The next day, I managed to avoid Cecil and his minions, but doing so involved wandering through the outbuildings of the palace, hanging out with Jacob in the guardhouse, and hiding behind a black gilded screen in the library.
That night, Elizabeth and her ladies played cards late, while I claimed a headache so I could just sit quietly and watch. Were I not so freaked out by the evening’s plans for murder, I would have enjoyed the time. Candlelight at night always softened the chamber’s rough edges like a blurred watercolor and seemed to repel the frightening and strange world outside. Within Elizabeth’s circle, I felt safe and secure. True, the other women didn’t seem to like me much, but I had detected some softening in their attitudes. Vincent and I played a gentle game of tug on my lap with a rag, but soon he tired and curled up like a cat.
Elizabeth was by turns raucous and tender as she played. She always insisted that her ladies not let her win, so the contests were real and tense. Elizabeth, to her credit, always laughed heartily when she lost. I didn’t remember history recording her as such a good sport. But of course, few of the people who wrote down the events of the day were actually in the room. Most scribes were foreign diplomats writing back to their sovereigns about the latest gossip. They were councilors who wrote letters and diaries. Within the Queen’s intimate quarters, I’d never witnessed any writing, other than the Queen herself jotting notes to Cecil or Dudley.
It had to be almost midnight. Then a clock chimed from a nearby room. Twelve chimes. I tried to still the tremors running through me. Use what I know, Ray had counseled. I knew too much, that was the problem. The way forward felt lined with broken glass; any misstep could send history spiraling off in the wrong direction. Was I supposed to stop Winston? Was I supposed to let it play out, hoping that the men were unsuccessful? Three men against Dudley placed the odds in their favor, even thought Dudley was skilled with both knife and sword.
Use what I know. Like a zombie, I stood and forced my feet to move toward the open door. I left the room without notice and headed for the back stairway, where the dank air was cold against my skin. I lifted a wall candle from its hook, and in its feeble light I took one step down, then another.
Then I stopped. I saw with hyper clarity, in the nearly black stairwell, what I must do. The pain of it doubled me over so quickly I refluxed, then gagged at the acid burning my throat. God’s bones, I would use what I knew.
I continued down the stairs, hurrying now. The candle sputtered and smoked in protest. At the first small landing, I could hear his footsteps so I stepped carefully, drawn to the sound like iron to a magnet. At the second landing, the light of our candles merged. “My Lady Blanche.” We stopped, and Dudley flashed me a roguish grin. “Now I do not need a candle to see, for the glow of your beauty enables me to walk through the darkest cave.”
I snorted, my candle trembling. “Robert Dudley,” I said softly. “You are so full of shit.”
He laughed in delight. Then I moved my skirts aside with one hand and let him pass. As he continued upward, I took a shuddering breath. That was the easy part.
I reached the base of the stairs, feeling the breeze from an open door. My candle fought for its life as two dark shapes entered the hallway. I stood in front of the stairs, blocking their way.
“What in God’s name are you doing down here?” Winston hissed. I jerked free of his angry grasp.
“We only have a few minutes, so listen carefully,” I snapped. “I let Dudley pass up to the Queen’s chamber. William will not find him on the stairs.”
“You stupid cunt,” Charles growled. “You have ruined everything.”
I ignored him. “Killing Dudley is not the answer to your problem. You want him powerless, no? You want him banished from the court? You think that with Dudley dead, England is safe? Not so. With Dudley dead, Elizabeth will lose heart. She will lose hope. She will accept the next proposal she receives, even should it come from King Philip of France himself. You will have led England directly into the hands of her enemies.”
“That is ridiculous,” Winston said. “We have been over this a hundred times. The only way to keep Elizabeth from marrying Dudley is to kill him.”
“What if I told you of a way that would both humiliate Dudley and place the Crown of England forever beyond his reach?”
Jaws working in fury, eyes glancing up to the stairs in hopes that Dudley would appear, both men were only seconds from pushing their way past me.
My lips were so dry I could barely spit out my next words. “Don’t kill Dudley. Kill his wife.”
The men gasped. “What?” Winston snapped.
“If Amy dies a questionable death, Dudley will be so tainted that Elizabeth dare not think of marrying him. Her subjects would never accept a king who has come under the shadow of murder.”
The men looked at each other. “Why did you not suggest this in our last meeting? Why wait until now?”
“Because I did not think of it until just two minutes ago. But this will be the best way to accomplish your goals, and at much less risk to you.” I hesitated, feeling sick to my stomach, trying to recall the details surrounding Amy Dudley’s death. “There is a fair in Abingdon soon, September eighth if I remember. Amy will be at Cumnor Place, and will likely send all her servants to the fair. This would be an excellent time to, say, push her down a flight of stairs.”
Winston’s eyes widened. “Murder an innocent woman?”
“Her bones are brittle. The fall will likely kill her. And it will ruin Dudley. The entire kingdom will believe he had his wife murdered in order to pursue his ambitions with the Queen. He will never be welcome in court again.” That last sentence wasn’t true, but my goal was to stop Dudley’s murder tonight, not tell the truth.
Winston looked up the stairs at the sound of a sword scabbard scraping the wall. William appeared around the corner, clumping down the stairs and out of breath. “What the hell happened? Dudley is already in the Queen’s chambers.”
Winston held up a hand. “I will explain as we leave.” His dark eyes were ominous above my dying candle. “We will follow your plan. But should it fail, you will not live to see September ninth.”
The men’s capes flared as they whirled and ran out the door like cartoon evildoers escaping into the night. My candle flared once, then collapsed into a steaming puddle of wax. As I felt my way back upstairs by touching the moist walls, I could hear Elizabeth and Dudley laughing. The man Elizabeth loved would never know how close he had come to death. I passed the room and found my way to my own bedchamber. I was alone, so I untied as much of my dress as I could, then collapsed on the bed and pulled the covers over me. Amy Dudley was going to die. That was part of history. That I had just arranged for it to happen made me feel unclean.