Philippa Gregory's Tudor Court 6-Book Boxed Set (326 page)

“What he always says: that she is not to fear, that he will care for her, that he will arrange everything.”

“He promised nothing specific? Nothing at once?”

She smiled again. “He’s too clever for that. He knows she’ll change her mind in a moment.”

“You were right to come and tell me,” Cecil said. He reached into the drawer of the desk and, judging by touch, drew out one of the heavier purses. “For a gown.”

“I thank you. It’s extraordinarily expensive, being the best-dressed woman at court.”

“Does the queen not give you her old gowns?” he asked, momentarily curious.

Laetitia gleamed at him. “D’you think she’d risk a comparison?” she asked mischieviously. “When she can’t live without Robert Dudley? When she can’t bear him even to glance at another woman? I wouldn’t put me in one of her old gowns if I was her. I wouldn’t beg the comparison.”

*  *  *

Cecil, at the head of his spy ring, gathering gossip about the queen, hearing rumors that half the country thought her married to Dudley already and the other half thought her dishonored, gathered threatening whispers against the pair as a spider collects the threads of its web and lays its long legs along them, alert for any tremor. He knew that there were tens of men who threatened to drag Dudley to his death, and swore to knife him, hundreds who said they would help, and thousands who would see it happen and not lift a finger to defend him.

Please God someone does it, and soon, and brings an end to this,
Cecil whispered to himself, watching Elizabeth and Dudley dining in her rooms before half the court, but whispering together as if they were quite alone, his hand on her leg underneath the table, her eyes fixed on his.

But even Cecil knew that Elizabeth could not rule without Dudley at her side. At this stage in her life—so young and surrounded by so many dangers—she had to have a friend. And although Cecil was willing to be at her side night and day, Elizabeth wanted a confidant: heart and soul. Only a man besottedly in love with her could satisfy Elizabeth’s hunger for reassurance; only a man publicly betraying his wife every moment of every day could satisfy Elizabeth’s ravenous vanity.

“Sir Robert.” Cecil bowed to Dudley as the younger man stepped down from the dais at the end of dinner.

“I am just going to command the musicians, the queen wants to hear a tune I have composed for her,” Sir Robert said negligently, unwilling to pause.

“Then I won’t detain you,” Cecil said. “Has the queen spoken to you about a peace with France at all?”

Dudley smiled. “Not to any effect,” he said. “We both know, sir, that it cannot be. I let her talk, it eases her fears, and then later I explain it to her.”

“I am relieved,” Cecil said politely.
You explain, do you? When you and yours know nothing but double-dealing and treason!
“Now, Sir Robert, I was drawing up a list of ambassadors to the courts of Europe. I thought we should have some fresh faces, once this war is won. I wondered if you would like to visit France? We could do with a trustworthy man in Paris and Sir Nicholas would like to come home.” He paused. “We would need a man to reconcile them to defeat. And if any man could turn the head of the Queen of France, and seduce her from her duty, it would be you.”

Robert ignored the ambiguous compliment. “Have you spoken to the queen?”

No,
Cecil thought,
For I know what the answer would be. She cannot let you out of her sight. But if I can persuade you, then you would persuade her. And I could do with a handsome rogue like you to flirt with Mary, Queen of Scots, and spy for us.
Aloud, he said: “Not yet. I thought I would ask if it pleased you first.”

Sir Robert gave his most seductive smile. “I think it may not,” he said. “Between the two of us, Sir William, I think that by this time next year I will have another task in the kingdom.”

“Oh?” Cecil said.
What does he mean?
he thought rapidly.
He cannot mean my post? Does she mean to give him Ireland? Or, dear God, she would never put this puppy in charge of the north?

Sir Robert laughed delightedly at Cecil’s puzzled face. “I think you will find me in a very great position,” he said quietly. “Perhaps the greatest in the land, Master Secretary; do you understand me? And if you stand my friend now, I will be your friend then. Do you understand me now?”

And Cecil felt that he lost his balance, as if the floor had opened like a chasm beneath his feet. Finally, he did understand Sir Robert. “You think she will marry you?” he whispered.

Robert smiled, a young man in the confidence of his love. “For certain. If someone doesn’t kill me first.”

Cecil delayed him with a touch to his sleeve. “You mean this? You have asked her and she has agreed?”
Stay calm, she never agrees to marriage and means it. She never gives her word and keeps it.

“She asked me herself. It is agreed between us. She cannot bear the burden of the kingdom alone, and I love her and she loves me.” For a moment the blaze of the Dudley ambition was softened in Robert’s face. “I do love her, you know, Cecil. More than you can imagine. I will make her happy. I will devote my life to making her happy.”

Aye, but it is not a matter of love,
Cecil thought miserably.
She is not a milkmaid; you are not a shepherd boy. You are neither of you free to marry for love. She is Queen of England and you are a married man. If she goes on this way she will be queen in exile and you will be beheaded.
Aloud he said: “Is it firmly agreed between you?”

“Only death can stop us.” Dudley smiled.

*  *  *

“Will you come for a ride?” Lizzie Oddingsell invited Amy. “The daffodils are out by the river and they are a beautiful sight. I thought we could ride down and pick some.”

“I’m tired,” Amy said faintly.

“You’ve not been out for days,” Lizzie said.

Amy found a thin smile. “I know, I am a very dull guest.”

“It’s not that! My brother is concerned for your health. Would you like to see our family physician?”

Amy put out her hand to her friend. “You know what is wrong with me. You know that there is no cure. Have you heard anything from the court?”

The guilty evasive slide of Lizzie Oddingsell’s gaze told Amy everything.

“She is not going to marry the archduke? They are together?”

“Amy, people are speaking of their marriage as a certainty. Alice’s cousin, who goes to court, is sure of it. Perhaps you should consider what you will do when he forces a divorce on you.”

Amy was silent. Mrs. Oddingsell did not dare to say anything more.

“I will talk to Father Wilson,” Amy decided.

“Do so!” Mrs. Oddingsell said, relieved of some of the burden of caring for Amy. “Shall I send for him?”

“I’ll walk down to the church,” Amy decided. “I’ll walk down and see him tomorrow morning.”

*  *  *

The garden of the Hyde’s house backed on to the churchyard; it was a pleasant walk down the winding path through the daffodils to the lych-gate, set into the garden wall. Amy opened the gate and went up the path to the church.

Father Wilson was kneeling before the altar, but at the sound of the opening door, he rose to his feet and came down the aisle. When he saw Amy, he checked.

“Lady Dudley.”

“Father, I need to confess my sins and ask your advice.”

“I am not supposed to hear you,” he said. “You are ordered to pray directly to God.”

Blindly, she looked around the church. The beautiful stained-glass windows that had cost the parish so dear were gone, the rood screen pulled down. “What has happened?” she whispered.

“They have taken the stained glass from the window, and the candles, and the cup, and the rood screen.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “They called them Popish entrapments for the soul.”

“Can we talk here then?” Amy gestured to the pew.

“God will hear us here, as anywhere else,” the priest assured her. “Let us kneel down and ask him for his help.”

He rested his head in his hands and prayed for a moment very earnestly that he might find something to say which would comfort this young woman. Having heard some of the gossip from court he knew that the task was beyond his doing; she had been deserted. But God was merciful, perhaps something would come.

Amy knelt with her face buried in her hands and then spoke quietly through the shield of her fingers. “My husband, Sir Robert, proposes to marry the queen,” she said softly. “He tells me that it is her wish. He tells me that she can force a divorce upon me, that she is Pope in England today.”

The priest nodded. “And what did you say, my child?”

Amy sighed. “I am guilty of the sin of anger, and jealousy,” she said. “I was vile and vicious, and I am ashamed of what I said and did.”

“May God forgive you,” the priest said gently. “I am sure you were in great pain.”

She opened her eyes and shot him one dark look. “I am in such pain that I think I will die of it,” she said simply. “I pray to God that he will release me from this pain and take me into his mercy.”

“In his own time,” the priest supplemented.

“No; now,” she said. “Every day, Father, every day is such a misery for me. I keep my eyes shut in the morning in the hope that I have died in the night, but every morning I see daylight and know that it is another day I have to get through.”

“You must put aside thoughts of your own death,” he said firmly.

Surprisingly, Amy gave him the sweetest smile. “Father, it is my only comfort.”

He felt, as he had felt before, that he could not advise a woman confronted with such a dilemma. “God must be your comfort and your refuge,” he said, falling back on the familiar words.

She nodded, as if she were not much convinced. “Should I give my consent to a divorce?” she asked him. “Then he will be free to marry the queen, the scandal will die down in time, the country will be at peace, and I can be forgotten.”

“No,” the priest said decisively. He could not help himself; it was such a deep blasphemy against the church he still served in secret. “God joined you together, no man can put you asunder, even if he is your husband, even if she is the queen. She cannot pretend to be Pope.”

“Then I have to live forever in torment, keeping him as my husband but without his love?”

He paused for a moment. “Yes.”

“Even if it earns me his hatred and her enmity?”

“Yes.”

“Father, she is Queen of England; what might she do to me?”

“God will protect and keep you,” he said with a confidence he could not truly feel.

*  *  *

The queen had summoned Cecil to her privy chamber at Whitehall; Kat Ashley was in one window bay, Robert Dudley behind her desk, a few ladies-in-waiting seated at the fireside. Cecil bowed politely to them before approaching the queen.

“Your Majesty?” he said warily.

“Cecil, I have decided. I want you to sue for peace,” she said rapidly.

His glance flickered to Sir Robert, who smiled wearily but offered no comment.

“The French ambassador tells me that they are sending a special commissioner for peace,” she said. “I want you to meet with Monsieur Randan and find some way, some form of words that we can agree.”

“Your Majesty . . .”

“We cannot fight a long war in Scotland, the Scots lords will never maintain a long campaign, and Leith Castle is practically impregnable.”

“Your Majesty . . .”

“Our only hope would be for Mary of Guise to die, and though they say her health is poor, she is nowhere near death. And anyway, they say the same of me! They say that I am ground down by this war, and God knows, it is true!

Cecil heard the familiar tone of hysteria in Elizabeth’s voice and took a step back from her desk.

“Spirit, we must have peace. We cannot afford war, and we surely cannot afford defeat,” she pleaded.

“Certainly I can meet with Monsieur Randan, and see if we can agree,” he said smoothly. “I will draw up some terms and show them to you and then take them to him as he arrives.”

Elizabeth was breathless with her anxiety. “Yes, and arrange a cease-fire as soon as possible.”

“We have to have some sort of victory or they will think we are afraid,” Cecil said. “If they think we are afraid they will advance. I can negotiate with them while we maintain the siege, but we have to continue the siege while we talk, the navy must maintain the blockade.”

“No! Bring the men home!”

“Then we will have achieved nothing,” he pointed out. “And they will not need to make an agreement with us, since they will be able to do as they wish.”

She was out of her seat and striding round the room, restless with anxiety, rubbing at her fingernails. Robert Dudley went behind her and put his arm around her waist, drew her back to her chair, glanced at Cecil.

“The queen is much distressed at the risk to English life,” he said smoothly.

“We are all deeply concerned, but we have to maintain the siege,” Cecil said flatly.

“I am sure the queen would agree to maintain the siege if you were meeting with the French to discuss terms,” Robert said. “I am sure she would see that you need to negotiate from a position of strength. The French need to see that we are in earnest.”

Yes,
Cecil thought.
But where are you in all of this? Soothing her, I see that, and thank God that someone can do it though I would give a fortune for it not to be you. But what game do you seek to play? There will be a Dudley interest in here, if only I could see it.

“As long as the negotiations go speedily,” the queen said. “This cannot drag on. The sickness alone is killing my troops as they wait before Leith Castle.”

“If you were to go to Newcastle yourself,” Dudley suggested to Cecil. “Take the French emissary with you and negotiate from there, at Norfolk’s headquarters, so that we have them completely under our control.”

“And far away from the Spanish representative, who still seeks to meddle,” Cecil concurred.

“And close enough to Scotland so that they can take instruction from the queen regent, but be distanced from France,” Dudley remarked.