by Brandy Purdy
I shouted for Kat to send Robert in, but she told me he had gone, in pursuit of his wife no doubt. I left orders for him to come to me the moment he returned and commenced pacing back and forth before the fireplace, the crimson petticoat he had given me rustling and swaying with every step, as I awaited him. I would have answers, even if I had to pry them from Robert like a tooth-drawer with his forceps, even if I had to wrestle them out and draw blood; when I was done, the truth would lie naked before me, exposed and vulnerable, without a shadow to hide it.
I was seated at my dressing table, tapping my nails upon the gilded wood, when Lettice boldly knocked.
“Come!” I called, thinking it would be Robert, my spine stiffening as I steeled myself for the coming confrontation. But it was only my cousin, Lettice Knollys, that brazen minx, and my spine eased, and I settled back against the cushions of my chair again and continued drumming my nails.
“I have brought Your Majesty’s hairpins. I retrieved them from the garden,” Lettice said with feigned solicitude; she was as transparent as the finest Venetian glass, and I knew she couldn’t have possibly cared less about my hairpins. If curiosity hadn’t driven her to come, she would have left them where they lay, to be ground into the dirt or ruined by the rain if their sparkle didn’t prompt a thief to pocket them before the weather changed. I could see the greedy, hungry curiosity in her eyes begging to be fed and sated, just as I could tell she was bursting to talk, and I could easily guess what about.
I held my hand out for them before she could bend over to deposit the glittering handful inside the enameled box that sat upon my dressing table for this purpose.
“Don’t bother. I’m not a man, and I’ve no desire to see your paps, girl,” I said in a voice tart and weary.
A moue of anger puckered Lettice’s boldly painted mouth, and she bobbed a swift, straight-backed curtsey and let the pins fall into my cupped palm.
“Shall I brush Your Majesty’s hair?” she asked, lingering behind my chair.
I stared straight ahead, into my looking glass, and fixed her with a firm gaze. “I’m not blind, Lettice, and you’ll never win a fortune at cards; I can see the laughter squirming inside you like a piglet in a sack. Spare us both the pretense, and let it out.”
“Lady Dudley!” she blurted out in a bubble of snickering laughter. “Wasn’t she a sight? What a spectacle! Did you ever see such a pathetic creature in your life? She looked about to burst into tears the whole time; her lips and her chin trembled, and her voice shook. She is as gauche as a peasant in a satin petticoat; she doesn’t know how to act like a great man’s wife! Why, she talked to me as if I were a queen and she a servant, so soft and nervous, as if she were afraid of giving offense! No wonder Lord Robert keeps her hidden away in the country! He has every reason to be ashamed of her! Looking at her, I couldn’t begin to guess why he married her! We all used to marvel that no one knew her—apparently she hasn’t a friend in the world, and now I know why!”
“She has one,” I said softly, thoughtfully, speaking more to myself than to Lettice. “She just doesn’t know it.”
Caught up in the throes of her laughter, Lettice didn’t hear me and had to ask me to repeat myself, but I thought better of it and instead retorted, “And what impressions, I wonder, did you give Lady Dudley about the ladies of my court? That they are all ill-mannered gossips who paint their faces and dress themselves like strumpets and, to bolster their own sense of superiority and pride, though it already be bursting at the seams of their too tightly laced gowns, converge like a gaggle of pecking geese upon anyone who is different, timid, or nervous, and mock, ridicule, disdain, and insult that person? That is certainly what I would have thought if I were Lady Dudley! I am ashamed and appalled that she was given such a rude welcome, though I hesitate to call it that, as it was anything but welcoming, and sent her running away like a frightened rabbit pursued by a pack of snarling, barking hounds!”
Anger flared high in Lettice’s eyes, and she rounded boldly on me, like a she-cat with her claws unsheathed.
“It was not I who sent her running! It was the shock of coming upon her husband and you—”
I picked up my heavy, ornate, gold-backed hairbrush and banged it hard upon the table. “Do not presume that the familiar blood we share gives you leave to dismiss with deference and respect in my presence and say and do whatever you please, Cousin Lettice. Your youth and beauty will not excuse or save you; remember our other cousin, Katherine Howard! Now, get out!”
“Very well, Your Majesty,” Lettice said with frigidly feigned politeness, spreading her skirts wide and bending low in a much exaggerated curtsey, the better to flaunt the bosom that threatened to burst from her vulgar pink bodice, before, with a briefly flashed gloating and superior smile, she left me with her head held as high as if she were herself a queen.
I flung my hairbrush after her and rose to pace again, agitated and swift, back and forth across the floor, while I waited for Robert.
An hour passed, then two, before he came striding, with a broad smile and open arms, across my threshold.
I rose from my chair and went to the middle of my chamber, standing my ground instead of going to meet him, silent and grave instead of smiling and laughing as I usually was when he came to me. When he reached me, I slapped the smile right off his face.
“You have been lying to me all along,” I said.
Robert stared back at me with wide-eyed amazement as he massaged the smarting red handprint I had left on his face.
“You hellcat—you have drawn blood!” he exclaimed as he lowered his hand and regarded the red smears on his fingers. And I saw that indeed my rings had cut him in two places, tiny slits in the sun-bronzed skin from which blood slowly welled and trickled. But I was not about to apologize.
“You have been lying to me all along,” I repeated. “I saw the hurt in her eyes; I saw her heart break... .”
Breathing like an irate bull, Robert rolled his eyes and snorted, “Amy never could curtail her emotions, damn her! She is a disgrace to herself and to me!”
“There is nothing new under the sun or the moon,” I sighed, turning and walking away from him, resuming my pacing. “Philip used to say the same thing of my sister.”
“And he was right, and so am I!” Robert insisted, as he plucked a white silk kerchief from his sleeve and pressed it to his bleeding cheek.
“A queen cannot let her heart control her mind, Robert. It is a constant, enduring, lifelong struggle to not let one’s personal feelings run wild and unchecked, for the destruction and havoc they can unleash, the dire repercussions that can rebound upon oneself and one’s subjects. My sister was, God rest her, living proof of what happens when a queen forgets or ignores this. But Amy is not a queen, Robert—she’s a real woman, free to be herself, and unseemly as some might find such a show of emotion, it is also the truth unmasked and unvarnished, uncloaked by courtly manners and diplomacy.” I sighed and turned from him and began pacing again. “Thrust, parry, deflect—it’s like a duel, isn’t it, Robert? This is not about Amy’s conduct. In truth, she is not at fault. She has every right to be upset and, in the throes of pain, to forget herself and throw the teachings of the etiquette books out the window. You are simply trying to deflect and disown the blame, to assign it to another, to distract from the fact that you lied. You told me the love between you had died, that you had grown apart and gone your separate ways, Amy contentedly to the country, and you to court, and never the twain shall meet. But you are the only one who would have it so; you left her—with what lies and promises, I do not know—but she did not gladly let you go, this I know. I daresay she has done all in her power to bring you back to her. How many letters has she written imploring your return, beseeching you to come visit her? But it is an easy lie for you to sell, and you must no doubt account the circumstances fortuitous—an obedient wife of a timid and docile nature who is kept cloistered in the country, as a guest in the homes of men who are loyal to you, owe you favors, or want you
r patronage, without friends or family to speak up for her, to spread the word that she is being wronged. You have most effectively silenced her and made her invisible, imprisoned her in oblivion. You have fooled and deceived everyone, until today, when I saw the love still alive in Amy’s eyes. Only you have consigned your love to the charnel house.”
“So what if I have?” Robert shrugged. “She’ll be there herself soon enough, and then we need never worry about her again, and never waste another moment talking or thinking of her either!”
“What do you mean?” I demanded.
“I mean she is dying,” Robert answered, striding across the room and putting his hands on my shoulders as he gazed down intently into my eyes. “I’ve only just found out, she has a cancer of the breast. Darling, don’t you see?” He had the temerity to smile at me, as if this were happy news, a good thing! “Now we have only to wait! She can’t last long, and her death will spare me the expense and bother—and the scandal of course—of procuring a divorce. Hallelujah, God is good! Aye, my love.” He would have pulled me close, but I put up my hands to stop him. “God is smiling down on us; this is a sign of His approval. He wants us to be together as man and wife, to fulfill the destiny that was written in the stars for us at the hour of our birth, and He in His infinite wisdom is removing the only obstacle that stands in our path. Soon He shall take Amy home to Him, and she shall bother and vex us no more! This cancer in her breast is God’s judgment visited upon her; it is divine punishment for her refusing to be a reasonable woman and an obedient wife and give me a divorce when I asked her to. God is punishing her for her sins and blessing and rewarding me—and you!” he added as a brightly smiling afterthought.
“You lying whoreson, bastard, traitor, you insensitive brute!” The hellcat inside of me was unleashed, and I struck him again and again, slapping and punching him, kicking, clawing, and pummeling until his back was to the wall and his arms up to shield his face from my nails. “I can’t think of anything bad enough to call you! How dare you smile? How dare you rejoice? I am a woman too, Robert. I have breasts!”
“Beautiful breasts,” Robert affirmed, swiftly raising his arms again as I launched another onslaught of blows.
“How dare you act like this is cause for celebration? How dare you speak for God and say this is His retribution and reward? Get out!” I screamed. “Get out! I am mad enough to kill you with my bare hands!”
“At once, my darling. I can see you are overwhelmed by this news. It is as if the clouds are lined with gold and raining diamonds down upon us!” Robert said as he stepped around me, his smiling bravado marred by wincing groans as I continued to follow him, raining blow after blow, pummeling his back with my fists and kicking at his calves and buttocks. He made for the door that led to the rooms adjoining mine that I had recently awarded him as a sign of my great favor, an action that had both scandalized and titillated my entire court and, in the eyes of the foreign ambassadors, hung a dark cloud of suspicion over my morals. “I have some medicines I want to send to Amy... .”
“Medicine?” I ran around in front of him so I could see his face. “What kind of medicine, Robert?” I demanded.
Robert shrugged. “I’m no doctor, sweet. They’re just medicines to ease the poor woman’s suffering; Tamworth is packing them now, I believe.” He grabbed my wrist and drew me to him. “You have wounded me deeply, Bess. I am not a man without feeling, and you wound me to the depths of my soul by thinking I am, just because I am honest enough to admit that this is good news for us, for our future, and to be pleased about it. But that does not mean I do not care that Amy is being struck down by this horrible disease. How can you credit me with such coldness, such callousness, you who have seen me weep over the death of horses?”
“If you are waiting for me to apologize,” I said coldly, “I would advise you not to hold your breath!” Then I rushed on past him, flinging the door wide with such force that it pulverized the painted plaster acorns carved upon the wall, and I stormed like a whirlwind into his bedchamber.
“Mr. Tamworth!” I called.
Instantly the valet stopped what he was doing and fell to his knees before me.
“Mr. Tamworth.” I drew myself up regally before him, endeavoring to appear calm and in full possession of myself, for it was impossible that he had not overheard my frenzied attack upon his master. “I believe you are preparing some medicines to send to Lady Dudley?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” He gestured to the table, where some glass bottles sat alongside a box and some wads of wool and lengths of cloth he obviously meant to wrap and pad them with. “I have them here.”
I reached out and picked up a bottle filled with a murky green liquid. Boldly, I uncorked it. The stench of it was enough to make my nose want to flee my face, but I kept a firm grip on it and stared Robert straight in the eyes.
“Will this harm her?” I asked, my eyes boring into his, digging for the truth.
“Of course not!” Robert cried. “Elizabeth, how could you possibly think ...” His mouth dropped, gaping open in a wide, slack O, as I put the bottle to my lips, like an open-mouthed kiss against the cold, hard, glass rim. “Elizabeth! No!” He lunged, hurling himself across the room at me, knocking me down flat, and as we fell together onto the floor, to lie disordered and entangled like lovers, the bottle flew from my hand and shattered against the stone hearth.
“Liar!” I hissed, slapping at him, struggling beneath the weight of his body, panting and pale, his brow beaded with a sweat of guilt or fear.
“I swear to you, I am not,” he said, gazing down at me, as he grappled to grasp my wrists and pin them to the floor above my head to restrain me, even as I continued to thrash beneath him. “But I had to stop you. You might have harmed yourself. You are not ill and have no need of such strong medicine, my love. I was afraid it might harm you, to take it thus, direct from the bottle, its strength undiluted, when it is meant to be taken a little at a time and mixed with wine to make it palatable.”
I drove my knee into his groin, and as he rolled away, cradling his privy parts, grimacing and groaning, I struggled to my feet.
I stood with my back to him and took a deep breath to steady myself before I turned around again and stared down at him.
“Hear me now, Robert Dudley.” At the icy strength in my voice he stilled, though his hands still clutched between his legs. “And commit every word I speak to memory. As Amy’s husband you may be in the eyes of most her lord and master, but do not attempt to play God and decide whether she lives or dies. My father killed two of his wives, one of them my mother, the other my cousin, so do not imagine that I will take kindly to a man who does the same. If Amy is to die, then let her die in peace, and let it be by God’s will and in His own time; do not seek to hasten it. And do not think to be King ever; relinquish those mad dreams now before they lead you to do murder. I have always told you the honest and plain truth that I will never marry anyone; I will never marry you! The games I play I play for my own reasons, for England first and my vanity and amusement second, but when I am dead and buried, the stonemasons will carve upon my tombstone: Here lies Elizabeth the Queen, who lived and died a virgin!”
“Elizabeth! I love you!” With pleading eyes Robert rose onto his knees, like a supplicant kneeling before me, and reached out his hands, like one begging the statue of a saint for a miracle. “Please, do not deny our love!”
But I held my ground. I didn’t melt. I didn’t waver or weaken. “I warn you, Robert, if any harm befalls Amy, if she dies by poison or any other foul or unnatural means, you will pay for it like any other murderer upon the gallows or the scaffold. My favor does not place you above the Law or entice Justice to turn a blind eye. You will not hide behind my petticoats. I will not shield you. Remember that.” And I left him, this man who had lied to and betrayed two women who had both loved him, to ponder those words.
I was silent as Kat undressed me, but when I was alone in the darkness behind the closed velvet curtains
of my bed, I let my tears soak my pillow. I had seen the ugliness that hid behind the handsome face of Robert Dudley, the callous granite hardness and the heart of ice that lay beneath the warmth and charm of the smiling façade he presented to the world at large. I had always known he had a ruthless streak, that Ambition was his guiding star, but I had also thought he had a heart. And though I eventually slept, rest and peace were both denied me as in my dreams the ghost of Tom Seymour stood beside me, his arm about my waist, his fingers roving and caressing, and his lips at my ear, singing in a soft, lust-dripping, voice intended just for me, of “Cakes and Ale” as we watched Robert’s radiant and smiling “Buttercup Bride” walk barefoot across the meadow, blind to the warning presence of the sad-eyed, diaphanous white phantoms of Katherine Parr and my sister Mary floating alongside her like reluctant bridesmaids, frantic but powerless to stop her, as she walked toward a future, and a man, she should have been running away from. I also was powerless to stop her. I could only watch in horror as she went smiling with a loving heart and in good faith to embrace her fate—a handsome, hot-blooded youth who married her in rash and raging lust, only to afterward punish and hate and blame her for his mistake when a brighter star rose in the sky, to tantalizingly and mockingly remind him of a destiny he thought should have, and could have, been his if only he weren’t already married. And even as he leapt and grasped for the star, that looked from high above so like a crown, Amy was there, grabbing his ankles, to weigh and pull him back down. Would he shed her innocent blood to free him from this burden that impeded his rise? He was blinded by the halo of bright golden light that surrounded the crown; he could not see that he was reaching and grasping for something he could never have. If he killed her, Amy would die in vain.
In the cold darkness, still hours before dawn’s first light, I sprang from my bed, feeling feverish and hot, desperate to escape from the clinging shroud of sheets that damply entangled my limbs, and the disturbing dreams that held me an unwilling prisoner and denied me rest. I shook back my hair and untangled the sweat-dampened white linen folds of my nightgown from my limbs and began to pace, my body as restless as my mind.
