The Manner of Amy's Death (20 page)

       My friend is busy reading Robert’s letter with a delighted expression.  We are, she tells me, going to
Cumnor Place, a manor house near Abingdon which is rented by a well respected local man named Sir John Forster.  We’re to depart the following day.

       As we prepare for the journey
one of the grooms from the stable comes in with a serious and apologetic demeanor. Pavane, Amy’s beloved mare now fifteen years old, has been found dead on the floor of her stall in the stable.  It is not a good omen.

Cumnor Place 

We’re clopping along a road that goes past
Oxford and thinking black thoughts.  It’s late November and already there are flurries of snow in the cold wind which whistles round our carriage.  This is no time for exploring the city, not that we’d want to do so.  It’s only three years since the dreadful burnings of Latimer, Ridley and Cranmer at the instigation of Queen Mary.  Amy has a horror of viewing the site where they were burned, the ditch outside the city, and won’t even look in that direction.  Besides she’s lost in her own thoughts again and wears a worried frown.  The sooner we reach Cumnor, the better.

      
“She was old I suppose.”

       “Who?  Pavane?”  I know where her thoughts lie.

       “Yes.  She was fifteen.  She was five years old when Robert gave her to me as a present, all those years ago when we were happy and about to be married.  And yet,” she continues, “She was in good health and father had horses at Syderstone and Stanfield that were twenty and still working well.”

       Amy ponders this and then gives a long sigh.  “It’s no use.  I expect we’ll never know.  It was a pity we had to leave James behind at Mr Hyde’s house.  He was a good groom, when he was sober, and would have looked after her properly if he’d been with us.  At least he would have told me if he’d seen she was ill and I would have had a chance to say goodbye to her.”  A tear rolls down her face.  “She was always so kind to me.  She never put a f
oot wrong.  She looked after me and I would have liked to say goodbye.”

       The tears are flowing fast now.  This little mare had been devoted to Amy and she was the only connection
to her husband and the once happy life they had.  Now all that, the romance, the happiness and anxieties, the despair and the hope for the future are just a memory.  Amy’s in a state of nothingness, neither married nor unmarried, and all the time knowing that her once loving husband now has thoughts for no one except the Queen.  I put my hand over hers; there’s no consolation I can offer, either for the loss of her horse or for the loss of her husband.

       “Do you think animals go to heaven, Kat?  Everyone says they have no soul and cannot go.”

      “All I can say, Amy, is that heaven wouldn’t be heaven for me without animals there.  Not fighting animals like the pitiful bears that are prized only for their ability to tear at the poor dogs that are set against them in the pits - but a place where we can all live together in peace and safety.”

       “That’s a very unusual idea, Kat.  I don’t think the church would agree with you a
nd it’s a good thing that Mary’s not still alive.  She would have had you burned as a witch with your animal familiars.”

       “Oh they aren’t familiars.  They don’t talk to me and tell me what to do.  It’s the devil who puts wicked thoughts into people’s minds not animals.  I just think that they are so much like us, and we like them.”

       “Hush, Kat.  Such talk may be construed as heresy.  Say no more.  You don’t know who’s listening.”  Amy drops her voice to a whisper.

       The wind
around the carriage blows even more ferociously making conversation difficult.  It seems to me that the weather’s getting worse.  Winter starts early and goes on until well into the spring and we have rain all summer long.  During Mary’s reign the people blamed the bad weather and the harvest failures on Mary’s burnings and many wished her dead.  Elizabeth was a breath of fresh air for some.  Well she’s reigned for a year now and we hear that many at court find her behaviour disappointing.  Rumour and gossip surround her and her favourite courtier, Robert Dudley.  The worst is that Amy’s husband and the Queen have adjoining bed chambers and visit each other day and night.  It’s common talk throughout the land and Amy must surely have heard such tittle-tattle.

       The horses plough on through the wind and sleet and we pull our cloaks around us and huddle together.  Then
we begin to climb a hill and eventually someone shouts, “There it is!” and we both look up, eager to see our new dwelling place.

       New!  It’
s hardly that!  An austere stone building lies ahead of us, completely unlike the pretty brick and timbered buildings of leafy Warwickshire.  I have a feeling that Cumnor Manor, nesting in the lee of a ridge and facing towards Abingdon to the south, will be windy and bleak even in the height of summer.  We’ve been told that it was once used by the monks in nearby Oxford as a summer residence, before King Henry’s time when there were still monasteries.  That is to say – before he met Elizabeth’s mother, Anne Boleyn.  Now it’s a private dwelling place, owned by a Mr Owen, who was once a royal physician.  The manor house is leased from him by Sir Anthony Forster, so our driver tells us.  It’s a strange place.  There’s no obvious front door!

       The road winds up past a little church and
along the north side of the building and, just as we’re wondering where we will enter and who will be on hand to receive us, the driver guides the horses from the outer courtyard, under an archway in the building and into a central courtyard where a group of people are assembled, shivering in the cold.  We guess that they haven’t waited there all afternoon; a servant will have spotted our approach from an upper window.

       A gentleman steps forward from the group and takes Amy’s hand.

       “My dear Lady Dudley – what a pleasure this is.  Welcome to Cumnor and let us please go in, out of this cold wind.”

      “Thank you, Si
r Anthony, I do hope that you’ve not been standing outside for long, waiting for me in such bad weather.”

      “
No my dear lady, we came out when we saw your carriage approaching.  I would like to show you round Cumnor but the weather will not allow it today ….. maybe one day when the wind is not so strong and cold.”

       We’
re ushered towards the Great Hall while the servants step forwards to take the baggage.  The steaming, sweaty horses will be taken to the stables to be rubbed down with straw as no one wants them to get a chill and, as our driver manoeuvres them round the courtyard, we hear the sound of the remainder of our baggage train arriving on the road outside.

       Inside the Hall t
here’s a roaring fire piled high with logs and a long table spread with plates of all kinds of hot and freshly carved meat and the best manchet bread.  Even Elizabeth will not fare better this evening and I secretly hope that Sir Anthony has not used a quarter of our winter rations on this extravagant display of hospitality.  A servant pours huge cups of warm spiced wine.  It’s very sweet and welcoming and just to Amy’s liking.  Someone must have told Sir Anthony what my friend’s food preferences are!

       Our host then introduces
us to the other occupants of Cumnor Place, starting with his wife, a shy and gentle lady.  Then there is a Mrs Owen who is the mother of the man from whom Sir Anthony leases the house and another woman who is younger than the elderly Mrs Owen but older than Amy and me, a Mrs Odingsells.   She is a gentlewoman companion to Mrs Owen.  All the women are friendly and welcoming.  Sir Anthony then summons a man called Bowes from the group of servants standing a little way off and tells Amy that this man will be her principal servant here and will attend to any errands for commodities she may require and will also take letters to and from her dear Lord, Sir Robert. 

      
Finally Sir Anthony beams as he shows Amy the presents that Robert has sent to Cumnor to welcome her arrival, a jewelled looking glass and many yards of the finest blue sewing silk.  Amy radiates pleasure to think that Robert has been so attentive to her needs and turns to the assembled women, including her servant Mrs Picto.

       “What
pleasant times we’ll all have with our conversation and embroidery over the long winter months when we cannot walk outside in the garden.  Thank you all for the welcome you have given me.  I’m sure I will be very happy here.”

       The ladies are all pleased with the arrival of this new and eminent personage.  Lady Dudley is going to be a welcome companion in the isolated little community of Cumnor.
 

      
The formalities over, we all sit down to a welcome and tasty dinner.  Sir Anthony talks about his garden at Cumnor and how he likes to cultivate young plants in the spring; gardening is obviously something that he is passionate about.  He describes the buildings that make up the Place and tells us that the archway, by which we entered the courtyard on our arrival, is underneath a Long Gallery.  We can use this, when the weather is bad and we cannot ride out, to play skittles and to exercise, as it extends for the whole length of the house on its northern side.  Sir Anthony is very sorry to hear of the death of Amy’s riding horse and says that he will take great pains to find another sound and reliable palfrey when the spring arrives.

      
After our meal our host shows us to our chambers.  Amy’s are elegant and spacious in the south west corner, with enough room for her dresses and her waiting lady, Mrs Picto.  The stairs up to Amy’s bedchamber ascend in two flights with a ‘landing’ in between.  From her outside doorway it’s a just a stride through the inner courtyard to an archway in the wall which leads to the gardens and deer park.  Sir Anthony says that he will be very pleased, in the warmer weather, to escort Lady Dudley around his well stocked terraced gardens.

       My chamber is next to that of Mrs Owen and Mrs
Odingsells while the Forsters and their servants sleep in the east wing of Cumnor Place.  Between their bedchambers and mine is a chapel and, underneath the east wing, is another archway that leads into the churchyard of the tiny Cumnor church.  All together, with the cellars, malting rooms and buttery, we could not have wished for a better place to spend the winter and we’re delighted with the welcome we’ve been given.

Christmas 1559

We’
ve been at Cumnor for a month now and we’ve met most of the local gentry and dignitaries.  Amy’s something of a distinguished figure in the area and most of the women in the local community covet the opportunity to meet the wife of Sir Robert Dudley.  With these meetings, however, comes the opportunity for court gossip relating to Amy’s husband and the Queen, a situation which Amy naturally detests.  It seems to be the main item of conversation at the moment as if no one can think of anything else and I’m amazed how insensitive even the kindest of our friends can be.

        Time goes on but t
he gossip continues unabated.  Sir Robert is the darling of all the ladies at court, they say, and Amy is so lucky to have such a charming husband.  And she has no need to worry about his relationships with the ladies-in-waiting; the Queen will not allow his attention to wander beyond her own self …. nor his person either!  The two of them are seldom apart, we are told in strictest confidence.  Amy smiles and holds her tongue in public but, in the privacy of her chamber, she explodes.

       “Well, it’s nice to know what one’s own husband is doing from the tongues of baggages and chattering jays!  Really Kat, this is too much, too much to bear.  Just wait til we next see Robert.  I will remind him that he has his wife’s sensitivities to think of and should curb his flirtatious nature.” 
I nod in agreement but there’s nothing I can say, no comfort to give.

       However we are not entirely alone in our disapproval, entertaining as it may be to some. 
Some of the Queen’s most trusted companions and advisors have advised her in the strongest words against her continued relationship with Sir Robert.  Needless to say the reckless and wilful Elizabeth has thrown all this advice back in their faces.  She is the Queen; why should she take advice?  She can do as she wishes.   

   
   Amy however is still convinced that Robert loves her, despite all the rumours flying around, and, although she doubts that he will be able to leave the court over the Christmas festivities, she truly believes that his heart is really with her and that it will not be long before he makes the thirty mile journey from Windsor to Cumnor to see her again, whether Elizabeth agrees or not.

       Another piece of startling news is that Amy’s hus
band is now so detested by members of the nobility at court that he’s taken to wearing a chain mail vest underneath his fine clothes.  He fears the assassin’s dagger and the young Duke of Norfolk has stated openly that he would like to see Sir Robert dead and out of the way.  They all think that the queen will never commit to a foreign or, for that matter, an English marriage while Robert is still hovering around her.

  
    The news of the danger to Robert due to his foolhardy behaviour is very distressing to Amy, as are the occasional visits from Blount and Verney, but in the excitement of Christmas all the unpleasantness disappears.    Sir Anthony has planned a wonderful season of entertainment for the ladies of Cumnor.