by Jean Plaidy
Cecil was silent for a few moments, then he burst out: “Do not ask these questions of me. I am thinking of leaving my office. I see great troubles ahead. Your Excellency, if you are a friend of England’s, advise Her Majesty not to neglect her duty as she does. Would to God Lord Robert Dudley had lost his head with his brother. That would have been a good thing for England.”
“Lord Dudley?” said de Quadra. “So the Queen still frets for him then?”
“Frets for him? She thinks of nothing else. I know this, and it fills me with dread: They are scheming to murder his wife, that marriage between them will be possible. They say she is suffering from a malady which will shortly rob her of life, but I have discovered this to be untrue. Poor woman! Doubtless she is taking good care not to be poisoned, since she has lived so long.”
The Spanish ambassador could scarcely believe that he had heard correctly. Was this calm Cecil, the wily statesman, the man whose custom it was to consider his lightest remark before uttering it! And to speak thus before the Spanish ambassador, well known to be a spy for his own country!
Cecil recovered his poise; he grasped de Quadra’s arm and said earnestly: “I beg of Your Excellency to say nothing of this. This is the Queen’s secret matter.”
The ambassador gave his word, but immediately retired to his own apartments that he might write dispatches which on this occasion, he was sure, would prove of the utmost interest to his royal master.
A September haze hung in the air. Pinto was in one of the attics looking out over the countryside. How quiet it seemed! Yesterday she had watched the Fair people riding by on their way to Abingdon for the Fair. The servants were talking of it now. She was glad of that. When they were discussing the Fair they ceased to talk of Lord Robert and the Queen.
Poor Amy! She was desperately afraid—afraid of every footfall, afraid even of her fear, for she did not speak of it even to Pinto. She had reason to be afraid. She stood between Lord Robert and his marriage with the Queen.
A woman of Brentford, so they had heard, had been arrested for saying that the Queen was to have Lord Robert’s child. Had she spoken the truth?
Pinto was afraid in this house.
The grounds were beautiful and extensive, but the house itself was shut in by many trees; and it was only by climbing to the top that it was possible to see the open country.
Some of the rooms were large, but those which had been cells, were very small. There were two staircases. One of these, which led from the kitchen quarters, was a narrow spiral one; that which swept up and round the old hall, which had been the monks’ common room, was wide with elaborately carved banisters. This staircase was not enclosed, so that it was possible to look down into the “well” from any point.
It was a house full of shadows, full of echoes from the past. Pinto did not like the thoughts which had come to her while she had been living in this house.
Only last week a very disturbing incident had occurred.
Amy had fallen ill and Pinto, fearing that already she was being poisoned, had been frantic with anxiety.
Her fears had been so great that she had persuaded Amy to call a physician—not one of Lord Robert’s but a friend of the Hydes.
And the man had refused to come.
Lord Robert had his own physicians, he had said. It was their place to look after the health of Lord Robert’s wife.
There was something so alarming about such behavior that even Amy could not shut her eyes to it. The man would not come because he suspected Amy was being poisoned and wished to have no part in it. If Amy died suddenly and there was an autopsy, and her death were proved to be due to poison, it would be necessary for persons in high places to find a scapegoat; this man was clearly intimating that he had no intention of being that scapegoat. If Amy wanted a physician she must have one of her husband’s.
“Nay,” said Amy, “I do not think I need a doctor after all. I was just feeling a little melancholy. It is nothing more.”
But how frightening was this life!
There was one thing of which Pinto felt sure: Amy’s life was threatened. It was clear from the doctor’s attitude that the whole country was expecting her to die by poison, for that would mean that her death could be said to be due to a fatal disease. Rumors had already gone forth that she suffered from a cancer of the breast.
Since everyone was talking of poison, it was obvious that Lord Robert would be aware of this; therefore it seemed almost certain that Amy would not die by poison. Die she must if she were to be removed from Robert’s path toward ambition, but her death would have to seem accidental or the whole country would cry: Murder. What could Pinto do? Where could she turn? She could only keep near her mistress, hoping to guard her. But they were two defenseless women against a relentless enemy.
She went downstairs, and in the hall she found Forster talking with Mistress Owen who, living apart from her husband, had asked leave to stay on in the house. Amy, being fond of company, had been glad to have her.
Forster said pleasantly as Pinto came down the stairs: “I doubt not you’ll be asking your mistress’s leave to go to the Fair.”
“That may be,” said Pinto.
“A messenger has just come from Windsor. He brings letters for my lady. He tells us that tomorrow or the next day Master Thomas Blount will be riding here from Windsor with special gifts and letters from my lord for her ladyship.”
“My lady will be pleased to hear from Lord Robert,” said Pinto.
She passed on.
Master Thomas Blount! He was a kinsman of Lord Robert’s, a man whose fortune was bound up in that of his master; a man who would be ready to follow Lord Robert’s instructions…even if they were to murder his wife.
He sends letters, he sends gifts, thought Pinto; and he longs to put her out of the way.
It seemed to Pinto that danger was moving nearer.
It was night. Amy lay still, the curtains pulled about her bed. She had awakened with a start, aware that someone was in her room.
She sat up, pressing her hands to her heart. What fear was this which possessed her, which made her start at every sound? There was terror all about her.
She knelt on her bed and opened the curtains. Pinto was standing there, a lighted candle in her hands.
“Pinto!” cried Amy in great relief.
“Oh, Mistress…are you awake then?”
“You frightened me so.”
“Mistress, I had to come to talk to you.”
“At this hour?”
“It would not wait…or so it seemed. I have to say it now. Perhaps I could not say it by day. Mistress, before your marriage, I used to come to your bed and sleep with you at night when you had dreams. Do you remember?”
“Yes, Pinto. I have indeed bad dreams now. Come you in beside me.”
Pinto blew out the candle and climbed into the bed.
“You’re trembling, Pinto.”
“You tremble, Mistress.”
“What is it, Pinto? What is it?”
“We are afraid, Mistress. Both of us are afraid of something, and we are afraid to speak of it by daylight. That is why I come to you at night. Mistress, we must speak of this thing.”
“Yes, Pinto, we must.”
“They seek to put you away, Mistress.”
“It’s true, Pinto. It’s true.” Amy’s teeth were chattering.
“You see,” said Pinto, “he is an ambitious man, and all he desires would be ready for him to take but for you. I am frightened. Never eat anything unless I prepare it for you.”
“They are trying to poison me, Pinto?”
“I do not think they will.”
“Why not?”
“Too many have talked of poison.”
“Pinto, what can I do? What can I do?”
Pinto’s eyes were wet. It was as though Amy were a child again, coming to Pinto for help. No! It was quite different. This was no childish problem. This was a matter of death.
“I have thought
of something, Mistress. We will go away from here.”
“Where could we go?”
“I have thought that we could go to your brother John. He loves you dearly. We could live in his house secretly…as serving maids mayhap. I have not thought beyond that. He is wise. He will advise us. First we must get to his house.”
“Should we be allowed to go like that, Pinto?”
“Nay, we should not. We should have to go in secret. Oh, Mistress, I have thought and thought until my thoughts are in a whirl. Master Blount will be here late tomorrow or the next day. Mistress, I greatly fear that man.”
“You think…he comes…to kill me…?”
Pinto did not answer that. “I would wish that we were away before he comes.”
“How, Pinto?”
“Listen carefully, dearest Mistress. Tomorrow is Sunday. Send all the servants to the Fair. Send even Mistress Odingsells, for she is talkative and inquisitive, and I fear that if she were here she might blunder about us and make it impossible for us to leave. Keep Mistress Owen for company; and the Forsters will be here, I doubt not. But let all the rest of the household go to the Fair. I shall go with them and, as soon as I can without attracting attention, I shall return to the house. Rest until I come, that you may be ready for a tedious journey. I will come quietly into the house and together we will slip out to the stables. This will be your last night in this house.”
Amy clung to Pinto. “Oh, how glad that makes me. I am afraid of this house. We will do that, Pinto. We will go to my brother.”
“You must insist that all go to the Fair. We must run no risk of being seen as we leave. Stay in your room until I return. But be all ready to leave…”
“But, Pinto, how shall we go…two women…alone from here to Norfolk?”
“I do not know. But we must. We can go quickly to an inn, rest there and perhaps engage more servants to accompany us. None should know who you are. I have not thought of that very clearly. There is one thing which occupies my thoughts. We must get away from this house before Master Blount enters it.”
“Yes, Pinto, yes. But I have thought of something. It is Sunday tomorrow. Only the lowest and most vulgar go to the Fair on Sundays.”
“It is a pity. But they must go. You must insist on that. How do we know who among them spies on us?”
“They shall go. And you will come back soon, that we may start on our journey.”
“As soon as I can safely do so.”
“Oh, Pinto…it is such a wild…wild plan. There are dangers to women on the roads.”
“There is no danger so great as that which lurks in this house.”
“I know…Pinto. I feel it…all around me.”
“Let us try to sleep now, Mistress. We shall need all our strength for tomorrow.”
“Yes, Pinto.”
They lay still and occasionally they spoke to each other. It was not until the dawn was in the sky that they could sleep.
Sunday morning came.
Amy felt happier now, because the sun was shining brightly and this was to be the last day she would spend in this frightening house.
She called the servants to her and told them that, as it was a fine day, they all had her permission to go to the Fair in Abingdon.
They had hoped to go on Monday and were not too pleased; but they dared not refuse to do as the mistress bid.
Amy turned to Mistress Odingsells, who had acted as her companion ever since they came to Cumnor Place, and asked her to go too.
“I…go on a Sunday!” cried Mistress Odingsells, who was very conscious of her dependent state. She was indignant. She…a lady…to be sent to the Fair with the vulgar on a Sunday!
“It is a pleasant day,” murmured Amy.
But Mistress Odingsells was greatly put out. She would certainly not go to the Fair on a Sunday.
“You shall go at your own pleasure,” said Amy quickly, “but all my servants shall go…every one of them.”
“And who will keep you company?” asked Mistress Forster.
“You and your husband will be here. And Mistress Odingsells it seems, with Mistress Owen. There will be plenty to keep me company if I wish for company. But I am a little tired, and I shall go to my room to rest for a few hours, I think.”
Mistress Odingsells said she would retire to her room for, since her company was not desired, she would be sure not to impose it upon anyone. Amy did not try to soothe her. Mistress Owen thought Amy seemed a little distraught—nay, more, quite hysterical, so determined was she that all should go to the Fair. It was strange because usually she liked to have plenty of people about her.
Amy went to the top of the house to watch them set out. Pinto was with them. She turned and waved her hand to her mistress, who she knew would be watching.
Pray God, thought Amy, she comes back quickly.
She stayed at the window for some minutes looking out over the country. Could it really be true that Robert was planning to kill her? She could not believe it. She thought of him in the days of their courtship, so eager, so passionate, and so determined to marry her whether his father granted permission or not. She remembered the first days of their marriage. Of course there were rumors about a man like Robert. He was so dazzlingly handsome, the most successful man at Court. Of course the Queen was fond of him.
But what was the use? She knew Robert was planning to murder her.
Now the quietness of the house was frightening her again. She had an impulse to run out of it, to run after the servants, to go to the Fair with them. That was foolish. Pinto was a wise woman. Her plan seemed wild, and wild it certainly was; but it was the only way of escape from a dangerous situation.
“Go to your room and try to sleep,” Pinto had said.
She would do that.
Just as she was turning from the window she saw a man on horseback coming toward the house. For a moment she was terrified, thinking that Thomas Blount had arrived. But it was only Sir Richard Verney, who had ridden over to do some official business with Forster.
She saw Forster go out and greet him, and the two men finally walked away from the house. Forster was taking Verney to some trees which she believed were to be cut down.
She turned away from the window and went to her room, and lying on her bed pulled the curtains. She must try to sleep. She must remember that she was safe until Thomas Blount arrived.
There was a dish of sweetmeats lying on the bed where she had left them last night. Her maid must have replenished the dish before she went to the Fair. She saw that some of her favorites were there; she could never resist them, and almost mechanically she began to eat them. They were delicious.
Before she had finished she began to feel very tired.
She fell asleep in the act of reaching for another.
It was less than an hour later when the door of Amy’s room was quietly opened. Two men came in. Very quietly one of them pulled aside the bed-curtains.
“What if she wakes?” asked one.
“Impossible,” said the other, looking at the dish.
He was smiling. It had been too good an opportunity to miss. All the servants—almost the entire household—at the Fair! This was the time when an accident must happen.
“Come,” said the other. “Let us get it done with.”
One placed his hands beneath her shoulders; the other took her feet; and, carrying Amy between them, they went quietly out of the room.
It was not easy to slip away. Pinto was anxiously awaiting the favorable moment.
And when it came there was the long walk back to Cumnor Place.
Could her plan succeed? What would happen if they were seen? Would she be murdered with her mistress? Then he would have two deaths on his hands.
She must not blame him. He was different from other men. He must not be judged by their standards. It would seem to him only right that Fortune should deny him nothing. Pinto understood.
But she would not give him Amy’s life. She would fight for that even
at the cost of her own, even if by doing so she made him a double murderer.
They would creep out of the house. They would go to the stables. They would ride fast…and before nightfall they must be well away from Cumnor Place and where none knew them. They must find the right inn. They must succeed
She would not visualize failure. She saw them arriving at the home of John Appleyard. John would do anything for his sister, she knew. He loved Amy dearly.
She had reached Cumnor Place.
Now she must creep quietly in and by way of the main staircase hurry along to Amy’s room. If she met the Forsters or Mistress Odingsells or Mistress Owen she must say that she had lost sight of the other servants and had deemed it wise to return to the house. But she must not meet them; she must meet no one.
How quiet the house seemed. But she must be thankful for the quietness.
She came into the great hall which was flooded with sunlight. As she was about to hurry forward she stopped short, staring at the figure lying at the foot of the staircase.
Her limbs were numbed. She could not move. She could only stand there staring before her while horror, such as she had never before known in the whole of her life, possessed her.
She knew that she was too late.
Amy Dudley was dead. She had been found on the floor of the hall at Cumnor Place, her neck broken, after what was obviously a fall down the staircase. The Court and the countryside could talk of nothing else; there was one explanation and that was murder. It was not necessary to look far for the murderer.
The Queen sent for Robert, declaring that she must see him alone. Elizabeth was afraid—not only on his behalf but on her own. She knew that this was one of the most dangerous situations she had ever faced. She knew that Royalty must be in command, bidding Love take second place.
But when she saw him, she knew that whatever came between them she would always love him. Her affection for him would remain even when she looked back with horror at the hysterical woman it had made of her. She loved him no less because he had committed murder. Had he not murdered for her sake? She herself had faced death too many times to hold the lives of others dearly.
