Chapter Four #2
Once thought of, Elizabeth wasted no time in arranging to visit Mary.
It worked out rather well for her, since her half sister was currently a reluctant “guest” at Syon House.
Just ten miles west of London, Syon House belonged to the strongly Protestant Duke of Northumberland, and his eldest son John, the Earl of Warwick, was Mary’s court-appointed guardian.
If Robert chose to visit his brother at Syon House while Elizabeth was also there, who would remark on it?
William had not been enthusiastic about the temporary separation from Minuette, but Dominic had backed Elizabeth up, and so her brother agreed to let her and Minuette travel to Syon House at the beginning of March.
Richmond Palace was only a little farther west; William planned to catch up to them there after two weeks.
Elizabeth thought she had everything under control, up until the day before her departure. As she was sorting through the books she wished to take with her, Kat Ashley interrupted.
“Lord Northumberland and Lord Robert to see you, Your Highness,” Kat said warily.
Kat was always wary where Robert was concerned.
Alone among Elizabeth’s women—except possibly Minuette—Kat Ashley had the privilege of speaking her mind freely to the princess, whose governess she had been since Elizabeth was four years old.
Elizabeth looked up and marked the lines of disapproval on Kat’s round-cheeked face.
“What does he want?” Robert she would always welcome, but the duke?
Perhaps he wished her to convey a message to the Earl of Warwick, or perhaps he himself planned to visit Syon House while she was in residence there.
Kat sniffed, looking very maternal in her blue wool gown and the old-fashioned gabled hood covering her silver-streaked hair. “The duke asked for a private audience. Will you see them?”
“Very well.”
Elizabeth’s immediate impression was that Robert would have rather been anywhere else than her presence. He stood two paces behind his father, and his normally expressive face was shuttered as though he were trying to distance himself from whatever his father had to say.
Northumberland, shorter and rougher-edged than the elegant Robert, spoke with unusual diffidence. “Your Highness, thank you for seeing us. There’s a matter of some delicacy … obviously the king will have to know but I thought that you … perhaps you will speak to him for my son?”
Involuntarily, she looked to Robert, who met her eyes and gave a slight shake of his head. Not me. Well, that was something.
“Which son and why does he require my intervention with the king?” Elizabeth asked the duke.
“Guildford, Your Highness.”
She should have guessed—of Northumberland’s five living sons, Guildford was his favorite for no discernible reason. He was the youngest—two years younger than Robert—and his only talent appeared to be getting into scrapes.
“And what has Guildford done?” Fighting, drinking, gambling above his means … all were distinct possibilities with the Dudley sons.
“He has unexpectedly married.”
“Rather young,” Elizabeth remarked drily. “He’s just twenty, isn’t he?” She turned her steady gaze to Robert, who had once again dropped his eyes. “Though that is not the youngest age at which a son of yours has married. And is the young woman—I suppose someone of whom the king will not approve?”
“Lady Margaret Clifford.”
If she had been a man, Elizabeth would have whistled at that name, or sworn aloud.
No, her brother would most certainly not approve.
Margaret Clifford was their cousin, a granddaughter of Henry VIII’s favorite sister, and as such she held a place in the royal line of succession.
Elizabeth did not mince words. “It is against the law for a member of the royal family to marry without the sovereign’s permission. The penalty is death.”
If anything could bring Northumberland to humility, it was love for his family. Ashen-faced, he became voluble. “They are young, Your Highness, as you said, and in love. I told Guildford to wait, that I would discuss the matter with the king, but youth is impatient. And the girl—”
“Already with child?”
He nodded.
“That will displease the king even more,” she said sharply.
“And I do not see why I should be the one to bear his first anger rather than you. Or better yet, Guildford himself. If he is man enough to marry and be a father, then he should be able to stand up and admit what he has done. Where are they?”
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t know—or won’t say?”
For a second, she saw the canny flicker in his eyes and was reminded that, anguished or not, Northumberland always played the game to his advantage. But what advantage could he gain from a willful son getting a royal girl with child and then having the gall to wed her in open defiance of the law?
Elizabeth turned her attention to Robert. “Why are you here?” she demanded. “To speak up for your brother?”
He hesitated, then squared his shoulders. “My father thought I might gentle your temper. I told him he was mistaken; that you would not welcome any words having to do with a young and hasty marriage coming from me.”
Her laugh was immediate, and bitter. She said to Northumberland, “At least one of your sons is wiser than you. I will speak to the king of this matter and persuade him to kindness—to the girl, at least. As for your son, he has made his marital bed. Now he must lie in it.”
As they bowed themselves out, Robert eyed her gravely and she wished—oh, how she wished!—that she had not been speaking as much about him as about Guildford.
9 March 1555
Whitehall Palace
There has been quite the scandal at court.
Guildford Dudley and Margaret Clifford are married, and the girl is said to be already with child.
She is not even fifteen! William was furious—not the shouting, throwing things kind of anger that I know how to deal with from living with his mother.
No, this fury was deep and dark and terrifying even for the onlookers.
The Dudleys sent Margaret to court on her own to face William, and I will not soon forget the girl kneeling before the king in supplication while I held my breath along with the rest. For once even I could not predict what he might do.
As Margaret Clifford’s mother is dead—and clearly she was not being well supervised—she has been sent to her aunt, Lady Suffolk, along with a contingent of royal guards to ensure that if Guildford attempts to contact his bride he will be found.
He has still not had the nerve to show himself.
Both Elizabeth and I have warned Robert that each day’s delay will only harden William’s anger.
But in this matter, Robert appears to have little influence with his family.
The tempest has delayed Elizabeth’s and my planned departure for Syon House.
With the Dudley family teetering on disfavour, William wanted to scrap our visit to Mary altogether, seeing as she is in custody at one of their homes and in the keeping of Northumberland’s oldest son.
At last he agreed to let us visit, but not to stay at Syon House itself.
We will travel directly to Richmond and make the short trip to see Mary as often as we wish.
I do not think it will be very often.
Three days after the women’s departure for Richmond, William endured a privy council meeting that was more than usually tense.
In addition to the Duke of Northumberland, who sat brooding and watchful as if waiting for someone to badger him about Guildford’s folly, the Earl of Surrey was in attendance for the first time.
The king had met less resistance than he’d expected from his uncle at naming Surrey to the privy council; Rochford had gone so far as to admit William’s wisdom in balancing England’s divided religious interests.
Still, William kept his eye on the young man, wary for any sign of his grandfather’s arrogance or belligerence.
Surrey looked unassuming enough; his clothing balanced nicely between the Earl of Oxford’s peacock extravagance and Dominic’s restrained simplicity.
Both Northumberland and Surrey sat quietly while other council members discussed the early items, which centered on the treasury and the unpleasant fact that William was rapidly running out of money.
Though not himself so much as England, a point he was quick to make when William Cecil, Lord Burghley, began listing personal expenses as examples of items that might be scaled back.
Burghley’s voice was as inflectionless as his numbers. “In the last year, Your Majesty, you have spent two hundred pounds on books, five hundred pounds on fabrics, and more than eight thousand pounds on property …”
“All of which came from my own purse, not England’s coffers,” William interrupted, allowing a hint of displeasure to creep in. He was not going to permit Burghley to accuse him of plundering England’s treasury for his own pleasures.
But Burghley was not easily cowed. “And none of which would matter if your spending confined itself to such trifles. But the treasury is nearly depleted after the French campaign. There have been too many years of drought and bad harvests. Retrenchments will have to be made in public expenditures.”
“Then why are you troubling me with figures about books and fabric?”
Rochford intervened, his steady voice still holding more than a trace of authority. “Because your personal life should set the example for the people. You cannot cut back government posts and servants, not to mention increase taxes, while flaunting private wealth in a most public manner.”
Piqued by his uncle’s intervention, let alone the fact that he was correct, William ignored him and said to Burghley, “What is it you recommend?”