Philippa Gregory - The Virgin's Lover

“They are practicing now.” Elizabeth was unable to take her eyes from the curve of his mouth.

“Shall we go and see?” Cecil intervened. He led the ambassador away and the rest of the court followed. Slowly, Dudley offered Elizabeth his arm and she slid her hand on his sleeve.

“You look entranced,” he said quietly to her.

“I am,” she said. “You know.”

“I know.”

They walked for a few paces in silence. “What did the ambassador want?” she asked.

“He was complaining about Spanish gold being shipped out of the Netherlands by our merchants,” Dudley said. “It is illegal to take their bullion out of the country.”

“I know that,” she said. “I don’t know who would do such a thing.”

Blandly, he ignored the quickness of her lie. “Some eager inspector searched one of our ships and found that the cargo manifest was forged. They have confiscated the gold and let the ship go, and the Spanish ambassador was to make a formal complaint.”

“Is he to come before the Privy Council?” she asked, alarmed. “If they discover we are shipping gold they will know it is to mint new coins. There will be a run against the old coins. I will have to speak to Cecil; we have to keep this secret.” She started forward but Robert retained her hand and kept her back.

“No, of course he can’t see the Privy Council,” Robert said decisively. “It has to be kept private.”

“Have you given him a time to see me and Cecil?”

“I have dealt with it,” Robert said simply.

Elizabeth paused on the path, the sun very hot on the back of her neck. “You’ve done what?”

“I dealt with it,” he repeated. “Told him that there must have been a mistake, I condemned smuggling as a general rule, I agreed that smuggling bullion from one country to another is most dangerous for trade. I promised him it would not happen again and said that I would look into it personally. He believed half of it, at the most, but will send his despatch to the Spanish emperor, and we are all satisfied.”

She hesitated, suddenly cold despite the heat of the day. “Robert, on what basis did he speak to you?”

He pretended not to understand her. “As I have said.”

“Why did he speak to you? Why not take this complaint to Cecil? Or come direct to me? Or ask to meet with the Privy Council?”

Robert slid his arm around her waist, though anyone of the court glancing back could have seen him holding her. “Because I want to take trouble from your shoulders, my love. Because I know as much about kingship as you, or Cecil, and to tell the truth, probably more. Because I was born to do this, just as much as you, or Cecil; probably more. Because his complaint was about your agent Thomas Gresham, who now reports directly to me. This is my business as much as yours. Your business is my business. Your currency is my currency. We do everything together.”

Elizabeth could not make herself move from his touch, but she did not melt into him, as she usually did. “De Quadra should have come to me,” she insisted.

“Oh, why?” Robert demanded. “Don’t you think he knows that I shall be your declared husband within the year? Don’t you think everyone knows that we are betrothed and will soon announce it? Don’t you think he already deals with me as if I were your husband?”

“He should speak with me or Cecil,” she persisted. She rubbed at the cuticles of her fingernails, to push them back from the polished nails.

Dudley took her hand. “Of course,” he said. “When it is something that I cannot deal with for you.”

“And when would that be?” she demanded sharply.

He chuckled in his self-confidence. “D’you know, I cannot think of a single thing that you or Cecil could do better than me,” he admitted.

Cecil was seated next to Elizabeth at the tennis tournament but neither of them followed the play.

“He only met with de Quadra to spare me trouble,” she whispered to him in a rapid monotone.

“He has no authority, unless you give it to him,” Cecil said steadily.

“Cecil, he says that everyone knows that we are betrothed, that de Quadra thinks of him as my husband and so my representative.”

“This has to stop,” Cecil said. “You have to stop this …usurpation.”

“He is not disloyal,” she said fiercely. “Everything he does is for love of me.”

Yes, he is the most loyal traitor who ever threw down a queen for love of her, Cecil thought bitterly. Aloud he said: “Your Grace, it may be for your good, but don’t you know that his power over you will be reported to the Spanish emperor and be seen as weakness? Don’t you think the English Catholics will know that you plan to marry a divorced man? You, of all women: the daughter of a divorced queen, a queen executed for adultery?”

Nobody ever spoke to the queen of her mother, except in tones of the most unctuous deference. Elizabeth went white with shock. “I beg your pardon,” she said icily.

Cecil was not frightened into silence. “Your reputation has to be of the purest,” he said adamantly. “Because your mother, God rest her soul, died with her reputation most foully slandered. Your father divorced a good woman to marry her and then blamed his decision on witchcraft and lust. No one must revive that libel and apply it to you.”

“Be very careful, Cecil,” she said coldly. “You are repeating treasonous slander.”

“You be careful,” he said roundly, and rose from his seat. “Tell de Quadra to meet with us both tomorrow morning to make his formal complaint. Sir Robert does not transact business for the Crown.”

Elizabeth looked up at him and then, very slightly, she shook her head. “I cannot,” she said.

“What?”

“I cannot undermine Sir Robert. The business is done, and he has said only what we would have said. We’ll leave it.”

“He is indeed king-consort then, in everything but name? You are content to give him your power?”

When she said nothing, Cecil bowed. “I will leave you,” he said quietly. “I have no humor to watch the match. I think the Gypsy’s Men are certain to win.”

Anthony Forster, returning home with a new scroll of madrigals under his arm, was in merry mood and not best pleased to be greeted by his wife with a domestic crisis before he had even entered the great hall.

“Lady Dudley is here and is very ill,” she said urgently. “They arrived this morning, and she has been sick since then. She cannot keep down food, the poor thing cannot even keep down drink, and she complains of a pain in her breast which she says is heartbreak, but I think may be a canker. She won’t let anyone see it.”

“Let me in, wife,” he said, and walked past her into his hall. “I’ll take a glass of ale,” he said sternly. “It was hot work riding home in this heat.”

“I am sorry,” she said briefly. She poured him the ale and bit her tongue while he settled himself in his own chair and took a long draught.

“That’s better,” he said. “Is dinner ready?”

“Of course,” she said respectfully. “We were just awaiting your return.”

She made herself stand in silence until he took another swig of ale and then turned and looked at her.

“Now then,” he said. “What’s all this?”

“It’s Lady Dudley,” she said. “Very ill. Sick, and with a pain in her breast.”

“Better send for a physician,” he said. “Dr. Bayly.”

Mrs. Forster nodded. “I’ll send someone for him at once.”

He rose from his seat. “I’ll wash my hands before dinner.” He paused. “Is she fit to see me? Will she come down for dinner?”

“No,” she said. “I think not.”

He nodded. “This is very inconvenient, wife,” he said. “To have her in our house at all is to share in her disgrace. She cannot enjoy a long illness here.”