by Alison Weir
Of all those involved in the power struggle in 1560, Cecil was the one with the strongest motive for wishing Amy Dudley dead. He was a perceptive man, and he could foresee that if she died in suspicious circumstances, as many people expected her to do, then the finger of suspicion would point inexorably to her husband - as indeed it did. Cecil also knew that Elizabeth, who was very conservative at heart, would be unlikely to risk her popularity and her crown to marry a man whose reputation was so tainted.
In September 1560, Cecil had seen Dudley in the ascendant and his own future in ruins; he feared not only for his position, which he had attained only after years of hard work and loyalty to the Tudor dynasty, but also for the future of England and the Anglican Settlement. If the Queen married Dudley it would irrevocably weaken her tenure of the throne, and could even lead to her deposition, or, worse, a bid by foreign powers to replace her with the Catholic Mary Stuart. Cecil had tried to warn Elizabeth that she was plunging headlong into disaster, but she had not listened, and he was afraid for her, afraid that she would marry Dudley and so wreck everything that Cecil had struggled to achieve. It is not, therefore, inconceivable that it was William Cecil who decided upon a course that, although regrettable, would force Elizabeth to stop and think.
Cecil was a realist and a pragmatist. It is possible that, when he heard Dudley and the Queen giving out that Amy was very ill he decided to act quickly; it would be essential for people to believe that she had been murdered. Cecil was not a cruel man, and could have reasoned that, since she was dying of a painful disease, cutting short her sufferings could only be an act of mercy. Having laid his plans, he told de Quadra on the morning of 8 September that it was not true what Elizabeth and Dudley were saying: Amy Dudley was quite well. Then, knowing that his words would echo around Europe, he confided that Dudley was plotting to kill her, thus planting the seeds of suspicion before the deed was done. He begged the Bishop to dissuade Elizabeth from marrying Dudley, but of course, there would be no need for this, and nor did de Quadra get the opportunity.
It would have been easy for Cecil, with the co-operation of an accomplice at Cumnor Place - perhaps Mrs Owen or Mrs Odingsells -to invent a pretext to keep Amy at home on the afternoon of the 8th. Given her perilous state of health, it would have been the work of a moment for a hired assassin to break her neck and then lay her body at the bottom of the stairs. Cecil did not normally resort to violence, but he might have felt that such an act would have been more than justified by its beneficial consequences.
There is, of course, no direct evidence to support such a theory, but the fact remains that Cecil had a compelling motive for doing away with Amy, and was the person who profited most from her death. He himself, being a patriotic man, dedicated to the service of the state, would have said that it was his country and his Queen who had been the chief beneficiaries.
Chapter 6
'Dishonourable and Naughty Reports'
Gossip about Dudley's alleged responsibility for the death of his wife spread rapidly, and in pulpits all over the country, preachers 'harped on it in a manner prejudicial to the honour and service of the Queen'.
Soon, it was the talk of Europe. From Paris on 10 October, Sir Nicholas Throckmorton wrote to Cecil that he had learned of the 'strange death' of Amy Dudley. In fact, the news was already being loudly bruited about the French court, with the most unfavourable conclusions being drawn, and in a private letter to the Marquess of Northampton, Throckmorton confided,
I wish I were either dead or hence, that I might not hear the dishonourable and naughty reports that are made of the Queen, and the great joy among the French princes for the success they take it they are like to have in England - not letting to speak of the Queen and some others, that which every hair on my head stareth and my ears glow to hear. One laugheth at us, another threateneth, another revileth the Queen. Some let not to say, 'What religion is this, that a subject shall kill his wife, and the prince not only bear withal but marry with him?' If these slandrous bruits [rumours] be not slaked, or if they prove true, our reputation is gone forever, war follows, and utter subversion of the Queen and country.
Sir Nicholas said that his heart bled for his mistress, and he prayed that, for the sake of England's security and prestige, and the Queen's own reputation, she would not 'so foully forget herself as to marry Dudley -a prayer echoed by English ambassadors at other courts.
Thomas Randolph wrote from Edinburgh that what he had heard 'so passioneth my heart that no grief I ever felt was like unto it'. By the end of October, weary of the malicious tongues of the French courtiers, Throckmorton thought fit to inform Cecil that it was generally accepted in France that Amy Dudley had been murdered by her husband; Mary Stuart herself had cattily commented, 'So the Queen of England is to marry her horse-keeper, who has killed his wife to make room for her!' Knowing that most people believed Elizabeth to have been an accomplice to murder, Throckmorton stressed 'how much it imports the Queen's honour to have the reports of Amy's death ceased', and warned: 'We begin already to be in derision and hatred for the bruit only, and nothing taken here more assured than our destruction; so, if it take place, God and religion, which be the fundaments, shall be out of estimation, the Queen our Sovereign discredited, condemned and neglected, our country ruined, undone and made prey.'
Similar damning conclusions were drawn elsewhere in Europe. Some people believed that Dudley had already married the Queen in secret. The Protestant princes of Germany were especially horrified, since they had looked to England as an ally and now saw Elizabeth apparently hellbent upon self-destruction.
De Quadra informed Throckmorton, 'The Queen your mistress doth show that she hath honour but for a few in her realm, for no man will advise her to leave her folly.' No one had the courage to tell her that she should renounce Dudley. Although Elizabeth was aware of what was being said about them both, she felt nothing but indignation, which was apparent when Throckmorton sent his secretary, Robert Jones, to ask for advice from the Council as to how to counteract the rumours in France, and hopefully dissuade the Queen from marrying Dudley.
Jones thought Her Majesty looked 'not so heavy and well as she did by a great deal. Surely the matter of my Lord Robert doth much perplex her.' She told Jones that his visit was unnecessary, but he recklessly proceeded to try and convince her of the folly of marrying Dudley, only to have her round on him in a temper and declare, 'I have heard of this before!' When he tried to remind her how Dudley had been involved in Northumberland's conspiracy to set Lady Jane Grey on the throne seven years earlier, Elizabeth just laughed at him. In desperation, he revealed to her what was being said about her and Dudley in France, to which she responded spiritedly, 'The matter has been tried and found to be contrary to that which is reported.' Dudley had been at court when his wife died, and none of his people were present at the 'attempt at his wife's house; and it has fallen out as should neither touch my lord's honesty nor my honour'.
Elizabeth's reference to 'the attempt' has been seen as evidence that she did not accept the verdict of accidental death, or, worse, as I slip of the tongue that revealed guilty knowledge of Amy's murder. It could also have been an innocent, unthinking response to Jones's reports of French rumours, which assumed that an attempt on Amy's life had been made. It was, moreover, hardly accurate for the Queen to refer to 'his wife's house', but she was in a heated mood at the time and paying little attention to niceties of detail.
The rumours would not be stilled. It was said that the Queen was secretly betrothed to Dudley or that she was already expecting his child. Time proved these rumours false, but the story of Amy Dudley's death was continually embroidered and embellished, eventually passing into legend. Dudley's enemies made several attempts during the late sixteenth century to revive the scandal, with its details growing ever more lurid each time. Even in the reign of Elizabeth's successor a play performed in London would make reference to it, with the claim that 'the surest way to chain a woman's tongue is to break her neck; a politician did i
t'. Centuries later, the story would reach its apotheosis in Sir Walter Scott's highly fanciful novel, Kenilworth, which places Amy's death during Elizabeth's visit to Kenilworth Castle in 1575 and surrounds it with the most devious intrigues. Even today, tales are told of a clergyman being called to exorcise a pool at Cumnor which is allegedly haunted by the ghost of poor Amy Dudley.
In the middle of October, the court came out of mourning and speculation mounted as to whether Elizabeth would indeed marry Lord Robert. 'With these people, it is always wisest to think the worst,' de Quadra opined to the Duchess of Parma. Only the Earl of Sussex advocated the marriage; although he loathed and resented Dudley, he was desperately concerned about the succession, and felt that any husband was better than no husband for Elizabeth. However, no one else supported this view.
Rumour aside, if the Queen did decide to make Dudley her consort, she would be taking herself out of the European marriage market and abandoning her chance of making a match that would bring political and economic advantages to England; it might not, even now, be too late to revive plans for an alliance with either the Archduke Charles or the Earl of Arran, provided she dissociated herself from Dudley. More importantly, from her point of view, her marriage was the most advantageous asset she had, the means whereby she could keep other princes' goodwill and help maintain the balance of power in Europe.
There was also the question of Dudley's suitability as a husband; he had been vastly unpopular even before his wife's death, and were the Queen to marry a subject - which in itself could cause jealousy and faction fights amongst her courtiers, and even lead to civil war, given the strength of public feeling against the favourite - she would, in the eyes of the world, be degrading her royal rank.
Her cousin, the Duchess of Suffolk, had, after the execution of her husband in 1554, married her steward, Adrian Stokes, and suffered a humiliating loss of status as a result. Elizabeth was supremely conscious of her own royalty, and valued it too highly to debase it. Much as she loved Dudley, she was aware that his rank precluded him qualifying as a suitable consort.
Above all, there remained the risks she would incur by marrying him, and her oft-declared aversion to the married state. Single, she remained in control and kept the upper hand in their relationship; once married, their roles would be reversed, even though she was the Queen, and Elizabeth regarded any threat to her independence with horror. Moreover, if she did not marry Dudley, then she would prove the rumours false and dissociate herself from the scandal.
On a personal level, Elizabeth's feelings for Dudley had emerged unscathed from the scandal. When he returned to court, it was as if nothing had changed between them, and, far from being defeated by the rumours and gossip, Lord Robert was as self-confident and proud as before. The inquest had officially cleared his name, and now that he was a free man, he saw nothing improper in his courtship of the Queen. His behaviour gave rise to persistent reports that they would marry, which flourished side by side with speculation that a foreign marriage for Her Majesty was about to be announced. Elizabeth loved being at the centre of such intrigues, and was as usual non-committal and evasive on both issues.
Cecil, growing daily more confident, believed that there was little cause for concern. He was aware how much Elizabeth had struggled with her emotions during the past weeks, but he knew that her political judgement was as acute as ever, and that, although she would not renounce Dudley's company, it was now unlikely that she would marry him. Knowing that any implied criticism of Dudley would be unwelcome, Cecil had wisely refrained from burdening her with too much advice, but gave her time in which to reflect upon the available choices.
He also wrote warning Throckmorton to cease putting pressure upon her, as he had seen that attempts to convince her of Lord Robert's unsuitability as a consort only made her angry and more determined to favour and protect him. Katherine Ashley's husband had recently made derogatory remarks about Dudley, and Elizabeth, in a fit of temper, had banished him from court, whereupon Mrs Ashley had gone weeping to Dudley and persuaded him to sue for her husband's reinstatement.
Elizabeth was indeed torn, but she was also sensible of the duties and obligations of sovereignty, and when it came to reaching a decision, she compelled her head to rule her heart. It might not have been such a difficult decision: Dudley may have seemed to her infinitely more desirable and less of a threat as a married man than as a free one, and whilst Throckmorton and others agonised over the future, she had already made up her mind.
As early as 15 October, Cecil confided to de Quadra that the Queen had told him that she would not marry Dudley. In November, it was announced that she intended to raise him to the peerage; in fact, Dudley had badgered her to do so until she reluctantly gave in. The relevant Letters Patent were drawn up, but when it came to the ceremony of investiture, according to Robert Jones, the Queen astonished everyone, and shocked Dudley, by taking a knife and 'cutting [the papers] asunder', stating that she would not have another Dudley in the House of Lords since his family had been traitors for three generations. This was unlikely to have been an impulsive gesture, but one calculated to proclaim to the world - and to Dudley - that Elizabeth, aware of public opinion, meant to remain in control of her destiny and had made up her mind not to marry him.
Dudley glowered and begged her not to abuse him thus in front of her courtiers. She merely patted his cheek, saying teasingly, 'No, no, the bear and ragged staff are not so soon overthrown' - a reference to the heraldic crest borne by his father and brother as earls of Warwick. Talk of her action spread rapidly, and her courtiers were gleeful and exultant to see Dudley so discomfited. Some of his friends and supporters tried to persuade the Queen to abandon her scruples and marry him, but she made a 'pup with her lips' and declared that she would not marry a subject. When they objected that she could make her husband a king, she answered, 'No, that I will in no wise agree to.' She did intimate that she would create Dudley Earl of Leicester on Twelfth Night, but later changed her mind and decided it would be unwise for the time being.
Never again, when it came to the game of courtship, would Elizabeth allow her private feelings to undermine her good sense. She had realised, in good time, that if she abrogated her moral authority as queen, she would lose all respect and credibility, and even the throne itself. Thus the crisis passed, and before November was out, Robert Jones noticed that the gossip was dying a natural death. Dudley remained at the Queen's side, consort in all but name, but Elizabeth was firmly in control now. She had his constant presence, his loyalty and the stimulation of his company. It is tempting to conclude that she had perhaps never been serious about wanting more than that.
Meanwhile, another royal scandal was brewing. Although Elizabeth had refused to acknowledge her as such, according to Henry VIII's Act of Succession, Lady Katherine Grey was next in line to the throne.
Katherine, the beauty of the Grey sisters, was now twenty. The Queen had never liked her, and had downgraded her and her sister Mary from their positions as ladies of the Bedchamber, to which they had been appointed by Queen Mary, to ladies of the Privy Chamber; Katherine's loud protests had availed her nothing. She was an ambitious young woman, and had enlisted the support of successive Spanish ambassadors, who saw in her a means to restore the Catholic faith to England. Although Katherine had been brought up as a Protestant, she had made a point of embracing the Catholic faith under Queen Mary, and after Elizabeth's accession, the Count de Feria had conceived a plan to marry her to King Philip's son, Don Carlos, stage a coup, and set her on the English throne, thereby uniting England and Spain under Spanish rule. It is not hard to see why Elizabeth regarded her kinswoman as a menace.
Before he left England, de Feria had enjoined Katherine not to marry, but to remain single until he could arrange a grand dynastic marriage for her. However, early in 1559, whilst staying with her mother at Hanworth in Middlesex as a guest of the Duchess of Somerset, widow of Edward VI's Lord Protector, Katherine had met and fallen in love with the Du
chess's eldest son, Edward Seymour, Earl of Hertford. The Duchess of Suffolk, seeing this, suggested that they marry; already she was scheming against the time when her family's fortunes might be revived through another daughter's claim to the throne, and she realised that young Hertford would prove popular with the people, who revered his father's memory. Katherine, in the first flush of love, was only too happy to go along with her mother's plans.
There was one seemingly insurmountable barrier to the marriage: given her attitude towards those of her relatives who were near in blood to the throne, the Queen would hardly be likely to give her permission, and under an Act passed in 1536 by Henry VIII it was treason for persons of royal blood to marry without the consent of the sovereign. Lady Suffolk nevertheless resolved to petition the Queen, but she fell ill and died in November 1559, before being able to do so. Katherine was too frightened of the Queen to dare approach her on the matter; word of Spanish ambitions on her behalf had reached Elizabeth's ears, and Katherine was obliged to tread very warily.
Cecil, however, had found out about her affair with Hertford, and realised that their marriage would put paid to any Spanish intrigues. Thus he was prepared to give them his support.
Then came more damning, and unfounded, rumours that Katherine was going to marry the Earl of Arran with the intention of uniting the thrones of England and Scotland. At this point, Elizabeth realised that she dare not alienate her young cousin for fear of driving her into the arms of her enemies, so she restored her to her former position as Lady of the Bedchamber and went out of her way to be amiable to her - 'to keep her quiet', as de Quadra drily put it. 'She even talks about adopting her,' he added, noting that Katherine was now referred to as Her Majesty's 'daughter'. The Bishop had also heard gossip that credited Lady Katherine with yet another potentially dangerous suitor, the Earl of Huntingdon.
Katherine was not interested in any of these great matches; she was secretly meeting Hertford in private, escaping from under the Queen's nose to do so. His sister, Lady Jane Seymour, one of Elizabeth's maids of honour, was thrilled at the prospect of her brother marrying the heiress to the throne, and acted as go-between, accompanying Katherine on her nightly visits to her lover's house in Cannon Row, Westminster. And when the Earl came to Whitehall Palace, it was Lady Jane who contrived that they were alone together, giving up her own tiny bedchamber that led off the Maidens' Chamber. It was here that Hertford asked Katherine to marry him in secret. 'I like both you and your offer,' she answered. 'I am content to marry with you.'
