“Margaret Lennox.
“To the Right Honourable my very good Lord and friend, the Lord-Treasurer of England.”
It is unfortunate that one of the enclosures, the letter from Leicester, is not to be found, for it would have been interesting to read that gentleman for once in a mood that was not suave and reassuring.
The letter to Leicester gives a graphic description of her uncomfortable journey across flooded country:—[[30]]
“Huntingdon, December 3, 1574.
“My very good Lord,—The great unquietness and trouble that I have had with passing these dangerous waters, which hath many times enforced me to leave my way, which hath been some hindrance to me that hitherto I have not answered your Lordship’s letters chiefly on that point wherein your Lordship, with other my friends (as your Lordship says) seems ignorant how to answer for me. And being forced to stay this present Friday in Huntingdon, somewhat to refresh myself, and my overlaboured mules, that are both crooked and lame with their extreme labour by the way, I thought good to lay open to your Lordship, in these few lines, what I have to say for me, touching my going to Rufford to my Lady of Shrewsbury, both being thereunto very earnestly requested, and the place not one mile distant out of my way. Yea, and a much fairer way, as is well to be proved; and my Lady meeting me herself upon the way, I could not refuse, it being near XXX miles from Sheffield. And as it was well known to all the country thereabouts that great provision was there made both for my Lady of Suffolk and me—who friendly brought me on the way to Grantham, and so departed home again, neither she nor I knowing any such thing till the morning after I came to Newark. And so I meant simply and well, so did I least mistrust that my doings should be taken in evil part, for, at my coming from her Majesty, I perceived she misliked of my Lady of Suffolk being at Chatsworth, I asked her Majesty if I were bidden thither, for that had been my wonted way before if I might go. She prayed me not, lest it should be thought I should agree with the Queen of Scots. And I asked her Majesty, if she could think so, for I was made of flesh and blood, and could never forget the murder of my child. And she said, ‘Marry, by her faith she could not think so that ever I could forget it, for if I would I were a devil.’ Now, my Lord, for that hasty marriage of my son, Charles, after that he had entangled himself so that he could have none other, I refer the same to your Lordship’s good consideration, whether it was not most fitly for me to marry them, he being mine only son and comfort that is left me. And your Lordship can bear me witness how desirous I have been to have had a match for him other than this. And the Queen’s Majesty, much to my comfort, to that end gave me good words at my departure.”
There were other letters from her repeating the statements about her careful avoidance of Chatsworth and Sheffield, the helpless position in which she was placed by “the sudden affection” of her son, and begging for the Queen’s compassion “on my widowed estate, being aged and of many cares.”
She reached Court on December 12th, and was accorded such a reception that La Mothe Fénélon thought it worth while to include, in his despatches to France, her fears and apprehensions. He records her dread of her old prison, the Tower, and her hope that she may escape at least that indignity through the influence of good friends. She went meekly to her house at Hackney, with Charles and Elizabeth Lennox, who had scarcely learnt the meaning of the word honeymoon. There the three, forbidden to leave the precincts of the house, spent a joyless Christmas, while, in lieu of a royal festival greeting, Christmas Eve brought them Elizabeth’s orders that they were to have intercourse only with such persons as were named by the Privy Council. Immediately after Christmas the door of the Tower gaped and swallowed the Lennox dowager. To the Tower also, it seems, was sent her confederate. The comments of Bess of Shrewsbury have not been chronicled. But she probably remembered keenly enough the days when as “Sentlow” she had the sense to keep out of any active participation in the marriage of Lady Catherine Grey. Her thoughts in retrospect could not have been very pleasant, and genuine fears for the fate of her young and easily-led daughter must have jostled fears for her own skin.
As for Lady Lennox, her sensations were still more poignant. “Thrice have I been cast into prison,” said she, “not for matters of treason, but for love matters. First, when Thomas Howard, son to Thomas first Duke of Norfolk, was in love with myself; then for the love of Henry Darnley, my son, to Queen Mary of Scotland; and lastly for the love of Charles, my younger son, to Elizabeth Cavendish.”
It was just after Christmas that Lord Shrewsbury again bestirred himself and applied to Burghley, though he ostensibly does it less on behalf of his wife than of Lady Lennox.