I shook the uncomfortable thoughts from my mind, smiled and took Hereford by the arm. “Come, we shall sit in the solar. The view is much nicer.”
Francis and Harry followed dutifully behind me.
Lettice came down sometime later and, while she certainly had not dressed in her best, she was humble and gracious to her suitor. She wore a simple grey gown with a high ruff, hoping that the lifeless colour would make her appear dull, but it only enhanced her alabaster skin and brightened the red hue of her hair. It was obvious from Hereford’s rapt stare that she had failed miserably at making herself unappealing.
Hereford and Francis talked so long into the night that I offered the viscount a spare room for the evening. He accepted graciously and was gone in the morning before I arose.
I noticed a rolled up parchment lying on the table as I walked through the hall. I paused to read the elegant script. It was a summons from Elizabeth. She requested our return for the New Year festivities. My heart sank. Our familial respite was over. It was time to get back to the business at Court.
London, Greenwich Palace:
March – June 1560
The trip back to London seemed twice as long as it should have been. The weather was miserable and cold. I had been back in the queen’s rooms for only days before I was laid low with a fever. Elizabeth sent her best doctors to my bedside and with the care of my maid, Matilda, I was on my feet again in time to take over my new duties – the care of Elizabeth’s new pet monkey.
It was a dreadful thing, this New Year gift Elizabeth had received. The wild, gamey scent of it assaulted my nose and its shrieks pierced my ears. When I reached my limits in dealing with the thing, it took all of my willpower not to remind Elizabeth of her mother’s distaste of the creatures so beloved by Catherine of Aragon. Instead, I bit my tongue, knowing that it would only agitate Elizabeth more.
William Cecil worked Elizabeth into a frenzy over her imminent assassination by Marie of Guise and her faction. The Regent of Scotland was enraged that Elizabeth had insinuated herself into the battle with her lords. Marie brought in French troops and was succeeding in beating back the Protestant rebels until the English Fleet arrived in January. Cecil convinced the queen that she was not safe and banned her from accepting any gifts, lest they be laced with poison.
Elizabeth feared for her life, but she refused to show any fear. Instead she showed us rage. Many nights I retired to my bedchamber with Francis, sobbing over an insult hurled at me after some small mistake I had made – handing Elizabeth the wrong ring from her jewellery box, exhaling too loudly when I bent over to roll her new silk stockings up her leg, or moving about too much during the night on the pallet I slept on at the end of her bed. My days with Elizabeth had become emotionally exhausting.
Elizabeth’s burden lifted in June when Marie of Guise died in her bed and the fears of her assassination finally began to subside.
“Lady Knollys,” she called out across the presence chamber, her slender hand raised, beckoning me to her chair of state.
I stopped my conversation with Lettice immediately and walked over quickly, dropping into a low curtsey before her seat.
“Please, please, get up,” she gestured.
I straightened up and smoothed my skirts, keeping my gaze low.
Elizabeth stood. “My lady cousin, I realise that I have not been the easiest person to serve these last months and I apologise for any harm I may have caused. You are the last person in my service whom I would want to hurt and I love you above all others.”
My eyes began to well up, but I blinked hard, willing myself to hide my emotion.
“Yes, Your Grace. I understand.”
She continued, “You once gave me a trinket of my mother’s and I have treasured it all this time. I carry it around with me and gaze upon it when I find myself needing a moment of courage.” She gently patted a small purse tied to her skirt. “I have wondered how to repay you for that kindness, but nothing had ever seemed to convey my gratefulness. I prayed over this and the Lord sent me an answer.”
She paused for a moment and I waited, holding my breath, wondering where this story was leading.
Elizabeth smiled and reached for my hand. She tucked a small object into the palm of my hand and closed my fingers over it.
“This was found during an inventory of my father’s possessions. I would like you to have it. Please wait until you have returned to your room to look upon it for I am certain you will feel a flood of emotion. Just tuck it away and tonight when you settle into your rooms, bring it out. Carry it with you, as I do mine, and look upon it, not when you need courage, but when you need patience - with me. When I test your love, as I am sure to do, look upon it and remember that I still need a mother’s guidance and kindness. As the one woman in my service that was closest to my own mother, I hope you will continue to guide me in the way that she would have had she been allowed to live long enough.”
I was speechless. Elizabeth had never been shy of showing her emotion, but it was very rare that she would intimate such personal thoughts. I saw her as the studious, eager-to-please child once again.
“Thank you, Your Grace. I am beyond appreciative for your gift, but I am afraid that my guidance would be nothing like your mother’s. Yes, your mother was kind and compassionate, but she was also ambitious and courageous and she had the heart of a lion. I merely have the heart of a lamb.”
Elizabeth smiled. “Beloved cousin, you do yourself such a disservice when you fail to recognise the strength of the lamb’s heart. Was Jesus not the Lamb of God? If ever there was a symbol of courage, you could find no better one than He.”
I gripped Elizabeth’s hands in mine and gave them a small squeeze.
“Your mother would be proud to see her daughter ascend to the throne as you have. In you, it was all worth it. The hatred of the people, the anger from the courtiers, the death on the scaffold. She would do it all again if she had known that your ascension would be the result. Remind yourself of this in times of turmoil and that will give you all the strength you need.”
That night, after I removed my gown, I held out my gift from Elizabeth. It was a miniature of my mother. She looked so young and beautiful, a simpering smile playing across her lips. The miniature must have been made during her time as the king’s mistress. It was the only likeness of her that I had ever seen and I knew I would treasure it always.
London, Windsor Palace:
September 1560
While William Cecil was in Scotland hammering out a new treaty with the rebellious lords, Elizabeth and her Court were on the annual summer progress. Elizabeth hunted and hawked across the countryside with her master of the horse attached at her hip. It was rare to see them separated from each other, especially since the only man who dared to come between them was across the border. The rumours of Robert Dudley’s familiarity with Elizabeth reached a fever pitch when a Mother Annie Dowe of Essex was locked up for spreading a rumour that Elizabeth was carrying his child. The ladies of Elizabeth’s bedchamber knew the folly of that statement as they changed the blood-stained sheets during the queen’s courses that month, but the men in her service were not privy to such private matters. Rumours such as these needed to be stamped out immediately. Unfortunately, Mother Dowe’s imprisonment did little to stop the slander against them and Elizabeth did herself no favours by carrying on like a love-struck princess.
By the end of August, Francis was at the end of his tether.
“Does she not realise what danger she brings with this behaviour? No one will take heed of our overtures for marriage agreements and the ambassadors laugh behind her back. How does she ever expect to get a consort who will give her an heir when she behaves like a silly girl?” he ranted as he paced the floor of our bedchamber at Windsor. “Cecil will be furious when he returns to this news.”
“I agree with you, Francis, but Elizabeth has been denied much in her life. She will take affection where she can get it and Robert Dudley is showering
her with it. He is your friend, have you tried to talk sense into him?”
Francis shook his head. “He will hear none of it. He thinks that she will marry him and make him her consort.” He threw his hands up. “And she might for all we know. She refuses to share her mind on the matter. But it may not be for the best. We need alliances and Dudley cannot bring us that. I love the man as though he were my brother, but he can bring nothing to the table except pretty words and strife to the council. The last thing the queen should do is isolate herself from the eligible princes of Europe.”
He sat down on the edge of the bed and hung his head in frustration. I sidled up behind him and wrapped my arms around his strong chest, laying my head on his back.
“Francis, at this moment Robert Dudley is a married man and Elizabeth would never agree to bigamy. Let her have her fun and worry about this if, God please forbid it, something happens to Amy.”
Francis wrapped his arms around mine and bent down, kissing my hand.
“Catherine, Amy Dudley is very sick and not likely to make it through the winter.”
“I hope that when I am on my deathbed, you wait until I am cold to start looking for my replacement.”
Francis turned and laid me down on the bed. “Dudley is a fool.”
He leaned over me and kissed me passionately. When we finally came up for air, Francis whispered in my ear, “Promise you will never leave me, for I could never replace you.”
We had been hearing for almost a year that Amy Dudley was on her deathbed, but as the months carried on with no word of her passing most of us assumed that her sickness was just a convenient rumour that was passed around any time Dudley wished to remind Elizabeth of his impending widowhood, or she wished to disentangle herself from whatever marriage negotiation was on the table that week. So when news arrived two days after Elizabeth’s birthday celebration that Amy had indeed left her earthly body, the court was thrown into shock.
The morning was like any other that early autumn. Lettice and I sat near the fire in Elizabeth’s privy chamber, busily embroidering a counterpane for her impending wedding. My fingers were stiff from working the W and L patterns through the heavy fabric and I had to stop momentarily to flex and straighten them. Lettice hummed quietly while she worked – a hymn I had taught her as a child.
Elizabeth laughed heartily at some joke Dudley told her. I could not hear what they were saying, but they had been speaking in hushed lovers’ whispers for hours while they played cards.
A short rap at the door brought us all to attention. Elizabeth did not like to be disturbed in her private time with Robert Dudley, so we knew that whoever was waiting on the other side of the door was either brave or stupid.
Lady Jane Howard sprinted from her cushion towards the door. She propped it open slightly and spoke to the yeoman guards in hushed tones. After a moment, she nodded and stepped back to let in the visitor.
Dudley nearly fell off of his seat. “Bowes! What are you doing here?”
The man, Bowes, bobbed a low bow and kept his face to the ground. “Please forgive me, Your Grace. I do not mean to intrude, but I have word regarding Sir Robert’s wife,” he stuttered, ignoring Dudley and addressing Elizabeth.
She kept her seat and threw her arms out towards him. “Well? What was so important you had to disturb us?” she asked irritably.
Bowes finally raised his head and looked at Dudley. “There has been an accident. Lady Dudley sent her servants to the fayre yesterday and when they returned, they found her lying at the bottom of the stairs. Her neck was broken.”
Dudley puzzled over this revelation as the colour drained from Elizabeth’s face. She stood up quickly, drawing herself to her full height. “Tell us man! Is she alive or dead?” she said in a commanding voice.
Bowes’ hands started to tremble. “I do not know, Your Grace. I left Abingdon as soon as we found her. By the looks of it, I do not believe she survived the fall.”
Dudley found his voice. “You left her unattended?” he roared, throwing his hands in the air. He started towards Bowes, fists clenched, but thought better of it and turned away at the last moment. The man’s hands were shaking so violently I worried that he would fall over from fright.
Elizabeth stepped in. “Go back to Cumnor and await further instructions. You are dismissed.”
Bowes nodded and made haste for the door. A deep silence filled the room. My eyes darted around the other ladies in attendance and, like Lettice, they all stared at the floor making no sound.
The silence was broken by a guttural groan from Dudley.
“I will be the one to blame for this! My reputation will be destroyed,” he cried.
Elizabeth looked at him with steely eyes, as if she were witnessing his vanity and self-centredness for the first time. His only thought upon hearing of his wife’s demise was of self-preservation.
“Robin, you must write to your cousin, Thomas Blount, at once. As your chief officer, he will need to take charge. Luckily he is already on his way there. You are dismissed to your home at Kew to arrange your affairs. Do not return to Court until I summon you.”
Dudley stared at her, his mouth agape at his dismissal. When she turned away, he clenched his jaw shut, made an overly exaggerated bow and backed out of the room.
“Lettice,” Elizabeth called over her shoulder. “Get me Cecil. Now.”
The ladies who served Elizabeth in her bedchamber took turns spending the night on a small pallet beside her bed. As much as we loved her, we all looked upon our nights in her bedchamber as an exhausting duty. If she did not sleep, neither did we. And it was many a night that she had far too much on her mind to find any rest. I was certain tonight would be no exception.
It was to be Lady Carew’s night on the pallet, but Elizabeth chose Kat Ashley for the job. I was not surprised by this. Mistress Ashley had been a confidante of Elizabeth’s during her childhood at Hatfield and, more than once, had risked her life to come to her aid when her Elizabeth had overstepped her bounds during Edward’s short reign. The two had been inseparable for most of Elizabeth’s life and, inwardly, I felt relieved that Kat would be there to comfort Elizabeth. I was taken aback, then, when she turned her eyes to me and said, “No ... Catherine will serve me tonight instead.”
Kat, Blanche Perry and I helped Elizabeth out of the layers of damask and linen she wore. Then Kat stood behind her and plaited her long golden red locks into a braid as Elizabeth stared off into space. Once the evening ritual was over and Kat and Blanche had been excused, she bid me goodnight and crawled silently into her bed, drawing the black silk hangings shut. I wriggled down into my quilt and waited. Sure enough, an hour later the silken curtains began to sway back and forth with her agitated tossing and turning. Finally, they burst open and Elizabeth launched herself out of bed, already chewing her fingernail.
I scrambled to get up, but she held out her palm, “No, please do not get up on my account, my lady. I will be all right in a moment.”
I let her pace until she tired herself out, throwing herself back onto the bed, her long, delicate fingers a ragged, bloody mess.
I sat up and pulled my knees to my chest. “Please, Your Grace, is there anything I can do for you?”
She waved her hand dismissively and drew herself up to a sitting position. She gazed at me sadly. After a moment she said, “Yes, actually. Tell me what to do.”
I made light of her request. “Your Grace, I could never presume to give you advice. You are God’s anointed - what could I possibly have to offer you?”
She shifted. “What would you tell your children? What would you tell Lettice if she were in love with a man like Dudley? If she were in love with a man that could tear her world apart?”
Her question was too close to the truth. Lettice was in love with a man like Dudley. In fact, she was in love with Dudley. Should he choose her over Elizabeth, Lettice’s world would crumble. She would be banished from Court, her prospects dried up. My only words of advice to Lettice had
been to stay away. I couldn’t very well tell Elizabeth to stay away from her favourite courtier and master of the horse. It would be impossible for her to do. I had to tread lightly in my answer.
“The world is full of men who are vain, egotistical and scheming. But those same men can be quite endearing, full of love and tenderness. Your father was that way. He had no hesitation or reservation about setting Catherine aside, banishing her to the most remote fortresses the crown owned. But ... he did it out of his deep and sincere love for your mother. Does his heartlessness towards one woman negate the devotion he had to the other? No. Is he dangerous? Possibly ... your father adored your mother above all others. He tore apart his own way of life to satisfy her. He broke with the church, put his close councillors to death and angered most of Christendom in his pursuit of her. But in the end, she too lost it all ... on the scaffold.”
I paused, checking Elizabeth’s reaction. She was still, her face passive, but listening.
“If your mother was here, right now, and we asked her if she would do it all over again. If she knew that the outcome was her death, would she still have aspired to be the king’s wife? I know her answer would be yes, because seeing you on the throne would have been worth it. The fact that you now rule England has made every sacrifice worth her blood. You can have Robert Dudley, but is it worth the possible sacrifice of your crown?”
Her eyes were bright, but she blinked the tears back hard, refusing to shed even one.
“Why must it be one or the other? Why can I not choose whom I marry? My father chose five of his wives. My sister chose that insufferable Philip.”
Cor Rotto: A novel of Catherine Carey Page 20