Free Her Last Assassin by Victoria Lamb Page A

Europe.
    ‘Such long elegant fingers!’ the Spanish ambassador had exclaimed once, watching her play the virginals.
    Now her skin was discoloured, her nails brittle. Her women rubbed in cream every morning to smooth out the slackening skin on the backs of her hands and around her wrists, while delicate gloves hid them from visiting dignitaries. But with every year that passed, she saw the signs of her ageing and despaired.
    ‘We will wait with you, Your Majesty,’ Lady Mary Herbert assured her, settling a lace nightcap on her head.
    ‘No,’ Elizabeth said quickly. Some premonition of horror crept over her and she shuddered, waving her women away. ‘There, I am ready. Leave me, all of you. I would speak with his lordship alone.’
    Leaning on his cane, Cecil came in and bowed low, his face gaunt, a sombre expression darkening his eyes.
    Elizabeth stood to receive him in her furred night robe. She knew it must be bad news, and she could not bear to sit for bad news.
    ‘Your Majesty, you must forgive me for being the bearer of evil tidings, but …’ Lord Burghley hesitated, not quite able to meet her eyes. ‘Perhaps you might prefer to sit, Your Majesty? I fear this news concerns his lordship, the Earl of Leicester.’
    ‘Robert?’
    She faltered, taking a step back towards the bed as though to deny him.
    What did Cecil mean, evil tidings ? What could have happened to Robert? An attack on the road north perhaps, some concealed enemy taking him and his entourage unawares? Or a tumble from his horse? He always had ridden too wildly, even now …
    Elizabeth saw his face. It was the worst news imaginable. She halted, gripping her hands together tightly. She would stay on her feet to hear it.
    ‘Speak on, Cecil. I am neither tired nor in my dotage, I do not need to sit. What is the matter?’
    ‘It is my sad duty to inform you, Your Majesty, that his lordship, the Earl of Leicester, is dead. His body was found by his servants early this morning, at a house near Oxford where he had broken his journey north, having been taken ill on the road.’
    She stared, unable to speak.
    He continued doggedly, compassion in his eyes, ‘Do not fear that it was poison, Your Majesty. I wondered that myself until I read the doctor’s report which accompanied the news of his death. It would seem to have been his lordship’s old malady, the fever and shaking, that struck him down. I fear his weeks at Tilbury, camped among the fly-ridden marshes there, may have exposed him to further harm on that score. I am very sorry indeed, Your Majesty, for I know that you and he … that his lordship …’
    ‘Robert,’ she managed in a whisper, then laid a finger on her lips as if to silence him. She refused to hear more of this news.
    ‘Should I fetch your ladies, Your Majesty?’
    Mute, her body numb with icy shock, she shook her head, and saw Lord Burghley take a cautious step towards her.
    ‘I cannot disguise that I did not always agree with his lordship,’ Cecil continued, watching her closely as though he feared she might collapse, ‘but no one could doubt Leicester’s loyalty to his country. Nor his loyalty to you, Your Majesty. And his handling of our recent defences against the Spanish was masterful and inspiring. His death is a great loss to the court, and indeed to England.’
    Empty words. But well intended, she had no doubt. Elizabeth found her voice again in the silence that followed. Miraculously, it did not shake.
    ‘I thank you for bringing me this news. Would you leave me now, my lord?’
    She followed Lord Burghley to the door, and as soon as he was safely outside, shut it behind him and turned the key in the lock. There was some urgent knocking from outside, then raised voices. Helena spoke softly through the door, offering comfort, but she closed her ears. It did not matter. None of it mattered any more.
    Alone and unobserved at last, Elizabeth tottered towards the high curtained bed, but sank to the floor before she