The Queen's Cipher (44 page)

“There’s another way of looking at this,” Guest says. “Who stood to gain from Amy’s death? It wasn’t Dudley or the Queen. The resulting scandal made it impossible for them to marry. The only one to benefit was William Cecil who was in disgrace following military and diplomatic failures in Scotland. Before Amy’s death he faced political ruin; afterwards he was back in power and had Dudley more or less where he wanted him. Don’t forget, this is the man who defined the art of politics as being ‘to throw the stone without the hand being seen.’”

“That’s an interesting argument,” Freddie conceded, “but, in the last analysis, it doesn’t matter who was responsible. The net effect was the same. Queen Elizabeth stayed single.”

“Were there any pregnancy rumours?” Cheryl asked.

The scandal had spread across Europe, Guest said. An alarmed English ambassador in Paris sent his secretary to England on a fact-finding mission and he found the Queen looking ‘ill and harassed’ and displaying violent mood swings. Having decided to ennoble Dudley she slashed his patent of nobility with a knife. Shortly before Christmas, Bishop de Quadra reported that ‘the Queen is expecting a child by Dudley’ and the courts in Madrid and Paris buzzed with news of a secret wedding.

“Do you think there was one?” By now Cheryl was wide eyed with excitement.

Guest tapped the side of his nose. He had a strong sense of theatre, a conviction that winning in court depended more on timing and delivery than a detailed knowledge of the law which could cramp one’s style. It was often better to keep the Blindfold Lady in the dark.

“A marriage ceremony was supposed to have taken place in the Earl of Pembroke’s home, Baynard’s Castle. It’s mentioned in the 1895 edition of the
Dictionary of National Biography.”

“I’m betting it wasn’t repeated in later editions.” Freddie laughed.

“No, you’re right, it was a solitary entry. So far as I can tell, it was only viva voce.”

Cheryl hated this legal grandiloquence. “You mean word of mouth.”

“Bear with me, my dear. Tales are told in every family, are they not? This one concerned a visit Queen Victoria paid to Wilton House, seat of the earls of Pembroke, when the incumbent boasted of possessing proof of Queen Elizabeth’s secret marriage to Dudley. Victoria asked to see the paper and, having read it, threw it on the fire saying, ‘one must not interfere with history.’”

“Which is exactly what she’d done,” Freddie exclaimed. “Do you take this seriously?”

“It’s no more than hearsay. You wouldn’t put it before a jury.”

Cheryl clapped her hands in delight. “A sixteenth-century conspiracy followed by a nineteenth-century cover-up and here’s me thinking history was dull.”

Freddie was less impressed. “Why go through a secret wedding ceremony if you know you can never openly marry because the English nation won’t put up with it,” he asked.

Guest smiled indulgently. “My dear chap, who knows what people think when they come under enormous pressure. In my line of work I often ask myself that. But what I would say is that the date of the alleged ceremony is highly significant. January 21st 1561 is the day before Francis Bacon was born. They might have hoped to legitimize the baby at a later date when the mood in the country had changed or they had acquired powerful international backing for their alliance.”

“Not much chance of that,” Freddie responded.

“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure. Something occurred on the actual birth date which almost beggar’s belief. Historians by and large ignore it but, from a legal point of view, it is the strongest piece of circumstantial evidence in the entire case.”

Cheryl leaned forward, her eyes wide. “What happened?”

“The Spanish ambassador received an amazing offer.”

THE NIGHT VISITOR

A series of loud bangs and a roaring noise brought him to his senses. Bishop Alvarez de Quadra jerked back so abruptly in his chair as to almost topple over. Having dozed off in front of a warm fire, he woke to find his bedroom blanketed in a cloud of thick swirling flakes.

Clad only in a nightgown he shivered uncontrollably in the freezing night air.  Further banging told him what had happened. The shuttered window had blown open in the howling gale and was slamming against the wall. He slid over the snow covered floor and latched the window closed. This short battle with the elements left him panting for breath. He was neither a young man nor a particularly fit one and the harsh winter weather had taken its toll of his health.

This English climate will be the death of me, he thought grimly, as he peered through the window pane. Down below in the enveloping darkness a lantern cast a fitful gleam and he caught sight of two cloaked figures, one of whom seemed to be carrying a burden, scurrying across the deserted palace courtyard and climbing into what he took to be the royal coach. Whoever it was must have an urgent reason to make a journey in such terrible weather. It couldn’t be the Queen as she was supposed to be indisposed. Not that he could trust anyone at Court to tell him the unvarnished truth.

The Spanish ambassador shook his head and turned away. It was time to repair the damage to his living quarters. Donning a fur robe he fetched a bucket and broom from one of the cupboards. As a rule bishops didn’t do housework but having dismissed his servant for the night he was forced to make an exception. In any case, sweeping up wasn’t so very different from his diplomatic duties which required him to keep things neat and tidy for English Catholics until his master Philip II could spare the time to sort out the country, either by marrying his capricious former sister-in-law or finding her a good Catholic husband. Elizabeth Tudor might call herself the Governor of the Church of England but de Quadra didn’t think her heart was truly set on the so-called Reformation.

Moody, self-willed and utterly reckless, she was a difficult young woman to read but at least he was making a better fist of it than his predecessor. De Feria had tried to lecture Elizabeth on her duties and she had taken her revenge by refusing him royal lodgings. At least the bishop had an apartment in the ugly heap of houses that was Whitehall Palace. Whether this was her doing or that of Sir William Cecil was not entirely clear. With the wily chief minister and the Queen’s impulsive lover Robert Dudley locked in a ceaseless power struggle nothing could ever be taken for granted at Court.

A few months ago he would have bet on Dudley prevailing but that was before his wife’s all too timely death. He remembered his strange encounter with Cecil in the grounds at Windsor when the minister had confided in him, saying he was about to withdraw from her Majesty’s service. It was a bad sailor, Cecil stated, who did not make for port when a storm was brewing. He foresaw the Queen’s manifest ruin arising from her intimacy with Lord Robert. They planned to murder Lady Amy Dudley so they could marry. God, he trusted, would never permit such a wicked conspiracy to prosper.

Yet news of Lady Dudley’s demise had reached Windsor the next day. The word was that the dead woman’s head had almost been cleaved from her body but the coroner’s jury still managed to return a verdict of accidental death, leaving a weakened Dudley to fight another day. And so the battle for the Queen’s heart and mind raged on with both sides secretly seeking the King of Spain’s support. Hence, de Quadra’s enhanced status at Court.

The bishop dropped another log on the fire. Above the crackling flames he could hear an urgent knocking sound. Slipping a double bladed Toledo dagger up his sleeve for protection he moved towards the door. Outside, in the corridor, was a furtive looking Sir Henry Sidney, Dudley’s brother-in-law. What could he possibly want?

“I must apologize, your grace, for the lateness of the hour but I have an important message for your royal master. May I come in?”

“Of course, Sir Henry, you are most welcome. Come and sit by the fire. The winter cold gets into my old bones.”

Sidney took the offered chair and sat down heavily. His eyes wandered around the room as if checking to see whether the walls had ears. He seemed ill at ease. “I don’t know how to begin,” he said hoarsely.

“Before you do so, perhaps you will join me in a glass of white wine specially imported from Galicia.”

The nobleman quickly drained his glass goblet. “A rare vintage, crisp and aromatic, much better than anything I’ve managed to produce at Penshurst. What grape varieties have gone into this?”

“A subtle blend of Torrontes and Treixadura I am told.”

“Neither of which, I fear, would prosper in our English climate.”

“Quite so,” de Quadra replied, “Now, my lord, how may I be of service to you?”

Sidney licked his lips. “Can I take it that those things I am about to mention will be for King Philip’s ears and his alone?”

“That I guarantee you.”

“Very well, you must be aware, Excellency, that the marriage is on everybody’s lips and that the Queen is very anxious for it. For his part, the Lord Robert is ready to obey the King of Spain and to do him service as a vassal should Philip consent to his marriage to Elizabeth.”

De Quadra poked the fire to conceal his excitement. “My problem is this, Sir Henry: neither the Queen nor Lord Robert has spoken to me about this and, until they do, I have nothing to report. You do understand that.”

“I understand that Spain is disturbed and perplexed by the stories surrounding Lady Dudley’s death. If you can be satisfied on this point, perhaps you will not object to informing your master of what I have said. It is true that the Queen and Lord Robert are lovers but they intend honest marriage, and nothing wrong has taken place between them that cannot be set right with the King of Spain’s help. As to Lady Dudley’s death, I have studied the circumstances and am satisfied that it was the result of an accidental fall down a staircase in Cumnor Place, although I am bound to admit that others think differently.”

The bishop stared thoughtfully at the burning embers before turning a grave face to the English nobleman. “If this is true, things are not as bad as I believed. Had Lady Dudley been murdered, God and man would surely have punished so abominable a crime. That said Lord Robert will still have difficulty in convincing the world of his innocence.”

Sidney sighed loudly. “You state the simple truth. There is hardly a person in the land who does not suspect foul play. The preachers speak of it in their pulpits which has made the Queen wonder how best to restore order to the realm in these matters of religion.”

Now we’re getting there, de Quadra thought. Madly in love with Robert Dudley and stung by the reproaches of the Protestant preachers, which in her heart she knew she deserved, young Elizabeth was thinking of undoing her father’s work and returning England to the Church of Rome. It was wonderful news but he mustn’t sound too enthusiastic.

“We understand Queen Elizabeth’s position,” he said coldly, “but feel nevertheless that religion is not something to be bartered over. Her faith and her worldly desires are altogether different things.”

“You speak truly, your grace, but I am sure you would concede that religion is in a deplorable state in this country and must be reformed. On my solemn oath, I tell you that the Queen is prepared to restore the old religion providing Lord Robert receives the prize he seeks from your royal master’s hand.”

Don’t sound too eager, de Quadra told himself. “Regrettably, Sir Henry, I cannot write anything until I receive instructions from the Queen herself. Should she inform me of her wishes it would be my duty to inform King Philip and I would do so with pleasure.”

Beneath his beard, Sidney’s face seemed to be twitching. “The Queen cannot begin this subject but I will get the Lord Robert to speak to you. He will confirm everything I have told you tonight.”

And that, de Quadra said, might be enough. He thanked Sir Henry for the way he had carried out a most difficult task and bade him good night.

Wrapping a fur-lined robe around his slender body, the bishop sat down at his writing desk and began to compose a dispatch about this curious overture. It was going to be a two candle night. Without Cecil’s knowledge, Elizabeth was about to make an astonishing mistake.

‘Lord Robert will speak to me. He will offer Your Majesty his services to the extent of his powers in whatever ways you wish. Your Majesty will be pleased to tell me what to do. The thing is of moment, and they will press for their answer.’

Even as he wrote these words, he knew his pleading would be in vain. King Philip’s well-known procrastination had caused one of his fellow diplomats to remark, ‘if death came from Spain, we would all be immortal.’ By the time couriers had carried messages to and from Spain, England’s queen was bound to have come to her senses.

30 JUNE 2014

“De Quadra’s dispatch is lodged in the official Spanish archive at Simancas,” Seymour Guest was saying, “and I don’t think he made it up. A courtier like Sir Henry Sidney would never have said those things without the Queen’s permission to do so. It was more than his life was worth.”

Freddie cocked his head. “That may be so but it’s hard to imagine the Queen allowing Dudley’s brother-in-law to represent her wishes on such a delicate matter.”  

“Doing it this way gave her deniability,” Guest said confidently. “Sidney had been told what to say. He admitted the Queen and Dudley were lovers and added that ‘nothing wrong had taken place between them which could not be set right’ with Philip’s blessing. What does that suggest to you?”

It was Cheryl who answered. “That sounds like a carefully worded statement, ‘nothing wrong’ in their affair that ‘could not be set right’ allows for the subsequent appearance of a baby boy and a marriage certificate showing he was born in wedlock.”

“Precisely,” Guest purred. “I think this was Dudley’s doing, seizing the moment, so to speak, when rising hormone levels were playing havoc with the Queen’s emotions. If Elizabeth consented to this rash plan it must have been in the face of Dudley’s passionate entreaties.” 

“If she’d just given birth she wouldn’t be thinking straight.” Freddie imagined the scene – the swaddling clothes, the half conscious mother torn between protecting her crown and keeping her new-born baby, wanting to believe she could do both at the same time.