A Favorite of the Queen: The Story of Lord Robert Dudley and Elizabeth 1 (29 page)

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.

But she had to save him and herself.

“What now?” she said, as soon as they were alone. “What now, Robert?”

“She fell from the stairs,” he said. “It was an accident.”

She laughed mirthlessly. “An accident! At such a time!”

“That is what it seems. What it
must
seem.”

“Do you not see how foolish we have been, you and I? We have shown feelings to the world which we should have been wise to hide. Such an accident to the wife of an obscure courtier would have aroused no comment.
But to
your
wife … at such a time … when the whole world knows of the love between us … Robert, no one will believe in this accident.”

“You are the Queen,” he said.

“Yes, yes. But there is one thing I have known all my life: A Queen or King must be loved and respected by the people. They murmur against me. They say lewd things. They say I am to bear your child. Now they will say that this had to be, that our child might be born in wedlock … the legitimate heir to the throne. And they will whisper about me. They will call me a lewd woman.”

He said: “Your father married six wives. Two of them lost their heads; two he put from him when he tired of them; one all but lost her head, and only his death, some say, saved her. You talk of this scandal. How can it compare with your father’s senary adventure in matrimony!”

“A Queen is not a King. A King may love where he will, but a Queen who is to bear the heir to the throne must be above reproach.”

He came to her and put his arms about her; and she was moved temporarily by his masculine charm.

“All will be well,” he said. “ We shall come through this storm. And remember, there is nothing now to keep us apart.”

She was silent. She was not the woman whom he had known. She was older, wiser; the old habit of learning her lessons had not been lost. Thus she had been when she had stood before Lady Tyrwhit at the time they had beheaded Thomas Seymour. She had deceived them all then.

Never again must she allow herself to be overwhelmed by her love for a man. She must for evermore be Queen first, a woman second.

She must not forget that she was in danger now, and she must learn her lesson quickly. When she had extricated herself from the result of her folly, never must she err in that respect again.

“Robert,” she said, releasing herself from his arms, “there is only one thing to be done. I must put you under arrest until this matter is cleared up. It is the only way. Think of the future, my love, and do as I say. Go to Kew under arrest by orders of the Queen.”

He hesitated, but he was wise enough to see that the Queen was in control of the woman.

“You are right,” he said. “You must not be involved in this. Our mistake has been to show the world that we love each other. Once this has blown over …”

She nodded, and throwing herself into his arms, kissed him fiercely.

“Go now, my dearest. All will be well. No harm shall come to you. But we have to learn from the mistakes we have made. There must be no more. Her death has to be an accident. You and I must not even have wished it to happen. Because you are her husband you will, of necessity, be suspected; and the Queen’s orders are that you stay in your house at Kew … under arrest. Go now, and soon all will be well.”

“All will be well,” he said, returning her kisses with a fierceness which outstripped her own. “Soon you and I shall be husband and wife.”

“If all goes well,” said the Queen soberly.

This was the
greatest scandal that had shocked and entertained the world since Elizabeth’s father had played out his tragic farce with six wives.

If justice were to be done, said the world, the Queen should take her place with her lover on trial for murder.

Robert was frantic. Confined to his house at Kew he was in desperate and urgent correspondence with his faithful servant and kinsman Thomas Blount, commanding him to sound opinion at Court and in the countryside, particularly in the region of Cumnor Place. Thomas Blount was to question the servants, bully them, browbeat them into admitting that Amy’s death had been an accident. He, Dudley, was still an influential man; he would get in touch with the foreman of the jury and see that the “right” verdict was declared. When he was King of England he would not forget those who had helped him to his place, any more than he would forget those who had tried to impede him.

Cecil had recovered his balance. He was the calm minister once more. He saw the country threatened with a crisis which could do much harm. Confidence in the Queen must be restored. He must remain her chief
minister, for if he retired he might find himself in the Tower; besides, how could he bear to give up his ambition?

He was beside the Queen now, supporting her when she needed his support. She had the utmost confidence in him; and he was too good a minister to fail her.

He remembered that, in his agitation during a weak moment, he had spoken incautiously to the Spanish ambassador, and that his words would doubtless have been reported to Philip of Spain. What had he said? That he saw troubles ahead, that his mistress and her lover were planning the murder of Amy Dudley! That was a terrible mistake to have made, because he had said those words only a few hours before Amy had been found in Cumnor Place lying at the foot of a staircase with her neck broken. Could such a coincidence be accepted? It must be. The only way to keep the people loyal to the Queen was to have a verdict of accidental death brought in. The Queen might commit political murders, but she must not be implicated in the murder of a woman whose husband she wished to marry. That was something the country would not accept. Royal murder was permissible. But the charge of personal murder—murder for passion, love, lust, whatever the people called it—must be laughed to scorn.

This Queen’s whole future was at stake. There was Jane Grey’s sister, Catharine, who would find ready supporters. There was Mary Queen of Scots, who was now the Queen of France. Clearly if Elizabeth was to stay on the throne she must not be implicated in murder. Therefore there must have been no murder; for if murder had been committed, the Queen would seem as guilty as her lover.

Cecil accordingly decided that his course of action must be to laugh at the suggestion of murder.