Norfolk gave her a rich diamond as a token of his love and she later described it as something ‘I have always held very dear, having been given to me . . . as a pledge, of his troth, and I have always worn it as such’.
37
The duke became despondent about his chances of marriage and uneasy that the couple’s covert correspondence could be revealed. He wrote to the Earl of Moray on 1 July declaring that he could not ‘with honour proceed further till such time as you should remove all stumbling blocks to our more apparent proceedings’.
My very earnest request is that you proceed with such expedition as the enemies (which will be in no small number) to this good purpose, of uniting this land into one kingdom in time coming, and the maintenance of God’s true religion, may not have opportunity, through delay given them, to prevent our pretensed determinations.
38
However, Moray was also having second thoughts about the match. Could Mary seek immediate restoration to the throne of Scotland? Would he therefore have to flee for his life and live in exile overseas? Would Norfolk use his wife’s claim to the English crown to destroy that fledgling Protestant state? Fatally, and treacherously, he sent Elizabeth a copy of the duke’s letter announcing his intention to marry Mary.
Three times during a royal progress that summer she had asked Norfolk to confirm his marriage plans with Mary Queen of Scots. Three times he could not summon up the courage to reveal his projected match to Elizabeth. Once, when they dined alone at her invitation, ‘she gave him a nip, saying, “that she would wish me to take a good head to my pillow”’. This ‘abashed’ him, but he ‘thought it not a fit time or place there to trouble her’.
39
Leicester, pursuing his own political agenda, assured Norfolk that the queen would surely accept his proposals if she heard them from her special favourite, the earl himself. Like a gullible fool, Norfolk believed him.
Leicester was lying on his sick bed at Titchfield in Hampshire on 6 September when he told Elizabeth. The words had scarcely escaped his trembling lips when he was treated to a vintage Tudor tantrum. The queen furiously forbade any idea of such a marriage and, later that day in the gallery, solemnly charged Norfolk, on his allegiance to her, ‘to deal no further with the Scottish cause’. She commanded him ‘to free himself of it, for the sake [of the] fidelity and loyalty which he ought to bear unto his sovereign’.
40
He hastily assured Elizabeth that he ‘had a very slight regard’ for Mary and that her rank and the fortunes of the Scottish crown meant nothing to him.
With the flawed, foolish pride that was part and parcel of the Howard genes, he went too far in his hurried reassurances. The duke boasted cheerfully that his revenues ‘were not much less than those of Scotland . . . and when he was in his tennis court at Norwich, he thought himself equal with some kings’. This was not a sentiment to calm the proud and always parsimonious queen and he soon found himself shunned, if not completely ostracised, at court.
Elizabeth, meanwhile, wrote to Mary’s jailers on 15 September warning them of a possible attempt to rescue her from captivity.
We find that she, and such as solicit and labour most for her cause, intend to proceed in it otherwise than is meet or than we can consent for our honour.
We have cause to doubt that when she and her friends perceive their purpose not agreeable to us, there will be some secret device to procure her escape, both perilous and dishonourable to us.
41
Norfolk decided that a spell in the country would allow time for things to quieten down at court, particularly after receiving a warning from Leicester that he was destined for the Tower.
42
He wrote to Cecil and Leicester after hearing that the queen planned to go to Windsor, ‘whither her pleasure is he should repair. At my coming to Howard House, I found myself disposed to an ague, (malarial fever) [which] to avoid I took a purgative yesterday which continued working even this night in my bed . . . I am afraid to go into the air so soon. But within four days, I will not fail to come to court.’
43
Then Norfolk suddenly panicked. He left London without permission and arrived at Kenninghall, still sick with fever. From there, he wrote a long letter to Elizabeth, seeking to excuse his impulsive departure.
To my great grief . . . your majesty, I am told . . . [is] sore offended with me . . . I did, with all humility, [hope] that I might recover your majesty’s favour but my enemies found such comfort of your majesty’s heavy displeasure that they begin to make of me common table-talk [and] my friends [are] now afraid of my company.
When I found this, I complained of my miserable state to some of . . . [the] council and thought no way so good as privily to withdraw to my sorrowful house . . .
It was no small grief that . . . every townsman could say my house was beset [and] - a nipping to my heart - that I should become a . . . suspected person.
Besides this, all the town reported (and some in noble houses) . . . that I would be committed to my own house, [and after] a while, to the Tower, which is so great a terror for a true man.
Yet, though daunted by these sharp reports, knowing not what ground they had, my whole mind was to abide them till Tuesday, between four and five at night, when I understood by more than common friends that my overthrow and imprisonment were determined.
He thought it ‘good to withdraw’ to win time to write ‘this humble declaration’ to his sovereign and protested ‘on my honour’ that he never dealt in the case of the Scottish queen ‘further than I declared’.
44
Elizabeth was becoming impatient - and increasingly suspicious about what the duke was up to. Was his disappearance sinister? Would he become a figurehead in a rebellion by her disaffected Catholic subjects in the northern counties? Her fears of revolt had led her to seek the protection of the high walls of Windsor Castle.
From there, she issued categorical instructions to Norfolk on 25 September to come immediately to court:
We have received your letters . . . finding by the same that upon a pretence of fear without cause, you have come to Kenninghall, contrary to our expectations . . . [and] as you wrote to certify . . . that you would, without fail, be at our court in four days.
The queen commanded him ‘without delay, upon sight of this letter’ to ‘repair to us here at this our castle of Windsor, or wherever we shall be’ upon ‘your allegiance’.
45
As ill luck for the house of Howard would have it, the duke never received this royal charge - or so he claimed.
Suspicions over Norfolk’s loyalty and intentions multiplied at court. There were fears that his popularity might spark disorder if he was arrested and trigger the very insurrection the queen most feared. On 26 September, the Council sent a circular letter to lord lieutenants explaining the position:
It is likely you may hear how the Duke of Norfolk is gone of late from London to Kenninghall, which by his letter to us signified to be upon fear of the queen’s majesty’s displeasure, where he avows that he remains a faithful subject and so we heartily wish and trust he will considering there is no other cause.
Yet because we are not ignorant what disposition there is in evil disposed persons to take occasion, upon small matters, to move seditious bruits [rumours], we have thought good to signify to you that her majesty has not meant any wise [action] toward the Duke . . . any manner to him offensive, but only upon his coming to the court to understand the truth of a certain matter that has been moved to him for a marriage with the Queen of Scots.
The circular’s honeyed words hastened to stress that ‘we know not of any manner of intent in him but that which belongs to an honourable person and a just and true servant to the queen’s majesty’. Indeed, Elizabeth was anxious to avoid ‘such a nobleman [being] abused with unkind reports’ and so has sent for Norfolk ‘to repair to here, as is most likely he will’.
Meantime, because we know not how evil-disposed persons will upon such a matter raise sundry lewd and false rumours, we have thought good to advise you hereof and require you forthwith to communicate this, our letters, with the justices of the peace and have good regard to stay all seditious rumours by apprehending the authors thereof.
46
On 28 September, there still was no sign of Norfolk at Windsor and he used his sickness to explain his tardiness. Elizabeth was more than exasperated and wrote again to the duke:
We have by your letters and by this bringer, our trusty servant Edward Garrett, we understand the cause of your not coming to us presently . . . [to be that] you were entered into a fever, but that you would very shortly take your journey to us. We return this bringer, [
inserted
], with all haste and do charge you as before to immediately make your repair hitherwards.
For avoiding the peril you doubt [fear] by your ague, if it continue, you may come by some shorter journey than accustomed, and in a litter
47
rather than delay further.
So shall you make a demonstration to the world of your loyalty and humbleness that by your letters and speeches you do profess.
Elizabeth’s anger then boiled over. As she dictated her letter, she did not mince her words.
[Your] manner of answer, we have not been accustomed to receive from any person.
Neither would we have you think us . . . as to allow an excuse by a fever, having had so strait a commandment from us and your case being so notorious, first by your departure, now by your delay, that our estimation [of you] cannot be in some discredit, except that you immediately repair to us, though in a litter.
48
The same day, Cecil, who was playing his own canny game of politics, wrote to Norfolk in a more persuasive tone. The minister was ‘grieved at your sickness, so I was glad to see your resolve . . . to come to her majesty according to her commandment which was very earnest and strait, according to her majesty’s special direction’. Norfolk, he said soothingly, should not be troubled by the reports of any offence being taken by Elizabeth, and he trusted that nothing more would come of the affair but mere words - or at worst a temporary banishment from her presence. Cecil could not resist adding a pointed postscript:
The queen’s majesty was very much offended with Mr Garrett [the messenger] for his coming away without your grace and has suffered some reprimand for him.
49
On 30 September, Norfolk acknowledged the receipt of the latest angry missive from Elizabeth, but still reported in sick, ‘whereby I am not able to attend on her majesty according to my bounden duty. My desire is that you give her majesty to understand thereof and to make my humble excuse. [As] soon as I may, without peril of further sickness, I shall wait upon her, before Monday or Tuesday at the furthest.’
50
Amazingly - or perhaps his fever really was bad - Norfolk did not set off for Windsor until 1 October, with a deliberately small retinue of thirty riders, sleeping overnight at Newmarket, and taking the journey by easy stages.
51
On arrival at Windsor, he was arrested on suspicion of treason and taken by Sir Francis Knollys to the Tower of London. There, he was confined in the very same rooms occupied by his grandfather during his imprisonment between 1546 and 1553.
While he mused at this unfortunate coincidence, or indeed his family’s all too frequent stays in the Tower, a virulent propaganda pamphlet was published in London attacking any marriage between Norfolk and Mary Queen of Scots.
Its author was almost certainly the Calvinistic Francis Walsingham, later to become Elizabeth’s frighteningly proficient Secretary of State and the adept organiser of a pervasive intelligence network at home and overseas.
52
The polemic
Discourse Touching the Pretended Match Between the Duke of Norfolk and the Queen of Scots
was aimed at the enthusiastic and receptive audience of England’s Protestants. Mary, it declared, was in league
with the confederate enemies of the gospel by the name of the Holy League, to root out all such princes and magistrates as are professors of the same.
Of [her] nation, she is a Scot, which nation I forebear to say what may be said, in a reverend respect of a few godly of that nation.
Of inclination . . . let her own horrible acts,
53
publicly known to the whole world witness, though now of late, seduced by practice [to] seek out to cloak and hide the same . . .
In goodwill to our sovereign, she has showed herself [in] sundry ways very evil affected, whose ambition has drawn her by bearing the arms of England, to decipher herself a competitor of the crown, a thing publicly known.
Norfolk’s religious beliefs were unctuously left to ‘God and his own conscience’. But, said the book, poison oozing from every page, he was inconsistent and inconstant in his Protestant beliefs, as shown by five reasons:
First, his education of his son [is] under the government of a Papist.
Secondly, the corruption of his house, his chief men of trust being Papists.
Thirdly, the reposed trust and confidence he has in the chief Papists in this realm.
Fourthly, his last marriage with a Papist, and lastly, this pretended match.
Was it likely, asked Walsingham, raising the phantom of the murdered Darnley, that any man who professed religious belief or respected honour, ‘or regards his own safety, would match with one detected of so horrible crimes in respect of love?’ The Scottish queen could solemnly swear on oath that she posed no threat to Elizabeth or ‘confirm anything that may tend to the queen’s safety’ but, the pamphlet added ferociously, ‘If she [falsifies] her faith, no pleading will serve. The sword must be the remedy.’
54