you may rest for a while, and I could have food sent to your chamber.”
“That is kind and would please me,” answered Mary.
The Countess went with Mary up the cold stone staircase.
There were two rooms allotted to Mary, one above the other, and these were connected by a short spiral staircase.
In the lower chamber Mary looked about her with distaste. She noticed the cracked, damp walls and she could already feel how very cold the place was.
“Perhaps Your Majesty would prefer the upper room,” said the Countess briskly; and they mounted the staircase.
Mary saw the vaulted ceiling with the damp patches and the moisture trickling down the walls; she could feel the icy wind blowing through the ill-fitting casement and door. She went to one of the two small windows cut out of the thick walls and looked out over the bleak and snowy countryside.
Suddenly she wrinkled her nose distastefully. “What is that I smell?” she asked.
Bess sniffed and looked blank. “I smell nothing unusual, Your Majesty.”
“It is most unpleasant. Seton, what is it?”
Seton who was looking out of the other window, turned and said: “It seems, Your Majesty, that the privies are situated immediately below this window.”
Mary looked sick, and indeed felt so.
“One soon becomes accustomed to the odor, Your Majesty,” Bess consoled her.
“I never shall.”
“But I assure Your Majesty that you will. It would be advisable on Saturdays, when the privies are emptied, to keep away from the windows. That is a day when the stench is really strong.”
Mary put her hands over her eyes in a gesture of horror, and Seton turned to the Countess. “Her Majesty is very tired. I am going to help her to her bed. Perhaps you would be good enough to have her food sent up.”
Bess bowed her head. “If that is Her Majesty’s wish, so shall it be. We wish to make her comfortable here.”
Then she left the apartment. Mary did not look at her; she was studying her new prison, and there was desolation in her heart.
IT WAS IMPOSSIBLE to keep warm during that first long night.
“Oh Seton, Seton,” Mary moaned. “This is the worst that has happened to us.”
Seton had covered her with all the clothes she could find, and lay beside her hoping to keep her warm. She had noticed Mary’s fits of shivering on the journey, and the fact that they had not abated on their arrival worried her.
“The weather is so bitterly cold,” soothed Seton. “It cannot last. Also I think that the Earl and his Countess were not prepared for your coming.”
“I think they were well prepared, Seton. Shall I tell you what else I think? Elizabeth no longer makes the pretense that I am her guest. I am nothing more than a state prisoner. You see, they did not have to make special preparations for my coming; I may be put in damp, cold and evil smelling rooms. It is of no importance because to them I am of no importance.”
“That is not so, Your Majesty. I am sure, if I speak to them and tell them that you must have some comfort, they will be ready to help.”
“The Earl looked kind,” Mary admitted.
“And the Countess too,” Seton added. “She appears to be sharp tongued but I am sure she has a kind heart. I will see what can be arranged tomorrow. You will feel better then.”
“Oh yes, Seton, I shall feel better.”
“Do not forget the message from Northumberland.”
“You are right, Seton. I have some good friends in England. Norfolk will not forget me. Nor will Northumberland.”
“Tomorrow, everything will seem different,” said Seton. But it was a long time before they slept.
THE NEXT DAY Mary was not well enough to leave her bed. She had a fever and her limbs were stiff and painful.
Seton announced that the Queen would spend the day resting, and while she lay in her bed her women came into her chamber and set out some of the tapestry which they had brought with them from Bolton. These were inadequate to cover all the cracked walls, but they did add a little comfort; and Mary felt happier to have them, and also to see her women.
Knollys and Scrope came to say goodbye to her; and she was deeply sorry to see them go. She sent affectionate messages to Margaret Scrope through her husband; and she was sorry to see Knollys looking so sad. Poor Knollys! His was not an enviable fate. He had lost the wife he loved, and his Queen’s favor at the same time. Yet he had been a kindly jailor. She would always remember that.
“I trust Your Majesty will be happy under the care of the Earl and Countess,” said Knollys.
“Thank you,” Mary replied. “I hope you have explained to the Earl that I am allowed certain privileges—for instance, my own servants and my friends to visit me when they come to Tutbury.”
Knollys answered gravely: “The Earl will make his own rules, I fear, Your Majesty. You know that those of myself and Lord Scrope were not considered to have been adequate.”
“It is bad enough to live in this cold and dreary prison, to endure that perpetual odor. I do not know how I shall go on living here if those small privileges are to be taken from me.”
“Speak to the Earl about these matters,” Knollys advised.
“Not to the Countess,” Scrope added.
“Certainly I should speak to the Earl. I suppose he is in charge here.”
Scrope and Knollys exchanged glances and Scrope said: “I have heard that Bess of Hardwick is always in charge wherever she finds herself.”
Mary smiled. “I believe that I shall be able to win their friendship,” he said confidently.
Then Scrope and Knollys took their leave. Mary heard their departure but she did not go to the window to watch them. She felt too emotional, too weary, and she knew she had a fever.
DURING THE FIRST WEEK at Tutbury, Mary scarcely left her bed. At the end of that time the fever had left her; she still suffered acutely from the drafts, but she fancied she had grown a little accustomed to the smell. She had seen little of the Earl and Countess; her servants brought her food, of which she ate very little, and looked after her as well as possible. She supposed the Earl and Countess were waiting for her to leave her bed, or perhaps for instructions from Elizabeth.
One day, when the wind was slightly less keen, several heavily laden packhorses lumbered into the courtyard. Eleanor Britton who had seen them arrive ran out to discover what they were.
A man who had leaped from his mule called to her: “Hey, girl. Take me to the Earl of Shrewsbury without delay.”
“And who are you then?” asked Eleanor.
“Never you mind, girl. Do as you’re told.”
“But I must say who you are,” Eleanor insisted.
“Then say we come on the Queen’s business.”
Eleanor, suitably impressed, ran into the castle, eager to carry this important message to the Earl before anyone else could do so. Already some of the grooms had appeared and were asking questions of the newcomers.
Eleanor did not go to the Countess’s apartments although she had to pass these to reach the Earl. It was so much easier to talk to the Earl than to the Countess, because he was a kind man and had a smile which seemed to say that he was aware of her even though she was only a lower servant. Whereas the Countess . . . Well, one did not speak to the Countess if one could avoid doing so.
The Earl was in his apartments and he was alone, so that Eleanor was not made to pass on her information to one of the servants.
“My lord,” she stammered, “there are men in the courtyard with laden horses. They come on the Queen’s business.”
The Earl strode toward her and stood looking at her as though he had not quite heard what she had said.
“The Queen’s business, my lord,” she repeated.
“They have come heavily laden?” he asked; and he smiled suddenly. “Ah, if this is what I believe it to be I shall be very pleased.”
“Yes, my lord.”
He put out a hand as though he would grip her shoulder but he changed his mind and his hand fell to his side. “Comforts for the Queen of Scotland,” he murmured. “Poor lady, I fear she suffers much from the cold. I sent for them but I did not expect to receive them so soon.”
Eleanor smiled with him. It was pleasant to feel she shared a secret with him. How strange that he should have told her what the messengers had brought!
“Come,” he said, “we will go down and see what they have brought, and then, my child, you can help carry the comforts—if this they be—to Her Majesty’s apartments.”
He signed to her to go before him. It was an odd sensation going on ahead of the Earl, aware of him, close—very close behind. Eleanor hoped that none of her fellow servants would see her. They would think it so strange. And what if the Countess saw!
Eleanor quickened her pace, and very soon she was in the courtyard where now several servants had gathered. They were chattering, until they saw the Earl, and then fell silent. But they did not realize that he had come down with Eleanor.
THE EARL WAS ASKING for admittance to the Queen’s apartments.
“I bring Your Majesty good news,” he said. “I have sent to Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth, for articles which will give you some comfort. May I have them brought up?”
“This is good news, my lord,” Mary replied. “Pray do not hesitate to bring them up.”
The Earl turned and signed to the servants to carry in the packages.
“They come from the royal wardrobe of the Tower of London, I believe, Your Majesty; and if they are what I asked for, I am sure they will please you.”
Mary called her women to her as the packages were carried in, and they helped unroll them.
There were several pieces of tapestry hangings lined with canvas.
Mary clapped her hands. “I cannot wait to hang them,” she cried. “They will keep out the drafts a little.”
Seton spread them out and saw that they were not only useful but decorative, portraying as they did the history of Hercules. Next there were four feather beds with bolsters.
“They make me warmer even to look at them!” said Mary.
This was by no means all. There was more pieces of tapestry—one set depicting the story of the Passion; there were cushions, stools and Turkey carpets. There were even hooks and crochets with which to hang the tapestry.
Mary turned to the Earl, her face radiant. “How can I thank you?” she asked.
He smiled. “Your Majesty, it grieved me that you should come to Tutbury which as you know is too ill furnished to receive you. When I knew that you were to be here, I asked that these objects might be procured for you. I am only sorry that they have been so long in coming. The bad state of the road is the cause.”
“I shall certainly sleep more comfortably now,” she told him, “and my thanks are due to you.”
Everyone in the room was now looking toward the door which had been left open. The Countess stood there.
Mary said: “My dear Countess, I am thanking your husband. I must thank you also, I know. These things are going to make a great deal of difference to my comfort.”
The Countess sailed into the room. Eleanor, watching her, thought: She did not know. He did it without asking her.
She dared not look at the Earl; she felt there would be fear in his face, and she did not want to see it. It was brave of him, she thought, to do it without telling her. Anyone must be brave who stands against her.
“I am delighted that Your Majesty is pleased,” said the Countess, her sharp eyes taking in the tapestry, the beds, the rugs and all the furniture.
“Such a difference!” sighed Mary. “I really do not think I could have endured the cold without something to keep out the drafts.”
“I trust the servants are doing all you require of them?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Then the Earl and I will beg your leave to retire.”
“But of course.”
The Countess looked at the Earl, and her eyes were expressionless.
She curtsied and the Earl made his bow.
As they went out together Eleanor wanted to whisper: You should not be afraid of her. You are the Earl. You should tell her so.
When they reached her apartments Bess turned to her husband; now she was smiling because she prided herself on always being in complete control of her feelings.
“So you sent to the Queen for those fripperies?” she asked.
“I thought they were necessary for our guest’s comfort.”
“I dare swear that if Her Majesty had thought them necessary she would have sent them without being asked.”
“She does not know how comfortless Tutbury can be.”
There was a brief silence while Shrewsbury thought of his first wife, Gertrude, eldest daughter of the Earl of Rutland. What a gentle person she had been! He was beginning to remember her with increasing regret.
“I hope she does not think you are going the way of Knollys and Scrope.”
“Because I ask for a carpet, a bed and some hangings to keep out the drafts?”
Bess gave a sudden harsh laugh. “Our Queen knows Mary’s reputation,” she said. “It is rumored that she bewitches all men who set eyes on her. Is this the beginning of bewitchment?”
“Nonsense,” retorted the Earl. “The poor woman is ill. Her Majesty would not be very pleased with us if it were said she died through neglect.”
Bess nodded her head slowly. “So, without consulting me, you sent for comforts for her.” Again she gave that hard laugh. She slipped her arm through his and she was smiling. “George,” she went on, “I think, in view of the disgrace of Knollys and Scrope, we should be careful. Of course if she is in danger of dying of neglect, I shall see that she does not do so. Perhaps it would be better if such matters were left to me. No one could accuse me of being bewitched by the charm of the Queen of Scots, I fancy!”
Shrewsbury was beginning to hate that cold laughter of hers. What she was saying was: Next time leave it to me to make arrangements. I am the one who makes decisions here.
He was pleased that he had managed to procure the comforts before she had had a chance to interfere. Then, as he looked into her domineering, handsome face, he thought of Eleanor Britton; which seemed unaccountable. It’s the contrast, he told himself. One so arrogant; the other one so meek. But of course Eleanor Britton would be meek. Was she not a servant?
TWO PLEASANT OCCURRENCES quickly followed the arrival of the comforts from the Tower of London.
Lady Livingstone, who had been so ill on the journey, had recovered and came on to Tutbury. Mary who had thought it possible that she might never see this dear friend again was overcome with joy.
Lady Livingstone however was shocked by the Queen’s appearance.
“I have recovered more quickly than Your Majesty did!” she said aghast.
“Ah,” laughed Mary. “But you have not been at Tutbury.” She was serious suddenly. “You should not stay here. It is a foul place. The stench at times is unbearable. Why do you not return to Scotland? I still have friends there, and you and your husband could return to your estates and live in comfort.”
“And leave you!”
“My dearest friend, I do not know how long I shall be here. Sometimes I think it will be for years.”
“Then if we must remain prisoners for years, so be it.”
Mary embraced her friend. “It seems meet and proper,” she said, “that I should have a Livingstone with me. In my youth it was your sister-in-law, Mary. She would be with me still, as Seton is, if she had not married. But if at any time this becomes too much for you, you must not hesitate to return to Scotland.”
“One day we shall go together,” was the answer.
IT WAS SHORTLY AFTERWARD when a young man was admitted to her apartments. In the first seconds she did not recognize him. Then she cried out in great joy. “Willie!”
Willie Douglas bowed and, as the light fell on his face, she saw how thin he was.
“Oh Willie, Willie!” She took him into her arms and held him tightly against her. “This is such joy to me.”
“And to me, Your Majesty.”
“You have suffered since I last saw you, Willie.”
“Oh ay.”
Releasing him she laid her hands on his shoulders and looked searchingly into his face.
“But you are back now, and I thank God.” She drew him to one of the stools which had been sent from the Tower of London and bade him sit.
There he told her that he had traveled jauntily to London, had received his passport and had been ready to make his way to the coast and France. But as he walked through an alley in the City of London, where he had his temporary lodging, he had been set upon.
“They came upon me from behind, Your Majesty, and I never saw their faces. There I was walking along that alley where the houses seemed to meet at the top, when I was attacked. I woke up in a dark cellar, trussed up and with my head bleeding. I’d lost all my papers. I knew I’d been robbed then. I lay there for what seemed days and nights, but I had no means of telling. But at last they came for me . . . rough men I’d never seen before. They put me in chains and set me on a mule, and I knew we were coming north. I thought I was being brought back to you, but I soon learned that was a mistake. I was taken into a place like a castle and put in a cell there. There were bars at the window, and now and then a crust of bread and pitcher of water were thrust in at me. Other than that the only companions I had were the rats and beetles.”
“My poor Willie! I had evil dreams of you. I knew something fearful had befallen you. That was why I asked the French King to command his ambassador to discover what had become of you. You must have spent many weeks in that prison.” She thought: But for my French friends it might have been for the rest of your life, and that, for Willie in those conditions would not have meant more than a year or so.
“I used to lie there thinking of how I could get out,” went on Willie. “There didn’t seem any way, but I went on trying to figure something out. Then it got so that I couldn’t walk very well and I could only think of when I was going to get my next portion of bread and water.”
“I fear you have suffered much for my sake, Willie.”
He gave her a return of the old grin. “Oh ay,” he murmured.
But she knew that he would never be the same jaunty urchin he had been before he set out for London. Willie had grown up considerably since they had last met.
LORD HERRIES ARRIVED at Tutbury from London with those who had been acting as her Commissioners at the Conference. They were very grave, realizing fully how Mary’s position had deteriorated since the Conference.
At the little council meeting held in those evil-smelling apartments, Herries said: “We cannot go on in this way. We should try to bring Your Majesty out of England. I do not think that any good purpose can be served by your remaining here.”
“But how can I leave?” Mary wanted to know.
“Only by a demand from your Scottish nobles that you should do so. I do not think Elizabeth would risk war. Moray is her ally; we must depose him and his party and, once that is done, there can no longer be an excuse for keeping you here.”
“What do you propose?”
“That I return to Scotland with my brother-in-law, Cockburn.”
“Then I shall lose two of my most faithful friends.”
“Not lose them, Your Majesty. But merely allow them to be of greater service to your cause. Livingstone and Boyd will be here to advise you; and the Bishop of Ross can act as your envoy at the Court of Elizabeth. I am of the opinion that we could not serve you better.”
“I am sure you are right,” she told him. “Oh, my dear good friend, one thing I ask you, help to bring me out of this noisome place, for I believe that I shall not stay here long. I must either leave it soon on my two feet or be carried out in my coffin.”
Herries begged her not to despair, but he himself was very anxious, for he could see how the place was affecting her; and she had not recovered yet from the long journey through the ice-bound country from Bolton.
Herries and Cockburn left within a few days. Mary watched them from her window until they were out of sight. Herries, who had been her trusted friend; and as for Cockburn, his mansion and his village of Skirling had been completely destroyed by Moray in vengeance on one who was the very good friend of the Queen of Scots.
MARY WOULD SIT at her tapestry with her women; occasionally she would sing or play the lute. But each day she was more easily fatigued, and her friend watched her with misgivings. The Earl spoke to the Countess. “I am anxious,” he said. “Her health does not improve and she might well fall into a mortal sickness.”
“Nonsense,” retorted Bess. “She has but to adjust herself. What does she do all day but amuse herself! Look at me. Think of what I do. I am years older than she is.”
“I fear the rigors of Tutbury ill suit her.”
“We live at Tutbury, do we not? I’ll admit it is not the most sweet of our houses—but there is nothing to harm in a stink. If she had more to do she would be well enough.”
There was a knock at the door and, when Bess commanded whoever was there to enter, Eleanor came in.
She looked fearfully at the Countess but she was very much aware of the Earl.
“Well, girl?” said Bess sharply.
“My lady, there is a messenger below. He is asking for the Earl.”
“I will see him without delay,” said Bess. “Send him to me.”
Eleanor curtsied and retired, returning shortly with the messenger.
Bess imperiously held out her hand for the documents he had brought.
“Take this man to the kitchens and see that he is refreshed,” she commanded Eleanor who, curtsying once more, caught the eyes of the Earl on herself and flushed deeply.
Bess was too eagerly examining the documents to notice the demeanor of her serving-maid.
“Orders from the Queen,” she said, and the Earl came to stand beside her and look over her shoulder.
“Ah!” went on Bess. “So her friends are suspected of planning her escape. You see what you have done by showing your desire to pamper her. You have aroused our Queen’s suspicions. Depend upon it, George Talbot, we have to tread very warily if we are not to find ourselves in disgrace along with Scrope and Knollys.”
“What does Her Majesty require?”
“That Boyd and the Bishop are not to be allowed to remain with her or come to see her. They are to be banished at once to Burton-on-Trent.”
The Earl sighed. Poor Queen Mary! he was thinking. Here was another blow.
THE EARL MET ELEANOR BRITTON on the staircase near the Queen’s apartments.
She flushed and curtsied.
“Do you serve the Queen of Scots then?” he asked.
“I help her servants, my lord.” She added quickly: “It is the order of the Countess that I should do so.”
He nodded. “Poor lady, I fear for her health.”
“She is not happy at Tutbury Castle, my lord.”
“She has told you so?”
“We have all heard that it is so, my lord.”
There was the briefest of silences, and each felt drawn to the other through their sympathy for the Queen of Scots. This young girl, thought George Talbot, is aware of the Queen’s charm as Bess never could be. But then, of course, Bess never saw people or circumstances through any but her own eyes; it was an impossibility for her to put herself in any other’s place.
“I wish she could be moved to a healthier place,” he said, as though speaking to himself.
“Yes, my lord.” The girl was looking at him with an odd expression in her eyes. Was she telling him that he was the lord of Tutbury, the first guardian of the Queen? She made him feel strong, more powerful than he had felt for a long time . . . surely since his courtship of Bess of Hardwick.
He passed on, but he could not dismiss the maid from his thoughts. She was so young, scarcely more than a child, without doubt a virgin. She would not remain so long, perhaps. Even Bess could not prevent the men servants and the maidservants frolicking together.
He felt angry that a young girl should be exposed to such contamination.
Strange, this preoccupation with a serving girl—and a Queen. It was having an odd effect on him. He went straight to his private apartments and there wrote a letter to Elizabeth of England, in which he told her that he feared for the life of Mary Queen of Scots if she remained at Tutbury. Would Her Majesty agree to a removal to his nearby seat of Wingfield Manor where he felt sure the health of the Queen of Scots would be improved.
This he dispatched, telling Bess nothing of what he had done.
BESS STORMED into her husband’s apartment, and with an angry wave of her hand dismissed his servants.
When they were alone she held up a letter and cried: “Her Majesty writes that, in answer to your letter, she is agreeable that the Queen should be removed to Wingfield Manor until further notice.”
“Ah, I am glad. It is what Queen Mary needs.”
“So you wrote to Elizabeth?”
Although he had rehearsed this scene many times, knowing it was inevitable, now that the moment had come to face Bess, he found it difficult to do so.
He stammered: “I thought she would be ill pleased if the Queen were to die of her malady soon after coming under our care.”
“Die!” snorted Bess. “She has many years left to her.”
But she was not thinking of the Queen of Scots and her dilemma; what astonished her was to be confronted by such a disobedient husband.
She went on: “Do you think it was wise to suggest this move?”
“It was wise and humane,” answered the Earl firmly.
“The Queen will have a poor opinion of us if we continually present her with complaints.”
“The Queen knows us both well. She has long since formed her opinions of us.”
“She chose us for this task, and it is one well within our compass, if we are wise and do not allow ourselves to be duped by the wiles of one who, I understand, has but to give a man a smile to make him obey her.”
“She has not been very successful in making men obey her, poor lady.”
“Poor lady! Not so poor! She is waited on hand and foot. I am surprised, George, that you should have taken this step without consulting me.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Well,” he said mildly, “it is done. What we have to do now is prepare to leave for Wingfield Manor.”
Bess was watching him covertly. She had thought he would always be obedient to her wishes as her three earlier husbands had been. It was disconcerting to find him asserting his independence.
What could it mean?
Was he a little enamored of the Queen of Scots? She must be watchful. Bess was a woman who demanded a husband’s affection and devotion as well as obedience. She would not allow it to be said that Shrewsbury ceased to be a devoted husband when the Queen of Scots came under his roof.
That woman might bewitch other men but, Bess was determined, never George Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury.
