did. She’s a country squire’s daughter, and the duke would have higher rewards for his sons. If he could persuade the council to approve Guilford’s union with Jane Grey, why not Robert’s to the princess? It would be the ultimate coup, the feather in the collective Dudley cap, not to mention the means to secure his rule. For, make no mistake, the duke rules England. He has ever since he saw the Lord Protector beheaded and gained control of Edward’s person.”
The ring in my pocket felt twice its weight. The very thought was insane, and yet it fit with everything I’d expect of the Dudleys. What had Robert said? Give her this. She will understand. Had she understood? Was that why she refused to take it? Because she knew what it represented? Or did she, in a secret place in her heart not even she dared admit, fear it? I had seen the look on her face; she had said she was no stranger to longing. She had a depth of passion no one had yet plumbed. Maybe she wanted Robert Dudley as much as he wanted her.
I made myself breathe. This was happening too quickly. I had to concentrate on what I knew and what I had heard. “But Her Grace and the king—they have an elder half sister, the Lady Mary. She is heir to the throne. If Her Grace were to wed Lord Robert, she still couldn’t be queen unless…”
My voice faded into silence. I heard a fly buzzing over the platter of neglected fruit on the sideboard. I could barely contemplate where my own words had led.
“Now, do you see?” said Cecil softly. “You can learn, and quickly. Yes, the Lady Mary is next in line to the throne. But she is also an avowed Catholic, who has resisted every attempt to persuade her to convert, and England will never stomach Rome in our business again. Her Grace, on the other hand, was born and raised in the Reformed Faith. She is also seventeen years younger than Mary and can most certainly produce a male heir. The people would rather see her on the throne than her papist sister. And that, my boy, is what the duke can offer her: England itself. It’s a temptation very few can resist.”
I reached for my goblet, took a long draught. Religion. The eternal bone of contention. People died for it. I’d seen their heads displayed on the gates of London at the duke’s command.
Was he capable of doing the same to a princess? For that was what Cecil implied. In order for Elizabeth to inherit, Mary must be dead. I couldn’t pretend to know the inner workings of a man I’d seen a half dozen times at most, whose values were far removed from my own. Was he capable of it? I wouldn’t think he’d shy away, if it came to his own survival. Still, something here troubled me, an assumption it took me a few seconds to disentangle and put into words. Once I did, I stated it bluntly, with conviction.
“Her Grace would never condone it, not if it meant the murder of her own sister.”
“No,” said Cecil, to my relief. “She and Mary have never been close, but you are right. She’d never let herself become embroiled in treason, at least not willingly. It is, I hope, the one fatal flaw in the duke’s plan. He underestimates her. He always has. She would have the throne, but only when, or if, her time comes.”
So, it was treason. The Dudleys plotted treason—against the king and his two sisters. I heard Elizabeth as though her lips were at my ear.
I’d not wish to be associated with their name, then, not when men have lost their heads for far less.
She had warned me. She wasn’t leaving London to return to her country manor, because she had divined what the duke intended and she didn’t want lives endangered for her sake. She’d come to court fully aware of what she risked.
I took out the ring. “Robert wanted me to deliver this. She wouldn’t take it. He doesn’t know yet.”
Cecil let out a long breath. “Thank God.” His smile had no warmth in it. “Your master has overstepped himself. I’m quite sure his father would not have
The ring in my pocket felt twice its weight. The very thought was insane, and yet it fit with everything I’d expect of the Dudleys. What had Robert said? Give her this. She will understand. Had she understood? Was that why she refused to take it? Because she knew what it represented? Or did she, in a secret place in her heart not even she dared admit, fear it? I had seen the look on her face; she had said she was no stranger to longing. She had a depth of passion no one had yet plumbed. Maybe she wanted Robert Dudley as much as he wanted her.
I made myself breathe. This was happening too quickly. I had to concentrate on what I knew and what I had heard. “But Her Grace and the king—they have an elder half sister, the Lady Mary. She is heir to the throne. If Her Grace were to wed Lord Robert, she still couldn’t be queen unless…”
My voice faded into silence. I heard a fly buzzing over the platter of neglected fruit on the sideboard. I could barely contemplate where my own words had led.
“Now, do you see?” said Cecil softly. “You can learn, and quickly. Yes, the Lady Mary is next in line to the throne. But she is also an avowed Catholic, who has resisted every attempt to persuade her to convert, and England will never stomach Rome in our business again. Her Grace, on the other hand, was born and raised in the Reformed Faith. She is also seventeen years younger than Mary and can most certainly produce a male heir. The people would rather see her on the throne than her papist sister. And that, my boy, is what the duke can offer her: England itself. It’s a temptation very few can resist.”
I reached for my goblet, took a long draught. Religion. The eternal bone of contention. People died for it. I’d seen their heads displayed on the gates of London at the duke’s command.
Was he capable of doing the same to a princess? For that was what Cecil implied. In order for Elizabeth to inherit, Mary must be dead. I couldn’t pretend to know the inner workings of a man I’d seen a half dozen times at most, whose values were far removed from my own. Was he capable of it? I wouldn’t think he’d shy away, if it came to his own survival. Still, something here troubled me, an assumption it took me a few seconds to disentangle and put into words. Once I did, I stated it bluntly, with conviction.
“Her Grace would never condone it, not if it meant the murder of her own sister.”
“No,” said Cecil, to my relief. “She and Mary have never been close, but you are right. She’d never let herself become embroiled in treason, at least not willingly. It is, I hope, the one fatal flaw in the duke’s plan. He underestimates her. He always has. She would have the throne, but only when, or if, her time comes.”
So, it was treason. The Dudleys plotted treason—against the king and his two sisters. I heard Elizabeth as though her lips were at my ear.
I’d not wish to be associated with their name, then, not when men have lost their heads for far less.
She had warned me. She wasn’t leaving London to return to her country manor, because she had divined what the duke intended and she didn’t want lives endangered for her sake. She’d come to court fully aware of what she risked.
I took out the ring. “Robert wanted me to deliver this. She wouldn’t take it. He doesn’t know yet.”
Cecil let out a long breath. “Thank God.” His smile had no warmth in it. “Your master has overstepped himself. I’m quite sure his father would not have
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