Death had not robbed the queen of beatific smile, her face was suffused with such radiance and peace, she could have been sleeping. We realised it did not matter what these men did now, they could no longer hurt our beautiful sister. Our tears dried on our cheeks and we hissed defiantly as the madman Black Fortescue gave his wicked order in the name of the Inquisition and King Philip II of Spain. In their pettiness and vileness, they beheaded her corpse, leaving the body on the dais as they fled, forgetting the duke of Hereford’s men were waiting outside the castle to apprehend these cowardly curs.
Oh Grandmamma, we are lost without Our Lady. She who was so kind, so gentle and so caring. The duke of Hereford and his men arrived not long after and they carried her body to her chamber. We have prepared her with the love and reverence she deserves.
The duke was said to be much affected by the death of the Scottish queen and was brought in by his men. His injuries, sustained as he and Lady Venus left us two nights ago, have weakened him considerably. His leg and his arm are both most heinously damaged, however, he sat beside her with his head bowed, sobbing as though she had been his great love. His soldiers captured Black Fortescue and his men, they are held in the dungeons here and are chained most painfully. The duke was terrible in his fury and awaits Walsingham and his men.
As Her Majesty requested, I have kept her Book of Hours safe for my cousin Arbella.
The duke of Hereford will soon arrange for us to travel to his home and with our blessed Lady Venus will decide upon the correct treatment of our lady, Mary, the Queen of Scotland. However, he requested I send you this news now we are all safe.
May angels bless you, Grandmamma, I hope soon to be by your side and in your comforting embrace.
Mignonne
The queen turned away from her gathered crowd as each expressed grief in their own way. A few sobbed, some were white-faced with shock, others sagged into chairs. The queen walked to the enormous windows of her solar, looking out over the river Thames, the heart of her capital, her realm, her land. On her left hand she wore both ruby rings. Semper Sorores. Luncta Sanguine. Sisters Always. Joined in Blood. Around her neck hung the silver locket, spe et nereidum, but she felt no hope today and no mermaids raised their beautiful heads from the flowing, choppy water below as she mourned her loss.
Behind her, she could hear the assembled women being ushered out by her closest confidants. It was not long before only Bess, Katherine and Kate remained. The letter she had read aloud was now a week old. She had paused before she had announced it to the wider circle of trusted women, wishing to evaluate the consequences before the shocking news was revealed.
Now, though, the death of the Scottish queen at the hands of Philip II and his Inquisition would become common knowledge. The country was on a war footing, prepared for the invasion fleet they knew he was amassing in Portugal. In the past few days, she had given her permission for Sir Francis Drake to carry out a clandestine visit on the Lisbon port, to see how many of the ships he might be able to destroy or steal in a smash and grab raid. This, however, was not what troubled her. Philip would always be there with a scheme and she would defeat him every time.
Her heart was breaking because of news brought to her concerning Ralph and his injuries. He had been so brave, fighting off the last of Fortescue’s soldiers, keeping them at bay until Captain Hynde had arrived with reinforcements from the camp. Golding had been killed in the skirmish, as had Merrick and Abel. To her horror, Ralph had succumbed to his extensive wounds two days earlier.
They were dead, she thought, both the twins, Catherine’s children, who we worked so hard to protect. One a crowned queen, the other a man of great character who had died trying to save his sister and his monarch.
“Your Majesty…?” Kate’s voice was tentative as she approached her but the queen did not react until she felt Kate’s hand on her arm.
“Yes, Kate,” she said with a start.
“William Fitzalan, the 2nd Duke of Hereford has arrived for an audience, as you requested.”
The queen’s brown eyes filled with tears. “Should I tell him?” she asked. “Do we trust him enough to reveal the truth?”
In Kate’s hesitation was her answer and the queen nodded, her worst suspicions confirmed.
“He has Henry’s blood, Henry’s temper and Henry’s duplicitous nature,” Kate whispered. “He must never know.”
“And Arbella?”
“She is the next secret keeper.” Kate turned to Bess. “The burden will rest on Arbella’s shoulders, but you will train her, Bess, so she will be prepared.”
Bess nodded, emotion making it impossible for her to speak.
“The funeral for the duke and his sister will be as planned,” continued the queen. “Robert Dudley, the earl of Leicester, will be the chief mourner. Katherine, you will continue as my chief cryptographer. We will need the Ladies of Melusine as much now as before. Arbella must be protected.”
Katherine bobbed a curtsey, her eyes red-rimmed from crying.
“And Kate, my dear, darling Kate, I will need you more than ever,” the queen said, tears spilling from her eyes, sliding through the white make-up, revealing the smooth skin below, “but now, my dear friends, please leave me while I adjust to these terrible events.”
Curtseying, Kate, Bess and Katherine swept from the room on silent feet.
Alone for the first time since the news had arrived, brought by a frantic Henry Talbot, Bess’s stepson, the queen collapsed on to the ornately carved chair by the fire, her heart beating with fear and sorrow. A tentative knock on the door was followed by the dear, familiar voice of Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester.
“Hello, my sweet,” he said, his tone gentle, concerned, kneeling at her feet and looking up at her. “How are you bearing up?”
“Not well,” she admitted.
“We must be strong.” He took her hand and she gazed down at him.
“Oh Robert, what will I do without her? Without them? How will we cope?”
His eyes were full of sorrow and every word seemed to cost him dear as he put her hand against his cheek. “Because, my darling Lettice,” he said in a voice choked with tears, “we have no choice.”
Tears slid from her brown eyes and with a sob, the queen said a final farewell to her beautiful, troublesome, wonderful Tudor cousins.
PART NINE: January, 2019
Chapter One
“This is impossible,” said Perdita, her voice shrill. “If these letters are correct, they claim that Elizabeth I was killed after a skirmish outside Fotheringhay Castle, while her cousin, Lettice Knollys, masqueraded as her on the throne of England.”
The winter sun was setting over the Pyrenees, flooding the boardroom with a burning, ethereal glow. Perdita stared at Alistair who seemed equally as stunned by this new revelation. Beside her were Kit and Piper, their faces as white as Perdita’s. Callum and Deborah were also there — Deborah in her capacity as chief librarian and Callum because Alistair had asked him to double-check the room and their electronic devices for anything suspect. After discovering the bug in Piper’s handset, he was even more vigilant than usual on security.
“What are your thoughts, Kit?” he asked, turning to his youngest son.
“I want to say it’s nonsense and these letters are forgeries but there’s too much in them that explains the historical anomalies of the era,” he replied, and Perdita shot him a grateful glance. Even if the content seemed unbelievable, she was relieved that Kit was giving her his full support.
“Such as?” asked Piper.
“The strangeness of the Babington Plot, the inability of historians to be able to present Elizabeth I as a more rounded personality. Of course, it comes down to the interpretation of the individual historian but she is credited with such a huge range of personal defects and contradictions, it’s as though she was more than one person…”
“Which we now suspect might have been the case,” said Perdita. “Not to mention the fact that there have alwa
ys been rumours concerning the longevity of her reign.”
“Wasn’t there one suggesting she was a man?” asked Callum.
From her position behind him, his mother snorted in disgust.
“Cut me some slack, Mum,” he muttered, “I’m here as IT support. The reason I said it is because if I’ve heard of it, being a non-historian, then it must be quite widespread.”
“You’re right, Cal,” said Perdita. “There was a rumour that Elizabeth died young and was replaced with a man and this was why she never married, so the secret of her gender would never be discovered.”
“Why a man, though?” asked Piper. “Why not another woman? Or why not let the next heir inherit the throne?”
“It’s a misogynistic attack with no historical merit levied at one of the greatest female monarchs,” said Perdita. “It’s to discredit all she achieved — after all, how could a woman possibly defeat Philip II of Spain and his mighty Armada? Would a woman be capable of reigning for so long without a man to guide her while creating a prosperous country and resolving so many of its political issues? Elizabeth terrified most men of her era because she was strong, politically astute, clever and educated to a higher standard than most of her privy council, so rumours were begun to suggest that Elizabeth must have been replaced by a man in order to explain why she was so successful.”
Piper curled her lip in contempt.
“There have been other rumours about historical doubles, though,” said Callum. “The one about Elizabeth was online and there was a list of historical figures who have supposedly used doubles at some point: Stalin, Saddam Hussein, Hitler and General Montgomery. And, if these letters are true, Elizabeth was replaced, too?”
“There are things I don’t understand, though,” said Alistair, turning to Perdita. “In the latter part of Elizabeth’s reign, after the death of Robert Dudley, the queen’s new favourite was Lettice’s son, Robert Devereux, Earl of Essex. There were many lewd suggestions that she was his lover — one tale has him running into her rooms when she was still in her night-clothes…”
“If we take it that by then Lettice was playing the role of monarch, it wouldn’t be unusual for the earl to run in to see his mother,” said Perdita. “He’d probably been doing it all his life. Not only that, it explains why the queen would be so intimate and caring about Lettice’s children when in the accepted version of events, Elizabeth is said to have banished the countess of Leicester. It was something I’d never understood. Hate the mother but adore the children. If you take the usual version, this follows with Mary, Queen of Scots, too. Behead the mother but anoint the son. Contrary doesn’t even begin to cover it but if you filter in all that we’ve discovered, these strange decisions begin to make more sense.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” admitted Alistair. “Although, we do hit the snag that Robert Devereux was beheaded on 25 February 1601 at the Tower of London, along with his stepfather, Christopher Blount, who was executed on 18 March 1601. Essex had led a rebellion against the queen.”
“Was he, though? Perhaps his execution was a fabrication created by The Scribe. I’m beginning to feel that these letters are the best source we have to work out what really happened and what The Scribe changed. If the facts aren’t stated here, we need to view events with suspicion.”
“My goodness, Perdita, that’s a sweeping statement,” said Deborah, shock registering on her face.
“It isn’t something I say without careful consideration,” replied Perdita, “but it’s a thought that has been growing for a while. Not only that, we’re the first people to touch or read these letters for years, possibly centuries, so we can confidently surmise they haven’t been tampered with or changed. These tell the real version of events.”
They stared at her and for a moment, Perdita felt uncomfortable, but then her academic experience and her conviction that her words were correct rose to her aid and she shrugged off any doubts.
“There is enough in MI1’s version of history to fit into the gaps of our letters and the codex,” she explained. “Take Penelope Rich as an example — she was Lettice’s eldest daughter and, rather like her brother, Robert Devereux, she was a favourite at court, despite the fact Elizabeth supposedly hated her mother. However, as Elizabeth’s reign began to fade, Penelope very much turned towards the rising sun that was James I. She and her brother had been writing to the Scottish king for some years, assuring him of their allegiance. In this correspondence, which is documented in her biography, she uses the codename Rialta, which she also uses in our letters.
“I would suggest that the letters written to James I, rather than an isolated series which were discovered by Burghley, were actually part of our letters written by the collective of women known as the Ladies of Melusine. For whatever reason, Penelope’s letters escaped from Katherine Newton’s extensive filing system and were revealed to historians. However, as they were out of context from the knowledge gathered in the entire collection, they merely suggested that Penelope was either working against the queen, which was unlikely, or was keeping an eye on her future prospects once there was a new monarch; an idea which can’t be entirely dismissed.”
“And what do the letters tell us about the queen dying?” asked Kit.
Perdita rifled through the pile of printouts and fished out the translations of the letters from the period around 24 March 1603, the day Queen Elizabeth I was officially recorded as dying.
“Elizabeth was said to have spent some weeks ailing, laying on silk cushions on the floor before finally succumbing to death,” said Perdita. “However, Lettice Knollys, the dowager countess of Leicester, is recorded as dying at the age of 91, at her family home of Drayton Bassett in the village of Rotherfield Greys in Oxfordshire on Christmas Day 1634…”
“But history tell us that James I ascended the throne in March 1603,” interrupted Alistair.
“The letters around the time Elizabeth was supposed to have died are a bit sketchy,” said Kit, “but they suggest that Lettice, who was approaching 60, was showing signs of illness and fatigue. Although it isn’t stated anywhere, I wonder if perhaps she decided it was time to step down to make way for the next generation.”
“What I don’t understand,” said Deborah, “is why Lettice reigned for so long? Even if she did retire in 1603, that was 16 years after Elizabeth supposedly died, yet one of the letters stated that Elizabeth had left instructions for Lettice to remain as Queen for six months before stepping aside for Catherine’s son, ‘Apollo’. Why didn’t she follow those instructions?”
“Do you think she enjoyed the power?” asked Piper.
Perdita shrugged.
“And, why name James I as her heir when she knew there was another Tudor prince, whom Elizabeth had requested be the next monarch?” asked Kit.
“There must have been a reason,” said Deborah, “because, even if he had died, we know that ‘Apollo’ had a son who could have inherited instead. He’s mentioned briefly in some of the later letters. His codename was Prometheus and Apollo’s wife was referred to as ‘Lady Fortune’. I suspect she was Mary Seymour, the daughter of Katheryn Parr and Sir Thomas Seymour.”
“What?” Perdita’s voice was surprised by this unexpected revelation. “When did you discover this?”
Deborah held up a letter. “Here,” she said, walking over to Perdita to show her. “This was another one we had no real reference for, then I remembered that Katheryn Parr had been known for publishing two books: Prayers or Meditations and Lamentations of a Sinner. Lady Fortune refers to her mother’s books and quotes a small section from Lamentations of a Sinner. I’ve only just finished the reference.”
“But I thought Mary Seymour died as a baby,” said Kit. “She vanishes from the records shortly after she was fostered by Katherine Willoughby, the duchess of Suffolk.”
“I suspect she was written from the records,” said Deborah.
“Deborah, this a brilliant piece of detective work,” enthused Perdita. “It gives us ev
idence that Catherine’s son, ‘Apollo’, whoever he was, grew up, married and had a son but for whatever reason, their line has been obliterated.”
“And Lettice’s supposed marriage to Christopher Blount in March 1589?” asked Alistair.
“A fabrication by The Scribe?” suggested Kit.
“It’s possible,” agreed Perdita. “Or maybe she occasionally went back to Kenilworth to be herself for a few days and really did marry him.”
“And James I?” asked Piper. “Why name him as heir rather than ‘Apollo’s’ son? Or even Arbella Stuart, who had a very strong claim to the English throne?”
Perdita gazed at the reams of paper strewn across the boardroom table, her eyes lifting to the white boards with their scribbled notes and thought, allowing her active mind to sift through this new version of events they had discovered. Walking over to the largest board, she wiped a section clean and began drawing an elaborate family tree, then she turned to the others who had gathered around her and began to explain, pointing to the names as she explored her theory.
“One of Mignonne’s letters stated that Mary had asked Elizabeth to pass their secret through the women,” said Perdita.
“Which would lead to Arbella, wouldn’t it?” said Kit.
“Not if you take into consideration the fact that Mary, Queen of Scots was a legitimate Tudor,” said Perdita. “For the moment, we must disregard the mysterious Apollo and focus on the information we have in the letters. If Elizabeth had been able to name an heir, it’s possible Mary would have been next in line to the throne. She was Elizabeth’s younger sister, a daughter of Henry VIII and therefore, the next monarch if they were sticking to Henry’s laws of succession.
“However, Mary predeceased Elizabeth, so if Lettice had disregarded the unknown male line, for reasons we’re yet to discover, the next legitimate Tudor heir would have been James I, the son of Mary, Queen of Scots. He also had a claim through his father, Henry Stuart, Lord Darnley, who was the eldest son of Lady Margaret Douglas, the niece of Henry VIII. While Arbella’s claim was strong, she was only connected to the succession through Lady Margaret Douglas and her second son, so whichever way you look at it, James was the next heir.”
The Elizabeth Tudor Conspiracy Page 31
