‘Oh, I never break them. I lift them off the page and I keep them. I have a whole collection of them in my jewel-box drawer, from all the letters you have ever sent me.’
He turned away from the thought of her treasuring something as trivial as his sealing wax, and ran down the steps and vaulted into the high saddle of his horse.
Robert swept his hat from his head. ‘I’ll say farewell for now,’ he said pleasantly. ‘And look to our next meeting.’ He could not bear to meet her eyes. He glanced at Mrs Oddingsell and saw that she was nearby, ready to support Amy once he had gone. There was no point in prolonging the farewell. He nodded to his company of horse and they fell in behind him, his standard bearer ahead, and they trotted off, the noise of the horses very loud as the street narrowed towards the end of the road.
Amy watched them go until they turned the corner and were out of sight. Still she waited on the steps until she could no longer hear the clatter of the hooves and the jingle of the bits. Even then she waited in case he miraculously changed his mind and came riding back, wanting a last kiss, or wanting her to go with him. For half an hour after he had gone, Amy lingered near the front door in case he would come back. But he never did.
Robert rode the long way back to court in a circuitous route at breakneck pace that tested the horsemanship of his escort, and the stamina of their mounts. When they finally rattled into the stable yard of Whitehall Palace the horses were blowing, their necks darkened with sweat, and the standard bearer was gritting his teeth on the pain in his arms from riding one-handed at a half-gallop for almost an hour.
‘Good God, what is burning the man?’ he asked as he fell from the saddle into the arms of one of his companions.
‘Lust,’ said the other crudely. ‘Lust or ambition or a guilty conscience. That’s our lord in a nutshell. And today, seeing that he is riding hell for leather from his wife to the queen, it’s guilty conscience, then ambition, then lust.’
As Robert dismounted, one of his household, Thomas Blount, stood up from where he had been lounging in the shadows and came forward to hold the horse’s reins.
‘Some news,’ he said quietly.
Robert waited.
‘At the Privy Council meeting, the queen tore into them over the treaty of Cateau Cambresis failing to return Calais to England, and not forcing the French princess to surrender the English coat of arms. They agreed to build two new warships, by subscription. You’ll be asked for money, as well as everyone else.’
‘Anything else?’ Dudley asked, his face a mask.
‘About the church. Cecil to draw up a bill to go through parliament to decide what the services are to be. Agreed that they should base it on King Edward’s prayer book with some small changes.’
Dudley narrowed his eyes, thinking. ‘Did they not press her to go further?’
‘Aye, but Cecil said that anything more would provoke a rebellion from the bishops and the lords. He couldn’t promise to get it through as it is. And some of the councillors said they were opposed anyway. It’s to go before parliament by Easter, Cecil hopes to work on the opposition by then.’
‘Anything else?’
‘Nothing of matter. Some outburst of jealousy from the queen about Philip of Spain’s marriage. And some discussion among themselves when she was gone that she would do best to marry Arran. Cecil in favour of Arran. Most of the council in agreement, especially if Arran can deliver Scotland. Some harsh words against you.’
‘Against me?’
‘For distracting her from marriage plans, turning her head, flirtation, that sort of thing.’
‘Just hard words?’
‘Norfolk said you should be sent back to the Tower or he’d run you through himself and think it a job well done.’
‘Norfolk is a puppy; but watch him for me,’ Robert said. ‘You’ve done very well. Come and see me later today, I have some other business for you.’
The man bowed and faded into the background of the stable yard as if he had never been there. Robert turned for the palace and took the steps up to the hall two at a time.
‘And how was your wife?’ Elizabeth asked sweetly, the demure tone quite contradicted by the sharp glance she threw at him.
Robert was too experienced a philanderer to hesitate for a moment. ‘Well indeed,’ he said. ‘Blooming in health and beauty. Every time I see her she is prettier.’
Elizabeth, who was ready to crow over any admission of Amy’s imperfections, was caught unawares. ‘She is well?’
‘In the best of health,’ he assured her. ‘And very happy. She is staying with her cousin, a very prosperous lady, married to Mr Ralph Scott, a London merchant, a very successful man. I had to drag myself away from them, they were a merry party indeed.’
Her dark eyes snapped. ‘You need not have put yourself to any trouble, Sir Robert. You could have stayed as long as you wished in – where was it? – Kendal?’
‘Camberwell, Your Grace,’ he replied. ‘Just down the road from London. A pretty little village. You would like it. I’m surprised you have never heard of it. Amy adores it there and she has wonderful taste.’
‘Well, you were not missed here. There has been nothing here but courtships and suitors and romancing.’
‘I don’t doubt it,’ he said, smiling down at her. ‘For you missed me so little that you thought me in Kendal.’
She pouted. ‘How am I to know where you are, or what you do? Aren’t you supposed to be at court all the time? Is it not your duty to be here?’
‘Not my duty,’ Sir Robert said. ‘For I would never neglect my duty.’
‘So you admit that you neglect me?’
‘Neglect? No. Flee? Yes.’
‘You flee from me?’ Her ladies saw her face alight with laughter as she leaned forward to hear him. ‘Why would you flee from me? Am I so fearsome?’
‘You are not, but the threat you pose is dreadful, worse than any Medusa.’
‘I have never threatened you in my whole life.’
‘You threaten me with every breath that you take. Elizabeth, if I let myself love you, as I could do, what would become of me?’
She leaned back and shrugged. ‘Oh, you would pine and weep for a sennight and then you would visit your wife again in Camberwell and forget to come back to court.’
Robert shook his head. ‘If I let myself love you, as I want to love you, then everything would change for me, forever. And for you …’
‘For me what?’
‘You would never be the same again,’ he promised her, his voice dropping to a whisper. ‘Your life would never be the same again. You would be a woman transformed, everything would be … revalued.’
Elizabeth wanted to shrug and laugh but his dark gaze was utterly hypnotic, far too serious for the flirtatious tradition of courtly love. ‘Robert …’ She put her hand to the base of her throat where her pulse was hammering, her face flushed pink with desire. But experienced philanderer as he was, he did not attend to the colour in her cheeks but to the slow, revealing stain that spread from the base of her neck to the tips of her earlobes where two priceless pearls danced. It was the rose-red stain of lust and Robert Dudley had to bite his lip not to laugh aloud to see the virgin Queen of England as red as any slut with lust for him.
In the house at Camberwell Amy went into the parlour with the Scotts and Mrs Oddingsell, swore them to the strictest of confidence, and announced that her husband was to be given the very highest order of chivalry, the Order of the Garter, a pretty little house at Kew, a grant of lands, a profitable office, and that best of all he had asked her to find them a suitable house in Oxfordshire.
‘Well, what did Mrs Woods tell you?’ Mrs Oddingsell demanded of her radiant charge. ‘And what did I say? You will have a beautiful house and he will come home every summer, and perhaps even the court will visit on progress, and you will entertain the queen in your own house and he will be so proud of you.’
Amy’s little face glowed at the thought of it.
> ‘This is to rise high indeed,’ Ralph Scott said delightedly. ‘It’s no knowing how far he may go on the queen’s favour like this.’
‘And then he will need a London house, he will not be satisfied with a little place at Kew, you will have Dudley House or Dudley Palace, and you will live in London every winter, and give such grand feasts and entertainments that everyone will want to be your friend, everyone will want to know the beautiful Lady Dudley.’
‘Oh, really,’ Amy said, blushing. ‘I don’t seek it …’
‘Yes, indeed. And think of the clothes you will order!’
‘When did he say he would join you at Denchworth?’ Ralph Scott asked, thinking that he might call on his cousin in Oxfordshire and promote his relationship with her husband.
‘Within a fortnight, he said. But he is always late.’
‘Well, by the time he comes, you will have had time to ride all around the country and to find a house he might like,’ Mrs Oddingsell said. ‘You know Denchworth already, but there are many old houses that you have never seen. I know it is my home, and so I am partial; but I think Oxfordshire is the most beautiful country in England. And my brother and sister-in-law will be so pleased to help us look. We can all go out together. And then, when Sir Robert finally comes, you will be able to ride out with him and show him the best land. Master of the Queen’s Horse! Order of the Garter! I would think he could buy up half of the country.’
‘We must pack!’ Amy cried, seized with urgency. ‘He says he wants me to go at once! We must leave at once.’
She dragged her friend to her feet, Mrs Oddingsell laughing at her. ‘Amy! It will take us only two or three days to get there. We don’t have to rush!’
Amy danced to the door, her face as bright as a girl’s. ‘He’s going to meet me there!’ she beamed. ‘He wants me there now. Of course we have to go at once.’
William Cecil was in low-voiced conference with the queen in the window embrasure at Whitehall Palace, a March shower pelting the thick glass of the window behind them. In various states of alertness the queen’s court waited for her to break from her advisor and turn, looking for entertainment. Robert Dudley was not among them, he was in his great chambers organising river barges with the head boatmen. Only Catherine Knollys stood within earshot, and Cecil trusted Catherine’s loyalty to the queen.
‘I cannot marry a man I have never seen.’ She repeated the answer she was using to everyone to delay the courtship of the Archduke Ferdinand.
‘He is not some shepherd swain that can come piping and singing to court you,’ Cecil pointed out. ‘He cannot come halfway across Europe for you to look him over like a heifer. If the marriage is arranged then he could come for a visit and you could be married at the end of it. He could come this spring and you could be married in the autumn.’
Elizabeth shook her head, instantly retreating from the threat of decisive action, at the very mention of a date on the calendar. ‘Oh, not so soon, Spirit. Don’t press me.’
He took her hand. ‘I don’t mean to,’ he said earnestly. ‘But your safety lies this way. If you were betrothed to a Hapsburg archduke, then you have an alliance for life, unbreakable.’
‘They say Charles is very ugly, and madly Catholic,’ she reminded him.
‘They do,’ he agreed patiently. ‘But it is his brother Ferdinand that we are considering. And they say he is handsome and moderate.’
‘And the emperor would support the match? And we would have a treaty of mutual support if I married him?’
‘Count Feria indicated to me that Philip would see this as a guarantee of mutual good will.’
She looked impressed.
‘Last week, when I advised you in favour of the Arran match, you said you thought this match the better one,’ he reminded her. ‘Which is why I speak of it now.’
‘I did think so then,’ she concurred.
‘It would rob the French of their friendship with Spain, and reassure our own Papists,’ he added.
She nodded. ‘I’ll think about it.’
Cecil sighed and caught Catherine Knollys’ amused sidelong smile. She knew exactly how frustrating Elizabeth could be to her advisors. He smiled back. Suddenly there was a shout and a challenge from the doorway and a bang against the closed door of the presence chamber. Elizabeth blanched and started to turn, not knowing where she could go for safety. Cecil’s two secret bodyguards stepped quickly towards her, everyone looked at the door. Cecil, his pulse hammering, took two steps forward. — Good God, it has happened. They have come for her — he thought. — In her own palace. —
Slowly the door opened. ‘Beg pardon, Your Grace,’ the sentry said. ‘It’s nothing. A drunk apprentice. Just stumbled and fell. Nothing to alarm you.’
Elizabeth’s colour flowed back into her cheeks, and her eyes filled with tears. She turned into the window bay to hide her stricken face from the court. Catherine Knollys came forward and put her arm around her cousin’s waist.
‘Very well,’ Cecil said to the soldier. He nodded to his men to step back against the walls again. There was a buzz of concern and interest from the courtiers; only a few of them had seen the sudden leap of Elizabeth’s fear. Cecil loudly asked Nicholas Bacon a question and tried to fill the silence with talk. He glanced back. Catherine was talking steadily and quietly to the queen, reassuring her that she was safe, that there was nothing to fear. Elizabeth managed to smile, Catherine patted her hand, and the two women turned back to the court.
Elizabeth glanced around. Count von Helfenstein, the Austrian ambassador representing the Archduke Ferdinand, was just coming into the long gallery. Elizabeth went towards him with her hands outstretched.
‘Ah, Count,’ she said warmly. ‘I was just complaining that there was no-one to divert me on this cold day, and praise be! here you are like a swallow in springtime!’
He bowed over her hands and kissed them.
‘Now,’ she said, drawing him to walk beside her through the court. ‘You must tell me all about Vienna and the ladies’ fashions. How do they wear their hoods, and what sort of ladies does the Archduke Ferdinand admire?’
Amy’s energy and determination to meet her husband meant that she had packed her goods and clothes, organised her escort and said farewell to her cousins within days. Her spirits did not flag on the long journey from Camberwell to Abingdon, though they spent three nights on the road and one of them in a very inferior inn where there was nothing to eat at dinner but a thin mutton broth and only gruel for breakfast. Sometimes she rode ahead of Mrs Oddingsell, cantering her horse on the lush spring grass verges, and the rest of the time she kept the hunter to a brisk walk. In the warm, fertile countryside with the grass greening, the pasture and the crops starting to fill the fields, the escort felt safe to drop behind the two women; there was no threat from any beggars or other travellers, the empty road wound over an empty plain, unmarked by hedges or fields.
Now and again Robert’s armed escort closed up as the way led the party through a wood of old oak trees, where some danger might be waiting, but the countryside was so open and empty, except for the solitary man ploughing behind a pair of oxen, or a lad watching sheep, that it was not likely that anything could threaten Lady Dudley as she rode, merrily from one friendly house to another, secure of her welcome and hopeful of a happier future at last.
Mrs Oddingsell, accustomed to Amy’s mercurial changes of mood which depended so much on the absence or promise of Sir Robert, let the young woman ride ahead, and smiled indulgently when she heard the snatches of song that drifted back to her.
Clearly, Sir Robert, with his candidate on the throne, with a massive income flowing into his coffers, would look around for a great house, would look around for a handsome estate, and in very short order would want to see his wife at the foot of his table and a son and heir in the nursery.
What was the value of influence at court and a fortune in the making without a son to pass it on to? What was the use of an adoring wife if not to run
the estate in the country and to organise the house in London?
Amy loved Robert very deeply and would do anything to please him. She wanted him to come home to her and she had all the knowledge and skills to run a successful country estate. Mrs Oddingsell thought that the years of Amy’s neglect and Robert’s years under the shadow of treason were over at last, and the couple could start again. They would be partners in a venture typical of their time: furthering the fortunes of a family: the man wheeling and dealing at court, while his wife managed his land and fortune in the country.
Many a good marriage had started on nothing more tender than this, and forged itself into a strong, good partnership. And – who could tell? – they might even fall in love again.
Mr Hyde’s house was a handsome place, set back a little from the village green, with a good sweep of a drive up to it and high walls built in the local stone. It had once been a farmhouse and successive additions had given it a charming higgledy-piggledy roof line, and extra wings branching from the old mediaeval hall. Amy had always enjoyed staying with the Hydes, Mrs Oddingsell was sister to Mr Hyde and there was always a warm sense of a family visit which hid the awkwardness that Amy sometimes felt when she arrived at one of Robert Dudley’s dependants. Sometimes it seemed as if she were Robert’s burden which had to be shared equally among his adherents; but with the Hydes she was among friends. The rambling farmhouse set in the wide open fields reminded her of her girlhood home in Norfolk, and the small worries of Mr Hyde, the dampness of the hay, the yield of the barley crop, the failure of the river to flood the water meadows since a neighbour had put in an overly deep carp pond, were the trivial but fascinating business of running a country estate that Amy knew and loved.
The children were on the watch for their Aunt Lizzie and Lady Dudley; when the little cavalcade came up the drive the front door opened and they came tumbling out, waving and dancing around.
Philippa Gregory 3-Book Tudor Collection 2 Page 71
