He nodded. “It is well that Lord Robert has been sent away from Court. We must ridicule all suggestions of murder. The verdict shall be accidental death; and Lord Robert must remain at Kew until we have the right verdict. In the meantime I will call on him there, which will show the people that I regard him as my good friend who cannot be anything but innocent, and show that his stay at Kew is by no means an arrest but merely undertaken in view of the delicacy of the situation. It will show that he himself feels it better to remain there until his name is completely cleared of this absurd suspicion.”
“I thank you, Cecil. We shall come through this, and then we shall tread with especial care.”
I LIVED IN a state of nervous tension awaiting the verdict of the coroner's jury. I knew that the country was aghast and that there was strong suspicion of Robert which included me. My enemies, of course, were making the most of the scandal. Sir Nicholas Throckmorton, who was now my Ambassador in France, wrote to Cecil to tell him that the Queen of Scots had laughed aloud when she heard the story and said for all to hear: “So the Queen of England is going to marry her horsemaster who has killed his wife to make room for her.”
How dared she! The foolish pampered creature! I disliked her intensely, not only because she claimed my throne and was unquestionably legitimate but because the people at the Court of France were constantly singing of her exceptional beauty and grace, which, I told myself spitefully, was no doubt because now that Henri Deux had died so suddenly, she and her little Franois were Queen and King of France.
Our ambassadors reported from every country that it was the general opinion that Robert had murdered his wife in order to marry me. They sent strong advice that there should be no marriage with Robert.
They need not have worried. I, too, had made up my mind about that.
Robert, determined that at the coroner's court there should be a verdict of accidental death, had taken the precaution of sending a distant kinsman, Thomas Blount, down to Cumnor Place to brief the servants so that they should be aware of what their master expected of them. He knew Thomas Blount would do his utmost for, being a poor relation, he had everything to win through Robert. If Robert were to fail, he would fail with him. Such men make good servants.
Blount evidently did his work well and everyone who had been in the house on that fatal day was primed in what he or she must say. Most of them had been away from the house when the accident happened because the annual fair had come to the neighborhood and they had all wanted to attend it.
Lady Dudley had stayed behind. I thought of her in that house alone. Had she had any premonition? She could not have been ignorant of the rumors. They abounded. How would a lonely woman feel when her husband was paying court to another woman and there had been rumors that he was plotting her death?
Why had she allowed them all to go to the fair, leaving her alone in the house? That seemed to point to suicide. But would a woman who wished to kill herself choose such a method? How could she be certain of death? The same applied to murder—unless of course the victim was killed by some other means and thrown down the staircase to make it appear she had fallen down and, doing so, died.
There must be some explanation. I wished that I knew it. Or did I? Did I really want to know what had happened in that quiet house on that day when almost everybody had gone to the fair and Amy Robsart was alone?
I waited patiently for the jury's verdict. I guessed it would be what we wanted. How could it be otherwise? Accident? Suicide? Either would do, but accident was better. Murder it must never be called.
It was—as I had known it would be—a foregone conclusion. The jury would not want to offend a man as powerful as Robert was—nor did they wish to displease me. So there was only one verdict.
Amy Robsart's maid, Mistress Pinto, who had been with her for many years and who was devoted to her, did hint at her mistress's suffering. The theory of a growth in the breast was brought up. It could have been suicide. Suicide or accident, it did not greatly matter.
So the verdict was accidental death. Cecil was relieved; Robert was overjoyed; but I was sober. I did not think the matter could be so neatly dealt with as that.
ROBERT RETURNED TO COURT. No one dared mention the matter of Lady Dudley's death in his presence or mine, but that did not prevent its being frequently spoken of and I doubt whether many believed the coroner's verdict. Robert was watched even more attentively than before. He had acquired a new reputation—one which set men making sure they did not offend him. Clearly they thought he was a man who had the ability to remove those who stood in his way. I tried to behave as though nothing had happened. I wanted to give the impression that Robert was just a good subject who had rather special gifts and that was why I favored him.
He was constantly at my side and I talked to him of matters of State. He had a good grasp of these and he always looked at them with an eye to the advantage of the crown. During that time Robert was so certain that he would soon be sharing it that he could not stop himself behaving like a king.
I was tender toward him. I was sorry for all the suspicion which had been directed at him. If he were indeed innocent that would be galling for there is nothing so maddening as to be accused of something one has not done. And if he had murdered his wife… well then, he had done that for me. And I had led him on, tempting him perhaps too far.
I could not help my feelings, but I was more alive when I was in his company than that of anyone else. If he were absent, then I found the company dull. I liked his dark looks, his magnificent vital presence; I liked his arrogance; I liked his persistence and his ability to withdraw himself with an air of unconcern from an intolerable situation such as the one which had recently threatened to destroy him.
I was no less in love with Robert Dudley after his wife's death than I had been before.
Constantly he urged marriage.
“How could we,” I demanded, “while there are rumors in the air?”
“If you do not marry me people will say it is because you do not believe in my innocence.”
“But if I do, might they not believe in my guilt?” I went on: “Robin, this matter has caused grievous harm to us both.”
“Nonsense,” he replied, for there were times when he seemed to forget that I was the Queen, and I did not always reprove him. In fact I liked his insolence. It was all part of that overwhelming masculinity which so appealed to the feminine side of my nature. “It has done us great good. It has cleared the way for us.”
At such times I thought: Yes, he is guilty. He arranged for that poor woman to fall down the staircase.
I could easily believe that, and yet it made no difference.
Cecil continued to be concerned about my unmarried state.
Time was passing, he said. I must produce an heir. Was I going to put off marriage until it was too late for me to bear children?
“I have many years before me yet, I would remind you,” I retorted.
“Madam,” he replied, “the people look for it.”
I prevaricated and Cecil was too shrewd not to know what I was doing.
“I would agree to marriage with Robert Dudley, Madam,” he said, “for I truly believe that in your fondness for him you would quickly conceive.”
I was amazed.
“The scandal concerning his late wife is too recent,” I said.
“I know. I know. Perhaps a secret marriage. Once the heir was born, the people would be ready to love you again.”
“They will love me,” I said firmly. “Give me time.”