The Forgotten Sister

by Nicola Cornick

  Lizzie felt the customary warmth and reassurance of the emotional connection but this time it was tinged with sadness as well because she also knew the future. She knew her grandmother had given up a promising career as a research scientist to marry and have a family, just as she knew that Jocelyn’s daughter, her mother Annie, had made a terrible, fatal choice in her marriage and had died horribly as a result, running out on a row and crashing her car moments later.

  Lizzie put her face in her hands. This gift of hers really was a double-edged sword. She should not depend upon it for it hurt her almost as much as it comforted her. From the present she could look back to a point in the past that was full of bright hope and promise. She could experience the unvarnished happiness of the people she had once known but she also knew what happened next, how those hopes were crushed and joy extinguished.

  Tears blocked her throat and she gulped in a breath. She stumbled backwards. Depression unrolled inside her; she was on a knife’s edge, before the plunge. Then, suddenly, she caught sight of herself in the huge, long mirrors inside the wardrobe doors, spotlit by the special bright bulbs she had had installed to illuminate her reflection as though she were on stage. The whole set-up struck her so hard then, the vanity and the superficiality, that she started to laugh instead of crying, slightly hysterically, rolling over on the floor as the tears stung her eyes. She was twenty-six years old and she had people to do everything for her: food, laundry, cleaning… She’d have to learn how to look after herself all over again. But she was resourceful and now that she had her world back in perspective, she was determined. And of course she knew exactly where she could go. The gorgeous cream and red dress had reminded her. She could go to Burford, to the house that had been in her mother’s family for generations and which she had inherited from her mother. Years before, Bill had arranged for the house to be let but Lizzie thought she remembered him complaining a few months back that he hadn’t been able to find new tenants for a while. Probably, she thought, because he would be charging a fortune for the kudos of renting Lizzie Kingdom’s house.

  She thought about the house, of the pink roses against the mellow golden Cotswold stone wall, the big old-fashioned kitchen and the rambling bedrooms with their diamond-paned windows. Usually she felt conflicted about The High; there were too many childhood memories of her father there, the faintest of happy memories from a time before, those brief few years when her parents had been together, but so many memories from after of the escalating rows between them and the terrible moment when they came to tell her that her mother had been killed…

  She found she was gripping the bed covers as tightly now as she had gripped the bannisters then, a five-year-old child trying to steady herself in a vicious adult world that gave no quarter. It would be a challenge to go back to The High but perhaps that was something else it would be good for her to face. It was time she allowed herself to change.

  Her mobile rang. For a moment she was confused since she thought she had turned it off, then she realised it was the private one, close family and friends only. Wiping away the tears from her face, she checked the caller display. It was her cousin Juliet.

  ‘Hi, Jules!’ She hoped she didn’t sound as hysterical as she felt.

  ‘Lizzie!’ For her part, Juliet sounded breathless or down the end of a distant and very crackly line, or possibly both. Lizzie felt warmth slide through her as she visualised her cousin; Jules would be wearing her old hiking boots and a battered waterproof coat, her hair would be in a messy blonde bun beneath an old velvet hat and she would be holding the mobile away from her ear as though it was some sort of alien object. Jules and her siblings had grown up on a farm surrounded by animals, two loving parents and lots of happiness. Her upbringing was about as far away from Lizzie’s as could be imagined. She was also a partner in a legal firm with chambers in Clerkenwell and was a razor-sharp lawyer.

  ‘We’ve only just got back to Arreau and heard that you were in trouble!’ Jules bellowed. ‘What the hell’s going on? Why didn’t you tell me? I looked at the Internet, well, as much as you can get it up here with no signal, and I saw the stories about that wife of Dudley’s and how he’s supposed to have murdered her and how you’re to blame. Absolute tosh! About you, I mean, not Dudley. He’s definitely a candidate for arrest, if you ask me! I’ve always said—’

  ‘How was the camping?’ Lizzie interrupted, anticipating a diatribe. Dudley and Juliet had never got on.

  ‘Yeah, great,’ Jules said, ‘except for the rain and the insects. The kids loved it. They want to go on to the Sierra Nevada now for a couple of weeks but I’ve said we’re coming home to see you. You need us.’

  Lizzie felt a rush of affection. ‘That’s so kind,’ she said. ‘I’m really lucky to have such a great cousin.’

  ‘Well, we don’t have much family left,’ Jules said, ‘so we have to stick together. No word from your ghastly father, I suppose,’ she added. ‘Is he still living in California?’

  ‘As far as I know,’ Lizzie said. ‘I don’t want him popping up now,’ she added with feeling. ‘That really would be the last straw.’

  ‘Bastard,’ Jules said. ‘Anyway, we were talking about you. What’s going on?’

  ‘Nothing much,’ Lizzie said. ‘Things are dying down now. Don’t put off your holidays on my account, although aren’t the kids due back at school soon anyway?’

  ‘Probably,’ Jules sounded vague. She sighed. ‘Damn. They’ll send us to jail this time if Kit and Olivia take any more unapproved absence. That old buzzard of a headmistress insists they should get a full-time education.’

  ‘She has a point,’ Lizzie said drily. ‘And someone in your position should really be seen to uphold the law.’

  ‘But they learn so much when we’re travelling,’ Jules argued, revisiting a topic that the two of them had talked about a number of times. Lizzie, the product of boarding school, had appreciated the structure and discipline it had given her when her life was in shreds even though she had been miserable at first. Jules had argued that structure and discipline was death to the imagination.

  ‘Look,’ Jules said, ‘what I really rang for was to check if Bill has got the whole legal aspect of this case covered for you? He may be a leech but he’s always got good lawyers on retainer.’

  ‘I’d rather have you,’ Lizzie said involuntarily, ‘but yes, he has. They’re rather too aggressive for my liking. I mean, I haven’t done anything and paying a bunch of sharks makes me look guilty.’

  ‘You know I’d act for you if I could,’ Jules said, ‘but I could be legitimately accused of being prejudiced. Look, Lizzie, brace up. I’ll come back anyway, just in case I can help.’

  ‘That’s really sweet of you, Jules,’ Lizzie said, ‘but only if you’re sure. It would be good to see you, but like I said, it’s all dying down now. The police probably won’t want to interview me again. I mean, why would they?’ She paused. ‘I’m going away for a while,’ she added, ‘but you should be able to get me on my mobile.’

  ‘Did you say you’re going away?’ Jules bellowed. ‘This line is terrible. Where are you going? You should carry on as normal, you know. Otherwise you make the police suspicious.’

  ‘I can’t carry on as normal,’ Lizzie said. ‘I’ve got no work. Everything’s fallen through because of this thing with Dudley and Amelia. I’ve been totally contaminated and until Dudley is exonerated, I’m a pariah.’

  ‘Bloody unfair,’ Jules said. ‘Look, you know we’d ask you to stay with us except that the kitchen’s being redone and all the stuff is in storage, and the place is a total mess.’

  ‘I think it’s about time I looked after myself,’ Lizzie said drily, ‘but thank you for the thought.’ She paused. ‘I’m going to The High.’

  ‘I thought you didn’t like that house because it reminds you of your father,’ Jules said. ‘Still, it’s not a bad idea. At least it would be a bolthole and Avery would keep an eye on you. She may be ninety but she would see the paps off
with a pitchfork.’

  Lizzie smiled. She’d forgotten about Avery, her grandmother’s oldest friend. Avery could be quite terrifying.

  ‘Are you taking anyone with you?’ Jules demanded. ‘Bill? Kat Ashley? I thought they were always hanging around?’

  ‘I think we’re all a bit tired of each other,’ Lizzie said carefully. ‘We need some time out.’

  ‘Well,’ Jules said, with her customary forthrightness, ‘I’ve thought for years that it was all rather unhealthy. But you’re a celebrity, Lizzie. They’re not like other people, or so I’m told. Apparently, you need people to smooth your path through life and protect you.’

  ‘That’s rubbish made up by celebrities to justify being spoiled,’ Lizzie said, laughing. ‘It’s infantilising and it’s about time I got real.’

  ‘Good for you,’ Jules said warmly. Her voice changed. ‘You’re not taking Dudley with you either, I hope?’

  ‘No Dudley,’ Lizzie said firmly.

  ‘Good,’ Jules said. ‘There’s no one else, I suppose?’

  Lizzie thought involuntarily of Arthur and forced herself to stop thinking about him immediately.

  ‘Jules,’ she said. ‘Stop trying to marry me off.’

  ‘You don’t have to marry anyone!’ Jules stopped and for a moment Lizzie thought she was in for another diatribe, but instead her cousin’s tone softened a little. ‘This self-imposed celibacy is ridiculous, Lizzie,’ Jules said. ‘We all have needs, for God’s sake. It’s perfectly normal. You’ll turn into a sexless, dried-up old prune at this rate.’

  ‘Oh God,’ Lizzie said. ‘How did we come to be talking about my sex life now? Jules, I do appreciate your concern, but it’s hardly that extreme. I just haven’t found anyone I like yet, that’s all.’

  Jules ploughed on. ‘You’re surrounded by users. You need someone on your side! Dudley’s a rotter, Bill’s a snake and Kat’s a hanger-on. Get rid of them all and find someone who cares about you like we all do.’

  ‘Thank you, Jules,’ Lizzie said, a lump in her throat. ‘I love you all too.’

  ‘Got to go,’ Jules said. ‘The twins are fighting. See you soon, darling!’

  Lizzie was smiling as she ended the call. She glanced around the room at the piles of clothes and half-filled suitcases. It would be good to see Juliet and her family again and spend some time with them.

  Her phone rang again, startling her. In the past few days it had barely rung at all. None of her so-called friends had wanted to be associated with the toxic mess that was her life at the moment.

  She didn’t recognise the number and was tempted to allow it to go to voicemail but something prompted her to answer.

  ‘Lizzie?’ She recognised the voice at once, young, breathless, desperate. ‘It’s Johnny Robsart.’

  ‘Johnny?’ Lizzie almost dropped the phone. ‘Where are you?’

  ‘I’m outside,’ Johnny said. ‘I need to see you.’

  ‘Come up,’ Lizzie said at once. ‘Top floor, take the lift. I’ll be waiting.’

  ‘I’m out in the street,’ Johnny said. She could hear the quiver in his voice. ‘They wouldn’t let me into the foyer. They threatened to call the police. Can you come down and meet me?’

  ‘Sure,’ Lizzie said. She was already halfway to the door. ‘I’m on my way down. Don’t move. I’ll be right there.’

  Chapter 12

  Amy: The Tower of London, March 1554

  ‘Mind your step,’ the warder said, steadying me with a hand under my elbow as I slipped on the worn stone in the half dark. I could hear the drip of water and feel the moisture and the despair that permeated the air. My head spun and my ears rang with noise, the screams and shouts of the demented, the lost, those abandoned to death and darkness.

  I will be strong.

  I had told myself this every day for the past six months as the sickly, humid days of summer had given way to the damp misery of a grey autumn and finally the cold desolation of winter. Living on the charity of my mother’s relatives had not been easy. The ties that bound our family were strong but it felt all wrong that I had slipped from benefactress to pensioner.

  The memory of court, of golden sunshine and masques, mocked me as each dreary day passed. To have fallen so far, so fast, to have known the riches of ambition and success and now to be ‘poor, dear Amy’, an object of pity, curiosity and malice, left a bitter taste. I could blame my father-in-law for overreaching himself and trying to set the usurper Jane Grey on the throne of England, I could blame King Edward for dying so inconveniently, but in truth I mostly blamed Robert. I tried to love him still but it was hard. I was angry and alone. The man I had entrusted with my future had led us all to destruction.

  Robert had failed. All the work that he and my father and the Duke of Northumberland had done to build their power and authority in East Anglia lay in the ashes of Sawston Hall and from that had flowed all else: Mary’s escape, her proclamation as Queen, the Duke’s downfall and the shocking executions of Jane Grey and Guildford Dudley.

  My mother had written to me from Norfolk, reminding me – as though I required it – that the destruction of Sawston at Robert’s hands had brought even greater hardship to my sister Anna. Perhaps being a helpless witness to so much pain and bloodshed had hardened me. I told her nothing of my sickness on hearing the news but wrote back saying that now Mary was Queen, Antony Huddleston would be well rewarded for the loyalty he had shown to her. Such were the murky waters in which I now swam, my loyalties divided between the old and the new, between family and politics just as my mother’s had been at the time of Kett’s rebellion. Now I was the supplicant; I could have asked Anna for help when, just as I predicted, Antony was raised high in the new Queen’s favour whilst I was married to a traitor who was condemned to execution, but I would not demean myself. I know it would have given her pleasure to refuse to help me.

  I heard Robert’s voice and his raucous laughter before we reached the door of his cell. He shared quarters with his brothers; not for them the putrid air of the dungeons below but apartments in the Beauchamp Tower with high arched ceilings and light from outside. Though the family was disgraced, the Duchess still retained sufficient funds to keep her surviving sons in comfort.

  The laughter shut off abruptly as the gaoler opened the door and ushered me into the room. They were all there: Robert, John, Ambrose and Henry, gathered around a table that was littered with playing cards, tankards and empty wine flagons. The fifth place, where until recently their brother Guildford would have sat, was empty testament to his death on the scaffold.

  ‘Praise be, a visit from my lovely wife!’ Robert staggered to his feet, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. ‘How do you fare, sweeting?’ He kissed me clumsily. His breath stank of wine and there were stains on his doublet. I could smell stale sweat on him and tried not to flinch away. Imprisonment, boredom and drink had coarsened these men, or perhaps I was simply seeing what had previously been hidden beneath the silks and courtly manners.

  Henry stood up too. ‘I need some fresh air,’ he said, ‘or I will run mad.’ His gaze dwelt on me. ‘I do not want to have to hear the sounds of your swiving, brother. It makes me envious.’

  ‘Send out for a trull then,’ Robert said crudely. He kissed me again, long, lingering, making a point. I stood stiff beneath the embrace, if that was what it was.

  ‘I have news,’ I told Robert, when he finally released me. ‘Your mother works hard to plead your cause with the Queen, as does your brother-in-law Sidney.’ I thought that the mention of the Duchess might steady him, that it might restore them all to some semblance of sobriety, but they did not care. Henry paused a moment before ostentatiously turning his back and rapping on the door for the gaoler to escort him up to the roof leads. Ambrose and John turned their attention back to the game of tables. Robert caught my wrist and pulled me through to the inner chamber where, without further words he tumbled me amongst his frowsty blankets like a common whore. I could hear the shouts of his
brothers at their game just beyond the door and feel the cold air on my bare thighs and Robert’s clumsy hands on me and smell his wine-laden breath. It was all over in moments.

  I had enjoyed the intimacy of marriage in the early days, or perhaps I had enjoyed the fact that Robert so transparently desired me. At least then he had made some effort to please me as well as himself. Now he made no attempt and I was shaking as he rolled off me and I tidied my clothes and smoothed my hair. I felt used and drab. My mind spun as I tried to find some way to anchor myself and restore some semblance of self-respect. This was not a man I could easily continue to love.

  ‘Your mother works hard to plead your cause with the Queen, as does your brother-in-law Sidney,’ I repeated, as though our conversation had not been interrupted. ‘He speaks of travelling to Spain to seek King Philip’s support since it seems he will soon be our King too.’

  Robert threw himself back on the bed. He made no response and there was blankness in his eyes. Something had happened to Robert since his brother’s execution, something dark and painful. The young man I had known, with his unshakeable confidence and over-vaulting ambition had turned inward and become haggard and dead inside. Perhaps it was because Guildford had been the baby of the family and so his sacrifice seemed all the more heinous when the older brothers lived. Perhaps it was the shadow of the raised axe on the wall. None of us knew when it might fall and we lived under its threat each and every day. I told myself this, and tried to forgive him his callousness.

  ‘Robert?’ I tried a third time. ‘Her grace has petitioned the Queen that you and your brothers be permitted to take mass.’

  Robert threw back his head and laughed then. There was a wild quality to it that chilled me.

  ‘My mother seeks to oblige us to take that Papist abomination?’ He wiped the tears from his eyes.