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After much letter-writing there came from Court the permission for removal for which the Earl and Mary longed. The household was to take up its abode now at Wingfield Manor. Away went my Lady ahead to put up the curtains and see to the carpets and pallets and other upholstery, and a week or two later away went the cavalcade after her. Her chatelaine’s art and dexterity had freer play here. Wingfield Manor, in its ruins, suggests a house of grace, comfort, and importance, well proportioned, and soundly built in a stately manner. Even Mary, aware of its tolerably fortified nature, its guardroom and dungeons, its massive keep and earthworks, conscious of the nightly sentinels under her windows, could call it “a fair palace.” And my Lady was surely in her element. It was not exactly the rich domestic peace, the family life for which she or her husband had bargained. They were forced to isolate themselves from their children to a great extent, lest the comings and goings connected with their own family should entice strangers or messengers of doubtful character. But the eyes of England were upon the Earl and his lady. Where Mary was there abounded romance, intrigue, and mystery. Spain, France, Scotland, all were watchful, waiting for the least news. And possibly the Queen’s command and the distinction conferred on the Shrewsburys carried them far along the painful task on which they had embarked. There is no doubt that Bess had a better time of it in the bargain than her lord. The ultimate responsibility was his. Moreover, his was a nature conscientious almost to a morbid degree. He was forced to receive attacks without and within and to keep his head cool. He must report himself in long letters to Mr. Treasurer, he must bear with the complaints and entreaties of his captive. Mary was not so much of a prisoner that she could not rush to his suite of rooms and upbraid the authority by which her Scottish messengers were detained and her letters examined. Her abuse and lamentation, defiance and tears were shared alike by husband and wife. In reporting all this in detail to the Court, he insists upon the necessity of his wife’s co-operation. In the same breath he makes it piteously clear that the matter is not one for diversion or satisfaction to either of them. In this picture he draws of their joint life in such letters, Tutbury or Wingfield shelters not one prisoner, but three. The royal lady is scarcely a moment out of their sight or hearing. The only advantage of her constant invasion of my Lady’s chamber is that the latter may watch her the more closely and report more minutely upon her looks and words.