To Kill A Queen

by Valerie Wilding

  The noose was placed over Throckmorton’s head and – he was dropped. He lashed out with his feet, kicking the air, and the crowd was silent. When he stilled, he was cut down, either unconscious or dead. Only those close by could see what happened next. They let out a great “Aaah!” and Edmund said that was the disembowelling. Ugh.

  Kathryn immediately spoiled everything by pretending to faint. I know she was faking because she went “Aaah,” twice, because Joseph didn’t hear the first time. Then she slumped against him.

  “Come,” said Joseph, picking her up. “We must take Kathryn home.”

  Edmund was as furious as I as we fought our way through the crush. Once free of the crowd, Joseph puffed, “It is too far for me to carry her. I will pay a carter to take us. Hey!”

  In no time, Kathryn was sitting in the back of a cart with Joseph, looking most disgruntled. Perhaps she imagined herself being carried home like a princess in a handsome knight’s arms. Hah! On second thoughts, she does not have that much imagination. She probably hoped Joseph would hire a litter, or a white palfrey, to take her home.

  “We’ll follow,” called Edmund, and Joseph threw him a coin.

  “Feed Kitty,” he said. “She must be starving!”

  Indeed I was! As we walked we made a meal of two hot pies with the most delicious gravy, and some fresh warm bread (which, as I write, still sits in my stomach like a cannonball).

  Mother flicked my bodice when we arrived home. “I see you have eaten well,” she said.

  I had gravy drips down my front. “Sorry, Madam,” I said, “but I am not the only dirty one.” I told her about the sheep, and she laughed.

  “Gravy will be easier to clean than grass,” she said. “Go to it.”

  15th July 1584

  Richard visited with news. William, the Prince of Orange, has been assassinated! It is believed the Spanish arranged his murder. He was a Protestant, in charge of some people in the Netherlands who were rebelling against their Spanish rulers.

  “So now William the Silent is silent for ever,” said Richard.

  The Prince was called “Silent” because he was good at keeping secrets. Like me. Kitty the Silent.

  Richard thinks the Queen should send some soldiers to help the Protestant rebels fight the Spanish. But I doubt if she’ll take any notice of what he thinks. She has dozens of advisers, and probably listens most to her favourites, like Sir Francis.

  16th July 1584

  Lord, I am so BORED. Kathryn is ill, and I must spend my days keeping her company, trying to lift her spirits. Kathryn’s spirits are, to my mind, dreary at the best of times and harder to lift than a barrel of ale.

  Yesterday, I began with good heart. I smoothed her pillow and brushed her hair off her forehead, though it is so wiry, it simply bounces back. But when I fanned her face with the flowers I’d brought, she complained that they dropped greenfly on her so would I please do the sensible thing and put them in water.

  Honestly! What do you do with Kathryn? Uncle William gives her medicine, Aunt Frances feeds her – all I can do is entertain her.

  I tried reading, but I stumbled over too many words, so she told me to stop. Then I tried telling her a story, but she said my head is full of fanciful nonsense. So I sat by the window and sang at the top of my voice. I am not tuneful, so it must have been painful to Kathryn’s delicate ears. I hope so.

  Somehow I do not think she is as ill as she makes out.

  17th July 1584

  Another day in Kathryn’s stuffy bedchamber. I discovered that she was supposed to be going to Chelsea to help her aunt with a newborn baby. She is probably pretending to be ill so she doesn’t have to go. That is nasty.

  19th July 1584

  I am so cross! It’s early on a golden summer morning, with scarcely a breeze. Joseph and his friends are planning an excursion across the river with a basket of food and wine, and I must sit with Kathryn. The day will be so dreary, I can hardly drag myself out of bed.

  Last night, at supper, I learned something that made me wish I hadn’t been horrible about Kathryn not wanting to go to the country. For now it’s my turn. We are going to Father’s brother for part of July and the whole of August!

  Fortunately, we won’t be in a village like Chelsea. We will stay in a fine house, where there will be feasts and music and dancing.

  20th July 1584

  Yesterday evening, as Mother and I sat sewing in the little parlour, we heard Joseph and his friends talking and laughing in the next room about their river outing.

  Mother said, “Poor Kitty. You will miss Edmund while we are away.”

  I shrugged. “I will miss all the happenings in the Tower, certainly,” I said, “but I hardly see Edmund these days. He’s busy with Uncle William, and I sit with Kathryn. He never visits her room.”

  Mother smiled. “I suppose not.”

  After another burst of laughter from the next room, I said, “I will miss Joseph more.”

  “Yes,” said Mother. “He brightens up the house. His friends, too.”

  I nodded. “Especially Sir Anthony Babington. He makes me laugh, and I will never forget how he saved Pawpaw.”

  I hesitated. “Mother, I believe Sir Anthony is a Catholic.”

  She didn’t speak for a moment. Then she said, “There is no law against being a Catholic.”

  “I thought there was.”

  “No,” she said – abruptly, I thought. “Let’s hope tomorrow is your last day of keeping Kathryn company. You must be slightly weary of her.”

  Slightly!

  I ran out of thread. When I opened the closet to get more, the conversation in the next room grew louder, and I heard, “. . .could hardly get back in the boat for laughing. . .” It was as clear as if the speaker was in the room with us.

  Mother smiled. “Close the closet door, for pity’s sake! We don’t want to hear any more of that.”

  I’d have liked to. But I obeyed, and the room was quiet again, except for the snip-snip of Mother’s scissors as she undid a messy piece of work (mine).

  21st July 1584

  I knew that stuffed, pasty lump of a girl was faking! Aunt Frances had a message that Kathryn was no longer needed in Chelsea, and suddenly we have a miracle cure. She’s up and about and snappy and pickety as ever. My hair is untidy, my skin is dull, I sit badly. Not a single word of thanks for giving up my life for these last days.

  But Aunt Frances was full of hugs and whispered thanks. I expect she would much rather have me as a daughter than Kathryn.

  When I was finally allowed home, I saw old Tom taking a familiar horse to the stable. I ran inside and gave Richard a hug. He’s so handsome in his court clothes.

  “I hear you have been comforting our cousin,” he said.

  He well knows what I think of Kathryn! Before I could think of a reply that was fit for Mother’s ears, there was a burst of noise and Joseph came in with his friends.

  Richard clasped hands with Joseph and I marvelled, as I often do, how two men, so alike, can be so different. There was a round of introductions, and Richard said, “Sir Anthony and I are already acquainted, at court.”

  Sir Anthony beamed. “I have seen you often, Master Lumsden. Your skills are much admired.”

  Richard inclined his head. “As I’m sure are yours.”

  Sir Anthony laughed. “I have no skills! I am good for very little.”

  “Not so,” said Joseph. “There are many who are glad to have you for a friend. You cheer all our days!”

  “And I am glad to have you, too, Joseph,” said Sir Anthony. “And your lovely family. You are a lucky man.”

  Sir Anthony is far away from his mother and his home. Perhaps he thinks of us as a new family!

  Once the young men were supplied with ale, Richard, Mother and I moved away to the window seat.

  “I’m surpri
sed to see Babington here,” said Richard. “You know he is from an old Catholic family?”

  Mother smiled. “I know he is Catholic. But all my sons’ friends are welcome here, as you well know. And I am old enough,” she continued, “to remember a time when it was dangerous not to be Catholic.”

  She meant when the Queen’s sister, Bloody Mary Tudor, ruled England.

  “In confidence, Madam,” said Richard, “there are changes coming. Soon I believe it will not only be treason to be a priest, but also that those who help or shelter priests will face death.”

  “Sir Anthony is no priest,” said Mother. “Like everyone else, he must attend church or pay a £20 fine. As long as he does not hear the Catholic Mass, he commits no crime.”

  Richard did not argue, simply saying, “Joseph must take care.”

  We all fear for Joseph at times. Because he is so trusting, he is wide open to trickery. But I think he will not suffer at Anthony Babington’s hands.

  24th July 1584

  We have spent the last three days preparing for our journey to the country. Pawpaw senses I am going away and fears I will leave him here, which I must. Mother says travelling with a dog is a nuisance. Old Tom will care for him. I cannot help crying every time I look at him. Pawpaw, I mean, not old Tom.

  3rd September 1584

  Home! Back in my own chamber with my own things. Back to writing in my diary, which has been safe in its hiding place behind the wall panel.

  Pawpaw nearly exploded when he saw me. I was even pleased to see Sal, until she began grumbling about the state of my clothes. For goodness’ sake – I have been in the country!

  But I have made such a mess of my apple-green shoes, playing football with my cousins, that as soon as I got home I took them outside and tossed them deep into the currant bushes. I will pretend that I left them in the country if Mother asks.

  I’ve missed Edmund so much. Tomorrow I will visit the Middletons with the gifts we have brought, and perhaps I can see him.

  4th September 1584

  We had an unexpected visitor just as I was leaving for the Tower. A court messenger arrived to say that Sir Francis Walsingham was on his way.

  Mother looked confused. “I wonder why,” she murmured, as the maids rushed round making everything ready.

  We soon found out. He had brought Mother’s birthday diary.

  “I shall be away for a few days, my dear Tilly,” he said, “so I took the opportunity, as I’m passing, to deliver Her Majesty’s birthday gift myself.” He handed her the usual leather-bound book filled with thick creamy paper.

  Mother didn’t ask where Sir Francis was going. That’s because he keeps everything he does secret. He knows all that goes on, Richard says, both at court and elsewhere. Sir Francis the Silent. Only he is not always silent. He talks to both my parents. Mother says Sir Francis feels he can be himself in our house, because we are loyalists. Or did she say royalists? Loyalists, royalists. They are the same.

  I suppose Sir Francis must spy on people to get to know all he knows. But he cannot spy on everyone. He must have others to help him. More spies.

  16th September 1584

  Since we returned home, Edmund has come to study only once. Uncle William keeps him too busy. Joseph wonders at me being so desperate to bury myself in Latin. Bless his simple heart! Edmund and I just open our books in case someone comes upon us, and talk to our hearts’ content.

  29th September 1584

  Poor Joseph! He was walking down a lane last week, and came upon an elderly man in a dreadful state. Joseph offered help, and the man said that unless he had seven shillings by midday, he would be thrown out of his lodgings; his sick wife, too.

  Joseph, being Joseph, immediately handed over seven shillings, and the man promised to meet him in that same spot a week later, when he would repay the money.

  Today was that day. Joseph went this morning and we were horrified when he arrived home just before midday, pale and bleeding. Once we had calmed him down, he told us what had happened.

  He’d reached the corner of the lane, by an alley, and waited for the elderly man. Before long, there was a shout of “Ho, there!” from down the alley.

  Joseph turned, recognized the man and started towards him. Suddenly, two more men appeared – huge ones. They pounced on Joseph and, seconds later, they were gone! Those beasts robbed my gentle brother of his doublet, money, and a ring given him by our grandfather. It was all a wicked plot.

  Joseph’s face was cut and his knuckles were raw where they’d scraped against the wall. Mother was gentle with him as she cleaned his wounds. She has told him time and again not to be so trusting, but he never learns.

  1st October 1584

  As I read to Mother this evening, Richard came in, threw himself down before the fire and tickled my ankles. I kicked him.

  “Ow!” he said. “And here I am to tell you that you shall have the pleasure of my company for a few days. I am not needed at court.” He made to get up. “But if you kick me away. . .”

  I laughed. “Stay. You make a good footrest.”

  “What news from court?” Mother asked.

  “Not much,” he replied. “The talk is all of how Mary of Scotland is being sent to Tutbury Castle, in Staffordshire. She will have a new gaoler, Sir Amyas Paulet.”

  “I know of him,” said Mother. “He is a loyal servant of Queen Elizabeth. But what of Tutbury? Is it pleasant?”

  “I fear not,” said Joseph. “Damp and cold is all that can be said of it.”

  “Why must she move?” I asked.

  “For security,” said Richard. “If she stays too long in one place, there’s a danger of her worming her way into the affections of local servants, and perhaps getting their help to free her.”

  “Can she not be sent back to Scotland?”

  Richard laughed. “She would not thank you for that, Kitty! She is no more welcome there than here. And it’s unlikely that our queen would put another queen in danger – her own cousin, too.”

  “It must be a nuisance for the Queen having to keep Mary Stuart prisoner,” I said. “Perhaps she could be banished from England and go abroad. Then all would be well.”

  Mother frowned. “Kitty, do not forget that Catholic countries, like Spain, would like nothing better than to restore the Catholic religion to England. And what better way to do that than to put a Catholic queen on the throne?”

  My heart jolted when I realized her meaning. Freedom for Mary would mean Queen Elizabeth must die.

  2nd October 1584

  Joseph’s spirits are back to normal, thank goodness. At least his judgement seems to be right about his friends. Anthony Babington, for one. He brings small gifts to Mother – flowers, sweetmeats – and he plays with Pawpaw, and is always giving dinner to Joseph and his other friends.

  The autumn sun is warm, so when Edmund turned up with his Latin books, we went into the garden. Kathryn had followed him, of course, but Mother kept her chatting.

  Hearing the clatter of hooves, we went to see who it was. I expected Richard, but it was Sir Anthony, come to cheer Joseph after his encounter with the thieves. They joined us in the garden and Joseph called for Sal to bring ale. Edmund and I took up our books, so it would look as if we were studying.

  The men chatted and I listened. When everything went quiet, I put down my book and said, “I hear that Mary of Scotland is to change prisons.”

  They stared.

  “It is true,” I said.

  Joseph looked bemused, but Sir Anthony seemed to be interested – or pretended to be. “Do you know where she is to move to?” he asked.

  I said Tutbury. His face hardened. “The poor lady will be uncomfortable there,” he said. “Tutbury is a cold, gloomy place.”

  “You remember her well?” I asked.

  “I will never forget her,” he said. “She is brave
, strong and true to her faith.”

  And yours, I thought.

  He stood, looking past me. “Lady Tilly,” he said.

  We all got up. I don’t know if Mother heard me talking about Mary. If so, it could not have mattered, as all she said was, “Kitty, Edmund, to your books.”

  18th October 1584

  We dined with the Middletons after church today. When we had finished, Aunt Frances took Mother into her little garden to ask her advice about some herb or other. Kathryn trailed behind them.

  Richard, Joseph and Uncle William gathered round the fire. Edmund and I sat watching the little ones and listening to the talk, which was all about the prisoners Uncle William – and Edmund! – have attended. The Tower seems full of traitors. Catholic priests, too. One was in fetters for over six weeks, before being put in Skevington’s irons, which is a torture instrument. It squeezes the prisoner’s body so hard that blood comes out of his ears.

  “Let’s hope,” said Uncle William, “that the Bond of Association will put an end to Catholic attempts to usurp its true monarch.” He raised his glass. “Her Majesty’s health.”

  I mouthed to Edmund, “Bond of Association?”

  He shrugged.

  29th October 1584

  I am such a ninny. When I threw my green shoes into the currant bushes, I forgot about autumn. Now the leaves have fallen and Mother has found them.

  I blamed Pawpaw. “You naughty dog, you should be whipped.”

  Mother glared at me. I felt as if “I did it,” was written on my heart.

  “Dogs!” I said.

  30th November 1584

  I have been so busy. Poor Mother slipped in the muddy edge of our pond and fell, twisting her ankle. She can’t move around, and relies on me to check the maids’ work, see that Sal keeps the cook in order, and check that Lucy looks after the little ones properly. Luckily, Mother can do lots of sewing, which has set me free from my needles.