Chapter 28
The uproar of Amy’s death drowned out all else.
Had she killed herself in despair, many wondered? Because her husband was the queen’s lover? Amy’s servants reported that she had been ill and depressed, and expressed hope that her end would come soon.
Or, had Lord Robert had her murdered so he could be free to marry the queen?
Amy had been alone in the house, the other inhabitants having walked to a local fair. Amy had sent them away, they said, claiming the need to remain quietly at home. Did that point to an intention to end her own life?
On the other hand, the staircase she fell from apparently was not steep. That the fall alone had killed her was unlikely. More probably, someone had broken her neck elsewhere and arranged her at the bottom of the staircase in an attempt to make it appear an accident.
Rumor put it that Robert and Elizabeth had discussed poisoning Amy—perhaps she’d been weak with poison when she fell.
Tongues wagged, gossip soared. The scandal spread across the Channel to the courts of Paris and beyond, royals across Europe shaking their heads at the English queen’s folly.
Elizabeth, to my amazement, remained oblivious of the rumors, or at least she pretended to be. Both she and Robert made certain that Amy’s tragic end was investigated, and a jury was sent to examine the nature of her demise.
The investigators decided Amy’s death had indeed been an accident, but this did not dampen the speculation. The uproar continued.
My husband said nothing of the matter. He did nothing, until the day he learned that Elizabeth had told Cecil she would wait a short interval and then let Robert begin courting her.
Colby took me with him when he requested an audience with the queen. Elizabeth was at Whitehall, in the very chamber from which Mary had watched the men of Thomas Wyatt’s army swoop down the street, coming for her.
It spoke much of my trusted position with the queen, as well as Colby’s character, that Elizabeth agreed to speak with us alone. She dismissed Cecil and her other ladies and led us to a smaller chamber where we were by ourselves.
She glanced about the little room with a pointed look, as though to invite us to see that no screens were positioned for the convenience of eavesdroppers, no doors behind which conspirators could hide.
I recalled how Philip had whispered instructions to Mary.
Elizabeth would allow herself no such trickery.
Elizabeth positioned herself in the exact center of the chamber, and Colby and I stood in before her, me right next to my husband. After we had exchanged the requisite greetings and inquiries into the health of our daughter, Colby began.
“Your Grace, you will not marry Lord Robert Dudley and make him king.”
Elizabeth’s eyes, already hard—because she must have known what this requested interview was about—grew still more granite-like. “This is your command, is it, Sir James?”
“Mary made a husband of Philip, against all opposition,” Colby went on firmly.
“She decided that she knew, better than her council, better than her government, better than the English people themselves, which man would be good for the nation. Her choice divided England and created rebellions against her. You know this—you were at the heart of those rebellions. I recall how you remarked upon her obtuseness, how you declared her arrogance in the matter was her downfall. And now you hurry to repeat the terrible mistake she made.”
Elizabeth listened in absolute silence, her face like chiseled marble. When Colby had finished, she turned and walked a few steps toward the window.
The lovely gown she wore today, silver fleur-de-lis embroidered on a black surcoat over a gold skirt, shimmered in the sunlight. I made certain her clothes always caught the light, to ensure that she was brighter than anyone else in the room.
“And will you begin this rebelling?” she asked in a quiet voice, her gaze on the passageway below the window. Not far from there, Wyatt’s army had battered on the palace gates. “Will you recruit your adventurers and rise against me?”
Colby said nothing, wise never to admit anything to a Tudor.
“You will not.” Elizabeth swung back to us. “You are mine, James Colby, and you always have been.”
Colby gave her a bow. “I’ve never made any pretense otherwise. I work for you, Your Majesty, which is why I advise you thus. Though you do not like to hear it.”
I relaxed a little, but I knew that our mission had been for naught. Elizabeth would not listen to Aunt Kat, she would not listen to her trusted Cecil, and she’d not listen to James.
“I am more careful than my sister,” Elizabeth said briskly.
“There is no one to take my place, no second person in the realm to rally around. Who is left to take the crown? Jane Grey’s sisters?
They are a pathetic pair, and all of England preferred Mary to Jane.
No, the Greys will never do. There are a few more of the blood, but much removed.
My father did his best to rid us of all our relatives and rivals.
Courtenay, the last of the Yorkists, died in Padua a few years ago.
Mary of Scotland? Would anyone dare bring about such an obvious tie with France?
” She lifted her chin. “You have no one, Sir James, and the people of England would quickly see through a pretender.”
Colby moved a step closer to her. Elizabeth had to look up at him—she was tall, but Colby was taller.
“There is someone,” he said in his rumbling baritone. “One other person who would—reluctantly—step into your shoes.”
“Who?” Elizabeth scoffed.
Colby said nothing. He simply looked at her.
“James,” I said in alarm.
Elizabeth gazed steadily at Colby, then her eyes, which were so like his, flickered. “I see,” she said at last.
I held my breath, expecting her to call for her guards, to command that Colby be arrested and dragged to a prison. He’d be tried and condemned for treason, because he bore her blood.
Henry would have done so without hesitation. Mary might have done so, perhaps hesitating a little. With Elizabeth, I could only watch and wait for her choice.
“Would the English people rally around a bastard?” Elizabeth asked softly.
Colby did not relent. “I mean no offense, but there were those who said the same about you.”
Elizabeth’s indignation rose. “My mother was a queen and a noble lady.”
“So many claimed otherwise,” Colby reminded her. “And yet, they adore you.”
Rage poured into Elizabeth’s eyes, fury so strong that I knew we were both doomed. Colby’s head and mine would adorn pikes on London Bridge, and my poor child would be left all alone.
“You are a bold and brave man, James Colby.” Elizabeth emphasized his name.
“I want what is best for England, as do you,” Colby returned. “It is in my blood to wish our land to be great. You will make it great. I know this.” He paused to draw a breath. “But if Dudley is your husband, all will come tumbling down.”
Elizabeth faced him in silence, carefully masking the thoughts that raced through her head.
I knew this woman well. She might fly into rages, and her tart tongue could strip a man’s flesh from his bones.
Ever since the Seymour affair, however, she’d done nothing without thinking through every possible outcome.
Her flirtation with Robert had been the exception, and as we stood in this small chamber, I saw her realize that.
I will never know what it cost Elizabeth to draw her conclusions and agree that Colby was right. I saw in her eyes furious anger, deep sadness, and the draining of hope for her personal happiness. And with all that, loneliness. She would always be lonely.
But I also witnessed her vast determination and the need for her kingdom.
I recognized the strength of will that had carried her through her disgrace during the Seymour scandal, through her imprisonment in the Tower, and throughout the cold days at Woodstock, when she’d feared every day that assassins would dispatch her in secret.
This fortitude had let her sail through the dangers of Mary’s reign without falling. Jane Grey had fainted when she’d been handed England. Elizabeth had taken it and raised it high.
After a long, chill silence, Elizabeth gave Colby a nod, albeit a frosty one.
“I will not marry him,” she said in a quiet voice. “I will never marry, Robert Dudley least of all. You have my word on it.”
Colby nodded, his tension easing. He bowed to her then, a deep courtier’s bow, acknowledging her as his superior.
Elizabeth sent him a cool glance, accepting his obeisance, then she transferred her sharp gaze to me. “You keep secrets well, Eloise. All these years I have watched you, and you never once revealed this knowledge, not in word, look, or deed. I commend you.”
I drew a quick breath. I’d never said aught of it to anyone, not even Aunt Kat, in all this time. “You knew? You knew about James?”
She huffed a laugh, Elizabeth the confident.
“Of course I knew, my dear. I knew when I saw him at Robert’s wedding.
I spied him across the room and understood exactly where I’d seen that look, that stance, that bearing before.
I admired my father, and studied him much.
” She smiled tightly. “A favor, Eloise. Bear him only daughters.”
“If I can,” I said doubtfully.
“You can, do you but put your mind to it. I will assist you with my prayers.” Elizabeth sent me a wintry smile. “Leave me now. I would be alone.” As she turned from us, her face to the window and gray autumn sky, she added softly, “I will always be alone.”
A beam of sunlight fell on her golden-red hair and gleamed on the threads of her gown, the jewels on her bodice. Elizabeth was a piece of the sun, a new light for England.
An idea for another gown sprang to mind as I gazed upon her, one studded with pearls, glistening and glowing in patterns to highlight her purity and her power.
Her headdress too would be covered in pearls, and the entire ensemble would portray her mastery of her court and of the world, Elizabeth, our great monarch.
We would do it, she and I, she the ruler, and I and Colby her conscience.
Colby took my hand. He led me from the room and through the outer chamber, past the curious Cecil and creaky William Paulet, who was now Elizabeth’s treasurer.
We moved through the winding pile of Whitehall Palace and up the stairs to our chamber under the eaves where our daughter waited. Aunt Kat held Catherine on her plump lap, and both my aunt and child looked up when we entered.
Catherine held out her arms for me, laughing in her joyous way. Aunt Kat rose as I scooped up my girl.
“Well?” Aunt Kat asked abruptly. “Did she listen to reason?”
“I believe so,” Colby answered.
He slid his arm around me and our babe and laid a soft kiss on my cheek. My James, so gentle, when minutes ago he had been ready to face down his queen, with force if necessary.
“Good.” Aunt Kat sniffed. “Elizabeth has ever had a wise head on her shoulders, never mind how impetuous she can be, or how silly about men. She’ll make England the best queen it ever saw, before or after.” Aunt Kat gave us a decided nod. “I have always said so.”