The Manner of Amy's Death

by Mackrodt, Carol

  “Is she breathing?” Sir Anthony bends over the body and holds his hand to her throat.

  “No, Sir,” I reply, “She’s quite cold. She must have been lying here for some time.” My voice is hushed and I can hardly speak the words. I feel as if I am about to choke.

  Mrs Odingsells is at the back of the assembled group now and is followed by Mrs Owen who walks slowly with a cane for assistance. “Has Lady Dudley had an accident?”

  “Yes,” says Sir Anthony, “It appears that she has fallen down the stairs and broken her neck.” He lifts Amy’s head from its unnatural position and lays it straight. I can see that there is no stiffness; the head is as floppy as that on a rag doll and yet the fall has not dislodged the little lace cap that she wears around the manor house when she is not receiving visitors or dressing for dinner. On other, more formal occasions she would be wearing her finery and decorated hoods.

  “Did you not hear anything?” Sir Anthony asks Mrs Odingsells. No use asking Mrs Owen who is as deaf as a post.

  “Well I did think I heard a sound as we were playing cards early in the afternoon. It was as if someone had dropped something but we knew we were alone in the house and I believed that the cat had been after the cream in the buttery again and had knocked over the jug.”

  “It was quite a clatter. Even I heard it. I thought the wind had blown a bench over in the courtyard,” said Mrs Owen. “We laughed about it, didn’t we Mrs Odingsells?”

  The full implication of what has happened is now beginning to reach me and I can see from Sir Anthony’s worried frown that the same thought is occurring to him. The wife of one of England’s foremost courtiers has been found dead in his house and under circumstances that are not at all clear. It is entirely possible that Amy could have taken her own life because of her agitated state of mind just before we departed. Heaven knows that her husband had given her cause for such agitation.

  But the whole affair will reflect badly upon Sir Anthony and his household. Perhaps he should not have left her in an empty house with only two elderly ladies for company. Perhaps people will think that she was not cared for adequately at Cumnor Place. Worse still, in view of all the gossip surrounding Sir Robert Dudley and the Queen, people may suspect foul play.

  “We will have to send for the coroner,” says Sir Anthony, “And Sir Robert will have to be informed as quickly as possible, naturally.” He looks at the darkening sky. “Unfortunately it is now too late to do anything of practical value.”

  Sir Anthony summons Mr Bowes and two of the stable lads. “Help me to carry Lady Dudley up to her chamber. We will lay her down on the bed until we can start the necessary proceedings tomorrow. Mrs Picto and Mistress Katherine please follow us. Perhaps you will keep a night vigil over Lady Dudley’s body.”

  Mrs Picto and I light the candles in Amy’s chamber and take up our seats either side of the body in the two chairs that Sir Anthony brings up for us. We take it in turn to go down to the Great Hall to eat but we have little appetite. Stiff and uncomfortable we watch over Amy, Lady Dudley, as she begins her final sleep of all and we’re glad when the first rays of light shine through the shutters in the morning.

  Everything then happens very quickly. Mr Bowes saddles his horse and prepares to ride to Windsor where it is believed he will find Sir Robert, given that the court is already there. The coroner and an undertaker are sent for and arrive with a horse drawn cart and a bier on which Amy’s body is placed. There will need to be an inquest to ascertain the cause of death so we have not laid out the body, washing it and placing it in a shroud, as would be normal. The undertaker’s women will perform that final ritual after the members of the coroner’s court have carried out their inspection. I know what the procedure will be – my friend’s naked body will be placed before the court so that the men can pull it this way and that to search for any marks that may provide clues. How Amy would have hated to think that she would suffer such an undignified end.

  As they depart, a group of the cottagers at Cumnor has already assembled outside on the road to pay their respects. News will spread fast and I wonder what the local people will make of it. We make our way back to the house and wait for events to unfold.

  Cumnor Place today is a very different household to the one that awoke to the prospect of a fair and a holiday. The servants speak in whispers and the two older gentlewomen keep to their own chambers. Country folk are very superstitious and the day after Amy’s body was discovered they’re already claiming to have seen certain signs, a mist over the pond out of which a lone swan took flight, a flock of ravens in the meadow, the shepherd’s dog that sits each night on the terrace by Amy’s door and now howls continually at the sky and a dove that is trying to enter Amy’s shuttered window instead of the dove cote.

  The following day one of the servants returns from Cumnor village and says that all the talk is of how Sir Robert will be free to marry the Queen now that his wife has been murdered. Sir Anthony is distraught; his reputation it seems is in ruins but his mind is put at ease by the arrival of someone that Amy would not have been pleased to see had she still been alive. By midday Blount stands in the courtyard.

  “Welcome Cousin Blount,” says Sir Anthony, ushering the new arrival into the hall, “We had not expected to see someone from court so quickly.”

  “No indeed,” says Blount, “And I would have been here even sooner had I not stopped overnight at the inn at Abingdon to ascertain what the folk there made of this sad matter.”

  “But Mr Bowes only set off with the news yesterday morning. Surely he did not reach Windsor in time for you to set off, stay overnight in Abingdon and arrive by this morning. That would have been a ride for him of merely a few hours and from here to Windsor it’s a distance of almost forty miles. Where did he find such fast horses?”

  Blount smiles his lop sided smile. “By strange coincidence, I was already travelling north to Cumnor yesterday when I met Mr Bowes changing horses at the post inn at Wallingford. He told me of Lady Dudley’s death and the strange circumstances surrounding it. So I decided to stay the night at Abingdon to hear what the local gossips had to say. After all,” he leans back in his chair, “My Lord Robert will not be pleased if suspicion falls on him.”

  “Why should it? Lady Dudley had a fall down the stairs that is all. There is no hint of foul play; it was merely an accident.”

  “Put your mind at ease,” says Blount easily, “There is no reason to think of blame in the matter, either for your good self or for my Lord. The people in the tavern at Abingdon had nothing but praise for you and said it was plainly bad fortune that this had happened at the home of someone they respected as an honest and kind man.”

  Sir Anthony is calmed by these words but not entirely at ease. There will be a long road before the matter is settled.

  In the days that follow letters fly to and from Windsor. We hear that Sir Robert was shocked to the core by Amy’s death and has retreated alone to his house at Kew where he dresses in black mourning clothes and avoids company. Is this the action of a murderer? Or, more probably, could it be the action of a hypocrite?

  Blount is still with us and has tried to supervise the choice of a jury for the coroner but he is too late; the jury has been appointed already. According to Cousin Blount, Sir Robert, in an attempt to distance himself from any accusation of influencing the verdict, had asked for them all to be strangers to him but well respected men who will make wise judgements without indulging in idle chatter.

  At the end of the week I have a surprise visitor. It’s Owain, come to express his sorrow for me at the loss of my friend.

  “Owain! What an unexpected pleasure this is.”

  “Dear Mistress Katherine I’m delighted to see you again and would have been here sooner but,” he looks around to see if anyone is close by and whispers, “I wished to see if I could bring any comfort over the matter of Lady Dudley’s death.”

  I drop my voice though I don’t see that there’s any reason to, “What co
mfort could there be? I’ve lost a dear friend.”

  Owain pauses, as if he does not know where to begin, then says, “You do realise that the jury was considering that she may have taken her own life.”

  “Oh no, sweet Jesus! She would never do such a thing. Amy prayed every day; she would not commit such a vile act. Besides she had just sent a dress to her tailor for alteration. You do not know Amy as I do. She knew that she was very pretty and wanted to look her best at all times. Is that the act of someone who’s plotting to murder herself?”

  “Katherine, keep calm. You’re right of course and you, of all people, knew her best but you cannot blame the jury for considering such a disgraceful act since many have said that she was in a strange mood that day and wanted to be left completely alone.”

  “But even if, and I say ‘if’, she’d planned such a thing, surely she would not have thrown herself down such a small flight of steps. She would have fallen forwards and put her hands out by compulsion, I think, to save herself. No, there would be other, more certain, ways to take her own life. Oh yes, and don’t forget that Amy had always feared that she would be poisoned and was most careful not to let that happen. No, no, it’s impossible. She must have tripped and fallen violently. Maybe she had had too much wine at midday and was not mindful of the steps and her skirts.”

  “Well I’m truly sorry, Katherine, to have caused you such distress by speaking carelessly and out of turn. I believed that you would have had such thoughts yourself and I only wanted to reassure you that the jury has now ruled out a verdict of suicide, one of the reasons being that they do not wish to bring such shame on Lady Dudley or, indeed, on her husband. This means that she will now be able to have a normal Christian burial when her body is released.”

  Of course Owain’s quite right and this should be a great comfort to me. The murder of oneself is as bad as the murder of any other person and some think it’s worse as the perpetrator can never confess and make peace with God and is therefore sentenced to eternal damnation. This is why I’m convinced that Amy would not place her soul in danger. Anyway Owain’s news means we can now be sure that her funeral will go ahead with the dignity she deserves.

  “How do you know what the jury is pondering anyway,” I ask.

  “Hush,” says Owain, “Keep your voice down. You remember John who took part in our entertainment last Christmas?” I do.

  “Well,” continues my friend, “He’s a man of considerable wealth and is highly respected. He only plays in our little troupe as a pastime because he owns a large farm to the south of Oxford – much bigger than my small holding,” he adds modestly. “And he’s a member of the jury. That’s how I know.”

  Chapter Thirty

  After The Funeral

  As Owain said, Amy’s body was released for burial some days later and she was laid to rest in the Church of Mary the Virgin in Oxford.

  Back at Cumnor Place, Mrs Picto and I have sorted through Amy’s precious possessions and sent them on their way to the people who would like to have them, the most expensive jewels have gone to Sir Robert Dudley (and are possibly destined for the Queen) while the gowns and hoods, slippers and sentimental reminders have gone back to her own kin in Norfolk and Camberwell. The strange note that I found in her sewing apron is now under the floorboard in Amy’s chamber, in the place where it will remain forever or, at least, until someone finds it when we are long dead and gone.

  But the note is never far from my thoughts. Why did I tell no one? I think that I’m just too scared of the consequences. Was she really expecting to see Robert round about the time of the fair and was that why she was so agitated and anxious to be alone? If I told anyone and if Amy’s death was not a natural one, it would be all too easy for the murderer to return here, destroy the note and dispatch me at the same time. Hence I trust no one with the knowledge.

  The jury has still not released its findings. Presumably, having ruled out suicide, they’re not satisfied that Amy’s death was an accident either. Nor am I. But who would have wanted such a thing? What would anyone have to gain?

  The obvious answer would be that Robert and the Queen could marry but Robert’s behaviour suggests that he sees this as a personal tragedy regarding his ambitions in that direction. He can hardly marry the Queen if he is suspected of the murder of his wife.

  Elizabeth too has attempted to demonstrate her shock and sorrow at Amy’s death by ordering that the whole court go into mourning for a month. But people are not fooled and think that this is the depths of hypocrisy. Amy’s death had been eagerly anticipated by her not so long ago! Will this ‘mourning’ dissipate the rumours? I doubt it.

  The gossip is, of course, that Robert had ‘arranged’ for his wife to be murdered. But even if his men had carried out such a deed without his knowledge surely they would have realised that such a clumsy attempt would cast doubts over the manner of her death and would have implicated ‘Milord Robert’. They would have been providing him with no favours.

  That only leaves one possibility. Had someone at court had Amy murdered, someone so ruthless that they would dispatch an innocent woman knowing that the scandal would ruin the possibility that the Queen could ever marry her favourite? But then, if that were the case, why even go to the trouble to make the death look like an accident by arranging the body at the foot of the stairs. If the jury decided that it was nothing more than a grave misfortune, such enemies of Robert would see their worst fears confirmed and he and the Queen would be free to marry.

  No, no, Amy’s death has to be an accident albeit a strange one. As I am turning these thoughts round and round in my mind, Sir Anthony comes in.

  “Katherine I have some good news for you! I have found you a position as a gentlewoman companion to Mrs Odingsells when she leaves Cumnor in a few days time.”

  Good news! It is the worst possible news - to be bound to this somewhat grumpy older lady for the rest of my days. I had hoped to stay at Cumnor where I might at least be able to see Owain from time to time. In my confusion I can only think of one thing to say.

  “Thank you, Sir Anthony. It’s kind of you to think of me and what of Mrs Picto? Is she to come with us?”

  “No indeed, Mrs Owen has already asked for Mrs Picto be help her in her old age. Picto will dress her and attend to her needs.”

  Poor Picto! but I expect it’s better than being turned out to beg for one’s living. Sir Anthony must be able to read the disappointment on my face. “My dear Katherine,” he says, “I hope to buy Cumnor Place but I am by no means sure as yet that this will happen and even if it does I will bring all my own servants here and my wife has her own group of gentlewomen. I’m afraid that there will be no room for other people. And Mrs Odingsells is a good woman. She will provide for your needs in the way to which you are accustomed. If you are happy with this arrangement you will leave tomorrow.”

  “Yes indeed, Sir Anthony, and I am very fortunate and do indeed thank you for your concern.”

  Sir Anthony smiles and bows out of the hall, leaving me once more to my thoughts. Tomorrow! No time to say farewell to dear Owain and no time to write a letter to him either for I must pack away my belongings.

  The following morning we’re up early and the grooms have the tiny carriage ready. Mrs Odingsells and I are helped in and I take a last look at Cumnor Place which I will never see again in all probability. The wheels bump and rumble down the road. We’re heading for Berkshire where Mrs Odingsells and I will live with her son and his family and I’m empty and sick to my stomach.

  I’ve never felt so alone in my whole life and can’t help feeling that I should have been allowed at least to return to my lovely Norfolk, maybe to help Amy’s half brother and his wife …… or even to Hertfordshire, to the household of Mr Hyde. But who would want to take care of a spinster now approaching her twenty eighth birthday? What use am I to anyone? I’m not even pretty; not that being pretty helped dear Amy much. No, I’ll live and die an old maid now.

  Katherine! Sto
p feeling sorry for yourself! You’re fortunate to have somewhere to live and you’ll have to look on the brighter side. I force myself to stop being miserable and make as pleasant conversation as I can muster to Mrs Odingsells.

  The morning is almost over and we’re thinking about stopping for some refreshment, not that I’m hungry. Sir Anthony’s groom is driving the litter and he feels that the horse needs a rest and some water so we stop outside an inn and prepare to alight. Behind us there’s the sound of a horseman riding hard down the road and, turning round, we can see he’s hidden in a cloud of dust.

  “He’s in a hurry!” says Mrs Odingsells.

  He pulls his sweating horse to a halt a few yards from us and leaps to the ground, his face grimy with dirt and sweat. We instinctively step backwards as he strides towards us. Thoughts are tumbling through my brain …. Amy, her broken neck, the note, Robert’s men, run, run, run …. but I’m rooted to the spot. So this is it then, this is how it all ends, on a road outside a country tavern in broad daylight.

  But, as he comes closer, I’m taken aback to see Owain and even more astonished when he says, “Mistress Katherine, do not leave me. Marry me, please do.”

  Chapter Thirty One

  Knight in Shining Armour!

  We must look a pretty sight! Mrs Odingsells, Sir Anthony’s groom and I are all staring at Owain with our mouths wide open.

  After what seems like an age Mrs Odingsells bursts out laughing, “Well what are you waiting for, Mistress Katherine? Say ‘Yes’! Unless you want to spend the rest of your life with an old woman like me,” she adds with a grimace.

  For some unknown reason I burst into floods of tears; relief, remorse for what I’d been thinking, Mrs Odingsells’ unexpected kindness, the realisation of my greatest wish – all these things combine to reduce me to a gibbering, sobbing idiot. Surely Owain will not want me now!

  “I’d been thinking to ask you since the fair but, what with all the sad events at Cumnor, I somehow did not. I liked you when I first met you last Christmas but I thought that you, as a gentlewoman who is used to so much better, would not want a life with a poor farmer with two children already. I didn’t have the courage to ask you for I thought you would say no but when I got to Cumnor this morning and found that you had gone, I rode as fast as I could to be here. But I …. I ….. do understand if you do not wish …… to come back with me ….. I understand ….” Now it’s Owain who’s gibbering!