preached of the joys of wifely functions, in relation to some man she had not seen and might not even like. He wasnât pleading Robertâs caseâno one pleaded that except Robert himself.⦠Cecil did not understand that there were human beings in whom the passion for power was far stronger than the lusts of the flesh and that she was one of them.
The sun was up, flooding into her bedroom. She reached out for her silver handbell and shook it. It must be half-past five and she had a mass of paperwork to attend to and a Council meeting after the morning service. Suddenly her head was clear and her heart light; she felt refreshed and eager at the prospect. The problem of marriage and Robert Dudley had ceased to exist.
Cumnor Hall had once been the property of the abbots of Abingdon, and the house and parklands had passed to the Crown when Henry VIII seized the monastic estates. It was not a large house, and showed little trace of its religious origins by the time Robertâs treasurer Anthony Forster leased it for his own use. Shortly afterwards Robert had suggested that his wife, Lady Dudley, should make her home there until a permanent residence was chosen for her. It was typical of Amy that she agreed to be boarded out with friends and associates while her husband stayed in London, or wherever the Court happened to be. She had once suggested that he might bring her to the Court and present her to the Queen, but he had told her it was inconvenient because he had so many duties. That was a long time ago, and she had not asked again. As the time passed, rumours of his advancement reached the quiet backwaters where Amy lived, and there were occasional visits from Robert, who was always splendidly dressed and mounted and accompanied by a train of servants. The visits were not only infrequent but very short; they were only undertaken because of some business which could not be transacted by letter, for Amy had inherited several estates from her father, and Robert administered these and collected their revenues.
She had not seen him for six months when she received the letter advising her of his arrival. The few days before he came were spent in preparations; the best bedroom was aired and cleaned, sheets put on the double bed, food stocked into the larders, and Lady Dudleyâs modest wardrobe was inspected for her best dresses to wear in his honour. It was a pitiful attempt which deceived nobody, not even Amy. She had been ill with an abscess in her breast; this had mercifully broken, but she was pale and thin and burst into tears over her reflection when she saw it in the mirror. When they married, nearly ten years ago, she had been pretty, very pretty in a plump way, with soft fair hair and large eyes; the world had been a kind place, full of promise, and her husband had been desperately in love with her. During the endless evenings when she sat alone, and the longer nights when she sat up in bed, sewing because she could not sleep, Amy remembered their marriage and the first months of happiness which had suddenly declined, almost without warning, into the farce of their present life together. For nearly a year Robert had been in love with her, amused, protective and gay, and then, almost without transition, he was satiated and bored.
When she cried, it made him restless and drive him out hunting, or up to London, where his father, the Duke of Northumberland, was so powerful, and where he could amuse himself with women if he chose. Amy, who was not as simple as she seemed, knew very well that he did choose, and the jealousy which tormented her for the next nine years corroded her looks and downed her spirits.
He had left her to court Queen Maryâs favour, and stayed on to establish himself with the new Queen, Elizabeth. And for over a year, Amy had been hearing rumours that Robert was the new Queenâs lover. She had never taxed him with it; she had never dared. She only smiled nervously and
The sun was up, flooding into her bedroom. She reached out for her silver handbell and shook it. It must be half-past five and she had a mass of paperwork to attend to and a Council meeting after the morning service. Suddenly her head was clear and her heart light; she felt refreshed and eager at the prospect. The problem of marriage and Robert Dudley had ceased to exist.
Cumnor Hall had once been the property of the abbots of Abingdon, and the house and parklands had passed to the Crown when Henry VIII seized the monastic estates. It was not a large house, and showed little trace of its religious origins by the time Robertâs treasurer Anthony Forster leased it for his own use. Shortly afterwards Robert had suggested that his wife, Lady Dudley, should make her home there until a permanent residence was chosen for her. It was typical of Amy that she agreed to be boarded out with friends and associates while her husband stayed in London, or wherever the Court happened to be. She had once suggested that he might bring her to the Court and present her to the Queen, but he had told her it was inconvenient because he had so many duties. That was a long time ago, and she had not asked again. As the time passed, rumours of his advancement reached the quiet backwaters where Amy lived, and there were occasional visits from Robert, who was always splendidly dressed and mounted and accompanied by a train of servants. The visits were not only infrequent but very short; they were only undertaken because of some business which could not be transacted by letter, for Amy had inherited several estates from her father, and Robert administered these and collected their revenues.
She had not seen him for six months when she received the letter advising her of his arrival. The few days before he came were spent in preparations; the best bedroom was aired and cleaned, sheets put on the double bed, food stocked into the larders, and Lady Dudleyâs modest wardrobe was inspected for her best dresses to wear in his honour. It was a pitiful attempt which deceived nobody, not even Amy. She had been ill with an abscess in her breast; this had mercifully broken, but she was pale and thin and burst into tears over her reflection when she saw it in the mirror. When they married, nearly ten years ago, she had been pretty, very pretty in a plump way, with soft fair hair and large eyes; the world had been a kind place, full of promise, and her husband had been desperately in love with her. During the endless evenings when she sat alone, and the longer nights when she sat up in bed, sewing because she could not sleep, Amy remembered their marriage and the first months of happiness which had suddenly declined, almost without warning, into the farce of their present life together. For nearly a year Robert had been in love with her, amused, protective and gay, and then, almost without transition, he was satiated and bored.
When she cried, it made him restless and drive him out hunting, or up to London, where his father, the Duke of Northumberland, was so powerful, and where he could amuse himself with women if he chose. Amy, who was not as simple as she seemed, knew very well that he did choose, and the jealousy which tormented her for the next nine years corroded her looks and downed her spirits.
He had left her to court Queen Maryâs favour, and stayed on to establish himself with the new Queen, Elizabeth. And for over a year, Amy had been hearing rumours that Robert was the new Queenâs lover. She had never taxed him with it; she had never dared. She only smiled nervously and
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