The Manner of Amy's Death

by Mackrodt, Carol

  “And now,” says Owain, “If we are all assembled again, we will have the story of the Lady of the Fountain.”

  The servants gather at the back of the hall and Sir Anthony’s company of ladies seat themselves by the fireside as Owain begins his strange tale.

  The snow stays for almost a week and, by the end of this time, we have a merry company of friends. Amy and I have not enjoyed ourselves so much for many years but all good things must come to an end. We awake one morning to the sound of dripping water; the weather has warmed a little, the snow has thawed and our musicians have to take the road out of Cumnor Place while they can. We go with them to the roadside and sadly wave goodbye.

  “Do you think that we’ll see them again in the summer,” I ask, cautiously, a week later. I don’t want Amy to realise my warm feelings for Owain and tease me.

  I need not have worried. Amy’s thoughts are with Robert again.

  “Maybe, Kat, but first we have Easter and I’m quite sure that Robert will visit me again as he did last year and then I’ll go to London with him and live at Christchurch House while he attends court. Of course I cannot go with him on the Queen’s progress, no wife can go, but it may not be long before we find a manor house in Warwickshire and, when we do, I know that Robert will want to spend more time there with me.” Amy chatters on.

  My poor innocent friend! She hasn’t heard the latest gossip about the goings on at court. Sir Anthony has forbidden all talk about Robert and Elizabeth in front of Amy and has said that he will dismiss any servant who does so. But this doesn’t mean that they cannot talk when I’m there and the talk is shocking. Rumours abound even to the extent that the Queen is pregnant with Sir Robert’s child, a shocking calumny, and it’s difficult to separate truth from fantasy.

  Robert sends his wife some embroidered slippers but Easter comes and goes and still there’s no sign of him at Cumnor.

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  Humours of the Spleen

  As a wet and cold spring passes into summer, there’s still no longed-for reunion between Amy and her husband. He seems to have forgotten her very existence and Amy’s mood becomes darker and darker.

  Sir Anthony loves gardening and tries to interest Amy in the tiny young plants he is settling in the ground of the terraced garden but she’s in a world of her own. We begin to worry about her health again as she loses weight and looks frail so Sir Anthony decides to send Bowes to Sir Robert in the hope that he, Robert, will take pity on his wife and pay her a visit. Unfortunately Sir Robert is obviously too busy with the Queen and sends his representative in the unwelcome personage of Thomas Blount, who is accompanied by his ruffian followers.

  Blount offers a solution. “Sir Anthony, I am of the belief that Lady Dudley is melancholy and suffering from humours of the spleen. However I know of a certain doctor in the city of Oxford who has the best reputation in all England when it comes to dealing with such cases. Perhaps it would be wise if I were to ask this man for potions and powders to help my Lady …. before she wastes away and succumbs to death.” He adds the last part when he sees Sir Anthony hesitate. No gentleman, Blount knows, will want to have the wife of a famous person die in his household.

  Sir Anthony is completely taken in. “Yes, cousin Blount, this is a very good course of action. We must do all we can to effect a cure for the poor lady.”

  To my horror Blount gives a smile of satisfaction and sets out with his men for Oxford. The following day he returns in a vile mood.

  I am not the only one to suspect a plot. The good doctor has not felt it wise to entrust any powders to Blount and his men. He has heard the gossip and realises that he’s being set up to take the blame if Lady Dudley is poisoned. I breathe a sigh of relief and attempt to find other ways to lift Amy’s black moods. Maybe I can reawaken her interest in fine clothes again.

  I mention my plan to Sir Anthony and he says that he will write to Sir Robert and ask him to send some small gifts for his ailing wife. Surprisingly Robert responds with generosity sending several pairs of embroidered slippers and some new hoods. Amy’s spirits lift when she thinks that her husband still cares for her. But her mood sinks again and the black dog of depression returns when she hears that the Queen has sent William Cecil from court to manage the situation at Leith in Scotland where the French are holding the fortress and where the English and Protestant Scottish lords have suffered a humiliating defeat. Without Cecil to caution Elizabeth about her relationship with Robert, the Queen is free to do as she wishes.

  There’s a rumour that Cecil is at the end of his tether over the scandal at court and may resign. He’s finding it impossible to help the Queen to govern while her attention is completely taken up by her romantic attachment to Amy’s husband. Sir Robert Dudley is so hated by the aristocracy that a civil war is feared if the Queen continues to favour him and the talk is now all about Robert divorcing his wife so that he and Elizabeth can be married.

  Even Robert’s greatest opponent has been dealt with by the Queen - the Duke of Norfolk was effectively ‘banished’ by being sent to command the garrison at Berwick in Northumberland when it was first feared that the French de Guise family, Mary Stuart’s in laws, would try to invade England via Scotland. Mary sees herself as the rightful Queen of England as well as of France and Scotland but Elizabeth, while seething over this, can think of nothing and no one but Robert.

  Blount and his men are back at Cumnor in late summer and are now trying another tactic – one that they have used before. They wait until Sir Anthony is not with Amy and then pretend to be taking a casual walk wherever Amy is located. Within earshot they discuss Robert’s relationship with Elizabeth in small tantalising snatches. Elizabeth is on her summer progress again with Robert by her side, behaving as if he is her prince consort and without the disapproving presence of Cecil, so there is plenty of rumour and scandal to report.

  “My Lord Robert is sending to Spain for some very fast horses,” says Blount.

  “Oh, and why is this?” says his man, feigning ignorance.

  “So that the Queen can ride even faster when she’s out hunting. She’s a wonder, they say, and only my Lord Robert can keep up with her.”

  “Well that must be very convenient for them, everyone being left behind and the two of them heaven knows where …. all alone and deep in the forest like the stag and the doe. No wonder they want faster horses!”

  Much sniggering and male laughter from Blount’s men follows this. Amy’s face is a picture of pain as she turns away from her tormentors.

  But there’s no escape. Like it or not Amy and I are going to be treated to a running account of her husband’s unfaithfulness. And there’s not a thing we can do about it.

  I see another problem too. Amy’s chamber at Cumnor Place is separated from all the others. It was given to her by Sir Anthony with the best of intentions because it’s so much larger than any other but I fear for her now in her isolated state with only Mrs Picto for company each night. Were either of them to call out it’s doubtful that anyone would hear.

  By mid August Amy’s mood changes again and she’s suddenly very happy but won’t say why. She writes a letter to her tailor, Mr Edney, in London requesting that he alter one of her favourite gowns so that the neckline will be as pretty as the one on the gown he made for her previously. This is indeed progress! I’m so happy that her spirits have lifted once more. And the fair at Abingdon is only a short while off so we have something to look forward to.

  Later in the month Amy becomes very secretive and seems to be avoiding my presence for some reason. I see her sitting on the bench in the garden, looking out over the terraces and apparently enjoying the sweet scents of lavender and roses but her eyes are vacant and empty. When she sees me approach, she jumps up and walks off elsewhere, back to the seclusion of her chamber shutting the door firmly behind her, or into the churchyard and towards the church, or across the courtyard to our own little chapel where Mrs Picto says she often finds her praying, hands clas
ped, eyes tightly closed and on her knees. Something is going on; something that Amy has no wish to share with anyone.

  Eventually September arrives and with it the day of Abingdon fair. Everyone in Cumnor Place has been looking forward to this for weeks. Everyone that is except Mrs Owen who says that Sunday is no day for a fair and that she will go the following day instead! Mrs Odingsells says that she will stay at Cumnor to keep the older lady company but that they will not spoil the day for the servants who are free to go. And Amy? No one knows what Amy wishes to do but the fair is such a rare treat that we all assume she will go with the rest of us.

  What a surprise lies in store as we sit that morning in the Great Hall, eating breakfast and anticipating the pleasures of the day ahead.

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  Abingdon Fair

  Everyone’s scurrying round. The servants are clearing away the dishes from the table as fast as they can because no one wishes to waste a minute of this delightful holiday. There’s no time to lose and the weather promises a lovely sunny day. Mr Bowes goes to help the men with the horses. But where’s Amy?

  My friend walks into the Hall and looks around with astonishment at all the clamour and excitement.

  “Come quickly Lady Dudley. The carriage will be here soon and you need to eat some cold meat and bread before the journey,” says one of the serving girls.

  “Carriage? Journey?” says Amy.

  “Don’t worry, Amy,” I offer an explanation although I cannot for the life of me think how Amy could have forgotten the fair. “We’re not going on another long journey. She means the carriage to take us to the fair in Abingdon. Had you forgotten?”

  “Fair? Abingdon?” Amy seems in a trance and her thoughts are a world away.

  “Yes indeed it will be a wonderful treat. Think of all the ribbons we can buy and the musicians and jugglers. All the nice food to buy too! We may see our friends from Christmas again – you remember? Owain and his troupe may be there with their merry tales and romances.”

  “I’m not going. I don’t want to go.”

  “Of course you do! You said some weeks ago, when you sent your dress away to be altered, that you would wear it to the Abingdon fair.”

  “Didn’t you hear me?” Amy’s voice rises to screaming pitch. “I said I’m not going and I mean I – am – not – going!”

  The clamour in the Hall has stopped now as all eyes are on Amy.

  “Are you expecting a visitor my lady?” asks one of the servants trying to be helpful.

  “No I am NOT!” screams Amy which makes me wonder if she is.

  “Shall I stay and keep you company?” I venture warily.

  “You most certainly will not,” shouts Amy. “It’s none of your business what I choose to do. Go,” she glares round at the astonished company of servants and gentlewomen, “Go away, all of you and LEAVE ME ALONE.”

  After a shocked silence, Mrs Odingsells says, “Well I for one will not be going away, Lady Dudley. I intend to stay here with Mrs Owen. So you will have at least two other people to keep you company and that is an end to the matter.” She draws herself up to her full height and stalks away. Amy runs after her and a fearsome argument develops.

  “Amy …” I begin, softly holding out my hand in friendship and trying to pull her to one side. This is so unseemly and the servants are gawping, open mouthed.

  “Oh go away, Kat,” she says in a tiny tired voice after all her shouting. She snatches her hand from mine. “I want to be left on my own.”

  With this Amy turns on her heel and walks out of the Great Hall across the courtyard and up to her bedchamber, slamming and bolting the door behind her.

  “Come, Mistress Katherine,” says Sir Anthony, who has just walked in to witness Amy’s outburst of temper, “There is nothing you can do when someone is in such a mood except to leave them to their own ill humour. But it is most unlike Lady Dudley, I have to remark. Maybe we will find her changed when we return and I fear that any further attempts at persuasion will only make her more passionate. Come and enjoy the fair with everyone else.”

  The servants have recovered from their embarrassment at Amy’s behaviour and I guess that Sir Anthony is quite right and that we will find Amy’s mood has lightened by the time we return. I’ll buy her something pretty to cheer her and perhaps she’ll go to the fair tomorrow with Mrs Owen and Mrs Odingsells. The carriage is brought and Sir Anthony’s wife, Mrs Picto and I get inside. Mr Bowes is mounted on his own horse as is Sir Anthony, who has allowed the servants to share rides on our two other horses and a mule. The rest walk on foot until it is their turn to ride.

  So our little procession winds its way down the hillside and turns south towards Abingdon. The servants laugh and sing as we go along, Sir Anthony smiles benignly at his little family anticipating the fun of the day ahead just as so many small children would do.

  At the fair there’s a lot to see and, if you have enough money, to buy. Fruit tartlets and spiced hams, eggs and cheeses, sweet meats and fresh fruit, spices and herbs all displayed in a tempting fashion. Sir Anthony lingers over the plants, asking questions – how will this bush stand up when the Cumnor wind blows strong and what colour will the flowers be on this one and will it attract the bees and provide good honey. He is in his own private paradise.

  There are acrobats too, jugglers and trained animals, hawks and dogs and, sad to see, a poor old bear that is forced to dance by vicious prods from a cane in its handler’s fist. The man with the bear looks like a gypsy and is surrounded by some equally dark and swarthy companions and I make up my mind to keep my distance.

  There are pretty things to buy, ribbons and pomanders, caps, bonnets and slippers. And then there are the musicians and the men performing stories and masques, fascinating to watch. We buy cherries from the baskets of the fruit sellers and stand to enjoy each performance.

  Suddenly, while I am enthralled by an enactment of the adventures of Guy of Warwick, I feel a light touch on my shoulder. It is none other than Owain, the farmer, musician and story teller for whom I’d felt such sympathy the previous Christmas when I’d heard of the death of his wife.

  “Well, Mistress Katherine, I do believe; and how have you been faring this long time since we last met?”

  I blush deeply and manage to stammer an incoherent reply. Owain is even more handsome than I remember.

  He smiles and asks where Lady Dudley is and when I reply that I am here without the pleasant company of my dear friend, Owain offers his arm and suggests that we explore the fair together. He is all smiles and courtesy as he ignores the amiable jibes and teasing of his friends who grin annoyingly as they watch me take his arm. When we reach the place where Sir Anthony is still pondering which plants to take home, the good gentleman gives me an old fashioned look and raises his eyebrows in such a way that I can’t help laughing. I’m so happy and comfortable in Owain’s company that I completely forget my poor friend in her lonely and miserable state at Cumnor Place.

  All too soon the afternoon draws to a close and I suddenly remember that I’d promised myself that I would buy a present for Amy. But what to buy? There’s so much to choose from.

  “I know the very thing,” says Owain and leads me to a table where an old woman is selling pomanders. Here we choose an orange stuck all over with cloves except for a cross where a velvet ribbon encircles it, like an orb carried by a queen. The smell of the citrus and the cloves is divine and I know that Amy will love such a treasure.

  “It will protect her from disease too,” says Owain with a hint of practicality that makes me laugh.

  I board the carriage again with the gentlewomen and my gallant Welsh story teller helps me up and promises to come to see me at Cumnor before very long. And at this stage I have no idea just how quickly his promise will be realised.

  As we travel home we’re a very merry company. When we reach the hill leading to Cumnor Place, I get out of the carriage to give our poor horse an easier task and walk along with the servant
s laughing and singing.

  “Oh dear, Mistress Katherine,” says Sir Anthony jokingly as he rides past us, “You will never make a fine lady of the court.”

  No, I think, and I never want to be. I want to be the wife of a farmer, a farmer called Owain!

  We trundle slowly past the churchyard and into the courtyard at Cumnor where Mr Bowes and the servants take the sweating horses round to the trough for a well earned drink and then to the stable yard to enable them to cool off before they’re turned out onto the field. The boys take old rags to rub them down so they will not get a chill in the cool air of evening.

  The serving girls and I go to the Great Hall to see whether Amy, Mrs Owen and Mrs Odingsells have enjoyed the cold meats the girls left out for them but finding the two older ladies playing cards and no sign of my friend, I make my way with Mrs Picto to the door leading to Amy’s chamber. But I begin to have a strange feeling; why was Amy not in the Great Hall with the other two? They said they had not seen her all afternoon and assumed she was taking a rest upstairs.

  As we walk across the now empty courtyard I have a sense of impending doom, an uneasy feeling that lies in the pit of my stomach. Mrs Picto, ahead of me, reaches the door leading to the stairs that go up to Amy’s chamber, opens it and gives a piercing scream.

  Over her shoulder I see my dearest friend lying at the bottom of the steps, her head twisted in an unnatural way. Even before I rush over to her and fall down on my knees to take her hand, I know that she’s dead.

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  Scandal

  Mrs Picto’s scream brings everyone running. Sir Anthony pushes his way through the group of servants crowding the door.

  “What is it? What has happened?”

  “It’s Lady Dudley, Sir,” says Mrs Picto, wailing, “She must have fallen down the stairs.”