Marrying Lucy Percy

On a cold day in February 1617, two young ladies walked through the gates of the Tower of London. They were Lucy Percy and her older sister, Dorothy, and they had come to visit their father, the earl of Northumberland.

Lucy Hay, née Percy by Anthony van Dyck 

The two young women, both still in their teens, made their way through the Tower complex to the Martin Tower and went inside. Their father greeted them warmly and exchanged pleasantries. After a while, though, his demeanour changed. Suddenly, he ordered Dorothy to go back home to her husband. As she was leaving, he gave her another order: to send Lucy’s maids to the Tower so they could attend her. Lucy was to become a prisoner in the Tower. Her gaoler was not the state, but her own father.

Lucy Percy was the second and youngest daughter of Henry Percy, ninth earl of Northumberland. Born at Michaelmas in 1599, she was only six years old when her father was detained in the Tower after being implicated in the Gunpowder Plot. Her mother was Dorothy Devereux, sister of the fallen favourite of Elizabeth I, Robert Devereux, earl of Essex. Her court connections, however, did not end there. Through the Devereux line, Lucy could trace her descent back to Mary Boleyn, sister of Anne Boleyn. Possibly, as a result of Mary’s affair with Henry VIII, Lucy could count the king as one of her ancestors.

Lucy’s mother had ambitions for her, and in 1614, when Lucy was in her fourteenth year, she introduced her daughter at court. The young lady’s beauty - it was agreed that she was ‘the most lovely damsel in all England’ – her accomplishments and her sparkling personality were such that her success in court circles was guaranteed.

For her part, Lucy embraced life at court. She loved the ceremony, the masques, the feasting and the society. Not unnaturally, she soon attracted a string of admirers. Young, handsome men paid court to her and, in theory at least, she could have had her pick of them. However, while she enjoyed the attention, her heart would be captured by a much older man: Sir James Hay.

James Hay, artist unknown

Born c.1580 in Pitcorthie in Fife, Sir James Hay had spent considerable time in France in his youth gaining an education and acquiring good taste and refinement. It is believed by some that he had later served in the Gardes Écossaises of Henri IV of France and that he was introduced to King James by one of Henri’s ambassadors.

Hay was graceful, with strong, handsome features. Nevertheless, the overall shape of his face would later inspire the Electress Elizabeth to call him ‘Camel-face’ and address him as such in her letters to him. It is an indication of his character that he took this in good humour.

Hay had come to England in late 1603. He had served King James prior to his accession to the English throne, and now Hay hoped that his career would escalate still further. His presence at court and his status as someone who enjoyed royal favour would not be overlooked. ‘Notice was taken of a rising favourite,’ writes the courtier and politician, Anthony Weldon, ‘the first meteor of that nature appearing in our climate.’

King James recognised Hay’s abilities and showered him with various marks of his favour. Hay was created Lord Hay, although without a seat in the House of Lords. Later, he was appointed Gentleman of the Robes and, from 1613-1618, would hold the post of Master of the Wardrobe. During this time, he was elevated to the peerage as Lord Hay of Sawley in Yorkshire.

As Master of the Wardrobe, Hay was given a house on Upper Thames Street in Blackfriars. Here, he would host the lavish entertainments for which he would become famous. Highly fashionable, it was said of him that he always had to be ‘set out after the last edition.’

Lord Hay was politically ambitious and desired to be a significant figure at the English court. He had observed that James favoured English courtiers over the Scots, and Hay became a naturalised Englishman in 1604. This was a natural progression, for he was fond of all things English and he made it his study to become the quintessential English gentleman. Hay, therefore, formed close links with the English rather than the Scottish members of James’s court, a move that very much pleased the king.

Another means by which Hay could become more ‘English’ was to take an English wife, and this was also in accordance with the king’s own preferences. In 1607, Hay married Honora Denny, daughter of Lord Edward Denny, a match made ‘by royal mediation.’ Honora give birth to two children, James and Anne, no doubt named after the king and queen. She died tragically after suffering a miscarriage in 1614, the same year Lucy made her debut at court.

Exactly when Hay began courting Lucy is not known, but they were recognised as a couple by early 1617. In an age when marriage within the nobility was seen as a matter of state, with families and fortunes, estates and titles marrying, rather than individuals, the marriage of Lucy Percy and Sir James Hay would, nevertheless, be a love match.

It is easy to see why Hay fell for Lucy, and why she was the perfect bride him. She had youth and beauty, with a clear ivory complexion, large and expressive brown eyes, and an oval face framed by luxurious brown curls. She was also accomplished. As an excellent horsewoman and dancer, she possessed two of the most important qualities a courtier could possess. Lucy was also intelligent despite her rudimentary education, which had covered only those subjects deemed appropriate for a young lady of her status. She was alert and, even at this early age, was wise to the ways of the world around her. Observant, she learned everything she needed to know by carefully watching others at court. In addition to these qualities, her most valuable asset, as far as Hay was concerned, was that she was English.

Lucy Russell, née Harington, countess of Bedford
by William Larkin

For his part, Sir James Hay also had his attractions. Although a widower several years older than Lucy, he was a successful courtier, who could facilitate Lucy’s own court career. He was well-connected, with a wide network of friends and associates. Hay was attractive, and he possessed a quality that most women find irresistible: charm. He was good humoured, affable and sophisticated. 

As it was, the lovers had a powerful ally in the form of Lucy Russell, countess of Bedford. Lady Bedford, who was related to the Bruces, understood the merits of accepting the Scots into English court circles. She served in the household of Queen Anna as Lady of the Bedchamber. This was an important post, one that brought her into intimate contact with the queen. Moreover, she was a friend of both Sir James Hay and Lady Northumberland. Indeed, Lucy’s mother had probably named her daughter after her. Now Lady Bedford was running Hay’s campaign to marry Lucy. With such a powerful person on his side, Hay had no trouble winning over Lady Northumberland so that she was as eager for the match as Lucy.

There was one major problem, however. Despite his imprisonment, the earl of Northumberland insisted upon exercising his fatherly duty of selecting suitable husbands for his daughters. Dorothy and Lucy had other ideas. Dorothy had recently married a man of her own choice, Lord Sidney, the future earl of Leicester. Knowing her father’s antipathy towards the Sidneys, the wedding had taken place in secret the previous year. They announced their union only when Dorothy’s pregnancy could no longer be concealed. Northumberland angrily expressed his disapproval, but he could do nothing about it. The marriage had taken place and that was the end of the matter. Now it was Lucy’s turn. When Northumberland found out who Lucy wished to marry, his fury knew no bounds.

Northumberland hated the Scottish courtiers who had come to England with King James. He regarded them as upstarts and resented their taking the places, as he saw it, of the established English aristocracy. Thinking he wanted Lucy for her inheritance, he wrote to Hay, telling him that Lucy would get none of his money if she married against his will. This protest, however, was of no avail. Hay’s love for Lucy was disinterested. He loved her for herself, not for her money.

Henry Percy, 9th earl of Northumberland
by  Anthony van Dyck

Nevertheless, Northumberland forbade Lucy to marry Hay, declaring that he ‘could not endure that his daughter should dance any Scottish jigs.’ He thought he could break Lucy’s will if he applied the right tactic. He tried persuasion in the form of an astonishingly large dowry of £20,000 – almost £3 million in today’s money - if she would allow him to choose her husband for her. He then used intimidation: he threatened to keep her in the Tower if she would not give in to his demands.

Lucy, however, was headstrong. She knew her own mind and she wanted Hay. When she refused to relent, Northumberland resolved to carry out his threat. When Lucy and Dorothy came to visit him on that February day in 1617, he received them well enough but ‘after some caresses he dismissed his daughter Sidney [Dorothy] to go home to her husband, and to send her sister’s maids to attend her.’ Imprisoning his intractable daughter in the Tower, he thought, would be the only way to break her. He ‘meant not to part with her but that she should keep him company.’

As it happened, Hay was hosting one of his famous events that evening. He had laid on an extravagant supper and masque for visiting French ambassadors. However, ‘the chief and most desired guest’ was missing. Lucy was to have been the real guest of honour, and her absence was noted.

 The young lady was now housed in the Brick Tower. This was adjoined to the Martin Tower in which her father lived by a section of the battlements that acquired the name Northumberland’s Walk because the earl was fond of taking walks there.

That April, King James went on progress to Scotland. Hay, who was expected to accompany him, lingered in London, ‘his vain hope of obtaining my L[ord] of Northumberland’s daughter, being the chief cause of his stay.’

This was not to be, at least not yet. Northumberland continued his attempts to bend Lucy to his will, but he had seriously underestimated her resolve. At some point it occurred to him that gentler persuasion might be of more use.

Lodged nearby in the Bloody Tower for the murder of Thomas Overbury, the earl and countess of Somerset were nevertheless allowed to receive guests. The earl of Northumberland was among those whose company Lady Somerset very much enjoyed. Indeed, his attentions to this lady so much affronted Lady Northumberland that she eventually refused to visit him and sent their daughters instead.

That May, Northumberland allowed Lucy the freedom to make daily visits to the Somersets. This concession was partly in the hope that they would persuade Lucy to see reason, and partly so that he had an excuse to see Lady Somerset.

What Northumberland had not taken into account was that Lady Somerset would understand exactly Lucy’s predicament and be sympathetic. She, too, had risked much to marry the man she wanted, and her chosen husband was also a Scot. In the event, Lady Somerset encouraged Lucy to marry whom she pleased, much to Northumberland’s chagrin. She even enabled secret trysts between Lucy and James Hay. The ‘matter was so plotted, that where he [Northumberland] thought he her safest, there he lost her.’

At this point, Northumberland gave up. He severed all relations with Lady Somerset, calling her a bawd. Then, seeing that ‘he could prevail no more’ with Lucy, he sent her away. However, if Lucy thought she could go home to her mother, she was mistaken. Although Lady Northumberland was usually more than a match for her husband, this time she was alarmed by his anger with Lucy and Lady Somerset. She was afraid to take in her daughter. Instead, Lucy took up residence at the home of her beloved sister, who was staying at Baynard’s Castle at the time.

This was only a temporary measure, however. Shortly after Lucy’s release, Hay travelled to Scotland to join the king. Before he left, he settled Lucy into his house at the Wardrobe, with £2,000 for her maintenance until his return.

In July, Lady Northumberland moved to Syon House, her home on the banks of the Thames that she had inherited through her first marriage. By this time she had overcome her fear of her husband’s anger and she took Lucy with her. Here, the two women could escape the worst of the summer heat, but they would not be alone for long.

The king’s progress had drawn to a close and the courtiers were beginning to make their way back to England. Among the first of them was Sir James Hay. He lost no time in attempting to win over the earl of Northumberland and, if possible, to have the £20,000 Lucy had been promised. In the end, he was unsuccessful in securing the money. This, however, was of little consequence to him, for he insisted that his ‘affection was above money,’ and he set ‘only a valuation upon his much-admired bride.’

At this point, the wedding was a certainty. It would take place without the blessing of the bride’s father, who continued to fume and seethe in his Tower apartment. The bride, of course, required someone to give her away, and King James was more than happy to oblige. Since he was still in Scotland, the happy couple had no option but to wait as patiently as possible for his return. As Chamberlain wrote, the impatient Lord Hay ‘thinks it long till the king’s coming that he may consummate his marriage.’

As it was, Hay sought to mitigate some of the frustration by taking a house in nearby Richmond Park. He would visit Lucy and her mother on a regular basis. Lady Northumberland, however, took her duties as chaperone very seriously and refused to allow Hay to dine with them. As such, he would be ‘commonly in her house from morning till dinner, from dinner till supper, and after supper till late in the night.’ Soon, his barge became a regular feature on the Thames. Still, 1617 was a good summer for venison and salmon, so it can be imagined that the fare was very good at both Richmond and at Syon House.

Lucy on the far left, looking over the
 shoulder of Henrietta Maria by Honthorst

Finally the long-awaited day dawned. The wedding took place on 6 November 1617 at the Wardrobe. That night, the wedding supper was attended by Prince Charles and the king’s new favourite, George Villiers, the future duke of Buckingham. The king, who had fulfilled his promise to give away the bride, was also ‘exceeding merry all supper time.’ Lucy ‘knelt while the king drank her health, and she drank his.’  

Throughout their long and eventful journey to the altar, Lucy and Sir James had never given up on their love or lost sight of their goal to marry. Although a love match, both partners also gained materially from their union. For Sir James, it was another important step on his journey to find his place as an Englishman at a court where two very distinct nationalities strived to co-exist. As for Lucy, the new Lady Hay, who was still only eighteen years old, her marriage to Sir James allowed her to make further progress towards a glittering and intriguing court career.

 

All quotations taken from The Letters of John Chamberlain, volume 2.

Katherine Howard, Thomas Culpeper and the ‘Master Culpeper’ Letter

The relationship between Katherine Howard and Thomas Culpeper has intrigued historians for many years, but what was its true nature ? The infamour 'Master Culpeper' letter might offer a hint.

The following is an extract from my 2016 biography, Katherine Howard (John Murray)...

The story of their supposed intimacy, as related by Thomas Culpeper in his own words, began when Katherine’s servant, Henry Webb, brought him to the entrance between her privy chamber and the chamber of presence. Here, she ‘gave him by her own hands a fair cap of velvet garnished with a brooch and three dozen pairs of aglets and a chain’. She then said to him, ‘put this under your cloak that nobody see it.’ Culpeper replied, ‘alas, madam, why did not you this when you were a maid?’ Katherine said nothing and the two parted.

A short while later, they met again; this time, Katherine was clearly put out. Piqued at Culpeper’s response to her gift, she asked him, ‘is this all the thanks you give me for the cap, if I had known you would have spoken these words you should never have had it.’ Katherine was angry because Culpeper’s response made it clear that he had wrongly taken it as a love token. At the most, she would have expected him to thank her, not to remind her of their past relationship. That she told him to hide the cap under his cloak shows that she feared that others might misconstrue its purpose, as Culpeper had done, and spread dangerous gossip about his apparent favour with the queen. Katherine herself had been very wary of letting others catch her with items that might be inter-preted as courting gifts, as the business of the French fennel clearly showed. 

However Katherine was incapable of remaining angry with anyone for very long. As with Henry Mannock before him, she soon forgave Culpeper his transgression. Shortly after their second meeting, Culpeper became ill. That Katherine sent him ‘at diverse times flesh or the fish dinner by Morris the page’, suggests that his illness lasted for at least two days. After that, the meetings ceased and Katherine, if not Culpeper, promptly forgot about them. The timeframe of these events can roughly be determined from Culpeper’s statement. They were initiated on Maundy Thursday, 14 April, and continued only while the court remained at Greenwich. Since the court left that palace on 27 May, it is evident that the three recorded incidences of contact between Katherine and Culpeper took place during a period of just over six weeks. By any standards, these encounters were sporadic to say the least and can hardly be taken as indication that Katherine was betraying Henry. 

What had prompted Katherine to arrange the reunion with Culpeper? Although he remembered their meetings vividly and could recount them in some detail, Culpeper never said why the queen had sent for him in the first place. The answer can be found in a letter written by Katherine to Culpeper at the time.

Master Culpeper, I heartily recommend me unto you, praying you to send me word how that you do. It was showed me that you were sick, the which thing troubled me very much till such time that I hear from you, praying you to send me word how that you do. For I never longed so much for [a] thing as I do to see you and to speak with you, the which I trust shall be shortly now, the which does comfort me very much when I think of it, and when I think again that you shall depart from me again it makes my heart to die to think what fortune I have that I cannot be always in your company, yet my trust is always in you that you will be as you have promised me and in that hope I trust upon still, praying then that you will come when my Lady Rochford is here, for then I shall be best at leisure to be at your commandment. Thanking you for that you have promised me to be so good unto that poor fellow my man which is one of the griefs that I do feel to depart from him, for then I do know no-one that I dare trust to send to you and therefore, I pray you take him to be with you that I may sometimes hear from you one thing. I pray you to give me a horse for my man for I had much ado to get one and therefore I pray send me one by him and in so doing I am as I said afore and thus I take my leave of you, trusting to see you shortly again and I would you was with me now that you might see what pain I take in writing to you. 

Yours as long as life endures, Katheryn 

One thing I had forgotten and that is to instruct my man to tarry here with me still, for he says whatsoever you behove14 him he will do it and… 

Intriguingly, Katherine breaks off at this point. It is possible that she added the postscript after she had summoned her messenger; then, he or she having arrived before she had finished, Katherine ended the letter anyway because she had said all that she wanted to say. Differences in handwriting and the colour of the ink show that this letter is written in two hands. The first eight words (in bold) are in the hand of an amanuensis. Katherine then took over and finished the letter herself. 

What, then, was Katherine trying to say to Culpeper? Lady Rochford once remarked that Katherine ‘trusted Culpeper above her own brother’, that is Charles Howard, who, like Culpeper, was a gentleman of the privy chamber. But Lady Jane did not elaborate upon in what regard Katherine trusted Culpeper. The answer lies in his position in the royal household. Culpeper was one of the king’s favourites and was known to have ‘succeeded Master Nourriz, who was in like favour with his master’. Henry Norris had occupied the senior position in the privy chamber until he was implicated in the downfall of Anne Boleyn and executed. Culpeper had intimate access to the king and was well placed to provide Katherine with information about her husband’s health and his ever fluctuating moods. More importantly, Culpeper could warn her of any indication that Henry was angry, perhaps because she was not yet with child; he could also listen out for any gossip about her, and report on speculation that her husband was considering repudiating her in favour of Anne of Cleves. Throughout Katherine’s queenship, this topic would surface time and again, to her consternation and grief. 

Katherine, therefore, cultivated Culpeper’s friendship. He was, in many ways, a good choice. Their previous relationship made him well-disposed towards her, he was related to her, albeit distantly, and was one of her husband’s favourites; more importantly, he was in the king’s confidence. For Culpeper, too, the arrangement had its uses. Considering that his master was ageing and increasingly infirm, it was prudent to look to the future. Although Prince Edward was a Seymour, and his family would play a major part in the regency, Katherine, as dowager queen, would still be in a powerful position. She was someone whose favour was worth cultivating.