Текст книги "A Dangerous Inheritance"
Автор книги: Alison Weir
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Текущая страница: 23 (всего у книги 35 страниц)
‘The blow?’ Kate’s needle was poised in mid-air.
‘The Queen and her party were behind it; we all thought that. She wanted her son, the Prince of Wales, to be influential in these parts. She wanted the rich lands of Pembroke for him. So she persuaded the King to dispossess William of his earldom. He wasn’t deprived of it as such, but he was forced to surrender it in exchange for the much poorer earldom of Huntingdon. What could he do? He had no choice but to agree. And you could see the King’s point of view. William hadn’t been very successful at ruling in south Wales. I can still see what was written in the King’s letter: he said the exchange was being made for the public weal, restful government and the administration of justice in these parts. The message could not have been plainer.’
‘How did William take it?’ Kate found she was feeling sorry for her husband. To have been deprived of that great inheritance, that proud earldom borne by his father, must have been so humiliating. She could see why her father had not told her the whole story, for he could not have done so without making some criticism of her future husband.
‘He was bitter, as you may imagine,’ the Countess told her. ‘But he has been more than compensated by King Richard, who has been good to him. He has given you to him, and that alone is a great blessing!’ She smiled and patted Kate’s hand. ‘And William is much more diligent these days, and effective at his duties too. He works hard in the King’s service. Maturity has made a great difference to him.’ She leaned forward, and Kate could smell the faint scent of lavender. ‘You do not love him, do you?’
The question took Kate unawares, but Anne’s expression was sympathetic.
‘I try,’ she said. ‘I know it is my duty.’
‘Give it time,’ the Countess said kindly. ‘I think you will do very well together.’
‘I hope so,’ Kate said, and half meant it. Her life here had not been as bad as she had anticipated. It had its good moments, especially in the company of the Countess, Richard Herbert and Mattie of course, and little Elizabeth was a delightful scamp. Even William had been unexpectedly kind after she lost the babe, ordering choice foods for her comfort and gruffly telling her not to worry, there would be another child soon. There were no horrible rumours about her father in Raglan, and she had almost lulled herself into accepting that there had never been any substance to them anyway; only a faint, nagging anxiety remained, and that she refused to dwell upon. Yes, life was tranquil, and even pleasant at times. Yet she spent her days feeling no more than half alive, an exile in a strange land – and knowing that the chief part of her heart lay somewhere in England, wherever John lived and breathed.
Katherine
December 1560–March 1561. Whitehall Palace, Greenwich Palace and Hertford House, Westminster.
There follows a strange time, when I live outwardly as a maid and privately, when it can be managed, as a wife. If it were not for Jane, Ned and I could never be together, but she is indefatigable. When her brother visits her at Whitehall or Greenwich, no one remarks on it, of course; but they do not know of the stolen hours we regularly spend making frantic love in Jane’s little closet off the maidens’ dorter, with her on watch in case anyone should come. And it is nothing unusual for me to accompany Jane on her visits to Cannon Row, where Ned and I tumble into our naked bed while she waits downstairs and keeps the servants at bay.
And the Queen suspects nothing, I am sure. She is as sharp with me as ever – no mother–daughter affection to be seen! – and yet I am still accorded the deference due to my royal status, and the court still buzzes with speculation that I might soon be elevated further, and the question of the succession thereby settled.
We have taken Mrs Leigh into our confidence, Jane and I: she now knows the truth, and I am touched to find that she is glad for me, and never looked to see me so happily settled in wedlock. I am sure as can be that I can rely on her discretion, for she is a good woman who has given me faithful service.
Six days after our marriage, during one of our trysts at Whitehall, Ned gives me a hundred crowns for my keep, and a deed of land worth a thousand pounds, made over to his ‘dear and well-beloved wife’. How I rejoice to see myself described thus.
He also gives me something very precious to him: a tiny book bound in red velvet that was owned by his father, Protector Somerset. There is a lump in my throat when I open it and find a faded inscription addressed to Ned: The day before my death, from the Tower. Choked, I add my own name, and lay it in the little silver casket in which I keep my personal papers and jewels.
*
I fear the unthinkable has happened. I have had only a light show of blood for the second month now. At first, never having been very regular in my courses, I thought it but the result of all the anxieties and joys I have swung between lately; but now I find my breasts are slightly swollen, and I am uncommonly tired. God help me, I think I may be with child.
Some might regard me as exceptionally naïve, enjoying carnal copulation and not anticipating its natural consequences. But I had thought that all would be resolved with her Majesty before long; that, in a short space, Ned would have found powerful patrons to support us, and the need for secrecy would be over. Now, I am not so sure, for we are too mired in fear to confess what we have done, and Ned has to go very carefully in this matter. One false move, and we may be lost. We certainly will be lost if what I fear comes to pass, and someone does not help us soon.
When we three, Ned, myself and Jane, are next alone together, in his bedchamber at Hertford House, Ned, who seems a little withdrawn tonight, asks if aught ails me.
‘You look weary, sweetheart.’
‘I am worse than that!’ I burst out. ‘I fear I might be with child!’
If ever I saw a man blench with fear it was then.
‘Are you sure?’ An inane question, but one which, I have heard, is often asked by gentlemen at such times.
‘Not yet,’ I tell him. ‘There are certain tokens, but I may be mistaken. I pray that I am.’
Jane is brisk. ‘If you are pregnant, there is no remedy but we must make it known how the matter stands with you.’
‘I agree,’ Ned concurs. ‘We must trust to the Queen’s mercy. We will have no choice.’
We have to face it: Jane is fading away. The illness that has been consuming her for years has finally extinguished even her ebullient spirit, and she has grown weaker by the day. When she finally takes to her bed, I obtain leave from the Queen to go to Hertford House to nurse her. She is deteriorating fast, and it agonises me to see it. Jane and I are kindred spirits in so many ways, united in our love for Ned, so I take up my sickroom duties willingly, tenderly caring for her in her tragic decline, sitting with her while she dozes in the afternoons, or talking away the night hours when sleep deserts her.
Ned is often with me during these vigils. We welcome the chance to be so constantly together, but we both wish it were in happier circumstances. Sometimes we seize the opportunity to bed together, but those stolen hours are short, because we are both aware that time is running out for Jane, and we want to be with her while we can.
I seem always to be fighting tears these days; and in my grief at the inevitable parting to come, I almost forget my fears about my condition. The prospect of motherhood, with all its terrible consequences, has become a remote one. And if Ned now seems preoccupied, and not quite so loving, I put it down to his concern for his sister. And then I find out that it is due to something else entirely.
Entering our bedchamber one morning, I happen to glance at the table and see a document lying there. It bears the Queen’s seal. Of course, I have to read further, and am soon wishing that I had not done so, for the paper is a safe conduct, signed by Elizabeth herself, requesting the King of France to let pass without hindrance her faithful servant, Edward Seymour, to Paris and other parts of the kingdom of France, as he goes about his lawful business in her service.
Paris? France? Lawful business? What is this about? In a fury of agitation, I race around the house looking for Ned, and find him in the courtyard, inspecting a new mare. He looks up startled as I dismiss the grooms, then his face falls as I thrust the safe conduct at him.
‘What is this?’ I cry, like a wounded animal.
‘I had to apply for it. I had no choice. I was going to tell you, Katherine, but I could not face it, what with Jane being so ill and you being so worried about, well, you know …’ He makes to embrace me, but I fend him off. ‘I did not wish to add to your burdens,’ he says desperately. ‘This mission has been thrust upon me. I did not seek it!’
‘What mission?’ My blood is up. I have no cause to be reasonable.
‘I am to go to France on diplomatic business, which is a great honour and a sign of the Queen’s favour, and may lead to further advancement, which can only benefit us, sweetheart. And I am also commanded to go to Paris as companion to Mr Secretary’s son, Thomas Cecil, while he completes his education. In truth, Katherine, I am as dismayed as you at the prospect of our being parted so soon, but I know—’
‘While he completes his education? And how long will that be?’ I rage, tears streaming down my cheeks.
‘Hush, my love, do not weep so. I cannot bear it!’ Ned blusters. ‘Listen, please: the date of my departure is not yet fixed; there are arrangements to be made. For all we know, her Majesty may change her mind and I will not go at all. You know how changeable she is. So please, I beg of you, dry your tears. I would not leave you for the world, of my own choice. But if the Queen commands it, I haveno choice. You mustunderstand that.’
I subside into his arms, unable to bear any bad feeling against him for long. I am weeping uncontrollably, desperate at the prospect of his being gone from me overseas for an indefinite time, for even the short days and weeks between our meetings are misery to me; and because it has occurred to me that he may secretly wish to be gone, away from the tangled mess that our lives have become. Then I regain control and administer a silent reprimand to myself for having such uncharitable thoughts about the man who is holding me tightly and murmuring his love into my ear. This is his career, and it is important. How could I be so unfair to him?
Jane is dying: we all know it. I watch helplessly as she slips from us, meekly and patiently, too weak even to mouth a farewell. I see Ned sobbing openly as he kisses her dead hand, holding it as if he can never let it go.
The Queen orders a magnificent funeral, and commands her ladies and chief household officers to attend. Clad in heavy black once again, and weeping in the privacy of my hood, I walk behind the stately bier with two hundred other mourners, up the long nave of Westminster Abbey, retracing the path I trod only fifteen months ago when my lady mother was buried here. And it is beside the tomb Stokes commissioned, with its serene sculpted image of her in her coronet and robes of estate, that Jane Seymour is laid to rest. My eye alights on the Latin inscription on my mother’s monument, and soon I cannot see for tears, for it moves me immeasurably:
Nor grace, nor splendour, nor a royal name
Nor widespread heritage can aught avail;
All, all have vanished here. True worth alone
Survives the funeral pyre and silent tomb.
And I think of these two, my mother and my friend, and those others I have loved and lost, now dust in lonely graves.
Without Jane to look out for us, Ned and I have small hope of seeing each other. The interval allowed for mourning over, I am commanded back to the Privy Chamber, where my black gown draws little comment, as the Queen always insists her ladies wear black or white so as to appear insipid next to her own peacock finery. Meanwhile Ned tidies up Jane’s small affairs and undertakes his duties elsewhere in the court.
Our need for each other is such that we cannot long bear to be apart. I beg Mrs Leigh to replace Jane as our go-between. She consents with reluctance, if only because she is moved by my evident distress. Twice in the week after the funeral, Ned and I, a touch embarrassed, meet in Mrs Leigh’s chamber at Whitehall, she making it available, and herself scarce, looking to see there is no one watching, of course.
It adds spice to our coupling, this secrecy; we time our trysts for when the Queen’s ladies are about their allotted duties and busy in the privy chamber. Our lovemaking is always hurried, and usually we dare not undress completely for fear we may be interrupted.
Then Mrs Leigh comes to me. ‘If it please you, Lady Katherine, my mother is ill and I crave leave to go down to the country to be with her.’
‘Of course,’ I say, my heart sinking. ‘I pray you find her amended.’
Mrs Leigh thanks me most warmly and departs. I never see her again.
*
Our meetings now are few and far apart. When we do meet, anxiety mars our reunions, for I am still unsure whether I am with child or not, and I am loath to confide my fears to Ned. My courses are regular, but still scanty, and I could swear my stomach is rounder. Whether these signs betoken I am with child I cannot say, but they trouble me deeply. Yet I do not say anything, as I hate to spoil our brief times together.
Then comes the awful day when Ned breaks it to me that he is soon to depart for France.
‘Tell me truly, Katherine,’ he urges, ‘are you with child?’
‘In faith, I do not know,’ I sob, devastated at the imminence of our parting. ‘I bleed a little each month and I have put on weight, but I am so hungry and keep eating, so that is not surprising. I fear I am very ignorant of such things. I wish there was some wise woman I could ask, but I dare not.’ And I burst out crying again. I am afraid that if I go on this way, always distressed and weeping, Ned will be glad to leave me. And with the width of the English Channel between him and Queen Elizabeth’s wrath, should she discover our secret, I am sure he will be very glad to be in France. But he surprises me.
‘If you are with child,’ he says distractedly, ‘I will not leave you to face the Queen.’
Mrs Ellen, my old nurse, has come out of retirement to replace Mrs Leigh, and seems very glad to be back in my service. Inevitably I soon find myself confiding in her. Without hesitation, she agrees to pass messages between Ned and me, and after a few days she tells me he wishes to meet me opposite his house, by the old canopied fountain in New Palace Yard, in front of Westminster Hall. I hasten there at once.
There is no one about as I approach the octagonal fountain. I am early, and Ned is nowhere to be seen. I make to sit down on the low stone rim, but without warning I find myself engulfed by the most terrible sensations of anguish and despair, similar to those I experienced on the water-stairs at Baynard’s Castle all those years ago, but far worse. I fear I am drowning, submerged by powerful waves of desperation and horror. I am going to faint …
‘Katherine?’ Ned is suddenly before me, steadying me as I sway.
‘I must get away!’ I gasp. ‘I cannot stay here! Help me!’ He grabs my arm and drags me away, over to Westminster Hall, where I slump in the porch, trying to steady my breathing. Once the dreadful sensations have dissipated, I look fearfully over at the fountain.
‘Now,’ Ned says, alarmed, ‘try to calm down, and tell me what all that was about. Are you ill, my love?’
‘Nay, I was affrighted.’ I tell him about the horrors I have just experienced. ‘Truly,’ I say, ‘I did not imagine what I felt. That fountain is cursed; maybe something bad happened there once. Did you not feel anything?’
‘Nothing at all. You musthave imagined it, sweeting; you have been overburdened with troubles lately.’
‘I know I did not,’ I insist, ‘and I am never going near that fountain again.’
Several lawyers are going in and out of Westminster Hall, where the courts sit, and some glance at us curiously. We are very exposed here.
Ned looks anxious. ‘We should not be seen together. Listen, I have received orders to go to France in two days. I know this news is as unwelcome to you as it is to me.’ He sounds formal and stiff, as if warding off another storm of weeping on my part. But I am frozen in misery, knowing myself powerless against the might of the Queen and her ministers.
Ned regards me with concern. ‘I will send letters to you by the common packet,’ he says. ‘I will entrust them to my servant Glynne, whom you may depend on. And I will leave money with you, in case you prove to be with child. If you tell me it is so, I will not depart the realm. But you are not certain yet?’
‘I am not sure,’ I say dully, ‘but Mrs Ellen says I could not be pregnant and still have my courses. I pray she is right.’
‘So do I,’ Ned agrees fervently. ‘Well – I must go then. But if it proves otherwise, my Katherine, send for me at once. I will not tarry abroad; I will defy the Queen and come home to support you.’
‘I cannot face you going from me,’ I mumble.
‘It will be hard for us both,’ he shrugs, with a helpless gesture. ‘I would we could lie together before I leave, but how could we manage it?’
‘I do not think I could bear it,’ I tell him, ‘for then I could never let you go.’ I have felt like that every time we have bedded together: the pleasure has always been marred for me by the awareness that a parting inevitable as death must follow – and that was when we had some prospect of seeing each other again in a matter of days or weeks. But this parting will be worse, for we have no idea when we will be reunited. I am bowed down by it, burdened by a heavy sense of loss, and by the fear of pregnancy that yet nags at me. Was this what those terrible sensations at the fountain presaged?
‘You are punishing me for leaving you,’ Ned protests. ‘That is unfair and cruel. Would you have me defy the Queen and face ruin?’
‘Nay, nay,’ I say wearily. ‘Forgive me, my dear heart. I know you are not to blame.’
Ned holds me close and our mouths meet. His body moves against me, and I can feel mine responding. Yet even at the height of desire, we are looking out for eavesdroppers. And with desire unsatisfied, we tear ourselves apart and go back to our separate lives, knowing it will be a long time ere we will behold each other again.
Kate
1484–5. Raglan Castle.
News from court filtered through only slowly; often it was days old by the time the royal messengers reached Raglan. The King wrote that he had now designated Lincoln his heir, and Lincoln was now practising for kingship, presiding over the Council of the North and the royal household at Sheriff Hutton. How Kate wished she could be there, with her brother John and her royal cousins – and her dear love!
As Christmas approached, she felt especially homesick. They would be preparing for the twelve days of revelry at Westminster – and she would not be there to enjoy them. Her father and stepmother would be facing their first Yuletide season without the Prince, and that would go hard with them, she knew. And then came a letter that really upset her: Queen Anne was ill, her father wrote. The doctors were concerned. He would keep her informed.
In the early spring, Richard Herbert came visiting again. He had been to London, and William and Kate were eager to hear all about it. For her, it was a tenuous link with all that she held dear, and she hoped he might have tidings of the Queen. But the news he brought was not the news she wanted to hear.
‘It was being said in the City, a few days after Epiphany, that her Grace had fallen extremely sick,’ Richard reported. ‘I am sorry to be the bearer of sad tidings, my lady.’
Kate felt near to tears. Anne was very ill, but no one had summoned her, not even her father, unless another letter was on its way. She longed to go to her stepmother, and even had the wild idea of taking horse and riding full speed into England.
She found it impossible to make conversation and excused herself, leaving the men to their wine and their desultory talk. It being a cold night, a heavy curtain had been drawn across one end of the parlour, to conserve the heat from the fire, and after she had closed its folds behind her, she heard Richard speaking in a low voice.
‘I didn’t like to say too much in front of your wife, William, but there is more to this business of the Queen, and I think you should know it.’
William grunted. ‘You’d better tell me, then.’ Kate stood very still in the darkness beyond the curtain, hardly daring to breathe.
‘There’s no chance of the Queen bearing another child. It’s said the death of the Prince broke her last year, poor woman, and that she’s been in a decline ever since. But the King needs an heir, and it seems he would marry again.’
‘He has an heir, the Earl of Lincoln,’ William pointed out.
‘Like all men, he wants an heir of his own body,’ Richard Herbert said. ‘And it seems he now lusts after his own niece, the late King’s daughter Elizabeth. She and her sisters were at court for Christmas, and there’s talk about her all over the City. It’s said King Richard made her appear in the same apparel as Queen Anne, which set tongues a-buzzing. Have you ever heard of such a thing?’
‘It’s disrespectful to the Queen, at the very least,’ William agreed.
‘God knows what that poor lady made of it. I know what everyone else did. It’s being widely bruited that the King anticipates her death and is bent on marrying Elizabeth. Some even speculate he will divorce the Queen in order to marry the girl. It’s said he has sufficient grounds, because he never obtained a proper dispensation for his marriage, even though he and Anne Neville are close cousins.’
Kate almost put her hands over her ears. She could not bear to hear more of this – this treason!
‘But his own niece!’ William was scathing. ‘That’s disgraceful.’
‘He is said to be motivated by political concerns. Believe that if you will. But think of it in practical terms, brother. Over a year ago, Henry Tudor vowed to wed Elizabeth of York to make good his weak claim to the throne. But if King Richard were to marry Elizabeth himself, that would scupper the Tudor’s plans.’
William chimed in: ‘The King had all his brother’s issue declared illegitimate. How then can marrying Elizabeth make good anyone’s claim? And even if she were trueborn, she cannot confer any title while her brothers live.’
‘If they live!’ Richard interjected, and Kate began to tremble.
‘Well, we’ve all heard the rumours,’ William murmured. ‘But there’s no evidence that the King has had them killed.’
‘Is there not? Why has he not exhibited them alive? God knows, he has cause enough for doing so. And wanting to marry their sister – it’s a tacit acknowledgement that that precontract story was a load of nonsense. He knows his title is unsound, so he seeks to bolster it by marrying the true heir – and in doing that, he effectively admits that her brothers are dead!’
Kate thought she might faint, hearing such cruel, hard-nosed logic. It had brought all her buried fears about her father crawling to the surface.
‘There’s more to this than politics, I hear,’ Richard Herbert continued. ‘The girl herself is said to be willing, and the King, according to the gossips, is pursuing her for her own sake. She isvery beautiful. But when his determination reached the ears of the people, he was castigated for it. No one wants or approves of this marriage. It is condemned unanimously as unlawful and incestuous.’
‘Is it unlawful?’
‘I’m no canon lawyer, brother, but I have heard of uncles marrying nieces before. No doubt if enough money changed hands, a dispensation might be obtained. But I tell you who willbe put out by the news – Henry Tudor! He must be shitting his nether hose.’
‘This would all explain a letter my mother received from him a week ago,’ William ventured slowly.
‘Your mother had a letter from Henry Tudor?’ Richard was shocked.
‘They correspond from time to time, purely on domestic matters. You’ll remember, Dick, that she was as a mother to him when he lived at Raglan as a child, and he has an enduring fondness for her. His letters come via merchants, under a false name, but there is nothing treasonable about them, I assure you. I read them all.’
‘Even so, some might deem it treason, this correspondence,’ his brother muttered. ‘I’m surprised at you for allowing it.’
‘There are no royal spies here at Raglan,’ William said. ‘We’re pretty isolated.’
‘You’re married to the King’s own daughter, man! Are you a fool?’
‘She knows nothing of this. I do not involve her in my affairs, and my loyalty is not in question. But I have digressed. In his letter, Henry Tudor spoke again of marrying our sister Maud.’
‘Maud? But it was years ago that our father mooted that match.’
‘Aye, but the fact that Henry is reviving it now suggests he believes Elizabeth will marry the King and that he is casting around for an alternative bride. Maud might not be royal, but she would bring the Welsh rallying to his cause.’
‘We should avoid all dealings with this!’ Richard snapped. ‘I trust your mother destroyed the letter.’
‘She burned it. But you know, she was a little torn. It was our father’s dying wish that that betrothal be revived, and she was loath to go against his wishes. But fear not, I made it plain to her that meddling in Henry Tudor’s marriage wouldbe treason.’
‘Aye, it would. And so would any further communication with him at this time.’
‘I hear you. Will this marriage of the King’s go ahead?’
‘I know not, such is the outcry against it. But I’m told he is determined. He has shunned his wife’s bed, for obvious reasons, and if you believe the London gossip, has abandoned her to waste away. It’s said he complains of her barrenness, and voices his belief that she will die soon. Some say he can’t rid himself of her quickly enough.’
Kate found all this impossible to credit. In her mind was a picture of her father and Anne at Middleham, loving and happy together. Her husband and his brother could not be speaking of the same couple. She remembered there had been some coolness between the King and Queen, but even that rode ill with these new allegations. She could not imagine her father being so cruel or callous. He was not like that. It seemed that knaves and fools were, as ever, ready to believe the worst of him.
She could listen to no more. Tiptoeing away, she hastened up to bed, and wept into her pillow. When William came up soon afterwards, he noticed that her cheeks were streaked with tears. But, being a man of little imagination, he did not trouble himself to wonder what might have upset her.
Katherine
June–July 1561. Greenwich Palace, the Savoy Hospital, London Wanstead and Beaulieu, Essex.
May God help me. I know for certain now that I am with child, and probably have been for some time, for my courses have dried up entirely and my belly is swelling. Since soon after that sad day when I bade a piteous farewell to Ned and watched his tall, elegant figure disappear into the dawn mist, I have had to instruct Mrs Ellen to lace my stomacher ever tighter.
‘For pity’s sake, Lady Katherine!’ she cries, as I urge her to pull harder. ‘This cannot be doing the babe any good.’
‘It has taken no harm,’ I declare, gritting my teeth and trying to breathe in even more. ‘I first felt it move a week ago, and it has not ceased since. In fact, it may have been moving before, but I thought I had wind.’
‘You cannot go on like this,’ she warns, shaking her head in despair. ‘Go to the Queen. Confess what you have done. She will not harm a pregnant woman.’
‘Ah, but what will happen once the child is born?’ I am quaking with fear at the prospect. Women who plead their bellies still face execution after the birth.
‘I do not know,’ Mrs Ellen admits, looking troubled.
‘I have no choice. I must conceal my condition for as long as possible, then feign illness so that I can leave court when I can hide it no more.’
This is not my only pressing worry. There comes a day when I have an appointment with Mr Secretary Cecil. It is of my seeking, for my allowance has not been paid. The matter is dealt with quickly and to my satisfaction, but I am aware all the time of Cecil’s appraising glances, and when our business is concluded, he sits back in his chair, folds his hands on his belly, and regards me evenly.
‘Lady Katherine,’ he says, ‘it has come to my notice – and that of others – that you have a certain fondness for my lord of Hertford.’
‘I am fond of him, Sir, for that he is brother to the Lady Jane Seymour, for whom I grieve yet. We were all good friends.’
‘ Friendsis not how I would describe what has been reported to me,’ he says. ‘I am advised that there is more between you than that. Indeed, your familiarity with the Earl is increasingly the subject of comment, and I must warn you that it would be foolish to continue it without her Majesty’s consent. Do you still say there is nothing between you?’
‘Nothing of which I should be ashamed!’ I retort, wishing he had made himself as plain last year, and not tried to cozen us with false friendship.
‘Then there is something.’ Cecil’s eyes are kindly, inviting confidences. ‘My lady, if there is anything that you should confess to the Queen’s Majesty, I urge you to do it now, and throw yourself on her mercy. I say this as a friend.’
‘I assure you, Sir, there is nothing to confess,’ I persist.
‘If there were, I should counsel you to avoid such familiarity in future,’ Cecil says.
‘There would be no need,’ I declare.
‘Naturally, since Lord Hertford is in France,’ the Secretary says smoothly. ‘I assure you his mission there is a necessary one.’ And by that I know Ned has been sent there to get him away from me. Maybe the Queen knows everything, and it is all a plot to shame and discredit me.
‘Of course; his sister did say something about it,’ I mumble.
