“Read it to me again,” Elizabeth demanded, her shoulders shaking with grief.
Katherine glanced at Bess, Kate and Lettice who nodded encouragement, and clearing her throat, she began to read aloud:
“Beloved Lily, I am dying. There is no hope for me but there is still hope for you. This plot must be taken seriously; as should every attempt on your precious soul. You must take care. An idea has been growing in my heart but your reaction, I fear, will be anger. While I live, there will always be danger. If I were to die, the threat would be no more. My death is inevitable, my pain is unbearable, my sweet friend the nun, help me to die quickly. Allow a plot to lead to me, end my pain with a swift swing of the axe. Anything will be better than this slow rotting, living-death I am being forced to endure. If allowing these men to take me will relieve you from danger, then please, do not stop them.
“Remember what we were told of the sweet calm of the Welsh lady when the Judas’s worked their evil intent. In my death there will be confession and my beautiful ached for end will let us correct the damage. We will be able to speak with truthful tongues, allowing me to rest in peace. Jezebel and Cassandra will no longer be able to hide their harlotry and wantonness with their dry signature, while our lineage is sullied by their devilish work.
“Help me to die, sweet Lily. Help me to claim my rightful place by your side. I am a legitimate heir, a true Tudor. Help me, my sweet elder sister. Your loving, Daisy.”
Elizabeth wiped her eyes. If this letter was in earnest, then there was soon to be another death, another loss. It was not unexpected — the reports had been growing more devastating with each visit of the physician — but she had hoped, prayed, wished for a different outcome. Yet she could not condone the plan that was being suggested. Her mother had died in this shocking and barbarous manner, with every fibre of her being she would resist the same end for another beloved relative.
“I must reply to Daisy,” said Elizabeth. “She has been careless with her revelations and if there are spies in our midst who know something of our secret, she may have revealed too much. I can’t allow what she suggests to take place but I must impress upon her that she must remain circumspect in her correspondence.”
“Her words were hidden. Her reference to your mother as the Welsh Lady will not be understood. Neither will the coded names of your father’s later queens — Jane Seymour and Katherine Parr — as Jezebel and Cassandra,” said Katherine. “She had drawn a rose on the corner of the letter to indicate there are clandestine words within the lines. Her message was written in lemon juice and woven between a secondary message from Mignonne.”
“Was there anything in Mignonne’s note that I should know about?”
“Nothing new,” said Bess. “The traitor Babington continues to use the barrel method to correspond with the Scottish queen but, at your order and the suggestion of Walsingham, she pretends to be supportive of the plot in order to discover what else the Spanish king plans. Babington has confirmed he is recruiting a group of six men to assassinate you, then Mary will replace you as Queen.”
“Yet this is not the plan we have unearthed,” said Lettice, in confusion.
“This is Philip’s method,” sighed Elizabeth. “When he was married to my half-sister, Mary, he would create endless machinations. Each one twisting and turning, like strangling weeds, as he caught us all up in his web. However, in those days, when he would flirt with me, trying to win me over so he could marry me once my sister was dead and continue as king consort, I noticed his terrible flaws.”
“And what were they?” asked Kate.
“His arrogance and his laziness,” she said. “In his conceit, he believes he alone is more intelligent than those around him and no one but he will ever be able to see through his Machiavellian schemes. Unlike Niccolò Machiavelli who was the consummate politician and ruthless diplomat, never leaving anything to chance, Philip’s laziness, his lack of attention to detail and his belief he is untouchable and unstoppable, usually leads to the failure of the majority of his schemes. He relies on friends with similar attributes to himself or men who are not as clever as either he or they believe. I suspect these convoluted intrigues of the king of Spain are built on foundations of sand and will fall away the moment they are hit by our storms of good men. As it says in the Bible, in the book of Matthew: ‘And what a terrible fall that was!’.” Elizabeth paced restlessly around the room, feeling cooped up and trapped.
“Do you think it’s possible anyone could have discovered the truth, Your Majesty? We’ve always been so careful.”
“My fears are that Douglas Stafford has revealed this secret,” sighed Elizabeth. “The fact she and her husband have fled convinces me further, though I don’t believe it was done maliciously. Edward Stafford is a bully and Douglas has never been strong. I suspect she was tricked into giving this information. She may never have been a member of our writing circle but she is a Howard and this secret has a Howard girl at its heart.”
“Your former step-mother, Catherine Howard?” asked Katherine. “My great-aunt.”
“Yes, my dear,” said Elizabeth. “You weren’t born when my father was alive, so let me explain. He was a large and often terrible man and when Catherine’s children were born, it was essential he never discovered the truth. My younger half-sister, whom Catherine named Elizabeth, like me, was destined for a special role. Even before her birth, Catherine’s uncle, Thomas Howard had been scheming with his brother who had contacts in foreign courts.
“Children were often born unexpectedly and out of wedlock to high-ranking members of society and Thomas Howard was well-versed in placing illegitimate children in places of safety, where their true identities could be disguised until such time as he might need them for one of his schemes. The hiding of a royal princess took all his skills, yet the home he found for her was truly remarkable. Her life has been similarly so, but now we must ensure her death is not on our consciences, for that I could not bear.” Elizabeth came to abrupt halt. “I am ready to reply to Daisy’s letter,” she announced and Katherine hurried over to the writing desk. Opening the drawer at the front, she clicked the mechanism to release the false bottom, revealing a secret chamber where she kept the codes and ciphers most often used by their group. When she was ready she glanced over at Elizabeth and nodded.
Elizabeth thought for a moment, then began to dictate:
“My dear Daisy, you are correct, my response is anger. This idea is a blasphemy. You cannot think this will be the answer to any of our myriad problems. To die a common criminal? You, who has been chosen. This can never be. What precedent would this set? One who is chosen condoning the death of another. My life would be in greater danger.
“We are depicted as women who are enemies; yet we know this could not be further from the truth. We have guarded this dangerous secret in our hearts all our lives and yet you reveal too much, madam, in your latest correspondence. The truth will be revealed when we are both safe and not before.
“This is your illness, your delirium speaking. You cannot mean to follow the path taken by my mother. Reconsider. Do not leave me as the others have, my sweet Daisy. Ever loving, your Lily.
“I must walk in the gardens,” Elizabeth said, her voice breaking with emotion as Katherine finished writing. “This room is too small, too dark. I must be outside. There are games taking place and the day is too fine for being indoors.”
“But Elizabeth,” said Lettice, “is this wise?”
“I am surrounded by guards,” snapped Elizabeth. “We will walk and we will partake of some exercise. It will do us all good.”
As the women gathered Elizabeth’s cloak and sunshade, readying to visit the gardens, Katherine said, “Your Majesty, if you are willing, I will remain here to translate your message to Daisy.”
“Of course, Katherine,” smiled Elizabeth. “I will tell people your pesky headache has returned.”
Katherine Newton gave Elizabeth a brief smile, then turned her eyes back to the not
e, eager to translate it and send it on its way.
The heralds announced the queen as the doors to her chamber were thrown open. Processing through the palace, Elizabeth glanced around, aware of who was in court and who had fled, wondering whose Catholic allegiances had made them nervous for their positions and their lives. Oh, these tiresome wars over religion, she thought as she led the way to the large formal gardens.
It is the same God whether we speak to him in our own tongue or in Latin, she thought, these men who dictate the terms of the Lord’s word, they are the only people who benefit from the wars. If God was a woman, we would have far fewer problems. Surrounded by her ladies, Elizabeth walked to her favourite part of the Oatlands gardens, the rolling lawns that led down to the wide and majestic beauty of the river Thames. The lifeblood of her capital city, London, and the heart of her England. This was where she felt alive.
A vigorous game of bowls was taking place. Cones had been positioned at either end of the bowling green, with the object being for players to roll their round wooden bowls as close to their opponents cone as possible. Around the two teams of competitors, a laughing crowd had gathered.
Katherine’s husband, Henry Newton and his brother-in-law, Sir Ambrose Coppinger, who was married to Katherine’s half-sister, Lettice Fitzgerald, and Francis Aungier, who was married to another of Katherine’s sisters, Douglas, formed one team. While the opposing team was named The Three Thomases — Thomas West, 2nd Baron De La Warr who was married to Anne, one of Elizabeth’s cousins and the sister of Lettice Dudley; Sir Thomas Leighton, who was married to another Knollys sister, Elizabeth, and finally, Thomas Scrope, 10th Baron Scrope of Bolton, who was the husband of Philadelphia Carey, Kate Howard’s younger sister. Watching from the sidelines were Lord Robert Rich and his wife Penelope, beside them was Lady Dorothy Perrot, who still looked pale and tired with worry.
They are all my family, thought Elizabeth, as the game halted and she was welcomed into their midst. Cousins everywhere I turn, she thought, but no siblings, not here. They are both far away and, despite my best efforts to keep them safe, both are in danger.
“Your Majesty, would you like to bowl?” called Lord Rich.
Elizabeth waved away his request with a smile and instead made for the arrangement of chairs at the top of the bowling rink. “Not while there is a game in progress,” she replied. “I will watch my cousins and have a wager as to the winner.”
It felt good to be outside, she thought, as the breeze brushed her face and the laughing, cheering voices resumed as the game began again. In a world of constant threat, Elizabeth felt that the fate of the Welsh coast seemed distant as she sat here, enjoying the sport taking place in front of her. At this moment, her concern was the health of the Scottish queen. When Mary had thrown herself upon Elizabeth’s mercy in May 1568, there had been no question about helping her. Although, Elizabeth’s ministers had been furious, Elizabeth had immediately placed Mary under the care of her most trusted and close advisor, Sir Francis Knollys.
Part of the reason Mary had fled from her own country and been forced from her throne in favour of her Protestant son, James, was because her second husband, Henry, Lord Darnley had been murdered. Although she had not been involved, Elizabeth’s ministers insisted there was a trial in order to clear the Scottish queen’s name before she was welcomed into the country. Once again, her privy council feared retribution from outsiders and the excuse for an invasion.
Despite her irritation at these requests, Elizabeth had agreed to a trial and Mary’s nobles had fabricated the evidence of the Casket Letters, suggesting Mary was complicit with the plotters of her husband’s death, while choosing to ignore the evidence gathered which exonerated her from all crimes. Although, it was all in the past now. Mary had lived in England for 18 years, while her son, James VI of Scotland, who was now 20, ruled in his own right. Yet for most of that time there had been a stubborn silence between the two.
The previous summer, Elizabeth had decided it was time to be the bridge between mother and son. She had begun bombarding James with presents, including, in June 1585, a gift of horses organised by Robert Dudley, which had been the grandest of all. Since then, she and her privy council had been negotiating a league of agreement to win James over. If all went well, then this treaty would be ratified in the next few days and James would be in the pay of English, with Elizabeth giving him an annual pension of £5,000 — a fortune even for a king. The treaty would also recognise him as the rightful King of Scotland. When in earshot of her privy council, Elizabeth had explained that she would need a Protestant heir. James was a Protestant and she hinted if he behaved, he might be the next King of England.
The pension would also buy his silence.
Away from her privy council, Elizabeth had told James the entire story of her half-siblings, so he, too, was a keeper of the secret of the ruby rings. When she had finished, issuing commands of her own, James had knelt fealty to her and promised he would do all he could to uphold her decisions and defend her realm. Three days later, he had visited his mother and their feud had ended in forgiveness and understanding.
But for what purpose if Philip is trying to win my kingdom by stealth? thought Elizabeth, then she shook herself. Although she might not reveal her plans to those around her, Elizabeth was very clear of who she would name as an heir and how she wished her kingdom to be ruled. None of her plans involved an invasion from Philip of Spain.
I cannot let that man steal all I have worked to achieve in the kingdom I inherited from my father. I may have the body of a weak and feeble woman, she thought, but I have the heart of a king and a king of England, too. I am a Tudor. I will win any battle thrown at me by the Habsburgs. They will never take my throne.
“Your Majesty…” an urgent voice interrupted her musings.
“William?” she murmured, bemused. He was supposed to be in Herefordshire. “William Fitzalan, Viscount Rutland… Why are you here? Where is your father?”
William was hot, red-faced and covered in dust from the road, yet he beamed when he saw Elizabeth and kissed her hand.
“He is at Lamphey with Sir George,” said William. “He and mother insisted I come to you.”
“Do you bring news of the siege?”
“Yes,” gasped William, whose eyes scanned the crowd, all of whom were staring at him in surprise. “Where’s Dorothy?”
On hearing her name, Lady Perrot pushed her way through the crowd, her skirts caught up in her hand as she ran towards them.
“Is there news of my husband?” she asked, reaching her hand out towards William. Lettice and Elizabeth moved closer to her, ready to catch her if the news was bad but William’s smile became even wider.
“Sir Thomas Perrot has escaped his Spanish captors,” he said. Dorothy shrieked, then her legs sagged and both William and Lettice reached forward to grab her. Moments later, with the help of Penelope Rich and her husband, Robert, Dorothy was seated in the shade, her eyes sparkling with tears of relief.
“William, this is wonderful news,” said Elizabeth. “How?”
“He disguised himself as a miller and hid with the other workers when they traversed the mill stream,” said William. “Once free from Carew Castle, he sailed around the estuary and using backwaters made his way to Lamphey Hall.”
“And he is well and safe?” Lettice interrupted, eager to hear news of her son-in-law.
“Yes, my lady.”
“William, this is wonderful news,” exclaimed Elizabeth. “Does he have intelligence of the Spanish?”
“He says their hold on the castle is loosening,” he reported. “The Catholic nobles who were working with the Spanish are beginning to fear for their lives. They have heard nothing from Philip or his generals since the fall of Pembroke Castle — many are unsure whether the Spanish king will send the support he first promised. With each passing day, the Spanish sympathisers are becoming disillusioned and are beginning to desert. Aunt Elizabeth, I think the siege is breaking. I think
we will be able to beat Philip.”
Elizabeth gazed into his smiling face but, despite the happiness and delight at his words, she could not rejoice. If Philip was letting the castles slip away from him, then had he succeeded with the other part of his plan? Forcing a smile, Elizabeth turned away, summoning Bess.
“Go to Walsingham,” she said, her voice choked with fear. “Tell him we must bring Mary to London; she’ll be safer here.”
Bess curtseyed then hurried away, while Elizabeth closed her eyes and prayed they were not too late.
Chapter Three
Elizabeth threw the long, velvet cape around her shoulders and fastened it at her neck. She toyed with the cowl hood, trying it in various ways, deciding which would be the most useful for disguising her identity. There were quick, light footsteps as Kate entered, followed by Lady Katherine Newton. Both carried capes similar to Elizabeth’s.
“The barge is ready,” Kate said in a low voice. “Lettice has sent it from Leicester House. Two of her servants are with it, so we will be safe.”
Katherine arranged Elizabeth’s hood, obscuring as much of her face as possible. Despite the seriousness of the task ahead, Elizabeth could not help but give Kate a small, nostalgic smile.
“This reminds me of the old days,” she said. “Do you remember the day I disguised myself as your maid, Kate?”
“I’ll never forget it,” Kate replied. “You wore that terrible brown cloak so we could sneak out of the palace unnoticed to watch the boys have their archery contest at Windsor Castle. One boy in particular, if I’m not mistaken.”
“Oh yes, back then I had eyes only for Robert Dudley,” she admitted. “He was so glamorous.”
The Elizabeth Tudor Conspiracy Page 16