VI. THE BARREN WOOING
The Murder of Amy Robsart
There had been a banquet, followed by a masque, and this again by adance in which the young queen had paired off with Lord Robert Dudley,who in repute was the handsomest man in Europe, just as in fact he wasthe vainest, shallowest, and most unscrupulous. There had been homageand flattery lavishly expressed, and there was a hint of maskedhostility from certain quarters to spice the adventure, and to thrillher bold young spirit. Never yet in all the months of her reign sinceher coronation in January of last year had she felt so much a queen, andso conscious of the power of her high estate; never so much a woman,and so conscious of the weakness of her sex. The interaction of thoseconflicting senses wrought upon her like a heady wine. She leaned moreheavily upon the silken arm of her handsome Master of the Horse, andcareless in her intoxication of what might be thought or said, she--whoby the intimate favour shown him had already loosed the tongue ofScandal and set it chattering in every court in Europe--drew him forthfrom that thronged and glittering chamber of the Palace of Whitehallinto the outer solitude and friendly gloom.
And he, nothing loth to obey the suasion of that white hand upon hisarm, exultant, indeed, to parade before them all the power he had withher, went willingly enough. Let Norfolk and Sussex scowl, let Arundelbite his lip until it bled, and sober Cecil stare cold disapproval. Theyshould mend their countenances soon, and weigh their words or be forever silenced, when he was master in England. And that he would soon bemaster he was assured to-night by every glance of her blue eyes, by thepressure of that fair hand upon his arm, by the languishing abandonmentwith which that warm young body swayed towards him, as they passed outfrom the blaze of lights and the strains of music into the gloom andsilence of the gallery leading to the terrace.
"Out--let us go out, Robin. Let me have air," she almost panted, as shedrew him on.
Assuredly he would be master soon. Indeed, he might have been masteralready but for that wife of his, that stumbling-block to his ambition,who practiced the housewifely virtues at Cumnor Place, and clung sotenaciously and so inconsiderately to life in spite of all his plans torelieve her of the burden of it.
For a year and more his name had been coupled with the Queen's in atale that hurt her honour as a woman and imperilled her dignity as asovereign. Already in October of 1559 Alvarez de Quadra, the Spanishambassador, had written home: "I have learnt certain things as to theterms on which the Queen and Lord Robert stand towards each other whichI could not have believed."
That was at a time when de Quadra was one of a dozen ambassadors whowere competing for her hand, and Lord Robert had, himself, appeared tobe an ally of de Quadra and an advocate of the Spanish marriage with theArchduke Charles. But it was a presence which nowise deceived the astuteSpaniard, who employed a legion of spies to keep him well informed.
"All the dallying with us," he wrote, "all the dallying with the Swede,all the dallying there will be with the rest, one after another, ismerely to keep Lord Robert's enemies in play until his villainy abouthis wife can be executed."
What that particular villainy was, the ambassador had already statedearlier in his letter. "I have learnt from a person who usually gives metrue information that Lord Robert has sent to have his wife poisoned."
What had actually happened was that Sir Richard Verney--a trustedretainer of Lord Robert's--had reported to Dr. Bayley, of New College,Oxford, that Lady Robert Dudley was "sad and ailing," and had asked himfor a potion. But the doctor was learned in more matters than physic. Hehad caught an echo of the tale of Lord Robert's ambition; he had hearda whisper that whatever suitors might come from overseas for Elizabeth,she would marry none but "my lord"--as Lord Robert was now commonlystyled. More, he had aforetime heard rumours of the indispositions ofLady Robert, yet had never found those rumours verified by the fact.Some months ago, it had been reported that her ladyship was sufferingfrom cancer of the breast and likely soon to die of it. Yet Dr. Bayleyhad reason to know that a healthier woman did not live in Berkshire.
The good doctor was a capable deductive reasoner, and the conclusionto which he came was that if they poisoned her under cover of hispotion--she standing in no need of physic--he might afterwards behanged as a cover for their crime. So he refused to prescribe as he wasinvited, nor troubled to make a secret of invitation and refusal.
For awhile, then, Lord Robert had prudently held his hand; moreover,the urgency there had been a year ago, when that host of foreign suitorslaid siege to Elizabeth of England, had passed, and his lordship couldafford to wait. But now of a sudden the urgency was returned. Under thepressure brought to bear upon her to choose a husband, Elizabeth hadhalf-committed herself to marry the Archduke Charles, promising theSpanish ambassador a definite answer within a few days.
Lord Robert had felt the earth to be quaking under him; he had seenthe ruin of his high ambitions; he had watched with rage the expandingmockery upon the countenances of Norfolk, Sussex, and those others whohated and despised him; and he had cursed that wife of his who knew notwhen to die. But for that obstinacy with which she clung to life he hadbeen the Queen's husband these many months, so making an end to suspenseand to the danger that lies in delay.
To-night the wantonness with which the Queen flaunted before the eyes ofall her court the predilection in which she held him, came not merely tolull his recent doubts and fears, to feed his egregious vanity, and toassure him that in her heart he need fear no rival; it came also toset his soul Quiver impotent rage. He had but to put forth his handsto possess himself of this splendid prize. Yet those hands of his werebound while that woman lived at Cumnor. Conceive his feelings as theystole away together like any pair of lovers.
Arm in arm they came by a stone gallery, where a stalwart scarletsentinel, a yeoman of the guard, with a Tudor rose embroidered in goldupon his back, stood under a lamp set in the wall, with grounded pikeand body stiffly erect.
The tall young Queen was in crimson satin with cunningly-wrought silverembroideries, trimmed with tufted silver fringe, her stomacher stiffwith silver bullion studded with gold rosettes and Roman pearls, herbodice cut low to display her splendid neck, decked by a carcanet ofpearls and rubies, and surmounted by a fan-like cuff of guipure, highbehind and sloping towards the bust. Thus she appeared to the sentinelas the rays of the single lamp behind him struck fire from her red-goldhair. As if by her very gait to express the wantonness of her mood, shepointed her toes and walked with head thrown back, smiling up intothe gipsy face of her companion, who was arrayed from head to foot inshimmering ivory satin, with an elegance no man in England could havematched.
They came by that stone gallery to a little terrace above the PrivySteps. A crescent moon hung low over the Lambeth marshes across theriver. From a barge that floated gay with lights in mid-stream camea tinkle of lutes, and the sweet voice of a singing boy. A momentthe lovers stood at gaze, entranced by the beauty of the soft, tepidSeptember night, so subtly adapted to their mood. Then she fetched asigh, and hung more heavily upon his arm, leaned nearer to his tall,vigorous, graceful figure.
"Robin, Robin!" was all she said, but in her voice throbbed a world ofpassionate longing, an exquisite blend of delight and pain.
Judging the season ripe, his arm flashed round her, and drew herfiercely close. For a moment she was content to yield, her head againsthis stalwart shoulder, a very woman nestling to the mate of her choice,surrendering to her master. Then the queen in her awoke and stranglednature. Roughly she disengaged herself from his arm, and stood away, herbreathing quickened.
"God's Death, Robin!" There was a harsh note in the voice that latelyhad cooed so softly. "You are strangely free, I think."
But he, impudence incarnate, nothing abashed, accustomed to hergusty moods, to her alternations between the two natures she hadinherited--from overbearing father and wanton mother--was determined atall costs to take the fullest advantage of the hour, to make an end ofsuspense.
"I am not free, but enslaved--by love and
worship of you. Would you denyme; Would you?"
"Not I, but fate," she answered heavily, and he knew that the woman atCumnor was in her mind.
"Fate will soon mend the wrong that fate has done--very soon now." Hetook her hand, and, melted again from her dignity, she let it lie inhis. "When that is done, sweet, then will I claim you for my own."
"When that is done, Robin?" she questioned almost fearfully, as if asudden dread suspicion broke upon her mind. "When what is done?"
He paused a moment to choose his words, what time she stared intentlyinto the face that gleamed white in the surrounding gloom.
"When that poor ailing spirit is at rest." And he added: "It will besoon."
"Thou hast said the same aforetime, Robin. Yet it has not so fallenout."
"She has clung to life beyond what could have been believed of hercondition," he explained, unconscious of any sinister ambiguity. "Butthe end, I know, is very near--a matter but of days."
"Of days!" she shivered, and moved forward to the edge of the terrace,he keeping step beside her. Then she stood awhile in silence, lookingdown at the dark oily surge of water. "You loved her once, Robin?" sheasked, in a queer, unnatural voice.
"I never loved but once," answered that perfect courtier.
"Yet you married her--men say it was a love marriage. It was a marriage,anyway, and you can speak so calmly of her death?" Her tone wasbrooding. She sought understanding that should silence her own lingeringdoubt of him.
"Where lies the blame? Who made me what I am?" Again his bold armencompassed her. Side by side they peered down through the gloom at therushing waters, and he seized an image from them. "Our love is like thatseething tide," he said. "To resist it is to labour in agony awhile, andthen to perish."
"And to yield is to be swept away."
"To happiness," he cried, and reverted to his earlier prayer. "Saythat when... that afterwards, I may claim you for my own. Be true toyourself, obey the voice of instinct, and so win to happiness."
She looked up at him, seeking to scan the handsome face in that dimlight that baffled her, and he observed the tumultuous heave of herwhite breast.
"Can I trust thee, Robin? Can I trust thee? Answer me true!" sheimplored him, adorably weak, entirely woman now.
"What does your own heart answer you?" quoth he, loaning close aboveher.
"I think I can, Robin. And, anyway, I must. I cannot help myself. I ambut a woman, after all," she murmured, and sighed. "Be it as thou wilt.Come to me again when thou art free."
He bent lower, murmuring incoherently, and she put up a hand to pat hisswarthy bearded cheek.
"I shall make thee greater than any man in England, so thou make mehappier than any woman."
He caught the hand in his and kissed it passionately, his soul singinga triumph song within him. Norfolk and Sussex and those other scowlingones should soon be whistled to the master's heel.
As they turned arm in arm into the gallery to retrace their steps,they came suddenly face to face with a slim, sleek gentleman, who bowedprofoundly, a smile upon his crafty, shaven, priestly face. In a smoothvoice and an accent markedly foreign, he explained that he, too, soughtthe cool of the terrace, not thinking to intrude; and upon that, bowingagain, he passed on and effaced himself. It was Alvarez de Quadra,Bishop of Aquila, the argus-eyed ambassador of Spain.
The young face of the Queen hardened.
"I would I were as well served abroad as the King of Spain is here,"she said aloud, that the retreating ambassador might hear the dubiouscompliment; and for my lord's ear alone she added under her breath: "Thespy! Philip of Spain will hear of this."
"So that he hears something more, what shall it signify?" quoth my lord,and laughed.
They paced the length of the gallery in silence, past the yeoman of theguard, who kept his watch, and into the first antechamber. Perhaps itwas that meeting with de Quadra and my lord's answer to her comment thatprompted what now she asked: "What is it ails her, Robin?"
"A wasting sickness," he answered, never doubting to whom the questionalluded.
"You said, I think, that... that the end is very near."
He caught her meaning instantly. "Indeed, if she is not dead already,she is very nearly so."
He lied, for never had Amy Dudley been in better health. And yet hespoke the truth, for in so much as her life depended upon his will,it was as good as spent. This was, he knew, a decisive moment of hiscareer. The hour was big with fate. If now he were weak or hesitant, thechance might slip away and be for ever lost to him. Elizabeth's moodswere as uncertain as were certain the hostile activities of my lord'senemies. He must strike quickly whilst she was in her present frame ofmind, and bring her to wedlock, be it in public or in private. But firsthe must shake off the paralysing encumbrance of that house-wife down atCumnor.
I believe--from evidence that I account abundant--that he consideredit with the cold remorselessness of the monstrous egotist he was. Anupstart, great-grandson to a carpenter, noble only in two descents, andin both of them stained by the block, he found a queen--the victim ofa physical passion that took no account of the worthlessness underlyinghis splendid exterior--reaching out a hand to raise him to a throne.Being what he was, he weighed his young wife's life at naught in theevil scales of his ambition. And yet he had loved her once, more trulyperhaps than he could now pretend to love the Queen.
It was some ten years since, as a lad of eighteen, he had taken SirJohn Robsart's nineteen-year-old daughter to wife. She had brought himconsiderable wealth and still more devotion. Because of this devotionshe was content to spend her days at Cumnor, whilst he ruffled it atcourt; content to take such crumbs of attention as he could spare herupon occasion. And during the past year, whilst he had been plotting herdeath, she had been diligently caring for his interests and fosteringthe prosperity of the Berkshire estate. If he thought of this at all, heallowed no weakly sentiment to turn him from his purpose. There was toomuch at stake for that--a throne, no less.
And so, on the morning after that half-surrender of Elizabeth's, wefind my lord closeted with his henchman, Sir Richard Verney. SirRichard--like his master--was a greedy, unscrupulous, ambitiousscoundrel, prepared to go to any lengths for the sake of such worldlyadvancement as it lay in my lord's power to give him. My lord perforceused perfect frankness with this perfect servant.
"Thou'lt rise or fall with me, Dick," quoth he. "Help me up, then, andso mount with me. When I am King, as soon now I shall be, look to me.Now to the thing that is to do. Thou'lt have guessed it."
To Sir Richard it was an easy guess, considering how much already he hadbeen about this business. He signified as much.
My lord shifted in his elbow-chair, and drew his embroidered bedgown ofyellow satin closer about his shapely limbs.
"Hast failed me twice before, Richard," said he. "God's death, man, failme not again, or the last chance may go the way of the others. There's amagic in the number three. See that I profit by it, or I am undone, andthou with me."
"I'd not have failed before, but for that suspicious dotard Bayley,"grumbled Verney. "Your lordship bade me see that all was covered."
"Aye, aye. And I bid thee so again. On thy life, leave no footprintsby which we may be tracked. Bayley is not the only physician in Oxford.About it, then, and swiftly. Time is the very soul of fortune in thisbusiness, with the Spaniard straining at the leash, and Cecil and therest pleading his case with her. Succeed, and thy fortune's made; fail,and trouble not to seek me again."
Sir Richard bowed, and took his leave. As he reached the door, hislordship stayed him. "If thou bungle, do not look to me. The court goesto Windsor to-morrow. Bring me word there within the week." He rose,magnificently tall and stately, in his bedgown of embroidered yellowsatin, his handsome head thrown back, and went after his retainer."Thou'lt not fail me, Dick," said he, a hand upon the lesser scoundrel'sshoulder. "There is much at issue for me, and for thee with me."
"I will not fail you, my lord," Sir Richard rashly promised, a
nd on thatthey parted.
Sir Richard did not mean to fail. He knew the importance of succeeding,and he appreciated the urgency of the business as much as did my lordhimself. But between his cold, remorseless will to succeed and successitself there lay a gulf which it needed all his resource to bridge.He paid a short visit to Lady Robert at Cumnor, and professed deepestconcern to find in her a pallor and an ailing air which no one else hadyet observed. He expressed himself on the subject to Mrs. Buttelar andthe other members of her ladyship's household, reproaching them withtheir lack of care of their mistress. Mrs. Buttelar became indignantunder his reproaches.
"Nay, now, Sir Richard, do you wonder that my lady is sad and downcastwith such tales as are going of my lord's doings at court, and of whatthere is 'twixt the Queen and him? Her ladyship may be too proud tocomplain, but she suffers the more for that, poor lamb. There was talkof a divorce awhile ago that got to her ears."
"Old wives' tales," snorted Sir Richard.
"Likely," agreed Mrs. Buttelar. "Yet when my lord neither comes toCumnor, nor requires her ladyship to go to him, what is she to think,poor soul?"
Sir Richard made light of all, and went off to Oxford to find aphysician more accommodating than Dr. Bayley. But Dr. Bayley had talkedtoo much, and it was in vain that Sir Richard pleaded with each ofthe two physicians he sought that her ladyship was ailing--"sad andheavy"--and that he must have a potion for her.
Each in turn shook his head. They had no medicine for sorrow, was theirdiscreet answer. From his description of her condition, said each, itwas plain that her ladyship's sickness was of the mind, and, consideringthe tales that were afloat, neither was surprised.
Sir Richard went back to his Oxford lodging with the feeling of aman checkmated. For two whole days of that precious time he lay thereconsidering what to do. He thought of going to seek a physician inAbingdon. But fearing no better success in that quarter, fearing,indeed, that in view of the rumours abroad he would merely bemultiplying what my lord called "footprints," he decided to takesome other way to his master's ends. He was a resourceful, inventivescoundrel, and soon he had devised a plan.
On Friday he wrote from Oxford to Lady Robert, stating that he had acommunication for her on the subject of his lordship as secret as it wasurgent. That he desired to come to her at Cumnor again, but dared not doso openly. He would come if she would contrive that her servants shouldbe absent, and he exhorted her to let no one of them know that he wascoming, else he might be ruined, out of his desire to serve her.
That letter he dispatched by the hand of his servant Nunweek, desiringhim to bring an answer. It was a communication that had upon herladyship's troubled mind precisely the effect that the rascal conceived.There was about Sir Richard's personality nothing that could suggestthe villain. He was a smiling, blue-eyed, florid gentleman, of a kindlymanner that led folk to trust him. And on the occasion of his latevisit to Cumnor he had displayed such tender solicitude that herladyship--starved of affection as she was--had been deeply touched.
His letter so cunningly couched filled her with vague alarm and withanxiety. She had heard so many and such afflicting rumours, andhad received in my lord's cruel neglect of her such circumstantialconfirmation of them, that she fastened avidly upon what she deemed thechance of learning at last the truth. Sir Richard Verney had my lord'sconfidence, and was much about the court in his attendance upon my lord.He would know the truth, and what could this letter mean but that he wasdisposed to tell it.
So she sent him back a line in answer, bidding him come on Sundayafternoon. She would contrive to be alone in the house, so that he neednot fear being seen by any.
As she promised, so she performed, and on the Sunday packed off herhousehold to the fair that was being held at Abingdon that day, usinginsistence with the reluctant, and particularly with one of her women,a Mrs. Oddingsell, who expressed herself strongly against leaving herladyship alone in that lonely house. At length, however, the last ofthem was got off, and my lady was left impatiently to await her secretvisitor. It was late afternoon when he arrived, accompanied by Nunweek,whom he left to hold the horses under the chestnuts in the avenue.Himself he reached the house across the garden, where the blighting handof autumn was already at work.
Within the porch he found her waiting, fretted by her impatience.
"It is very good in you to have come, Sir Richard," was her graciousgreeting.
"I am your ladyship's devoted servant," was his sufficient answer, andhe doffed his plumed bonnet, and bowed low before her. "We shall beprivate in your bower above stairs," he added.
"Why, we are private anywhere. I am all alone, as you desired."
"That is very wise--most wise," said he. "Will your ladyship lead theway?"
So they went up that steep, spiral staircase, which had loomed soprominently in the plans the ingenious scoundrel had evolved. Acrossthe gallery on the first floor they entered a little room whose windowsoverlooked the garden. This was her bower--an intimate cosy room,reflecting on every hand the gentle, industrious personality of theowner. On an oak table near the window were spread some papers andaccount-books concerned with the estate--with which she had sought tobeguile the time of waiting. She led the way towards this, and, sinkinginto the high-backed chair that stood before it, she looked up at himexpectantly. She was pale, there were dark stains under her eyes, andwistful lines had crept into the sweet face of that neglected wife.
Contemplating his poor victim now, Sir Richard may have compared herwith the woman by whom my lord desired so impatiently to supplanther. She was tall and beautifully shaped, despite an almost maidenlyslenderness. Her countenance was gentle and adorable, with its soft greyeyes and light brown hair, and tender, wistful mouth.
It was not difficult to believe that Lord Robert had as ardently desiredher to wife five years ago as he now desired to be rid of her. Then heobeyed the insistent spur of passion; now he obeyed the remorseless spurof ambition. In reality, then as now, his beacon-light was love of self.
Seeing her so frail and trusting, trembling in her anxious impatienceto hear the news of her lord which he had promised her, Sir Richard mayhave felt some pang of pity. But, like my lord, he was of those whoselove of self suffers the rivalry of no weak emotion.
"Your news, Sir Richard," she besought him, her dove-like glance uponhis florid face--less florid now than was its wont.
He leaned against the table, his back to the window. "Why, it is brieflythis," said he. "My lord..." And then he checked, and fell into alistening attitude.
"What was that? Did you hear anything, my lady?"
"No. What is it?" Her face betrayed alarm, her anxiety mounting under somuch mystery.
"Sh! Stay you here," he enjoined. "If we are spied upon..." He left thesentence there. Already he was moving quickly, stealthily, towards thedoor. He paused before opening it. "Stay where you are, my lady," heenjoined again, so gravely that she could have no thought of disobeyinghim. "I will return at once."
He stepped out, closed the door, and crossed to the stairs. There hestopped. From his pouch he had drawn a fine length of whipcord, attachedat one end to a tiny bodkin of needle sharpness. That bodkin he droveinto the edge of one of the panels of the wainscot, in line with thetopmost step; drawing the cord taut at a height of a foot or soabove this step, he made fast its other end to the newel-post atthe stair-head. He had so rehearsed the thing in his mind that theperformance of it occupied but a few seconds. Such dim light ofthat autumn afternoon as reached the spot would leave that fine cordinvisible.
Sir Richard went back to her ladyship. She had not moved in his absence,so brief as scarcely to have left her time in which to resolve upondisobeying his injunction.
"We move in secret like conspirators," said he, "and so we are easilyaffrighted.. I should have known it could be none but my lord himself...here?"
"My lord!" she interrupted, coming excitedly to her feet. "Lord Robert?"
"To be sure, my lady. It was he had need to visit you in se
cret--for didthe Queen have knowledge of his coming here, it would mean the Tower forhim. You cannot think what, out of love for you, his lordship suffers.The Queen...
"But do you say that he is here, man," her voice shrilled up inexcitement.
"He is below, my lady. Such is his peril that he dared not set foot inCumnor until he was certain beyond doubt that you are here alone."
"He is below!" she cried, and a flush dyed her pale cheeks, a lightof gladness quickened her sad eyes. Already she had gathered from hiscunning words a new and comforting explanation of the things reported toher. "He is below!" she repeated. "Oh!" She turned from him, and in aninstant was speeding towards the door.
He stood rooted there, his nether lip between his teeth, his face aghastly white, whilst she ran on.
"My lord! Robin! Robin!" he heard her calling, as she crossed thecorridor. Then came a piercing scream that echoed through the silenthouse; a pause; a crashing thud below; and--silence.
Sir Richard remained by the table, immovable. Blood was trickling downhis chin. He had sunk his teeth through his lip when that scream rangout. A long moment thus, as if entranced, awe-stricken. Then he bracedhimself, and went forward, reeling at first like a drunken man. Butby the time he had reached the stairs he was master of himself again.Swiftly, for all his trembling fingers, he unfastened the cord's endfrom the newel-post. The wrench upon it had already pulled the bodkinfrom the wainscot. He went down that abrupt spiral staircase at amoderate pace, mechanically coiling the length of whip-cord, andbestowing it with the bodkin in his pouch again, and all the while hiseyes were fixed upon the grey bundle that lay so still at the stairs'foot.
He came to it at last, and, pausing, looked more closely. He wasthankful that there was not the need to touch it. The position of thebrown-haired head was such as to leave no doubt of the complete successof his design. Her neck was broken. Lord Robert Dudley was free to marrythe Queen.
Deliberately Sir Richard stepped over the huddled body of that poorvictim of a knave's ambition, crossed the hall, and passed out,closing the door. An excellent day's work, thought he, most excellentlyaccomplished. The servants, returning from Abingdon Fair on that Sundayevening, would find her there. They would publish the fact that in theirabsence her ladyship had fallen downstairs and broken her neck, and thatwas the end of the matter.
But that was not the end at all. Fate, the ironic interloper, had takena hand in this evil game.
The court had moved a few days earlier to Windsor, and thither onthe Friday--the 6th of September--came Alvarez de Quadra to seek thedefinite answer which the Queen had promised him on the subject of theSpanish marriage. What he had seen that night at Whitehall, coupledwith his mistrust of her promises and experience of her fickleness, hadrendered him uneasy. Either she was trifling with him, or else she wasbehaving in a manner utterly unbecoming the future wife of the Archduke.In either case some explanation was necessary. De Quadra must know wherehe stood. Having failed to obtain an audience before the courtleft London, he had followed it to Windsor, cursing all women andcontemplating the advantages of the Salic law.
He found at Windsor an atmosphere of constraint, and it was not untilthe morrow that he obtained an audience with the Queen. Even then thiswas due to chance rather than to design on the part of Elizabeth. Forthey met on the terrace as she was returning from hunting. She dismissedthose about her, including the stalwart Robert Dudley, and, alone withde Quadra, invited him to speak.
"Madame," he said, "I am writing to my master, and I desire to knowwhether your Majesty would wish me to add anything to what you haveannounced already as your intention regarding the Archduke."
She knit her brows. The wily Spaniard fenced so closely that there wasno alternative but to come to grips.
"Why, sir," she answered dryly, "you may tell his Majesty that Ihave come to an absolute decision, which is that I will not marry theArchduke."
The colour mounted to the Spaniard's sallow cheeks. Iron self-controlalone saved him from uttering unpardonable words. Even so he spokesternly:
"This, madame, is not what you had led me to believe when last we talkedupon the subject."
At another time Elizabeth might have turned upon him and rent him forthat speech. But it happened that she was in high good-humour thatafternoon, and disposed to indulgence. She laughed, surveying herself inthe small steel mirror that dangled from her waist.
"You are ungallant to remind me, my lord," said she. "My sex, you mayhave heard, is privileged to change of mind."
"Then, madame, I pray that you may change it yet again." His tone wasbitter.
"Your prayer will not be heard. This time I am resolved."
De Quadra bowed. "The King, my master, will not be pleased, I fear."
She looked him straightly in the face, her dark eyes kindling.
"God's death!" said she, "I marry to please myself, and not the Kingyour master."
"You are resolved on marriage then?" flashed he.
"And it please you," she mocked him archly, her mood of joyousnessalready conquering her momentary indignation.
"What pleases you must please me also, madame," he answered, in a toneso cold that it belied his words. "That it please you, is reason enoughwhy you should marry... Whom did your Majesty say?"
"Nay. I named no names. Yet one so astute might hazard a shrewd guess."Half-challenging, half-coy, she eyed him over her fan.
"A guess? Nay, madame. I might affront your Majesty."
"How so?"
"If I were deluded by appearances. If I named a subject who signallyenjoys your royal favour."
"You mean Lord Robert Dudley." She paled a little, and her bosom's heavewas quickened. "Why should the guess affront me?"
"Because a queen--a wise queen, madame--does not mate with asubject--particularly with one who has a wife already."
He had stung her. He had wounded at once the pride of the woman and thedignity of the queen, yet in a way that made it difficult for her totake direct offense. She bit her lip and mastered her surge of anger.Then she laughed, a thought sneeringly.
"Why, as to my Lord Robert's wife, it seems you are less well-informedthan usual, sir. Lady Robert Dudley is dead, or very nearly so."
And as blank amazement overspread his face, she passed upon her way andleft him.
But anon, considering, she grew vaguely uneasy, and that very nightexpressed her afflicting doubt to my lord, reporting to him de Quadra'swords. His lordship, who was mentally near-sighted, laughed.
"He'll change his tone before long," said he.
She set her hands upon his shoulders, and looked up adoringly into hishandsome gipsy face. Never had he known her so fond as in theselast days since her surrender to him that night upon the terrace atWhitehall, never had she been more the woman and less the queen in herbearing towards him.
"You are sure, Robin? You are quite sure?" she pleaded.
He drew her close, she yielding herself to his embrace. "With so muchat stake could I be less than sure, sweet?" said he, and so convincedher--the more easily since he afforded her the conviction she desired.
That was on the night of Saturday, and early on Monday came the newswhich justified him of his assurances. It was brought him to Windsorby one of Amy's Cumnor servants, a fellow named Bowes, who, with theothers, had been away at Abingdon Fair yesterday afternoon, and hadreturned to find his mistress dead at the stairs' foot--the result of anaccident, as all believed.
It was not quite the news that my lord had been expecting. It staggeredhim a little that an accident so very opportune should have come toresolve his difficulties, obviating the need for recourse to those moredangerous measures with which he had charged Sir Richard Verney. Heperceived how suspicion might now fall upon himself, how his enemieswould direct it, and on the instant made provision. There and then heseized a pen, and wrote to his kinsman, Sir Thomas Blount, who even thenwas on his way to Cumnor. He stated in the letter what he had learntfrom Bowes, bade Blount engage the coroner to make the
strictestinvestigation, and send for Amy's natural brother, Appleyard. "Have norespect to any living person," was the final injunction of that letterwhich he sent Blount by the hand of Bowes.
And, then, before he could carry to the Queen the news of this accidentwhich had broken his matrimonial shackles, Sir Richard Verney arrivedwith the true account. He had expected praise and thanks from hismaster. Instead, he met first dismay, and then anger and fiercereproaches.
"My lord, this is unjust," the faithful retainer protested. "Knowing theurgency, I took the only way--contrived the accident."
"Pray God," said Dudley, "that the jury find it to have been anaccident; for if the truth should come to be discovered, I leave you tothe consequences. I warned you of that before you engaged in this. Lookfor no help from me."
"I look for none," said Sir Richard, stung to hot contempt by themeanness and cowardice so characteristic of the miserable egotist heserved. "Nor will there be the need, for I have left no footprints.
"I hope that may be so, for I tell you, man, that I have ordered astrict inquiry, bidding them have no respect to any living person, andto that I shall adhere."
"And if, in spite of that, I am not hanged?" quoth Sir Richard, a sneerupon his white face.
"Come to me again when the affair is closed, and we will talk of it."
Sir Richard went out, rage and disgust in his heart, leaving my lordwith rage and fear in his.
Grown calmer now, my lord dressed himself with care and sought theQueen to tell her of the accident that had removed the obstacle to theirmarriage. And that same night her Majesty coldly informed de Quadra thatLady Robert Dudley had fallen down a flight of stairs and broken herneck.
The Spaniard received the information with a countenance that wasinscrutable.
"Your Majesty's gift of prophecy is not so widely known as it deservesto be," was his cryptic comment.
She stared at him blankly a moment. Then a sudden uneasy memory awakenedby his words, she drew him forward to a window embrasure apart fromthose who had stood about her, and for greater security addressed him,as he tells us, in Italian.
"I do not think I understand you, sir. Will you be plain with me?" Shestood erect and stiff, and frowned upon him after the manner of herbullying father. But de Quadra held the trumps, and was not easilyintimidated.
"About the prophecy?" said he. "Why, did not your Majesty foretell thepoor lady's death a full day before it came to pass? Did you not saythat she was already dead, or nearly so?"
He saw her blench; saw fear stare from those dark eyes that could be sovery bold. Then her ever-ready anger followed swiftly.
"'Sblood, man! What do you imply?" she cried, and went on withoutwaiting for his answer. "The poor woman was sick and ill, and mustsoon have succumbed; it will no doubt be found that the accident whichanticipated nature was due to her condition."
Gently he shook his head, relishing her discomfiture, takingsatisfaction in torturing her who had flouted him and his master, inpunishing her whom he had every reason to believe guilty.
"Your Majesty, I fear, has been ill-informed on that score. The poorlady was in excellent health--and like to have lived for many years--atleast, so I gather from Sir William Cecil, whose information is usuallyexact."
She clutched his arm. "You told him what I had said?"
"It was indiscreet, perhaps. Yet, how was I to know...?" He left hissentence there. "I but expressed my chagrin at your decision on thescore of the Archduke--hardly a wise decision, if I may be so bold," headded slyly.
She caught the suggestion of a bargain, and became instantly suspicious.
"You transcend the duties of your office, my lord," she rebuked him, andturned away.
But soon that night she was closeted with Dudley, and closelyquestioning him about the affair. My lord was mightily vehement.
"I take Heaven to be my witness," quoth he, when she all but taxed himwith having procured his lady's death, "that I am innocent of any partin it. My injunctions to Blount, who has gone to Cumnor, are that thematter be sifted without respect to any person, and if it can be shownthat this is other than the accident I deem it, the murderer shallhang."
She flung her arms about his neck, and laid her head on his shoulder."Oh, Robin, Robin, I am full of fears," she wailed, and was nearer totears than he had ever seen her.
But, anon, as the days passed their fears diminished, and finally thejury at Cumnor--delayed in their finding, and spurred by my lord toexhaustive inquiries--returned a verdict of "found dead," which in allthe circumstances left his lordship--who was known, moreover, to havebeen at Windsor when his lady died--fully acquitted. Both he and theQueen took courage from that finding, and made no secret of it now thatthey would very soon be wed.
But there were many whom that finding did not convince, who read mylord too well, and would never suffer him to reap the fruits of his evildeed. Prominent among these were Arundel--who himself had aimed at theQueen's hand--Norfolk and Pembroke, and behind them was a great mass ofthe people. Indignation against Lord Robert was blazing out, fannedby such screaming preachers as Lever, who, from the London pulpits,denounced the projected marriage, hinting darkly at the truth of AmyDudley's death.
What was hinted at home was openly expressed abroad, and in Paris MaryStuart ventured a cruel witticism that Elizabeth was to conserve inher memory: "The Queen of England," she said, "is about to marry herhorse-keeper, who has killed his wife to make a place for her."
Yet Elizabeth persisted in her intent to marry Dudley, until the soberCecil conveyed to her towards the end of that month of September somenotion of the rebellion that was smouldering.
She flared out at him, of course. But he stood his ground.
"There is," he reminded her, "this unfortunate matter of a prophecy, asthe Bishop of Aquila persists in calling it."
"God's Body! Is the rogue blabbing?"
"What else did your Majesty expect from a man smarting under a sense ofinjury? He has published it broadcast that on the day before Lady Robertbroke her neck, you told him that she was dead or nearly so. And heargues from it a guilty foreknowledge on your Majesty's part of what wasplanned."
"A guilty foreknowledge!" She almost choked in rage, and then fell toswearing as furiously in that moment as old King Harry at his worst.
"Madame!" he cried, shaken by her vehemence. "I but report the phrase heuses. It is not mine."
"Do you believe it?"
"I do not, madame. If I did I should not be here at present."
"Does any subject of mine believe it?"
"They suspend their judgment. They wait to learn the truth from thesequel."
"You mean?"
"That if your motive prove to be such as de Quadra and others allege,they will be in danger of believing."
"Be plain, man, in God's name. What exactly is alleged?"
He obeyed her very fully.
"That my lord contrived the killing of his wife so that he might haveliberty to marry your Majesty, and that your Majesty was privy to thedeed." He spoke out boldly, and hurried on before she could let looseher wrath. "It is still in your power, madame, to save your honour,which is now in peril. But there is only one way in which you canaccomplish it. If you put from you all thought of marrying Lord Robert,England will believe that de Quadra and those others lied. If youpersist and carry out your intention, you proclaim the truth of hisreport; and you see what must inevitably follow."
She saw indeed, and, seeing, was afraid.
Within a few hours of that interview she delivered her answer to Cecil,which was that she had no intention of marrying Dudley.
Because of her fear she saved her honour by sacrificing her heart, byrenouncing marriage with the only man she could have taken for her mateof all who had wooed her. Yet the wound of that renunciation was slow toheal. She trifled with the notion of other marriages, but ever and anon,in her despair, perhaps, we see her turning longing eyes towards thehandsome Lord Robert, later made Earl of Leicester. Once, ind
eed, somesix years after Amy's death, there was again some talk of her marryinghim, which was quickly quelled by a reopening of the question of how Amydied. Between these two, between the fulfilment of her desire and hisambition, stood the irreconcilable ghost of his poor murdered wife.
Perhaps it was some thought of this that found expression in herpassionate outburst when she learnt of the birth of Mary Stuart's child:"The Queen of Scots is lighter of a fair son; and I am but a barrenstock."