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Authors: Phil Rickman
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far.
‘A perceptive saying of yours oft-times retold,’ I said, in placation.
He made a steeple of his fingers. His own first marriage may even have been a carnal union, but his second one, to the severe Mildred, could only have been founded on a need for reliability and
circumspection. Cecil was a man long wed to his career.
‘Do you know when he last saw her alive?’
I did but said nothing, remembering something else I’d noticed at my one meeting with Amy. While she was – of necessity, no doubt – fairly compliant, there was a certain
equality in her union with Dudley. She was not nobility, merely the daughter of a country squire, yet seemed in no awe of the son of the Duke of Northumberland. To his credit, he seemed to like
that about her.
‘It was over a year ago,’ Cecil said. ‘Over a year before she died.’
‘A long time.’
Too
bloody long.
‘Distance,’ Cecil said, ‘can bring about a cooling.’
‘Sometimes.’
I’d never have left Amy for even a week. When I was called to Europe, I’d have taken her with me.
‘Let’s not walk around the houses, John.’ Cecil let his hands fall flat to the trestle. ‘I was ever fond of Robert Dudley, but never deluded about the extent of his
ambition. He wants the highest role possible for a man not born to it. His whole life has been a play performed for the Queen. Whose side he’s scarce ever left.’
‘And she wished him away?’
Cecil was silent. Poor Amy’s fate, in these circumstances, saddened me more than I could say. The inquest had been opened three days after her body was found at the foot of a short
stairway. And then adjourned
sine die
. Nobody knew how long before the jury would reach its verdict but when it came it seemed likely to be one of Accidental Death.
Nobody to blame. I pointed out to Cecil that Dudley had gone to great pains not to be seen as having or attempting to have an influence on the jury, calling for men who were unknown to him to
serve on it.
‘Unknown? Is that what you think?’
I said nothing. Dudley had sworn to me his wife’s death from a fall had been a bitter shock to him, and I’d very much wanted to believe that. Although he’d said, on an earlier
occasion, that she’d shown signs of unhealth and once had told him she might not have long to live, I’d refused to accept the dark stories, dating back some months before her death,
that attempts had been made to poison her.
‘Not that it matters.’ Cecil half turned away from me to peer out over the shiny roofs of London. ‘The Queen herself is young, impulsive and will remain’ – Cecil
swung round of a sudden to turn his mastiff’s gaze on me – ‘conspicuously besotted with a man now infamed and likely to remain so for the rest of his life.’
‘But if the inquest verdict clears him of blame—’
‘It doesn’t
matter
what the inquest verdict is. Enough men hated him before this to make even his return to court a slight against all decency. As for the thought of a Queen
of England wed to a murderer… how does that play across the capitals of Europe? And if the Queen thinks everyone here will forget, in time, then she’s not as close to the mind of her
country as she likes to believe.’
‘
I
don’t…’ I was shaking my head, ‘I
can’t
believe that Dudley’s a murderer.’
‘Well, not
directly
, no.’ Cecil spread his hands. ‘No one’s suggesting he planted his foot in her spine and kicked her down the bloody stairs. But whether he
ordered it to be done, in his absence, is another matter entirely. Never be proven, but what’s that worth in Europe? Especially if, after however length of time, the Queen does something
blindly foolish. She’s had suitors of her own standing in France, Spain, Sweden… and keeps them at arm’s length. At home, she has the Earl of Arundel waiting with his tongue
hanging out…’
‘No hope for him, surely?’
‘
I
know there’s no hope,
you
know there’s no hope,
‘A perceptive saying of yours oft-times retold,’ I said, in placation.
He made a steeple of his fingers. His own first marriage may even have been a carnal union, but his second one, to the severe Mildred, could only have been founded on a need for reliability and
circumspection. Cecil was a man long wed to his career.
‘Do you know when he last saw her alive?’
I did but said nothing, remembering something else I’d noticed at my one meeting with Amy. While she was – of necessity, no doubt – fairly compliant, there was a certain
equality in her union with Dudley. She was not nobility, merely the daughter of a country squire, yet seemed in no awe of the son of the Duke of Northumberland. To his credit, he seemed to like
that about her.
‘It was over a year ago,’ Cecil said. ‘Over a year before she died.’
‘A long time.’
Too
bloody long.
‘Distance,’ Cecil said, ‘can bring about a cooling.’
‘Sometimes.’
I’d never have left Amy for even a week. When I was called to Europe, I’d have taken her with me.
‘Let’s not walk around the houses, John.’ Cecil let his hands fall flat to the trestle. ‘I was ever fond of Robert Dudley, but never deluded about the extent of his
ambition. He wants the highest role possible for a man not born to it. His whole life has been a play performed for the Queen. Whose side he’s scarce ever left.’
‘And she wished him away?’
Cecil was silent. Poor Amy’s fate, in these circumstances, saddened me more than I could say. The inquest had been opened three days after her body was found at the foot of a short
stairway. And then adjourned
sine die
. Nobody knew how long before the jury would reach its verdict but when it came it seemed likely to be one of Accidental Death.
Nobody to blame. I pointed out to Cecil that Dudley had gone to great pains not to be seen as having or attempting to have an influence on the jury, calling for men who were unknown to him to
serve on it.
‘Unknown? Is that what you think?’
I said nothing. Dudley had sworn to me his wife’s death from a fall had been a bitter shock to him, and I’d very much wanted to believe that. Although he’d said, on an earlier
occasion, that she’d shown signs of unhealth and once had told him she might not have long to live, I’d refused to accept the dark stories, dating back some months before her death,
that attempts had been made to poison her.
‘Not that it matters.’ Cecil half turned away from me to peer out over the shiny roofs of London. ‘The Queen herself is young, impulsive and will remain’ – Cecil
swung round of a sudden to turn his mastiff’s gaze on me – ‘conspicuously besotted with a man now infamed and likely to remain so for the rest of his life.’
‘But if the inquest verdict clears him of blame—’
‘It doesn’t
matter
what the inquest verdict is. Enough men hated him before this to make even his return to court a slight against all decency. As for the thought of a Queen
of England wed to a murderer… how does that play across the capitals of Europe? And if the Queen thinks everyone here will forget, in time, then she’s not as close to the mind of her
country as she likes to believe.’
‘
I
don’t…’ I was shaking my head, ‘I
can’t
believe that Dudley’s a murderer.’
‘Well, not
directly
, no.’ Cecil spread his hands. ‘No one’s suggesting he planted his foot in her spine and kicked her down the bloody stairs. But whether he
ordered it to be done, in his absence, is another matter entirely. Never be proven, but what’s that worth in Europe? Especially if, after however length of time, the Queen does something
blindly foolish. She’s had suitors of her own standing in France, Spain, Sweden… and keeps them at arm’s length. At home, she has the Earl of Arundel waiting with his tongue
hanging out…’
‘No hope for him, surely?’
‘
I
know there’s no hope,
you
know there’s no hope,
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