The Queen's Favourite

by Laura Dowers

  He wondered if his brother’s marriage night had been anything like his. He doubted it. Jack had been married the day before Robert to Edward Seymour’s daughter. Robert had tried to see the sense in such an alliance. He knew that his father had arranged it to try and bring the Seymour and Dudley families together, but in his opinion, the Seymours were not worth the effort? Robert had thanked God he had Amy, otherwise he would have had to marry the hard-faced Seymour cow.

  Amy stirred and lifted her face to him. ‘Good morning, my lord,’ she purred.

  ‘Good morning, wife.’

  ‘Have you been awake long?’

  ‘A little while. I’ve been thinking.’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘Just things. Yesterday.’

  Amy shifted to lean on one elbow, wincing at a stab of pain from between her legs. ‘Was I good yesterday? I mean, I didn’t embarrass you in front of your family, did I?’

  ‘Of course you didn’t. Why would you think that?’

  ‘Because I’m not used to such people, Robert. Just remembering yesterday makes my head whirl. Yesterday I met the king!’

  ‘It was good of him to attend. But I wish Father could have been there.’

  ‘Is he very ill?’

  ‘Mother says he’s tired more than anything else. He works so hard.’

  Amy yawned softly. ‘I don’t think your mother was very impressed with me.’

  Robert said nothing. In truth, he was more than a little annoyed with his mother. Her disappointment in Amy had been obvious. She had loudly criticised Amy’s clothes, exclaiming they were not good enough to be seen by the servants, let alone the king. Amy had been married in one of Mary’s dresses, seamstresses working through the night to make the alterations necessary for Amy’s plumper figure. Amy had accepted all this meekly, holding back the tears as Jane spoke about her to Mary as if she wasn’t in the room.

  ‘Mary was quite nice to me,’ Amy continued, ‘but Guildford hardly spoke to me.’

  ‘I wish you wouldn’t think on such things,’ Robert said with a touch of impatience. ‘My family have a lot on their minds at the moment.’

  ‘I will be glad to get back to Norfolk.’

  ‘What’s wrong with London?’

  ‘It’s filthy and the people are rude.’

  ‘I’ve lived here all my life and I’ve never found it so.’

  ‘That’s because you’re used to it. I look at it with country eyes.’

  ‘Well, we leave for Norfolk at the end of the week. Your father’s preparing Syderstone Hall for us.’

  ‘He didn’t tell me that!’ Amy cried delightedly.

  ‘It was part of your dowry. Is it a good house?’

  ‘Oh, Syderstone’s lovely, Robert. Can’t we go there straight away?’

  ‘Of course we can’t, you silly thing,’ he said, laughing at the notion. ‘I must conclude my duties at Court and take leave of the king before I leave.’

  Amy sighed and laid her head once more upon his chest, feeling his heart beat against her cheek. Friday, she thought. Away from London and its stink, away from her formidable mother-in-law, living at Syderstone where she could have Robert all to herself. She couldn’t wait.

  2

  Syderstone Hall, Norfolk, October 1551

  Robert quickly learned to love Norfolk, as Amy had hoped he would. He found he did not even miss London as much as he feared, for there was much to do as lord of estates and tenancies. He would rise early and ride out on Salome, a beautiful chestnut mare, a wedding present from his parents.

  Robert walked Salome back into the stable yard, throwing the reins to Dick, the stable lad. He slid his hand along her hot, moist neck, feeling the throb of her heart, and then, as he always did, pressed his face in the hollow behind her jaw and gave her a kiss. ‘A good ride, my sweet,’ he murmured. She snorted in pleasure. ‘Look after her, Dick,’ he called as he crossed the yard.

  Robert entered the house through the kitchens, greeting the servants cheerfully and winking at two young maids, whose smiles dimpled their cheeks, and were roundly told off by a plump female superior as soon as he had passed through into the hallway. He smiled to himself as he heard their protestations.

  ‘My lord,’ his steward greeted him.

  ‘Farrow, what have we got today?’

  ‘Two complaints from tenants about the state of their roofs, a woman asking for your assistance in a matter of arbitration and a letter from your brother.’

  ‘It’s about time Ambrose wrote. I’ll read his letter first, and then you can show them in. Where’s your mistress?’

  ‘I believe Mistress Dudley has not yet risen, my lord.’

  ‘She’s still in bed? God a’ Mercy. Get her maid to get her up. I won’t have her lying abed all day, it’ll make her ill.’

  ‘Yes, my lord. The letter is on your desk. And bread and beer are also laid out, as you ordered.’

  ‘Thank you, Farrow.’ He entered his study, wiping grime from the back of his neck with his handkerchief. He flopped into his chair and downed a cup of the beer in one gulp. He grabbed Ambrose’s letter and broke the seal.

  My dear brother,

  Sorry for not having written to you sooner, but I’ve been busy. I don’t know if you will have heard, living in that backwater you call home, but there has been a plot to kill Father. You will not believe it, after all Father’s kindness towards him, but it is all the work of Edward Seymour. You can imagine Jack’s fury when he found out. I imagine his wife has suffered the rough edge of Jack’s tongue because of it.

  Now, before you dash off to London, Father is quite well and is no longer in any danger.

  Edward Seymour is once again imprisoned in the Tower and I rather fancy the king will not be so forgiving this time. It is almost certain that Seymour was raising the people of London to attack and remove the council, so that he could rule once again as Protector. This, despite the king being quite the man these days and no longer a little boy to be governed. The king misses you, by the way, and wishes you continued good health. He relies on Father a great deal and trusts him completely. So it won’t surprise you when I tell you that Father is soon to be created Duke of Northumberland. We Dudleys do rise!

  Father’s gathering around him men he can trust. I’m sure he’ll be sending for you soon.

  I know you enjoy your sickening bucolic existence and are quite annoyingly healthy, breathing in the fresh air of Norfolk, but you must come. Father will need you, as will the king, I’m certain, when the time comes.

  I don’t know if Mary has written to you, but she has news as well. She is to marry your old friend, Henry Sidney, and though she pretends indifference, Mother says she is half in love with the clod already.

  So, plenty of happenings here at Court, enough to make you wish you’d never left, if I know my brother.

  I hope to see you soon, dear Rob.

  Your loving brother,

  Ambrose Dudley

  Robert refolded the letter, absently fingering the red wax seal. Ambrose was right. So much was happening and he had not been there when his father needed him.

  The door opened and Amy, her eyes half-closed, shuffled in wearing only her nightgown. She eased herself onto his lap, curling her arms around his neck.

  ‘Why did you make me rise so early?’ she said in a soft, whiny voice, her face tilted to his so that he tasted the tang of her sour breath.

  ‘It’s not early, Amy. It must be at least nine.’

  ‘That’s early. Won’t you kiss me?’

  He gently pushed her from his lap and stood. ‘Not now.’

  ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked, a little stung by his rejection.

  ‘Ambrose has written. I should be in London. My father needs me.’

  ‘You’re leaving?’

  ‘Maybe.’ He shook his head. ‘Or maybe I should wait until Father sends for me. I don’t know what to do for the best.’

  ‘You should wait,’ Amy said hurriedly.

 
‘But wait for what? If I wait, I might be too late to be of any help. I think it far better I should be on hand.’

  ‘Then I shall come to London with you.’

  ‘I’ll do better on my own.’

  ‘Better?’ her bottom lip trembled.

  ‘Amy, I’ll be busy.’

  ‘I won’t get in the way.’

  ‘You will. Oh, you won’t mean to, but no, you must stay here. Now, I must get ready to leave.’

  He strode from the room, shouting for Farrow. Amy fell into his chair, cursing John Dudley for taking Robert away from her.

  3

  Greenwich Palace, London, November 1551

  The court had changed. People now spoke in whispers and looked carefully about them as if wary of being overheard and when they looked at Robert, he saw respect in their eyes for the Duke of Northumberland’s son.

  He hurried to his father’s rooms. ‘Father,’ he threw open the door and stopped short. John was sitting at his desk, his head resting on his hand. He had looked up at Robert’s entrance and it was the change in his appearance that had struck Robert dumb. John had lost weight and there were dark smudges beneath his eyes.

  ‘Do I look as bad as all that?’ John asked with a half-laugh.

  ‘You’re ill?’ Robert rushed to his father’s side and knelt, taking his hand.

  ‘I’m a trifle tired and I have a pain in my stomach that plagues me from time to time. But you mustn’t worry.’ He shook off Robert’s hand. ‘Go and sit down.’

  Robert reluctantly obeyed. ‘Ambrose wrote to me. Told me all the news.’

  ‘Yes, I know. Seymour will be executed on the twenty-second.’

  ‘That’s just over a week away. Why the hurry?’

  ‘Best to get it over with. Did you bring your wife with you?’

  ‘No, I left her in Norfolk.’

  John rifled through the papers on his desk. ‘I want you to stay in London. Ah, here it is. I was going to send this on to you.’ He threw a folded parchment with a heavy red seal to Robert. ‘I’ve arranged with the king for you to take up the post of Master of the Buckhounds. That’s your commission. You can send for Amy once we’ve found some rooms for you in the palace.’

  ‘I will.’ Robert said, quickly scanning his commission. ‘I have a very good steward in Farrow. There’s nothing he can’t take care of for me. How is the king, Father?’

  John yawned. ‘Well enough. He was quite ill a month or two ago, but he seems to have got over it.’

  ‘I meant about Seymour going to the block.’

  ‘He signed the death warrant without any objection. He’s his father’s son, alright.’

  ‘I should go and see him.’ Robert rose. ‘Where shall I be staying?’

  ‘You can sleep with Ambrose for tonight. His rooms are further down this corridor. I’ll get my secretary to find you some rooms for tomorrow. Come back after you’ve seen the king and we’ll all dine together.’

  ‘I’d like that but I don’t know how long I’ll be. I’ll probably have to wait to see him.’

  ‘Not any more,’ John smirked and the tiredness seemed to diminish. ‘Tell the guards who you are and you’ll be let straight through. You’re a Dudley, my son, and no door is closed to you now.’

  King Edward was sitting on a cushion on the floor in his bedchamber, his back against the wall. Unusually, he was alone. He looked up as Robert entered and Robert saw that his eyes were swollen and red, and his nose was running. ‘Hello, Rob,’ Edward said, attempting a smile.

  ‘Your Majesty?’ Robert knelt and placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘What’s wrong?’

  Edward wiped his arm across his eyes. ‘Don’t tell your father. Please.’

  ‘I won’t. But why are you crying?’

  ‘Uncle Edward. I’m sending him to the scaffold just like I did to Uncle Tom.’ Edward began to cry again and Robert, put his arm around him. Edward accepted the embrace almost gratefully. ‘I killed my mother too. She died giving birth to me. So then I kill her brothers. Who’s next? My sisters?’ Edward pulled away with a sniff, searching in his doublet for a handkerchief. Robert gave him his. ‘You mustn’t think I’m not grateful to your father, Robert. I am. He does so much for me. I know your father would save my uncle if he could, but I know he has to be executed.’

  ‘It’s a terrible decision to have to make.’

  Edward nodded and blew his nose. ‘I’ve not been well, you know, Rob?’

  ‘Father told me.’

  ‘I’m better now, but I really was very ill. And I’m not even sixteen. What if I were to die? Who would succeed to the throne?’

  ‘You’re not going to die, Edward.’

  ‘I’m not afraid of dying, Rob. If God wanted me, it would be an honour to be with him. But I do worry about England.’

  ‘I suppose your sister Mary would become queen.’

  ‘That’s exactly what I fear. Archbishop Cranmer, your father and I, we’ve all worked so hard to bring this country to accept the New Learning. Mary would want to undo it all.’

  ‘And return us to Rome,’ Robert said grimly. ‘So, assuming the worst were to happen – which I am confident will not – can anything be done to see that Mary doesn’t inherit?’

  ‘We’re working towards that. We’re seeing if she can be removed from the Act of Succession.’

  ‘Leaving Elizabeth to succeed?’

  Edward grimaced. ‘She’s another problem.’

  ‘She’s no Catholic, I know that,’ Robert declared.

  ‘But she is illegitimate. Her mother and my father were not married, so how can I leave my throne to her?’

  ‘Well then, who does that leave?’

  ‘My cousin, Lady Frances Brandon.’ Edward made a face. ‘She’s a dreadful woman and, more importantly, she is not likely to have any more children. All she has are daughters.’

  ‘And a king is better than a queen.’

  ‘Of course. Women are not suited to sovereignty but there are too many females and not enough males in the Tudor tree.’

  ‘A fact which your father struggled to correct.’

  ‘And all he got was me,’ Edward said sadly. ‘Your father had a suggestion.’

  ‘Which was?’

  ‘To make Lady Frances’s eldest daughter my successor.’

  ‘Which one was that?’ Robert tried to remember faces from the days in the royal schoolroom.

  ‘Jane.’

  ‘Oh yes, I remember Jane.’ Jane Grey had been a small, thin girl, with a pointed chin and freckles across her nose.

  ‘I like Jane. She’s clever and a Protestant, and if my successor must be a woman, then I would rather it were her. Hopefully she will have sons when she marries.’

  ‘Then I have a suggestion,’ Robert said. ‘Why don’t you marry Jane?’

  Edward coloured. ‘Uncle Thomas suggested that once. But my health is not up to it and anyway I feel Jane is too close in blood to me. Better she marry elsewhere, and soon.’

  ‘Maybe you could suggest a husband for her?’

  ‘Your father already has.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes. Your younger brother. What’s his name?’

  ‘You don’t mean Guildford?’ Robert spluttered.

  Edward grinned. ‘He’s the only one left old enough to marry, I understand. You were foolish enough to wed a country girl and exile yourself to Norfolk, so that leaves only Guildford.’

  ‘Do you mean to say that Guildford could one day be king of England?’

  ‘Well, let’s hope I’m here for some time yet.’

  Robert nodded vigorously. ‘For the sake of England, I sincerely hope so, Your Majesty.’

  4

  Durham House, London, May 1553

  Guests had been arriving since ten o’clock, making themselves at home in the gardens of Durham House.

  Robert hurried through the house, past the servants in the Great Hall laying the tables for the feast and up the stairs to Guildford’s bedchamber, takin
g them two at a time. He gave a smart rat-tat-tat on the door and entered.

  ‘Guildford, you lazy dog!’ His youngest brother lay splayed out on his bed, his long legs hanging over the sides. He was half-dressed in silver hose and pumps, his torso bare, one arm thrown across his eyes. ‘Father will whip your backside if you’re late.’

  ‘Plenty of time,’ Guildford murmured.

  ‘No, there isn’t. The church bell has struck twelve and you’re getting married at one.’

  Guildford propped himself up on his elbows, his dark blonde hair falling over his forehead. ‘Why the devil do I have to marry her?’

  ‘You have to marry her because Henry’s too young.’ Robert snatched a shirt from the back of a chair and threw it into Guildford’s lap. ‘I don’t know why you’re complaining. Can’t you see what Father’s doing for you?’

  ‘Yes, he’s marrying me to a sour-faced girl.’

  ‘Jane Grey is actually quite pretty.’

  ‘She’s always got her nose in a book.’

  ‘Well, what if she has?’

  Guildford sat up, put his feet on the floor and yawned. ‘Because I can’t see her being bonny and blithe in bed.’

  ‘You never know, she might surprise you.’

  `Don’t build my hopes up.’

  ‘Has it occurred to you, Gil, that she may not be overjoyed at the prospect of being married to you either?’

  Guildford pulled on his shirt. ‘Why? What’s wrong with me?’ he demanded.

  Robert lifted a sardonic eyebrow. Guildford stuck his tongue out and finished dressing.

  ‘There,’ he said, holding his arms out and turning around. ‘How do I look?’

  ‘Beautiful,’ Robert mocked. ‘Now come on.’

  They clattered down the stairs back into the hall, Guildford pulling at his collar as though it were strangling him. As they entered from one end, John and Jane’s father, Henry Grey, the Duke of Suffolk, entered from the other.

  ‘Ah, there he is,’ John said cheerily to Henry Grey, but to Robert the cheer felt forced. ‘This is Guildford, Henry.’