I was not as discontented as my Earl. Even so, I had my troubles.
My lord continued sickly, and I feared he might die. Then what would become of me? To whom could I send for aid?
I watched my lord pen his letters, and I saw that at the end he put H for Harry. (Harry was his name as well as mine.)
Then he made a long word that signified “Rissole” [Wriothesley]. There was W before the R and after came many more letters. It did not look right to me.
One time when he left our bedchamber I took his pen and tried to write “Wrissole” as he did. I could not remember how.
No, my life was not easy. I marvel I did not turn sickly too.
Sometimes when my lord took a drink he would say to me, “Here’s to Her Majestie, upon whose health our happiness depends.”
I do not believe the Whisperers who lurked by our door could have guessed what he meant by that. Nor do I think they knew my lord had writ secret to the King in Scotland. He arrkst to be set at liberty when that King took Her Majestie’s place.
As spring drew on we resumed our walks upon the roof, and I could nose something more than spring in the air. I looked for those lank grey cats I’d seen before, but they were not there.
That night a Whisperer hissed, “Wrissole” at our door. I went to hear her, and she sayt, “The Queen drinks little, and eats less. We cats know what that betokens, though no man nor woman dares say it.”
I ran to tell my lord. He knew I spake of meat and drink, and told me I would get no more that night. But I believe he took my meaning. His words were but a cover for our joy.
It was not long before another Whisperer brought newes. “The Queen sits on the floor and will not go to bed. She knows that when she does, she’ll never rise again.”
When next we was on the roof there came a strange hum from the citie. I heared a sound my lord sayt were trumpets.
Even as my lord made haste to a higher part, others hasted towards him. One called that the King of Scots was now our King too!
A procession of lords, councillors and all had come from White-Hall. The Lord Mayor met them at the Lud-Gate and sayt they could enter his citie. Which they did, stopping along the ways so Mr Secretary [Sir Robert Cecil] could read the proclamation.
I saw my lord’s hat fly away. Whether he’d thrown it in the air or the wind had snatched it from his head, I neither knew nor cared.
Like my lord’s hat, we would soon be free.
Elizabeth was 69, and her reign had lasted for almost 45 years. She’d been in visible decline for about a month and despite careful avoidance of any obvious mention of her death, Sir Robert Cecil had prepared for a smooth accession by James VI of Scotland.
It’s debateable whether Elizabeth ever named James as her successor. However, Sir Robert Cecil proclaimed him as King at Richmond Palace before dawn, then he and other Privy Councillors rode to Whitehall for a second proclamation. From there a grand procession went through Westminster to the city of London. The news was received quietly, though celebratory bonfires were lit in the streets that evening, and church bells were rung.
Below is a heavily symbolic picture of Elizabeth made a year or so before her death. She seems ageless. The crescent moon near the tip of her elaborate headdress and her array of pearls symbolise virginity; the flowers embroidered on her bodice indicate eternal spring. The serpent on her left sleeve signals wisdom, and in her right hand she holds a rainbow (peace and calm). The full Latin text is Non sine Sole Iris – No Rainbow without the Sun. In this instance, Elizabeth is also the sun.
The rather unsettling array of eyes and ears embroidered on her mantle might indicate she sees and hears all. However, historian Susan Doran suggests, in “Elizabeth I & Her Circle” (2015) they represent the watchfulness of her servants, particularly Sir Robert Cecil, who probably commissioned the portrait.