The other queen

1569, SEPTEMBER, WINGFIELD MANOR: GEORGE

Just when I have enough to worry about—the Scots queen ill with unhappiness and no explanation from court; my letters go unanswered because the court is on progress and my messenger has to chase around half of England to find them, and then is told that the queen is not doing business today, but he can wait—in the middle of all this my steward comes to me with a grave face and says that a debt that I have carried for years has now fallen due and I have to pay two thousand pounds this Michaelmas Day.

“Well, pay it!” I say impatiently. He has caught me on my way to the stable and I am not in the mood for delay.

“That is why I have come to you, my lord,” he says uncomfortably. “There are insufficient funds in the treasure house here at Wingfield.”

“Well, send to one of the other houses,” I say. “They must have coin.”

He shakes his head.

“They don’t?”

“It has been an expensive year,” he says tactfully. He says nothing more but this is the same old song that Bess sings to me—the expenditure on the queen and the fact that the court never reimburses us.

“Can we extend the debt for another year? Just to tide us over?” I ask. “Till we get back to normal again?”

He hesitates. “I have tried. The terms are worse, we would pay more interest, but it can be done. They want the woods on the south side of the river as security.”

“Do it then.” I decide quickly. I cannot be troubled with business, and this is a temporary difficulty until the queen repays us what she owes. “Extend the debt for another year.”