‘My husband knows him well,’ Amy said without embarrassment. ‘And thinks highly of him, I know.’
‘Well, his mother is honouring us with a long visit,’ Mrs Forster continued, recovering. ‘You will meet her at dinner, and Mr Forster will be home for dinner. He rode out today to see some neighbours of ours. And he told me to take particular good care of you both.’
‘How kind,’ Amy said vaguely. ‘I think I should like to rest now.’
‘Certainly.’ Mrs Forster rose to her feet. ‘Your room is just above the hall, overlooking the drive.’
Amy hesitated, she had been going to the best bedroom on the other end of the building.
‘Let me show you,’ Mrs Forster said, and led the way out of the great hall, through the double archway, through the stone-flagged buttery to the circular stone stairs.
‘Here you are, and Mrs Oddingsell is nearby,’ she said, gesturing to the two wooden doors.
‘It seems so odd that this should have been a monastery only fifty years ago,’ Amy said, pausing by one of the wooden corbels which showed a little cherub, polished from dark wood to blond by constant touching. ‘This little angel may have helped someone to pray.’
‘Thank God that we have been freed from Popish superstition,’ Mrs Forster said fervently.
‘Amen,’ Lizzie said smartly.
Amy said nothing at all; but touched the cheek of the little angel, and opened the heavy wooden door to her chamber and went in.
They waited until the door had closed behind her.
‘She is so pale, is she ill?’ Mrs Forster demanded.
They turned and went to Lizzie Oddingsell’s chamber. ‘She is very tired,’ Lizzie said. ‘And she hardly eats. She complains of a pain in her breast but she says it is heartache. She is taking it all very badly.’
‘I heard she had a canker of the breast?’
‘She is always in pain but there is no growth. That is another London rumour, like all the others.’
Mrs Forster pursed her lips and shook her head at London rumours, which were wilder and more detailed every day. ‘Well, God protect her,’ Mrs Forster said. ‘I had the devil’s own job to persuade my husband to have her here at all. Of all the men in the world I would have thought him the most likely to pity her, but he said to my face that it was more than his life was worth to offend Sir Robert now, and more important than anything in the world to him to be in his lordship’s good books if he is going to rise as everyone says.’
‘And what do they say?’ Lizzie prompted. ‘How much higher can he go?’
‘They say he will be king-consort,’ Mrs Forster said simply. ‘They say he is married to the queen already in secret, and will be crowned at Christmas. And she, poor lady, will be forgotten.’
‘Yes, but forgotten where?’ Lizzie demanded. ‘My brother will not have her back, and she cannot live at Stanfield Hall all the year round, it is little more than a farm. Besides, I do not know that their doors are open to her. If her family refuse her, where is she to go? What is she to do?’
‘She looks as if she will not survive it,’ Mrs Forster said flatly. ‘And there will be the solution to his lordship’s difficulty. Should we get a doctor for her?’
‘Yes,’ Lizzie said. ‘There’s no doubt in my mind that she is sick of grief, but perhaps a doctor could give her something so that at least she could eat and sleep and stop this continual weeping.’
‘She cries?’
Lizzie’s own voice trembled. ‘She swallows it down during the day, but if you ever listen to her chamber door at night you will hear her. She cries in her sleep. All night long the tears run down her cheeks and she cries for him. She whispers his name in her sleep. Over and over she asks him: “My Lord”?’
Cecil and Elizabeth were in the rose garden at Windsor with the ladies of the court when Robert Dudley came to join them, the Spanish ambassador with him.
Elizabeth smiled and gave de Quadra her hand to kiss. ‘And is this visit one of pleasure or one of business?’ she asked.
‘Now I am dedicated to pleasure,’ he said in his strong accent. ‘I have conducted my business with Sir Robert and I can spend the rest of my time taking pleasure in your company.’
Elizabeth raised her pencilled eyebrows. ‘Business?’ she asked Robert.
He nodded. ‘All done. I was telling the Spanish ambassador that we are to have a tennis tournament this evening, and he would be most interested to watch.’
‘It is only a little game,’ Elizabeth said. She did not dare glance towards Cecil. ‘Some of the young men of the court have formed themselves into teams, the Queen’s Men and the Gypsy’s Men.’ There was a ripple of laughter from the ladies at the two names.
The Spanish ambassador smiled, looking from one to another. ‘And who are the Gypsy Boys?’ he asked.
‘It is an impertinence to Sir Robert,’ the queen said. ‘It is a nickname they call him.’
‘Never to my face,’ Sir Robert said.
‘An insult?’ the more formal Spaniard asked.
‘A jest,’ Robert said. ‘Not everyone admires my colouring. I am thought too dark for an Englishman.’
Elizabeth took a little breath of desire, it was unmistakable. Everyone heard it and Dudley turned to her with a most intimate smile. ‘Fortunately, not everyone despises me for my dark skin and black eyes,’ he said.
‘They are practising now.’ Elizabeth was unable to take her eyes from the curve of his mouth.
‘Shall we go and see?’ Cecil intervened. He led the ambassador away and the rest of the court followed. Slowly, Dudley offered Elizabeth his arm and she slid her hand on his sleeve.
‘You look entranced,’ he said quietly to her.
‘I am,’ she said. ‘You know.’
‘I know.’
They walked for a few paces in silence. ‘What did the ambassador want?’ she asked.
‘He was complaining about Spanish gold being shipped out of the Netherlands by our merchants,’ Dudley said. ‘It is illegal to take their bullion out of the country.’
‘I know that,’ she said. ‘I don’t know who would do such a thing.’
Blandly, he ignored the quickness of her lie. ‘Some eager inspector searched one of our ships and found that the cargo manifest was forged. They have confiscated the gold and let the ship go, and the Spanish ambassador was to make a formal complaint.’
‘Is he to come before the Privy Council?’ she asked, alarmed. ‘If they discover we are shipping gold they will know it is to mint new coins. There will be a run against the old coins. I will have to speak to Cecil, we have to keep this secret.’ She started forward but Robert retained her hand and kept her back.
‘No, of course he can’t see the Privy Council,’ Robert said decisively. ‘It has to be kept private.’
‘Have you given him a time to see me and Cecil?’
‘I have dealt with it,’ Robert said simply.
Elizabeth paused on the path, the sun very hot on the back of her neck. ‘You’ve done what?’
‘I dealt with it,’ he repeated. ‘Told him that there must have been a mistake, I condemned smuggling as a general rule, I agreed that smuggling bullion from one country to another is most dangerous for trade. I promised him it would not happen again and said that I would look into it personally. He believed half of it, at the most, but will send his despatch to the Spanish emperor, and we are all satisfied.’
She hesitated, suddenly cold despite the heat of the day. ‘Robert, on what basis did he speak to you?’
He pretended not to understand her. ‘As I have said.’
‘Why did he speak to you? Why not take this complaint to Cecil? Or come direct to me? Or ask to meet with the Privy Council?’
Robert slid his arm around her waist, though anyone of the court glancing back could have seen him holding her. ‘Because I want to take trouble from your shoulders, my love. Because I know as much about kingship as you, or Cecil, and to tell the truth, probably more. Becau
se I was born to do this, just as much as you, or Cecil; probably more. Because his complaint was about your agent Thomas Gresham, who now reports directly to me. This is my business as much as yours. Your business is my business. Your currency is my currency. We do everything together.’
Elizabeth could not make herself move from his touch, but she did not melt into him, as she usually did. ‘De Quadra should have come to me,’ she insisted.
‘Oh, why?’ Robert demanded. ‘Don’t you think he knows that I shall be your declared husband within the year? Don’t you think everyone knows that we are betrothed and will soon announce it? Don’t you think he already deals with me as if I were your husband?’
‘He should speak with me or Cecil,’ she persisted. She rubbed at the cuticles of her fingernails, to push them back from the polished nails.
Dudley took her hand. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘When it is something that I cannot deal with for you.’
‘And when would that be?’ she demanded sharply.
He chuckled in his self-confidence. ‘D’you know, I cannot think of a single thing that you or Cecil could do better than me,’ he admitted.
Cecil was seated next to Elizabeth at the tennis tournament but neither of them followed the play.
‘He only met with de Quadra to spare me trouble,’ she whispered to him in a rapid monotone.
‘He has no authority, unless you give it to him,’ Cecil said steadily.
‘Cecil, he says that everyone knows that we are betrothed, that de Quadra thinks of him as my husband and so my representative.’
‘This has to stop,’ Cecil said. ‘You have to stop this … usurpation.’
‘He is not disloyal,’ she said fiercely. ‘Everything he does is for love of me.’
— Yes, he is the most loyal traitor who ever threw down a queen for love of her — Cecil thought bitterly. Aloud he said: ‘Your Grace, it may be for your good, but don’t you know that his power over you will be reported to the Spanish emperor and be seen as weakness? Don’t you think the English Catholics will know that you plan to marry a divorced man? You, of all women: the daughter of a divorced queen, a queen executed for adultery?’
Nobody ever spoke to the queen of her mother, except in tones of the most unctuous deference. Elizabeth went white with shock. ‘I beg your pardon,’ she said icily.
Cecil was not frightened into silence. ‘Your reputation has to be of the purest,’ he said adamantly. ‘Because your mother, God rest her soul, died with her reputation most foully slandered. Your father divorced a good woman to marry her and then blamed his decision on witchcraft and lust. No-one must revive that libel and apply it to you.’
‘Be very careful, Cecil,’ she said coldly. ‘You are repeating treasonous slander.’
‘You be careful,’ he said roundly, and rose from his seat. ‘Tell de Quadra to meet with us both tomorrow morning to make his formal complaint. Sir Robert does not transact business for the crown.’
Elizabeth looked up at him and then, very slightly, she shook her head. ‘I cannot,’ she said.
‘What?’
‘I cannot undermine Sir Robert. The business is done, and he has said only what we would have said. We’ll leave it.’
‘He is indeed king-consort then, in everything but name? You are content to give him your power?’
When she said nothing, Cecil bowed. ‘I will leave you,’ he said quietly. ‘I have no humour to watch the match. I think the Gypsy’s Men are certain to win.’
Anthony Forster, returning home with a new scroll of madrigals under his arm, was in merry mood and not best pleased to be greeted by his wife with a domestic crisis before he had even entered the great hall.
‘Lady Dudley is here and is very ill,’ she said urgently. ‘They arrived this morning, and she has been sick since then. She cannot keep down food, the poor thing cannot even keep down drink, and she complains of a pain in her breast which she says is heartbreak, but I think may be a canker. She won’t let anyone see it.’
‘Let me in, wife,’ he said, and walked past her into his hall. ‘I’ll take a glass of ale,’ he said sternly. ‘It was hot work riding home in this heat.’
‘I am sorry,’ she said briefly. She poured him the ale and bit her tongue while he settled himself in his own chair and took a long draught.
‘That’s better,’ he said. ‘Is dinner ready?’
‘Of course,’ she said respectfully. ‘We were just awaiting your return.’
She made herself stand in silence until he took another swig of ale and then turned and looked at her.
‘Now then,’ he said. ‘What’s all this?’
‘It’s Lady Dudley,’ she said. ‘Very ill. Sick, and with a pain in her breast.’
‘Better send for a physician,’ he said. ‘Doctor Bayly.’
Mrs Forster nodded. ‘I’ll send someone for him at once.’
He rose from his seat. ‘I’ll wash my hands before dinner.’ He paused. ‘Is she fit to see me? Will she come down for dinner?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘I think not.’
He nodded. ‘This is very inconvenient, wife,’ he said. ‘To have her in our house at all is to share in her disgrace. She cannot enjoy a long illness here.’
‘I don’t think she’s enjoying anything,’ she said acidly.
‘I daresay not,’ he said with brief sympathy. ‘But she cannot stay here for longer than the appointed time, sick or not.’
‘Has his lordship forbidden you to offer hospitality to her?’
Mr Forster shook his head. ‘He doesn’t have to,’ he said. ‘You don’t have to get wet to learn it’s raining. I know which way the wind is blowing, and it’s not me that will catch cold.’
‘I’ll send for the doctor,’ his wife said. ‘Perhaps he will say it was just riding in the heat that made her sick.’
The Cumnor stable lad made good time and reached Oxford as Dr Bayly, the queen’s Professor of Physic at Oxford, was sitting down to his dinner. ‘I can come at once,’ he said, rising to his feet and reaching for his hat and his cape. ‘Who is ill at Cumnor Place? Not Mr Forster, I trust?’
‘No,’ the lad said, proffering his letter. ‘A visitor, just arrived from Abingdon. Lady Dudley.’
The doctor froze, hat halfway to his head, his cape, arrested in mid-swing, flapping to fall at one shoulder like a broken wing. ‘Lady Dudley,’ he repeated. ‘Wife of Sir Robert Dudley?’
‘The same,’ said the lad.
‘Sir Robert that is the queen’s Master of Horse?’
‘The queen’s Master of Horse is what they call him,’ repeated the lad with a broad wink, since he had heard the rumours as well as everyone else.
Dr Bayly slowly put his hat back down on the wooden settle. ‘I think I cannot come,’ he said. He swung his cape from his shoulder and draped it on the high back of the bench. ‘I think I dare not come, indeed.’
‘It’s not said to be the plague, nor the sweat, sir,’ the boy said. ‘She’s the only one sick in the house, and there’s no plague in Abingdon that I’ve heard of.’
‘No, lad, no,’ the doctor said thoughtfully. ‘There are things more dangerous than the plague. I don’t think I should be engaged.’
‘She’s said to be in pain,’ the lad went on. ‘One of the housemaids said she was crying, heard her through the door. Said she heard her ask God to release her.’
‘I dare not,’ the doctor told him frankly. ‘I dare not see her. I could not prescribe physic for her, even if I knew what was wrong with her.’
‘Why not? If the lady is ill?’
‘Because if she dies they will think she has been poisoned and they will accuse me of doing it,’ the physician said flatly. ‘And if, in her despair, she has taken a poison already and it is working its way through her body, then they will blame the physic that I give her. If she dies I will get the blame and perhaps have to face trial for her murder. And if someone has poisoned her already, or someone is glad to know that she is sick, then t
hey will not thank me for saving her.’
The lad gaped. ‘I was sent to fetch you to help her. What am I to tell Mrs Forster?’
The doctor dropped his hand on the lad’s shoulder. ‘Tell them that it was more than my licence is worth to meddle in such a case,’ he said. ‘It may be that she is taking physic already and that it has been prescribed to her by a greater man than I.’
The lad scowled, trying to comprehend the physician’s meaning. ‘I don’t understand,’ he said.
‘I mean that if her husband is trying to poison her then I don’t dare to meddle,’ the doctor said bluntly. ‘And if she is sick unto death then I doubt that he would thank me for saving her.’
Elizabeth was in Robert’s arms, he was covering her face, her shoulders with kisses, licking her neck, overwhelming her as she laughed and pushed him away and pulled him back all at the same time.
‘Hush, hush, someone will hear,’ she said.
‘It is you making all the noise with your screaming.’
‘I’m as quiet as a mouse. I’m not screaming,’ she protested.
‘Not yet, but you will be,’ he promised, making her laugh again and clap a hand over her mouth.
‘You are mad!’
‘I am mad with love,’ he agreed. ‘And I like winning. D’you know how much I took off de Quadra?’
‘You were betting with the Spanish ambassador?’
‘Only on a certainty.’
‘How much?’
‘Five hundred crowns,’ he exulted. ‘And d’you know what I said?’
‘What?’
‘I said he could pay me in Spanish gold.’
She tried to laugh but he saw at once the snap of anxiety in her eyes. ‘Ah, Elizabeth, don’t spoil this, the Spanish ambassador is easy enough to manage. I understand him, he understands me. It was a jest only, he laughed and so did I. I can manage affairs of state, God knows, I was born and bred to them.’
Philippa Gregory 3-Book Tudor Collection 2 Page 98
