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“The auditor's final report claims there is a discrepancy in my accounts of over five thousand pounds.”
“Five thousand pounds?” she repeated incredulously.
“Paulet seemed satisfied with my explanations, but I doubt the queen will be.”
“Have you been charged yet?”
“No, but I fully expect to be. The queen wants to be rid of me. She is determined to replace all those about her in office. This is the means she will use.”
Bess clenched her fists. “We'll fight her!”
“I contacted the lawyers, and I must now prepare my defense.”
“I'll help you, William. I'm going back to London with you. This is no time for you to be alone.”
Cavendish wanted to be sure she fully understood. “Bess, if I am not cleared of the charge and have to pay the five thousand, we will have to sell everything—Chats-worth, the London house.”
“William, I don't care about Chatsworth, I care about you! My God, if you are not cleared of the charge, they could send you to prison!” She jumped up and wrapped her arms about him.
“You've not asked me if I'm guilty.”
Bess laughed through her tears. “I don't need to ask, you are such a damned rogue!”
“Do you hate me?”
“Hate you? I am far more guilty than you. You merely diverted the funds; I am the one who spent them!”
Bess and William traveled to London the first week of September. They trusted each other implicitly and decided they were in this together. They had always had friends in the highest places, who would willingly have used their influence for them, but the friends they had cultivated were all staunch Protestants and were themselves in Catholic Mary's disfavor.
Bess accompanied William on his frequent visits to the lawyers, and she had her say. “Do you realize how much of our income is paid to you in lawyers' fees each year? It is more than we spend on building! And we have never begrudged you a penny of it.”
“Lady Cavendish, we pledge to do our utmost.”
“That is all I ask, gentlemen.”
The formal charges were laid against Sir William Cavendish on October 1. One week later he went before the queen's judges in the Star Chamber with his secretary, Robert Bestnay, and his lawyers to answer the charges. He put forth his own defense, and then his lawyers asked for leniency because of his past loyalty and service to the Crown. They hoped to get the debt reduced to one thousand pounds.
The Queen's council owed their loyalty to Mary. Suffolk, Warwick, Somerset, and Seymour had all gone to the block, and the Earl of Shrewsbury was too old to be in London. It took fifteen long days before Cavendish was called to Court again. The waiting seemed endless, the pressure intolerable.
Finally, on October 23 he was called back. Cavendish was told that his defense was unacceptable to the queen. A quick consultation with his lawyers did him little good. They told him it was pointless to deny the charges and that his only recourse was to beg for mercy. He argued with them, but in the end he was forced into the humiliation of pleading guilty and throwing himself on the mercy of the court. His lawyers pleaded his case, saying that if Sir William was forced to repay the full amount, he would be ruined financially and he and his children would end their days in penury.
When he arrived home that night, William was in a rage. He cursed his lawyers for fools. He told Bess, “I was forced into a humiliating theatrical performance that got me absolutely nowhere.”
Bess saved her curses for the queen, and William joined her, ranting and raving for hours. “After all the service I've given to the Crown, all the royal coffers I've filled, doing their dirty work for them, this is the thanks I get!”
“William, I don't care about the debt; I care about you!” It was inevitable that the Crown would recover the debt, but they had not handed down their punishment yet. Bess feared that William would be sent to prison. He could even be sent to the block. Bess pushed the terrifying thought away.
She did not fall asleep until the early hours of the morning.
Bess awoke, terrified. The room was empty, stripped bare. She ran downstairs and found the bailiffs carrying off everything she possessed in the world. Bess begged and pleaded and cried, all to no avail. Outside, her beautiful possessions were being piled on a cart. They had been put out of their house and had nowhere to go. Fear washed over her in great waves. Panic choked her. When she turned around, the cart was gone, her family was gone, and even Chatsworth had vanished. Bess had lost everything she had in the world. The suffocating terror mounted until it engulfed her, the waves of fear almost drowning her.
The hollow, empty feeling inside her belly was like a ravenous hunger, only worse: William was gone! She was overwhelmed with helplessness, hopelessness.
Bess shot up in bed, knowing she had had the old nightmare. William was not beside her, and the panic of the dream was all too real. Then she saw him across the room and knew immediately that something was wrong. He was clutching his chest and trying to pour himself some wine.
Bess sprang from the bed and ran to him. “William!” By the time she reached him, the pain had driven him to his knees. The goblet fell from his hand and the red wine spread across the carpet like blood. Bess cried out for James Cromp, who came running. “Help me get him to bed, James.”
“It's easing,” William gasped as he lay back against the pillows. “I'll be fine.”
