The Tudor Triangle

Chapter 30: Elizabeth and the Bell Tower

19th of March, 1554

 Beauchamp Tower

"I will be with you soon."

Robert barely glances up, as he pores over yet another document, that may help his cause. The table is strewn with papers. It looks like a Council of War in his lodgings now, and indeed in some ways it is; a war against the Dudley's disgrace.  I cannot raise my objection to any of it; the endless speculation, the stream of letters sent to Queen Mary and constant attempts to ingratiate themselves with the new faction in England: the Spaniards. How can I? For everything he is doing is to secure his release and keep his handsome head. So I stay silent as I am discarded.  The rest of the family look to Robert now to save them. His boundless energy is focused on regaining all that is lost. Guilt is his master now.

No wonder he is frantic, for there is an empty space at the dining table. Dear Guildford is gone from this difficult world to be at peace with God. His pious wife, Lady Jane, has followed him. They were martyrs for Mary's impending marriage to Phillip of Spain and pawns of their parents’ ambition. The Wyatt rebellion, led by Lady Jane's foolish father condemned the two to die.  Thomas Wyatt marched on London and the capital was filled with fear once more. But there was no stomach for more bloodshed and Londoners turned their backs on the conspirators. The pendulum of fortune swung the other way for all families involved, as it had for our family last July. Dearest Guildford;  I cannot believe he is dead. He faced his hour like the bravest of knights and in some ways this made it harder to bear. He strode out with a smile and a request that we pray for him. I could not watch but stayed with Robert and held his hand until it was done. He did not cry. My husband swore his tears were now spent and all he could think about was the future. But my palms were left with the indents of his fingernails.

We do not talk of those dreadful hours; it is as if it never happened. Jane had been born to die, and she got her wish on Tower Hill. She had refused to see Guildford the night before, a decision the doomed Dudley found hard. After all, they alone had shared the two burdens of their young marriage and the Throne of England. But Jane was focused on going to God, not to her husband. Queen Mary had sent a priest, John Feckenham, to try and convert Jane to Catholicism before her soul took flight. But Jane stood firm where John Dudley had not. It is the utmost test of Faith, to remain loyal when your own life depends on forsaking your beliefs.  Feckenham realised that Jane's faith was not cynical or changeable, but as steadfast as the rising sun.

Another Jane Dudley, Guildford's mother, is much changed by all that happened this February. I see the lines on her face, and joy has been extinguished within her.  She has become fearful of what each day may bring to her remaining sons. Thank goodness Henry has been released to give her some comfort. But she remains the courtly player as her husband would have wished, and has done much to garner favour from the Spanish. She is useful to Robert where I am not.

Two Dudleys are now gone. John Dudley has been reunited with his beloved son in heaven.  The Dudleys all turn to Robert to save them. He has taken it as his mission, and so constantly schemes and plots. By rights it should be his eldest brother, John, who shores up the family. But leadership will not come from him. He is despondent and sits in the corner. He can spend hours just picking up pieces from his chess set.  He does not look well and we are all concerned for his health.  He had taken some solace in finishing the Dudley wall emblem that Henry had started, but now that lays unfinished. Ambrose supports Robert but does not wish to lead the campaign. Henry potters. Only Robert seems to want the heavy responsibility of saving their heads. Robert and his mother stand together as a formidable duo.

I spend my time waiting for him, but there is always another letter to write; another angle to consider. The strain of his imprisonment grinds at me daily. I cannot eat much and any joy seems wrong whilst the axe hovers above him.  I have nightmares where I see his bloodied head on a pike. My Father is unwell too, which adds to my torment.