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Besides the danger of slander there was the trap of intrigue. Up to the present Bess Hardwick had kept clear of mischief, but, native curiosity apart, she could not, as Lady of the Bedchamber, help being often the recipient of the secrets of her friends. The romantic love story of Lady Catherine Grey, who held a similar Court post to herself, brought her into a tight place. For the benefit of those who do not recall the tale it shall be set forth again here.

The Lady Catherine was the sister of Lady Jane Grey. By a curious combination of circumstances—the exclusion given by the will of Henry VIII to the posterity of Margaret of Scotland, the publication of the will of Edward VI, and the non-repeal of certain Acts of Parliament—it was judged that the right to the crown rested with the House of Suffolk. To this great house Lady Catherine was the heir. She was formally contracted in extreme youth to Lord Herbert, the son of the Earl of Pembroke. But the wise Earl, in dread of the acute complications which such a marriage might entail, arranged for a divorce. This probably affected the lady but little. She was young, she was attractive and romantic, she could meet cavaliers enough and to spare in the immediate circle of the Queen. But, as all the world knows, her Majesty, while she kept a dozen men languishing about her, was very loth to have any of her ladies wed. Love affairs must be very secret, lest the parties incurred her disfavour and the loss of benefits. As for Lady Catherine, her birth, as has been shown, rendered her a mark for all manner of suspicion. At Court she was the close companion of Lady Jane Seymour, daughter of the Duke of Somerset. This Lady Jane had a brother, no less than the Earl of Hertford. What more inevitable than a love affair between him and Catherine? There were sorrows enough in the background of her history, slavery enough—despite pageant and hunting and the comings and goings of great persons from foreign courts—to endure at the hands of the energetic, alert, excitable, witty, jealous royal mistress. Little by little the love story wove itself in the manner of every love tale. A community of interest, a series of assemblies which passed in array her Majesty’s ladies before the eyes of her gentlemen, little incidents which brought out the personalities of the two, mere propinquity, a look here and a word there, did their work. The two were soon secretly plighted, with the Lady Jane to share and shield their dear secret. Many anxious moments must have gone to their councils. To declare their troth would only be a signal for their instant separation. The same result would arise if they humbly asked the royal permission to be betrothed. To marry and fly would only savour of deep State conspiracy. To marry and bide quietly and then face the astonished and scandalous world with an air of “Indeed, and it is true. So part us you shall not. And, moreover, ’tis our affair. Wherefore, fling your mud elsewhere!” seemed the wisest way in the end, and also followed the line of least resistance.