The Tudor Heritage

by The Tudor Heritage (retail) (epub)

  “Why do girls always have to marry?” she asked herself. In comparison boys could virtually please themselves. It was most unfair. How could she leave her family, this house and everything that was dear to her to live with a stranger? She had met James Stangate once a couple of years ago, for the Stangates were distant relations on her mother’s side, but she could not recall what he looked like.

  In her heart she knew that her mother was right for she could not remain a maid forever and in the end she would have to go. She was cold and stiff as she climbed down from her perch, chafing her cold arms with her hands. Beyond the orchard lay the river and on the opposite bank she could see the Tower, its outlines blurred by the gathering dusk of the late afternoon. She stood staring out across the grey waters. The Queen, too, was being urged to marry, she had heard her father say.

  “If they can make a Queen wed against her will what chance have I?” she thought bitterly.

  As she turned towards the house a rebellious spirit rose in her. “I won’t do it!"she muttered. “I won’t!” Strengthened by a firm conviction that something would occur to put off the evil day, she straightened her small shoulders purposefully and walked back to the house.

  Two

  In the ancient castle at Windsor another young woman was in the same determined frame of mind.

  She was twenty-six years old; tall and slim with hair the colour of burnished copper. The deep blue velvet of her gown deepened her eyes to the colour of the midnight sky. Her neck rising from the white, gauze partlet was long and graceful and her hands—upon which she wore a King’s ransom in rings—were exquisitely beautiful. But the graceful, elegant form hid a subtle mind and a razor sharp perception; rigid self-discipline and a will of iron. Elizabeth Tudor stared angrily through the window of her chamber, her thoughts occupied with the forthcoming meeting of the Privy Council. Aware that her Peers intended to press the matter of her marriage yet again.

  “Will the fools never comprehend that I mean what I say? God in Heaven! I have told them often enough!” she thought, “I will share my throne with no man.” Even before she had succeeded to the throne of England she had stated that fact and had stubbornly refused all the suitors that had been put forward for she had seen too many examples of the shameful treatment of women by their husbands. She thought of her mother, sacrificed to her father’s obsession for a son. She intended to prove that she would be a far better ruler of her people than either her father or brother had been.

  She knew that her ministers considered her totally unfit to govern alone, by virtue of the fact that she was a woman, but she intended to show them otherwise.

  She gave a scornful laugh as she recalled her proposed suitors. King Philip of Spain—that spider of the Escurial. That great oaf from Sweden or the Archduke Charles. The Duke of Holstein or one of the sickly sons of Catherine de Medici.

  “A fine collection,” she thought sceptically.

  There were a few of her own subjects who aspired to her hand and she could well imagine the animosity and envy that would ensue were she to choose one of them.

  There was one she would choose—if she were to marry at all—but he was not for her for he already had a wife, although that fact could not stop her loving him. The resentful expression disappeared and her eyes softened. She sighed wistfully, turning away from the window. How different things could have been had Robert Dudley not married Amy Robsart. She had even attended that wedding, she thought ironically, little knowing that one day she, too, would love the bridegroom. Her thoughts were interrupted by Kat Ashley, the governess and companion of her youth and now Chief Lady of the Bedchamber.

  “Your Majesty, it is time to change your gown for supper,” she said respectfully.

  Elizabeth smiled. “I suppose so.”

  Kat commenced unbuttoning and unlacing the gown she wore. A French gown of black velvet, the guard embroidered with gold and silver thread and lined with crimson sarcenet and petticoats of cloth of silver had been selected and she stood silently while her women dressed her. Finally she sat while Kat placed a black velvet hood edged with pearls and heavy with goldsmith’s work upon her head and a necklace of rubies and diamonds set in gold around her slender throat. Elizabeth arose, her toilet completed, and Kat looked affectionately at her for the girl had grown into a radiant young woman.

  Picking up a black silk fan—a new fad of fashion—she walked out into the Presence Chamber where waited about a dozen courtiers. Elizabeth’s gaze swept over them eagerly seeking one man. He was there and at the sight of him elation swept over her for Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester and Her Majesty’s Master of Horse was a very handsome man, being tall, dark, elegant and athletic. His eyes danced as he moved towards her and he swept an exaggerated bow.

  “Your Majesty honours this humble gathering with your presence.”

  She laughed. He was a born courtier. “If I were old and ugly, Robin, and but the daughter of a Knight, would it be so?”

  “A goddess does not grow old and ugly.”

  She rapped him playfully on the arm with her fan. “Then you may have the pleasure of escorting the fountain of eternal youth to supper,” she conceded, taking his proffered arm.

  They strolled slowly along the passageway towards the Hall, affectionately engaged in lighthearted conversation, the other members of her retinue following at a respectable distance and there were many looks of undisguised contempt, hatred and jealousy directed at the gorgeously apparelled back of the favourite for Robert Dudley was far from popular. Many recalled that he was the son and grandson of convicted traitors and even to the most casual eye it was clear that the Queen held more than just affection for him. Certain rumours were in circulation concerning his wife. It was being whispered that the neglected girl was slowly dying of a cancer at Cumnor Place, although frequently the word ‘poison’ was substituted for cancer.

  Throughout the meal the Queen and Lord Robert were the centre of attention as they laughed and chatted and there were some uneasy and scandalised glances exchanged when Her Majesty was observed at one stage to ruffle Lord Robert’s dark hair.

  When supper was over and the music and dancing had finished Elizabeth rose and indicated to the Earl to follow her and they left under the malevolent gaze of their companions.

  At the door of her ante-chamber she stopped and dismissed her women, who left looking extremely uneasy.

  “You may enter, Robin. I wish to speak with you.”

  He looked startled but as he followed her there was a gleam of triumph in his eyes.

  Inside the chamber the curtains had been drawn and a fire lit with the new sea coal which was brought by ship around the coast from Newcastle at great expense. Kat Ashley was awaiting her mistress' return and smiled upon seeing her but the smile froze upon her lips as she caught sight of the man who followed.

  Seeing the expression on Kat’s face Elizabeth tried to reassure her but to her consternation Kat begged a private audience, stating that the matter was of the utmost urgency and could on no account wait. Somewhat startled, Elizabeth agreed and after making her apologies to the Earl she led Kat to her bedchamber—leaving Robert Dudley to cool his heels for a short time.

  “What in God’s name is the matter, Kat?”

  Kat closed the door firmly behind her and to Elizabeth’s astonishment fell to her knees and caught the Queen’s hands.

  “For God’s sake marry and put an end to disreputable rumours!”

  Elizabeth’s expression hardened.

  “Bess, Bess, I have loved you ever since you were a child and I know that you trust me,” Kat begged, “I am thinking solely of you. Elizabeth, listen to me, for your affection for Dudley threatens to sully your honour and rouse discontent in your subjects. For the Love of God have done with him!”

  Elizabeth looked down at her, disturbed by the intensity of Kat’s pleading. She trusted Kat as she did no other person and she would never forget that it had been Kat who had loved and comforted her through the diffic
ult and dangerous days of her childhood and youth.

  “Get up, Kat. Do you think I am such a fool that I don’t know what is being whispered?”

  Kat rose and Elizabeth smiled at her.

  “I know that you have my happiness at heart, you meddlesome old woman.”

  At that affectionate term of abuse Kat resumed her dignity. “There are still the rumours.”

  “There will always be rumours and you, Kat Ashley, will always be a gossip.”

  Kat tutted but followed her mistress back into the ante-chamber and after curtseying to her Queen she left without bestowing a glance upon the other occupant of the room who was left wondering what all the fuss was about for Elizabeth certainly had no intention of enlightening him, but brushed aside his questions with a wave of her hand and the brief reply “women’s affairs”.

  She seated herself in a chair close to the fire and motioned him to sit beside her. He sat upon the rug at her feet and waited for her no speak. Hesitantly she put out her hand and gently touched the dark head at her knee.

  “Robin, you are aware that tomorrow the question of the accursed marriage is to be raised again?”

  He nodded, gazing moodily into the fire. If he had not been encumbered with Amy he might well have been King of England ere now.

  “I will not marry,” she stated firmly.

  He turned and looked up at her. “But you must marry someone. It is your duty and the people expect an heir,” he replied half-heartedly.

  The deep blue eyes reproached him. “I would marry without love, if I deemed myself unfit to rule, but I do not. There is another reason…” She left her sentence unfinished, leaving the words “for I love you” unsaid.

  He took her hand and kissed it. Her heart missed a beat and she began to doubt the wisdom of seeing him here alone.

  “Elizabeth,” he pleaded “you are my life, were it possible…”

  She withdrew her hand. “But it is not possible Robin, what of Amy?”

  At the mention of Amy a fierce tide of frustration and resentment surged through him. Why had he let himself be married at eighteen to that simpering fool? In his desperation he sprang to his feet, drawing the startled Queen to him, both her hands held tightly in his own. “Bess, I love you,” he muttered fiercely and without warning crushed her to him covering her face and neck with kisses. The fierceness of his ardour caught her unawares and before she could stop herself she was clinging to him, returning kiss for kiss.

  “You are mine!” he whispered.

  She clung to him, her head swimming and lips burning.

  “You were born to be loved, Bess. You are your father’s daughter.”

  With those words Robert Dudley made a fatal mistake for through the golden haze that filled her mind came a memory. The crown of St. Edward encircled her head and in her hands she held the orb and sceptre. The colours and sounds of the great Abbey of Westminster filled her mind and the cries of “Vivat Elizabetta!” filled her ears.

  She tore herself from his arms, breathless and flushed.

  “No! No!” she cried, backing away from him.

  He shot out one hand and caught her wrist. “Why?” he asked fiercely.

  “You yourself have given me the reason. I am my father's daughter. I am Queen of England. It cannot be!”

  Still he persisted but she was in control of herself once more for she would never make the same mistake twice.

  “I love you! I know, too, that despite yourself you love me,” he flung at her, growing angry.

  At the first sign of his anger she grew cool and turned away from him. “I think you had best leave.”

  Throwing all caution to the wind he caught her roughly by the shoulders and turned her towards him. “No!” he shouted, beside himself with disappointment, “I will not go from here until you have denied that you love me!”

  Slowly and deliberately she disentangled herself from his grasp, her blue eyes as hard as the sapphires they so closely resembled.

  “You will leave, my Lord, there is but one Mistress here and no Master!”

  In fury he flung from her presence, pushing aside an indignant Kat Ashley who had been eavesdropping. Kat glared at him and entered to find her mistress sitting dejectedly in a chair, weeping softly.

  Kat’s face softened. This was no longer her Sovereign but the young Bess she loved and had watched over and for whom she would give her life. “Has he hurt you?”

  Elizabeth looked up and shook her head. “No, Kat, 'tis I who have hurt him.”

  Kat looked into the blue eyes brimming with tears and wondered why Elizabeth should choose to love him of all people, for love him she certainly did. In Kat’s opinion he was vain, greedy and unscrupulous, coming as he did from upstart, grasping stock.

  “Please leave me, Kat. I will not retire just yet. You may send the women away and I will call you later.”

  Kat nodded, knowing from experience when not to argue.

  She opened the door to find William Cecil about to seek an audience.

  “Her Majesty is tired and wishes to rest,” she forestalled him.

  “Mistress Ashley, I beg you inform Her Majesty that this matter is most important. It will not wait.”

  Kat looked uncertain.

  “I will see you,” Elizabeth announced, quietly appearing in the doorway behind Kat. “You may go, Kat.” She walked slowly back into the room followed by her minister. “Well, what is this most urgent matter that will not keep?”

  “Your Majesty, I wished to bring this news myself before another could inform you.”

  “What news, sir?”

  He hesitated. “Your Majesty, I am afraid that I am the bearer of evil tidings for this afternoon Amy Dudley was found at the bottom of the stairs at Cumnor Place with her neck broken!”

  The colour drained from Elizabeth’s face and her eyes dilated in horror. As the full impact of his words became clear she sat down suddenly.

  “Madam, you are faint?”

  “No, no. How, William, how?” she begged.

  Cecil shook his head. “That we do not know. Apparently she had insisted that the whole household attend the fair at Abingdon and this happened whilst she was alone. Her servants found her on their return.”

  She sat silent and immobile, staring beyond him, her mind shocked and numbed.

  Hesitantly he said “Your Majesty realises the… er… implications. The scandal…” his voice failed.

  Her mind cleared a little. “Yes, yes. Inform the Earl of Leicester to remove himself at once and see that an enquiry is set in motion,” she commanded woodenly.

  “It shall be done, madam.”

  “You may retire,” she whispered and Cecil quietly withdrew.

  As the door closed behind him she covered her face with her hands, her mind and emotions in turmoil. Amy Robsart was dead! A terrible statement forced its way into her mind.

  Amy Robsart was murdered!

  “No! No!” she frantically told herself. “Robin would never—but would he?” The stakes were high enough. A Crown no less! No! She would not let herself believe it.

  Distractedly she picked up an object from the chest beside her. It was a mirror and as she caught sight of her reflection her conscience jibed at her viciously. “How much blame lies with you for you did not discourage him? What part did you play in Amy’s death?” In terror she flung the mirror away from her and it crashed against the wall, shattering into tiny fragments. She shook uncontrollably and the tears streamed unheeded down her face.

  “Murderess!” her conscience screamed at her. She stumbled blindly towards the door but almost tripped over a footstool and sank down upon it, her breath coming in sharp gasps. After a little while she tried to pull herself together. It was unthinkable: Robin had been here with her all day but others would be quick to think the worst. She had heard the rumour that Amy was seriously ill. Perhaps, unable to bear any more suffering, she had taken her own life. She had insisted that everyone should go to the fair; it was obvi
ous from her actions that she wished to be alone. Still the doubts persisted.

  She sank to her knees and leaned her head against a chair.

  “Robin, Robin,” she whispered. This was the end for them both. She could never marry him now for if she did she knew it would cost her her crown and that crown had been too dearly bought to be lost for the love of a man. Her love was lost to her forever. He had been right when he said that she loved him. She would love him to the end of her days but she would never marry him.

  The crown that had glittered before her eyes from girlhood weighed as heavy as lead now upon her auburn head. Suddenly she threw back her head and laughed but in that laughter was the echo of the wild, despairing laughter of Anne Boleyn.

  “Vivat Elizabetta!” she cried aloud but the words ended in choking sobs as she clung to the arm of the chair, weeping as though her heart would break.

  * * *

  Next morning she stood pale and silent as her women dressed her. Over the steel corset covered with velvet and tightly laced and the canvas and whalebone farthingale they placed petticoats of lawn and lace. Over these went the gown of white satin seeded with pearls, the sleeves tight and slashed with green satin ending in a delicate, white, wrist ruff. A small neck ruff of stiffened lace was placed about her neck. She stood as still and as white as a marble statue and Kat’s face was a picture of anxiety as she placed the sleeveless, green velvet surcoat over the gown. Kat adjusted the padded, roll wings on the shoulders and fastened it at the neck with a large brooch of emeralds and diamonds and quietly requested her mistress to be seated while a small jewelled cap was placed upon her head. Kat longed to ask “Bess, what is troubling thee?” Instead she watched as Elizabeth walked to the door to preside over the meeting of her Privy Council.

  Most of the members of the Council had arrived and were standing in small groups discussing the conspicuous absence of the Earl of Leicester and the news which had so recently arrived from Cumnor Place.