The formalities over, we all sit down to a welcome and tasty dinner. Sir Anthony talks about his garden at Cumnor and how he likes to cultivate young plants in the spring; gardening is obviously something that he is passionate about. He describes the buildings that make up the Place and tells us that the archway, by which we entered the courtyard on our arrival, is underneath a Long Gallery. We can use this, when the weather is bad and we cannot ride out, to play skittles and to exercise, as it extends for the whole length of the house on its northern side. Sir Anthony is very sorry to hear of the death of Amy’s riding horse and says that he will take great pains to find another sound and reliable palfrey when the spring arrives.
After our meal our host shows us to our chambers. Amy’s are elegant and spacious in the south west corner, with enough room for her dresses and her waiting lady, Mrs Picto. The stairs up to Amy’s bedchamber ascend in two flights with a ‘landing’ in between. From her outside doorway it’s a just a stride through the inner courtyard to an archway in the wall which leads to the gardens and deer park. Sir Anthony says that he will be very pleased, in the warmer weather, to escort Lady Dudley around his well stocked terraced gardens.
My chamber is next to that of Mrs Owen and Mrs Odingsells while the Forsters and their servants sleep in the east wing of Cumnor Place. Between their bedchambers and mine is a chapel and, underneath the east wing, is another archway that leads into the churchyard of the tiny Cumnor church. All together, with the cellars, malting rooms and buttery, we could not have wished for a better place to spend the winter and we’re delighted with the welcome we’ve been given.
Chapter Twenty Five
Christmas 1559
We’ve been at Cumnor for a month now and we’ve met most of the local gentry and dignitaries. Amy’s something of a distinguished figure in the area and most of the women in the local community covet the opportunity to meet the wife of Sir Robert Dudley. With these meetings, however, comes the opportunity for court gossip relating to Amy’s husband and the Queen, a situation which Amy naturally detests. It seems to be the main item of conversation at the moment as if no one can think of anything else and I’m amazed how insensitive even the kindest of our friends can be.
Time goes on but the gossip continues unabated. Sir Robert is the darling of all the ladies at court, they say, and Amy is so lucky to have such a charming husband. And she has no need to worry about his relationships with the ladies-in-waiting; the Queen will not allow his attention to wander beyond her own self …. nor his person either! The two of them are seldom apart, we are told in strictest confidence. Amy smiles and holds her tongue in public but, in the privacy of her chamber, she explodes.
“Well, it’s nice to know what one’s own husband is doing from the tongues of baggages and chattering jays! Really Kat, this is too much, too much to bear. Just wait til we next see Robert. I will remind him that he has his wife’s sensitivities to think of and should curb his flirtatious nature.” I nod in agreement but there’s nothing I can say, no comfort to give.
However we are not entirely alone in our disapproval, entertaining as it may be to some. Some of the Queen’s most trusted companions and advisors have advised her in the strongest words against her continued relationship with Sir Robert. Needless to say the reckless and wilful Elizabeth has thrown all this advice back in their faces. She is the Queen; why should she take advice? She can do as she wishes.
Amy however is still convinced that Robert loves her, despite all the rumours flying around, and, although she doubts that he will be able to leave the court over the Christmas festivities, she truly believes that his heart is really with her and that it will not be long before he makes the thirty mile journey from Windsor to Cumnor to see her again, whether Elizabeth agrees or not.
Another piece of startling news is that Amy’s husband is now so detested by members of the nobility at court that he’s taken to wearing a chain mail vest underneath his fine clothes. He fears the assassin’s dagger and the young Duke of Norfolk has stated openly that he would like to see Sir Robert dead and out of the way. They all think that the queen will never commit to a foreign or, for that matter, an English marriage while Robert is still hovering around her.
The news of the danger to Robert due to his foolhardy behaviour is very distressing to Amy, as are the occasional visits from Blount and Verney, but in the excitement of Christmas all the unpleasantness disappears. Sir Anthony has planned a wonderful season of entertainment for the ladies of Cumnor.
We spend Christmas day, as usual, praying and reflecting on the birth of our Saviour. All the folk from the local community assemble in Cumnor church and we’re fortunate as we have only to walk across the courtyard and through an archway to be in the churchyard. We lift our gowns above our ankles and tiptoe over the snow-covered ground while poorer families arrive cold and with soaking wet feet after the walk up the hillside. Gentle folk and landowners travel to church in some style, the women in litters and the men on fine horses, and there is a collection of tethered horses and two carriages on the road outside Cumnor Place. Sir Anthony’s men bring hay for the waiting animals while we inside are glad of the fur linings inside our gowns and cloaks. The church is very cold indeed.
A little wooden table stands at the back of the church, instead of the stone altar that stood in the middle of the chancel in Mary’s time, all the paintings on the wall have been white washed out (which is a pity I think because I used to like to study them during the more tedious moments of the service) and there are no statues looking down on us and no ornaments on the altar - candlesticks and crucifixes are things of the past. When the priest blesses the wine (which we’re now able to share with him) he reminds us that this is an act in remembrance of Christ’s blood shed for us. These days we’re told to believe that it doesn’t actually change into the blood itself.
For the old folk of Cumnor you can see that this has taken a long time to get used to and they were far more comfortable with the old religion. Some of them linger after the service to look at the English Bible which is now a feature of every church in the land so that all we who can read can see the word of God for ourselves without the need to be a Latin scholar. To their delight and amazement Sir Anthony reads to them from the gospels more of the story of the birth of Jesus.
The day after Christmas the festivities start with the giving of presents. Amy loves pretty things and shows child-like delight with her gifts from the Forsters and especially with her gift from Robert, a deep red velvet embroidered hood decorated with pearls. She wears it immediately and revels in the compliments she receives from Sir Anthony and Mrs Owen. Amy has a very pretty face when she’s animated, something that did not escape the notice of the Spanish ambassador!
In the afternoon a group of travelling players arrives at Cumnor Place and the excitement mounts. At this time of year the days are very short and we’re unable to sew or play cards for long in the evenings as our eyes get tired and sore in the dim candle light. An entertainment of music and story telling is something we all look forward to.
The five young men who form the troupe are all from nearby farms and villages. They bring musical instruments, a lute, a drum, a flute, a shawm and a recorder, and sing to the music they play. We know the tunes and never tire of them. One of the men is a local farmer, called Owain, who came originally from Wales. He is renowned for his stories of the Mabinogi, the amazing tales of the Welsh princes and the knights of King Arthur’s court and Amy is enraptured as she listens intently. Sitting in the Great Hall with the older ladies of Cumnor, with Sir Anthony, with Amy’s manservant, Mr Bowes, sent by Robert to deliver her letters and attend to her wishes, and with Mrs Picto, there’s a calm warmth that makes us feel we’re among friends. There’s no sign of Thomas Blount, who’s presumably at court with Robert. Likewise the odious presence of Richard Verney, presumably celebrating Christmas at Compton Verney, is not missed by Amy!
The hall looks lush and green with all the tree branches brought
in from outside. Holly and ivy decorate the walls, the lintels above the doors and the mantelpiece over the fireplace where the flames of a huge log fire leap and crackle casting long dancing shadows on the ceiling. On the cleanly swept floor the green rushes and evergreen branches give a gorgeous scent of warm pine all mixed with smells of rich cinnamon, cloves and spices. We’re in a leafy grove, cosy and warm, settled and comfortable, and full of the special food reserved for Christmas treats.
The servants hand round little tartlets filled with sugared fruit and peel and flavoured with spice. The cook has even placed a tiny figure made of dough underneath each pastry lid to represent the Christ child asleep under his blanket. There’s every kind of meat and savoury, an abundance of sweet wine and mead, candied preserved fruits, jellies and jams and, brought to Cumnor at great expense and especially for Amy, marzipan!
Everyone has been invited into the Hall to partake of the food, after we’ve had our fill, and to watch the entertainment, first the musicians and then the story tellers. The long table has been moved back and the servants are allowed to sit on it while we’ve seated ourselves beside the fire, Amy sitting on cushions on the floor, the skirts of her favourite russet taffeta gown spread prettily around her, her hair shining golden underneath the new French hood from Robert. I see the young men in the troupe gazing at her for a little longer than perhaps they should and I cannot help thinking what a fool Robert Dudley is to throw away so rich a treasure.
The wine is sweet and intoxicating and the musicians are good. They play all our favourite tunes and even perform dances to some of them, just as Queen Elizabeth’s best players would. When they play the old ballads, we recognise the words and join in, such a pleasant way to pass an evening and such good company. Amy laughs and claps with delight, her face flushed with pleasure and wine.
Then Owain and another Welshman called Rhoddri together tell the stories of the Mabinogi, of Rhiannon on her white horse always evading the knights who pursue her, as if by magic always able to keep three paces ahead, no matter how fast or how slowly their horses go. But we’re shocked when we hear how she was falsely accused of murdering her child. The story has a happy ending when she’s proved innocent of any crime. Amy’s brown eyes grow large with wonder and fill with tears at Rhiannon’s plight. Then we hear the story of the evil Blodeuwedd turned into an owl and condemned to live in darkness, shunned by the other birds, for her wickedness in plotting the hideous torture of the ruler, Lleu Llaw Gyffes.
The whole evening ends with the song ‘Good Company’ written by King Henry so many years ago. It’s hard to let go after such a wonderful treat and reluctantly we say good night to the players who are shown to their sleeping quarters with the servants while Sir Anthony escorts Amy and Mrs Picto across the snow in the courtyard to the door of the staircase leading to the best chamber in the manor house. We hear Amy giggling as the wind causes the flame on her candle to flicker and go out. My small chamber in the southern wing of the house is just a short walk from Amy’s and close to those of the other gentlewomen. As I undress I can hear the men servants and the musicians, under the effect of the ale they have drunk, talking a little too loudly in the rooms below as they make their way to bed. Soon their conversation and laughter will die down and the only sound will be that of the wind swirling the snowflakes round the sleeping house.
The visitors have to travel back to their farms and cottages the next day but not before Amy and I have time to settle a score with them! The five young men have said that they cannot imagine that two young ladies would be able to beat them at skittles so Amy has challenged them to a contest before they go home! Two teams are planned with Amy, Sir Anthony, Owain and me on one side and the other four young men on the other. I haven’t seen Amy laugh so much for a long time as she does at the prospect of the match.
From my tiny window I watch Sir Anthony’s lantern across the court yard, illuminating the door and the double flight of stairs leading to Amy’s chamber. He pauses at the foot of the stairs to allow Amy to relight her candle from the lantern and then she mounts the first flight, turning on the landing to wave to him before ascending the short second flight of steps. We’re all well fed, happy and slightly inebriated with the wine so it’s a pity that I cannot laugh and chat with Amy as we once did, sitting on her bed until late at night. Although her chamber is the largest at Cumnor it’s still not large enough for me to have a bed in there – and Amy’s bed is not large enough for me to share as we did when we were girls.
I watch Sir Anthony’s lantern moving back past the Great Hall which is next to Amy’s chamber. On the other side of her door lies the garden accessible through the little archway and I have no doubt that, in the morning, we will see the tiny paw prints of night visitors sniffing out any left over scraps outside the kitchen door.
While I settle down in my bed on the upper floor, I can still hear the men talking and the sounds of the women busying themselves in the kitchen and the buttery downstairs before they too retire to their own sleeping quarters. I hear Rhoddri’s voice saying something in his strong Welsh accent and everyone laughs.
The following morning I’m awakened by a strange sound. It’s barely light and very, very cold; shivering I pull my cloak around my shift and put on my sleeping bonnet which has fallen off during the night. Through the window, illuminated in the dazzling white of the newly fallen snow, I can see the male servants accompanied by Sir Anthony and the five musicians all shovelling snow which has drifted from the north into the south western corner of the court yard totally obscuring Amy’s door and the doors to the Great Hall. The archway to the garden is lost in a wall of snow. It occurs to me that the road from Cumnor village, which is on the northern side of the Place will not be passable for some time. We are completely cut off.
Chapter Twenty Six
Owain
There is no game of skittles in the Long Gallery! All the men are required to clear the snow in the courtyard and to make a path through to the sheds and buildings where the animals and horses are kept. The milk in the dairy is frozen in the pail and the serving girls hasten to light the fires in the fireplaces around Cumnor Place. One of the young boys brings in logs and piles them up by the hearths. My bedchamber does not have a fireplace but Amy’s has a warm fire and, of course, we’re always welcome in the warmth of the kitchen with the glowing embers of its bread oven and the roasting spit over a hearty fire. The Long Gallery and Great Hall take a lot longer to warm through.
Before dark in the afternoon we all assemble in the Hall and Sir Anthony thanks everyone for their hard work. The animals are all bedded down for the night, he says, and well supplied with hay and we can now proceed around the Place thanks to the hard work of the men who have all helped to dig pathways through the snow. In recognition for such an effort, we will all eat together this evening in the Hall, ladies, gentlemen and servants.
So the long table is set for twenty four people. Once again there’s a lavish supply of food, rabbit in a stew, roasted beef and liver, venison and tongue in pies and jellied brawn, tasty bread and pottage of beans and peas, preserved and dried in the summer.
After the first courses we have sweet tarts and pastries filled with preserves. There’s no attempt to ration the food so we can only assume that there’s enough at Cumnor, thanks to Sir Anthony’s careful planning, to last all winter.
After the meal the servants clear the table and we all settle down again for another evening’s entertainment by our players. While the servants busy themselves we talk, shyly at first, to the young musicians.
“Will your families not be anxious to know where you are?” asks Amy.
“Oh no,” says Rhoddri, “This has happened before you know. They will manage at home without us and be grateful for the extra money we bring home.” He winks. “Sir Anthony has promised to pay us well for each evening we are delayed here. You must be a very important lady.”
John frowns at him. “You great fool, Rhoddri! Don’t you know who this
lady is?”
It’s clear from the expression on Rhoddri’s face that he does not.
“She’s the wife of the most important man at court, idiot. This is Lady Dudley, wife of Sir Robert Dudley.”
“So why are you not at court then?” Rhoddri blunders on in his sing song voice. “Had a row with your husband, have you?” He smiles and winks at John. “This lad here is always having rows with his wife.”
There’s a silence that’s almost audible.
“What?” says Rhoddri, unabashed, “What did I say then.”
“Are you married, Rhoddri,” I ask, realising that this sounds a little forward but trying to rescue the situation none the less.
“No, not I,” says Rhoddri with great emphasis, “And never will be either. My mother and father are glad when I come out with the players. Glad to get rid of me, you see!”
“And you Owain?” I ask.
Now it’s my turn to be embarrassed, so much so that I want the ground to swallow me up. After another silence, John says quietly, “Owain lost his wife last summer, of the sweating sickness. He has two small children to look after.”
My face is red with shame. “I’m so sorry, so very sorry. How stupid of me to pry so. Now I’ve spoiled everything.”
Owain catches my sleeve as I get up to leave the Hall. “No, don’t leave, Mistress Kat. It’s not your fault. You were trying to be helpful. And don’t worry for me as I’m learning to manage and I have very good kin who help me with the farm and the children. They’re glad for me to be here at Cumnor for they know that a young man has to have an interest outside his work and his family and they know I love my music and story telling.”
A tear rolls down my cheek as I feel my humiliation is complete; he’s so kind hearted and the fact that he uses the familiar form of address to me makes me appreciate his kindness even more.
“Well then,” says the irrepressible Rhoddri, “Skittles tomorrow then. But first ….. time for a jig.” He jumps up and begins a lively tune. Owain picks up the drum to accompany him and the others caper around, acting the fool.
The Manner of Amy's Death Page 15