The Girl in the Mirror (26 page)

For an hour, two hours, we hung awkwardly around, while the noise from the street told us the rest of the town was going about its Sunday. The boys among us were getting restive: what harm if they did go out, to see what was going on? The rest of London wasn’t cowering behind its walls, was it? ‘After all, I needn’t wear my livery,’ the brightest of the pages suggested, hopefully.

This time the steward agreed, desperate for news as the rest of us. The porter opened the door and the boy slipped outside, past the scandalised faces of the household’s officers, in a scullion’s shabby anonymity.

Tensely, we waited. Not more than a few minutes to reach Essex House; a brief while to gather what news he could from the crowd around the door, and then the same time back again. Maybe five minutes if he ran, and he would run, surely? He did: arrived panting, but rosy with self-importance.

‘A party of lords – no, not the master – went inside half an hour ago. They didn’t come out again, but from the sounds of it all Lord Essex’s men are forming up inside the gates, and I thought I’d best get away.’ His self-confidence faltered slightly, and the old clerk patted his shoulder reassuringly.

We looked at each other. Essex’s men would be heading to the court and we lay right in his path. No one spoke, as we all strained our ears.

Ten minutes. Fifteen. Nothing. Could the boy have been mistaken? ‘They were getting ready, honest they were,’ he protested, almost tearfully.

‘I suppose’ – someone suggested hesitantly – ‘they couldn’t have gone the other way?’

Katherine, Countess of Nottingham
8 February, morning

The damned litter ride here last night, and me snuffling with a cold every inch of the way. It cost me a physical pang to leave my house at Chelsea, and not just for the warm bed that no one there would drag me out of. I’d had the feeling, which is absurd, that at least that was left to me.

But the message from Charles had ordered me to come to court at once, for safety. Then we none of us had much sleep last night – in fact, going to bed at all was little more than an empty gesture towards normality, a sign to the half-hearted that there is nothing in this rumour of rebellion. But on the whole I think Cecil and Charles had the best of it. They could stay up, watching, quietly. Last night the Council sent for Essex and he refused to come, saying he feared trickery, that he’d had warning there was a plot for his life. He refused to come, and that is enough, surely?

We could not afford to move too soon. No queen who plans to hold her throne can be seen to arm herself against her subjects until there is the direst necessity. Until it’s clear she is defending herself against a few individuals, not threatening the rights of the majority. But before dawn, Cecil’s spies brought word the courtyard of Essex House was filling up with men, and as her majesty broke her fast, with me standing behind her and trying not to sneeze too audibly, she agreed word should be sent to the Lord Mayor, to catch him before the sermon at St Paul’s. He should let Essex in through the City walls and then close Ludgate behind him. He should prepare to defend the City. Essex House is full of angry swordsmen, and we at Whitehall are not an hour away.

They sent men Essex would not see as enemies – this much they allowed his fears – but sent them with the queen’s full authority, to demand to know his intentions, and warn him that if he did not settle his complaints in the way of the law, things could only go gravely. Now she’s set the maids to sewing, though I doubt there’s a stitch there that won’t have to be unpicked, but it gives the appearance of the ordinary.

I’d been watching for Philadelphia among the ladies. No sign, and I asked one of the maids in the end, quietly. The girl said that Lady Scrope had asked leave to retire from court a few days ago, and at first I thought, Thank God, she’s learning sense at last. Then I thought, But where has she gone, and to keep what company?

Robert Cecil has done well. Not even Walsingham, when he was alive, could have arranged the flow of information more efficiently. Hardly have the first of the deputation’s attendants come straggling back from Essex House – to say they were barred at the door while the lords alone were allowed in, with just a single servant – than news comes, from the first of the nondescript men Cecil’s had posted all around London.

The lords are still inside the house – prisoners or hostages, effectively – but Essex and his friends are on the move. Cecil’s man could hear the crowds inside the courtyard calling for the deputies’ blood, and crying ‘To the court!’ Each one of us stiffens, imperceptibly, and Cecil jerks a command to one of his lieutenants. Orders will be going out to summon all available men from Westminster and the villages. But there is no denying, until the muster is complete, Whitehall is defended but poorly.

Several of the gentlemen around are putting hands to their swords, but the queen shakes her head to still them. ‘The grace of Him who placed me on this throne will defend me on it,’ she says clearly. But another one of those shabby men, who’d never have got past the guards without the Secretary’s pass, is whispering in his ear, and the sharpness of Cecil’s face does alarm me. The queen sees it too.

‘What is it? Quick, man.’

‘No, not that.’ He’d know we were all expecting the enemy at the gates. ‘They’ve gone to the City.’

Jeanne
8 February, midday

They must have gone the other way. But why, in God’s name – why not the court, why into the City? Surely they can’t think to take the Tower, with just a couple of hundred men?

‘They must be expecting more troops there.’ It was one of the younger officers who spoke, and the old clerk cried him down instantly.

‘Get along with you! The City’s always been queen’s territory. They don’t care for pretty faces and romantic battle cries, they just want things kept quiet enough they can go on making money.’

‘All the same, he must think he’ll get help there. There’s no other reason for heading east.’

‘Well, he must know whether he’s been promised help or not,’ another of the clerks said sensibly. I left them all squabbling there, and slipped away upstairs into my small chamber. A dreadful presentiment was beginning to take hold of me.

It wasn’t that I wanted the rebels to win – how could I? Right and safety lay only one way, with the queen and the Secretary. But absurdly, irrationally, something in me fought against the growing conviction his dream had been nothing but folly … What was I, I berated myself fiercely, a doting mother who calls everyone to praise her toddler’s spirit, even while she smacks him and takes away his toy?

The door was pushed ajar. The old clerk stood there, and his rheumy eyes looked at me sadly. ‘The boys have been out again,’ he said, ‘and one of them’s come back already. Essex is going towards the City.

‘He’s going towards the City and he’s crying out at every man he meets to join him, and hardly a one of them has. A couple more lords have brought a few retainers, but the City folk are pointing and laughing like it’s the parade on fairground day. The pity of it, lad, the pity. Oh, he’s wrong, wrong and dangerous. But all the same –’

Just then there was a noise like a rumble of thunder. We stared at each other, and ran back down to the courtyard, the clerk’s old feet stumbling on the way.

‘They’re putting barricades at Charing Cross. Essex won’t get to Whitehall easily.’ The court had put up its defences, and we were outside them. I suppose I wasn’t the only one to be struck by a sudden sense of vulnerability. Almost of hurt – they might have sent us to safety! – but I shoved that thought away.

‘Did you hear what he’s been saying?’ It was one of the younger scribes, shouldering his way up to us and speaking indignantly. ‘He’s been shouting out that the master has sold the country to the Spaniards. That he’s done a shabby deal, the Infanta will inherit the country.’

‘No one really believes that, lad,’ the old clerk said wearily. ‘And you’d best take care – no one can speak of her majesty’s death, unless it’s treasonably.’ There was a banging on the outer door, and the other of the venturesome pages tumbled in.

‘He’s gone to Alderman Smythe’s house. No one knows why. But they’re carrying food and drink upstairs.’

‘All this fuss,’ someone called mockingly, ‘just for a dinner party!’ A titter of jeering laughter ran around the courtyard, and the old clerk and I looked at each other miserably.

Cecil
8 February, midday

They will make for the City; it’s always gratifying to see things work out as they were planned. But, if I’m honest, it is more than that: there must always be an element of doubt, no matter how carefully things have been handled, no matter how strong the assurances given. If I’m honest, it’s more even than that: when the trap that you have set springs shut, there is, there must be, a moment of fierce glee.

Gorges carried his argument that they couldn’t take both court and City, we knew that early. His meeting with Ralegh on the river: two cousins meeting in secret, each trying to convince the other to change sides, or that’s what it looked like. Where do you hide an acorn? In a forest. Where do you hide a real secret? Under a veil of pseudo-secrecy. The other plan, their first one, could really have been a danger: infiltrate the court with the lesser-ranking and less conspicuous men in the conspiracy; spread them out through every department of the palace, then move on a pre-arranged signal. A practicable idea, or nearly. But Gorges convinced them it would never work. He said what they needed to do, instead, was to confirm that there really would be support from Essex’s allies in the City. He knew that would inflame his lordship, of course, to suggest that there might be any bound to his knowledge, or his popularity. I expect he hoped also to get the allies’ names: he couldn’t be sure we had them already.

Of course, when we sent the lords to Essex this morning, it will have flushed him out like a partridge from its covey. He’ll have jumped to the conclusion we had a spy at his discussions, and it makes no matter he guessed rightly. When the truth works so well, there is no need to lie. Ralegh says their trouble is they’d been thinking too long, that dangerous enterprises never work that way. Well, it’s not been my experience, but there are different sorts of danger. That’s what he says, and there’s just enough of a similarity there that I’d trust him to judge Essex’s mentality.

Ralegh was laughing when he told me one of Essex’s men actually tried to take pot shot at him. He must be burning to tell the queen: no harm in that, now, and I don’t grudge him a little credit for that sort of bravery. For a moment, as I see the tension on her face, I wish I’d told her all already. I can see that now, swiftly, she understands, but she won’t hold my reticence against me. ‘Three people can keep a secret, if two of them are dumb,’ that’s what her father used to say. As did my own father, naturally.

We knew Gorges had won the first round, but there was still far to go. He’s done well: he must have steered them all the City way as surely as the beaters drive the partridge, and of course the City was ready. Those clever, cautious men: for us to have a word in a few ears was really hardly necessary. Essex will be learning now just how he has failed to understand his own country. Cheer for handsome Lord Essex? Yes, of course! Turn out to watch his latest tourney? Absolutely. Risk your life for him, and your family’s lives, and the butcher’s or bakehouse shop you’ve built up brick by painful brick … Don’t be silly. All he’ll have got is the gang of unruly apprentices who’ll turn out for any fray. He’s never understood that the common people want stability above all. As do I. As does her majesty.

The queen is speaking now. ‘Well, gentlemen, if Lord Essex has leisure to dine, I think I shall do the same,’ she says smilingly, and makes an imperious gesture, beckoning me. I bow, and offer her the support of my arm, as if my arm could offer any support of that kind she might find necessary. But for once, I don’t imagine that her touch on it reproaches me. The pressure of her hand is firm and heavy. As we go into her private chambers, and the usual stately procession of pies and pottages, she signs to the bearer to fill my glass from her own wine vessel. We are neither of us drinkers, but now we both drink deeply. And, with the faintest inclination of her head, she acknowledges me.

Katherine, Countess of Nottingham
8 February, midday

They’ve turned their back on the court, which could have fallen to their hands like a ripe plum, and gone towards the City. At first the news strikes like a blow – instinctively you fear what you don’t understand, and there must be some reason he had done it, some great waiting army of rebellious citizenry. But the suspense isn’t long before another one of Cecil’s newsboys comes panting in to where we all sit waiting, the pretence of sewing laid aside. It’s a young lad this time, red-cheeked and eager enough, at the queen’s impatient gesture, to gasp out his news to the whole assembled company.

‘He was crying out, “For the queen, for the queen!” and calling that a plot was laid against his life.’

‘Who by?’ one of the men interjects, sharply, and the boy blushes, and does not look at Master Secretary.

‘But, your grace’ – he quickly picks up his tale again – ‘thing is, you see, he wasn’t getting any change, not out of the people in the City. Folks that were coming out of church, they just stared – some laughed – or looked away.

‘You could see him starting to get panicky. He started out from his house with two hundred odd behind him, and that’s what he’s got now – just one or two more, maybe. He’s gone into Alderman Smythe’s house, but when he arrived at the front door, the alderman was trying to slip away out the back. I don’t reckon he knows what to do next, I don’t honestly.’

The boy has stopped like a mechanical toy run down, and is looking around him anxiously. One of the ushers steps forward with a coin, and they all turn towards the throne. The queen is looking inwards, with the mind’s eye, and I am sure she can see what I can see, as if I’d spent the last few days in Essex’s very study. The vague half-promises of support, talked up and talked over until they took on the appearance of hard reality, and none of the conspirators thought to check just how many fighting men, and on what terms, they’d get out of the hard-headed leaders of the City. Those foolish friends of Essex’s, puffing him up until he saw himself riding at the head of a crusading people’s army. He never did understand the people, really. Understand that, for all their cheers of admiration, or their squawks of sympathy, when it really comes to it what they want is stability.