William Shakespeare as He Lived: An Historical Tale

by Henry Curling

Clara de Mowbray had in her early youth, beside the unfortunate Charlotte Clopton, one other dear and valued friend, the unhappy Countess of Leicester. This beautiful woman, whom the dark Earl had become enamoured of whilst her first husband was alive, he was reported to have "played most foully for." He was said, indeed to have poisoned Walter, Earl of Essex, in order to gain her hand.

The sorrowful Countess, who had ample leisure to repent of her second marriage, had been greatly attached to Clara, and frequently when she could escape from the splendid cares, "the glistering grief," of her own home, had been wont to pour her sorrows into the ear of the heiress. She had consequently been the only person, except the eccentric Martin, who was the entire confident of Clara. She had known of her attachment, and also had been privy to her adventure in search of her lover; she also knew of her determination to retire from the world it she succeeded, and in common with the world, she imagined Clara had perished in the attempt; but as she had been sworn to secresy by her young friend, ere she departed, so she had faithfully kept counsel.

Now, however, but a few days before the Earl of Leicester's death, to her astonishment, in the disguised individual who sought her at Kenilworth, the Countess beheld her dearly-loved friend, accompanied by the long lost Martin. How they had escaped from shipwreck and all the "portance of their travelled history," the Countess had small time to learn, for soon after their arrival she herself was summoned to the sick Earl at Cornbury Park.

The Countess, however, had granted Clara the boon she asked,—a letter to the Queen in favour of Arderne; and this letter, together with the applications of Essex and Southampton, had procured Walter's release; after which, together with the faithful Martin, Clara again sought retirement at Kenilworth.

And, oh! if that splendid record of pride and power could have spoken, what tales of sorrow and suffering, as well as of grandeur, what proofs of unbridled power could it have told. Those magnificent buildings of Leicester, where such princely revels had been held—how could they have uttered forth a wailing lament over the wickedness of unchecked and headstrong will! Those gaudy and tapestried chambers, the last built, the first to go to decay—how well could they have divulged the whispered deceit of human nature, the cunning and the baseness of the parvenu Earl who reared them!

For one hour those rooms had "blazed with light, and bray'd with minstrelsy," how many dark and melancholy weeks had they to tell of, whilst sorrow and whispered horror, and surmise that "dared not speak its fear," had reigned there! How had the very domestics feared the descending shadows in those vast rooms, and where the night-shriek "disturbed the curtain sleep!" Deeds of evil note had had their reign in those chambers. The wail of sorrow had been heard oft-times in the long winter's nights, in the dungeons of that castle; and, even to her who was the mistress there, that bright castle-lake, the fair scene without, all had been looked upon from those arched windows with eyes that marked not their beauty,—she, who was the wife of their possessor, slept there in fear.

Through the instrumentality of Essex and Southampton, on becoming better known to those chivalrous men, Arderne had been so much liked, that they had introduced him to the Queen; and Elizabeth was so struck with his handsome form and gallant bearing, that she had taken him into favour, and employed him in her service.

The national spirit of England had been so much, aroused by the Spanish invasion, that nothing less than some attempt at retaliation would satisfy the people. Don Anthonia, titular King of Portugal, was a suppliant at the English Court for assistance to establish him on the throne of his ancestors; and as Elizabeth rather relished the policy, albeit she liked not the cost of such a measure, she gave leave to her subjects to fit out an expedition for the liberation of Portugal from the Spanish yoke, always providing they did it at their own proper charge, she lending them ships of war.

This expedition the valiant Arderne resolved, at a hint from the Queen, to join; and, albeit he was forbidden to have anything to do with it by the doating Queen, the rash and headstrong Essex also resolved to play the knight-errant, and, escaping from the silken fetters of his courtly mistress, as a simple volunteer accompany the expedition.

Clara de Mowbray, meantime, was the guest of her early friend, Lettice, Countess of Leicester, at Kenilworth; the Countess, during the period of her mourning, being resident at the castle. Some three weeks had passed away since the Earl's death, and even in that short space, many events bad transpired. Arderne was released from all graver charges; Grasp, although discomfited, terrified and conscience-stricken, was still endeavouring to make a good fight for his client; and Shakespeare was returning to his wife and family. True to his resolve, after his own return to Stratford-upon-Avon, Grasp as soon as he recovered himself, had hastened to Charlecote with intelligence that the "sometime deer-stealer" was at length forthcoming, and would but Sir Thomas give fresh instructions, he, Grasp, would still pursue the delinquent, and bring him to condign punishment.