by Jean Plaidy
“Then surely the Queen's wishes should be obeyed.”
“We must be wise. The people will not like to think that you and I are lovers.”
“Should they not know the truth?”
“I mean lovers in another sense.”
He laughed. “Well, we are in thought if not in deed. Soon, I trust…”
I shook my head and galloped ahead but he was soon beside me.
“Elizabeth,” he said excitedly, “it is only Amy who stands in our way and she is a very sick woman. She has a malignant growth. My dearest lady, be patient… just a little longer.”
“I do not like this talk of death,” I said. “It is not right for a man to talk so of his wife to another woman.”
“It is right to speak the truth. Be patient a little longer.”
“Poor girl,” I said. “Does she hear rumors of her husband's falseness in that house… what is it?”
“Cumnor Place. She has always felt uneasy about our marriage … knowing that she lacks the social gifts to share in such a union.”
“You have a great opinion of yourselves, you Dudleys.”
“Not quite as great as the Tudors.”
“Indeed not, and how could it be so? But I do not wish to hear of your Amy. I grieve for the poor lonely soul whose husband rarely deigns to visit her.”
“I cannot live without the warmth of the sun.”
“I am the sun, am I? Well, Robert. I'm glad you enjoy the warmth in which you bask. But I think you should be a little kinder to your lawful wedded wife. You neglect her most shamefully. If you do not make a good husband to one, could you to another?”
This brought about one of those declarations of undying devotion and praise of my beauty and wit to which I so much liked to listen.
People were noticing us so I rode on and joined other members of the party.
I was in a strange mood that day. I was almost inclined to believe that I could have married Robert. I argued with myself that although the idea of marriage was not completely enticing, there was one man and one only with whom I would embark on it.
It was unfortunate—or so it turned out later—that I was in this mood when the Spanish Ambassador de Quadra approached me.
He was a very solemn gentleman and like all ambassadors more or less a spy for his master. Since the betrothal of Philip of Spain and Elisabeth of France our relations with Spain had been more difficult than ever. While Philip had been hoping for a marriage with me, the Ambassadors had been very affable. Now they were less so, but still urging their candidate—in this case the Archduke Charles.
I was in a frivolous mood and when de Quadra threw out his hints, I couldn't help bringing Robert's name into the conversation for it always amused me to see their panic when they contemplated a union between me and Robert. The fact that he had a wife made them feel safer about it—as it did me, but on this occasion I threw aside caution.
De Quadra remarked that Lord Robert had seemed somewhat unhappy during the hunt.
“He fears to lose Your Majesty's especial favor on the occasion of your marriage.”
“Lord Robert doubtless thinks of his wife. She is dead or nearly so.”
He looked at me in astonishment and immediately I realized I had been indiscreet.
“Pray, my lord,” I said, “say nothing of this.”
He bowed his head, but I knew he would write at once to Philip and tell him what I had said.
Cecil came to me that very day. He wanted to talk about the rumors regarding Robert and me.
“They are dangerous and I have to confess to Your Majesty a certain indiscretion.”
“You indiscreet! I cannot believe that.”
“De Quadra talked slyly, I thought, of Lord Robert's wife.”
“Why should he speak of her?”
“There are rumors that Lord Robert would like to be rid of her in order to marry you.”
“No doubt he would,” I said. “Any ambitious man would look to exchange a country girl for a queen.”
“He said there was a rumor that Lord Robert was planning to kill her himself and that it was being circulated that the lady was suffering from an incurable illness, to which I replied that I thought the lady was well and taking good care not to be poisoned.”
“That does not seem to me to be so very indiscreet.”
“I was sorry immediately I said it, but I had to confess to you. I wish that you would marry. Once you did and produced an heir, we should have an end to these damaging rumors.”
“I will think seriously of the matter,” I promised him, and I assured him that we were all indiscreet at moments and he had been honorable enough to tell me what had taken place. I did not tell him what I had said to the Ambassador.
A few days later the news broke.
On the previous Sunday, a day after I had told the Spanish Ambassador that Lady Dudley was dead or soon would be, she was indeed dead. She had been found at the bottom of a staircase in Cumnor Place with her neck broken.
I WAS NUMBED by the shock as the enormity of what had happened was brought forcibly home to me. The frivolous side of my nature retreated in shame and the sterner side took over. I had played my games too realistically. I was the first to know that in doing so I had placed myself in acute danger. When I thought of how carefully I had lived through those days when I had emerged from the Tower, how I had considered each step before I took it, I could not believe that I could have become so careless and foolish as to be involved in the death in suspicious circumstances of an unwanted wife.
I summoned Robert immediately. I must see him—and then send him away at once. It must not appear that I was in any way implicated. How could I say that? I was implicated. Mother Dowe and thousands of others were whispering scandal about me. What had I said to the Spanish Ambassador only the day before Amy Dudley died? What had Cecil said?
I knew that this scandal would go on reverberating round the world.
Robert must leave Court at once and I should have to put him under restraint. I must dissociate myself with all speed from this matter. It must be shown that however great a favorite a man was, if the charge of murder was brought against him, he must face it.
I arranged with Kat that he should come to me in secret, and when he entered the room he would have taken me into his arms, but I stood back, aloof, now the Queen.
Yet I knew that I loved him as I never had, nor ever would, love another person. Whatever he had done, I must still love him. I would always make excuses for him. Whatever he had done, he had done for my sake.
But more than Robert, I loved my royalty. I had to protect my future and my crown and at the moment my adored and adoring Robert was a threat to it.
“What happened at Cumnor Place?” I asked as coolly as I could.
“She fell from the top of a staircase and broke her neck. It was an accident.”
“At such a time?”
“There is no knowing when accidents will happen.”
“Who will believe it?” I asked.
“It matters not. You are the Queen. You will tell the people what they must believe.”
I shook my head. “That is beyond my power. The people will believe what they think to be the truth, and there have been rumors about us, Robert.”
He was a little impatient, even arrogant. Perhaps he saw himself already as King. Oh no, Robert, I thought. You shall not be King… not even you. This has shown me clearly which way I must go. But I did not say that to him. I wanted to know whether he had indeed murdered his wife.
“Robert,” I said, “did you…?”
“I was nowhere near the place,” he replied.
But a man like Robert would not need to be. Such distasteful tasks were carried out by servants. It was dangerous to employ servants to do such deeds. Servants, in certain circumstances, could be made to talk.
Oh, what a web I was caught up in. I should have known better. Had I not stepped into danger through Thomas Seymour? And now Robert. I shoul
d have learned my lesson.
“The people will never accept that she died by accident at such a time.”
“Does that matter?”
Oh Robert, I thought, you have a lot to learn of the people and me.
“I must be beyond reproach in such matters,” I said. “There must be no suspicion attached to me.”
“I will defend you.”
“Your main concern will be to defend yourself,” I said sharply. “You are the one who will stand on trial for this.”
“On trial?”
“Oh, we do not know what the outcome will be, but we must be prepared.”
“You are the Queen.”
“A queen might not survive through such a storm as this could raise.”
“Your father killed two of his wives and was still loved by the people.”
“The circumstances are different. They were accused of treason and the axeman killed them. This is the removal of a woman who, many will say, stood in your way.”
“Never fear. We shall come through this and then… there is no obstacle.”
He would have embraced me but I held him off. He did not see the change in me, but it had come. Never again would I risk my throne for the sake of a man. In future I should think first of the Queen.
“Lord Robert Dudley,” I said, “I am placing you under arrest.”
He stared at me incredulously.
“Yes, Robert,” I said. “There will be many questions to be answered and until they are satisfactorily dealt with, you cannot remain at Court. You must see that. Go to your house at Kew. Stay there. You will be confined to that house on the Queen's orders.”
He nodded slowly. “Yes,” he said, “I see that, as always, you are right. I will go to Kew. I will stay there and I know that we can arrange this matter satisfactorily and when it is settled…”
No, Robert, I thought, it can never be now, for whatever the verdict you are able to bring about, suspicion will always be there and never must a finger be pointed at the Queen with the suggestion that she had a hand in the murder of her lover's wife.
First it must be seen that he was under house arrest.
So he left with the guards and I knew that in spite of my previous frivolity, I was now acting like a queen.
IN MOMENTS OF DANGER William Cecil showed himself as the cool, wise counselor he was. He was deeply disturbed by the death of Lady Dudley.
He talked to me very gravely and I was glad that he approved of my action in confining Robert to Kew.
He discussed at length the danger in which I had been placed.
“There will have to be an inquiry and the servants at Cumnor Place will all have to give evidence. Whether they will be in favor of Lord Robert who can say? But doubtless Lord Robert will know how to act.”
“Do you mean he will be able to force his servants to say what he expects them to?”
“They are his servants. It is his affair. Your Majesty, your crown could be at stake. A verdict of accidental death must be brought in.”
“Will the people believe it?”
“There will always be some who do not. But that is inevitable. If a jury brings in a verdict of accidental death that will have to be publicly accepted. There are certain to be those who will believe Lord Robert guilty of murder… and Your Majesty with him.”
“That is impossible. I knew nothing of the woman.”
“The people believe that you wish to marry Lord Robert and Lady Amy was in the way.”
“I am innocent,” I said. “I know nothing of her death. Is the end of one countrywoman so very important?”
“Of the utmost importance. The people will accept political killings— even those such as occurred in your sister's reign. There is usually an excuse for them which people understand…or some do. No one will tolerate the murder of a wife by her husband in order that he may marry another woman. We must at all costs stop a charge of murder. Anything is better than that, because if it were proved to be murder, Your Majesty would be implicated. You must face the fact that your hold on the crown is not as firm as we should like it to be. Until now the people have shown their love for you in no small way, but a scandal of such magnitude could alter that. There is Mary Queen of Scots across the water, with the French King—and now possibly with Spanish help—ready to put her on the throne. And even nearer home there is the Lady Katharine Grey whose sister was queen for nine days, and she, too, is the great-granddaughter of your grandfather Henry VII. Your Majesty must walk warily.”
“I know it well, and I know too, good Master Cecil, that I can rely on your wisdom.”
He nodded. “It is well that Lord Robert has been sent away from Court. We must ridicule all suggestions of murder. The verdict shall be accidental death; and Lord Robert must remain at Kew until we have the right verdict. In the meantime I will call on him there, which will show the people that I regard him as my good friend who cannot be anything but innocent, and show that his stay at Kew is by no means an arrest but merely undertaken in view of the delicacy of the situation. It will show that he himself feels it better to remain there until his name is completely cleared of this absurd suspicion.”
“I thank you, Cecil. We shall come through this, and then we shall tread with especial care.”
I LIVED IN a state of nervous tension awaiting the verdict of the coroner's jury. I knew that the country was aghast and that there was strong suspicion of Robert which included me. My enemies, of course, were making the most of the scandal. Sir Nicholas Throckmorton, who was now my Ambassador in France, wrote to Cecil to tell him that the Queen of Scots had laughed aloud when she heard the story and said for all to hear: “So the Queen of England is going to marry her horsemaster who has killed his wife to make room for her.”
How dared she! The foolish pampered creature! I disliked her intensely, not only because she claimed my throne and was unquestionably legitimate but because the people at the Court of France were constantly singing of her exceptional beauty and grace, which, I told myself spitefully, was no doubt because now that Henri Deux had died so suddenly, she and her little Franois were Queen and King of France.
Our ambassadors reported from every country that it was the general opinion that Robert had murdered his wife in order to marry me. They sent strong advice that there should be no marriage with Robert.
They need not have worried. I, too, had made up my mind about that.
Robert, determined that at the coroner's court there should be a verdict of accidental death, had taken the precaution of sending a distant kinsman, Thomas Blount, down to Cumnor Place to brief the servants so that they should be aware of what their master expected of them. He knew Thomas Blount would do his utmost for, being a poor relation, he had everything to win through Robert. If Robert were to fail, he would fail with him. Such men make good servants.
Blount evidently did his work well and everyone who had been in the house on that fatal day was primed in what he or she must say. Most of them had been away from the house when the accident happened because the annual fair had come to the neighborhood and they had all wanted to attend it.
Lady Dudley had stayed behind. I thought of her in that house alone. Had she had any premonition? She could not have been ignorant of the rumors. They abounded. How would a lonely woman feel when her husband was paying court to another woman and there had been rumors that he was plotting her death?
Why had she allowed them all to go to the fair, leaving her alone in the house? That seemed to point to suicide. But would a woman who wished to kill herself choose such a method? How could she be certain of death? The same applied to murder—unless of course the victim was killed by some other means and thrown down the staircase to make it appear she had fallen down and, doing so, died.
There must be some explanation. I wished that I knew it. Or did I? Did I really want to know what had happened in that quiet house on that day when almost everybody had gone to the fair and Amy Robsart was alone?
I waited patie
ntly for the jury's verdict. I guessed it would be what we wanted. How could it be otherwise? Accident? Suicide? Either would do, but accident was better. Murder it must never be called.
It was—as I had known it would be—a foregone conclusion. The jury would not want to offend a man as powerful as Robert was—nor did they wish to displease me. So there was only one verdict.
Amy Robsart's maid, Mistress Pinto, who had been with her for many years and who was devoted to her, did hint at her mistress's suffering. The theory of a growth in the breast was brought up. It could have been suicide. Suicide or accident, it did not greatly matter.
So the verdict was accidental death. Cecil was relieved; Robert was overjoyed; but I was sober. I did not think the matter could be so neatly dealt with as that.
ROBERT RETURNED TO COURT. No one dared mention the matter of Lady Dudley's death in his presence or mine, but that did not prevent its being frequently spoken of and I doubt whether many believed the coroner's verdict. Robert was watched even more attentively than before. He had acquired a new reputation—one which set men making sure they did not offend him. Clearly they thought he was a man who had the ability to remove those who stood in his way. I tried to behave as though nothing had happened. I wanted to give the impression that Robert was just a good subject who had rather special gifts and that was why I favored him.
He was constantly at my side and I talked to him of matters of State. He had a good grasp of these and he always looked at them with an eye to the advantage of the crown. During that time Robert was so certain that he would soon be sharing it that he could not stop himself behaving like a king.
I was tender toward him. I was sorry for all the suspicion which had been directed at him. If he were indeed innocent that would be galling for there is nothing so maddening as to be accused of something one has not done. And if he had murdered his wife… well then, he had done that for me. And I had led him on, tempting him perhaps too far.
I could not help my feelings, but I was more alive when I was in his company than that of anyone else. If he were absent, then I found the company dull. I liked his dark looks, his magnificent vital presence; I liked his arrogance; I liked his persistence and his ability to withdraw himself with an air of unconcern from an intolerable situation such as the one which had recently threatened to destroy him.