by Jean Plaidy
He hid the note in the posy, binding it fast; and eagerly he awaited the next day, wondering, as he had through the night, whether the child had been unable to keep the secret or if he would remember to bring fresh flowers on the next day.
As soon as the boy entered the cell with his father, this time bearing a larger bunch of flowers, Robert saw from the brightness of the boy’s eyes and the tightly pressed lips that he had not forgotten.
“You bring me a present,” said Robert. “Now I shall give you one.” He took the new bunch and pressed the old one into the child’s hands. Their eyes met and the boy’s were brimming over with excitement.
“God bless you,” said Robert.
“God bless my lord,” said the boy.
“I envy you this fine boy,” said Robert to the warder. “I…who have no sons…nor daughters either, for that matter.”
He thought with exasperation of Amy, waiting for him in the manor house which was their home—Amy who had saved him from marriage with the Lady Jane Grey and who now stood between him and he knew not what.
“Ah, he’s a bonny fellow,” said the father. “And he has brothers and sisters.”
“You are a lucky man.”
The warder shook his head, thinking of the splendors of the Dudleys which had ended so tragically and abruptly.
The little boy wandered out, tightly clutching the bunch of flowers.
A change had come over the Princess Elizabeth. There was fresh color in her cheeks, renewed sparkle in her eyes. It was obvious that she looked forward to her walks in the Tower garden.
She would smile and kiss the warder’s little boy who so often brought her flowers. She would pick him up in her arms and whisper to him, walking with him among the flower beds. Her attendants and the guards said: “She is very fond of children.” And it was touching to see the eager way in which she took the flowers which the child brought to her.
She had thrown off her melancholy. It was difficult to believe that her life was in danger and that none was more aware of that dismal fact than herself.
“Ah, my little one,” she would cry, on seeing the boy, “so you do not forget me then?”
“I would never forget you, Mistress,” he would say.
She would take his little hand and walk away from those who attended her; she wished to be alone in the gardens with her little friend.
“How is my lord?” she would whisper.
“He says that he is in wondrous health since he has had word from your Grace.”
“He looks for a letter from me, I doubt not?”
“Nay, Mistress. He says you must not write. I will tell him what you say.”
“You are a dear good child and I am fond of you.”
So she blossomed among the flowers and passed much time in her apartments—which otherwise would have been spent wearily—in remembering the charm of Robert Dudley, picturing what would happen if they met again.
Other children began to follow the warder’s little boy into the gardens. There was so much talk of the Princess, that they too wished to see her and to tell her how sorry they were that she was a captive.
There was the son of the Keeper of the Queen’s Robes, and little Susannah, the daughter of another warder, who came with the boy. They would run into the garden and stand before the Princess, who always had a word and smile for them; but little Will was her favorite.
There were many persons of importance who wished to show leniency toward the Princess. It was folly, said Bridges, the Lieutenant of the Tower, to offend more than need be, a lady of Elizabeth’s rank. One turn of Fortune’s wheel and she would be their Queen. He expressed his feelings thus in order to win support for them; for he himself was a kind man and the plight of the Princess had aroused his compassion. He swore to himself that while Elizabeth was in his charge she should have as much respect as he dared give her.
It was not long before the Princess was allowed to go where she wished within the precincts of the Tower; and thus it was that she saw Robert.
She knew that he was in a lower cell of the Beauchamp Tower, and that if she passed by he would be able, by looking through the bars of his window, to see her. On that first day of her new liberty, she curbed her impatience, but on the second she dressed herself with the utmost care and with her attendants about her and her guards nearby, she walked aimlessly in the direction of the Beauchamp Tower.
“Wait here,” she said to her attendants. “I would be alone for a while.”
The sympathetic guards allowed her to go on, but they begged her not to go from their sight or they would be forced to follow her.
She paused by the Beauchamp Tower and whispered: “Robert. Robert Dudley. Are you there?”
He was at the window looking through the bars.
“My…Princess!” he murmured.
He was pale through long confinement, but his pallor seemed but to enhance the beauty of that incomparable cast of features; the flesh had fallen away to disclose the fine contours of his face. How handsome he is! thought the Princess; and any man who admired her seemed to her charming.
“I cannot tarry long,” she murmured. “My guards are watching. Have a care.”
“You came…to see me! I shall remember it till I die.”
“Robert…what will they do to us?”
“Time will tell.”
“You do not care?”
“Life has to end sometime, sweet Princess. I have railed against my fate. But I am here and, because I am a prisoner, and you are a prisoner, I have shown you what is in my heart. How could Robert Dudley have said to a noble Princess what one prisoner could say to another?”
“You have been very bold,” she said with feigned severity.
“It is well, mayhap, that the walls of a prison separate us, for if they did not, how could I, dazzled by your beauty, control what might be unforgivable boldness?”
She pretended to contemplate the April sky, and her eyes seemed to take color from its blueness. She heard the call of the cuckoo from the distant meadows. Spring was in the air and in her heart; she could not think of death for herself at such a time. They were both so young. Prisoner as she was, this was one of the happiest moments of her life. She vowed there and then that she would never forget the man who had made it possible for her to be so happy in this grim prison.
“It is well indeed,” she said. “I shall walk on a few paces and turn back. I see they are watching me.”
His voice followed her. “If tomorrow I walk out to the scaffold, I shall not complain. I am a prisoner here under sentence of death, yet I rejoice…for the Princess has passed my way.”
How handsome he was! How ardent his eyes! She had heard it said that he was irresistible. Yet because she was a Princess her royalty would resist him. But what need to think of resistance? They were separated by unbreakable barriers: her royalty, his prison walls, his marriage to a country girl. She did not resent these barriers; she wished for barriers. She saw herself as the most desirable woman in England, young, beautiful, yet unattainable. That was how she wished it to be.
She dawdled past his window once more.
“I was grieved,” she said, “when I heard of your arrest. I was grieved because I remembered you and because of the reason you are here.”
He was prepared. He had not mentioned politics in his letters; those spoke of nothing but love and devotion. He said: “I am my father’s son. I had no alternative but to fight in my father’s cause. I was young…without experience, his to command.”
“And who may command you now?”
“The Princess Elizabeth. She may command me, body and soul.”
She was delighted, but she said with asperity: “When was your allegiance severed from the Lady Jane Grey? When she went to the scaffold?”
“I can only say that I served my father.”
“Robert, you are a fool. And so am I to linger here.”
“But…you will walk this way again?”
She stooped
as though to flick a piece of grass from her shoe. “Should I step out of my way to listen to you?”
“If you are merciful, yes.”
“Merciful?” She looked round. Those who were watching her were growing suspicious. She dared dally no longer, but she was finding it difficult to tear herself away. Flirtation such as this was a game she enjoyed beyond all others. “Who am I, a poor prisoner, to be merciful?”
“There is none other whose mercy I would ask. I crave the mercy of a smile from your sweet lips. The memory of your beauty will stay with me…lighting my cell. If I die tomorrow I shall die happy…because you came to see me, my dearest Princess.”
“I but passed this way.”
“Then Your Grace is displeased because I wrote to you?”
“It was somewhat impertinent of you.”
“Then if my letters have given you displeasure, I must deny myself the great joy of writing them.”
“As to that you must please yourself.”
“If I pleased myself I should write all day. You will come this way again?”
“My lord, do you think I shall go out of my way to avoid you?” There was a trill of excitement in her voice. She knew she ought to go, but she could not resist lingering there.
“To see you is the most wonderful thing that has happened to me,” he said.
“I must go.”
“I shall live for this hour tomorrow.”
“My guards grow suspicious. I must tarry no longer.”
“Would I could kiss your hand…Elizabeth.”
“I dare stay no longer.”
“I shall wait…and hope.”
“It is a good thing to wait…and hope. It is all that is left to us poor prisoners.”
She had turned her face to the sky so that the light fell upon it; she shook out her hair and touched her throat with one of those white slender hands of which she was so proud. She made a charming picture for him to see and retain in his memory.
“You are so beautiful,” she heard him whisper. “Even more so than I remembered.”
Did they know, those guards and friends of hers, why her morning walks always took her in one direction? Did they know who the prisoner was on the other side of the grille? If they did they feigned ignorance.
She would sit on the grass outside the cell and, leaning back against the walls, look up at the sky while she talked to Robert Dudley.
She scolded him, but there was a warmth of tenderness always beneath the scolding. She was as excited as she had been during that most exciting experience with Thomas Seymour.
“So, Robert Dudley, you are a traitor to our most gracious Queen.”
“Princess, I serve only one Queen.”
“Then that must be Queen Mary.”
“Nay, the Queen of my heart, the Queen I shall always worship to the end of my days. Her name is not Mary.”
“Might it be Amy?”
“Ah, speak not of poor Amy.”
“Speak not of her indeed! Poor soul, I pity her. She happens to be your wife.”
“I spoke of a Queen,” he said. “I spoke of the only one in the world whom I could ever love, but who, I fear, is far beyond my reach.”
“What name has she?”
“Elizabeth.”
“The same as mine!”
“You mock me!”
“Robert, you are a philanderer, as many know to their cost.”
“If that is so, might it not be because, knowing I can never reach my love, I seek desperately to find others who remind me of her?”
“So these others…these country girls…remind you of her?”
“In some small way, mayhap. Perhaps one has blue eyes; another has hair—not the same color, for how could that perfection be matched?—but perhaps when the sun shines in a certain way that hair has a faint resemblance to Elizabeth’s. Perhaps one has white and slender fingers, lacking the perfection, it is true, but they serve to remind.”
“Robert Dudley,” she challenged, “a woman would be a fool to put her trust in you.”
“One would not. But who am I to hope she would dare look my way?”
“You are under sentence of death,” she said quietly.
“I am almost glad of it. Because of it I am reckless. I say to the one I love that which, in other circumstances, I would not dare to say.”
“Say on,” she murmured.
“I love you…no one but you. There would be no place in my life except by your side. It is well that soon they will come for me and that I shall walk out to the scaffold, for, loving one so far above me, how could I hope for that love to be returned?”
“A man is a fool who gives up hope.”
“Is that so then?”
“Hope is what we live by…such as we are.”
“What could I hope for?”
“For life.”
“But what would life be worth if it held not love?”
“Then hope for life and love.”
“Elizabeth…my love!”
“It is true,” she admitted, “that I have a fondness for you.”
“I am the happiest man alive.”
“It is a marvelous thing, Robert, that you can say so at such a time.”
“Would I could be there beside you on the grass.”
“I fancy that you would be over-bold, which might mean that I should have to be cold to you.”
“I would break through your coldness.”
“Yes. I have heard that you have melting powers.”
“You have heard much of me. I am flattered again that you lent your ears so often to news of me…even when it went against me.”
“I did not forget you. You were such an arrogant boy.”
“You remember how we danced together…how our hands touched?”
“Do not talk of the past. Talk of the future.”
“What has the future for me?”
“Or for me?”
“You! There will be a great future for you. You will be a Queen.”
“Shall I, Robert?”
“A Queen! And your husband will be a foreign prince of great power and riches. Your ministers will choose him for you.”
“If I am ever Queen I shall choose my own husband.”
Such words set his hopes rising. Such hopes were absurd, he told himself. But were they? She was so proud, so brave, so determined. She was her father’s daughter; he had heard it said many times. Her father had married outside royalty. It was true that two of his wives had lost their heads; but Robert was sure of his powers.
“If ever I come out of here alive…” he began.
“Yes, Robert?” she prompted.
“I shall dedicate my life to your service.”
“Others have promised that.”
“I shall serve you with the love of a subject and…a man.”
“Subject?”
“When you are Queen…”
“You talk treason. If any heard, that would, without delay, cost you your head.”
“My heart is so deeply involved that my head seems of little importance.”
“I dare stay no longer.”
Yet how she wanted to do so! What a pleasant game it was that she played outside the walls of the Beauchamp Tower.
It was one of the children who broke the enchantment.
Little Susannah came to her one day as she walked in the gardens.
Susannah had found some keys, and these she had brought to the Princess. The little girl had listened to the conversations of her elders and had thought how she would like to do something for the sweet young lady. Young Will took her flowers, and those pleased her so much. What could Susannah do?
Then Susannah thought of something better than flowers. The Princess was a prisoner, was she not? Flowers were pretty to look at, but keys were so much more useful. So purposefully Susannah took the keys to the Princess, holding them out in her small chubby hand.
“These are for you, Mistress. Now you can unlock the gates and go
home.”
Elizabeth bent over the child, but her guards had come forward.
“Your Grace will understand,” said one of the guards, “that I must take these keys, and that it will be necessary for me to report what has happened.”
“You may do as you please,” said Elizabeth. “This innocent child but plays a game.”
Susannah cried: “But the keys are for the lady. They are so that she may open the gates and go home.”
Elizabeth stooped to comfort the child. “It was good of you to bring me the keys, Susannah,” she said. “But you see, my dear little one, they will not let me have them.”
Susannah began to whimper: “Have I done wrong then, Mistress?”
“Nay. You thought to please me. That was not wrong.”
“But they are angry now.”
“Nay. They have taken the keys because I am their prisoner and that is how they wish to keep me.”
“But I would help you to escape.”
“I know, my little one. But that is not to be. You must be of good cheer. I am happy because you brought me the keys—not so that I might escape for I could not go until they say I may—but because it shows you love me.”
Susannah was comforted.
But now the officials of the Tower were conferring together.
“A child…to take keys to the Princess! That is very dangerous. Important keys could be smuggled into her apartments in this way.”
“The keys which the child took to her were useless keys. They had been thrown away.”
“That is so. But keys! And what is this about flowers?”
“Only that one of the warders’ boys takes her a bunch of flowers now and then. He picks them from his garden and takes them to his favorite prisoner.”
“Messages…notes…could be concealed in a bunch of flowers. We have here an important state prisoner. If she should escape it might cost us our heads.”
The result of this conference was that young Will found himself standing before a committee of impressive gentlemen, among them the awe-inspiring Lieutenant of the Tower himself.
Will was a little afraid, because he sensed the trepidation of his father, who waited outside while Will stood before a table about which sat the gentlemen.
There was one thought in the little boy’s mind: He must not betray the fact that he had carried a note in the bunch of flowers. Lord Robert had been most insistent about that. That was why they were angry, but he would not tell them. He must remember that Lord Robert did not wish it, and he did not care how angry the gentlemen were so long as he did what Lord Robert wished.