at Chatsworth, or where.”
Life fell once more into its old groove. No large conspiracy could be feared yet, in spite of Elizabeth’s postponement of Norfolk’s execution. But there remained always the undercurrent of lesser “practices.” Earl and Lady had their hands always full with detective work of this kind. Priests and conjurers, pedlars, porters, and even schoolmasters formed the roll of suspects. Scouts were always at work following their movements, hanging about taverns to hear gossip which might betray their doings, and searchers were employed to pounce upon any scrap of written stuff which might prove valuable “copy.” Some of the most emphatic witnesses against Mary—her own letters of conspiracy—were actually found hidden under a stone on a bit of waste ground. The messenger charged with them durst not carry them further at that moment and before he could remove them they were discovered. It was about this time that she was given permission to take her airing further than the leads and to walk out in the open. The snow lay on the ground and soaked her to the ankles, but she bore it cheerfully, and one wonders if she had knowledge of those hidden letters and whether she nourished a wild hope of finding them in their niche and setting them safely on their way. Secret and sinister were the warnings which Earl and Lady shared in that long cold spring at Sheffield. All travellers from across the Border were duly catalogued by the northern authorities and word passed from mouth to mouth of their appearance and activities. This was the sort of despatch which reached the castle: “A certain boy should come lately out of England with letters to the castle of Edinburgh and is to return back again within three or four days.... It were not amiss that my Lord of Shrewsbury had warning of him. His letters be secured in the buttons and seams of his coat. His coat is of black English frieze, he hath a cut on his left cheek, from his eye down, by the which he may be well known.”
All the dodges of such envoys—from the stitching of letters into linings and the hiding of a written message under the setting of a jewel to the use of bags with double bottoms where despatches could be kept “safe from wet and fretting” and sight—were known to the Shrewsburys. An evening spent in the kitchens and guardroom, an hour or so of conference with my Lady would open to reader and writer alike a world of sensational gossip “palpitating with actuality.” The captive Queen’s precarious health was a constant subject of discussion. Shrewsbury’s letters were bound to be full of it. Mary, who once more began to bombard Elizabeth with letters, suggested a trial of Buxton waters. She also busied herself anew with embroidery, contrived gifts for the Queen, and sent her a large consignment of French stuffs and silks. When packages of this kind arrived from France the Earl was always on the look-out. So careful was he in regard to his wife’s share in such parcels that he would not let her receive and pay for such goods until he had first communicated the exact details of the transaction to his royal mistress.
Neither French taffetas nor little embroidered caps could alter the decision of the Privy Council and reverse the position of the axe in regard to the Duke of Norfolk. His death took place in the glory of the early summer of 1572. Mary mourned and her health grew worse and worse. Yet, just when change was planned for her, and the castle had reached a condition almost too insanitary to endure, the news came of the massacre of St. Bartholomew. “These French tragedies and ending of unlucky marriage with blood and vile murders cannot be expressed with tongue to declare the cruelties.... These fires may be doubted that their flames may come both hither and into Scotland, for such cruelties have large scopes.... All men now cry out of your prisoner,” wrote Burghley to the Earl under supreme agitation. To which the latter replies later, “These are to advertise you that the Queen remains still within these four walls, in safe keeping.” The woods and wolds, he explains, are being scoured by his spies, and the number of the guard is increased by thirty. Clang of gate, clash of steel, roll of drum—the household music of the Shrewsburys knew nothing more harmonious than these noises. At stated intervals we hear the old burthen of sturdy self-vindication in such letters as the following to Burghley:—
“My very good Lord,
“I heartily thank your good Lordship for seeking to satisfy her Majesty in some doubts she might conceive of me and my wife, upon information given to her Majesty; your Lordship therein doeth the part of a faithful friend; so I have always trusted, and you shall receive no dishonour thereby. My services and fidelity to her Majesty are such as I am persuaded with assured hope that her Majesty, having proofs enough thereof, condemneth those who so untruly surmise, against my wife first, and now myself, either of us undutiful dealing with this Queen or myself of any carelessness in regard my charge. As before I crave trial of whosoever is here noted of any indirect dealing with this Queen, so do I again require at your Lordship’s hands to be amenable to her Majesty for due proof and punishment, as they merit, that her Majesty might be fully satisfied and quiet. And for my riding abroad sometimes (not far from my charge) in respect of my health only; it has been well known to your Lordship from the first beginning of my charge, and it is true I always gave order first for safe keeping of her with a sure and stronger guard, both within my house and further off, than when myself was with her. I trusted none in my absence but those I had tried; true and faithful servants unto me, and like subjects to her Majesty. I thank God my account of this weighty charge is ready, to her Majesty’s contentation. No information nor surmise can make me shrink. Nevertheless, henceforth her Majesty’s commandment for my continual attendance upon this lady shall be obeyed, as her Majesty shall not mislike thereof; and even so, my Lord, I say to that part of your letters wherein a motion is made to me; that (as in all my services hitherto) I had, nor seek, written contentment nor will, than shall stand her Majesty’s pleasure or her best service. And so, wishing to your Lordship as well as to myself, I take my leave.
“At Sheffield this 9th of December, 1572.
“Your Lordship’s ever-assured friend,
“G. Shrewsbury.
“I have presumed to write to the Queen’s Majesty to the same effect as to your Lordship.”