by David Field
‘You venture out onto thin ice again, Cecil. I will marry when, where — and more to the point — whomsoever I choose. You have never yet suggested an Englishman for my husband and yet I seem to recall that when my late sister announced her intention of marrying a Spaniard her Council were at great pains to suggest English alternatives. Have we run out of suitable partners for my marriage bed on this side of the Channel?’
‘Forgive me, but I believe that Your Majesty may already have one in mind.’
‘Silence on that, Cecil, if you wish to finish your supper! We will discuss this again when you bring me news from Thomas Ashton.’
Tom extracted the long piece of string from his tunic and made as much noise as possible stomping up and down the narrow wooden staircase that led to the upper chambers of Cumnor Place. A quick glance through the gap between two of the planks confirmed that his objective had been achieved; there was now a young woman of approximately his own age gazing up at his legs below the knee of his tunic.
‘What d’yer think you’re up ter?’ the girl demanded.
Tom made a big display of drawing the string across the width of the stairs before he looked down to answer her. ‘These stairs are dangerous and I’m hoping to get the commission to replace them. For the time being I’m just measuring to see how much wood will be required. Is your master at home?’
‘Them’s all at church, it bein’ Sunday, so yer picked the wrong day. Anyroad, old Jacob Boxmore does the carpenter work around ’ere, so yer wastin’ yer time twice. Pity, all the same, since yer better lookin’ than old Jacob. I’m Lucy, by the way.’
‘Thomas,’ he replied with another pointed look down the top of her bodice. ‘So what do you do around here?’
‘I works in the scullery.’
‘So what makes you think that there’s nothing wrong with the stairs? I was told that a lady fell down them a year or so past.’
‘She didn’t fall ’cos of any accident,’ Lucy assured him. ‘She took a dive, ter put an end to ’er miserable life.’
‘And how do you know that?’ Tom challenged her as he came back down the stairs.
‘Everyone round the ’ouse could tell yer,’ Lucy replied with her eyes fixed on his groin. ‘She ’ad this ’ere painful lump in one’ve ’er titties and some days we could ’ear ’er upstairs, cryin’ wi’ the pain. Then ’er ’usband ran off wi’ the Queen, or so they reckons, an’ on the day she done it she sent the ’ole ’ouse’old off ter the fair, so’s she could be alone ter do ’erself in. I were the one what found ’er, just sorta lyin’ there, wi’ ’er ’ead lyin’ a funny way. It were ’orrible.’
‘I heard that she still had her bonnet on her head,’ Tom said, ‘so how could she have fallen all that way down and not lost her headgear?’
‘That were me,’ Lucy confessed.
‘What do you mean, exactly?’
‘Well, like I said, ’er ’ead were all lyin’ a funny way, an’ she didn’t look proper dignified. ’Er bonnet thing were lyin’ ter one side, so I just popped it back on ’er ’ead, ter make ’er look a bit more decent. Yer won’t tell no-one, will yer?’
‘Of course not,’ Tom assured her.
‘You are certain of this?’ Cecil asked once Tom had recounted what he had learned from Lucy Bracegirdle. ‘You had no reason to doubt what she said?’
‘None whatsoever. And it has the ring of truth about it, does it not? Talking of rings, there is a certain young lady in Knighton to whom I promised myself in marriage. One of several, as it transpires, but this particular one has a brother who is twice my size and who has taken unkindly to my attentions towards his sister. May I hide here in London with you until he has forgotten where he has hidden his sword?’
‘What of your mother?’ Cecil asked. ‘I did not see her while at Knighton; is she with your sister in that place near Nottingham?’
Tom shook his head. ‘She died of an ague last winter. As for Grace, she’s a happy blacksmith’s wife in Attenborough and expecting her fourth.’
Cecil thought for a moment. ‘You may not reside in this house, since I still have troubled memories of the chaos into which you launched it during your previous lodging here. But I will employ you as a clerk upon the many matters that now cross my desk in the course of my duties as Master Secretary and you may find cheap lodgings in the city. Given your unfathomable power over the fairer sex, you may even find a pliant landlady who will allow you to lodge between her thighs as the price of your bed and board.’
‘I hear that your son Robert is now your Senior Clerk.’
‘Yes and now, if you annoy him as you once did, he has men about him who would think nothing of putting you in the gutter, so leave well alone. Take yourself off and ruin the Cook’s day by advising her that you are to be fed ere you seek lodgings and for preference a good league from here.’
‘Will you be joining me for supper?’
‘No, I have need to advise the Queen of what you have discovered and she will no doubt give me my supper while I sing her a song. Now off with you.’
‘How good is this information?’ Elizabeth asked eagerly as she beckoned Cecil and Blanche over.
‘It comes from Thomas Ashton and he may be relied upon.’
‘I dread to think how he obtained it,’ Blanche sniffed disapprovingly. ‘No doubt from some innocent wench he cruelly seduced with his oily charm.’
‘Not so innocent, by his account,’ Cecil said, ‘but reliable nevertheless. She was the girl who discovered Amy Dudley’s body and who can attest that the circumstances are suggestive that the lady took her own life.’
‘So Robert really was innocent of her death?’ Elizabeth said, ‘and how much should we reward this young man who brings us the reassurance?’
‘Not so much that he may set himself up as a gentleman of leisure,’ Cecil replied, ‘since I need to retain him in my service in anticipation of further need of information from low quarters. Let us say fifty pounds.’
‘No doubt to be spent on whores,’ Blanche muttered as she carved herself a thin slice of cold pork.
‘Enough, Blanche,’ Elizabeth admonished her. ‘Whatever his morals he has brought us great comfort. Does Robert know yet?’ she asked of Cecil, who shook his head.
‘No, my Lady. I heard that he was in Plymouth on your behalf.’
‘He is in Plymouth, certainly, but I suspect that his pretence at organising my navy conceals a desire for personal wealth.’
‘The two may happily co-exist, my Lady,’ Cecil told her, ‘since those merchants who put to sea in these perilous times must be armed against privateers and Spanish aggressors. The cannon that they load below decks may be used in England’s cause, should the need arise.’
‘Talking of which, how go matters in France and the Low Countries?’ Elizabeth asked.
‘I have a new man installed in Paris, working with your Ambassador Throckmorton. He reports that the tensions between Catholic and Huguenot are as strong as ever, which should keep their boy-King well occupied. Your cousin Mary is reported to be packing her bags to return to Scotland and I must place a man in Edinburgh to see how she is received by her own subjects when she does.’
VIII
Word came to Cecil that the Queen was laid up in her bed with a fever, interspersed with frequent vomiting. He hastened up to the Audience Chamber and Blanche Parry scuttled in when advised that he was asking for her.
‘How goes your mistress?’ he asked.
Blanche shook her head in a gesture of uncertainty. ‘It may have been a bad oyster, but pray God that nobody has sought to poison her. The kitchens are being inspected for rats and Robert’s favoured physician is with her as we speak. She is purging badly and has dismissed all of her Ladies but me.’
‘Do you not fear infection yourself?’
‘Of course, but what like of friend would I be to desert her when she has most need of comfort? Pray God that Master Lopez can tell us more,’ she added as the man in question came through
the door from the adjoining Withdrawing Chamber, which was being kept locked and guarded as an additional precaution against the transmission of further infection in either direction.
Lopez had a solemn face as he bowed and Blanche eagerly sought his diagnosis. ‘I fear it may be the smallpox, Mistress, but we shall only know for certain when — and of course if — the blisters show themselves.’
‘Could she die of it?’ Cecil asked.
Lopez nodded. ‘Many people do, but given her otherwise robust constitution there is hope. She is asking for you both.’
Blanche caught the fearful look on Cecil’s face and reached out to place a reassuring hand on the sleeve of his Court gown. ‘I will go in there again, cousin. Do you remain here and I will bring word of her wishes.’
Ten minutes later, Blanche came back into the Audience Chamber that Cecil had been crossing backwards and forwards in his nervousness, wiping tears from her eyes.
‘She fears to die and is insistent that you summon Council and have Robert appointed Protector of the Realm should that be her fate. As to any heir, she refuses to appoint one, but muttered that if the Council were fool enough to offer her crown to Mary of Scotland, then at least it would remain on a Tudor head.’
‘Where is Robert?’ Cecil asked as he realised with a start that the man closest to Elizabeth’s heart at this perilous time was not already in attendance.
‘Back in Plymouth, or so he claimed as his intended destination when he rode away in a high dudgeon three days ago. I have sent messengers after him.’
‘I will of course summon Council,’ Cecil assured her, ‘and do you see to your mistress, with deepest prayers from myself for her complete recovery.’
‘If it be the smallpox,’ Blanche replied ominously, ‘she may not wish to recover. She was ever vain of her beauty.’
Three days later Blanche shuddered as she looked down at Elizabeth’s blistered face, assured her that the worst of her illness was over and rushed out to give urgent instructions that the Queen was to be allowed no mirror, or any other object in which she might see her reflection.
In Council, Cecil’s announcement that Her Majesty had given him a stern command that in the event of her death Robert Dudley was to be appointed Protector of the Realm was treated with howls of derision and more than one vulgar noise.
‘It is only to be brought to pass should she die,’ he explained above the excited hubbub that followed.
‘And the heir?’ Thomas Howard demanded. ‘Is it to be the Scots Mary?’
‘She has left that matter to Council,’ Cecil replied, ‘but I would strongly advise against such a choice, if England is to remain Protestant.’
‘It has not thrived whilst in that Godless state,’ Howard replied with a surly grimace. ‘And we are surrounded by stronger nations that are Catholic in their observances — what chance England should Elizabeth die, leaving us defenceless?’
‘She is but one woman,’ Cecil reminded him, ‘and a woman, what is more, who relies upon this collection of sour ingrates to assist her in devising the best policies for the nation she has inherited. I may advise you privily that she had no wish to become Queen and has put all thoughts of personal happiness aside while she gives her all for her people.’
‘Although she reserves a small part of it for one of them,’ Howard sneered, to resulting sniggers among those who followed his lead.
Cecil went white with anger as he turned his head sharply in Howard’s direction. ‘Would you have let slip that unworthy remark had Her Majesty been among us?’ he challenged him and Howard’s eyes dropped to the table. ‘Well, gentlemen,’ Cecil said brusquely, ‘is the Queen to be obeyed in what may well be her dying wish? Do we advise Dudley that he must prepare to be Lord Protector?’
‘You’ll have to find him first,’ someone reminded the company.
Howard was determined to have the last word. ‘It is put about that he is in Plymouth on the Queen’s business. But curiously, I hear tell that he journeyed by way of Chartley.’
Cecil was not greatly comforted even when Council agreed to Elizabeth’s wish. Chartley was the family home of Viscount Hereford and his wife Lettice Knollys. The Queen’s Ladies had been sent home during Elizabeth’s illness and Viscount Hereford was on military duty in Ireland.
Four days later Blanche could hear Elizabeth’s screams as she raced up the staircase from the kitchens. Blanche took one look at the scene before her eyes and cursed whichever fool had disobeyed, or forgotten, her stern instruction. Elizabeth was sitting bolt upright in bed, gazing at her reflection in the polished base of a serving dish that had, earlier that day, contained a handful of her favourite sugared almonds. She was rubbing furiously at her face as the screams subsided into anguished sobs and she gazed helplessly back at Blanche as her old friend pulled her hands from her face.
‘You must not attack them, my Lady. They will go down once the liquid drains from them — you’ll see!’
Elizabeth’s face was a mass of dark blood blisters, each filled with a faintly unpleasant-smelling liquid. There had been no doubt for some days that the malady that had afflicted the Queen had been smallpox, but none dared tell her, and despite every effort on Blanche’s part, her mistress had now seen the ugliness for herself.
‘These eruptions — they will leave scars, will they not?’
‘They certainly will if you rub or scratch them,’ Blanche replied in a tone of voice more appropriate for a mother with a child. ‘But it affects each person differently and at least you are alive.’
‘But what manner of spectacle will I present to my people?’ Elizabeth wailed. ‘And if Robert should see me like this, do not grant him admission, I beg you!’
‘He is in Plymouth, my Lady, although I sent fast messengers when it was thought that you might die. Council agreed to his Protectorship.’
It fell silent while Blanche made a great display of fussing round the bedclothes, gently removing the serving dish from Elizabeth’s hand in the process. Finally, when Elizabeth spoke again, it was in a flat tone of resignation. ‘If I am not destined to die, but must face the world looking like a toad, is there not some preparation that will hide the scars when they form?’
‘There is always the ceruse favoured by the more fashionable Ladies at Court,’ Blanche reminded her. ‘You have disdained to wear it in the past, content with your own peach-like complexion, but a white skin is accounted fashionable and ceruse is widely available. Do you wish me to acquire some for you?’
‘My “peach-like complexion” is gone, Blanche,’ Elizabeth moaned, ‘to be replaced by a skin not unlike a pitted pear, like poor Viscountess Melton. See to it that I have ceruse to hand before I venture forth again and tell Robert, when he returns, that he is forbidden the presence because the young girl of his passionate youth is now an old crone with all the allure of a newt.’
Blanche sighed heavily and bowed backwards out of the presence. This was going to demand all the patience and diplomacy of which she was capable.
When Robert returned a week later, he glared defiantly back at Blanche as she barred his way into the Withdrawing Chamber.
‘It is not just you, Robert. She has given firm instruction that no-one is allowed at her bedside at this time other than myself, her servers and Master Cecil. The governance of the realm must continue, hence Master Cecil’s permitted audience, give his importance to the nation and his constant attention to the business of State.’
‘But I have matters of great moment to impart,’ Robert protested. ‘Master Hawkins has set sail with three of his ships, partly paid for by the Queen’s gold, and when they return we anticipate that the investment will be rewarded tenfold. His vessels are also armed and if Her Majesty can be persuaded to finance more of the same, it will not only secure a fortune for the Exchequer, but it will give the Spanish cause to hesitate before they attack our shores.’
Blanche smiled politely. ‘Important though those matters are, they cannot compare with those issues
that my Lady has to discuss with Master Cecil. God be praised that there is no further risk of death, but that prospect has sharpened her mind towards the future of the realm. Did you know that she and Cecil persuaded Council that were she to die, you were to be Lord Protector of England until the succession was decided?’
‘See?’ Robert replied triumphantly. ‘If I am that important to the nation, then surely I am entitled to the same audience as Cecil? That is before we come to consider what claim I may have on her heart.’
Blanche could see no way around that argument, but she was still determined to protect her lifelong friend and she knew how she would feel in her predicament. ‘Come back after dinner,’ she suggested, ‘and I will see what I can negotiate on your behalf.’
Robert appeared to be about to argue, but instead he thanked her, bowed and took his leave. Blanche instructed the pages to let no-one else into the Audience Chamber, then scuttled away in search of wardrobe attendants.
When Robert returned, he found Elizabeth seated in the Audience Chamber, propped up by cushions in a padded chair and seated behind a small desk. He would not have recognised her, had it not been for the fact that she was seated next to Blanche Parry and as he gazed somewhat quizzically at the whitened face, rouge-tinted cheeks and red ochre lips painted in the ‘bow’ style so favoured by fashionable ladies at Court, she held out her hand to be kissed.
‘Thank God that you survived the sickness,’ was all that Robert could manage as he stared, appalled, at the almost mocking substitute for Elizabeth’s natural beauty — this false face that left her resembling an ageing whore.
‘For all that you attended me during that time,’ Elizabeth chided him, ‘I could have died.’
Robert took her hand and kissed it, averting his eyes from her face. ‘I rode back hard from Plymouth, where I have invested your gold in a venture that will repay you tenfold and will enable us to build and arm many more ships of the line.’
