To Kill A Queen

by Valerie Wilding

  Today Uncle William said she might try walking. She said how lucky she is to have him to treat her. Uncle William likes to be praised. It doesn’t matter what you say – you can never overdo it.

  “I wish, Tilly,” he said, “that I could be an ordinary doctor. But I dare not suggest leaving the Tower. I fear the Queen’s displeasure.”

  “Oh, Uncle,” I said, “surely she would understand. And who knows, suppose you treated someone famous, and suppose the Queen heard of your amazing healing powers, and suppose she summoned you to court and one day you saved her life! You would become her personal physician for ever!”

  Uncle William smiled (a rare thing). “Thank you, Kitty. Why not come over tomorrow and spend time with Edmund? You scarcely see him these days outside of study times.”

  Aha! Flattery is a wonderful thing.

  1st December 1584

  I had two glorious hours with Edmund this morning. I was well wrapped in my thickest cloak, so we wandered round the Tower, chatting and throwing scraps at the ravens. Of course, when the Raven Master appeared, we pretended we were throwing scraps to the ravens.

  Edmund has found out about the Bond of Association, which I had forgotten. It is fearsome. It calls for death to anyone who plots against Queen Elizabeth. That’s fair and just. But it also insists on death for anyone who is the cause of the plot, whether they have anything to do with it or not. So if a group of Catholics planned to kill the Queen in order to put Mary on the throne, not only would they be executed, but Mary could be, too! This is so even if she didn’t know what was happening, or if she disapproved! Thousands have signed the Bond, and every one of those signatures is the name of a man who has sworn to defend the Queen and rid the land of those who plot against her.

  Last night Joseph stayed with some friends, and brought them all home at midday to dine with us. There were five: Anthony Babington, Tichborne, Robert Barnwell (the man who Pawpaw bit), Charles Tilney and Henry Dunn. They all looked as if they hadn’t slept.

  Mother muttered about Joseph living too wild a life, and that he neglects his studies. “He does not have a fortune like Sir Anthony,” she said. “He must make his way in the world, and needs to study.”

  She is right. My brother must work harder than most. Learning is so difficult for him, he cannot afford to waste time.

  I told Joseph about our uncle wanting to leave the Tower and asked, “Do you not think the Queen would be understanding?”

  “I’m sure she would,” he said.

  Sir Anthony disagreed. “The Queen does not like to be rejected,” he said. “She can be unforgiving and impatient with people around her, and she changes like the wind.”

  “Is that not how a queen must seem to behave?” I asked.

  He paused. “In my opinion, a queen should be gentle and patient. For instance, in Shrewsbury’s household, the talk among the servants was of the thoughtfulness and concern that the Queen of Scots showed to all, from the highest to the lowest. She was a prisoner, remember. That, to me, is queenly behaviour.”

  After a short silence, Mother hobbled from the room. I think she took praise for the Catholic queen as criticism of Queen Elizabeth, and I think Sir Anthony was wrong to speak so. But I was Kitty the Silent.

  19th December 1584

  Father is home!

  23rd December 1584

  I overheard Father telling Richard, Joseph and Mother that England must never think of herself as safe. There are constant threats from abroad. Richard agreed, and said that Sir Francis Walsingham is glad of all the information that reaches him.

  I think Sir Francis has spies in France and Spain, and many other places, so he always knows what foreigners are planning, and can foil their schemes.

  Richard knows a lot about Sir Francis’s doings.

  7th January 1585

  Our Twelfth Night revels were great fun, and I am too tired and heavy-headed to get up this morning. I wore my newest gown. It is the colour of lavender, and the stomacher is embroidered in dove grey. It is not bright, but it is very grown-up. Even Kathryn complimented me on it, but she picked on my dancing all evening, and once called my behaviour “coarse”. I think Mother would have slapped her if her own mother hadn’t whisked her from our sight.

  Later

  In spite of heavy snow, several people called today, bearing little gifts and thanking us for last night’s entertainment. Sir Anthony Babington brought beautiful flowers. I don’t know where he got them at this season – perhaps from some hothouse. There is little in our garden but holly berries.

  While he was here, Kathryn plodded in on pattens, and was introduced to him. He was charming, as ever, though he surely thinks her as dull as I do.

  9th January 1585

  The snow has cleared and Father is off on his travels again – he says it will not be for long. Poor Edmund has a fever! I went to see him, and said that as soon as he is well, we must go sliding in the snow on Tower Hill. Kathryn tutted at my “childish ideas”, but I was Kitty the Silent and ignored her. Then she said how impressed she was with Sir Anthony Babington. “A true gentleman.”

  “Really?” said Edmund.

  “Oh yes,” she said. “I always know a true gentleman when I meet one. His manners impressed me greatly.”

  Lucky old Sir Anthony.

  11th January 1585

  Edmund is better, but the snow is melting. I am furious. I wanted to go sliding, and now I cannot even go walking because of the slush. Worse, Kathryn haunts our house like a whey-faced ghost. She seems to wish for my company. Or Mother’s. I cannot tell which.

  15th January 1585

  Now I know why Kathryn haunts us. Sir Anthony was here today, and Kathryn could not take her eyes from him, nor stop giggling. I believe she has a passion for him!

  18th January 1585

  Today, Joseph told me Sir Anthony is going abroad with some friends, visiting France and Italy, and who knows where else. Joseph is upset not to be part of the company. He has always considered himself a close friend of Sir Anthony.

  “Joseph, my sweet,” I said, “Sir Anthony is probably conscious that your studies are important. He would not wish to tempt you away from them.”

  He nodded. “It would be like him to think of my future,” he said, adding, “I fear Kathryn will be saddened by Anthony’s departure. Will you tell her?”

  “Gladly!” I said. That will wipe the simpering smile off her face.

  21st January 1585

  I think I preferred the simpering smile. Kathryn is bad-tempered and pickety, and is again doing her best to get Edmund and me into trouble. Thank goodness Aunt Frances can handle her. She listens to Kathryn’s complaints, nods, tuts and says she will speak to my mother about it.

  Edmund and I must find a way to get together without Kathryn knowing.

  23rd January 1585

  Ohhhhhh! That Kathryn! She drives me to distraction. If we are at Edmund’s house, she’s there. If he comes here, she follows him. Go away!

  30th January 1585

  Sir Francis Walsingham visited – again. We are conveniently between the palace at Greenwich and the other palaces further upriver. Sometimes he calls while he waits for the tide to turn, or when he’s on his way home to Barn Elms, west of London. Today he brought good news! Father will be home for a short while next month, and Sir Francis promises that when he has been to court and given his reports, he may spend lots of time with us.

  Sir Francis took his usual seat by the great fire. Mother suggested I might like to amuse myself in the little parlour, which meant, “Go away, Kitty”.

  I took up the rotten embroidery. With the closet door open, and my stool pulled in as far as possible, I could hear all that was said. Most of it was tedious, about people I’ve never heard of. But then Sir Francis mentioned that Mary Stuart is well established at Tutbury, and that Sir Amyas does a good job of ensuring the lady b
ehaves.

  That means ensuring she can’t escape. I am relieved. I know now that should Mary ever be free, Queen Elizabeth would be in mortal danger, and Spain might invade England.

  One sad thing is that Mary is not allowed letters from friends. The only ones she has are from the French ambassador in London, which must be deadly dull. How awful never to hear news of anyone. I hear news from Edmund, Joseph and Richard, and even from Sir Francis himself, if he did but know it!

  Also, Mary is not allowed out without her gaolers, and she may not give money to the house servants, in case they are bribed to help her. Even her laundresses are forbidden to pass beyond the Tutbury walls.

  I drifted into a daydream. If this were my prison, I’d find a way to escape. I’d plait all the silks and wools in our cupboard into a long rope and climb from the window. Or I might signal to a passing ship, and a handsome sailor would rescue me at midnight. I might disguise myself. . .

  I had no chance to think of a disguise, for in burst Harry!

  “Why are you in the closet?” he demanded.

  “I’m not,” I replied.

  “You are.”

  “Maybe I am, but it is only to save getting up for silks, and besides, the open door protects me from draughts.”

  “Come and play,” Harry begged. He was carrying his peashooter, so I refused. He only wanted a target.

  Luckily, Mother called me to bid farewell to Sir Francis. Edmund must have been watching, for he appeared seconds after Sir Francis and his servant turned towards the river and their waiting barge. He came indoors and played cards with Harry and me. Once Harry had lost more counters than he cared to, he went to the kitchen to beg a morsel of food, and Edmund and I could talk.

  “Where’s your sly sister?” I asked.

  “Bathing herself,” he said.

  “In this weather?” I said. “She must be mad.”

  He grinned. “She reached up to a shelf for a pan of stew that Dolly had left to cool. Guess what happened!”

  “Stew on her head?” I was delighted!

  “So,” said Edmund, “I can tell you my news in peace.”

  His news was that a man called Gervase Pierpoint has been released from the Tower and banished from the land. Edmund isn’t sure why he was imprisoned – something to do with him being Catholic, so perhaps he was trying to spread the religion. I found this of little interest, and wondered why Edmund even bothered to remember it. Then he told me Pierpoint was the first prisoner he ever attended with Uncle William.

  Edmund cannot understand why it matters what Catholics do, so I told him what a threat they are to the Queen. He was quite interested in Mary Stuart when I talked about her wanting to escape, and about the foreign armies who might help her. But when I said it’s sad that she has no letters, he lost interest. No heart, that boy.

  Next he told me about another Edmund – Edmund Neville, in the Tower accused of plotting to murder Queen Elizabeth. And he is not alone. There are others. Even the Earl of Arundel is imprisoned for writing traitorous letters.

  So serious threats to the Queen do not only come from abroad. Some have started very close to her indeed. It seems she cannot even trust her own nobles.

  2nd February 1585

  Late last night I stared out over the river, imagining the horror if we were ever invaded, and Spanish boats swarmed up the Thames.

  Joseph came to say goodnight. He had been drinking – a lot – in a tavern with his friends. Even though Sir Anthony is away, Joseph still goes out too much, and spends too little time studying. Father will be displeased.

  However, I was glad to talk. We sat against the pillows, my quilt around our shoulders, and I spilled out my fears of Spanish boats, and one queen cruelly murdered while another rides through the night to claim her bloodstained throne.

  He laughed, and said my imagination is like a young colt – skittering and bouncing all over the place.

  “Don’t you worry about Mary Stuart’s supporters?” I asked. “Suppose they did manage to free her? Suppose they did kill the Queen and claim her throne? We Protestants would be in danger, would we not? Like when Bloody Mary reigned.” I had another terrible thought. “And it would be doubly dangerous for our family. The Queen gives Mother a gift every year. . . Sir Francis visits us. . . Father works for the Queen. . . Richard works at court. . . We would all be thrown into the Tower.”

  He smoothed my hair back. “Sweet Kitty, do not worry. It will all seem better in the morning.”

  Whoever marries Joseph won’t have the brightest, most successful husband in the land, but she will surely have the kindest.

  3rd February 1585

  Joseph told Mother about my night worries. I’m not sure I like that. Next time, I will ask him to keep my words to himself. He must be like me, Kitty the Silent.

  But I do feel better, because Mother called me into her chamber today while she was putting away some jewels.

  I curtsied. “Madam?”

  She held out her arms. “Come, Kitty!”

  We embraced, then she said, “Joseph told me you fear a Catholic uprising. You must not. There are good, clever men watching over our queen and country. I know it.”

  I know she knows, because I hear her talking to Sir Francis. He’s one of those men. And I believe Father is, too.

  Then Mother told me that steps are being taken to ensure a Catholic rebellion will never happen. “Mary Stuart’s followers will find it impossible to risk conspiring against the Queen,” she said.

  I think she means the Bond of Association is to become law, and all I can say is thank goodness.

  15th February 1585

  Edmund and I are sick of Kathryn following us everywhere. Today, after our studying (in reality, we played dice in a store room on the top floor), we strolled to the river and, in seconds, there she was! She must have been watching for us to come out.

  We were pleasant, but I kept a frosty face. I don’t want to encourage her. She walked beside us, watching me constantly, and it was, “Your mother wouldn’t like you jumping on and off walls, Kitty. . .” or “Kitty, keep away from cranes, they’re dangerous. . .” or “Kitty, leave that filthy cat alone. . .”

  We must work something out.

  23rd February 1585

  The whole household is in a panic, for a message has reached us that Father may be home tonight! We have dusted, scrubbed, tidied and baked – well, the servants have. I helped Mother make herself look beautiful, and Joseph helped Lucy occupy the little ones.

  I’ll stay awake until Father comes. How good to have him safely home.

  24th February 1585

  I fell asleep! But it did not matter – Father woke me himself first thing this morning. He rode through the night (from Dover, I believe) and demanded to see his children before collapsing in bed. Now we all creep round like mice.

  Later

  More turmoil! We are going to the country for a few weeks. Father is tired. He says he needs to feel England wrapped around him, and to live quietly, free from the pressures of court. The Queen has permitted him to leave London, and we are to spend the spring at Winchester, in my grandparents’ home. They will be pleased to see their son, but I remember that they do not care for children. Father says Winchester city is lively, with a vast cathedral. I hope it has shops and a market. Otherwise it will be deadly dull.

  I do not want to go, but I only need see the shadows beneath Father’s eyes to know that he needs rest. I wish I did not have to leave Pawpaw, though.

  28th April 1585

  When I am grown up, I will never leave London. We’ve been away for nine weeks! Oh, how good it is to be in my own bedchamber, away from my grandparents’ stuffy house, and all those fields and forests. Winchester was pleasant, but once you had seen it, you had seen it.

  Pawpaw ignored me when he saw me first. I believe he is fonder of old Tom
now than he is of me. But Edmund was glad to see me. He says I missed an execution in March, of a man named William Parry who came into the country, planning to murder the Queen. Some say the Pope in Rome was behind the plot. That’s not surprising. The Pope said long ago that if a Catholic kills the Queen, it will not be a sin, as she is a heretic (he says) because she does not believe in the Catholic faith. Of course she does not.

  Edmund is full of his knowledge. But I discovered that he didn’t see the execution. Parry was executed at Old Palace Yard in Westminster, and not at the Tower. I wonder if the Queen watched it. How does she feel when someone who wished her dead is put to death? I would feel glad.

  But it makes me think. “See?” I told Joseph, “More plotters. We are not safe in our beds.”

  He smiled. “Silly Kitty. The very fact of Parry’s execution should reassure you. He was caught.”

  “He was.” I went to the window and looked out over the river. “But, Joseph, how many more killers are out there?”

  “The Bond of Association is now a law of the land,” he said. “It must put off any would-be plotters.”

  If that was supposed to make me feel better, it didn’t. Joseph is such an innocent. Even though he spends his time with lawyers, I sometimes think I know more than he does. That makes me worry for him. He is low in spirits, too. Mother frequently asks if he has letters from Sir Anthony or his other friends abroad, but he does not. He is forgotten while they have fun in Rome, or wherever. That is bad of them.