The Virgin Elizabeth

by Robin Maxwell

  Elizabeth had not laid eyes on Thomas since the day in the boat-house, and of late all their letters had been consumed with plans and preparations for their first clandestine meeting. Delays and complications had frustrated them, however, until the lovers were nearly unstrung with desire. If they did not soon meet, thought Elizabeth as the rider came galloping toward her at breakneck speed, she would surely die of love’s terrible fever.

  Unable to wait any longer, Elizabeth spurred her horse and raced to meet the courier. She was shocked therefore, as they came within sight of one another, to discover the rider was not the man sent by Thomas Seymour at all. It was, in fact, Robin Dudley.

  She had hardly the time to gather her wits about her before they were face to face, their reined-in horses snorting and dancing in place. ‘Twas odd, thought Elizabeth in the moment before she spoke, how very pleased she was to see her friend, even as much as she had suffered disappointment in not receiving news of her love.

  “What brings you this way, Robin?” she said striving to catch her breath.

  “What brings me this way?” he repeated incredulously “What else would bring me this way but you, or are we so estranged that you would never expect a visit from your old friend?”

  “I — I —” she stuttered.

  “You haven’t replied to my two last letters,” he said. “I’d begun to worry.”

  Elizabeth felt the heat rising in her face. So preoccupied had she been with her secret correspondence that all else had fallen away She had simply forgotten to write back to Robin.

  “I’ve been ill,” she offered, glad that this was not a lie. She had always been entirely honest with her childhood friend.

  “You seem well enough now,” he said, examining her face and form astride the horse. “Maybe a little peaked, but well enough to hold a quill, I daresay.”

  “If you mean to shame me, you have,” said Elizabeth with a contrite smile. “Tell me, how is your family?”

  “Everyone is very well. Father’s been away at court, and he tells me that your brother wishes my presence back in his schoolroom, so perhaps I’ll go to London soon and see what Master Cheke is teaching these days.”

  “I may go to London as well,” said Elizabeth. “Poor Edward’s been despondent since Catherine’s death. She was the only mother he ever knew. Perhaps that is why he calls us all back to him.”

  “ ‘Twill be fun,” Robin said. “Masques, revels, tilts. And your favorite — bearbaitings.” He was teasing her now.

  “Robin!” Elizabeth laughed delightedly, forgetting for a moment her obsession. Then she looked up to see Thomas’s rider almost upon them. An expression of panic swept across her features, instantly obliterating her joy.

  The courier, a new man that Thomas had sent for the first time this day, was not well enough acquainted with their secretive procedures to realize his gaffe. He reined to a halt and, taking no notice of the stranger, handed Elizabeth the sealed letter. Without a word, he turned his horse and galloped back the way he’d come.

  There was a terrible moment of silence as Robin Dudley strove to make sense of what had just happened and Elizabeth fumbled for sensible excuses.

  It took Robin little time to guess what was afoot. “Please, tell me you’re not seeing him, Elizabeth,” he said.

  “I haven’t seen him since I left Chelsea,” she said. “At least not yet.”

  “Then you plan to?” he demanded.

  “He’s no longer a married man, Robin. He’s free to pay court to whomever he pleases.”

  “Then why the secret courier? Elizabeth, what are you planning?”

  “I’ve got to see him, Robin, at least the first time alone. No one understands what is between us. Kat and Parry have their plans for a public courtship, and Thomas plays along with them. But we will see each other, just the two of us, if only to pledge our true love to one another.”

  Robin’s mind worked furiously. He wished to shout at Elizabeth that such madness would bring utter ruin down on her head and those around her, that she should think carefully before she acted. But the young man knew that such vehement protestations could, in a person of such strong will, precipitate the opposite effect. Elizabeth might hie to her secret tryst even more quickly. Time was what he needed now to find a solution to this dilemma.

  Elizabeth reached across and grabbed Robin’s hand, fixing him with her eyes. “If you’re my friend, you will tell no one of these plans,” she said urgently.

  “I am your friend, you know that.”

  “Then promise me.”

  He held her gaze steadily and replied, “I promise you, your secret is safe with me.”

  It was the first time Robin Dudley had ever lied to Elizabeth. As he rode by her side back to Cheshunt, he prayed fervently that it would be the last.

  It was several days before Robin Dudley was meant to ride for London, but after he’d left Cheshunt, the news of Elizabeth’s disastrous plans haunting his every thought, he accelerated his schedule for the journey and now found himself being shown into his father’s new offices at Hampton Court.

  They embraced warmly and the boy excitedly launched into an explanation of his reason for the visit.

  “Does the Princess have no conception of the danger she is in?” asked John Dudley with keen interest.

  “I think she must, but I fear her passions have begun overruling her intellect, much as happened with the Queen Dowager. What can we do, Father? We cannot allow Elizabeth to compromise herself.”

  “Let me think a moment, son. Let me just think.”

  John Dudley clasped his hands behind his back and began to pace before his large window looking out into the palace’s great square courtyard. He appeared to be formulating a plan on the spot, but in truth his intricate plot had been in place for some time. His importance and prestige had been growing in the last months, and he’d slowly begun acquiring power over the Council as well.

  In contrast, more grumbling was heard every day over the Protector’s handling of the government. Somerset was perhaps well-meaning, but his policies pleased no one. By tearing down six acres of buildings on the Strand — primarily churches and monasteries — to build himself a magnificent new home worthy of his exalted position, the Protector had infuriated many Catholics. Conversely, his tolerance of Catholic doctrine had enflamed the radical Protestant faction. And whilst many of Somerset’s policies were simply a broad continuation of Henry’s — the debasement of the currency, the enclosure of once-public land to provide private grazing for sheep — they engendered gross poverty and served to weaken and discredit the Protector. Rebellions were brewing in the West Country and in East Anglia. But Somerset, content with the high station he had procured for himself and his family, seemed strangely oblivious to the trouble that was bubbling all around him.

  Not so John Dudley His orchard had finally come into flower and the first fruits of his labor were about to be plucked. The friendship and cooperation he had shown Somerset in the final years of Henry’s life had, in the first months of King Edward’s reign, given way to loathing and jealousy, emotions that Dudley had managed to hide. Lord Somerset had moved with the speed of lightning to grasp complete power for himself, and the rest of the Council be damned. The Protector had proven himself despotic and insufferable — but these defects, thought John Dudley, were all the better for his purposes.

  In Thomas Seymour, John Dudley had discovered the proverbial crack in the foundation, the means by which to bring the wall, and finally the palace, tumbling down on the Duke of Somerset’s head. It would happen, he knew, in stages. It was incumbent upon him to continue moving carefully and patiently toward his goal — the wresting of power away from the Protector and into his own hands. Henry’s grandfather Owen Tudor, a wardrobe master to royalty, had been no more noble than himself, thought John Dudley. His own family, he reasoned, had as much right as any Tudor to aspire to such exalted heights. He would, he had decided, climb to the throne on the crumbled walls of the Se
ymour family fortunes.

  His son must not know of his plans. Not yet, for the boy was still too loyal to the princess Elizabeth. Thankfully she was a Protestant, on the right side of things. And perhaps when the power was in his hands she could be of some use. For now, Robert must know only that he was saving his friend from a terrible fiend and ultimately from a traitor’s death. But his dear son had brought him the very tool he needed for the breaching of the heretofore impregnable Seymour edifice.

  “I think luck is with us,” said John Dudley, finally continuing the conversation with Robin. “I’ve heard that Thomas Seymour has lately returned to London. Clearly he is fomenting a rebellion against his brother, but we have no proof of it. He may be a fool, but he knows enough to watch his back in this. He’ll be suspicious of any man trailing him. But I’d wager he’ll not be alert to a boy on his trail.” John Dudley was not so ruthlessly driven as to miss, alongside the excitement and pride at his father’s suggestion, the look of hurt in his son’s eye. He added, “I am sending you on a man’s errand, Robert, remember that. Your tender age particularly makes you suitable for the task, so be thankful for it.”

  “Yes, my lord, I will,” said Robin humbly. “When and where should I begin?”

  “Tomorrow. I think he will be working every moment toward his end. Begin with St. Paul’s Cathedral. ‘Tis the meeting place of beggars and kings and everyone in between. He will like to go there for recruitment of men and procurement of weapons, ordnance, and supplies. And he must be raising money for the rebellion, though I’ve not yet proven his sources. I think, with his wife dead and his eye on Elizabeth, he will begin to work more quickly, and he is therefore bound by his nature to make more mistakes. Follow him, but discreetly, wherever he goes, and bring me back evidence of his wrongdoing. Hard evidence, Robert, for if we falter now he may, with the devil’s help, succeed. Not only will your princess be lost, but all of England.” John Dudley regarded his glowing boy, who seemed to have grown several inches taller in the past hour. “So go now, son. This will be the first service you’ll do your country, though certainly not your last.” He clapped a hearty arm round the boy’s shoulder. “You’re more of a man than many who should be so,” he said. “I know you’re going to make me very proud.”

  Dearest Princess,

  Whilst pressing responsibilities have kept me from writing you these past several days, nothing has alleviated the pain in my heart caused by our enforced absence one from another. Every waking moment is consumed by thoughts of you, and it is only with the strictest self enforcement that I can attend to my divers duties, not the least of which is procuring a majority of the Privy Councillors’ support for our marriage.

  Touching this most important task, I have lately conceived of a notion that may forward its achievement substantially Your own dealings with my brother the Protector and his wife, the Duchess of Somerset, are cordial, are they not? If so, perhaps you might petition that lady in some personal fashion and see if you might obtain her support for our marriage. Truly she abhors me as deeply as I do her, but she may wish to curry favor with a Princess of the Blood, and would therefore speak in our favor to her husband, my brother.

  Will you consider it?

  In the meanwhile I pine every day more pathetically for the sight of you, the feel of you in my arms once again, though I have promised you before and promise you again that when we do meet, it will be under the most chaste of circumstances. The loss of our senses in the boathouse, whilst a memory I cannot but cherish, was a regrettable lapse in restraint and conscionable behavior. If you can see clear to come to me without chaperone, I promise that the time will be spent in complete decorum, making plans for our legal marriage, perhaps allowing ourselves some time to dream dreams of our future happiness, and many healthy sons.

  I pray you trust your lady, Kat Ashley s, good opinion of myself, for it is surely deserved, Elizabeth. Your friend and cofferer Thomas Parry, too, is confident that I will make you a good husband. My heart tells me that you yourself believe it, and love me with the same fervor that I do you.

  I will wait, fighting impatience, to hear when you can slip away from your retainers and see me. Until then I will remain

  Your faithful servant and future husband,

  T Seymour

  Admiral,

  You and I have opened our hearts to one another in these months since the death of your good wife and my beloved stepmother, Catherine, and I have no doubt that you are sincere in your protestations of love and devotion to myself and your desire to see us married. I share that desire, deeply, but I must admit shock and a certain peevishness at your request that I approach the Duchess of Somerset to gain support for our marriage. You are wrong to think our relations cordial I loathe her quite as much as you do. Recently she chastised Kat Ashley rudely and publicly for simply allowing me to travel to London on a barge. Ridiculous! Therefore, to grovel and seek that lady’s approval would prove nothing short of humiliation. We shall simply have to find other sources of help in our cause.

  Touching on your request for a private meeting with myself, I have only these words of reply. Yes! Yes! Yes! Nothing would do us better than to be in one another’s company again, but finally without fear or guilt or remorse, but filled with joy and hope for our future together, though not with obstacles. Our marriage is in my mind a certainty, for your will and desire are as strong as my own. I await your instructions as to the time and place of our meeting. Till then I remain

  Your Dearest Friend and Future Wife

  Chapter Eighteen

  Robin Dudley had presented himself at King Edwards court only long enough to reacquire his modest quarters in the palace. He went directly to Master Cheke, explaining that family business would keep him from the classroom for perhaps a week, but that he looked forward to resuming his studies with the King.

  He then promptly began a program of intelligence gathering. Using casual conversation and a gentleman’s favorite pastime, gossip-mongering, he informed himself of Thomas Seymour’s day-to-day activities — how often he appeared at court, how he traveled, whom he visited, how long he stayed, where he dined and drank and whored. Robin schooled himself till he had memorized lists of both the Admiral’s supporters and his enemies. Only then did he feel ready to follow the man and move close enough to begin spying.

  Two hours before dawn on the fifteenth day of January he rode to Seymour House, and from across the way in the shadows of another great house began his vigil, certain that Seymour had gone home the previous night, late, after an evening of gambling in Lord Monroe’s house. There was small chance that the subject of his investigation would use a barge or boat for his conveyance to the day’s destination, for Robin had learned that the man was not fond of water travel of any kind — a strange dislike for the High Admiral of the King’s Navy. Happily it meant that following Seymour would be easier, comfortable, as Robin was on horseback.

  Young Dudley was forced to wait for hours. His thoughts, normally precise and straightforward as the mathematical problems he so enjoyed solving, now veered and collided inside his head. With the commencement of this mission he felt no longer a boy but a grown man with the fate of a princess and perhaps a kingdom on his broadening shoulders. Yet in his heart he felt fallible and frightened of failure. He wondered if his father, in his plan to bring about the Seymour family’s demise, had backed his son’s covert operation with other spies and functionaries, or if John Dudley in fact trusted Robin enough to act alone in this. He prayed for the latter, and prayed too for success in his assignment. As much as he wished to serve England, he longed even more fervently to please his father.

  And then there was Elizabeth. Her behavior of late and her turn of mind had become irrational, altogether unfathomable. Ever since they’d been children she had bested him in the power and precise composition of her thoughts, the rational and preternaturally adult grace with which she deported herself. Her course, he mused, had been inconceivably difficult from the start —
a royal princess whose mother had been disgraced and beheaded. Had Elizabeth failed to learn early the lessons of caution and restraint, of invisibility from her father’s furious eye one moment and abject groveling the next, she would never have survived Henry’s reign.

  Elizabeth had teased Robin unmercifully about his betrothal to Amy Robsart, claimed that he’d lost all his good sense over the girl She was right. Amy was a beautiful girl and possessed a sweetness, like rose milk, that both softened him and, admittedly, made him hard. Now Elizabeth had done more than lose her senses to love. She had placed her very life in jeopardy, betrayed Catherine, and for what? A singularly vile and dangerous scoundrel — a man who was plotting the overthrow of her brother’s kingdom! What on earth could she be thinking? What power did Thomas Seymour possess, Robin asked himself time and time again, to cause so violent a passion in his dear friend? And why, he finally wondered with red-faced shame, did their too obvious lust for one another arouse his own jealousy? He was betrothed to Amy Robsart and he looked forward to their marriage. Elizabeth, a royal princess, was too far above him in rank for even a fantasy of marriage. And they were friends of the heart, she more dear to him than any person outside his family. Did he love her? Did he lust for her as Seymour did? Certainly she was beautiful, but just yesterday, or so it seemed, she was a gangly girl who raced with him on horseback side by side as his brothers did — and sometimes won. If she could be his, he suddenly wondered, if all rank and title magically fell away, if Elizabeth were just a girl and he a boy (or, more precisely, woman and man) would he desire her for himself? This silent question disturbed young Dudley profoundly, but with his sharpest reason brought to bear, and an honesty allowed in his most private heart, the answer burst forth with strength and startling clarity. Yes! He loved Elizabeth, loved her deeply, and if the stars had not already sealed his fate, he would have her before any woman in the world!