Elizabeth laughed, despite her concern. Kate’s verbal image was amusing.
“You’re quite right. Women run the homes, bear the children, deal with the details of life, while men stomp about, arguing over religion and squabbling about borders. Then, if they can’t use one of their daughters, sisters, cousins or aunts to secure the land they’ve taken a fancy to via a marriage treaty, they start a fight. It’s all so much posturing. Even as Queen, I witness the patronising looks and arrows of despair from my privy councillors. They all believe they are my superior in intelligence, yet I was educated by my father as he would have educated a prince. My knowledge far outstrips theirs.”
“But in most areas of life, men hold the positions of power. Despite the fact you prove them incorrect on a daily basis, men — even the stupid ones — believe it is their right to govern women.”
“Yet I am Queen.”
“Exactly,” said Kate, “you are Queen.”
They exchanged a smile.
“And,” continued Elizabeth, “there is another queen residing on our shores: Mary, Queen of Scots.”
“Who also won’t be held in check by the rules of men,” said Kate.
“No, she won’t.”
The two women fell silent for a moment. Elizabeth spoke first.
“Burghley and Walsingham offer me good advice and yet their own agendas can’t help but blur their vision. Burghley and his religious intolerance concerns me. As my late sister, Mary Tudor, pursued Catholics, his extreme Protestant leanings are evident in all the legislation he places before me. It tinges everything and his beliefs are becoming increasingly alarming.” Draining the golden goblet, Elizabeth rose and walked towards the doors at the rear of the chamber. “Let us visit Katherine,” she said, beckoning to her cousin. “The court can survive without me for an hour and she may have news of our She-Wolf or of Calypso.”
Pressing the mechanism to release the panel that concealed a secret door, Elizabeth led the way into the narrow tunnel. Kate collected two candles from the table and followed. Moments later, the two women were weaving their way through the labyrinth of passages buried within the heart of the palace, making their way to the rooms of Lady Katherine Newton, the central meeting place for the Ladies of Melusine.
When Elizabeth’s father, Henry VIII, had built Nonsuch Palace, he had incorporated a network of interior passages. These were partly for practicality, making it easier for staff to move around with efficiency but there was another, less palatable reason. It had given the king the opportunity to traverse his palace unseen. He had instigated a spyhole here, a false window there, a hidden entrance in an unexpected place to enable him to listen, to watch, to peep; to spy on his courtiers without their knowledge as they went about their daily business. The corridors were a maze of wonder that both increased his sense of omnipotence and his raging paranoia that everyone was plotting to steal his throne.
When Elizabeth had discovered this hidden interior, she had seen more dangers than opportunities, knowing it presented an ideal cover for assassins, so she had created a small, elite guard to patrol these passageways, ensuring they were used by only a select few. As she and Kate hurried to Katherine Newton’s rooms, passing two of these guards, they remained silent, ever conscious that the bustle of the palace was taking place only a heartbeat away from the path they trod. The last thing Elizabeth wanted was to have this private walkway discovered.
When they arrived at their destination, Kate beat out a pattern of low knocks. Moments later, there was a click and the secret door leading into the inner sanctum of the Ladies of Melusine opened to admit Elizabeth and her cousin.
“Your Majesty, how wonderful to see you,” said Katherine. “Please make yourself comfortable by the fire — it is a miserable day.”
Bess was already there, sitting to one side, preparing the alum that Elizabeth had requested. The women used it as invisible ink, writing a message between the lines of a note, doubling the security of the information. Any letter with hidden information would be marked with a small image of a rose in the corner, so the recipient was aware there was an invisible message within.
As she settled by the fire, Elizabeth relaxed, gazing around the room. It was one of her favourites, not only for its quirky shape but because she felt safe within its confines. It was octagonal and had windows on two sides. A door opened on to Katherine’s private solar in the suite of rooms she shared with her husband, Henry. Shelves lined one wall, which were filled with books, rolls of parchment and an array of writing paraphernalia. The light was mellow and the atmosphere calm. A fireplace was opposite the door and the remaining walls were panelled wood, hung with tapestries. These served the dual purpose of keeping the room warm and disguising the hidden entrance. It was a small chamber, more of an annexe to the main living space, and it was for Katherine’s own use.
For those within the palace who questioned the size and superiority of the rooms issued to Katherine and her husband, neither of whom were of noble birth, the answer was always the same: Katherine Newton shared the same blood as Catherine Howard, the former stepmother of Elizabeth and also the cousin of her mother, Anne Boleyn. Although Catherine Howard had vanished from court in February 1542, suffering from a dangerous fever, from which her uncle, Thomas Howard, the duke of Norfolk, had announced she had died some months later, there were those who suspected her end had not been so peaceful — especially when a rumour began to circulate that she might have been executed along with her lady-in-waiting, Jane Boleyn. Elizabeth denied such suggestions but this only added to the heated whispering. In the twisted web that was the Tudor court, somehow Katherine’s mother, Agnes Leigh and subsequently, Katherine herself, had become suggested as being part of this conspiracy. As it suited Elizabeth, Katherine was encouraged to fan the flames of such rumblings, feeling it led people away from their true purpose.
As Elizabeth and Kate settled by the fire, Katherine gathered a sheaf of papers and joined them.
“You seem to have been busy, my dear,” said Elizabeth, glancing at the pieces of parchment Katherine was shuffling into order.
“There has been an influx of letters,” Katherine confirmed. “The Ladies of Melusine have been hearing rumours the length and breadth of the country. It amazes me that Sir Francis and Lord Burghley haven’t informed you that there is something afoot.”
“Neither of them seem to think the whispers are anything unusual,” said Elizabeth. “Yet you do?”
Katherine nodded. “Unfortunately, I think this could be serious,” she sighed. “Late last night, I received a note from Mignonne. It was quite complex and has taken me some time to translate but it appears there is a new Catholic plot being planned by a young man named Anthony Babington.”
Bess looked up in surprise. “Anthony Babington — are you sure?”
“Mignonne named him in her letter,” replied Katherine, checking her translation.
“Do you know him, Bess?” asked Elizabeth.
“Yes, he was a page in our household for some years,” she replied. “He was a difficult boy, very easily led and had a vivid imagination.”
“Was he trustworthy?” asked Kate. The length of pause Bess left before she responded answered the question.
“He was biddable,” she said at last. “He was born into the Darcy family, although to the granddaughter of Thomas Darcy, 1st Baron Darcy de Darcy and was the third child, so he had no claims to any title. This made him bitter, even from a young age, and he seemed determined to make a name for himself elsewhere. Unfortunately, he rather expected the world to bend to his will and if it didn’t, he tried to find someone else to blame.”
“You’re being very kind in your description,” sighed Elizabeth. “Was he also lazy and expected everyone to clear a path for him so he could arrive at the last moment and try to take credit for someone else’s hard work?”
“Well, yes…”
“Like so many men, younger sons in particular; rather than work for their rewards, th
ey try to cheat their way to the top.”
“Have you met him, Elizabeth?” asked Kate.
“Perhaps, when he was younger, but there have been so many men who could fit this category, they rather blur into one.”
Katherine Newton stifled her derisive snort.
“What else did Mignonne divulge?” asked Elizabeth.
“She has once again been approached by Catholic supporters who wish to remove you from the throne, Your Majesty, and replace you with the Scottish queen,” continued Katherine.
“Do these people never bore of repeating this same tedious plot?” asked Elizabeth in disgust.
“This one is a little different,” said Katherine and the strained tone in her voice sent a cold shiver down Elizabeth’s spine.
“What is it?”
“When Babington approached the household, looking for a safe person with whom to correspond, Mignonne stepped forward, as she always does, so she could intercept the letters. Babington is not working alone, neither is he working with the usual rag-tag chancers. His strings are being pulled by one of the men on Walsingham’s watch-list, Thomas Morgan. He has moved to France and is a known Catholic sympathiser. Babington could not help but boast to Mignonne that they were being financed by someone even more important.”
“Philip II of Spain?” questioned Elizabeth and Katherine nodded. “This is not unusual Katherine — he has funded other plots.”
“It isn’t that, Your Majesty. Mignonne is distressed for other reasons. The first is the deterioration in the health of the Scottish queen and the other is the fact that Babington said something which she understood, even if he didn’t.”
“Tell me,” whispered Elizabeth.
“She said that Babington claims Philip informed him that he knows about the missing children. Babington did not understand but he seemed to sense it was important.”
The silence that greeted this pronouncement was dense with fear.
“Impossible,” breathed Kate Howard. “How could Philip know?”
“Perhaps he has turned one of our ladies,” said Elizabeth in icy tones.
“Never,” replied Katherine. “The Ladies of Melusine are loyal to you and you alone. I don’t believe anyone would betray you.”
Elizabeth closed her eyes as she composed herself.
“Would you like my view on this matter, Elizabeth?” continued Katherine. Elizabeth’s eyes met hers and she gave a small, jerky nod. “The King of Spain has heard the same rumours that circulate this court — that you are not the only heir of your father, Henry VIII. Remember, as far as the Catholics are concerned your parents were not legally married because your father was not technically divorced from his first wife, Katherine of Aragon. We all know this is untrue but by suggesting you are illegitimate, it’s easier for the Spanish to stir up trouble. Your father acknowledged a number of his illegitimate children.” She paused and cast a glance at Kate Howard who smiled.
Kate’s father was Henry Carey, Baron Hunsdon, the son of Mary Boleyn, and like his sister, Kathy Knollys, the identity of his true father had always been cloudy. Mary’s husband, William Carey, had given both children a name but there were many who assumed they were both Henry VIII’s offspring.
“I won’t be offended,” Kate murmured and Katherine shot her a grateful smile.
“Your Majesty, you know yourself you have a number of half-siblings, some of whom your father acknowledged, some of whom he didn’t; I think Philip is using the knowledge that there are other half-Tudors to create unrest. It adds credence to his ludicrous claim that he is the rightful King of England.”
Elizabeth gazed into Katherine’s open, honest face. “You could be correct, Katherine, but it isn’t a risk we can afford to take. You say there has been a flurry of correspondence? Please, tell me what my ladies have discovered.”
For the next hour, Katherine talked Elizabeth through the salient points of the letters she had received from the network of noblewomen who made up the Ladies of Melusine. Rumours abounded of ships being sighted off various headlands along the west coast; some as far away as Cornwall, others along the Welsh cliffs, with more glimpses near Liverpool. The letters also reported gossip from their staff suggesting a proliferation of strangers being seen in towns and villagers with increasing regularity — unknown men who then seemed to vanish without trace. Yet the menfolk of the letter writers remained oblivious to these strange goings-on.
“My husband claimed they were pirates and would be dealt with by the Navy”, wrote one correspondent.
“My son, the new earl, suggests they are smugglers”, wrote another.
“My nephew told me to stop interfering but I saw the men with my own eyes. Two days later, they had vanished from their lodgings without a trace”, claimed a trusted source from the Welsh heartlands.
“But where are they coming from?” asked Bess.
“It’s unclear,” replied Katherine, “it seems some are sailing in from the Irish waters. These were reported by Calypso and the information came directly from her father-in-law, Sir John Perrot, who regularly patrols that section of coastline.”
“If these vessels are coming from Ireland, how can we prove they are funded by the Spanish?” said Kate. “Perhaps they are simply merchant ships.”
“Perhaps,” replied Katherine.
“If Philip is behind this, why would he send his men on such a circuitous route?” asked Bess.
“He wants to attack from both coasts,” replied Elizabeth. “There is still a strong Catholic allegiance in Ireland: it is another war we have been fighting for decades. If he positions ships there and uses the Netherlands as another launching point, the two coasts will suffer simultaneous invasion, dividing my troops and making his victory certain.”
“Which is a good idea in theory,” said Katherine, “but he doesn’t have control of the Netherlands. He is unable to berth his fleet there because of Sir Robert and his army. The same is true for Ireland — Sir John Perrot leads your troops there. The Spanish have no foothold.”
Elizabeth considered Katherine’s words. “You’re quite correct,” she mused. “So, what are these ships doing? If they don’t plan to invade as an armada…” Then her face paled as a new thought occurred to her.
“What is it, Elizabeth?” asked Kate.
“This is only a suggestion, but it bears the cunning of Philip,” said Elizabeth. “Perhaps he isn’t planning a full-scale invasion. Perhaps his plan is subtler. What if he’s slowly delivering men favourable to his cause along the coastline, leaving them to work their way inland? What if he is placing a silent army across my realm who will wait and watch until the signal is given, then attack from within?”
“Is that possible?” asked Katherine, horrified.
“Not only possible but probable,” replied Elizabeth. “Katherine, we must write today to warn everyone of what might be about to envelope us. I will also speak to Walsingham and Burghley; our fox and wolfhound must make further investigations. One more thing, Katherine, you must write to both my She-Wolf and her cub, Calypso. They must go immediately to Kenilworth Castle and remain there until I give them further orders. I had planned to insist they come here to London but Lettice’s castle is well-protected and it would be more prudent. Dorothy’s home at Carew Castle is too near to the coast. I will not take unnecessary risks with the lives of those I love.”
“Of course, Your Majesty,” replied Katherine.
Elizabeth drummed her fingers on the arm of her chair as she considered the possibility of such a coup. Would it be possible or would the natural wariness of her subjects make this an impossible task?
“Does our information help you, Elizabeth, or does it bring you more heartache?” asked Kate, watching her cousin. “Do we offer you any comfort?”
“Oh yes, my dear, you make me feel safe,” she said, patting Kate’s knee in a reassuring manner. “Walsingham and Burghley deal with the treacherous spies in the male world but, as has been proved once again, they miss so m
uch information because they regard the chatter of women to be nothing more than pleasant background noise. Yet we hear so much more than they realise.”
The women exchanged knowing looks.
“We are the keepers of a shattering secret: the survival of my half-brother and half-sister. I wasn’t told about them for many years, but when I was, I knew the information was passed on as an act of love, and it was my duty to protect them both.”
“But, a brother?” said Katherine, voicing a question she had long since burned to ask. “A legitimate heir — should he not be king?”
“He should but, remember, he doesn’t know his true identity. Thomas Howard, 3rd Duke of Norfolk was always wary of revealing such a secret. My brother has always assumed he is the illegitimate heir of Thomas. Despite the fact my half-brother has always shown a wisdom beyond his years, the prospect of power has overwhelmed even the calmest, most reasonable of men and I would not wish to risk the peace of the realm by revealing the truth to him. Until such time as I think he should know his true heritage, he will remain one of my closest friends and confidants. Why do you think I have yet to name an heir? Until I have explained the situation to the heir himself, how can I announce it to the nation?”
There was also the problem that should she name an heir, the many discontented nobles who loathed being subjugated by a female monarch might seize the opportunity to replace her with an English King. Her half-brother, a mild man, who was content with the position of power she had bestowed upon him, lived with his wife and son, ever ready to defend her crown. It was a situation Elizabeth was not yet ready to change.
“Neither of Catherine’s children will ever challenge my throne, but one day I may have to name one of them as my heir and then we will need all our strength to withstand the chaos that such an announcement will unleash. Today, however, I must send word to both Walsingham and Burghley. It is time they investigated these rumours or it may be that no amount of legitimate heirs will be able to rescue our nation from the Spanish.”
The Elizabeth Tudor Conspiracy Page 8