The Forgotten Sister

by Nicola Cornick

  Sunlight, dust motes dancing in the air, the smell of whisky pervading the house, the radio chattering in the kitchen, the old battered panda clutched in her hand, her father, shielding his eyes so no one could read his expression, the ring of a lie in his voice as he expressed his grief…

  ‘Lizzie?’ Dudley’s urgent voice broke through the memory.

  Lizzie tried to pull her thoughts together, to focus. ‘What happened?’ she repeated. ‘How… How did she die? Were you there?’

  Dudley’s voice was frayed, high pitched. ‘No! It was nothing to do with me! I don’t know anything about it.’ He stopped again. Lizzie waited, aware of the fear building inside her, of a sense of impending doom, of dark shadows gathering. For a moment all she could hear was the rising sound of the crowd in the marquee, all she could feel was the heat trapped beneath the canvas, pressing down on her, making her light-headed. She steadied herself with one hand on the back of Kat’s chair and realised that she was shaking.

  ‘Amelia’s dead, Lizzie,’ Dudley repeated, and he sounded so lost that Lizzie felt the huge horrible weight of sickness settle hard in her stomach. ‘She fell down the stairs at Oakhangar Hall and broke her neck.’

  Chapter 4

  Amy: Stansfield Manor, Norfolk, April 1550

  Throughout my childhood, whenever I had needed wise counsel, I had sought out my half-brother Arthur. He had always been the one to cajole me out of ill temper or soothe my tears when my mother and I disagreed. She and I were close; she taught me everything from how to run a large household to how to make herbal ointments, but she was brisk and too busy for my tantrums. My sister Anna and I scrapped like cats; John was a studious boy who grew into a distant young man. There was only Arthur who had the patience for me.

  That day I found him in the stables. This was no surprise; he was seldom anywhere but on the farm. Our father had tried to educate him as a gentleman for he was his elder son, illegitimate or not, but whilst Arthur had done well enough at Oxford, he had shown no desire to enter either the law or the church. It seemed he had no ambition. Father did not understand that, though when Arthur expressed a wish to run Father’s estates, he did not demur and respected Arthur for his skills, particularly with the animals.

  I sat on a bale of straw, inhaling the scent of warm horses, hay and hot oil from the lantern, listening to the chink of the rope in the metal ring as the mare shifted beneath the curry comb. Arthur talked to her as he worked, soft words, affectionate, soothing, moving the comb in efficient circles over her coat. She seemed to like it, nudging him when he stopped for a moment. I knew better than to interrupt him and it was only when he laid the comb aside and picked up the dandy brush that he paused, shaking the hair out of his eyes, and looked at me.

  ‘You will spoil your gown sitting there,’ he said. ‘The straw is still damp.’

  I shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  He raised his brows. ‘I thought there was something wrong. Now I know there must be. When were you so careless of your attire?’

  ‘I am crossed in love,’ I said. ‘I care nothing for how I look.’

  His lips twitched into a smile at either the melodrama or the blatant lie or perhaps both. He and I both knew it would take more than a little heartache to reduce my vanity to ashes. Arthur was five years my senior, the result of a liaison between our father and a woman who had lived in a cottage on another of Father’s estates at Syderstone. She had been widowed when she bore Arthur and died soon after of the flux. Arthur was taken into my father’s household and there he remained. He had an uneasy relationship with my mother; they were always courteous to one another but I knew that his existence gave her pain, which was odd, I thought, since she had come to her marriage with two children of her own from her last husband. Perhaps it was the gossip that caused her grief, since it was still said in Syderstone, Stansfield and around, that Arthur’s mother had been an exceptionally beautiful woman and that our father was utterly besotted with her. Certainly, Arthur had been blessed with good looks just as I had. We quite put John and Anna in the shade.

  ‘Let me guess,’ Arthur said. He started to groom the mare again, long, firm strokes that brought up the shine of her coat to a rich chestnut gleam. ‘Our father is set on you marrying your fancy lord whilst your mother counsels against it. You must inevitably upset one or the other of them.’

  I stared at him. ‘How did you know?’

  Arthur glanced up at me over his shoulder. ‘You need to ask? When the house has resounded to your parents’ high words this week past? Everyone knows they are at odds, our father set on this ambitious plan and your mother arguing that his aims are too high.’

  ‘What shall I do?’ I said plaintively.

  Arthur straightened up, the brush still in his hand. ‘Why are you asking me? You will do exactly what you want to do, Amy. You want to marry Robert Dudley so you will have him regardless of any opposition.’

  Arthur knew me very well. I admitted, albeit to myself alone, that he was right. There was a whole host of reasons why I wished to marry Robert. Some were noble. We loved each other. Some were personal. He was handsome and charming. Others were less admirable. I wanted to make a match that would have my half-sister gasping with envy. Anna had married a gentleman the previous year and gone to live at a fine manor house, but she would never have dreamed of looking as high as I did for a husband. She would be green with envy. Robert had no money but he had connections, status and plans for greater things. But this, it seemed, was my mother’s objection. Arthur was right, we had all heard the bitter words exchanged between our parents as day after day, night after night they fought over my future.

  ‘You are blinded by ambition,’ was Mother’s refrain to my father. ‘You overreach yourself in this alliance with the Dudleys. Those who rise so high will surely fall and take us all down with them.’

  Her protests, I knew, were prompted by fear. It was the fear of a woman who had sat by on more than one occasion and seen how the grandiose plans of men could lead to ruin. Our cousins Robert and William Kett had been hanged at the end of the last year for their uprising against the King. It was, she said, a woman’s place to sit at home and weep whilst their men threw away their lives.

  I had happier hopes than that. I had no intention of weeping. I would marry Robert and join him at the King’s court and my life would be a whirl of excitement. I saw no further than that. I was young and in love; why would I?

  ‘I sometimes think that Mother is a witch,’ I said, standing up, shaking the straw from my skirts. ‘She fears the future. Do you think that is because she has seen it?’

  I half expected Arthur to make the sign of the cross at my words, for he was a countryman at heart and as such was full of superstition. He did not smile but nor did he flinch from the question. ‘I think she has seen a semblance of the future,’ he said slowly. ‘We all have. We have all seen great men stumble and lose all they have worked to achieve. She does not want that for our father and least of all does she want it for you.’

  ‘I will do very well,’ I said. ‘I will be a great lady and live in a castle and have ten children. The Dudleys always have lots of children.’

  I liked that vision of my future. It would give me a place, a purpose. It pleased me very much to know that, for I was outgrowing my life at Stansfield. What was I to do if I stayed here, year after year, a spinster losing my bloom? I needed an establishment of my own and a place in the world.

  ‘I do love Robert,’ I repeated, as though that was the charm that would ensure my future happiness. ‘We love each other.’

  Arthur did not reply and for a moment I thought I saw shadows gathering in his eyes. I wondered if he was thinking about the other sharp words that Mother had uttered in an unguarded moment; that Robert was infatuated with my beauty and wanted my body but that lust would never sustain a happy marriage. I had not really understood what she had meant. Robert made me feel desired and that pleased me as surely it would please any woman. Besid
es, I knew that the advantages were not all on my side. Father possessed influence in the county, which Lord Warwick intended to use to his benefit. Already there was talk of Robert serving as a member of the parliament for Norfolk and I knew that Father could make that happen. This was not such an unequal alliance.

  So I told myself, but despite that reassurance I felt somehow chilled. To comfort myself I reached up to kiss Arthur’s cheek, resting one hand on the warm, smooth flank of the horse. It was peaceful here with them both in the stables but I was done with the peaceful life of a country maid. I had been fashioned for finer things.

  ‘Thank you, Arthur,’ I said.

  He gave me a hug, his arms strong and comforting about me. Even though I thought it would crease my gown, I returned the embrace. I would miss him when I went to London but I knew I would never tempt him to visit me in the city. He would have felt as out of place there as I now felt here in the country. Arthur belonged to the land. It would always call him home.

  ‘Why do you thank me?’ he said wryly. ‘All I have done is to tell you what you wanted to hear.’

  ‘I am thanking you for being the best of brothers,’ I said. ‘I know you will never fail me.’

  ‘That at least I can promise,’ Arthur said. He released me. He wasn’t smiling. His eyes were grave. ‘If you need me, Amy,’ he said, ‘I will always be there for you.’

  ‘Of course you will,’ I said. I spoke carelessly, for why would I ever need him? On the contrary, I had already started to think of the favours I might gain for my family when I was a courtier’s wife.

  I went out into the stable yard. There had been a rain shower and the cobbles were glazed with water but the twilight sky had cleared to a pale blue. A sliver of moon climbed above the clouds. My natural good spirits had reasserted themselves and I felt excited and light of heart. I knew I would be able to persuade Mother to my point of view. She wanted to see me happy and Robert would make me happy. There would be no need for Father to overrule her. She would agree the match and Robert and I would be wed.

  Mother thought that she could see the future, but the one I was intent upon was quite different from her vision. Robert and I would grow together. I would impress on him my worth as more than just a beautiful wife and, God willing, a mother. His parents, like mine, had a strong mutual love and respect. The model was there for us to follow. He would quickly realise that a woman could not only be his sun and stars, the centre of his world, but his equal, his inspiration, his life.

  There was no limit to my belief in him, and in myself. And of course I was right; Robert would indeed come to value one woman more highly than any other on Earth.

  I had no idea that that woman would never be me.

  Chapter 5

  Lizzie: Present Day

  Bill had barrelled into the tent about a minute after Dudley’s call came through, surrounded by a phalanx of security in dark suits. He’d cut Lizzie off in mid-call and taken her phone away from her, saying that it was imperative that she didn’t speak to Dudley or anyone else until they had spoken to the lawyers and come up with a story. Lizzie hadn’t a clue what he meant but it felt bad. Bill had ushered her out of the back of the tent to where a car waited, anonymous with blacked-out windows. On the way out, Lizzie had caught a glimpse of the packed marquee; two hundred people, the girls all dressed up in red wigs with sparkles in their hair to look like Celia Jones, clutching books and silver pens. They looked so happy and excited that she had felt ashamed. In a moment some flunky would get up on the stage and tell them that Lizzie Kingdom wasn’t going to be able to come after all and there would be tears and complaints and none of it would touch her because she would be miles away by then, cocooned in the world that Bill had created for her, protected and adrift at the same time.

  She wanted to talk to Dudley. She wanted it so badly she was on the edge of screaming at Bill to give her the phone back. She felt a brief, vicious flash of anger that Amelia had done this to him. Stupid cow, how could she be so careless as to fall downstairs? And how had she managed to kill herself? If she’d broken her arm, she could have done an interview for a magazine or two, all brave and smiling through the pain, and made herself some cash so that she wasn’t always leeching off Dudley. As soon as the thought was formed, she felt ashamed all over again. Amelia was dead. It was horrific. She remembered Johnny in his page boy’s outfit ten years ago. He would be sixteen now and his sister was dead.

  Lizzie dug in the pocket of her jacket and took out a bag of marzipan fruits. The rich smell mingled with that of Kat’s nail varnish and filled the back of the car. Fortnum’s had seen her snacking on some of their sweets during a documentary behind the scenes at Stars of the Dance and sent her a bag every week now. She’d never been able to resist sugar in whatever form it was presented, even though her dentist told her she would have false teeth by the time she was thirty. It was comfort eating, she supposed, and that meant extra time in the gym.

  Amelia. Lizzie bit hard into the marzipan centre. She had always disliked Dudley’s wife even though she hadn’t met her often. Their paths crossed mainly at parties and premieres; Amelia had been a pretty, waif-like blonde who had never really found a role for herself. She’d tried modelling and had some auditions for TV, or so she had confided to Lizzie, and she had featured in a number of celebrity magazines. Periodically there were articles about her latest project, pictures of her posing at Oakhangar Hall, looking glamorous in the gardens or baking up a storm in the kitchen, but none of her plans seemed to come to anything. Lizzie, who could not remember a time when she had not been working, had always thought Amelia was lazy. Everyone else seemed to feel sorry for her. Even Bill, tougher than old boots, had once said he thought Amelia was as fragile as a butterfly. Lizzie had thought she was a different sort of insect, a parasitic one.

  ‘Shit,’ Bill said suddenly. ‘This is just everywhere. The media are crucifying Dudley.’

  ‘Can I have my phone back, please?’ Lizzie said. ‘I want to talk to Dudley. And I really need to tweet how sorry I am to hear about Amelia.’ She waited, but Bill was engrossed in scanning his own phone and didn’t move. So was Kat; the brightness of the screens lit up the interior of the car and made Lizzie’s eyes sting.

  ‘I don’t see what fault it is of Dudley’s,’ Lizzie said, annoyed that they were both ignoring her. ‘I mean, he wasn’t even at Oakhangar when it happened, was he? He told me he was going to see friends in Brighton—’

  Bill interrupted her. ‘They’re saying that Amelia may have taken her own life,’ he said. ‘That she threw herself down the stairs because Dudley had told her a couple of weeks ago he was divorcing her. Shit. Fuck. This is a mess.’ He shot Lizzie a quick look over his shoulder. ‘Did you know about the divorce? Did Dudley tell you?’

  Lizzie wriggled on the sumptuous leather seat. She had the same feeling she had had on numerous occasions as a child, a sense that something very bad was about to happen and it wasn’t her fault but that was beside the point and she would take the blame anyway.

  ‘He might have mentioned it to me last month…’ she muttered.

  ‘Shit, Lizzie!’ Bill exploded again. ‘He mentioned it to you before he told his wife? What is wrong with the pair of you?’

  ‘We’re friends,’ Lizzie said mutinously. ‘We’ve been friends since I was six years old, Bill, so it’s no wonder we’re close, is it? Dudley confides in me.’

  Bill muttered another expletive under his breath. ‘It’s unhealthy, Lizzie,’ he said. ‘Frankly you both come across as weird and needy.’

  Lizzie ignored him and looked out of the window. It was dark outside the car now, the last vestiges of evening light fading from the sky. They were driving fast, on a motorway somewhere but she had no idea where they were or where they were going. No one had told her. Suddenly she felt so tired. They moved her around like a piece on a chessboard and never told her a damn thing.

  Bill turned in his seat so that he could look at her properly. Lizzie felt a r
ush of irritation that another lecture would be forthcoming and kept her gaze firmly averted from his. ‘Did you also know that Amelia had been in hospital?’ Bill asked, his voice deceptively soft. ‘Apparently she was suffering from depression and she’d become addicted to prescription painkillers. She was taking them for migraines or something, and seeing a whole raft of specialists.’ He shook his head irritably. ‘Whatever. Anyway, Dudley had been paying for her rehab at Melton Abbey until last week when she went home to Oakhangar.’

  Lizzie hunched deeper into her jacket. She felt a coldness seeping through her body, a mind-numbing, bone-crunching chill like frost setting hard. She had had no idea that Amelia was ill. She thought about the paralysing sense of despair that depression brought with it, the flat darkness that stretched for ever, the lack of any sense of joy and the hideous loneliness. She knew what it felt like to be on one side of that plate glass pane so that nothing, no sound, no sight, no love, could touch her. She’d lived with that, off and on, for so many years, ever since her mother’s death. It seemed she had more in common with Amelia than she had known.

  Lizzie shuddered. Desperately she rummaged in her pockets but the bag of marzipan, she was disappointed to find, was empty. Instead she let her fingers creep to her throat and the oak leaf necklace she always wore. It was a talisman; it grounded her.

  ‘Where are you getting this stuff from?’ she asked. ‘It sounds like tabloid rubbish to me. You know how they exaggerate.’ She tucked her chin into her collar, seeking warmth, but the car was stuffy and the coldness was within her not outside. ‘We’ve all been depressed,’ she said, hating herself even as she said the words. ‘It doesn’t mean you throw yourself down the stairs.’