A fist came down on the arm of the chair. “No! That would have been madness! To take such a risk, take away the one thing putting a brake on Leicester’s cursed ambition? Never! Thank God, the Queen realised that a man who would kill one wife might also kill another wife, just as her father had, and that pulled her back from the disastrous marriage, much to Leicester’s disappointment.”
“But you could have done it?” Carey pursued, knowing he was dancing on the lip of a volcano.
“I had and still have the power…the men…to do such things,” said Burghley’s voice, heavy with menace. “As a general rule, I do not use it. As a general rule.”
Carey smiled back at the threat. “You’re sure it was Leicester, not realising that the Queen would react the way she did.”
There was the faint rustle of lifted shoulders. “I said so at the time and have said so since. It was that bloody man she fell in love with, clearing away the main impediment, despite all I could do to protect her.” The chair creaked. Carey wondered for the first time if Burghley might have been a little in love with the Queen all those years ago as well.
The Queen’s first Councillor must have read his mind.
“Of course I loved her, Sir Robert,” he rumbled into his ruff. “We all did. She was a marvel, a joy, a gift from God. She was enraging and magical, every room she entered was suddenly full of sunshine and lightning, a slender pale creature with a war-beacon of hair and the temper of a king and that laugh…God, yes, Sir Robert, I loved your aunt from the time I first saw her in her brother’s reign. I always knew I could never have her as my own. Yes, I hated Dudley because he made her happy and made her laugh and I could not-although I could indeed make her safer. And that was all I wanted. All I still want. All I have ever asked of God is that she should outlive me.”
Carey found that he was wordless. He had never expected cautious dull old Burghley to have such passion hidden in him, much less speak of it.
“The Earl of Leicester killed Amy Robsart, his unfortunate wife, married before he realised he had a chance of a kingdom, while Princess Elizabeth still had two lives between her and the throne and a question over her legitimacy. He killed the woman because he was a stupid but ambitious man and he did it to clear his path to the throne.”
Burghley was creaking to his feet, making it clear that the interview was over. From the sound, Carey thought the still-silent Sir Robert Cecil was helping him. He tried again.
“My lord, that doesn’t work. Cui bono, remember? How could Leicester have gained from killing Amy that way?”
Burghley paused. “I told you, I had men looking after her. He had no other way.…”
“Had there been any attempts at poisoning her? Any mysterious fevers?”
“She was ill, certainly, she had something wrong with one of her breasts that pained her, but not enough to kill her.”
“But had there been previous attempts to…”
“No.”
“None?”
“No.” Burghley did seem to pause. “I would never have taken the risk of killing Amy Dudley,” he said again, but more thoughtfully this time. For a moment Carey wondered if something new had occurred to him after all this time. But then the door slammed.
However his chamber wasn’t empty. Somebody else was close to the bed and it wasn’t Tovey because the smell was different and the movement even more awkward than Tovey’s.
“Mr. Secretary Cecil,” Carey said politely to Burghley’s hunchback second son whom he had nearly forgotten because the man had said not a word. “What do you think of this?”
Cecil’s voice was higher and a little breathless because of his back. “I think it’s a very interesting problem, Sir Robert, but I believe what my father says. Killing Amy Dudley to lay the murder at Leicester’s door in the hope that it would put the Queen off Leicester…no. Far too great a gamble for him, Sir Robert, and my father never ever bets on anything but a certainty.”
Carey had to admit he had no understanding of this way of thinking. Surely a gamble was the finest thing in the world, the breath of life and excitement even if it did go wrong? As he had to admit, it often did for him. But that made all the sweeter the times when it actually worked.
“While Leicester was married, he couldn’t have the Queen. As soon as he was free, my father was sure the Queen and he would marry. That they didn’t is a mercy he has always attributed to the direct intervention of the Almighty. And that’s the beginning and end of it,” Cecil added. “Meantime, I understand that your remarkable Sergeant Dodd has not yet arrived, which is causing you some concern.”
“Yes? Do you have any news of him?” Carey was a little surprised. In the cockpit of the Court, he was in the opposing faction to the Cecils, that of the Earl of Essex. Why was Sir Robert Cecil, secretary to the Privy Council, offering him useful information?
“I do.” Cecil sounded amused. “Sergeant Dodd rode out of the wreckage of one of Heneage’s secret London houses with one of Heneage’s post-horses under him and another as remount. That was on Saturday morning.”
Carey couldn’t help it. He shouted with laughter. “Good God, what happened? He didn’t raid Heneage’s…He did?”
“Yes, Sir Robert, it seems he did, in alliance with the King of London and your extraordinary lady mother and her Cornish…ah…followers.”
Carey was too stunned to speak. Surely to God she hadn’t set Dodd on to conduct a private reprisal raid on Heneage in the middle of London? To teach him a lesson on not plotting against her husband and sons? Had she?
“The official story is a little different. It seems that the rabble Heneage was employing there had kidnapped several people, including your young lawyer, and there was a riot during which Dodd, your mother’s…people, and a few upright men loaned by the King of London freed the prisoners and accidentally set the house on fire.”
That was definitely Dodd. He had a worrying weakness for accidentally setting things on fire.
“Fortunately not much damage was done, only a couple of deaths and peace was restored. Luckily. Oh, and another of Heneage’s houses blew up the same night.”
Carey shook his head in wonder. She had! Did his father know?
“Very fortunately, your lady mother had let me know that the riot was likely and so I was able to be present and help broker peace and so the matter is now, as far as I am concerned, closed.”
“Mr. Recorder Fleetwood?”
“He concurs.”
This was fascinating. Was it possible that his mother had managed to form an alliance with Burghley’s promising second son? His father was always neutral in Court factions and he, of course, was the Earl of Essex’s man who was also Heneage’s notional lord, unfortunately. His mother had deliberately reached out to involve Burghley’s politic son in Dodd’s revenge against Heneage, it seemed. And it looked as if she had got away with it.
However it was very worrying now that Dodd hadn’t made it to Oxford. With a post-horse and remount, Dodd should have arrived on the Saturday evening, around the time Carey was puking his guts up to get rid of the poison, or early on Sunday morning. So long as he hadn’t been stupid or ignorant enough to stay the night at one of the regular post-inns along the Oxford road, of course…Ah.
“I don’t suppose…” Carey began cautiously. “You didn’t notice any post-inns on fire as you came from London yourself?”
Cecil paused before he answered. “Curiously enough, there was one we passed this morning that was still smoking and had half its roof burnt off, but fortunately no one died.” Carey said nothing. “We didn’t inquire about it. I’ll send a man down to talk to the innkeeper.”
“Thank you Mr. Secretary. For…er…everything.”
“Please don’t mention it. I was delighted to make a better acquaintance of my Lady Hunsdon and Sergeant Dodd.”
Again the door banged, more quietly this time, and Carey frowned, absentmindedly pulled the annoying scarf off his eyes, only to find his eyes still pained by the candles Tovey was using. “Mr. Tovey,” he said, “did you note down what Mr. Secretary Cecil said?”