The Forgotten Sister

by Nicola Cornick

  ‘She does it to secure your release,’ I said and he cast me a look of such contempt I felt whatever love and loyalty I still had towards him wither within me.

  ‘I know that, Amy,’ he said, as though explaining to an idiot, ‘and in truth I would sup with the devil himself if it bought us all our freedom.’ He sighed; stretched. ‘If only I might do the special pleading myself,’ he said. ‘I would win over that dried-up old spinster in a moment.’

  I felt a rush of hatred for him then, for his patronising dismissal of me, his contempt for Queen Mary and his arrogant belief in his own attractions. When Robert had been captured and taken to Framlingham Castle, he had thrown himself at Mary’s feet and begged for forgiveness. The fact that he was still alive now, he had attributed to his powers of persuasion. It had not occurred to him that Mary might have made a decision to spare him based upon statecraft.

  A silence fell between us. I felt a sense of hopelessness fill me that we had so little to say to one another. The links that bound us were proving too flimsy to survive this pressure.

  ‘Well,’ I said tartly, after a moment, ‘if you have no further use for me, I will leave you to your prayers. Be sure to pay your gaoler to tell the Queen how many hours you spend at your devotions. I am sure that that will impress her.’

  Robert stood up with all his former, lithe grace, stretching again. ‘I shall take your advice, wife,’ he said. ‘But before you leave, I do have one more use for you.’

  Dislike and disquiet prickled along my skin at his tone. There was mockery in his voice, and something else that felt more threatening and roused an instinct deep inside me. I braced myself to run from him, though I have no idea where I might have gone. But all he did was cross to the battered desk that stood in the corner of the chamber; there was a letter there, folded and sealed. He picked it up and weighed it in his hand.

  ‘You will deliver this to the Lady Elizabeth,’ he said. ‘She walks in the palace privy gardens each day; you will wait for her and hand it over in person.’ He looked half ashamed, half defiant, but wholly determined. His voice had softened when he spoke her name.

  I gaped at him. To be directed like a servant was insult indeed, and to be asked to run errands to the Lady Elizabeth… Leaving aside my personal dislike of her, this was madness. A moment before, Robert had been speaking of currying favour with the Queen. Now he was planning recklessly to consort with her most dangerous enemy.

  ‘Robert,’ I said, trying to sound calm, ‘is that wise?’

  It was fortunate that I said no more. I saw again that ungovernable black fury rise in his eyes and I shrank from it.

  ‘It rains,’ I said petulantly. ‘The Lady Elizabeth will not be walking out of doors today.’

  ‘Then you will wait until the rain stops,’ my husband said.

  We stared at one another for a long moment and then I snatched the letter from his hand, stowed it in my bodice, and went out of the room, rapping imperiously on the cell door to be let out.

  ‘Can’t wait to escape your husband, eh, Mistress?’ The warder leered as I pushed past him to run down the stair. The parchment of the letter pricked my skin. I could thrust it down a drain; I could tear it into a thousand little pieces; I could burn it in the fire; anything rather than conform to Robert’s assumption that he could ask his wife to deliver messages to the woman he… I paused under the lintel of the Beauchamp Tower. Did Robert love the Lady Elizabeth? Certainly he admired her and his loyalty to her was absolute. It must be to take such a risk as this.

  The rain had stopped. I crossed the inner ward, skirting the Queen’s lodgings. This, I knew, was where the Lady Elizabeth was housed as her mother had been before her. I felt a sharp spurt of spiteful pleasure to think of her residing in such ill-fated luxury. I hoped she dwelt on her mother’s fate each and every day as she waited to follow her to the block. It was bitter of me, and shameful, but I could not pity her. I blamed her for driving a wedge between Robert and me even when I knew that their friendship had begun long before he had met me. He had been tainted before ever I had him; we had been doomed from the start because of her.

  The privy gardens were to the east of the Queen’s gallery, the grass gleaming with droplets of water in the pale March sun. It was cold in the shadow of the high walls and there was something daunting about the austere formality of the paths and the statuary. It seemed I was alone, yet after a moment I caught my breath at the sight of a slender figure, cloaked and hooded, lingering by the sundial where two of the paths crossed.

  She did not move as I approached. Her very stillness captivated me for her fingers were tracing the surface of the sundial as though she were trying to capture time itself. She must have heard my steps on the path yet it was only when I was close that she turned.

  We looked at one another, the Princess Elizabeth and I. Her eyes contained the same sort of distant, bruised expression I had seen in Robert’s, the face of a person who had withdrawn into themselves for very survival. I waited to hate her but the sensation did not come. She looked lost and young; it was like looking at a mirror image of myself. Then she seemed to come awake and those brown eyes sharpened on me and I dropped a curtsey, demure as you please.

  ‘My Lord asked me to deliver this to you,’ I said, reaching into my bodice for the letter. The breeze caught it and tried to snatch it from my fingers. Already it had lost the heat of my body.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said.

  That was all. I met Elizabeth only thrice in my life and we exchanged so few words but in that small time I knew there was a bond between us. Neither love nor hatred, it was both lesser and greater than that.

  As I walked away she made no move to open Robert’s letter and when I passed through the gateway into the inner ward I turned to look back at her. She was watching me too and the letter was still in her hand.

  Chapter 13

  Lizzie: Present Day

  ‘This is very kind of you,’ Johnny Robsart said. ‘I’m so sorry to trouble you.’ He sounded like a very well brought-up schoolboy, Lizzie thought, but he looked like a spectre, translucently pale, shivering, bruised blue shadows beneath his eyes. ‘I do hope you don’t mind that I called,’ he added. ‘Millie had your number on her phone and I realise it was probably a private one but I really needed to talk to you.’

  Lizzie nodded. She took his elbow and gently guided him through to her kitchen. He felt thin, and brittle; though he was tall he had no bulk. His wrists stuck out from the ends of his sleeves as though he was growing out of his clothes as soon as he put them on. He was half man, half frightened boy and Lizzie, who had never in her life felt maternal before, wanted to give him a hug and a square meal.

  ‘Please don’t apologise,’ she said, as she gestured him to the big basket chair in the corner by the window. ‘Would you like something to drink?’ She wondered what to offer him. He was still shivering although it was warm in the flat. ‘Coffee?’ she suggested. ‘Or hot chocolate?’

  Johnny smiled and his face became boyish, transformed. ‘You have hot chocolate? The proper stuff? With whipped cream and marshmallows and sprinkles? That would be awesome.’

  Lizzie laughed, opening the cupboard to get out the hot chocolate maker. It was one of the few gadgets she actually used. Her cupboards were bursting with shiny expensive stuff she’d never touched, but since she loved chocolate, she had made an effort to learn how to do this.

  ‘I’m very sorry we didn’t get the chance to talk last time,’ she said, over her shoulder. ‘I’ve been wondering how you were. Things must be so awful for you—’ She stopped, not wanting to sound trite or even to imply that she knew how he must feel with his grief so new and so raw. Bereavement was a uniquely horrible and lonely experience. She had recognised Johnny’s misery and wanted to offer comfort but she knew he might not want it.

  Johnny was watching her and though his long, lanky body was now slumped wearily in the chair, his blue gaze was alert and sharp. Yet she sensed no animosity in him, not l
ike she had with Arthur. Her reaction to Arthur had been so vivid and complex but she didn’t need any psychic powers to read Johnny. He was a boy pushed to the limit of his endurance.

  ‘They won’t let us bury Amelia,’ Johnny said abruptly, ‘not whilst the police investigation is going on. She’s lying in cold storage somewhere. And they’ve rehashed all the stories about Mum’s death, and even dragged Jenna into it. They say we’re cursed.’ His mouth twisted. ‘I’m not sure I can bear it.’ He shifted uncomfortably as though his bones were too sharp. ‘I mean, I know I have to, somehow… But I don’t know how I will.’

  Lizzie put the chocolate maker carefully on the work-top and turned to look at him.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘Sometimes it can seem impossible to believe that you will ever be able to cope or that you will ever feel any better.’

  Johnny smiled faintly. ‘Most people tell me that I’ll be fine,’ he said. ‘That doesn’t help.’

  ‘Most people don’t know what to say at times like this,’ Lizzie said. ‘They’re doing their best but they’re out of their depth.’

  Johnny’s mouth twisted. ‘I suppose it’s better than the people who say nothing at all and ignore me because they feel awkward,’ he said. He shrugged. ‘The whole thing is a hideous media circus anyway, thanks to Dudley—’ He stopped; looked awkward. ‘Sorry, can we talk about him?’

  ‘Sure,’ Lizzie said, ‘we can talk about whatever you like.’ She poured milk into the machine and added the chocolate syrup. The hot chocolate maker hummed into life.

  ‘Dudley’s a selfish bastard,’ Johnny said, with feeling. ‘It’s always all about him, isn’t it? His wife dies so he uses it to self-promote. He makes me so angry.’ He looked up suddenly. ‘I’m sorry he’s dragged you into all this too,’ he added. ‘I know all the stuff they’re saying about the two of you getting together isn’t true.’

  Lizzie raised her brows. ‘How could you possibly know that?’ she said. For the first time she acknowledged her culpability. ‘Those photographs from last night looked pretty bad,’ she said. ‘I mean, it wasn’t how it seemed, but even so…’

  ‘I know,’ Johnny said. ‘But pap photos are never really what they seem, are they? Actually, I think Dudley may have set them up.’ His eyes met Lizzie’s very directly. ‘Dudley’s been having an affair with Letty Knollys,’ he said, with devastating simplicity. ‘I think he’s using you to deflect attention.’

  Lizzie stared at Johnny incredulously. ‘What? But… Letty Knollys? Are you sure?’ She groped for a chair and sat down. ‘Letty’s married to Walt, one of Dudley’s bandmates in Call Back Summer,’ she said. ‘I mean, surely even Dudley wouldn’t…’ She stopped, frowning. ‘How do you know this?’

  ‘Millie hired a private detective to follow him,’ Johnny said. He caught Lizzie’s expression. ‘I know. Trust is dead in a celebrity marriage, right? But she thought as they were divorcing, she might get more cash out of him if she could prove he was being unfaithful.’ He shook his head. ‘None of this is pretty.’

  ‘No,’ Lizzie said, ‘it isn’t.’ She realised that she was feeling genuine shock at Dudley’s behaviour for the first time in a very long while. ‘God, I had no idea.’

  ‘I hope you don’t mind too much,’ Johnny said politely.

  ‘Not in the least,’ Lizzie said, realising as she said the words that they were absolutely true. ‘Not for myself. Dudley isn’t my property and he never was. But—’ she pulled a face, ‘I do mind him betraying Walt. Walt’s a good guy and friend and I bet he has no idea. That’s really uncool; a horrible way to behave.’ She sighed. ‘Look, Johnny, whilst we’re on the topic of bad behaviour I should get this off my chest. I may not have been involved with Dudley in that sense but I monopolised far too much of his time. It was selfish and needy of me. I know I should be apologising to Amelia for that,’ she added, with an awkward shrug, ‘but for what it’s worth…’

  Johnny avoided her gaze, fiddling with the button on his jacket. ‘It’s OK,’ he mumbled, ‘I understand the two of you have been friends for years.’ He looked up suddenly. ‘But he’s taking you in, too, Lizzie. He’s using you.’

  Lizzie rubbed a hand across her eyes. It felt as though she was looking into a hall of mirrors. Dudley, who had been one of the few constants in her tumultuous life, was a cheat and a liar. She knew he had used her before and she’d chosen to ignore it because she’d felt a residual loyalty to him. She had thought that no matter how badly he treated other people, she was special to him. Now, though, she felt like a fool, remembering Dudley’s weird declaration of love and how bad she had felt upsetting him with her rejection. If Johnny was right – he had no reason to lie – then Dudley only really loved himself and used everyone else to his advantage. She felt a pang of real regret as she remembered how close they had been as children and how uncomplicated things had been then. She’d been lonely and miserable and Dudley had stood up for her. But times have changed, people change, and perhaps all the fame and acclaim at a young age had soured Dudley beyond saving. He’d always been ambitious; now it seemed he was just a sleaze.

  ‘I never got what Millie saw in Dudley,’ Johnny said after a moment. His face was pale and pinched, his eyes tired. ‘He dazzled her, I suppose. I mean, even I can see that he is very good-looking. But it wasn’t long before it all went wrong. I don’t know how she put up with it for as long as she did; ten years married to Dudley is a hell of a long time. Anyway,’ his shoulders lifted, ‘we were all glad when she said they were divorcing. She was packing to leave when…’ his breath caught, ‘when it happened.’

  ‘It sounds as though the two of you were very close,’ Lizzie said, ‘if Amelia confided so much in you.’ She wondered whether it had been such a good idea for Amelia to expose Johnny to the ugly underbelly of her marriage. It seemed a bit selfish.

  Johnny nodded. ‘Yeah, we were very close. We talked every day. Dudley is…’ he corrected himself meticulously, ‘was the worst thing that ever happened to her. Right from the start he sort of sapped all her self-confidence and her spirit.’

  The chocolate maker gurgled to an end and Lizzie poured the drink into two mugs, reaching into the fridge for the whipped cream and lavishly adding marshmallows and chocolate to the top. ‘Enjoy,’ she said, pushing one of the mugs towards Johnny and giving him a long spoon to go with it. ‘You deserve it.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Johnny said. He took an indulgent spoonful of cream and marshmallow and closed his eyes. ‘Awesome,’ he mumbled.

  ‘Thank you,’ Lizzie said, feeling ridiculously proud. ‘Where were we? Oh yes, Dudley… Yeah, I can see you wouldn’t be very fond of him but I hope you don’t think he had anything to do with Amelia’s death. I mean, I know he’s got a lot of faults but I don’t think he’d murder anyone.’

  ‘What? Oh…’ Johnny waved a hand around a little self-consciously. ‘No, of course not, that’s stupid.’ He blushed. ‘In the beginning I blamed Dudley. I was upset.’ He shrugged uncomfortably. ‘I suppose I do feel that he contributed in a way because he made Millie so unhappy, but… I’m sure it was an accident.’

  Lizzie wondered if he meant it. There was something in Johnny’s voice that struck a false note, but she didn’t want to press him. If he thought that Amelia might have taken her own life it would be unbearable to make him talk about that unless he wanted to.

  ‘Millie was my best mate,’ Johnny said now. ‘After our Mum died—’ Lizzie saw a tremor go through him. ‘Well, Millie understood what I was going through and she was always there for me. It was horrible, Mum dying of cancer so young. We were all totally devastated. Sam – my stepdad – was away a lot. He works for the Antarctic Survey. He’s a great guy but I think taking himself away from things was his way of coping. But without Millie and Arthur…’ He stopped; looked at her. ‘I had depression really badly, and they helped me through the worst times.’

  ‘I’m very sorry,’ Lizzie said. Her heart turned over for him. ‘Depression is such a horrible thing.�
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  ‘I was terrified,’ Johnny said, and Lizzie was struck by the starkness of his words. ‘I felt as though I was trapped somewhere that was completely barren. I knew people cared about me but I couldn’t feel it, I couldn’t connect emotionally with them. It was like I was on one side of a glass wall and they were reaching out to me but nothing could get through to me.’ He shook his head. ‘I guess it’s hard to understand if you haven’t experienced it for yourself.’

  ‘Even if you have,’ Lizzie said, ‘it can still be hard because it’s not the same for everyone. To understand you need to listen and be tolerant and not judge…’ she smiled faintly, ‘all the things that a lot of us aren’t great at doing.’

  ‘You seem pretty good at listening,’ Johnny said, taking one of the shortbread biscuits Lizzie had set out on a plate. ‘I would never have guessed.’ He turned scarlet. ‘God, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—’

  ‘It’s OK.’ Lizzie was laughing. ‘I know a lot of people think I’m pretty self-absorbed. And maybe I am,’ she added ruefully. ‘But I’ve also had depression myself – and some counselling – so I try to be… aware.’ She pushed the chocolate pot towards him. ‘Would you like some more?’

  ‘Thanks,’ Johnny said, topping up lavishly and adding a spoonful of sugar for good measure. ‘It’s easy to talk to you, actually,’ he added. ‘Not just because you’re a good listener but also because you’re almost a stranger.’ His bright blue gaze fixed on her in a way that made her heart clench with pity for him. ‘The others are all so careful around me. I know they’re trying to protect me but it can be stifling. I think they think I might kill myself.’

  Lizzie flinched inside. Most people were not so blunt about suicide, preferring to talk in code about their thoughts and feelings. Johnny was looking it straight in the eye. She admired him for that whilst finding Arthur’s concern for his younger brother all the more agonising. No wonder Arthur had been so terrified of the consequences when Johnny had gone missing.