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NINE
The moment Bess became a widow, all her pent-up energy surged to the fore in a great torrent. It was as if she had been living in a cage for over a year and suddenly the door had been opened. Only a week after Robert's funeral, Bess began to ride out over the countryside in spite of the bitter cold weather and Mistress Barlow's thin-lipped disapproval. Bess ignored her objections. Now that she was a widow, she had no one to answer to but herself. The wonderful feeling of freedom she experienced acted as a countervailing force to the sadness she felt at having lost Robert, whom she'd never truly viewed as her husband but had certainly considered her friend.
Because her husband had predeceased her, her marriage portion entitled her to one third of the Barlow farm. As the new year dawned, Bess felt like a different woman from the naive sixteen-year-old who had been coerced into marriage fourteen long months ago. On her next birthday she would be eighteen, but she felt a maturity far beyond her years.
Bess made a resolution that never again would she allow herself to be victimized or to let others decide her fate. From now on, she vowed, she'd command her own destiny. She had no idea that her resolute determination would be put to the test almost immediately.
In February the Court of Wards swooped down on the Barlow property to take it in wardship for George Barlow. Bess was at home when the Court's representative paid them a visit with his sheaf of legal papers and his superior, paternalistic attitude.
“Mistress Barlow?” he inquired, taking the best chair in the parlor.
Bess replied, “This is Mistress Arthur Barlow, and I am Mistress Robert Barlow.”
Her mother-in-law said sharply, “There is no need for you to be present, Bess. Barlow Manor has nothing to do with you.”
Bess was affronted and took the offensive immediately. “Actually, it has everything to do with me, since it belonged to my husband and my marriage portion entitles me to one third of the income.”
“That is a lie! My son was a minor when he wed you, and my husband died before he could give his consent to the marriage.”
Bess was outraged at the lie. Robert's mother was trying to cheat her of what was legally hers.
“Ladies, ladies, there is no need for unpleasantries. This is simply a formality. Since George Barlow is a minor, the Court will take the Barlow house and lands into wardship until the boy is of age.”
Bess shot to her feet, her eyes blazing. “The bloody Court will do no such thing! I have a legal document, signed by my husband's father, entitling me to my one-third bride's portion. I also have my husband's will, leaving the other two thirds of the Barlow farm to a trustee.”
“I know of no such will; where is it?” Mistress Barlow demanded.
“The legal documents are at my mother's home for safekeeping. If you would care to return tomorrow, sir, I will produce them for you. I bid you good day.”
Livid at the younger woman's high-handedness, the man gathered up his papers and departed. The minute the door closed, the two women confronted each other.
“You know damned well the marriage was just a ploy to keep us from losing the farm. I'll never let you have a third of the income!”
“You, madam, own nothing here. Robert suffered your presence here out of the goodness of his heart,” Bess pointed out. “I get one third of the income, and your son, George, owns the rest. Robert appointed my brother-in-law to hold it in trust for George. When I was six years old, I learned that the world owed me nothing and that I would have to stand firmly on my own two feet. Now it is time for you to learn that lesson. I will fight you and I will fight the Court of Wards for what is legally mine. And let me warn you, I will fight with no holds barred and use every means within my power!”
Bess swept upstairs to pack her belongings. When she was done, anger gave her the strength to haul her heavy trunk downstairs. With her head held high, Bess announced regally, “I shall return tomorrow with my legal documents and my legal witnesses. Good-bye and good riddance to you, madam.”
Bess felt only relief as she left Barlow Hall. She could no longer tolerate living with Robert's mother, now that he was gone. In her heart London was calling to her once again, but first she would fight for the monetary compensation to which she was legally entitled.
When Bess arrived at her mother's, all welcomed her with open arms, and since her two sisters were now married, she was given a small bedroom of her own. A message was dispatched to Jane and her husband, Godfrey Boswell, who came immediately.
“What in the world can the woman hope to gain by denying your marriage portion to the official from the Court of Wards?” Bess's mother asked. “Surely she doesn't want the entire farm to be held until young George Barlow is twenty-one?”
Bess's aunt Marcy announced, “I have the answer! I have heard that Mistress Barlow has found herself a man —one who intends to buy George's wardship—and the pair of them are not satisfied with only two thirds.”
Godfrey Boswell spoke up. “Robert's will made me trustee. I am legally in charge of the Barlow farm until George comes of age.”
The following day the entire family accompanied Bess to confront the Court of Wards' official. When he demanded that Bess turn over her legal document concerning her marriage portion along with Robert's will, she adamantly refused. Finally, she agreed to make him exact copies of the documents, and he left, telling them he would take the matter under advisement and the administration would have to sort it all out before the matter could be settled.
When three months had passed and Bess had heard nothing, she began to realize her marriage jointure was firmly enmeshed in the legal machinery of the Court of Wards and she would never get her settlement so long as it was the subject of legal wrangling.
As she lay in bed one night, the words of William Cavendish came back to her: You should have had a lawyer. They are costly, but worth every penny. The side with the better lawyer always wins. Bess suddenly realized she needed the services of a lawyer, but without money she knew none would take her case.
The next morning Bess saddled her horse and rode out in the warm May sunshine. The hedgerows were awash with wildflowers, and as she left the village behind, she saw that the Derbyshire dales were dotted with sheep and new lambs. Bess knew she was going to her favorite place in the world.
She drew rein on the summit of the hill that overlooked Chatsworth. I got up early so I could taste the day. Up here the air is crisp and clear, like fine wine, and the view is forever! Bess had been convinced that here in the rarefied air she would be able to think better and decide what she must do. If it's going to be, it's up to me. Bess had never had anything handed to her in her life, and she wasn't afraid to fight for what she wanted.
Gradually, an idea stole to her. She needed power behind her, and who was the most powerful man in the north of England? The Earl of Shrewsbury, of course! He was the lord lieutenant of Derbyshire, and his magnificent Sheffield Castle was only a dozen miles north of this very spot. The idea was an audacious one, but Bess knew she had never been short of audacity!
