A Court Affair (48 page)

Robert’s desk sat in the centre of the room, and I saw that a letter lay upon it, as if Robert had been called away while writing it. Curious, I picked it up and read these words addressed to Elizabeth:

I let it fall from my hands.

“Shall we go upstairs now, m’lady?” Mrs Dowe asked anxiously, peeking curiously over my shoulder at the letter I had just dropped back onto the desk, and I nodded readily.

“There was a large portrait painted of me in my wedding gown,” I said suddenly, turning to Mrs Dowe as we mounted the stairs, the posts carved to depict Robert and Elizabeth as various classical gods and goddesses, “with a goose beside me and a big bouquet of buttercups—my favourite flower—in my hand.”

“Is that so, m’lady?” said Mrs Dowe. “Why, that sounds charming! Just charming! I ’ope to see it ’ung ’ere someday. Perhaps Lord Robert will ’ave it ’ung in the yellow room downstairs, with the buttercups you mentioned—it would look just
grand
down there, it would!”

“Perhaps he will,” I said, though I would not have risked a penny bet upon it now that I knew for certain that there was no room for me in Robert’s life any more, not even for my portrait in his house. There weren’t even any buttercups—
my
flower—amongst the country blossoms blooming in his white marble urns. Heaven only knew what had happened to that portrait; I hadn’t seen it in ever so long. I hadn’t even been allowed to pack my own things when I moved first to the Hydes’ house and then to Compton Verney. Had it been lost along the way somewhere, or did it languish forgotten in some musty attic, or had Robert ordered it destroyed because he did not wish to be reminded of me and our marriage and how happy, how much in love, we had once been? Did it even really exist, or had I only dreamt it? That radiant, happy bride I had been seemed so lost and distant these days, sometimes I thought she was only a figure in a fairy tale, a happily ever after story, not someone who ever actually lived and breathed. If
only
I could see that portrait again, if only I could take Robert’s arm and lead him to stand before it … that portrait was the proof—the proof that it had not all been just a dream!

In a sky blue sitting room adjoining the master bedchamber silver-framed portraits of Robert and Elizabeth, both clad in that heavenly hue, faced each other from opposite walls.

I hardly dared set foot in the bedchamber for fear of what I would find there, but I forced myself and crossed the threshold to behold a massive bed clothed in regal purple velvet edged with deep bands of ermine and sewn with pearls and embroidered with golden crowns set with tiny ruby, sapphire, and diamond brilliants. Draped over the back of a purple-cushioned and ornately carved and gilded fireside chair, which more than a little resembled a throne, was a red velvet dressing gown bordered with ermine, very like royal robes to be worn for some lofty state ceremony, and a gold-embroidered nightcap made in such a way that it mimicked a jewelled crown set with diamond and ruby brilliants. And, dominating the room, from over the mantelpiece, was a portrait of Elizabeth in her bejewelled gold and silver brocade and ermine coronation robes holding the sceptre and orb in her hands with the crown atop her flowing hair.

There was another door, and I crossed quickly to it and flung it wide and immediately wished I hadn’t. A startled cry broke from me, my knees buckled, and I almost fell. Clinging to the doorjamb like a cluster of quivering grapes, I regarded what was obviously the nursery.

Robert and Elizabeth stood side by side in a portrait hanging over the mantel, smiling down upon a gilded cradle swathed in purple velvet and topped by a radiant golden crown that glittered blindingly when the sun poured in through the window and struck it. An ermine blanket was already turned back as if a prince would at any moment be laid down there for a nap. And there were shelves filled with all a child might desire and need, from cups and bowls to piles of linen napkins and a vast array of toys, including gold and silver rattles, some of them set with gems, that mimicked sceptres in their shape. And there were chests—I defied the pain that pierced my heart and opened one—filled with swaddling bands and beautiful little garments—exquisite tiny gowns, coats, and caps—embroidered with gold and silver threads and trimmed with the finest lace, and silk ribbons, and a magnificent christening robe of crimson velvet furred with ermine and trimmed with bands of gold. I let the lid bang shut and, with a hasty “thank you” to Mrs Dowe, I sped down the stairs, crying out in all my anguish, babbling hysterically: “He means to be rid of me, by divorce or death, he means to be rid of me, to have his minions poison me, murder me, so he can make
her
his wife! He will kill me to be King!” I rushed out the door, slamming it behind me, fleeing the house that was a monument to my husband’s regal ambitions and the woman who was all he desired, and I flung myself into the carriage, calling to the driver to “take me away from here. I don’t care where, just go!
Go!
Go! Go!
” I screamed, pounding my fists and stamping my feet.
“Drive!”

He took me back to the inn, but when he came to open the carriage door for me, I had composed myself sufficiently and stubbornly shook my head and sat up straight, like the lady Robert always wanted me to be.

“Take me to my husband; take me to court,” I said grandly, in a calm, level voice. “Wherever the Queen is in residence, that is where my husband will be.”

“Very well, m’lady, but you might ’ave said so before; your ’usband’s ’ouse is right near Richmond Palace, it is,” he said, heaving a sigh of weary exasperation as he closed the door and climbed back up onto his box, mumbling something about the minds of females being as stubborn and contrary as mules.

He drove me to Richmond Palace, and I stood for a moment stark still, gape-jawed and gazing up at the vast profusion of golden turrets, pinnacles, and towers shining in the September sun. When I heard someone laugh and turned to see them pointing at me, I hurried inside, flush-faced and flustered at having shown myself such a country bumpkin the first time I ever saw up close a palace. In truth, I cannot remember very much about it now, I was so frightened, except the urgent press and constant babble of the crowd within. There were
so
many of them—tradesfolk, commoners, and all those waiting to present petitions to the Queen, servants in a rainbow of varied liveries, black-gowned scholars, and statesmen with great golden chains hung about their necks, ambassadors from foreign lands chattering in foreign tongues and bearing gifts for Her Majesty, and the ladies and gentlemen of the court all dressed like colourful birds of paradise—all chattering and squawking as if the palace were a giant gilded cage full of parrots. I walked like one in a trance, dazed, befuddled, and terrified by all the constant and confusing colour and clamour, overwhelmed by the grandeur, all of it blurring together, trying and failing to make sense of it all, and feeling like running away and bursting into tears the whole time.

A beautiful young lady with high-piled auburn hair, dressed in an ornate gold-embroidered gown of vivid, brazen pink, with her bodice cut daringly low, detached herself from a group of gorgeously apparelled ladies and gentlemen and gently tapped my arm with her feathered fan and asked if she might be of some service. Up close, I was startled to see how young she really was beneath all the paint—surely not more than sixteen or seventeen.

“Would you be so kind as to tell me where I might find my husband?” I asked timorously, adding quickly so she would know whom I meant amongst the many gentlemen at court, “I am Lady Amy Dudley—Lord Robert’s wife.”

“Ah! So Lord Robert’s wife is not a phantom after all! She really
does
exist!” the bold young redhead trilled, seizing my arm and pulling me over to those she had been conversing with. “This,” she announced, “is Lady Amy Dudley—Lord Robert’s wife!”

“Well done, Lettice!” a golden-haired girl in gold-spangled spinach green and turquoise blue applauded. “I was well-nigh certain Lord Robert’s wife was imaginary, a figure of fantasy he had invented to keep the ladies at bay! Well,
most
of the ladies,” she hastily amended, darting a knowing glance at a portrait of the Queen that hung high upon the wall as if she were looking down, watching over us all.

“Why, she isn’t sun-browned at all!” another exclaimed, eyeing me up and down with amazement. “She’s as pale as I am! I was expecting a nut brown wench, sturdy and broad as a plough horse!”

They all looked at me as if I were a freak in a fair. They made me so nervous, the way they stared and put their heads together and whispered and tittered behind their fans, that I wondered in horror if I might have some unsightly blemish upon my face. I even glanced down at my gown to make sure it had not become stained, torn, or wrinkled. Could they smell the stink of my bandaged breast? I wondered fearfully and nearly raised my arms and hugged them over my chest, but at the last moment I caught myself, fearing that would lead their eyes
exactly
where I wished they wouldn’t go. I found it very hard to meet anyone’s eyes and timidly touched the auburn-haired girl’s sleeve and asked, “
Please,
do you know where I might find my husband? I have come to London expressly to see him.”

“Of course! Forgive me. You have come a long way and are impatient, and I can see how tired you are.” She smiled, showing teeth that were a little too sharp to be reassuring, and … there was just
something
about her that made me suddenly doubt her sincerity. “Come this way,” she beckoned. “Follow me.” And, being surrounded by strangers, I had no choice but to obey.

She led me through a lavish suite of rooms and out into a small walled garden.

“This”—she leaned in close and confided in a whisper—“is the Queen’s
private
pleasure
garden,” placing a lascivious emphasis upon the words that called to mind startlingly vivid and lewd imaginings of Robert and the Queen romping and cavorting nude, frolicking with wild, wanton abandon amongst the flowers and trees like Adam and Eve. And my mind hurtled back to Hemsby, and the free and wanton way we had loved and played upon the beach, and it made my heart ache to think that he would share such pleasures with another.

It was then that I heard voices, a man and a woman’s mingled laughter, and my memory bounced back to Robert and Mollie the milkmaid in the stable. My escort drew back, but with a wink and a mischievous waggling motion of her fingers, urged me onward. And, like iron shavings drawn to a magnet, being pulled ever forward, unable to resist the urgent, insistent tug, I followed the flower-lined path until I saw them sitting together on the grass beneath a shade tree.

They were in each other’s arms. Robert’s head was in the crook of her neck, kissing it ardently, while she, with eyes closed and lips parted ecstatically, clasped his dark head. Her hair was in disarray—somehow I just knew he had plucked the pearl- and diamond-tipped pins from it and left them where they lay, scattered on the grass—and her gown hung down, exposing one shoulder, so white against the black velvet of her bodice, it might have been carved of marble. To my horror, I saw that she wore a heavy, quilted crimson velvet petticoat thickly encrusted with pearls, diamonds, and silver embroidery, just as the gossipy serving woman had described.

Was it
true,
then? Had he given her a child? A child that should have been mine, as a balm against my loneliness, to fill my world now that he had left me, forsaken me for another. He had given her
everything
!
Everything!

At my hurt, tearful gasp her eyes shot open wide, and she thrust Robert from her.

He whirled round to face me, and I saw the fury blaze up in his eyes as he leapt up and lunged at me.

I jumped back, away from him, and reached up and, without bothering to undo the clasp, ripped the amber heart from my neck and flung it onto the Queen’s lap.

“Here is his heart, the one he gave to
me
! But
you
might as well take it too; you’ve taken everything else!” I cried, a sob mangling the last word.

I didn’t look at her face. I couldn’t bear to. I didn’t want to see the laughter in her eyes, gloating and mocking me because I had failed at the only thing that mattered.

Then I spun round, only to see the brazen, pink-clad beauty called Lettice bent nearly double, laughing at me, cradling her ribs as if they ached within the tightly laced confines of her stays, with a giggling, dark-haired girl in milk-and-water silk beside her.

“
Poor
Robert!” Lettice blurted through her laughter. “She’s
so
far
beneath him!”

The brunette nodded, her dark ringlets bobbing in agreement, and added, “Even if she stood on tiptoe on the highest mountaintop, she still could not hope to even brush her fingertips against the soles of his boots!”

“Oh, how
low
can a man go?” Lettice crowed.

“For shame, Lettice!” The blonde in turquoise and spinach green approached and slapped her arm reprovingly with her fan. “And you too, Frances! I think you’re being
awfully
mean to her!”

“Oh, Douglass!” What a curious name for a woman, I thought! Lettice groaned and rolled her eyes. “You were ever a tender-heart!”

“I sometimes think my sister is too soft a creature for court,” Frances agreed. And that was all I heard as I rushed past them.

Blinded by tears, I ran on and on, pushing and shoving my way through the palace, not caring whom I blundered into or whose toes I trod upon, until I burst out the door and hurled myself back into the carriage, screaming at the coachman to “
Go!
Hurry!
Take me away from here, back to the inn, at once!
Now!
”

I don’t know how he found me, but Robert came to me later that day. The pain went so deep that I was almost numb. He said that I had made a fool of myself, and him, that I had embarrassed him and made of him a laughingstock. That was what this was
really
about, not his betrayal of me and our marriage vows, and his dalliance with the Queen—upon
that
subject he had nothing to say.