A Favorite of the Queen: The Story of Lord Robert Dudley and Elizabeth 1 (7 page)

“You are going to leave me, Robert?” she said.

“Now listen to me. We had not meant that you should know. But since you have seen what you have seen, your father and I think there is no help for it but to tell you.”

“What … what have I seen?”

He hid his exasperation. “Your father, myself, and the messenger.”

“The messenger?”

“He comes this night from
my
father, and he comes with the utmost secrecy.”

“Yes, Robert?”

How he wished at that moment that she was not there or that he had no wife, and that she was the young washerwoman who had caught his
fancy in the kitchens not long ago, and who could, without curtailing his freedom, provide as much excitement and amusement as Amy ever gave him. His freedom! He felt hot with anger when he thought of his freedom. Guildford—King! And he, Robert, might have been in that exalted position. He could have put his hands about her throat then and squeezed the life out of her.

“Robert, what is it? What ails you?”

When she spoke and he looked at her childish mouth, he was surprised at himself. As if such a creature could be allowed to stand in his way!

He said: “Poor Amy, I frightened you.”

And he bent over her and brushed her mouth with his lips. Her hands came up to cling to him. Silly Amy! She had no conception of what she had done to him. All she had said when she had learned about Guildford was: “What a great marriage your brother has made!” “Aye!” he wanted to shout at her. “And I might have made it!” She was too stupid to see that through her he had lost the great chance of a lifetime. All for the sake of a country girl who was no longer able to satisfy his carnal appetite!

“Don’t be frightened, Amy,” he said. “You do not think I would hurt you?”

“Nay … nay …” How she clung to him! He kissed her again; she was soft and warm from the feather bed. Poor Amy!

“Count yourself lucky,” he said, “that you are my wife and not only your father’s daughter. He would have made you smart for calling out as you did.”

“But, Robert … I thought you had gone to visit a woman.”

“Why did you think that? Do you doubt your powers to charm me?”

“No, Robert.”

“Of course you do not! You have a high opinion of your charms. Do I not often see you simpering with Pinto as you look in the mirror?”

“But …”

“I am teasing, Amy. You must not be afraid. Can you keep a secret?”

“No, Robert, you know I cannot.”

“You are an honest woman, Amy. But I know how to make you keep a
secret, and because I know this I shall now trust you with a most important one.”

“What do you mean, Robert?”

“If you betray this secret, Amy, you betray
me
.”

“I still do not understand, Robert.”

“You do not understand much, my Amy. But your father and I have decided to trust you with this secret. You have forced us to it. You have seen a stranger in your father’s courtyard. You must say nothing of this man’s presence here, for if you do it may cost me … your father too … it may cost us both our lives.”

“How so?”

He put his hand on her bare flesh and felt her fluttering heart.

“Are you so frightened at the thought of losing me?” he asked. “Would it grieve you so much to see me mount the scaffold at Tower Hill?”

“I beg of you …” she began.

He interrupted: “I shall be leaving this house before dawn.”

“Where will you go, Robert?”

“Great events are afoot. The King is dead but that is not generally known. My father has set a cordon of guards about Greenwich Palace; he has closed the ports. He wants this known only among his friends as yet.”

“But what does it
mean
, Robert?”

“Amy, you have married into a great family. My brother will be King because his wife will be Queen. But we have to act before our enemies can. This night I leave with a few of my trusted followers. Can you guess on what mission, Amy?”

She shook her head.

“Of course you cannot.” He stroked her hair almost tenderly. “What could you guess, dear Amy, but whether it would rain or the cream turn sour? Then like as not you would be wrong.”

“Robert, what have I done to merit your displeasure?”

He looked at her sadly. Married me, was the answer, Closed the door which led to the highest power in the land. But he said: “Who told you I was displeased? Did I? Nay, Amy, I am not displeased, for I know that you will perform the most difficult task in your life … and all for my sake. You
will keep a secret!” He laughed softly. He was so sure of her, so sure of himself. He could even succeed in making Amy keep a secret! “Now I will tell you, Amy. My mission is to capture the Princess Mary and take her to my father as his prisoner, thus making the throne safe for my sister Jane and my brother Guildford.”

“But … Robert, these are great matters. They frighten me.”

“You are too easily frightened, Amy. My father is unsafe, and so am I, until we have Mary under lock and key.”

Amy’s teeth began to chatter. “I am so frightened,” she said.

He kissed her and laughed, thinking that it was just as well. “Be in good spirits, Amy. Now you will see what it means to have married a Dudley.”

Lord Robert rested
with his men at the town of King’s Lynn. It was useless to keep up the pursuit. Mary had evaded him. She had too many friends in the country and someone had betrayed the Dudleys’ intentions. When Mary had heard of her brother’s death, and of the plot to capture her, she had gone at once to Kenninghall, the mansion which was owned by the Dukes of Norfolk—those sturdy Catholic enemies of the Dudleys—who had been out of favor lately, but were now preparing to return to it. The Howards of Norfolk, who thought themselves more royal than the Tudors, hated the Dudleys as they could only hate those whom they called upstarts. They were ready now to fight for Mary and the Catholic cause. So now, Mary proclaimed herself Queen, and hearing that Northumberland had sent his son Lord Robert Dudley to capture her, was gathering supporters about her as she went to Kenninghall.

At King’s Lynn Robert heard that Mary had reached Framlingham, the heavily defended stronghold of the Norfolks; he knew that even if he pursued her, he could not take Framlingham with his present force. Therefore there was nothing to do but rest at King’s Lynn and await his father’s instructions.

Because the waiting seemed long, Robert began to lose a little of his confidence. He knew now that not only were many noblemen rallying to Mary’s cause, but that the people were with her too.

What was happening in London? His father was to have joined him in Norfolk and he had not expected him to be so long in coming. At least one of his brothers should have come with the necessary reinforcements, that the soldiers might go on and capture Mary.

The anxious days
passed slowly.

One night Robert was aroused from his sleep by the clatter of horses’ hoofs in the cobbled streets. He sprang from his bed, shouting to his servants: “Hurry! The reinforcements are here!”

Soldiers were tramping up the stairs of the inn in which he lay. Robert met them at the door of his room; but they were not the men he had expected; they did not come from his father nor his brothers. Two came forward and took their stand on either side of him. Robert was unarmed and helpless.

“Lord Robert Dudley,” said another who stood before him—and beyond him he could see that the stairs and corridors were full of soldiers—“you are my prisoner.”

“What means this?” demanded Robert. “How dare you come here thus? On whose authority?”

“On the authority of Queen Mary.”

“I know no such Queen,” said Robert contemptuously. “I serve Queen Jane.”

“There is no Queen Jane, my lord. Mary is Queen of England.”

“My father …”

“The Duke has been arrested at Cambridge. He is now a prisoner in the Tower of London whither you are to go and join him with other members of your family.”

There was no escape.

During the journey to London he learned that the whole country had risen to support Queen Mary. Jane Grey’s short reign was over. She had fallen and with her had fallen the Dudleys.

For many days Robert brooded on these events in his dismal cell in the Beauchamp Tower.

Crowds had gathered
on Tower Hill that hot August day.

“Death to the Dudley!” they cried. “Long life to Queen Mary!”

Forty-three years had passed since John Dudley had stood on Tower Hill, a boy of nine, frightened and bewildered, not daring to look at the man who was mounting the scaffold. Then he had vowed: “I will be a ruler of men.” And so he had been; he had risen from penniless orphan to be virtually ruler of England. He had started even lower than his father and he had climbed higher; but his steps had led him back to the same grim spot and it had taken him forty-three years—almost to the day—to complete his circuitous journey.

Even as he left the Gate House for the scaffold, he was wondering desperately if there was yet time to save himself. It had been such an arduous journey, and Ambition, his constant companion on that journey, would allow him no other. Love and Honor had to be cast aside to serve Ambition’s demands. Now Ambition reminded him that little mattered except that John Dudley, Duke of Northumberland, saved himself and continued the onward march.

He was ready to abandon the Queen he had set upon the throne and swear allegiance to the new one. It mattered little if young Jane and Guildford went to the scaffold. There must be scapegoats. But if John Dudley lived he could start at once to rebuild the Dudley fortunes.

He was ready to lay before Mary’s councillors all the information he had; he would show her who were her enemies; he would serve her to the end of his days; he would renounce the Protestant Faith. All he asked in return was his life.

But it was too late. He had too many enemies who remembered his arrogance
and envied his genius; he had never cared that people should love him, only that they should serve him. It was no use asking for their friendship now.

The bell was tolling. John Dudley, Duke of Northumberland, such a short while ago the most powerful man in England, walked slowly to the scaffold and laid his head upon the block.

In the Beauchamp Tower, Robert listened to the bell’s tolling, to the shouts of the people; and he knew that his father was dead.

A
t Hatfield House the Princess Elizabeth lay
in her bed. She was sick, her household declared, of a malady which afflicted her from time to time. This malady never failed to come to her aid at those times when she was uncertain how to act; and there had been many occasions when, by discreetly retiring to the comparative safety of her curtained bed, she had avoided a trying situation.

Bed was obviously the place for her at this time; so, obediently the malady returned.

A courier had brought a letter to her that morning; it was from the Duke of Northumberland. Her brother, the King, was, according to the Duke’s communication, urgently desiring to see his dear sister. “Your Grace should come with all speed,” said the message, “for the King is very ill.”