A Woman of Passion (31 page)

“Hell's teeth, you are right as always. Oh, how fortunate that we got rid of Northaw and put the money into Chatsworth.”

In spite of the gravity of their situation, William laughed. “Christ, Bess, you are always so damned practical.”

“And who taught me?”

“Well, I did do something expedient. Paulet and I
pledged our own money to raise a force to aid Mary. I had to borrow seven hundred pounds, but that was exceedingly cheap insurance.”

“She will keep Paulet as lord treasurer because he's Catholic.”

“Yes, I'm hoping our close association will save me.”

“William, I have a brilliant idea—we will turn Catholic! It will cost little to add a priest to our household.”

“Don't you think that's a little too expedient?”

“No, it's a very wise thing to do. What does our religion matter if it safeguards our children and all they will inherit?” Her hand went protectively to her belly.

“Bess, you're not breeding again?”

“And if I am, whose fault would that be?” she flared.

“Christ, you're so fecund, all I have to do is look at you.”

“You do a hell of a lot more than look at me, Rogue Cavendish.”

He held up the towel for her. “Are you angry at me?”

“Not over the baby.” She lifted her mouth to his for a hungry kiss. “Anyway, I'm not certain yet.”

He wrapped her in the towel and lifted her from the water. “In that case I'd better take you to bed and make sure of it,” he said with a devilish grin.

Both Bess and William thought it politic that she remain in London, at least for the new queen's coronation, which was being planned for August 3. Bess couldn't wait to see Elizabeth again and decided that before she returned north she would find a way to see Frances also.

Elizabeth traveled from Hatfield to meet her sister at Wanstead, join her procession, and escort the new queen into London. Along the way noble and commoner alike
joined Princess Elizabeth's retinue, until her escort numbered about one thousand by the time she met Mary.

Mary noted that Elizabeth showed her every respect when she made her obeisance, but she did not trust the girl. And as Elizabeth rode directly behind the new queen, wearing virginal white, with her glorious red-gold hair cloaking her shoulders, Mary became sullenly jealous and wondered for whom exactly the populace was cheering so wildly.

The day after her state entrance and coronation, there was a reception at Whitehall that filled the Great Hall, the Guard Chamber, and the Presence Chamber, where all Queen Mary's loyal subjects came to bend the knee, to pledge to be her obedient servant, and to wish her God's blessing.

Lady Cavendish, resplendent in Tudor colors of green and white, made her curtsy. Queen Mary did not speak to her, but when her agate eyes flicked over her, Bess experienced an involuntary shudder. Shrewdly, Lady Cavendish retired from the Presence Chamber, leaving Sir William in the company of Treasurer Paulet.

Bess found Elizabeth in the Guard Chamber, surrounded by so many younger nobles, it looked as if she were holding her own Court.

“Lady Cavendish, walk with me.”

The two striking redheads left the chamber to seek a more private place. Since Whitehall had over two thousand rooms, it was not difficult. “Your Grace, you look radiant.”

“Today I am heir to the throne, but I have never been in a more dangerous position in my life. Robin Dudley is in the Tower—she holds his life in her hands!”

“Cavendish believes that all blame will be laid at John Dudley's feet and eventually she will pardon the others.”

“I dare not plead his case; she hates me. She has supreme authority and will force me to Mass,” Elizabeth hissed.

“Your Grace, for your own safety you must obey her in all things,” Bess advised, fearing Elizabeth's disobedience.

“I must
seem
to obey her in all things. When she forces me to Mass I shall faint in the chapel, and that will send a signal to every Protestant in the realm that I attend under protest.”

“Cavendish and I are going to outwardly conform.”

“The venomous bitch is already spreading it about that I am not related to her by blood—that I am Mark Smeaton's by-blow!”

Bess took Elizabeth's hand and squeezed it. “Your Grace, no one seeing you can ever deny that you are Henry Tudor's daughter. People will know she is eaten alive with envy for your youth and your beauty. Your very aura is regal, and you draw every eye.”

“Aye, that is the problem. As soon as I may, I shall withdraw to Hatfield, live quietly as a nun, and bide my time.”

During the following week William and Bess discussed their future. His position with the treasury seemed safe at the moment, but as they had just seen, circumstances could change overnight.

“Derbyshire is a far safer place than London. Buying Chatsworth was the wisest thing you ever did, William.”

“We should expand our holdings in the north. The Earl of Westmorland has eight thousand acres of good pastureland for sale, only a few miles from Chatsworth. It
would make us the biggest landowners in Derbyshire— after Shrewsbury, of course.”

“We cannot afford it!” Bess knew their expenditures were already greater than their income, for she kept a strict accounting of what they took in from their northern land holdings and what they paid out for the building of Chatsworth.

“I'll borrow the money from William Parr. My bribes of office will take care of the payments.”

When Bess looked shocked, his eyes filled with amusement. “Don't be such a little hypocrite; when it comes to business you are quite capable of being ruthless. When you do the accounting, don't put down the interest we pay Parr on the loan. Usury is strictly against the law.”

Almost immediately, marriage negotiations began between Queen Mary and Prince Philip of Spain. Bess hoped the marriage plans would occupy all the queen's thoughts and she would not waste her time plotting revenge. Bess heaved a great sigh of relief when Cavendish proved to be right about Lady Frances Grey's influence with her cousin, the queen. Henry Grey was released from the Tower by paying a heavy fine, and before Bess returned north she and William went by barge to Suffolk House to visit their old friends.

Bess did not know it, but it was the last time that she would ever see Henry Grey. Within a year of his release, Henry became involved in a plot to depose Queen Mary and set Elizabeth on the throne. When the revolt was over, Mary had Grey beheaded and for good measure sent his daughter Lady Jane to the block as well.

Princess Elizabeth was taken to the Tower and interrogated
about her role in the treasonous plot. Her life hung by a thread for three long months, then she was released and sent to Woodstock, under guard.

Bess agonized over the Greys' tragedy, and William felt impotent that he had been able to do nothing to aid his friend. Bess could not get Elizabeth out of her mind and worried for her constantly. Bess herself was so safe and insulated here in Derbyshire, she was covered with guilt because the Cavendish fortunes seemed to be on the rise. Not only had she added to her nursery each year, everything they touched prospered. Their vast landholdings earned them a great income, and two full stories of Chatsworth were now complete, right down to the exquisite plasterwork frescoes. Bess filled her new home with the treasures she had been accumulating for years and entertained the great noble families in the northern shires.

Bess hadn't the faintest idea that because of their close association with the Greys and her close friendship with Elizabeth, the Cavendishes were in Queen Mary's disfavor.

Stories of the splendor of Chatsworth began to reach the queen's ears. It was said that Lady Cavendish had furnished fourteen bedchambers en suite with matching drapes, bed hangings, and covers, and that she displayed no less than sixty pieces of magnificent tapestry on Chatsworth's walls. Rumor said the ostentatious house was fit to entertain a monarch, but no invitation was ever extended to Queen Mary. When she learned that Frances Grey and her daughter Catherine were welcome visitors, along with Nan Dudley, it was like a slap in the face. These women had been married to Mary's bitterest enemies, who had gone to the block for plotting treason against her.

Eventually, Cavendish began to hear whispers of the queen's displeasure. Moreover, her Catholic policies were unpopular, which she blamed on her advisers, and it was hinted that for political reasons she was going to rid herself of these officials. Sir William began to suspect that sooner or later she would remove him from the privy council.

William was determined to keep all this rumor and speculation from Bess. She worried about things unnecessarily, and he wanted only her happiness. He would not disturb her peace of mind for anything. She was a perfect wife, a loving, indulgent mother, a superb hostess, and a capable chatelaine and business partner, who, with the aid of her bailiffs, ran their northern landholdings smoothly and efficiently.

Cavendish was determined not to add to her burden; she had quite enough on her plate. Philosophically, William reasoned that if he was replaced on the privy council, it would not be the end of the world and he would be able to spend more time in Derbyshire with his family. When he received a letter from Chatsworth, telling him that Bess was ill, William's priorities fell into line in a hell of a hurry. He set his London worries aside and rushed home to Bess.

He rode through the tall iron gates of Chatsworth, oblivious to the magnificent formal gardens that usually gave him such pleasure. Jane and Marcella greeted him with anxious faces, but when William saw that Bess's mother was there, a knot of fear twisted his gut. He took the stairs three at a time, then paused to catch his breath and compose himself so Bess would not see his panic.

He opened the door softly and stepped quietly up to the big carved bed. She lay so pale and wan, painful anxiety rose up like a hand squeezing his heart and clutching
his throat. He swallowed hard. “Bess, my own sweet love, it's me.”

“Rogue,” she whispered.

She always used his nickname as an endearment, and it almost undid him. He reached out to gently touch her brow and felt that she was feverish. The change in her appearance greatly alarmed him. Bess was always so vivid and vital, always laughing. When she played with the children she was a hoyden—so wildly disheveled, no one would have ever guessed she was old enough to be their mother. Then in the evenings she would transform herself into an elegant, fashionable hostess, so slyly witty she could hold court amid a roomful of high-born nobility. When they retired she would let down her glorious hair and become a passionate seductress, making him reel from the hot desire she kindled in him.

Bess clutched at him and William sat down on the side of the bed, realizing that she desperately wanted to tell him something.

“The children,” she whispered.

“You want to see the children, darling?” He knew they would swarm all over the bed and he would have to keep them in check.

Bess shook her head as if she were impatient that he didn't understand. “Promise me that you will make good marriages for them, promise me!”

He wondered if she was delirious and stroked her brow, but she was not burning hot and her words seemed to be coherent. “I want titles for every one of them.”

“Yes, love,” he soothed, trying to calm her agitation.

She dug her nails into his hands. “Cavendish, promise me! Swear it!”

He suddenly realized that Bess thought she was going to die. Splendor of God, did she feel that ill? He was
astounded that her thoughts were not for herself, but for their children. The lump in his throat threatened to choke him. He gathered her into his arms. “Bess, I swear it, but I also swear you are not going to die. I won't allow it! You are only in your twenties—you have a long life ahead of you. I need you, Bess, don't even think about leaving me.” He strode to the door. “Marcella!” She was a spry old girl and arrived quickly. “Have you had the doctor?”

Marcella made a rude noise. “Aye, but after his blood-letting, I swore not to have him back.”

“Have you given her something for her fever?” he asked desperately.

“Of course I have—I am an herbalist!”

“She is so agitated,” he said distractedly.

“Bess will be all right now that you are here, Cavendish. You are her bulwark, her strength.”

“I'll sit up with her tonight.”

“Good. You are all that she needs.”

William tenderly bathed his wife, then gently fed her more of the potion that Marcella had brewed. Then he carried a big chair to the side of the bed and prepared to guard her all night from the angel of death. He was not a religious man, but when she smiled at him and closed her eyes, he covered her hand, which was so precious to him, and began to pray. Bess was his shining light; she had brought a radiance he had never experienced into his life, where before there had often been darkness. Bess was his passion, his joy, his life.

At dawn Bess fell into a more peaceful sleep, and William levered his big frame from the chair and left the chamber for a moment so he could stretch his long limbs.
The household was already awake, and William found Bess's mother, aunt, and sister gathered in the morning room.

“Bess is sleeping; she seems a little better.”

Her mother went up immediately, but Marcella fixed him with a daunting stare. A more fainthearted man would have been intimidated.

“Cavendish”—there would be no deferential
Sir William
from this old war-horse—“she's had too many children in too few years. Her last babies were only eleven months apart. Curb yourself, man!”

Her words not only quelled him, they covered him with guilt.

When Marcella swept from the room, Jane was blushing to the roots of her hair. “Sir William, I beg you pay no heed to her. Bess was visiting a tenant farmer's wife who was sick with a pestilent fever. When the woman's children caught it, Bess helped nurse them.”

“Thank you, Jane. Nevertheless, there is truth in Marcella's blunt words,” William acknowledged guiltily.

Within two days Bess was vastly improved. The fever left as quickly as it came, and as soon as she began to eat, her energy returned. She took William on long walks around the acres of gardens, where long avenues of trees had been planted and where formal landscaping had transformed surrounding meadows into herb gardens, lawns, stone-edged terraces, and parterres, where the flower beds formed intricate patterns. William drew up a plan to divert a small branch of the River Derwent to run through the gardens and form a trout stream that would cascade into a series of ornamental ponds. It was a safety
measure so their lands would not be flooded in times when the river rose.