A Favorite of the Queen: The Story of Lord Robert Dudley and Elizabeth 1 (30 page)

This attitude would give the lie to the words the Spanish ambassador had already written to his master. Even Philip might doubt the veracity of de Quadra, if Cecil treated the scandal with scorn and contempt.

Cecil went ostentatiously to Kew to visit his dear friend Lord Robert Dudley, and to assure him of his belief in his innocence.

The Queen was pleased with Cecil; she knew that she and he could always rely upon each other.

But the country was demanding justice. Several preachers in various parts were asking that a full inquiry be made into the death of Lady Dudley, and grievous suspicions disposed of.

And all knew that in this there was not only a threat to Lord Robert, but to the Queen herself.

Thomas Blount worked
assiduously in the service of his master.

He went to Cumnor Place with the express purpose of proving Amy’s death an accident.

He questioned Mistress Odingsells, Mistress Owen, and the Forsters. Mr. Forster told him that Amy seemed a little absent-minded on that fatal Sunday morning. It would not surprise him if she had fallen down as she was descending the stairs. But the Forsters were suspect, as any servants of Lord Robert’s at Cumnor Place must be; for if the task of murder had to be entrusted to one of them, it would be to a man in Forster’s position.

A jury, deciding that it dared not offend the man who might be King, and at the same time the Queen herself, would not bring in a verdict of murder; but this was not only a matter for a court jury; in this case the whole of England was the self-appointed judge and jury; and the whole of England could neither be bribed nor threatened.

It seemed strange and mysterious that Amy, who had always insisted on having people about her, should have tried to send the entire household to the Fair on that Sunday morning.

Blount was puzzled. He must carefully question every person in the household in an endeavor to understand Amy’s strange action.

At length he came to Amy’s personal maid, the woman who, he had heard, was devoted to her mistress.

Pinto had lived
in a daze since the tragedy.

It was all so clear to her. Someone—she suspected Forster—had been awaiting the opportunity; and it was her actions, her schemes which had given him what he sought.

She knew of the murmuring throughout the country. She knew that people were saying: “Robert Dudley is a murderer. His grandfather and his father died on the block. Let him die on the block, for he deserves death even as they did.”

What if he were to die for this? She could not call to a halt that procession of tableaux which haunted her. She thought of a hundred pictures from those two and a half years when he and she had lived under the same roof. Often she had watched him when he did not know he was watched. He had not noticed her except for one moment, and then it had been her apparent indifference to him that had so briefly attracted him.

Yet she knew that during the whole of her life she would never forget him.

One of the maids came to her and said that Master Blount wished to question her as he was questioning the whole household.

The maid’s face was alive with eagerness. She whispered: “He is trying to prove it was an accident. Lord Robert has sent him to do so. But … how can they prove that … and what will happen now to my lord?”

What would happen to him now?

Pinto was excited suddenly because she felt that there was within her a power to decide what should happen to him.

She could tell the truth; she could tell of the plan she had made with Amy. That would not help Lord Robert. But there was one explanation which was not incredible. No one would believe Amy’s death was due to an accident; but might they not believe in that one alternative to murder: suicide?

That would not endear Lord Robert to the people; he would still have his detractors; but at the same time a man who neglected his wife to serve his sovereign was not on that account a criminal.

She stood before Thomas Blount, who studied her intently. A personable creature of her kind, he thought; and one whose grief showed her to have had a real affection for the dead woman.

“Mistress Pinto, you loved your mistress dearly.”

“Yes, sir.”

“What do you think of her death? Was it an accident or was it caused through villainy?”

Pinto hesitated briefly. It seemed as though he were there beside her. He was made for distinction. She was making excuses for him. He had been tempted and, weakly, he had been unable to resist. It seemed to her that he was pleading for her help, he who had never asked her for anything. What woman had ever been able to resist him? And it was in her power to give him more than any had ever given him before.

Her mind was made up. She couched her answer in carefully chosen words.

“Sir, it was an accident. I am sure it was an accident. She would not have done such a thing herself. Never!”

Eagerly he seized on her words. This was the first suggestion of suicide. Here was a way out that he had not foreseen.

“Tell me,” he said, gently, “why should you think she might have done it herself, Mistress Pinto?”

“Oh, but I do not!” Pinto stared at him wildly, like a woman who has betrayed that which she had planned to hide. “She was a good woman. She prayed to God to save her from the consequences of desperation. She would have committed no such sin as taking her own life.”

“Had she some idea in her mind of destroying herself?”

“Nay,
nay
! It is true that there were times when she was so wretched that …”

“She was sick was she not?”

“She had troubles.”

“Troubles of the body as well as of the mind?”

“Lord Robert came so rarely to see her.”

They watched each other—he and Pinto, both alert.

He was thinking: Suicide! The next best thing to accident. He was framing his story. “Amy Dudley was suffering from a disease of the breast which she knew was killing her. It was painful, and she decided she would endure it no more. She sent her servants to the Fair so that, on that Sunday morning, she might end her life. A strange way in which to kill oneself?
A fall from a staircase might not have meant death? Oh, but Amy’s state was one of hysteria. She would hardly have been aware of what she was doing. She longed for the company of her husband, but owing to his duties at Court he could not visit her as often as he would have wished. So, poor hysterical woman, she had sent her servants to the Fair that she might have a quiet house in which to kill herself.”

A sad story, but one which could cast no reflection on Lord Robert and the Queen.

Pinto was conscious of the triumph of a woman who loves and serves the loved one—even though she does so in secret.

On a warm
Sunday morning, two weeks after she had died, Amy’s body was carried to the Church of St. Mary the Virgin in Oxford. The funeral was a grand one. It was as though Robert was determined to make up for his neglect of her during her lifetime by lavish display now that she was dead. There was a procession of several hundred people; and Amy’s halfbrother, John Appleyard, as he walked with other relations of hers and the students from the University, was filled with bitter thoughts. He had loved his young sister dearly, and he deeply resented her death; for nothing would convince him that it had not been arranged by her husband.

While the bell tolled, while the funeral sermon was being preached, John Appleyard’s heart was filled with hatred toward Robert Dudley.

There were others at the funeral who felt as John did.

There were many who would have wished to see Robert Dudley hanged for what he had done to an innocent woman who had had the misfortune to marry him and stand between him and his illicit passion for the Queen.

So Amy was laid to rest.

But although the jury had brought in a verdict of Death by Accident, all over the country people were talking of the mysterious death of Amy Dudley, and asking one another what part her husband and the Queen had played in it.

Robert was hopeful
and expectant. Surely the Queen must marry him now that he was free.

As for the Queen, she wanted to marry him. This terrible thing which had happened had not altered her love. She was defiantly proud, exulting in the fact that he had put himself in such jeopardy for love of her. He was a strong man and there was in him all that she looked for. He was ready to marry her and face their critics; he was defiant and unafraid.

But her experiences had made her cautious. She wanted him, but she had no intention of losing her crown.

She could snap her fingers at Cecil, at Bacon, at Norfolk and Philip of Spain; but she must always consider the people of England.

Reports from all quarters were alarming. The French were saying that she could not continue to reign. How could she—a Queen who permitted a subject to kill his wife in order to marry her! The throne was tottering, said the French. They may have been beaten in Scotland, but soon it would be Elizabeth who suffered defeat. A people as proud as the English would never allow a murderess and an adulteress to reign over them.

When she rode out, her subjects were no longer spontaneous in their greetings.

All over the world there was gossip concerning the Queen and her paramour; lewd jokes were bandied about as once they had been with regard to the Princess Elizabeth and Thomas Seymour; stories were invented of the children she had borne her lover; she was spoken of as though she were a harlot instead of the Queen of a great country.

She was perplexed and undecided. There were times when she longed to turn to Robert and say “Let us marry and take the consequences.” At others she was reluctant to take any further risk. Always she seemed to hear the cries of the people when she had ridden through the streets of London at her Coronation: “God save Queen Elizabeth!”

She kept Robert at her side; she shared state secrets with him. The Court looked on. It was said that it could not be long before she made him her husband.

But she wanted time to think, time to grow away from the emotional weeks which had culminated in Amy’s death. Time had always been her friend.