Elizabeth by Evelyn Anthony Page A

one by one the heads turned and the laughter died away, and at last she saw him.
    â€œCecil? What are you doing here …?”
    She saw the accusation in his eyes, and the colour of his face; it was as white as his collar. In the two years of their association she had never seen him look at her like that, as if he hated her.
    In a moment she stood up.
    â€œLeave us! All of you!”
    The rest of them dispersed like leaves before a gust of wind, bowing and curtsying and backing out. When the door closed and they were alone, Cecil still did not move towards her.
    â€œWhat are you standing there for? What is the matter? Jesus, man, have you gone dumb?”
    â€œI wish I had,” he answered. “I wish I were both deaf and dumb and blind, Madam, before I saw a day like this one.”
    Elizabeth stepped close to him. She was very pale, but her eyes glittered and her thin lips were set like a trap.
    â€œI asked you once what was wrong. I shall not ask again!”
    â€œLady Dudley has been murdered,” Cecil said.
    She spat out such a quarter-deck oath that he was startled. “Murdered? What are you talking about—are you sure?”
    â€œQuite sure. My courier has just reported it. She was found at the foot of some stairs with a broken neck. I came to tell you before the whole world hears the news.”
    â€œWho did it?”
    She had not turned away from him; there was no sign of guilt or discomfort in her white face: it might have been sculptured from stone instead of flesh and blood. The unfathomable eyes, so black and opaque in spite of their brilliance, stared into his without a flicker. But then she was a mistress of control; no secret, no emotion escaped her unless she meant to show it. If she had killed Amy Dudley with her own hands she would look at him as coolly as she was doing then.
    When Cecil did not answer, she said slowly: “Did Robert kill her?”
    â€œYou know that, Madam, better than I.”
    â€œAre you suggesting,” the voice stabbed at him like a dagger, “that I had any knowledge of this woman’s death? Is that what I see in your face, Cecil?”
    He turned away from her suddenly, sickened with her and himself, his anger already changing to despair.
    â€œWhat do you see in your own heart, Madam? What will the world see? That is what matters! Lady Dudley is dead, and dead by foul means, that’s obvious. What will you do now—marry him, as everyone prophesied you would when he was free?”
    â€œYou must be mad to talk like this. I shan’t listen to you, and be thankful I shan’t hold your impertinence against you. Cecil, you may go!”
    â€œNo, Madam, I can’t go. Not until you tell me what you mean to do. I can’t be dismissed like a subject this time, for I cannot let you destroy yourself and your country and your friends without telling you what you are doing. Before the God who made us all, Madam, swear to me that you did not know this was going to happen!”
    â€œBefore God, I knew nothing about it. I give you my oath, as Queen of this realm, that my way with rivals is not to remove them by pushing them down a flight of stairs. If I wanted Amy Dudley’s life, I have a perfectly good executioner who could take it for me. I might do that if the need arose, but never this. Are you satisfied; do you believe me?”
    â€œI believe you. And I ask your pardon.”
    He fell on his knees in front of her, overcome with relief. He knew she was innocent of the low, cowardly murder of a defenceless enemy. He should have known better; Dudley, for all his open braggadocio, would resort to the methods of a sneak thief, because he was a sneak thief. There was an inherent, noble courage in Elizabeth which had nothing to do with compassion, but was incapable of committing a major crime under a despicable covering.
    Human life and human suffering meant little to her; he knew that; but her own Royal, ruthless