by Laura Dowers
‘You can’t do this,’ Ambrose said. ‘He’s just a boy.’
‘Stand aside, sir, if you please,’ Brydges said. ‘I have a warrant signed by the queen.’
The brothers looked at each other, knowing they were helpless. Jack grabbed Guildford and pulled him into an embrace. ‘Be brave,’ he whispered. ‘I love you.’
Ambrose was next. ‘I love you,’ was all he could say.
Henry pressed his face against Guildford’s, their tears mingling. ‘I’m so sorry.’
Robert stood stock still. It was unbelievable that another member of his family, someone whom he loved, was about to be taken from him. Guildford looked up at him, his face a mess of creases and redness. Robert stepped up to him and wiped his cheeks with his thumbs. Curving his hand around the back of his neck, the neck that would soon be a bloody stump, he pulled Guildford to him, biting down on his bottom lip to keep himself from screaming.
‘I love you,’ he hissed through gritted teeth, not trusting himself to say more, not knowing what else to say.
‘It’s not fair,’ Guildford wept, his body shuddering.
‘I know. It’s not bloody fair,’ Robert agreed, squeezing him tight.
‘We have to go, sirs,’ Brydges said. He tugged Guildford out of Robert’s embrace and before the brothers could protest further, had hurried him through into the passage and shut and locked the door. They heard Guildford’s cries as he was taken down the stone stairs.
They moved to the window, waiting for him to appear. As he emerged, he looked over his shoulder, up at the window and gave a weak smile. They watched as the guards walked him across the cobbled yards, until they turned the corner by the White Tower and were lost to view.
14
Lieutenant of the Tower’s apartments, London, March 1554
Time passed and no more guards came to take any of the brothers away for a rendezvous on Tower Hill. The queen had married her Philip and was happy for perhaps the first time in her life. Whispers of her contentment filtered through to the brothers and they allowed themselves to hope that they would not die after all. The restrictions on them were relaxed, so much so that the Lieutenant of the Tower, Sir John Brydges, when he desired company, would invite the brothers to dine with him.
Sir John gestured to his servant to pour another drink for himself and his guests, Robert and Ambrose. Brydges was drunk, but Jack had warned Robert and Ambrose to add water to their wine, advising them it would not be wise to have muddled brains and loose tongues before a servant of the queen.
‘I am heartily sorry for your present conditions, dear sirs,’ Brydges mumbled, setting down his cup. ‘I don’t care to see the sons of the Duke of Northumberland in such a place as this.’
‘We don’t care for it much ourselves,’ Robert replied wryly.
Ambrose gave him a warning kick beneath the table. ‘But we thank you for allowing us to dine with you, Sir John.’
‘Not at all, not at all, my dear young man,’ Brydges said, patting his hand affectionately. ‘Though I may not be able to do this soon.’
‘Oh, why not?’ Robert asked.
‘I shall have a new prisoner tomorrow.’ Brydges leant forward and tapped his nose. ‘A very important prisoner.’
‘Who?’
‘The Lady Elizabeth.’
Ambrose and Robert glanced at one another. ‘You jest, Sir John,’ Robert said.
‘I assure you, no,’ Brydges cried indignantly. ‘I have received orders to expect her.’ He pulled a letter from his doublet. ‘Here.’ He tossed it across the table to Robert.
‘For conspiring with the enemy,’ Robert read. ‘The enemy being Thomas Wyatt, I suppose? How was she involved?’
‘Oh, she received letters from Wyatt. Collaborated with him, I believe.’
Ambrose took the letter from Robert’s fingers. ‘Has that been proved? It doesn’t say so here?’
‘No, not proved, but suspected. Do you know the Lady Elizabeth?’
‘Very well,’ Robert nodded. ‘And I hope I will be able to see her while she is here?’
‘Ah, there now, you hope in vain, Master Robert,’ Brydges wagged a finger at him. ‘I have orders she is to be close confined. No visitors.’
‘We’ll see,’ Robert winked at him.
‘No, no, no, on this I must stand firm,’ Brydges insisted. ‘It could mean my head if I do not.’ He glanced at the window. ‘It’s dark out.’
‘It’s late,’ Ambrose said, draining his cup. ‘I suppose you had best be locking us up for the night, Sir John.’
The guards escorted them out into the open air, their nostrils filling with the scents of the flowers from Brydges’s garden.
Robert threw his arm around Ambrose’s neck and tugged him close. ‘What do you make of that, Am?’
‘Of what?’ Ambrose yawned.
‘Elizabeth, you idiot.’
‘Put her from your mind, Rob. You heard Sir John. He won’t let you see her.’
‘Oh, but I have to,’ Robert said earnestly. ‘We can’t both be in here and not see one another. Tell me, is it cruel of me, Am, to be pleased that she’s coming?’
15
Lieutenant of the Tower’s apartments, London, March 1554
‘Twice in as many weeks,’ Robert said as they were shown into Brydges’s apartments. ‘Sir John must be lonely.’
‘You’re not complaining, are you?’ Ambrose said. ‘The dinner here is better than in our chamber.’
‘No, I’m not complaining, but Henry and Jack were. It was their turn to dine with him.’
‘Perhaps Sir John prefers our company.’ Ambrose stared at the table. ‘Look. The table is set for four.’
‘Maybe his wife’s joining us.’
‘Possibly, but I get the impression she’s not as sympathetic to us as her husband.’
‘Then who?’
‘Me.’
Robert whirled around at the voice. ‘Elizabeth!’ She was thinner than when he had seen her last, and paler.
Elizabeth stepped towards him, holding out her hands. ‘The very same. Why Robin, how you stare at me. Do you think I’m a ghost?’
‘Certainly not,’ he said with a laugh, taking her hands and kissing them. ‘I’m surprised, that’s all.’
‘And Ambrose,’ Elizabeth turned to him. ‘How are you?’
‘Very well, my lady. Sir John,’ he called as Brydges walked in, ‘what is this? You said to meet with this lady would be impossible.’
Brydges brushed past Elizabeth, frowning. ‘Yes, well the Lady Elizabeth can be very persuasive.’
‘What he means to say,’ Elizabeth said, ‘is that I hounded him until he agreed to let me see you. Are you glad I did, Robin?’
‘Beyond words.’
‘You?’ she mocked. ‘Well, beyond words you may be, but I doubt if you are beyond dinner. I know you of old.’
They laughed and Robert led her to the table, guiding her to Brydges’s accustomed seat. Brydges considered protesting but did not want to seem churlish and sat down next to Ambrose.
‘I must say, my lady, you seem quite cheerful,’ Ambrose observed.
‘Do I?’ Elizabeth said. ‘It must be joy at seeing you two. Imprisonment does not suit me. Yet I must endure it, at least until my sister can decide whether to have my head or not.’
‘Has she grounds for that, Bess?’ Robert asked.
A flicker of annoyance crossed Elizabeth’s face. ‘No, not unless she can prove I knew of Thomas Wyatt’s rebellion. And that she can never do, for I am not guilty.’
‘So you’re locked up without trial?’ Ambrose said. ‘How can the queen do that?’
‘I am a threat,’ Elizabeth shrugged. ‘Mary has surrounded herself with Spaniards and she listens to their council and none other. To them, I am a heretic, and a bastard, and am better out of the way. Do you know, they had me brought here in secret, so the people wouldn’t make any protest? I wonder if they even know I am here.’
‘Lady,’ Brydges
warned, looking uncomfortable, ‘I feel I must -’
‘Oh, forgive me, Sir John,’ Elizabeth laid her long fingers upon his arm, ‘I know I must not speak against my dear sister. Come Robin, we’ll change the subject. Let us eat and talk of happier times.’
Dinner became a long affair. Robert and Elizabeth talked, hardly pausing for breath, and Ambrose, who had not seen his brother so happy for such a long time, was content to chat with Brydges. They entertained themselves in a drinking game, downing cup after cup, until their heads drooped and they slept, cushioned upon their arms.
‘It seems they have no head for wine,’ Elizabeth joked, rubbing her arms. ‘I feel a little cold, Robin. Let’s sit by the fire.’
Robert tossed two cushions onto the floor beside the hearth. He held her hand as she lowered herself to the floor.
‘Of course, I should hate you,’ she said.
Robert plumped down next to her. ‘Why should you?’
‘For what your family did. For using Jane. For all of it.’
‘Jane!’ he scoffed. ‘What did you ever care for Jane?’
‘She was my cousin. And I did care for her, in my way. She didn’t deserve her fate.’
‘Nor did Guildford. Nor did my father, for that matter.’
Elizabeth shook her head. ‘Really, Robin, after all that has passed, can you still be blind to his faults?’
‘What do you know of his faults?’ Robert snapped. ‘You didn’t know my father as I did.’
‘I know he meant to take Mary’s life, and he would have taken mine.’
‘My father would never have -’
‘Why then did he send for Mary and me to come to London?’
‘Edward was dying. My father thought you would want to be with him.’
‘I had received word that Edward was already dead. Forgive me, Rob, but your story does not cover the facts.’
‘Who sent word to you?’
‘I...I don’t know,’ she said, looking away. ‘I received a note. It wasn’t signed.’
‘But who do you think it was?’
‘Oh, Robin, I don’t know.’
‘Well, I can guess. I think I know who betrayed my father, and put ideas into your head to falsely accuse him. William Cecil. I’ve never trusted him.’
Elizabeth reached for his hand. ‘Robin, dear friend, think. With Jane on the throne, and your father expecting Guildford to be made king, what need would he have for Mary and me?’
‘He wouldn’t have hurt you, Bess. He was doing what Edward wanted, what he set out in his Will. You would have been safe. Mary forced his hand by marching on London. No, I tell you, the sender of those notes ruined everything. He put my father’s head on the block as surely as Mary did.’
‘Oh, Rob, will you never forget your father?’
He glared at her. ‘Could you ever forget your mother?’
Elizabeth caught her breath, shocked by the question. No one ever spoke of her mother. ‘I have one memory of her. A woman with black hair and black eyes, crying as she held me. I suppose that was just before she was arrested. There are times since I’ve been here that I think I am doomed to suffer the same fate as she.’
‘Well, my father followed his. Maybe I will follow mine. There was a time, when he had just been killed, when I wished I could.’
Elizabeth looked at him then, with the firelight playing upon his face. Had he been that unhappy to have wished for death? She pitied him. How he must have loved his father. How different from herself! She had never truly loved her father; she had only been in awe of his magnificence. ‘How dreary this conversation has become,’ she said. ‘Let’s talk of something happier.’
‘Tell me what to talk of, Bess. Soon, the sleeping Sir John will awake and we will be locked in our cells once again. Tomorrow will pass much as today has. What have we to look forward to?’
‘It’s selfish of me, I know, but I am glad to have you here for company. It makes me feel less alone.’ She quickly kissed his cheek. ‘Are you as frightened as I am, Robin?’
He returned her kiss. Her lips were cold. ‘Just as frightened, Bess.’
16
Beauchamp Tower, London, May 1554
‘Some letters from your ladies.’ Brydges handed them out.
‘It’s from Mother,’ Jack said, as Henry stood to look over his shoulder.
Brydges made to leave, but turned back to Robert. ‘Oh, I thought you would like to know, Master Robert, the Lady Elizabeth has gone.’
Robert looked up from Amy’s letter. ‘Gone?’
‘She was taken away last night. Gone to Woodstock, I’m told. Sir Henry Bedingfield has charge of her now. I can’t say I’m sorry to see her go. One month of that young lady was enough to try the patience of a saint. No, you must not keep me, Master Robert, I have much to do today.’ He pulled the door shut and locked it.
‘Why didn’t she warn me she was going?’ Robert said, kicking at a stool. ‘To just go off.’
‘She hasn’t just gone off,’ Ambrose said. ‘You heard Sir John, she was taken. She’s still a prisoner.’
‘Stinking bitch,’ Robert cursed, screwing up his letter and throwing it into the fireplace.
‘Elizabeth?’ Ambrose asked in surprise.
Robert shook his head. ‘Mary.’
‘Well, I imagine Elizabeth is glad to be out of the Tower.’
‘Oh, you imagine, do you?’ Robert mocked. ‘What of me? What about us?’
‘She probably didn’t give us another thought, Rob.’
‘You think not?’
‘Well, would you, if you hated this place as much as she did?’
‘I do hate this place, and with more reason. We’ve lost more than she has, Am.’
‘Yes, I know,’ Ambrose agreed. ‘Yet, do not wish her back again, Rob. That would be unkind.’
‘Well, I do,’ Robert said, falling onto his bed. ‘No, I don’t. Oh God, Am, I fear I shall go mad in this place.
‘We may see freedom yet, Rob,’ Jack said, holding their mother’s letter in front of his face. ‘Read how Mother works for our release.’
‘Yes, begging the queen. Our mother, begging!’
‘The queen will take pity on her.’
‘Pity!’ Robert repeated, disgusted. ‘Our mother going begging to a half-Spanish mule. My stomach turns at the thought of it.’
‘Mother has found more friends amongst the Spanish at Court than the English,’ Jack snapped. ‘So, stop your moaning and read Amy’s letter that you have so thoughtlessly thrown away.’
17
October 1554
Fever infected the Tower. Jack succumbed and Jane Dudley petitioned the queen ever more vigorously to take pity on her sick son. The queen, grown once again merciful, granted him his release and Jack was carried out of the Tower on a litter, mumbling in his delirium and drenched in sweat, unaware that he was leaving the dreaded fortress. The pure air of Kent was deemed best for him, and Mary, their sister, awaited his arrival at her house, Penshurst, with a mixture of joy and dread. Doctors were summoned, but their medicine could do nothing. Three days after his arrival at Penshurst, Jack died.
Ambrose, Robert and Henry, left in the Tower, received the news with surprising calm. They had known Jack was dangerously ill, and recent experience had hardened them. They mourned his passing, but could only wonder if they would suffer the same.
Jane Dudley soon followed her son. Worn out with cares, she died less than three months later. The very day of her death brought release for the three brothers. Queen Mary pardoned them. The brothers were free.
The news came too hard on the heels of misfortune to cheer them greatly, though they hurried from their prison, not once looking back. They made their way to Penshurst, where all the remaining family gathered. Reunions were tinged with sadness, embraces too desperate for happiness. Their mother’s Will was read, and Robert heard with indignation how she did not want a grand funeral, preferring to be laid to rest privately and quietly. Robert would
not allow it. He made all the funeral arrangements, having to borrow money to pay the coffin-maker and tradesmen. His mother would not be buried quietly, ignominiously. Her funeral was a lavish affair as befitted the Duchess of Northumberland, widow of a once great general of England.
Part 3
Sacrifices
1
Hales Owen, Norfolk, April 1555
Amy Dudley lay in bed, looking at the man lying asleep beside her. Sunlight fell across his face, making his skin look almost golden. How handsome he was, and like this, asleep in their bed, Robert was entirely her own. It made her stomach lurch when she thought of how close she had come to losing him; first when his father had been executed, then Guildford, and then when Jack had become ill. But Robert was strong and had survived, and she thanked God daily for it. He had changed, of course. He was thinner and there was a new wariness in his eyes. The joy had gone out of him too. She must try to make him feel it again.
Smiling to herself, she slid her hand through the opening of his nightshirt, the hairs on his chest springy against her fingers. He moaned softly and turned his head towards her. His eyes flickered open. She smiled down at him. He closed his eyes and turned his head away. She cuddled up to him, her hand delving deeper inside his nightshirt.
‘Amy,’ he chided, pushing her hand away.
‘Don’t you love me?’ she asked, her voice playful, but even beneath the fog of sleep, he sensed the hurt beneath her coquetry.
‘I’m tired,’ he said, relieved as he felt her fall back against the mattress.
‘What shall we do today?’ she asked after a minute’s silence. Her voice was hard.
‘I don’t know.’
‘You don’t have plans?’
With a groan, he opened his eyes. ‘I should go over the estate and see what needs to be done. Ambrose told me the estate manager, Anthony Forster, is very able, but I should still look it over. You should look into the household staff. See if there are any servants we can do without. Perhaps there are some tasks you can take over, Amy.’