The Last Tudor

THE TOWER, LONDON,

SUMMER 1562

The court returns to the palace at Hampton Court in the late summer and decides, reluctantly, that England must defend the reformers of France. Elizabeth despairs of an alliance with Mary Queen of Scots and screws up her courage to order the reinforcement of Le Havre to protect the Huguenot Protestants from the Guise army. Everyone expects Robert Dudley to command the English force, and there is much muttering of favoritism when the queen insists he stay at home and sends his brother Ambrose in his place. Robert Dudley is too precious for her to risk, even in the sacred cause of a war to defend the country’s religion.

This war could be the saving of us. Elizabeth is almost certain to release Ned to command a troop.

“The Earl of Lennox would be very glad to be released too,” Sir Edward, my jailer, confides in me. “Poor gentleman, he does not have the temperament to tolerate confinement.”

“I should think nobody enjoys it,” I say irritably.

“He complains very much at your husband’s freedom, and that you can meet. He misses his own wife, Lady Margaret, very much. He weeps for loneliness in his room at night.”

“Then he should not have conspired against the queen,” I say primly.

“If he did so.”

“Yes, of course. But what is wrong with him?”

The lieutenant leans towards me, as if anyone can hear him but Mr. Nozzle on my shoulder and Teddy in my arms.

“He is quite distracted, poor gentleman. He scrabbles at the door and cries for his wife. He says that the walls are closing in on him and begs me to open the windows.”

“He is going mad?” I ask.

“He’s not right,” Sir Edward confirms. “Some people cannot stand it, you know. And not all prisoners live as merrily as you and his lordship.”

“We’re very grateful,” I say. It is true. We are as happy as the linnets in their cage, my husband, his baby, and me. And now I have the added joy of knowing that there is a new baby on the way as well.