Elizabeth by Evelyn Anthony Page B

nature acquitted her of the crime of Amy’s murder, simply by the manner of it.
    â€œHow do you know?” she said, recalling him to reality. “How can you be sure that it was not an accident?”
    â€œEven if it was,” Cecil answered, “the world will still say that Dudley caused her death, through an agent. No, Madam, it was no accident; the courier told me enough to be sure of that. The stairs are not steep enough. It’s more likely someone threw her over the banisters; the fall would certainly kill her.”
    â€œHow could he have done it?” Elizabeth muttered, more to herself than to Cecil. “How could he have been such a criminal fool as to kill her …?”
    â€œI’m not concerned with him,” Cecil said roughly. “I’m only thinking of you and the position you are in. If Dudley murdered her, and it is proved against him … you know what must be done.”
    â€œI know.” Her back was towards him; he could see her hands wrenching at the long silk scarf which hung from her sleeve, pulling and twisting in the attempt to tear the material to shreds.
    â€œI know what must be done. And I’ll do it. Send him to me, Cecil. And make the summons public.”
    When she was alone, she gave a violent wrench, and the silk scarf ripped down the middle. She was trembling with shock—with rage and fear which overwhelmed her now that Cecil had gone and she had wiped his mind clear of suspicion against her. She had fallen in love—a little—perhaps a great deal. She had given herself to a man—not completely, but far beyond normal limits. And this was the result. A murder.… And the cause of it all was her supposed lover, the man who had taken her so seriously, in his ambitions or his desire, that he had killed his own wife.… And in that moment of devastating truth she admitted that ambition was the motive controlling Robert Dudley. He had murdered Amy Dudley; she knew that as surely as if she had witnessed the crime. But he had killed her to be King of England. Not for love or for lust or for any other reason. He had a handsome body, a persuasive tongue and magnetic charm, but no heart. And no brain either, she said suddenly out loud. No brain at all, to do what he had done and think he could succeed, could put his bloody hands on her, and jeopardize her throne and her life by a scandal of his own needless making.
    She rang for her women, and hurried into her robing room. When Robert Dudley came to his audience, he found her standing in the middle of the Presence Chamber, dressed from head to foot in black.
    He had been down at the archery butts behind the Castle, practising with a crowd of onlookers, when Cecil himself delivered Elizabeth’s message. Dudley had walked back to the Royal apartments whistling and swinging his doublet as if he had not a care in the world. He knew there would be a scandal and he expected Elizabeth to make a scene. He had had several hours to rehearse what he was going to say and do, because his personal servant Blount had already told him of Amy’s death.
    He had expected trouble, but he was unprepared for the expression with which the woman, whom he thought so much in love with him, met him as he came and knelt to kiss her hand.
    No hand was offered him; the fierce, stony, black eyes glared at him. Her whole face was pinched and cruel; she looked suddenly ugly and almost old. He knew as he looked into that face that, if she were pressed too hard, Elizabeth Tudor would be capable of anything. And for the first time he felt a queasiness in his stomach which was very like fear.
    â€œWhat have you done, you unspeakable fool?”
    â€œDone? Madam, I come here in answer to your order and you almost spit on me.…”
    â€œI wouldn’t waste my own spittle.…” Her voice was as harsh and ugly as her expression. “You know why you are here. Don’t try and lie. Your wife is