Текст книги "Queen of This Realm"
Автор книги: Jean Plaidy
Соавторы: Jean Plaidy
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“I know it well, and I know too, good Master Cecil, that I can rely on your wisdom.”
He nodded. “It is well that Lord Robert has been sent away from Court. We must ridicule all suggestions of murder. The verdict shall be accidental death; and Lord Robert must remain at Kew until we have the right verdict. In the meantime I will call on him there, which will show the people that I regard him as my good friend who cannot be anything but innocent, and show that his stay at Kew is by no means an arrest but merely undertaken in view of the delicacy of the situation. It will show that he himself feels it better to remain there until his name is completely cleared of this absurd suspicion.”
“I thank you, Cecil. We shall come through this, and then we shall tread with especial care.”
I LIVED IN a state of nervous tension awaiting the verdict of the coroner's jury. I knew that the country was aghast and that there was strong suspicion of Robert which included me. My enemies, of course, were making the most of the scandal. Sir Nicholas Throckmorton, who was now my Ambassador in France, wrote to Cecil to tell him that the Queen of Scots had laughed aloud when she heard the story and said for all to hear: “So the Queen of England is going to marry her horsemaster who has killed his wife to make room for her.”
How dared she! The foolish pampered creature! I disliked her intensely, not only because she claimed my throne and was unquestionably legitimate but because the people at the Court of France were constantly singing of her exceptional beauty and grace, which, I told myself spitefully, was no doubt because now that Henri Deux had died so suddenly, she and her little Franois were Queen and King of France.
Our ambassadors reported from every country that it was the general opinion that Robert had murdered his wife in order to marry me. They sent strong advice that there should be no marriage with Robert.
They need not have worried. I, too, had made up my mind about that.
Robert, determined that at the coroner's court there should be a verdict of accidental death, had taken the precaution of sending a distant kinsman, Thomas Blount, down to Cumnor Place to brief the servants so that they should be aware of what their master expected of them. He knew Thomas Blount would do his utmost for, being a poor relation, he had everything to win through Robert. If Robert were to fail, he would fail with him. Such men make good servants.
Blount evidently did his work well and everyone who had been in the house on that fatal day was primed in what he or she must say. Most of them had been away from the house when the accident happened because the annual fair had come to the neighborhood and they had all wanted to attend it.
Lady Dudley had stayed behind. I thought of her in that house alone. Had she had any premonition? She could not have been ignorant of the rumors. They abounded. How would a lonely woman feel when her husband was paying court to another woman and there had been rumors that he was plotting her death?
Why had she allowed them all to go to the fair, leaving her alone in the house? That seemed to point to suicide. But would a woman who wished to kill herself choose such a method? How could she be certain of death? The same applied to murder—unless of course the victim was killed by some other means and thrown down the staircase to make it appear she had fallen down and, doing so, died.
There must be some explanation. I wished that I knew it. Or did I? Did I really want to know what had happened in that quiet house on that day when almost everybody had gone to the fair and Amy Robsart was alone?
I waited patiently for the jury's verdict. I guessed it would be what we wanted. How could it be otherwise? Accident? Suicide? Either would do, but accident was better. Murder it must never be called.
It was—as I had known it would be—a foregone conclusion. The jury would not want to offend a man as powerful as Robert was—nor did they wish to displease me. So there was only one verdict.
Amy Robsart's maid, Mistress Pinto, who had been with her for many years and who was devoted to her, did hint at her mistress's suffering. The theory of a growth in the breast was brought up. It could have been suicide. Suicide or accident, it did not greatly matter.
So the verdict was accidental death. Cecil was relieved; Robert was overjoyed; but I was sober. I did not think the matter could be so neatly dealt with as that.
ROBERT RETURNED TO COURT. No one dared mention the matter of Lady Dudley's death in his presence or mine, but that did not prevent its being frequently spoken of and I doubt whether many believed the coroner's verdict. Robert was watched even more attentively than before. He had acquired a new reputation—one which set men making sure they did not offend him. Clearly they thought he was a man who had the ability to remove those who stood in his way. I tried to behave as though nothing had happened. I wanted to give the impression that Robert was just a good subject who had rather special gifts and that was why I favored him.
He was constantly at my side and I talked to him of matters of State. He had a good grasp of these and he always looked at them with an eye to the advantage of the crown. During that time Robert was so certain that he would soon be sharing it that he could not stop himself behaving like a king.
I was tender toward him. I was sorry for all the suspicion which had been directed at him. If he were indeed innocent that would be galling for there is nothing so maddening as to be accused of something one has not done. And if he had murdered his wife… well then, he had done that for me. And I had led him on, tempting him perhaps too far.
I could not help my feelings, but I was more alive when I was in his company than that of anyone else. If he were absent, then I found the company dull. I liked his dark looks, his magnificent vital presence; I liked his arrogance; I liked his persistence and his ability to withdraw himself with an air of unconcern from an intolerable situation such as the one which had recently threatened to destroy him.
I was no less in love with Robert Dudley after his wife's death than I had been before.
Constantly he urged marriage.
“How could we,” I demanded, “while there are rumors in the air?”
“If you do not marry me people will say it is because you do not believe in my innocence.”
“But if I do, might they not believe in my guilt?” I went on: “Robin, this matter has caused grievous harm to us both.”
“Nonsense,” he replied, for there were times when he seemed to forget that I was the Queen, and I did not always reprove him. In fact I liked his insolence. It was all part of that overwhelming masculinity which so appealed to the feminine side of my nature. “It has done us great good. It has cleared the way for us.”
At such times I thought: Yes, he is guilty. He arranged for that poor woman to fall down the staircase.
I could easily believe that, and yet it made no difference.
Cecil continued to be concerned about my unmarried state.
Time was passing, he said. I must produce an heir. Was I going to put off marriage until it was too late for me to bear children?
“I have many years before me yet, I would remind you,” I retorted.
“Madam,” he replied, “the people look for it.”
I prevaricated and Cecil was too shrewd not to know what I was doing.
“I would agree to marriage with Robert Dudley, Madam,” he said, “for I truly believe that in your fondness for him you would quickly conceive.”
I was amazed.
“The scandal concerning his late wife is too recent,” I said.
“I know. I know. Perhaps a secret marriage. Once the heir was born, the people would be ready to love you again.”
“They will love me,” I said firmly. “Give me time.”
“Marriage is the answer and if it must be Robert Dudley, then so be it.”
Perhaps he had thought such a suggestion would make me wild with joy. It did not.
I said: “Not yet. Not yet. I will decide in my own time.”
I think I had already decided. Much as I loved Robert I knew his nature. He yearned to be King and once I married him he would be. He was too sure of himself. One would think he was there already. No! I wanted no man to stand beside me. I would be sovereign, and I alone.
Moreover, I had to win back the people's trust, and I would never do that if I married Robert Dudley.
When I came to think of it, the death of Robert's wife was the greatest lesson I was ever likely to learn and if I did not take advantage of that, I deserved to lose my crown.
THE LADIES OF MY BEDCHAMBER WERE A CHARMING AND handsome company of women. I should not have chosen them if they had not been. I was very susceptible to beauty in both men and women. I liked to have good-looking people around me. I had sufficient personal attraction myself not to be jealous of a pretty woman, and as I was surrounded by an aura of royalty, I must outshine them all.
The three who pleased me best were Mary Sidney, Jane Seymour and Lettice Knollys—and all for different reasons.
Mary Sidney was a dear affectionate creature, and as she was Robert's sister that made a special bond between us. Mary loved all her family but there was no doubt who was her special favorite. She was able to tell me little anecdotes from his childhood and we would laugh together over his boldness like two doting parents. Mary was such a faithful creature and I liked Henry Sidney, her husband, whom I had known since his boyhood. When my brother Edward had come to the throne, he had been made one of the principal gentlemen of the Privy Chamber. He had obviously been seen as a rising star since Northumberland had chosen him to marry his daughter Mary. It was a happy marriage, Mary being such a gentle, loving girl who, I suppose, would have made a success of most relationships. She certainly had become one of my dearest companions.
Lady Jane Seymour was another gentle girl. I took to her because she was Thomas Seymour's niece and I was sorry for her because both her father and uncle had gone to the block. I felt sympathy for the children who had been thus deprived of a parent—perhaps because I had myself. Jane was a very delicate girl and I was always scolding her about not taking more care of her health. In one matter she did not altogether please me and that was in her friendship with Lady Katharine Grey. Katharine gave herself airs. The silly little creature thought she had more right to the throne than I had, and it had been brought back to me—not by Jane Seymour I hasten to say—that she had said she should have been declared next in succession. I supposed there were some few who would agree that she should. But then there were some who talked of Mary of Scotland, not only as the next Queen but the rightful one. I was always on my guard against successors to the throne, for I imagined they were always casting covetous eyes on the present occupier. Moreover, clever people had a habit of paying court to such, and if too much favor was shown to them it might well be that they would wish to speed up the inheritance.
No! I did not like successors to the throne—unless of course one should be the natural heir of my body, which was very unlikely in my present mood or, I was inclined to think, my mood hereafter. Even some sons had tried to replace their fathers. Successors were a breed to be avoided rather than cultivated and I decided to keep a watchful eye on Katharine Grey. And the one thing which prevented my complete confidence in Jane Seymour was her close friendship with Katharine Grey.
The third of my favorite ladies was Lettice Knollys. She was quite different from the other two. There was nothing gentle about Lettice. She was a fiery creature. Her father, Sir Francis Knollys, had married the daughter of Mary Boleyn who was my aunt, so there was a family connection between me and Lettice. I always liked to advance the Boleyn side of my family when possible for, on the death of my mother, life had been hard for them. Thus Lettice would have been of interest to me even if she had not been an outstandingly attractive girl; and if she had not been one of the most beautiful girls at Court, she would have been noticed for her wit and vivacity. I liked her immediately but I realized that it might be necessary to curb those high spirits and a certain tendency which I discovered of trying to outshine everyone… including me.
She danced well and dancing was one of my special accomplishments. I never tired of it. I loved to glide across the floor and I knew that I looked my best when dancing because of my tallish willowy figure. I often chose to dance with Robert, who also performed well. Very often when we took the floor others would fall away as though to suggest it would be sacrilege to dance while Robert and I cavorted together. The applause would always ring out when the music stopped, and I would smile at the appreciation on the faces of the courtiers knowing that part of their eulogies were directed to the crown; but nevertheless I was an expert performer.
And this girl Lettice Knollys danced as well as I did. None would say she did, of course, but they knew it; and she often called attention to herself when I was dancing and it irritated me faintly; but whatever her charms and accomplishments she had no crown to augment them.
She was inclined to be a little familiar too—presuming on the fact that we were some sort of cousins. I often found the need to rebuke her and sometimes gave her a sharp rap across the knuckles for her clumsiness when she helped to dress me, and I knew that when she hung her head and assumed a humble attitude, she was quite aware that the rebuke had been incurred not for clumsiness but for her own attractions.
Sometimes I wondered why I did not dismiss her. But she was so pretty in a very striking way. I think she had my mother's eyes for they were dark and heavily lashed but whereas my mother had been dark-haired, Lettice's hair was honey-colored. It was abundant and curly. She must have been very like her grandmother, Mary Boleyn, my mother's sister who had been my father's mistress before he married my mother Anne. I heard that Mary had been one of those yielding women who are irresistible to men. I always supposed this was because the men knew there need not be long delays in reaching their desires. Mary was said to be one of those who could not say no, and those are the ones who are naturally irresistible to men, being a constant reminder to them of their own irresistibility.
We were in June. Robert's wife had died last September, but the rumors persisted. I tried to show my indifference to them and had long since ordered the freedom of Mother Dowe who had set the rumors about that I had borne a child or was about to have one. I wanted to show that such foolish gossip was not worth punishing anyone for and that I cared little for my detractors—much as my grandfather Henry VII had done with such good effect in the case of Perkin Warbeck. I was often glad that I had made such a close study of history. It was full of lessons for the living.
Robert was still hoping for marriage and I was still prevaricating. I would not give him a direct no. Nor would I accept any other suitor.
“Time is passing. We are growing older,” pleaded Robert.
“We are still young and because of what happened, there must be a gap of time between then and any steps we take.”
Robert grew sullen, hectoring, which made me laugh. I was constantly reminding him that I was the Queen and that he should not forget it. Poor Robert, how his fingers itched to grasp the crown!
There are men like that. They yearn for power. I could have told him that great tribulations come with a crown as so many of my ancestors had discovered to their cost. It would make no difference. Men like Robert stretched out their eager hands for it. They would do anything for it. They would fight for it, kill…
Mary Sidney was a strong advocate for her brother. “The burdens of state are too much for a woman to carry alone,” she said.
“It depends on the woman,” I told her, my eyes flashing so that she knew better than to pursue the subject.
She changed it. “Robert is planning a Midsummer's Day water party.”
“I have heard nothing of it,” I replied sharply.
“He wanted it to be a surprise for you.”
“He is always planning for me,” I said tenderly.
“Your Majesty, he has told me that he thinks of naught but your pleasure.”
“There is no one like him,” I said.
Mary beamed with pleasure. “I loved all my brothers,” she went on, “but we all agreed there was no one like Robert. He shone among the rest of us from the time he was two.”
“How I should have loved to see him when he was two!”
“He was very sure of himself even then, so they tell me,” said Mary. “They always said he should have been the eldest. He looked after the family. The death of my father and brother…”
“I forbid you to speak of such things. I know Robert looks out for those he loves.”
“And he loves none as he loves Your Majesty.”
“I believe that to be true. I call him My Eyes, because he is always looking out for what is good for me.”
“It is so comforting for a woman to have a man to care for her … even if she is a queen.”
I gave her a slap across the hand—playful but there was a touch of irritation in it. “There are some women, Mary Sidney,” I said, “who are capable of managing their own affairs, even if it be ruling a kingdom.”
“I know that full well. Your Majesty is an example of such.”
“Well, tell me about the Midsummer party.”
It turned out to be an interesting occasion. It was a glorious day as was fitting for Midsummer and the sun shone on the pageant Robert had devised. He was an expert with such arrangements. He had several boats, all decorated with roses and other summer flowers, and it seemed as though the whole Court had turned out to witness the pageant.
There was stirring music coming from one of the barges and children's voices singing the sweetest songs, all in praise of me.
I was sumptuously gowned in white damask with a greenish pattern on it. Green was becoming to my coloring and brought out the red in my hair. My puffed slashed sleeves fell back to show my hands which were adorned with jewels. My hair was carefully dressed with a few false pieces to give it body and I always looked well with it piled high because of my high forehead. I tried to look as much like my father as possible. People still talked of him affectionately; moreover it reminded them that I was his undoubted daughter and the true inheritor of the throne.
Robert was magnificent as always in blue satin. The sleeves of his jerkin were slit from wrist to shoulder to show the doublet beneath which was decorated with pearls and embroidery. His breeches—a fashion borrowed from the French—were full at the top and narrowed at the knee, slashed and puffed looking like latticed windows with bars across which sparkled with jewels. He had the most perfectly shaped legs I have ever seen and had no need for garters. His stockings, with gold and silver thread woven into them, fitted perfectly. In his hat was a curling blue feather.
I listened for the cheers of the people. They were not quite so wholehearted as they had been before the scandal but they were affectionate enough for me. Less so perhaps when Robert appeared with me, and I knew that I must still act with the utmost caution.
Lettice Knollys was in the same satin-padded, flower-decorated barge as I was and although she was much less elaborately dressed, she managed to look strikingly handsome. I felt a sudden qualm because I caught Robert watching her. She herself was gazing at the shore, but a certain smile played about her lips which could have implied something. What?
He is looking at that woman, I thought. And what was it I saw in his eyes. Lust! How dared he, when I was there.
Then I thought: Robert is a man. I would not have him otherwise. I have held myself aloof. Must I be surprised if he sometimes turns his eyes on other women? I blamed her. Was she playing some game with my Robert?
I would have to watch Madam Lettice. Robert too, perhaps.
I was faintly uneasy. I did not want the situation to change. Marry Robert I could not. I saw that clearly. What if I told him definitely that there could never be marriage between us? He was a free man now—no longer shackled to his little country wife.
Nothing stands still. Life changes. Was Robert growing restive? That was a matter of some concern, especially with a minx like Lettice Knollys close by.
Robert was beside me and I said to him curtly: “So you are admiring the view?”
Whether he knew I had been aware of his interest in Lettice or not, I was not sure. But he immediately turned to me. “I cannot see anything but Your Majesty when you are near.”
“It did appear that you found other objects of interest.”
“I was lost in thought,” he said glibly, “wondering what I could devise for your pleasure.”
The Spanish Ambassador de Quadra was standing near. “I trust my lord,” said Robert, “that you do not find our little entertainment too boring.”
“On the contrary,” said de Quadra, in his rather halting English, “I found it most interesting.”
He was looking from me to Robert speculatively.
“Did you hear the people cheering the Queen?” asked Robert.
“I did. They love her well.”
“We all love the Queen,” went on Robert. “It is our bounden duty to do so, but there are some of us who love her with such intensity that we think of nothing else night and day.”
“And you are one of these, Lord Robert?”
He looked at me fervently and I forgot momentarily what I had thought to be his interest in Lettice Knollys.
“I, more than all the Queen's subjects, love her with an undying love. In fact, my lord, you are a Bishop. Why should you not marry us here and now?”
I looked sharply at the Spanish Ambassador. He did not seem in the least surprised at such a request and looked at Robert almost as though there was some secret pact between them.
I said: “I doubt the Bishop would have enough English to carry him through the ceremony.”
De Quadra was watching me steadily and his next words amazed me. “If you will rid yourself of William Cecil and the band of heretics who surround you, I would willingly perform the ceremony.”
He bowed and turned away.
I said to Robert: “Why did he say that? It is almost as though he had considered the request before.”
“Oh,” replied Robert, “you know these Spaniards. It would have been a delightful way of marrying, don't you think? On a barge…on Midsummer's Day, unexpectedly…”
I felt uneasy. I said rather sharply: “It is not the way in which the people expect their Queen to marry.”
I called Lettice to my side. I wanted to know whether I had imagined what I thought I had seen. She came demurely. Robert scarcely spoke to her. The poor girl must have felt completely snubbed. She did not appear to mind though and Walter Devereux joined us. He was Viscount Hereford, just about Lettice's age—quite a presentable young man but rather dull as I supposed every young man must be when compared with Robert. He seemed quite taken with Lettice and she was turning those startlingly beautiful eyes of hers on him in such a way that was inviting, promising—just as I had imagined she had looked at Robert a short while ago. It was her way with any man—not to be taken seriously.
What I was really thinking about was the strange words of the Spanish Ambassador.
They remained in my mind during the whole of that magnificent pageant.
MARY SIDNEY WAS NOT the sort of girl who could keep a secret and I very quickly discovered that something was on her mind. She was preoccupied, anxious and uncertain. I reproved her several times for her clumsiness; she did not even seem to hear me, which was strange because generally she was so sensitive and could be upset for hours after a reprimand.
I contrived to be alone with her after my toilette had been completed and I said: “Mary, you had better tell me what is on your mind.”
She looked startled and then fell on her knees and buried her face in my gown.
“You should be careful,” I said tartly. “Those aglets on the skirt can be very sharp if they catch your skin. I am always complaining about them.”
She lifted her face to mine and there was no mistaking her woebegone expression.
I said: “Take the stool. Now confess.”
“It is because we all love Your Majesty so dearly…”
“Yes, yes,” I interrupted impatiently. “That is the opening when people are going to admit to have done me some wrong. Get on with it.”
“We have done you no wrong, Your Majesty. Indeed not. There is not one of us who would not die for you.”
“So many have offered me their lives,” I retorted, “that the offer does lose its impact after a while—particularly as these offers are frequently given lightly, so that to offer a life to a queen has become almost a figure of speech. Don't try my patience further, Mary. Admit. Confess, whatever it is.”
“Robert loves you dearly. You are his life. If you could have seen his pride, his joy when you referred to him as your Eyes…He cannot live in this suspense, Your Majesty.”
“And what does he propose to do about that?”
“It was a plan.”
“Do you mean a plot?”
“I mean that Henry and I and Robert thought…if we could get the help of Spain to your marriage, you would agree to it.”
“And how do you think you could get the consent of Spain?”
“Your Majesty, Philip is no longer your suitor, but there is one thing that Spain desires above all else—perhaps more than an alliance through marriage. That England returns to Rome.”
“What!” I cried, almost jumping out of my chair.
“Well, we thought—Henry, Robert and I—that if Spain had the promise that England should be returned to Rome in exchange for their support in the marriage…”
“Indeed!” I cried. “And I suppose King Robert would have arranged this after the marriage?”
Mary was silent. I sat very still. You are not yet King, Lord Robert, I thought. And this is what you would propose! Consent to the marriage and you will return England to Rome!
How right I had been! He thought himself already King. What had de Quadra said: “Dismiss Cecil.” The cleverest and most unbiased counselor the Queen ever had! And all because he was what the Spaniards would call a heretic!
I began to laugh.
Mary looked at me wonderingly.
“Your Majesty is not angry?” she said pleadingly. “It is only because Robert loves you so much… because he is so impatient.”
“And because he is so ambitious, eh? Because already he feels the crown on his head?”
“I should not have told you.”
“It was your duty to tell me.”
“I was very worried to be involved in such a plan without your knowledge.”
“And so you should be. But you did well to tell me, and know this, and tell your fellow conspirators this, that whatever they think to plot without my knowledge, they will never succeed in it. There is one ruler of this realm and I am that ruler.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Bring me my looking-glass,” I said.
She did and I studied my face. Not beautiful…as Lettice Knollys was, but attractive with that white skin and tawny hair and large tawny eyes which had a faraway look, yet penetrating, because they were a trifle shortsighted. I touched my hair with my beautiful white hands. No one had hands quite like mine—not even Lettice Knollys.
I said, “Get your combs. I need my hair a little higher. Hurry, and take care that you do not pull.”
While Mary arranged my hair I was thinking: Sell my country to Rome! My dear Robert, you may be handsome, charming, much sought after by the women of my Court, but I am the Queen. I am the one who makes decisions. That is something you will have to learn.
No man shall govern me; and I shall govern my country.
TO MY DISTRESS Lady Jane Seymour died. She had been ailing for some time and had never been a strong girl. I had been quite fond of her and to please her family I ordered that she should have a state funeral in Westminster Abbey.
I missed her very much. Jane had been one of those good girls who never complained and was always willing to do what was asked of her.
I had always believed that I should show myself to my people, and I liked to move about the country so that those who lived in remote places could feel they had some contact with me.
Since the Amy Robsart scandal I felt more than ever the need to keep my people's good will and so I was traveling often. When we made these progresses through the country, the Court went with us. We stayed at the various big houses on the route and although my rich subjects found entertaining us very costly, they regarded it as a great honor and would even be piqued if their houses were not visited.
On this particular occasion we were in Ipswich and among my retinue was Robert, of course. As my Master of Horse he must always be with us and he would ride beside me which was all in keeping with the position he held and was one of the reasons why we had both thought it perfect for him.
I had not reprimanded him about his secret plot with the Spanish Ambassador, but I continued to hold him off, and he remained in a state of frustration which was sufficient punishment, I thought; since he was as ardently devoted as ever, I was quite satisfied with the state of affairs.
With us also was Lady Katharine Grey who had seemed very preoccupied of late. After Mary Sidney's confession, I wondered what Katharine was about. She was pale and there were rings about her eyes which I had not noticed before. She looked as though she was sickening for something. I was not greatly disturbed because she was after all a rival of whom I must always be conscious and my nature was not of a kind to endear me to such people.
It was while we were in Ipswich that Lord Robert surprised me while I was at my toilette.
It was early morning and he looked so disturbed that I dismissed my women and granted him an audience. I was looking quite attractive with my hair loose and in my petticoats, though when he appeared I immediately requested that a wrap be put about my shoulders.
