The Queen's Favourite

by Laura Dowers

  ‘But I know my sister, Mary, would be pleased to serve you, Bes -,’ Robert corrected himself, ‘Your Majesty.’

  ‘Mary! Of course,’ Elizabeth said delightedly. ‘Send to Lady Sidney, Cecil. She can be one of my Ladies.’

  Cecil made a note, gesturing towards the paperwork on his desk. Elizabeth understood.

  ‘You must go now, Robin. I have so many other people to see.’ She held out her hand once more for him to kiss.

  She saw the disappointment in his face. He had hoped for more from her, more warmth perhaps, maybe an invitation to remain. But she wasn’t a princess any longer. She was a queen and her duty must come first.

  He took her hand, his fingers warming hers. ‘I hope to see you later, Your Majesty.’

  ‘Yes,’ she answered, neither promising nor denying.

  9

  The Tower, London, November the 23rd 1558

  Robert pushed open the heavy oak door to the chapel. It creaked on its hinges. He stepped inside, his footsteps echoing around the vaulted chamber. Passing the rows of wooden pews, he came to the altar. Flat stones served as grave markers for the executed, their names carved into the stone; Anne Boleyn, Catherine Howard, Edward Seymour, Jane Grey. Robert knelt and ran his fingers along the grooves of the last two names; John Dudley, Guildford Dudley.

  ‘Robin?’

  He started. ‘Your Majesty. I didn’t hear you come in.’

  ‘Stay still,’ Elizabeth said, walking swiftly towards him. She looked down at the gravestones, then across to him. ‘You’ve been crying.’

  ‘Have I?’ He wiped his hand across his cheeks and was surprised to find them wet. ‘So I have. You’re unattended, madam.’

  ‘My ladies are just outside. I saw you come in. Do you mind my being here?’

  ‘Why should I mind?’

  ‘I thought you might want to be alone.’

  He gestured towards his face. ‘Look what being alone does to me.’

  She knelt down next to him and stroked his cheek. ‘Poor Robin.’ She nodded towards the stones. ‘I wonder if they can see us now.’

  He sniffed. ‘They can.’

  ‘You sound very sure.’

  ‘I am sure.’

  ‘My mother would be pleased, I think.’ She smiled sadly. ‘Would your father be pleased to see me on the throne?’

  Robert stiffened. ‘He would have served you, Bess, as he would any king or queen. I know what everyone thinks of my father. God knows they make no attempt to hide their opinions from me. But it was your brother who thought of changing the succession to Jane and Father was doing his duty by him. I don’t deny there were certain advantages to our family in the change, but Father never would have thought of it himself. And when it came to it, he was reluctant to carry it out at all.’

  ‘But you understand that people have a difficult time believing that, Robin?’

  ‘Because they didn’t know him, as I knew him. And Edward was right, Bess. Look what a state Mary brought this country to.’

  ‘I know. When I think of those poor souls she sent to the flames in the name of her religion. Archbishop Cranmer –,’ she shook her head. ‘But I will change it, Rob, I promise you. And you will help me, won’t you?’

  ‘I give my life to you. It’s yours to do with as you please.’

  ‘And if I please to have you near me, always?’

  ‘Then that is what I will do.’

  ‘Your wife may not like that.’

  ‘My wife can go to the Devil.’

  She laughed, pleased. ‘Oh, come Rob, let us leave here. We’ve paid our respects to the dead. Besides, Cecil will send a search party to find me if I’m away much longer.’ Robert made a face. ‘Oh, I know what you think of him,’ she said, as he helped her to her feet.

  ‘With reason.’

  ‘With nothing more than suspicion. But he is as dear to me as you and you will have to find a way of working with him.’

  ‘Oh, I can work with the man, as long as you don’t expect me to like him.’

  ‘No, I won’t expect that.’ She squeezed his hand. ‘And I must ask of you a favour. I want you to meet with John Dee. I know he’s a friend of yours. I want him to divine the best day for my coronation. It must be propitious. I can’t send Cecil on such an errand, he would disapprove greatly.’

  ‘Leave it to me,’ Robert said. ‘I’ll write to him at once.’

  10

  Whitehall Palace, London, January 1559

  The black crows were moulting and their fallen feathers were crunched underfoot as their owners half-skipped, half-danced to the edge of the stage. Their scarlet red robes flounced higher and crucifixes bounced against their chests to the sound of laughter.

  Elizabeth, her chin upon her hand, glanced sideways at her Secretary. ‘What’s wrong, Cecil. Does it not amuse you?’

  Cecil smiled politely. ‘Yes, Your Majesty.’

  ‘Now, don’t pay me lip service. What is it you object to?’

  Cecil cleared his throat. ‘I applaud the anti-Catholic sentiment behind this entertainment, madam. But I question the wisdom in performing it, especially in front of the Imperial Ambassador.’

  They both looked towards King Philip’s envoy, who looked anything but amused.

  ‘Lord Robert devised it,’ Elizabeth said carelessly.

  ‘Ah,’ Cecil nodded, as if that explained everything.

  Elizabeth laughed. ‘Oh, Cecil, we shall have to forgive him his daring. I like a man to be daring.’

  ‘Daring, indeed, madam! But when daring becomes foolish or even reckless ...’

  The smile dropped from Elizabeth’s face. ‘I won’t allow him to be reckless or foolish. I am his mistress, not he my master.’

  Cecil looked her straight in the eye. ‘I am very glad to hear it, madam.’

  Elizabeth sank back in her chair, frowning as she looked about her. ‘Where the devil is he, Cecil? I can’t see him.’

  ‘Who, Your Majesty?’

  ‘Lord Robert.’

  Cecil scanned the room. ‘I can’t see him either, madam.’

  At that moment, Thomas Howard, Duke of Norfolk, walked past. ‘Your Grace,’ Elizabeth clicked her fingers at him.

  Norfolk halted, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. ‘Yes, Your Majesty?’

  ‘Norfolk, kindly go and find my Master of the Horse. Remind him his place is by me.’

  Norfolk’s jaw clenched. Good God, did this woman think he was no better than a servant? He was a Duke, the highest noble in the land and here was the bastard brat of a notorious whore sending him to find her stable-boy. His reply was curt. ‘Yes, Your Majesty.’

  Cecil lowered his eyes as Norfolk passed on, embarrassed for him but Elizabeth seemed oblivious to the insult she had just given. He would have to find a gentle way of reminding her of the Duke’s nobility.

  The door to Robert’s apartments were open. Norfolk strode inside.

  Robert was standing at his desk, his shirt open at the neck, a smudge of ink scarring his nose. He was so engrossed in his work that he had not heard Norfolk come in.

  ‘Dudley.’

  Robert’s head jerked up. ‘Your Grace?’ he made a bow, wondering what on earth Norfolk could want.

  Norfolk moved to the desk. ‘What is this?’ he asked, gesturing at the paperwork.

  ‘The route for the coronation.’

  ‘Proving difficult?’ Norfolk sounded as if the prospect pleased him.

  ‘No,’ Robert said defensively, ‘but there is such a lot to do. And...,’ he looked almost embarrassed, ‘I want it to be perfect.’

  ‘Perfect?’ Norfolk laughed. ‘I hear she had a necromancer decide the date for the Coronation.’

  ‘John Dee is not a necromancer, Your Grace. He is a scholar.’

  ‘A scholar,’ Norfolk looked disgusted. ‘I tell you, it won’t happen at all if my cousin can’t find someone to crown her.’

  Robert knew that many of the bishops, Catholics left over from her sister’s reign, h
ad refused outright to perform a coronation on a woman they believed to be doubly cursed, once as a bastard and second as a heretic. ‘She’ll find a bishop to do it.’

  ‘She has less than two weeks. All this,’ Norfolk gestured at the paperwork, ‘may be for nothing.’

  ‘She will find someone.’

  Norfolk sniffed, bored. ‘I hope you’ve put me in my rightful place in the procession.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘The first in line?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good. And make sure my horse has been purged by nine in the morning. I won’t have it shitting all the way to the Abbey.’

  Robert sighed in annoyance. ‘I do know what I’m doing.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose you can be trusted with the horses, at least, though why my cousin gave you such a high position eludes me. She may have forgotten your recent history, but rest assured, I haven’t. Once a traitor, always a traitor in my opinion. She wants you, by the way.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘I’m damned if I know. Perhaps her Fool has let her down and she needs someone to make her laugh.’ He slouched out of the room, laughing at his own joke.

  Had he been ten years younger, Robert would have struck the Duke to the floor, despite his nobility and to hell with the consequences. But if his sojourn in the Tower had taught him anything, it was his place in the world. He was newly-risen, and he would do nothing to jeopardise that. He shrugged on his doublet and closed the door behind him.

  11

  Palace of Westminster, London, January the 15th 1559

  Mary Sidney lifted the pearl-encrusted headband from Elizabeth’s head, sensing her mistress’s relief at its removal. ‘Are you unwell, Your Majesty?’

  Elizabeth rubbed at her temples, squeezing her eyes shut. ‘Oh, Mary, my head feels like it is splitting in two. You wouldn’t believe how heavy the crown and the ceremonial robes were.’

  ‘And it’s been such a long day,’ Kat Ashley said, warming a nightgown before the fire. ‘You must be tired, my sweet.’

  ‘I am, Kat. Hurry with my... why, Robin!’

  ‘Your Majesty,’ Robert said, entering with Cecil close behind, ‘I come to bid you goodnight, whilst Cecil comes with yet more paperwork for you.’

  ‘The business of government is never at an end, Lord Robert,’ Cecil replied tersely. ‘Your Majesty, I have documents which require your signature.’

  Elizabeth barely looked at him; her eyes were fixed on Robert. ‘I think John Dee must be losing his powers, or else you passed on the wrong information, Lord Robert, for I tell you, today has not been at all propitious.’

  Robert frowned. ‘Pardon me, madam, but I had thought the day went very well.’

  ‘Maybe it did for you, but you have not had to endure what I have this day. The oil Bishop Oglethorpe anointed me with was rancid. I’ve had it plastered all over my body, and I have a terrible headache. It has been a very long day, Robin.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear you are not well, madam.’

  Elizabeth grunted and sat down at her dressing table, signalling for Mary to brush her hair.

  ‘Even more reason for you to get some rest,’ Robert continued. ‘Cecil, the paperwork can wait.’

  Cecil bristled. ‘It is for the queen to dismiss me, my lord. I go at none other’s say so.’

  Robert rolled his eyes. ‘Here,’ he said, snatching up the nightgown and holding it out.

  Elizabeth’s lips twisted into a reluctant smirk. ‘You really are too impertinent, Robin. Do you think I will undress before you?’

  ‘I can but hope.’

  She laughed out loud, her humour restored. ‘Give it back to Kat, you monster and be gone. Both of you go. I am very tired, and government will wait until tomorrow, Cecil.’

  Cecil hid his annoyance poorly, bidding Elizabeth goodnight with an audible sigh. Once in the corridor, he turned to Robert. ‘I must confess your sense of humour escapes me, Lord Robert.’

  Robert frowned at him. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘To talk with a Queen about her state of undress, or make insinuations of a, shall we say, familiar nature, is most improper.’

  ‘Oh, nonsense,’ Robert started off down the corridor, his long legs taking such lengthy strides that Cecil had to hurry to keep up. ‘I was only joking.’

  ‘Yes, I understand. But you must see how I could be mistaken in thinking you were in earnest?’

  Robert came to a sudden stop. ‘I don’t care what you think. Elizabeth knew I didn’t mean it.’

  ‘You two are of a similar age, of course,’ Cecil said. ‘You understand the queen better than I. But I would advise you to be careful, my lord.’

  ‘For God’s sake, careful of what?’

  ‘Lord Robert, you are a married man, whose wife is, you’ll forgive me, conveniently in the country. And the queen is an unmarried young woman who cannot afford gossip to ruin any future marriage prospects.’

  ‘I would do nothing to endanger the queen’s reputation.’

  Cecil looked into his dark eyes. ‘I trust you will not, my lord. Goodnight.’

  12

  Syderstone Hall, Norfolk, March 1559

  ‘Robert,’ Amy screamed with joy and rushed towards him.

  I mustn’t be impatient with her, he reminded himself, as he slid down his horse’s flank. She hasn’t seen me for months, it’s only natural she’s excited.

  Amy threw herself against him, nearly knocking him over. ‘Oh, why have you stayed away so long, Robert?’

  He gently pushed her away. ‘I have duties at Court now, Amy. I’m not free to come and go as I please.’

  She stared up into his face. ‘Are you tired? Are you working too hard?’

  ‘Nothing of the sort. I’m very well. Now, tell me, how does my little wife fare?’

  They walked into the house. Robert strode to the fire to warm his cold hands. She clung to his arm. ‘To tell truth, my love, I am not very well. I have a pain, here.’ She pointed to her left breast. ‘And there is a lump.’

  He frowned. ‘Have you seen a physician?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why ever not?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. I hoped it would go away, and then, when it didn’t, I grew frightened and now, I don’t want to think about it.’

  ‘Amy, you can’t just ignore-’

  ‘Oh, please don’t be angry with me. Now that you’re home, I’m sure I will feel better.’

  Robert hesitated. Best to tell her now, he decided. ‘Amy, I’m not home to stay.’

  ‘What?’ she said sharply.

  ‘I have to leave no later than Saturday.’

  ‘But that’s only three days away.’

  ‘I am Master of the Queen’s Horse, Amy.’

  ‘Well, then, I shall return to London with you.’

  Robert shook his head. ‘I can’t take you with me. The queen doesn’t care for wives at Court.’

  ‘But your sister’s at Court. Is she not a wife?’

  ‘Mary’s a Lady of the Bedchamber, that’s an entirely different thing. Even Cecil’s wife has to stay at home.’

  ‘But –’

  ‘And I’ll wager she doesn’t complain to her husband for it, but accepts that it must be so.’

  ‘Well, isn’t Mistress Cecil a marvel then!’ Amy retorted scornfully.

  ‘Amy!’

  ‘I think you don’t want me at Court, that’s what I think,’ Amy said, her face screwing up in anger. ‘You don’t want me there, so you can whore with your women.’

  ‘My women?’ Robert laughed. ‘I don’t have any women. Good God, Amy, you’re enough for any man.’

  ‘Well, I see I must vex you very much, husband. Why you even bother to come home, I can’t imagine.’ She sat down and stared out of the window.

  ‘I will send for the doctor to examine you,’ Robert said quietly. ‘Illness mustn’t be ignored, Amy.’

  ‘If you want,’ she sniffed. ‘Maybe you’re hoping he’ll tell you I haven�
�t long to live. Then you’ll be happy.’

  He stepped up behind her and placed a kiss upon her flushed neck. ‘You mustn’t say such things, Amy. You know that isn’t true.’ She remained silent. ‘Could you arrange for dinner for me? It’s been a long, cold ride from London, you know.’

  ‘Dinner will be brought shortly,’ she replied curtly. ‘You had best go and change your clothes. You stink of horses.’

  Only as he walked away from her, did she trust herself to look at him. She hadn’t meant to be so shrewish with him. She had wanted him to be pleased to be home. He would leave the sooner now, she knew it, eager to be away from her and her complaints. Oh, why had she not held her tongue? She could have worked upon him when they were in bed. He wouldn’t have refused her anything then. The thought of their lovemaking reminded her of her earlier accusation. She didn’t believe him when he said there were no other women. She had seen, too often, the wives of their neighbours making eyes at him and she had been proud that they should covet her husband. But then he had been at home, where he could not have disguised any infidelity. But at court he was free to do as he pleased, and she didn’t doubt that he did.

  A servant brought in a platter of beef and set it on the table. ‘Oh, forgive me, my lady, I was told the master had returned. Shall I take this away?’

  ‘Your master is but changing his clothes, Richard. He will be down for his dinner directly. And oh, he wants the doctor sent for.’

  ‘Is he unwell, my lady?’

  ‘The doctor’s for me,’ she said almost wearily. ‘I don’t think I’m very well.’

  13

  Whitehall Palace, London, March 1559

  Elizabeth was so much easier to work with without Lord Robert Dudley around to distract her. It pleased Cecil to have her all to himself. He passed her another document and watched as she made her elaborate, beautiful signature.

  ‘Next?’ she asked as she passed it back.

  ‘Your Master of the Horse has written, madam. He requests a further three days leave of absence from Court. It seems his wife is unwell and wishes him to remain until she feels better.’