The Girl in the Glass Tower (33 page)

‘In that case you have my solemn and heartfelt promise that I will not seek to wed a foreigner, Your Majesty.’ Victory was throbbing through me.

He got to his feet to leave the chamber with the councillors following suit. The clerk began to pack up his things. I locked a firm look on him. ‘You heard His Majesty,’ I said quietly. ‘Why did you not record his last statement?’ He looked about for support from one of the men but they were all making for the door. I stood over him, rather more close than was comfortable, and he reluctantly opened his ledger, beginning to scribble.

Nottingham and Uncle Gilbert offered to walk with me to my chambers, but Cecil interrupted, ‘I should like that privilege, if the Lady Arbella will have me.’

Nottingham looked over for a sign of my assent. I nodded, thanking him and my uncle for their kindness, curious as to Cecil’s motive behind this false gesture of amity.

We walked in silence for some time until eventually he spoke. ‘I sincerely hope you will make a sensible choice of husband, My Lady.’

‘What do you mean by that?’

‘He shuffled his hands, dipping his head in faux obsequy. ‘Marriage is for this life and the next. It is wise to be sure you choose someone …’ He paused, appearing to be seeking the correct word. ‘Suitable.’

‘Suitable, you say?’ I wondered if he suspected something,
he had spies everywhere, after all, but reasoned that if it were the case then surely he would have raised it before the Privy Council. ‘I believe
you
once sought my hand.’ I knew he would not want to be reminded of the failed bid he’d made to Grandmother for me once, as it was a minor humiliation, I supposed, and might have made him recall that he had none of his titles then and was overreaching himself. Such a thing would have mattered to him. ‘Do you think you’d have been a
suitable
companion for me in this life and the next, My Lord?’

‘Things are different.’

‘Yes, you have gone up in the world,’ I said, presuming him to be implying it was I who had gone down.

But when he replied, ‘And you will always be a princess of the blood, My Lady,’ it became clear what he was getting at.

‘Which makes my choice of husband state business.’

‘Yes, indeed!’ He was straightening his cuffs again and I saw clearly that he couldn’t bear the fact that I had been given, incontrovertibly, the right to make such a choice. ‘I feel sure you will choose wisely and avoid any’ – he paused to clear his throat – ‘any covert papists.’ The suggestion of a threat slid through to his surface and I perceived something of what had given him his reputation for ruthlessness. Essex at his trial, the rumour went, had said of him something to the effect that he was a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

‘A papist! Perish the thought.’ I laughed, enjoying the fact that he was so far off the mark. ‘The King forbade it.’

‘Your aunt, Lady Shrewsbury, attends Mass quite regularly, I’m told.’

‘As does the Queen,’ I said. ‘My aunt makes no secret of it.’

‘No,’ was all he said in response and we fell into silence once more until he added, ‘You may not believe it but I do have your best interests at heart.’

I didn’t answer him. His attempts to intimidate me were falling on deaf ears, for my mind was taken up with the thought that Will and I were free to wed and with the King’s blessing, whether Cecil liked it or not. As I allowed that thought to percolate I felt light and free and entirely unburdened.

My mood must have shown for Cecil said, ‘You seem most content, My Lady. Perhaps you have someone in mind already.’

It was not quite a question, though I sensed he would have liked an answer, and I realized I was at liberty to tell him, to tell the whole world if I cared to. But I preferred to keep it to myself, simply smiled with a slight shrug.

As his hunched figure receded down the corridor I was filled with a sense of my own potency. I had triumphed over them all; my future was in my own hands and I would have my husband with his Tudor blood, like mine.

Hal is back again for a few days’ leave and those weeks of silence, so distressing to Ami, have become vague and distant. He is repeatedly playing a scale on his pipe, each note pitch-perfect.

He stops a moment, pipe hovering, to say, ‘I’m proud, you know – to have a mother like you … a teacher, a writer.’

‘You couldn’t be as proud of me as I am of you.’ There is little to compare with the joyous feeling that has come with seeing her boy set on a path to fulfilling his dreams. It makes her think of Lady Arbella, who had so many false starts on that road. How greatly she lacked a mother, with everyone around her trying to shape her for their own benefit. Ami had known so little of the obstacles her friend had encountered at every turn. It is rare to truly know another; there is so much of a person kept hidden in the secret pockets of the self.

She has been writing fervently, trying to capture the ebb and flow of that life in verse, feeling profoundly, as if she is living it herself, the heartbreaking disappointments and then the moments of victory, pouring elation into her. She has re-read Lady Arbella’s account, back and forth, over and over, until, as if from a process of distillation, the verse floods out of her.

‘Oh, I forgot,’ Hal says, jolting her from her thoughts. He gets up to fetch something wrapped in a cloth from amongst his belongings, presenting it to her. ‘One of those pies you like so much. We can have it later for supper.’

She can’t help thinking of the pie-woman who refused her service last time she went to market. It had made her uneasy and she suspects Goodwife Stringer has been spreading nefarious rumours about her, labelling her a whore, or worse. She hasn’t had the courage to return to market since, so Joyce has been running errands for her instead. She had made an excuse to herself that she was too busy but suddenly she feels the full force of her concerns.

‘What is it; what’s wrong, Ma?’ Hal grips her arm.

‘Nothing, absolutely nothing, really …’

‘Tell me what it is.’

‘It’s nothing, just that Stringer woman. She’s been making trouble.’

‘Not more trouble; What sort this time? She always was a meddlesome piece of –’ he stops short of the oath.

‘I think she suspects me of casting spells, or something.’ As Ami explains, she finds she can’t quite articulate the havoc Goodwife Stringer has wrought in her, with all her pretend advice and sham friendliness; it seems quite benign in the recounting.

‘It sounds as if you’ve let your imagination run away with you.’ He smiles and seems so unconcerned that she finds herself quite reassured, puts it down to living alone. Perhaps the pie-woman was just distracted on that occasion; perhaps it was nothing to do with Ami at all. ‘She’s just a busybody.’

The tabby jumps on to the table and begins sniffing at the pie. Hal picks her up, saying, ‘Wouldn’t you just like some of that, puss? Well, it’s not for you,’ before dropping her back to the floor and cutting himself a slice of bread from the loaf Ami made for his arrival.

Ami finds herself laughing. ‘Glad you talk to the cat too. I’d begun to fear Goodwife Stringer would overhear me chatting like that and believe I was conversing with a demon.’

‘I don’t know a soul that doesn’t talk to their animals. They
can’t all be communing with the devil.’ Hal is laughing too now and all those fears that had been building up disperse.

‘Where’s the honey?’ he asks as he slathers butter thickly on the bread. The sunlight falls over the sculpted contours of his face. Ami watches him, transfixed. Only a mother can be this fascinated by the ordinary actions of her offspring. She reflects too that a month ago there would have been no butter and that makes for an additional satisfaction.

‘Top shelf,’ she says, standing to reach up for it; but it is not there. ‘That’s odd.’ She is trying to remember when she last used it – when little Peter was sick, she thinks.

‘I expect one of the children put it somewhere. Never mind. This bread and butter is so good it doesn’t need it.’

She has the fleeting sense once again that someone has been in her house unbidden, but dismisses the thought. Hal is right; it’s probably only one of the children.

‘Here, have some.’ He hands her a slice, which she takes, sinking her teeth into its yielding surface. ‘You always did make the best bread.’

They eat in silence for a while, enjoying the peace.

‘I forgot to tell you, Will Seymour says he’ll visit next month. He’s away at present.’

‘Next month!’ The memory of his blast of rage forces itself on her once more and her guilt catches like a spark in tinder. She wants to tell Hal to make some kind of excuse, to put Will Seymour off. But, like the extraction of a rotten tooth, she knows this confrontation is one she cannot avoid. She reassures herself with the fact that Will Seymour has been kind about her, that he instigated Hal’s return and at least he will be able to tell her what provoked such a change of heart.

She will have the opportunity to ask his forgiveness – that is a reassuring thought. It is possible, even, that he will be able to shed some light on the absences in his wife’s story.
She has trawled the papers for clues but has continued to find only silence. It is
her
forgiveness Ami craves, with the same species of hopeless yearning that a lover has for the unobtainable beloved in a sonnet.

They hear someone calling her name outside. Hal is on his feet, unbolting and opening up the door with Ami behind him.

‘Joyce.’ She is glad to see the girl, had wanted Hal to make her acquaintance properly. ‘Come in. We were about to eat. Have you eaten?’

Joyce makes a tentative step over the threshold. She is looking at her hands, which are clenched.

Hal makes a little bow: ‘A pleasure to see you again, Miss Mansfield.’

Ami smiles inwardly, watching Hal’s feathers fluff up.

‘It’s Peter!’

Only then does Ami realize that something is not right, Joyce is too pale and has a haunted look about her.

‘What is it, love?’ She puts an arm around the girl but finds her stiff and unyielding.

‘The Lord’s taken him.’

‘But …’ Ami can’t make sense of it. ‘He was all better.’

‘He took a turn and …’ She cannot seem to get the words out. It doesn’t matter anyway, how he died, just the hard fact of it.

‘Oh no, poor dear boy. Poor, poor you.’ Silent tears course down the girl’s face. Ami takes her in her arms.

‘Ma sent me to tell you. She said she knows how fond you are …’ Her voice cracks. ‘How fond you were of him.’

Ami is thinking of that eager little boy, a sponge for knowledge. What a cruel world it is that would cut off his life before it has even begun. ‘And the baby? The baby was sick too, wasn’t she?’

‘The baby’s fine. It’s just P-P–’ It is as if she can’t bear to say his name.

‘I think we should walk you home.’ Ami, without letting go of Joyce, pulls a wrap down from the hook and nods to Hal to come with them.

The family is at prayer when they arrive and Mistress Mansfield quietly invites them to join in. Her eyes are red and swollen. Ami has only seen her at church, they have never spoken, but she is warm as an old friend. Ami shrivels inwardly on thinking that she even considered, however desperate the circumstances, sleeping with this woman’s husband.

‘I know you did so much for him,’ she is saying. ‘He spoke of you all the time.’

She leads the way into a chamber and there he is in his box. Ami can feel her tears welling at the sight of that coffin, so impossibly small it might be a carton of oysters. His face is grey and pinched and he is wearing his best suit of clothes. She can hardly bear to look, ransacks her mind for an explanation, but some things simply can’t be explained.

As I arrived in the Queen’s chambers a sudden hush fell. I knew, by the weight of the silence, that the truncated topic of discussion had been about Will Seymour and me. Since my triumph before the Privy Council two months before, I had become indiscreet, feeling it mattered little if people knew we were courting. The gossip was inevitable, particularly given I was thought such an unlikely candidate for romance, and of course our difference in age provoked, if not quite scandal, then a good deal of curiosity.

But I still harboured a secret; what wasn’t known was that since Candlemas, ten days past, we had been formally betrothed. Will Seymour came to my chambers, got on his knee, and before witnesses – Dodderidge; Bridget; Crompton; Margaret; and a Seymour cousin, Mister Rodney – promised himself to me and I to him. It would be disingenuous to say that I was not aware of the political implications of such a match; but in that moment my mind was not set on politics; it was set on liberty.

It is true, the watchful part of me was well aware that one can never know which way the wheel of fortune will swing when it comes to the crown. So perhaps, as I made my promise, I held a minuscule hope for a turn of that wheel, even if only for the royal child we might eventually have produced, but we never talked of such a thing. Was it implicit in our actions? I cannot say and nor can I speak for Will, though he did whisper, ‘Sometimes I wish you were not of royal blood, so you would know I wed you without aspirations.’

‘You do not think my blood defines me, then?’ I’d asked.
He didn’t answer. There was no answer to that. ‘But your youth makes you seek ideals.’

‘I’m not so young that I do not know my own mind.’

I did not point out that age could bring with it
less
clarity of mind. What was clear, however, was that ambition was not foremost in either of our thoughts on that day, for everything was pushed to one side by that engrossing desire, which had us in its clutches. I cannot remember the circumstances that melted our witnesses away, leaving the pair of us, my finger adorned with a pointed diamond, alone in a chamber with a bed. All clear memory has been clouded by the intensity of feelings as our two bodies collided, laces hastily loosened, clothes pulled up and aside. Giving way to my bestial nature, I could never have imagined the blissful sensations to be found therein, increased and stirred by the fact that we teetered at the edge of sin. There was a moment when William faltered, saying, ‘Ought we not wait until we are truly wed?’

‘A betrothal is good enough in the eyes of God,’ I breathed. There would be no waiting. You cannot postpone the tide.

‘Come and sit here with me, Lady Arbella,’ said Lucy Bedford, shuffling along the bench to make space. ‘Tell me, are you looking forward to tomorrow’s masque?’ She must have seen my hesitation, for she added, ‘We see so little of you these days.’

‘You know how I like a quiet life and my books.’

‘Not an entirely quiet life! No more
noli me tangere
, from what I hear,’ said Jane Drummond, causing the Queen to laugh and say she was glad to see I’d been enjoying myself for a change. Her smile seemed entirely genuine. There was no guile with Queen Anna; that was part of her charm and perhaps also the reason her husband was so disenchanted with her. He may not have appreciated an educated woman but a woman with a sharper wit might have turned his attention away, occasionally, from his beautiful boys.

I was drawn into a game of cards, wagering pennies I could ill afford, though the bright beacon of my imminent inheritance had made me more relaxed about such things. The four of us played several rounds of primero. Quick, deft Lucy Bedford won each game.

‘Another round,’ said the Queen. ‘So I can gain back my losses. Your turn to deal, Arbella.’ She passed me the cards. I began to peel off my gloves to better shuffle them. ‘Is that a new ring?’ She had hold of my hand and was inspecting my finger. ‘A diamond. A good one too.’

‘It looks like a betrothal ring,’ said Jane Drummond. As the words left her mouth the three of them fell silent, all gawping my way. I cursed the hot blush that meant I was going to have to give them an explanation.

‘Are you betrothed?’ asked Lucy. ‘To Will Seymour?’

From the side of my eye I thought I saw Jane Drummond swipe an index finger across her throat but when I turned her way she had both hands folded in her lap.

‘A little romance is harmless enough, but a
betrothal
…’

‘I have permission.’ They were all aware of this but I felt I needed to remind them because doubt was printed all over their faces. ‘Any British subject.’

‘But
Seymour
,’ said Lucy. ‘He’s so young.’

‘I don’t think it’s his youth that causes concern.’ Jane looked at the Queen for confirmation of this.

‘I think you both rather suited, with your shared love of books. And you have seemed so well of late.’ Queen Anna was twisting her pearls round a finger, which reminded me of Grandmother, despite the kindness of her words. I felt myself wither slightly. ‘I hope the King is of the same mind.’ She looked at me with something akin to pity. ‘He knows, I presume.’

‘I have not sought to hide the fact.’ My face began to burn again, for that was not entirely true. Perhaps I ought to have given notice of my betrothal.

‘And Salisbury?’ interjected Jane. ‘What does
he
think?’

‘He has long been my champion. I have his blessing.’ I don’t know why I continued to lie when they all suspected Cecil was no great friend to me, unless it was convenient to him. Perhaps I believed that in the saying of it, it might somehow be rendered true. ‘We intend to live a quiet life away from court.’

‘Away from court!’ exclaimed Lucy Bedford, as if I’d said we were to go to the frozen wastelands of the north.

‘We are not all as ebullient as you,’ said Jane Drummond. ‘I think that sounds like a good idea.’ But I saw her swap a brief look of concern with Queen Anna.

I began to feel unbalanced, as if the floor were listing like the deck of a ship in bad weather. I drew my gloves back on, hiding the evidence, and began to deal, fumbling with shrouded fingers. ‘Lay down your wagers,’ I said. My voice was thin.

There was movement at the door and one of the King’s ushers entered with a couple of pages in tow. The Queen sighed, as if she’d been disturbed in the middle of important business. ‘Yes?’

‘I have a message of summons for the Lady Arbella.’

The company of women fell silent once more; a group of girls across the room dropped their needlework and began to gape. The rustle of fabric as Lucy Bedford covered her mouth with a hand seemed loud as thunder.

‘Go with her, Jane,’ said Queen Anna.

I stood. ‘That won’t be necessary.’ I sounded curt and didn’t mean to. I was grateful for her kindness but my prevailing thought was my need to appear impervious to what I was about to face.

Will was kneeling before the King when we arrived and various privy councillors were gathered. Prince Henry sat under the
canopy of state beside his father and offered me a discreet half-smile as I joined Will on my knees. There was no smile from the King; his expression was more one of irritation. I thought perhaps he was still unwell, for his skin had a yellow tinge to it and the whites of his eyes were bloodshot.

I glanced towards Will, whose gaze was fixed on the floor. It struck me that we had the appearance of a bride and groom before a chaplain. His anxiety betrayed itself in the way he clenched and unclenched his jaw, making a pulse visible in his cheek. I wanted to touch him, to feel his flesh under my fingers, to tell him that I was strong enough for both of us. He couldn’t bring himself to look at me.

‘Perhaps you would like to explain to me why I have heard rumours that the pair of you are betrothed.’ The King held me hard with his eyes. Cecil was watching Will closely and I wondered if he thought him the softer target.

‘I would never seek –’ began Will, but I spoke over him.

‘I had Your Majesty’s permission. Any loyal British subject.’ The floor was listing again and I sensed nausea pressing at my gut. ‘And without my inheritance …’ I paused, took a breath. ‘It is normal that I should seek a husband of similar standing.’

‘Of
similar
standing, perhaps. Cousin, you are a woman of learning.’ He said it with a look of distaste. ‘But you seem to lack common sense in choosing to match yourself with a man of
royal
lineage.’

I found myself dumb, unable to find a defence.

‘I smell foul intentions,’ said Cecil. The group of councillors shuffled, Uncle Gilbert was struggling to hide his anger towards Cecil and I thought I saw the Prince throw a brief sharp look his way too. So the chamber was divided, clearly.

Will began again. ‘I would never wilfully seek to disobey Your Majesty’s wishes. I was of the mind that being nothing more than a younger son with little influence, there would be
no impediment. It was I who intruded upon the Lady Arbella on Candlemas Day, with nothing in my thoughts but to raise my own fortunes by attachment to a lady of great virtue and honour. It was all my own doing, my own ambition. The Lady Arbella has done nothing, agreed to nothing. There is no betrothal, merely a statement of intention that can easily be undone.’

I wanted to shout at him, shake him, make him tell the truth, no matter the consequences. But I remained speechless, bewildered that he could so easily undo all we had by its denial. Was he trying to protect me? Was it out of fear for himself, I wondered, or for love for me?

‘You say you
intruded
upon her on Candlemas,’ said Cecil. ‘And on what prior occasions?’

‘That was the first time.’ Will’s reply was so steady, so emphatic. I hadn’t imagined he could be so accomplished in perjury. But then again, it was
essentially
true; it had been the first time he intruded upon me – upon my body in a literal sense.

‘And since?’ It was Cecil again. He flicked sharply at some invisible fleck on his shoulder. Someone in the room was cracking their knuckles.

‘Twice only, at Fleet Street and at Canon Row.’

I battled against a surge of impressions, the smell of our bodies together, the fleshly sensations, forcing them out of my head.

The King shifted in his seat with a groan. He met my eyes momentarily with a venomous look. I supposed he didn’t like to be wrong, for he knew as well as I that he had given his permission for my betrothal, and most of the men who stood in that chamber had been witnesses to the fact.

A sudden shaft of sun pierced the February cloud, spilling through the window over my future husband and me. It would have been impossible not to see the pair of us haloed
in glorious light. I wanted to cry out:
See, even God approves
. All at once I felt girded, determined to leave the chamber with specific and public consent for my intended marriage. Before I had the chance to form my appeal, Will began to speak.

‘There is neither promise of marriage contract nor any other engagement whatsoever between the Lady and myself, nor was there any marriage intended’ – I began to collapse inside. He was abandoning me – ‘unless Your Majesty’s gracious favour and approbation might have been gained therein. It was always our intention to obtain such approval before proceeding to any conclusion. I am Your Majesty’s loyal and humble servant and beg your gracious pardon.’ He stopped. I glanced over at him. The shaft of sun had gone and he was cast in shadow with a scrunch of fear between those sad grey eyes. His forebears were weighing heavily on him, I supposed, Katherine Grey haunting me once more. I knew what would happen next, knew well enough that with my cousin it was vital to stand one’s ground and Will hadn’t.

I opened my mouth to speak – an attempt to salvage some hope – but the King spoke first: ‘And you, Cousin?’

I knew full well he wasn’t asking for my opinion but was waiting for me to also beg forgiveness. I couldn’t bear to do so when I felt I had done no wrong. His impatience registered in the tap of his fingernail on the arm of his chair.
Tap, tap, tap.
‘If Your Majesty is of the mind that I have erred, then I too –’

‘No,’ he interjected. ‘A
full
admission of wrongdoing.’

Prince Henry flashed his father a weighted look and I had the momentary fantasy of a time in the future with that boy on the throne – he would give me my freedom, my inheritance, my marriage; I had no doubt of it.

I mumbled something to the effect that I was at fault, grovelled a little.

‘That’s more like it.’ The King smiled freely, seemed genuinely pleased. ‘If it was lack of funds that forced you into such a hasty match then we shall ensure something is done about that, won’t we, Salisbury?’ He turned to Cecil, who nodded in assent. ‘Give it time, Cousin. There need be no great rush to the altar.’

I wanted to ask what he meant by that, whether it was a concession to postponement.

He continued, ‘We understand that you do not want to wed beneath your station. A little time, that is all.’

A mote of hope settled in me. He held out his hand, I shuffled forward, stooping to plant a kiss on it and he ran his fingers over my cheek. His exhausted yellow eyes revealed a softness, kindness even. ‘It’s settled, then.’ My gaze briefly met Prince Henry’s and he made an almost imperceptible nod.

‘You may take your leave,’ stated Cecil. The ray of sun had shifted on to him, rendering the dense black of his velvet doublet denser still, making his chain of office gleam. I could tell he believed me defeated but
he
hadn’t seen that indulgent look in the King’s eyes.

Will and I stood and reversed a few steps before turning, as if in a dance. The door swung open and the guards let us pass. Will didn’t say a word, not even out of earshot. He looked crushed. I wanted to take his shoulders and rattle him until he found his fight; I wanted to grab him and pull him into a corner, force myself on him.

We stopped at the top of the stairs. ‘So,’ I said. ‘What now?’

‘I can’t.’ He still wouldn’t look me in the eye. My heart was being tugged at painfully as if caught on a nail.