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TWENTY-EIGHT
When news of the death of the Earl of Shrewsbury was brought to Court that winter, Bess was deeply saddened. She was convinced that this was what her premonition had been about. Death sometimes had a foreshadowing that could not be denied. These days she never allowed her thoughts to dwell on Lord Talbot, but after the news of his father's death, she could not get him out of her mind.
Queen Elizabeth declared a day of mourning for her premier earl, and Bess put on her black dress whose sleeves were embroidered with gold leaves and acorns. She sat down to pen a letter of condolence to Talbot but had no idea what she would say to him. She ran her fingers over the soft material of the gown and saw herself reclining on the window seat in the magnificent black and gold bedchamber at Shrewsbury's house.
Then, though it hadn't happened, she pictured the dress lying abandoned on the carpet while she lay in Talbot's arms, oblivious to the world and everyone in it. They had all but become lovers that afternoon. He had been on the brink of domination, and she had been on the verge of submission. Whenever they saw each other, they engaged in the compelling steps of some strange mating dance. What was the irresistible lure that drew them together?
It was purely a physical thing, Bess told herself, that was the reason it was so seductive. If they had coupled, would they have touched each other's hearts or souls? She would never know. With an effort Bess abandoned her daydreaming and focused on the letter she must write.
When she reread the condolence letter, it was formal and stilted, and to her dismay she had addressed it to Lord and Lady Talbot. But he was Lord Talbot no longer. He was now Sixth Earl of Shrewsbury, lord lieutenant of Derbyshire, Nottingham, and Yorkshire, and the chief justice north of the Trent. As well as wielding immense power, he was the wealthiest man in the realm. A smile touched the corners of her lips. He had been dominant and autocratic before; what in the name of God would he be like now? Bess quickly rewrote the letter to the Earl and Countess of Shrewsbury and signed it Sir William and Lady Elizabeth St. Loe.
When Frances Grey, Duchess of Suffolk, died suddenly in the spring, Bess was devastated. She cried for days, and the only thing that brought her out of her grief was the thought of her friend's daughter, young Lady Catherine Grey, who was now all alone in the world. When Catherine was growing up, Bess had often mothered her and called her poppet, and the young woman now turned to Bess for comfort.
Catherine was a lady of the queen's Privy Chamber, rather than a lady-of-the-bedchamber, and Elizabeth made a special show of taking her late cousin Frances's daughter under her protective royal wing. Queen Elizabeth discussed Catherine's plight with Bess.
“The thought occurred to me that I might adopt Catherine; what do you think, Bess?”
“Adopt, Your Majesty? Lady Catherine has just turned twenty-one; surely she is too old to be adopted.”
“Mayhap you are right, but it would certainly send a strong message to that presumptuous Mary Stuart that there are other heirs to my Crown of England besides herself!”
Bess hid her feeling of cynicism. She should have realized that Elizabeth seldom did anything unless it enhanced her political position. Elizabeth was a master of deceit and loved the role. Bess gathered her courage. She had promised her friend Frances that she would ask the queen to allow Catherine to marry. Here was her opportunity. She took a deep breath and plunged in.
“Your Majesty, I believe Frances would want you to find a suitable husband for Catherine. Queen Mary declared that Lady Catherine Grey must never wed, and Frances wrote to her, begging her to alter that cruel edict.”
“Cruel? I see nothing cruel about it. Rather, it was politically astute of my sister. Lady Catherine Grey is the heiress presumptive to my throne. It would be suicidal of me to permit her to marry and produce heirs of her body. It would be an open invitation for some madman to pull me from my throne and replace me with another. I will hear no more from you on this subject! Do I make myself clear, Lady St. Loe?”
“Crystal clear, Your Majesty.” Bess realized that Elizabeth was a queen first and foremost, a woman second, and a woman of compassion almost never.
Bess was in low spirits. She was superstitious and believed that death always came in threes. Shrewsbury had died, and then her dearest friend, Frances, who had been so generous to her in the early days. Bess found herself wondering fearfully who would be next. Who would be the third to die?
Bess wasn't alone in her superstition; the Court was steeped in it. Mary Sidney told her of an astrologer her sister Kitty had consulted, so Bess asked Mary to arrange for him to come to Court. It would be an evening of entertainment, held in the St. Loe apartment, with just a few intimate friends.
Lettice Knollys and Catherine Grey came, as well as Mary Sidney and her sister, Kitty, along with their brothers Robin and Ambrose Dudley. The astrologer, Hugh Draper, who was also rumored to be a sorcerer, arrived with his two assistants. They gave everyone present a sphere and then proceeded to cast each guest a horoscope for their future.
All those present were relieved that no deaths were foreseen, but an amazing number of marriages were predicted. Robin Dudley, Lettice Knollys, Catherine Grey, and even Bess had future marriages show up on their spheres. The evening was declared a success, and everyone left in a happy state of mind. This all changed, however, the following night when Bess and Sir William supped together.
St. Loe had something to tell Bess, and he waited until Otewell Greves cleared the table and poured them wine.
“Bess, a few days ago my brother came up to London, and I informed him that I intend to change my will and leave all my lands to you.”
“Oh, Will, I know he will make trouble for us, I feel it in my bones.” Bess set down her wine goblet and clutched her stomach. “Dear God, I feel it in my belly!” she said shakily.
Sir William gulped down the contents of his goblet and rushed around the table to Bess. “Dearest, what is it?”
Bess moaned and gripped the edge of the table. “Will … the pain is cutting me in half … it feels as if I've been poisoned!” She tried to stand but was taken by a spasm of agonizing cramps and rolled to the floor, pulling the tablecloth and its contents down with her.
Otewell Greves came running. “Fetch Cecily, her maid,” Syntlo shouted in panic. “Fetch the queen's doctor!” Suddenly, Sir William himself doubled over with gripes. “The food or the wine has been poisoned!” he gasped.
Bess bit her lips to keep from screaming at the searing, burning pain that knifed through her. “Cecily, quick, bring olive oil!” Bess held her nose and gulped down a few mouthfuls of oil, then immediately began to vomit. By now her husband was rolling about the carpet with his knees drawn up to his chin. “Will, drink the olive oil!” Bess cried between bouts of spewing.
They were put to bed in separate bedchambers, and the Court physicians eventually came to tend them. The doctors concluded that indeed Lord and Lady St. Loe had been poisoned, and if it had not been for a remedy of sorts being at hand, the lady might have died. Sir William's condition was far graver than his wife's, however, and the doctors did not know if he would recover.
Within two days Bess was on her feet and helping to tend Sir William, who lay listless, with a green-tinted pallor. She dosed him with syrup of balm to soothe the irritated lining of his stomach and prayed fervently that her husband would not be the third person to succumb in the trinity of death.
Syntlo's recovery was excruciatingly slow, and Bess tended him with loving hands and gentle patience. His liver had been affected by the poison and he became yellow and jaundiced, but gradually Bess nursed him back to health. She noticed immediately that the ordeal had aged him, and her heart was filled with pity when he did not regain his former wiry strength.
The queen ordered an immediate inquiry into the disturbing near-tragedy that had taken place at her Court. Elizabeth, who had a morbid fear of poison and ate and drank as little as possible, always used a food taster for anything that passed her lips. Suspicion immediately fell upon the astrologer, Hugh Draper, who was the only stranger who'd had access to the St. Loe rooms.
