B009RYSCAU EBOK (2 page)

This book is dedicated to the memory of my grandmothers

Ruth Hedwig Matilda Herbold Bagwell

June 1, 1911–February 12, 2004

Charlotte Inez Prather Loverde

July 23, 1912–August 5, 1995

PROLOGUE

Twenty-fifth of March, 1603—Hardwick Hall, Derbyshire

S
HE STOOD AT THE WESTWARD-FACING WINDOW OF HER BEDCHAMBER
. The sun was poised to slip over the horizon, and its rays slanted across the rolling hills and fields as though in a last desperate attempt to cling to the rolling ball of the earth. The sky was shot with pink and gold, the underside of the drifting clouds aflame with the sun’s dying glory.

The queen was dead.

Bess found it hard to take in this fact. Since the messenger from her son William in London had arrived that afternoon her mind had seethed with thoughts and memories. Elizabeth, whom she had first met as a grave-faced girl of six, her dark anxious eyes in a pale face beneath the shining red hair—so like Bess’s own—standing like a small soldier in petticoats to meet the arrival of the stranger who would marry her father. Elizabeth, her face at twenty gaunt with suppressed terror at what she might suffer at the hands of her sister Mary, newly queen, though no one then could have guessed at the horrors the next handful of years would see. Elizabeth, her face alight with love as she gazed on Robert Dudley. Elizabeth, the wind from the sea whipping her skirts at Tilbury as she sat a-horseback, exhorting her troops. Elizabeth, as Bess had last seen her, in that July more than ten years earlier, the queen about to set off on progress to the West Country and Bess returning to Derbyshire, fleeing the plague that raged in London. The queen had turned then, caught Bess’s eye, smiled as she raised her hand in a wave of farewell.

Now Elizabeth was gone, reckoned an old woman, and she had been six years younger than Bess. And it was James of Scotland who would succeed her. Bess’s hopes and dreams and schemes of the last twenty-eight years, that it might be her granddaughter Arbella who sat on the throne, had finally been crushed in the dust. Well, what did it matter, when all was said and done? Arbella had broken her heart—only five days earlier Bess had revised her will, cutting out her granddaughter as well as her son Henry—and this news was but the final disappointment.

The sun was gone now, and dark fingers of shadow were reaching toward Hardwick Hall. Bess shivered, despite the voluminous folds of the heavy black wool of her gown, and drew her fur-lined robe tighter about her. She felt the cold so easily now and it seemed she could never get warm. Though today, Lady Day, the start of the new legal year, was deemed to be the first day of spring, the Derbyshire countryside was still wintry. And all this glass—her glorious windows, soaring up to the high ceilings—made Hardwick even colder than it would have been otherwise. What was it Robert Cecil had said about the house? Ah, yes.
Hardwick Hall, more window than wall.

A discreet cough interrupted her thoughts and she turned to see Robert Crossman, her master builder, who had come at her summons, hat in his hands as he made his bow.

“How may I be of service to your ladyship?”

Crossman had been with Bess for more years than she could recall, working first on Chatsworth, then on the alterations to the old manor at Hardwick, then through the ten years it had taken to build the new house, and then at Oldcotes, and he remained in her employ now, with a quarterly wage and the free lease of a farm. She noted his fingers, their knuckles rough and swollen, and the size of his hands, grown with the decades of hard work.

“Thank you for coming, Rob. I know it’s late.”

He smiled and gave a small shrug. “There is yet light to see by, your ladyship.”

She smiled in return. “So there is.”

She went to her writing desk and lifted the lid from the wooden box that sat atop a stack of papers. Suddenly she felt a little shy about the reason she had asked him to come. Shy? That was not an emotion that had visited her in decades. She met his eyes.

“I have these few things that I wish you to—to immure.”

“Immure?” He tasted the word cautiously.

“I would have you seal them within the wall.”

She reached into the box and hesitated before she lifted out a small shoe, the once-bright crimson of its leather faded and dry. It was not exactly shyness, she realized now. It was that the shoe and the other objects nestled in the box were her, in some way, and that showing them would reveal more of herself than she had done to any person in a long time. But she wanted to see these things once more before they were walled up, and she held the shoe aloft.

“Ah, a witch deposit!” Understanding gleamed in Crossman’s brown eyes, a grin creasing his face. “I have you now, your ladyship.”

“A witch deposit. I suppose you might call it that. Though I would not have you think that I give credence to sorcery and charms.”

“As you wish, your ladyship. But there’s no shame in the old ways, and better safe than sorry.”

Bess had a sudden recollection of old Joan, the searcher she had met so long ago in London, making the sign of the cross over the tiny bag of cloth tied tight with string, keeping a secret of its contents. That bundle lay within the box beside the other things she had gathered together. If it was not a charm, what was it?

“You’re right. I suppose I do wish to guard this house against evil. But it’s more than that. It’s to leave something of myself within these walls.”

She and Crossman both glanced around them. The cold gray stone of the chamber’s walls was mostly hidden by richly colored hangings, ceiling to floor, providing a layer of warmth against the bitter chill that settled into the very bones of the vast building and its glittering ice-cold windows, as it did into Bess’s own bones.

“Your ladyship is here in every inch of this great house,” Crossman said, smiling. “In every one of its forty-six rooms.”

Bess didn’t answer him. She pulled out each of the objects she had secreted within the oaken box and laid them on her desk. Each of them drew her thoughts back to a face no longer on the earth, a voice long silenced, a moment lost in the rushing stream of time, yet vivid within her memory.

She turned to Crossman. His face was placid, patient, lit by the flickering fire in the hearth as the shadows deepened around them. He, too, was a part of this place.

“You know I was born but spitting distance from where we stand?” she asked. Crossman’s eyes followed hers to where old Hardwick Hall stood silhouetted against the darkening sky. “What a long journey I have come, to end so close to where I began.”

Part One

DAUGHTER

CHAPTER ONE

Fourth of October, 1539—Hardwick Manor, Derbyshire

B
ESS
H
ARDWICK LEANED AGAINST THE CHIMNEY, ITS RED BRICKS
warm in the afternoon sun, gazing out over the landscape below. She loved the view from the roof of her family’s home, and today, on her twelfth birthday, she was treating herself to a short escape from her chores. The house was perched on a high hill, and from this vantage point she could see the sweep of the valley below and hills rising and falling into the distance, the River Derwent rushing between its banks, the meadows dotted with white and black sheep. Every time she climbed up to this secret corner of hers, there was always something new to see, some delightful change. In the spring the fields were vivid green, tiny lambs frisked behind ewes fat in their layers of wool, and ducklings paddled behind their mothers in the mill pond. Now, in the autumn, after the harvest, the fields were golden brown. The dusty scent of the earth rose to Bess’s nostrils, bringing vividly to her mind the prickle of the cropped stalks of wheat against her ankles when she ran through the fields, and the tingle of the river’s water on her feet. In a few months ice would grow at the edges of the river’s banks as if from nowhere, and creep toward the center until on especially cold days there would be a thin clear sheet covering the whole surface of the water, like a sparkling window onto the little world below.

Bess turned her gaze to the north, to the little church in the distance at Ault Hucknall. That was where her father was buried. He had died when she was only a few months old, and a painted glass window commissioned by her mother was the strongest reminder she had that her father had existed. From studying the window on Sundays as far back as she could recall, she had come to think of the Hardwick stag in the painting as representing her father personally, and she had memorized every contour of its haunches, every branch of its antlers, and every petal of the collar of eglantine around its neck, almost believing she could smell the wild roses’ petals.

The cackling of hens drew Bess’s attention downward and she saw her younger sister Alice come out of the henhouse with a basket of eggs and make toward the kitchen door. Alice looked around, and Bess knew that her sister was probably wondering where she was. She thought of the pans of milk she had set out in the kitchen. The cream would have risen to the top by now, and she must get to the churning. With a last glance at the golden horizon of the fields, she made her way to the little ladder that led down to where she could climb in a window. At the rear of the house, the smell of roasting goose met her and she smiled. Old Annabel, the cook, always made Bess’s favorite dishes for her birthday dinners.

* * *

T
HE HOUSEHOLD STILL ATE IN THE OLD-FASHIONED WAY, WITH
family and servants alike gathered in the great hall, though today the laborers were working in distant fields and had taken their dinners with them. As Bess’s stepfather had been in debtors’ prison since the previous year, her fourteen-year-old brother Jem, the nominal man of the house, was seated opposite their mother Elizabeth and said the prayer before the meal. Eleven-year-old Alice sat next to Bess with her head bowed, and across the table their little half sisters, Jenny, Dibby, and Meg, kept lifting their heads to peep at the steaming goose.

The blessing over, Annabel served out the food to cries of delight, and the children chattered happily, the birthday giving the dinner the sense of something special. When the main meal was finished, Annabel presented an apple tart swimming with cream. Bess closed her eyes and inhaled the scent, sweet and spicy. She was savoring her first bite when her mother clapped her hands for silence.

“Bess, I have some good news for you.” Bess sensed that some uncertainty lay behind her mother’s smile and she felt a prickle of foreboding. “Our kinswoman Lady Zouche has agreed to take you into her household at Codnor Castle as a lady-in-waiting.”

Bess’s spoon stopped midway to her mouth and she stared at her mother. Her two older sisters were attendants to their wealthy cousins the Wingfields, and she had vaguely known that someday her turn would come, but that someday had seemed far off.

She put her spoon down, the bite of tart untouched. Elizabeth placed a gentle hand on Bess’s cheek.

“Sweetheart, it’s a wonderful chance for you. There you will learn how to comport yourself in polite company, and how to run a household.”

Bess felt panic begin to rise within her. Go from Hardwick? From her mother, from Jem, from her sisters, from the hills and meadows and all she knew? Her throat was tight and tears were starting to burn in her eyes. She strove to keep her voice calm.

“I am learning that from you.”

“I mean a great household,” Elizabeth said, her eyes pleading. “You’ll meet many fine people. Perhaps you’ll even go to London.”

“London!” Alice squealed in excitement, but at the sound of her voice all Bess could think was that Alice, born after their father’s death and less than a year younger than Bess, had been her constant companion all her life and she could not bear to leave her.

“I won’t go,” she cried.

She swung her legs over the bench on which she sat, knocking into Alice, and bolted out the front door, slamming it in her wake. She ran for the barn, and climbed up into the hayloft, wanting to hide from anyone who followed her. She threw herself onto the sweet-smelling mass of hay, her face wet with tears. Shame and anxiety boiled within her. She knew her mother must have gone to great trouble to make the arrangements, and had nothing but her success and happiness in mind. But the thought of facing a household full of strangers filled her with dread. How would she know what to do? Why did she have to go, when everything she wanted was right here at Hardwick? She gave herself up to sobbing and cried until no more tears would come and her head ached with the weeping.

Just as she was steeling herself to return to the house, she heard footsteps below and peeked through the hatch to see Jem come into the barn. He picked up a saddle and disappeared from view as he approached the boxes where the gray mare Shadow and her colt Moth lived. The horses whinnied their welcome and Bess heard her brother speaking low and soothingly in reply. She wiped her nose on the sleeve of her smock before heaving herself through the hatch and climbing down the ladder. Jem glanced up at her.

“I thought that’s where you went.” He looked annoyed.

“Is Mam angry?”

Jem shook his head as he cinched the saddle onto Shadow’s back. “More sad than angered, I’d say.”

Bess felt another pang of guilt. She had disappointed her mother and ruined the birthday dinner for everyone.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“To Grandfather’s. Mam is thinking of selling Moth.”

“Not yet! She was going to sell him when he was a year old.”

Jem shrugged. Bess noticed how tall he had grown in recent months. He was almost a man now.

“I probably won’t be back until tomorrow,” he said, leading Shadow out into the sunlight.

Bess went to Moth’s side and stroked the colt’s neck, marveling at the ripple of the muscles beneath the smooth skin.

“We can’t let you go, can we?” she murmured, touching the velvety nose. Secretly she had hoped that her mother would keep the colt, and she was sad to think of parting with her companion. She knew she should go back into the house but didn’t think she could face her mother just yet. She scooped a bucketful of oats from a sack and poured it into the colt’s feedbox. He came to investigate and buried his nose in the treat, and she ran her fingers through his mane as he ate.

“Where did you get these burrs?” she murmured, picking one out of the coarse black hair.

When Moth had finished eating, Bess brushed him, putting her weight behind her shoulder as she made smooth, rhythmic strokes with the curry comb. Gradually she began to hum as the repetitive movement calmed her. Moth nickered quietly.

“You like the song, do you?” she asked, and sang softly to him.

Ah, the sighs that come from my heart

They grieve me passing sore,

Sith I must from my love depart

Farewell my joy forever more.

The pull of her shoulder muscles and the steady strokes were soothing as she worked steadily down his neck, chest, and body; the resulting shine, satisfying. Moth leaned into her as she worked.

Oft to me with her goodly face

She was wont to cast an eye,

And now absence to me in place?

Alas! For woe I die, I die.

Bess had nearly finished grooming Moth when she was startled by the sound of horses’ hooves clattering up the drive from the road. More than one horse, so it was not Jem coming back unexpectedly. And the riders were not approaching with the deliberate plodding walk that would presage a neighbor coming to call, but at a gallop that set the dogs to barking. The sound made her uneasy.

In a few moments she heard voices—men’s voices, unfamiliar—though she could not make out the words. And then a shriek and loud wailing—her youngest sister, three-year-old Meg. And now she heard her mother’s voice, raised in agitation.

Bess emerged from the barn and saw her mother standing at the door of the house, little Meg in her arms and five-year-old Dibby and seven-year-old Jenny peeping out from behind her skirts as she spoke to two strange men. They were dressed for travel, with cloaks and boots spattered with mud and dust, but their clothes, as well as the quality of their horses and the horses’ trappings, marked them as gentlemen. Toby, the little stable boy, held the horses’ reins, his face white with alarm. Elizabeth’s eyes darted from one man to the other, as if gauging which was the greater threat, and Bess set off toward her mother at a run.

“. . . already near a week late,” one of the men was saying as Bess came close enough to hear his words. The other man glanced her way as she stopped a few feet behind them, but he did not acknowledge her and turned back to Bess’s mother.

“I shall send the money as soon as I am able,” Elizabeth said, her attention divided between the men and the crying child in her arms. Bess didn’t know what to do. She was appalled by the look of helplessness in her mother’s eyes but also frightened of these imposing strangers. She wished Jem was there.

“And when will that be, mistress?” the first man demanded. He advanced toward Elizabeth, and when she took an instinctive step back, Bess’s fear turned to rage and she dashed toward them.

“Leave my mother alone!”

Both men swung toward her, blocking her path toward her mother. The one who had glanced at her before was younger, with cold blue eyes and dark hair. The other was gray haired and paunchy. Both looked impatient and annoyed.

“What’s the matter, Mam?” Bess asked, looking at her mother so she wouldn’t have to look at the men. She hoped they couldn’t tell that she was shaking.

“Nothing. Come into the house now.”

Bess went to her mother’s side but did not go into the house.

“The matter is very simple,” the gray-haired man said. “The rent was due upon Michaelmas, which is now four days past.”

“And I tell you I haven’t got it.” Elizabeth clutched the sobbing Meg closer to her.

The man grimaced.

“It is two pounds and eight shillings that must be paid, and if you cannot pay it in coin, we will take it in what form we can.” He glanced around. “That cow. We will take the cow.”

“And how am I to feed my children then?” Elizabeth cried. “My husband is already in prison for debt, though how imprisoning a man will enable him to pay his debts I don’t know.” Her voice sounded near to breaking.

“If you cannot pay what you owe, you will have to shift some other way,” the older man barked. “Take shelter with family.”

The younger man looked toward the barn. “I’ll see if there’s anything worth the taking.” His tone made it clear he was sure there was not, but he strode toward the barn.

Moth—the precious colt! Bess ran toward him, unheeding, and grabbed his arm. He whirled, his arm pulled back as if he would strike her.

“Stay away from there!” she shouted.

He laughed, incredulous. But he had stopped walking.

“There’s nothing there,” Bess said quickly. “The cow is all we have. And as my mother says, if we have not the milk, my sisters will go hungry.”

The man glowered down at her and then looked to his companion, throwing up his hands in exasperation.

“Let it be,” the other man sighed. “It’s more trouble than it’s worth to take a beast.”

He turned back to Elizabeth. “We’ll give you a fortnight. And then you must pay the rent, whether it be in coin, or grain, or something else of value.”

He stalked away, his boots grating harsh on the cobbles of the forecourt. The younger man snatched the horses’ reins from Toby. They mounted and swung their horses’ heads toward the road. The younger man stopped to stare down at Bess, his eyes hard. Her heart was pounding, but she fought the trembling that shook her and met his eyes.

“Perhaps we’ll take the little wench.” His eyes raked over Bess’s form and she thought her legs would buckle beneath her from fear. Then he laughed, spurred his horse, and both of the king’s men set off at a gallop, raising a cloud of dust.