Queen Elizabeth’s funeral took place on the twenty-eighth day of April, some five weeks after her death. A great host followed her body, on a chariot drawn by four horses caparisoned in black. On the coffin was a wax effigy of the monarch, splendidly dressed and wearing a crown. The way from Whitehall to Westminster Abbey was short, and not all those who witnessed the procession were sorrowful; the last years of the Queen’s reign had been hard, and many looked to a new beginning. Marbeck, standing with Edward Poyns near the entrance, had few strong feelings either way.
‘I thought the King would keep clear until this was over,’ Poyns observed. ‘I hear he’s at Hinchingbrooke by Huntingdon, as guest of the Cromwell family. Do you know the place?’
‘I remember it,’ Marbeck said. His memory went back to when he sat on Cobb, gazing at the fine manor house; it seemed an age ago. He and his fellow were standing among the onlookers, watching black-clad nobles and servants pass. Poyns’s right sleeve was empty, his arm strapped to his body beneath his doublet. After a moment he gave a sigh, and turned to Marbeck.
‘I’m away. Since no one appears to need me now, I mean to pay visits.’
‘As do I,’ Marbeck answered.
So with a brief embrace they parted. Marbeck watched the slight figure disappear into the throng, then walked off in the other direction. He skirted the crowd, the abbey and the great huddle of buildings that made up Whitehall Palace, to emerge a short while later on Millbank. Here he took the ferry across to Lambeth, where Cobb was waiting, saddled and laden with his pack, and his lute in its case. He had paid a boy to hold him; as he appeared the lad handed him the reins and doffed his cap.
‘So the Queen is laid to rest now, master,’ he said. ‘Were many tears shed?’
But Marbeck merely shrugged, and got himself mounted. Soon he was riding leisurely upriver, reaching Barnes within the half hour. Some distance from Croft House he dismounted and tied the horse to a fence. Then he made his way to the wicket-gate, to pass through the vegetable garden into the kitchen as had once been his habit. Servants were about, and the wenches recognized him at once.
‘Master Strang – what do you here?’ one asked in surprise. ‘We heard you were dismissed.’
‘So I am,’ he said with a smile. ‘I came to see the Lady Alice – is she here?’
The women exchanged looks. ‘I believe she’s in the rose garden,’ another said. ‘Yet do you think you should be there …?’ But she broke off, for Marbeck was already going.
He found the girl sitting on a bench, under a cherry tree laden with blossom. To his relief there was neither nurse nor maid present, only a gardener at work some distance away. As Marbeck approached Alice gave a start, and leaped to her feet.
‘Richard Strang … Where have you been? I waited, yet you never returned!’
Drawing close, Marbeck halted and made his bow. ‘I came to tender you my apology for that, my lady,’ he said. ‘And to enquire whether you still study the lute, or the virginals as your mother wished.’
The girl stared at him, as if deciding whether to be angry or not. Finally she put on her prim look.
‘I learn the virginals. My teacher is old, and sour as a green plum. My brother has a teacher upon the lute, but I’m not allowed. They have taken my instrument and put it away, I know not where.’ She brightened suddenly. ‘Do you wish to return as my tutor? I could ask my father …’
‘I regret I cannot,’ Marbeck told her. ‘But I had a notion you might like to have a gift; a token of our days together. Will you honour me by accepting it?’
Her eyes widened: until now she hadn’t noticed the case strapped across his back. When he unslung it and held it out, her hand went to her mouth. ‘You wish me to have your lute?’
‘I do,’ Marbeck answered. ‘There’s no one in England to whom I would rather give it.’ He waited, until finally the girl stepped forward and took it in both hands.
‘You are a true friend,’ she said quietly.
‘As you are to me, my lady,’ Marbeck replied.
A moment passed. The gardener was regarding both of them curiously, while from the direction of the house came voices.
‘Now I must leave again,’ Marbeck said, summoning a smile. ‘Please present my respects to your father and mother.’
But Alice’s face fell. ‘Oh … I cannot,’ she said. ‘Or at least, I can to my father, when he returns from the north country. But my mother is gone into Essex, to her family’s estate. Palmer is gone with her.’
‘Palmer?’ Marbeck raised an eyebrow … then he understood. ‘Do you mean the steward?’
The girl nodded.
‘Well then …’ A wry smile tugged at his mouth, but he resisted it. ‘Pray pass my respectful greetings to Sir Thomas. I trust he’ll find a place at the court of our new King, when he finally arrives.’
The girl bit her lip. ‘He already has, I think,’ she said. ‘The King’s party will stay at Sir Robert Cecil’s house in Hertfordshire soon … My father is gone there before him, to help make ready.’ She looked at the lute, which she had been holding at arm’s length; now she clasped it to her slim body.
‘I thank you, most heartily,’ she said.
‘There’s no need to,’ Marbeck replied. Then he made his bow and walked off. At the entrance to the rose garden he turned, to see Lady Alice standing where he had left her. She waved, and he returned the gesture. Then he was striding away from Croft House, to retrieve Cobb from the roadside.
He glanced up: the sun was almost at its zenith. He could ride anywhere; all England was open to him, for he had no duties. Perhaps he no longer had a future in Master Secretary’s service; just now, it hardly seemed to matter. But he turned eastwards, leading Cobb along the path towards the Putney ferry. If the ferryman would take the horse across, he could be at Chelsea by noon. If he refused, Marbeck would have to find a barge and pay extra, or even ride as far as London Bridge.
But then, that didn’t seem to matter too much, either.