A Court Affair. Emily Purdy

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СКАЧАТЬ Hall, near Wymondham, in Norfolk April 1550

      I was in the dairy, with my hair bunched up carelessly beneath a white ruffled cap, wearing a faded old blue cloth gown with an apron tied over it, my sleeves rolled up to my elbows, and my hems pinned up to my knees. The stone floor was deliciously cool and smooth, like silk gone solid, beneath my bare feet, and I was laughing and gossiping with the milkmaids as I took my turn at a churn, just as if I were one of them and not Sir John Robsart’s daughter.

      The Earl eyed me up and down, then shook his head and sighed, “Poor Robert!”

      Of course, I did not know then that I was fated to perpetually arouse pity for my husband.

      My father-in-law-to-be bade me come out and walk with him. The silence hung heavily between us like a velvet curtain on the hottest summer day, and I felt as if I were walking alongside the Devil, there was such an aura of cruelty and power about him. But he was my beloved’s father, so I must try to win his good regard.

      “I am sorry you catch me, Sir, at a time when I am so unkempt and ill-prepared to receive visitors,” I said, blushing and flustered, my tongue tripping clumsily over the words and no doubt making me seem more crude, ignorant, and rustic.

      As we walked along, I rolled down my sleeves and tucked a stray lock of hair back inside my cap while debating whether I should stop and unpin my hems to let my skirts fall down to cover my bare shins and feet. I had a pair of comfortable old leather and wood clogs, but in my haste I had left them lying outside the dairy.

      “I have always taken a more active role in running my father’s estates than perhaps a grand man like you would consider fitting,” I half-apologetically explained, though in truth I was not the least bit sorry. I loved being a part of it all and having a hand in it, not standing idly by like a court lady with her nose in the air or a pomander ball smelling of oranges and cloves pressed to it. I never failed to feel a sense of wonder as I watched things come into being, from the birthing of a new calf to making a loaf of bread or churning butter; each time was like witnessing a little miracle to me.

      “For all your timidity, you are direct, lass,” the Earl of Warwick said with a grudging admiration. He stopped and turned to face me. “Shall I in turn be direct with you?”

      “Please do, sir.” I nodded. “I would account it a very great favour if you would. If you’ve something to say, just say it, I always say—don’t hide it under a bushel of pretty words so I have to dig and search for it.”

      “You might not think it so great a favour after you have heard what I have to say,” he cautioned. “Shall I continue?” And at my nod he did. “Though he is my fifth son, Robert has always been my favourite, so I am of a mind to indulge him and let him have his way, even though I think it is the wrong way. And he wants you; he thinks and talks of nothing but you. I think he is making a grave mistake and will rue my generosity one day, when he finds that your fresh-faced rustic charm, plain speech, and earthy common sense are no match for the sophistication and wit of the highbred ladies of the court, as he inevitably will. Even so, I am inclined to let him have you. I had other plans—great plans—for Robert, but I have other sons, and if Robert would wed and bed a country squire’s daughter and sink instead of rise in the world”—he shrugged and gave me a glance that was at once pitying and scornful—“so be it. But, I warn you, Mistress Amy, it will be you who will bear the blame and pay for it when Robert realises and repents his mistake. Are you sure you want to do this? You’d fare far better as Robert’s mistress than you ever will as his wife, my girl—I would bet the Crown jewels upon it. And if you’re willing to trade the role of mistress for that of wife, you’ll not find the Dudleys ungenerous—you and any bastards you bear will be well provided for, and I’m sure there’ll be a husband for you someday, someone who will suit you far better than Robert.”

      “Thank you for your concern, Sir.” I drew myself up stiffly. “But I love Robert, and he loves me, and whatever the future holds, we will face it together, as man and wife united, and none but God shall ever tear us apart!” I avowed, confident and proud. “I am sorry you find me lacking and do not think me a fit match for your son and worthy of the name of Dudley. But Robert loves me and thinks I am good enough to be his wife, to bear his name and be the mother of his legitimately born children, and that is good enough for me, with or without your approval. Now, if you will excuse me, I am needed in the dairy.” I turned and, with my head held high, as if I were every bit as good as those haughty and imperious highborn court ladies, I walked with great dignity back into the dairy to help pour the milk into the great shallow pans to cool for cream, another of God’s sweet little wonders.

      I didn’t show my fear, but inside I never stopped fretting and trembling, and even though I knew long before my wedding gown was finished that I did not carry Robert’s child, I never told him, and he never asked. Maybe it didn’t matter? Or maybe he was wise enough in the ways of women’s bodies to know that his seed had not taken root inside me? But I couldn’t bring myself to broach the subject. I feared that knowing that there was no babe to bind us might make him think again and reconsider and forsake me, and that I could not bear. Now—when it is far too late—I know that was wrong of me; I should have been honest and hoped for the best, trusted in God and Fate.

      “And none but God shall ever tear us apart!” I was so confident and sure of myself at seventeen. I marvel at it now. The Amy I was then and need to be now is lost to me when I need her confidence, courage, and strength most of all. I spoke those words with such utter certainty; I never for an instant doubted them. Each syllable rang true and clear, like a triumphal peal of church bells, in my head and heart. I trusted Robert and fully believed that the bow of love that bound us together would never be untied save by the hand of God when the hour came for one of us to die.

      5

      Amy Robsart Dudley

       Syderstone Manor in Norfolk June 4, 1550

      The first time I saw Elizabeth Tudor was on my wedding day.

      June 4, 1550—that was the happiest day of my life. We celebrated our marriage in the clover-and-daisy-dotted meadow at Syderstone, with the breeze-caressed buttercups nodding their approval and the bluebells swaying as if they were indeed bells ringing with joy for us.

      Despite the manor’s crumbling, ramshackle appearance, the young King Edward and his court came to see us wed. We had benches and trestles set out to serve them fresh milk and Father’s famous cider, and many dishes made with apples, just like our wonderful harvest feasts. And at the centre of it all was a great, towering, spiced apple cake nigh as tall as me, with nuts, raisins, and little chunks of apples baked into the batter, all covered with frothy waves of cream, dusted with cinnamon, and decorated with red, gold, and green marzipan apples. And some clever person from the royal kitchens, who must have been like a magician with confectionery, had made gilded candy lace that we could actually eat to adorn the cake that exactly matched the golden lace on my gown. Lace spun of sugar, what a marvellous thing indeed; I never even imagined that there could be such a thing!

      I wanted everyone to have something. I did not want a soul to go away empty-handed that day. I wanted to share my happiness with them all, and for everyone to have a token to remember this day by, something that would make them smile every time they looked at it. And, though they were at a trestle table set far apart from our royal and highborn guests, there was a roasted pig with an apple in his mouth, apple cider, custard, tarts, and cake for the common folk. And my father personally gave each one a shiny new penny in a little blue green velvet pouch “the same colour as my Amy’s eyes!” he boasted proudly of the specially dyed velvet. And СКАЧАТЬ