Fifteenth-century England was notoriously litigious and recent studies have fruitfully revealed the extent to which women were regularly caught up in legal business. Nevertheless, while we know an increasing amount about women's use of the common law courts, customary courts, the spiritual courts and those petitioning the equitable jurisdictions of chancery and requests in this period, comparatively little has been written about the female litigants who petitioned the prerogative court of Star Chamber. In one sense this is understandable. In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries this court would attract thousands of litigants, particularly following its development and promotion under Thomas Wolsey (chancellor 1515–29). In the late fifteenth century, however, its activities remained embedded within the king's council; its personnel and processes fluid and not yet fully formalised. There was no separate court of Star Chamber; rather the ‘Star Chamber’ was primarily a location within the palace of Westminster where the king's councillors would conduct their varied business. Nevertheless, because the king's council had the power to hear all sorts of petitions it drew an increasing number of litigants in the late fifteenth century, many of whom believed that redress would come from the council sitting ‘in the sterre chambre’. Consequently, their petitions and the related pleadings and proofs generated a body of material unusually rich in detailing individuals’ interactions with the law. These records have not been entirely neglected and have proved attractive to local and regional historians, as demonstrated by the early twentieth-century flurry of printed transcriptions and abstracts in several county record series. Yet, their potential as sources for broader social, legal or cultural analyses of the early Tudor period has not been fully realised. Furthermore, those that have been published have been consciously or unconsciously biased towards male litigants. Geoffrey Elton's Star Chamber Stories, for example, consisted of six tales, which reflected mid-twentieth-century interests in the religious, economic and educational aspects of life in Tudor England; all the litigants were male, and women rarely featured in the narratives.

This essay will assess more fully the value of these documents for an understanding of female litigation, and the way in which women resorted to Henry VII's council in their attempts to access justice.

In recent years a growing number of studies have explored the legal experiences of fifteenth- and sixteenth-century women. Drawing on a range of court records, reassessments have been made on women's knowledge of the law, their engagement with legal procedure and their agency in initiating petitions. In considering the varying opportunities offered by different jurisdictions, the material generated by the central law courts at Westminster – notably those of King's Bench, Common Pleas and Chancery – has proved particularly fruitful. Less well-explored for this purpose, however, has been the court of Star Chamber, perhaps because it is considered to have the smallest female participation rate. This is unfortunate, because the documentation produced by the court makes for vivid reading and is important not simply for the stories told, but, as Geoffrey Elton pointed out over half a century ago, because the reported voices belong to people ‘who would never ordinarily make the headlines’. The oversight is particularly unhelpful for late medieval Wales where local jurisdiction in the marcher lordships meant its inhabitants were excluded from the central common law courts of King's Bench and Common Pleas. It was the king's claim to offer justice to all his subjects and provide ‘common treatment’, which gave the Welsh access to prerogative courts such as Star Chamber.

It is difficult to overestimate the importance of land to England's elite. It was the basis of wealth and the tangible symbol of social and political dominance. Late medieval nobles held vast estates that stretched over several counties, yet it was the gentry, collectively, who held the larger percentage of property. In the North Riding of Yorkshire, the gentry owned forty-five per cent of the manors, while in Humphrey's county of Cheshire the proportion was especially high: over three-quarters of manors were in gentry hands, and the smaller estate far outnumbered the larger.

It was land that formed the basis of Humphrey's gentility, provided his major source of income and played a pivotal role in his upward social mobility. Like many gentlemen, his total landholdings were confined to the county and were geographically concentrated. While he held a few scattered lands and rents in south and west Cheshire, the main foci were the estates of Newton and Pownall in Macclesfield hundred, lying in the north-east of the county (Map 2). Newton was the ancestral home and the early focus of Humphrey's energies to improve his family's income and status. It remained his main project for eight years until it was superseded by the larger estate of Pownall, which was acquired through marriage and quickly made the permanent family residence. In common with other gentry landlords, Humphrey invested considerable time and effort in the estates both personally and via a team of paid officials.

God would judge the soul, but medieval gentle society would judge by outward appearances. Gentility did not merely reside in the solidity of land and wealth, but in the often intangible qualities of presentation and display. Status was reflected in homes and material possessions, in personal appearance and modes of behaviour. While good birth could not be taken away, claims to gentility had to be continually demonstrated and justified: a gentleman was expected to lead a particular way of life.

The dual purpose of a gentle lifestyle was to convey exclusivity and superiority. Peter Coss has argued that one definition of gentility would be the well-developed sense of social difference between the aristocracy and the rest of the population. The formation of a class-conscious group was reflected in the development of distinctive codes of conduct which were predicated on the view that outward behaviour reflected inner virtues. By the fifteenth century, these codes prioritised the qualities of courtesy, generosity, piety, self-discipline, polite conversation, knowledge and wisdom, and were expressed through activities such as service and patronage. Reputation and display were central to the gentle identity. Many of the signs and gestures involved in these actions will not have troubled the historical record. The visual impact of a house or hairstyle, or the reception of a nod or comment, are rarely found. More readily available are the written works that might have informed decisions and set the rules of appropriate behaviour.

Humphrey was not only a reader but a writer, and a confident one at that. There can have been few aspects of his life that did not involve making a written record. As previous chapters have revealed, Humphrey placed a great deal of trust in written documents, while recognising the issues of forgery and mistakes. Debt repayments, the selling of sheep, a new medical recipe or a snippet of local history were all reasons to take up the pen and make a note. While this was not a rare action in late medieval society, it was far from common among the general population. Humphrey had grown up at a time when writing was still considered a specialised skill, usually taught separately from reading. Not everyone would have bothered or needed to write on a daily basis. It was hardly necessary to the labourer in the field, and the nobility could pay to have the onerous task executed for them. The use of secretaries was widespread among the landed classes, letters were dictated, and oral testimony still valued.

Nevertheless, a growing need to write can be found among tradespeople, in the expanding bureaucracies of England, and within the houses of the gentry. Alison Truelove's work points to the increasing likelihood of gentlemen writing their own letters in the fifteenth century. How many of the gentry could or chose to write is difficult to gauge, and it is impossible to generalise on the degrees of competence or the regularity with which the skill was used.