Conspiracy (2 page)

They stared at the Queen and all of us and talked about us as if we couldn't hear, which can be embarrassing: one woman tutted and said, “Well, she'm a fair maid with her red velvet hood, but from her face she's got powerful indigestion. Looks as if she swallowed a pint of vinegar!” The only one with a red hood was Lady Jane Coningsby. Lady Sarah giggled at that—she hates Lady Jane, who is not terribly popular with any of us.

The Queen is very clever and charming with her subjects and the people love her. When she spotted a baby in his shirt, squealing and waving his little biggin cap, she reined in her horse and the Earl called the halt, looking wary. It certainly was a very sweet baby. He had bright gold hair and big blue eyes and only a little snot on his upper lip. He was looking up at the Queen and roaring with laughter, I think because of all her bright sparkling jewels.

The Queen smiled down at the baby and his mother, who was flushed with pride. He crowed and started clapping, but it looked as if he had only just learned to clap because sometimes he missed and smacked his nose, which made us all smile.

“There's a fair, bold babe,” the Queen said, still smiling.

His mother curtsied and held him up to her as high as she could. “And a true liegeman of Your Majesty,” she puffed. “I pray God to bless you with as fine a little lad as he.”

Some of the gentlemen sucked air in at that, for usually talk of babies makes the Queen sad or angry—perchance because some say that, at almost thirty-six, the Queen will soon be too old to have babes of her own, and she doesn't like to be reminded. This time she leaned down to stroke the baby's cheek. He smiled sunnily up at her and grabbed a pearl sewn to her sleeve, which came off in his hand.

“Oh, now! Look what you did, you naughty—” tutted his mother.

“Let him have the pearl,” said the Queen lightly. “As a keepsake. You are a lucky woman.”

The mother curtsied as the Queen rode on, and the Earl commanded us to proceed. I looked back as we went round a bend in the road, to see the mother firmly stopping the baby from putting the Queen's pearl in his mouth.

Mary Shelton, who was riding beside me, sitting pillion behind her own groom, had stopped knitting—
a coat for one of her older sister's children— to watch the spectacle. She had a knowing smile on her face.

“What?” I asked.

“Mayhap the Queen is broody,” she observed. “Do you think she is thinking about marriage again? She always goes broody when she does that.”

I peered at the Queen ahead of us. The Earl of Leicester was leaning over slightly to listen to what she was saying to him. He normally looks disagreeable and he isn't at all popular at Court, but whenever he is near the Queen, his face softens. It's always hard to imagine people as old as the Queen and the Earl of Leicester being romantic or in love. But they have been for a long time—and I saw it quite early on, even though I didn't really understand it at the time, as I was only a small child.

Mary stared thoughtfully at me. “You must know something of Her Majesty's fondness for the Earl, Grace,” she said.

I nodded. “But I was very young then—only five and just out of leading strings. I remember seeing the Queen very happy. And my mother—who as you know was one of her Ladies-in-Waiting and her closest friend—was happy for her. But worried for her,
too. Because the Earl—who was not yet Earl of Leicester, and known as Robert Dudley—was already married to Amy Robsart.”

“Oh, yes,” said Mary eagerly. “And then Amy died, and
how
she died caused a great scandal, did it not?” she asked.

The other Maids of Honour were pretending they weren't interested, but I noticed that they had all got their gropms to ride a bit closer to listen, because of course I am the only one of us who was at Court when the scandal occurred.

I began to tell Mary what I knew of that time, eight years ago, when the Queen and Robert Dudley were first thought to be in love. My mother had told me that Her Majesty had become friends with Dudley when they were both much younger and imprisoned in the Tower of London. Queen Elizabeth was only a Princess then and she had been imprisoned by her own older sister, Mary, who was Queen at the time.

Once the Princess Elizabeth had become Queen, she and Dudley were together all the time. Whenever he jousted he wore the Queen's favour on his shoulder—her glove or kerchief—and there was lots of gossip about it. All the other nobles at Court
were furious because the Dudleys were seen as a family of upstarts—and Robert Dudley's father and grandfather had both been executed for treason.

But Her Majesty didn't care—she was in love. She believed that if she waited, Dudley would be hers— because Amy Robsart was sickly and bedridden. It was only a matter of time before Dudley would be free to marry again.

“And then news came that Amy Robsart was dead,” I went on. “It was said she fell and broke her neck from tripping on the stairs—”

“She tripped?” Mary said, looking doubtful. “Though she was bedridden?”

“Exactly,” I said. “It was too convenient. Everyone said Dudley must have lost patience and murdered Amy to clear his way to Her Majesty. And of course such gossip meant Her Majesty had to shun Dudley—she could not be involved in a scandal. The other nobles would have been outraged. She might have lost her throne.”

I didn't tell Mary what else I remembered: my mother clasping the Queen to her as Her Majesty had sobbed brokenly, whispering, “He would never do such a thing, never! But God help us, Margaret—there is no way for us to prove it!”

“No, Your Majesty,” my mother had agreed sadly.

My nurse had then been sent for to take me away to pick flowers.

I turned back to Mary. “I don't know what to think. And my mother would never talk of it afterwards.” And now she is dead from saving the Queen's life by accidentally drinking poison meant for her, so I can never ask her. Though I suspect she did not like Robert Dudley, and only countenanced him because the Queen was smitten and could see no wrong in him.

Talk of my mother makes me sad, for I miss her terribly. Although, since her tragic death just over a year ago, the Queen has been very kind to me and has quite taken me under her wing. Indeed, that is why I am her Maid of Honour, even though I am so young.

While Mary and I were talking about this, we could see the Earl of Leicester riding ahead in the cavalcade with the Queen. He is quite handsome and tall, with flashing blue eyes and dark hair, and he is a wonderful horseman. Of course he is very old—one year older than the Queen, and I think he is getting a bit heavy. He is arrogant and ill-tempered, except when he talks to the Queen—and then he is charming and patient, even when Her Majesty is cross with him and hits him with her fan.

I wonder if he really did murder his wife. If I had been a Lady Pursuivant for the Queen then—in charge of pursuing and apprehending all wrongdoers at Court—as I am now, perhaps I could have found out the truth of it….

We couldn't talk any more about it, because we had arrived at this little village with its small manor house, where I am writing now. The gentleman is
still
speechifying to the Queen, but when he has stopped and the Queen has finished dinner, we will head on to Kenilworth and—Oh, good! I think the speech is coming to an end.

Hell's teeth! The speech
did
stop for a little and we all sighed with relief, but then the gentleman drank a toast to the Queen and started again! How does he remember it all? At least I have just had a very interesting conversation with Mary Shelton.

“The Queen is up to something—there's a plot afoot,” Mary said to me quietly, with her mouth full. “Did you hear that there will be a new suitor for Her Majesty at Kenilworth? She has invited a foreign prince to be there at the same time. I overheard
her discussing the arrangements with Mr. Secretary Cecil. I expect my lord the Earl of Leicester is most put out that he must entertain one of the Queen's suitors,”

I looked across to where the Earl was kneeling at the Queen's side, offering her a plate of ham. He certainly looked tired and not entirely happy.

“Oh, my lord, Earl of Leicester,” Mary said in a different voice with a toss of her head. I don't know how she does it but she can do an exact imitation of the Queen. “Fie on this sun, it is too warm.”

Then she reared her head back like the Earl and growled down her nose, “I am Your Majesty's to command—only stay a moment and I shall knock the sun from the sky for annoying you.”

I laughed. “If the Queen ever hears you doing that, she will be furious,” I said.

Mary shrugged and smiled and popped a piece of pie in her mouth.

Thank the Lord, the gentleman has stopped speaking and the Queen is thanking him
ex tempore
in Latin, which she speaks quite well. He is looking terrified. I don't think he understands what she is saying. Serve him right for going on so long.

Kenilworth is wonderful! Nobody can arrange entertainments and pastimes like the Earl! I know a lot of people hate him and ask how he dare be friends with the Queen, but undoubtedly he is a brilliant Master of Ceremonies.

I am now sitting on the bed I am going to share with Mary Shelton, scribbling away with my new pen, which is very nice and smooth and not so worn down as my old one, so I have no blots in this day-booke yet.

The chambers the Maids of Honour and the Ladies-in-Waiting have been given are quite old-fashioned, but on the walls the Earl has hung wonderful tapestries, all woven with silver and gold thread that must have cosi a fortune. There are three chambers that lead to the Queen's two. The six Ladies-in-Waiting have two of the three and all of us Maids of Honour share the other. It has three big beds from the Removing Wardrobe of Beds crammed into it. We have to share beds, and Olwen and Fran, and anybody else attending us, will have to
sleep on the floor—though there isn't very much of that, either. Still, at least we're not in tents like some of the gentlemen.

I will go back now and write of the ride to Kenilworth. I was actually feeling a little sick from eating so much at dinner. We all rode on as usual until we came within about five miles of the castle.

The Earl bowed low in the saddle and said, “By your leave, Majesty, I must ride ahead to see that all is in readiness.”

The Queen gave him her hand to kiss and then he galloped away with his henchmen around him, looking, I must admit, very handsome.

We carried on slowly and the Queen called for the musicians to come up from the rear of the column. When they arrived, puffing from running in the sun with their instruments, she had them play music for us to listen to as we rode, which was very pleasant. They played Galliards and Voltas and then, when they had got their breath back, they sang some Italian madrigals for us.

We came in sight of Kenilworth and saw the castle on the hill, with its lake behind, glittering in the sun.

Then the road went through a coppice of trees which were almost ready to be cut again, so they
were all leafy and full. And suddenly I noticed that the trees were hung with ribbons and little packets were tied to the twigs.