“I think it’s possible to argue this from many angles,” he said, his tone reflective, “but, ludicrous though it seems at first sight, the more you examine the evidence, the more convincing this version of events seems. However, Perdita has more to explain.”
Perdita was still standing, staring down at her scrawled notes. “Lily and Daisy,” she said, “constantly refer to each other as ‘my friend the nun’ — another word for nun is ‘sister’.”
A wave of understanding rippled around the table.
“Elizabeth and Mary,” continued Perdita. “When I was checking this morning, there was something else I needed to confirm. History tells us that Elizabeth I never married, however, she came close to it a number of times. There was one man in particular who bounced backward and forwards into her life…”
“Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester…” began Susan, but Perdita shook her head.
“No, I think he has always been the red herring, rather like Lettice Knollys,” she said. “There was someone else, a French duke.”
“Who?” asked Callum.
“Francis, the count of Alencon, who later inherited the title, Duke of Anjou,” explained Perdita. “He was the youngest son of Henry II of France and Catherine de’ Medici. This made him the younger brother of Francis II of France, who when he was the Dauphin, was married to Mary, Queen of Scots.”
“But Elizabeth didn’t marry Alencon,” said Stuart. “She remained single throughout her life.”
Perdita lifted a book from the stack in front of her and flicked through to a page she had marked earlier.
“The duke of Anjou died in June 1584,” said Perdita. “Elizabeth was said to have been devastated, but what is rarely reported is that she went into mourning for six months. When the French ambassador, Castelnau, visited her in September 1584 at Windsor Castle, he was invited to watch the hunt in the park from a newly built terrace that was on the walls of Windsor Castle at Berkshire. What’s remarkable is, when the queen finally appeared, she was wearing a black dress and a veil that fell to the ground. Castelnau was shocked and later wrote that Elizabeth’s attire was akin to that worn by a widow.”
“There’s also testimony that she wrote poetry about the loss of her love at this time and some of it specifically names Anjou as the recipient of her feelings,” added Kit, passing around photocopies of the poem, alleged to have been written by the queen.
“Not to mention a large collection of jewellery all featuring frogs,” added Perdita.
“You’re suggesting Elizabeth actually married Anjou?” asked Piper.
“Yes,” said Perdita. “Despite the age gap — he was 24 and she was 49 — there are numerous comments scattered throughout her biographies saying she referred to him as her ‘beloved frog’, gave him jewels and even funded his, admittedly rather disastrous, invasion of the Netherlands. But if Elizabeth did marry the duke of Anjou, why was it written out of history? There were no children from the union, so why pretend it was yet another disastrous engagement rather than a barren, short-lived marriage?”
“To discredit Elizabeth,” suggested Deborah. “To continue with the popular theme among male historians that because she couldn’t hold on to a man, there must have been something fundamentally wrong with her.”
“Excellent reasoning,” murmured Susan, exchanging a complicit look with Deborah.
“For our purposes, it also muddies the issue,” said Perdita. “If we assume Elizabeth was married, then this new evidence when brought together with their letters confirms it, because the letter writers discuss their husbands and Lily’s loss. It also suggests that the two monarchs knew of their real connection, that Mary was aware she was the daughter of, at least, Henry VIII — we don’t know if she knew her mother’s identity. However, throughout Elizabeth and Mary’s surviving official correspondence there are endless references to each other as ‘sister’, but this has always been considered to be an affectation, as they were accepted as being second cousins.”
“There’s something else, though,” said Kit, his face unusually sombre. “Remember how Mary, Queen of Scots died? She was executed on the orders of Elizabeth I.”
“You’re saying Elizabeth knew Mary was her half-sister but she signed her death warrant anyway?” asked Susan, shocked.
“No, Susan,” said Perdita. “Why would Elizabeth execute the mother and then anoint the son? Mary, Queen of Scots’s son, James VI of Scotland became James I of England, uniting the two warring countries for the first time. Yet, under the terms of Henry VIII’s will concerning the succession, no one born outside England was eligible to ascend to its throne. If Elizabeth had followed this law, then James VI could not have become her heir because he was born in Scotland.
“It begs the question: if she had really authorised Mary’s death surely it would have been the obvious thing to invoke this law and keep Mary’s line of descent away from the English throne, yet she didn’t. Under the terms of Henry VIII’s will, Arbella Stuart should have been Elizabeth’s heir. Unless, of course, Elizabeth knew that James was the grandson rather than the great-nephew of Henry VIII and therefore was the legitimate heir.
“There’s something else, too,” Perdita continued. “Remember how in our research on Catherine Howard, we discovered the Bill of Attainder colloquially known as her ‘death warrant’ was never signed by King Henry VIII but was signed ‘in absentia’? According to one of Mary’s most respected and renowned biographers, Mary’s ‘death warrant’ or the legal document signed by Elizabeth I authorising the Scottish queen’s execution has vanished from the official records. All that remains are a few hastily made draft copies that have never been signed by Elizabeth and don’t bear the official seal of England that should have been attached by the Lord Chancellor.”
Around the table, all eyes were upon Perdita, each face registering intense shock. The revelations about Catherine Howard seemed minor in comparison with this new version of events, yet Catherine was the key to it all. The silence continued until, with a certain amount of apprehension, Deborah cleared her throat.
“Perdita, I concur with all you’ve said, but may I play devil’s advocate for a moment?”
“Of course,” said Perdita.
“How did Elizabeth and Mary discover the truth? If you say they wrote warmly to each other, who would have told them and wouldn’t Elizabeth have been wary of having other Tudor heirs around?”
Perdita flipped through her notes and spread a few pages in front of her.
“Izabel has been concentrating on the early letters, the ones written around the time Mary, Queen of Scots was a baby,” said Perdita. “These letters were mostly written in French or Latin but, for some reason, not code, and there are only a few from that period,” she said, sorting through the printed sheets in front of her. “This is the list of letters from 1542 and 1543.”
Kit read Izabel’s notes aloud: “Letters from Lady Margaret Douglas, Lady Isabel Baynton, Lady Margaret Arundell, Lady Kathryn Knollys, Lady Anne of Cleves, a woman signing herself Catalus and another signing herself Marie. In total, there are only 38 letters from the period of 1541 to 1552.”
“The heavily coded correspondence begins in 1557,” Perdita continued. “There are a few before then, but this is the year when the pseudonyms replace real names and the strange syntax appears with more regularity, as though a new generation of writers has taken over and they have begun developing their own system of elaborate codes.”
“Mary Tudor was on the throne in 1557,” said Deborah. “Elizabeth and her women were under house arrest at Hatfield House, although she was occasionally allowed trips to Brockett Hall — in fact, some historians believe she may have been there when she heard the news she was Queen. Right up until Mary Tudor’s death, there was a great deal of uncertainty as to whom she would name as heir. In early 1558, it was recorded she thought she was pregnant, but again it turned out to be a false alarm. Also, in April 1558, Mary, Queen of Scots married Francis, the Dauphin of France.�
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“There was one other significant event,” said Perdita. “The death of Anne of Cleves on 15 July 1557.”
“Would that be relevant?” asked Susan.
“Possibly,” said Perdita. “We know she was at the heart of the secret from the beginning and then there’s the mystery of Anne of Cleves’s baby.”
“What?” and this time it was Alistair who sounded startled. He had been so quiet, allowing them to reason things out, Perdita had forgotten he was in the room. “She had a baby?”
“No, Alistair, but there are historical records stating that Anne of Cleves was accused of having the king’s child. However, when the house was searched and her women questioned she was exonerated because there was no trace of an infant. Kit and I think the rumour was probably started when she looked after baby Elizabeth Tudor at some point during the journey from Pembrokeshire to Linlithgow. We can corroborate this because there is a reference in the Marquess House account books stating that Catherine sent Anne a gift of linen as a thank you for her help.”
“Fascinating,” said Alistair. “Mary would have been so proud of you.”
Perdita swallowed the unexpected lump that rose in her throat and continued, “In the accepted version of events the year is slightly out but we know how many things have been changed, so it’s likely this is the link we need.
“As for the rest of Catherine’s inner circle, we know that Lady Kathy Knollys returned to court in London,” said Perdita, reading from the summary prepared by Izabel. “She’d given birth to her son Henry in early 1542, then in November 1543 she gave birth to Lettice Knollys. Lady Isabel Baynton remained with Catherine until June 1543, when she returned to court to support her husband Edward. Lady Margaret Arundell stayed on, though, and in the middle of 1554, she and Catherine were joined by their younger sister, Mary.”
“Where’s Lady Margaret Douglas?” asked Piper.
“Not at Marquess House and neither is Charles Howard, which means they could have been on their way to Linlithgow with baby Elizabeth Tudor. The next definite date we have for Margaret Douglas is the announcement of her engagement to Matthew Stewart, the earl of Lennox, on 25 June 1544.”
“And what happened to Charles Howard?”
Perdita shrugged. “It’s another one of those historical mysteries. He disappears from the records in 1544 and nothing is ever heard about him again.”
“Do you think he died?” asked Callum.
“Possibly or was murdered,” Perdita replied.
“So, most of her women dispersed and left Catherine with the remaining child,” confirmed Susan.
“Yes, Nicholas Tudor, who should have been the duke of York.”
Perdita watched Kit as he flicked through the transcripts. Once again, there were scans of the originals alongside the new translations. Perdita felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up as she watched the words sliding in front of her eyes. Words written so many years ago, holding the voices of women, long dead, many forgotten, who back then were as vital and full of life as she and Piper were now. She could not explain the strength of the link she felt with Catherine and the story that was unfolding around her.
Then, as Kit turned another page, reaching the item he was searching for, she felt a cold tingle run the length of her spine. Once more all eyes were on her and Kit gave her a reassuring smile as she placed the letter on the old-fashioned overhead projector, flipping it on so everyone could read it. The letter was addressed to someone called Catalus and was brief but she could still feel the impact of the words resonating through time like the ripples on a lake.
Chere Catalus, your gift has been our salvation, to offer salve to your broken heart, take solace in the knowledge the beautiful child is crowned. Our ruby is safe in the land of the thistle, one day she will know. I promise, when the time is right, I will tell her. Lady Holbein.
“Catalus is Latin for kitten, which is a very old-fashioned diminutive of Catherine and one that is used throughout the Catherine Howard codex,” said Perdita. “I think this is a message to Catherine Howard. The ruby is the ring and the crowned child is baby Elizabeth. ‘Lady Holbein’ was confirming that Catherine’s daughter was safely in Scotland, ‘the land of the thistle’, and had been crowned Queen. If you take this with the other note about Elizabeth becoming Mary, this takes us a step further.”
“But who is Lady Holbein?” asked Stuart. “While it’s interesting, it still doesn’t explain how Elizabeth I and Mary, Queen of Scots discovered they were half-sisters and not cousins.”
Perdita turned back to the letters and Izabel’s list of codenames searching for the final piece of the puzzle: a letter dated July 1584.
My sweet Daisy, news comes to me today from the Fens, where the watches have been increased due to the threat of the old. Oh, that we should be free of the troublesome wars of God, so that we could show our true loyalty to one another. When the Lady Holbein summoned me that dark night to tell me the secret she had kept for so many years, I had never imagined we would ever be this close because of our opposing beliefs. You who were raised in the old and myself in the new. Did you find solace in your prayers when you were widowed? My mourning is hard to bear, being a widow of only one month. How did you cope? You have been in this position three times? Such strength. Like the Lady Holbein, you were resilient in the face of cruel and powerful men. She was wise and beautiful in every way. Despite what my father said. Semper sorores, sweet sister.
Everyone looked at Perdita, awaiting an explanation.
“When we discovered the Catherine Howard codex, there were snatches of letters to the only other person who could fully appreciate what Catherine had been through during her marriage to Henry.”
“You mean Anne of Cleves?” confirmed Piper.
“Yes,” replied Perdita. “When she was first betrothed to Henry VIII it was on the strength of a portrait painted by Holbein.”
“So, you think Lady Holbein was Anne of Cleves?” asked Callum.
“Why not?” said Kit, his voice defensive. “It would show Anne’s sense of humour.”
“You think Anne of Cleves told Elizabeth the truth about her younger half-brother and sister?” confirmed Deborah.
“Yes,” she replied, but before she could elucidate, Susan interrupted.
“Perdita, what does the rest of the letter mean?” she asked, gazing at the text as it floated on the screen in front of them.
“As I’ve been going through the letters, I’ve been making guesses as to the meanings of certain words and I think ‘old’ referred to Catholicism, as is the old religion versus the ‘new’, which was Protestantism. Is it possible that when Anne of Cleves knew she was dying, she summoned Elizabeth to tell her the truth. I think the revelation of the secret had to come from someone with authority and Anne was a former Queen Consort. Anne commissioned the ruby rings, she was at the heart of the subterfuge — if she had kept these secrets all this time, don’t you think it’s likely that when she knew death was approaching she passed the information about Mary’s true identity on to Elizabeth as she had promised her old friend, Catherine Howard? There is a line in Anne’s will bequeathing Elizabeth a ‘jewel’, which could have been her ruby ring, the one with the emerald clip. The ring currently downstairs in the vault.”
Once again, silence greeted this pronouncement.
“If you’re correct, and I think you are, Anne took a huge risk,” said Deborah in awe. “So did Elizabeth.”
“Perhaps she was hoping Elizabeth would find solace in the fact that she had a sister who was connected to her through her Howard as well as her Tudor blood — remember Anne Boleyn and Catherine Howard were first cousins. It would also explain the upsurge in letters and the development of the new codes and hidden words around this time.”
“You can understand why they didn’t advertise the fact Mary was a Tudor — it would have caused civil war, again. Do you think they knew about the boy, Nicholas?” asked Piper.
“Difficult to gauge,
” replied Perdita. “I can imagine knowledge of his existence would have made them both edgy. If there was a male Tudor heir lurking in the background, not only would his claim to the English throne have been superior to Elizabeth’s, he would also be a key focal point for rebellions.”
“However, there is the issue of Mary, Queen of Scots’ execution,” said Deborah.
“Which we don’t think Elizabeth sanctioned,” Kit interjected, glancing at Perdita who nodded her agreement.
“No, I don’t think she did,” said Perdita. “I think that was a tale created in the aftermath, rather like the legend of Anne Boleyn’s supposedly monstrous last miscarriage, the one that ‘proved’ she was a witch and drove Henry into the arms of Jane Seymour. The tale of the misshapen child was actually proposed 40 years later by Nicholas Sander, a Catholic propagandist and there was no contemporary evidence.”
“Another clue pointing to changes in real events,” said Kit.
“Which brings me to the question: was Mary actually executed?” asked Perdita.
Once again, a lengthy silence grew around the table. It was Kit who spoke first.
“My doctorate was on the manipulation of legislation for the preservation of national security,” he said. “I used the Babington Plot as my opening argument.”
“Exactly, the Babington Plot,” she said, nodding to Kit, stepping back to allow him to take up the explanation.
“It was created and controlled by Elizabeth’s spymaster Sir Francis Walsingham to catch Mary, Queen of Scots in the act of treason against the English monarch,” Kit continued. “Elizabeth’s lord chancellor, Lord Burghley, told the queen that Spanish ships had been spotted off the Welsh coast and an invasion was imminent. This was two years before Philip II of Spain launched the Armada, but apparently the queen was so terrified by the prospect of an invasion, she signed the death warrant and gave permission for Mary to be executed, believing the Scottish queen was in cahoots with Philip of Spain.”
“So, what are you saying?” asked Alistair, leaning forwards, his face tense.
The Elizabeth Tudor Conspiracy Page 22
