some event organised by Dudley’s management years ago. It was uncanny.
She turned to the written articles. There were hundreds, thousands, of entries listed. The mysterious circumstances of Amy’s death had clearly fascinated people for centuries. Lizzie deliberately chose a modern interpretation of events to try to counterbalance the blatant prejudice she had read in Hugh Tighe’s nineteenth-century version.
Amy Robsart, she discovered, had died on 8th September 1560. Her body was found at the foot of a staircase at Cumnor Place. Amy had been living there as the guest of one of her husband’s friends whilst her husband of ten years, Robert Dudley, had been up to various high jinks with the Queen back in Windsor. The circumstances had not initially been considered suspicious; in fact, the implication was that it might have been suicide rather than murder. The servants said that Amy had been in a strange mood that morning, very insistent that they all go to the fair in Abingdon and leave her alone. When some of them refused because it was unseemly on a Sunday, she became angry with them. There were also plenty of acquaintances ready to come forward to say how unhappy Amy had been, that she had been ill and depressed, that she was suffering as a result of Robert’s neglect because his only interest was spending time with the Queen.
Lizzie winced. Guilt pricked her. She and Dudley might not have had exactly the same sort of relationship as Elizabeth and Robert but there were sufficient similarities to make her feel very uncomfortable.
She read on. On the other hand, the author of the article reported austerely, there are historians who have pointed out that Amy’s letters were cheerful and positive, that she had bought some new clothes and that she seemed excited about something.
‘It most certainly is not,’ Avery said, from behind her. ‘Only think of the different theories about the Princes in the Tower.’
‘Oh hello, Aunt Avery,’ Lizzie said, smiling. ‘I didn’t see you there.’ She gestured to the chair next to her. ‘Would you like a glass of that lovely lemonade you left for me? Have you slaughtered the Leylandii to your satisfaction?’
She went to fetch a glass whilst Avery laid her gardening gloves and secateurs on the table and eased herself into the cushioned seat.
‘You’re studying that poor child Amy Robsart,’ Avery said, when Lizzie came back. ‘Did she fall, was she pushed or did she jump?’
‘Something of the sort,’ Lizzie agreed. ‘It would be heartbreaking to think that she took her own life because she was so unhappy.’ She felt another jolt of guilt remembering the Z-list celebrities who had crawled out of the woodwork to say the same when Amelia had died.
‘Suicides were denied burial in consecrated ground in those days,’ Avery said sombrely. ‘It was considered shameful and wrong in the eyes of the church. By all accounts Amy Robsart was well liked. I doubt anyone would have wanted her memory besmirched by the church’s condemnation. If she did take her own life, they would probably have covered it up.’
‘That’s an interesting idea,’ Lizzie said. ‘You would have thought that a verdict of suicide would suit Robert Dudley best, though. That way no one could accuse him of murdering Amy to get her out of the way so he could marry the Queen.’
‘Yes,’ Avery said, ‘but perhaps even Robert couldn’t face condemning Amy’s immortal soul, no matter how little he cared for her anymore. Certainly, he pushed for an inquest and declared he wanted there to be no doubt in anyone’s mind that Amy’s death had been a complete accident.’ She sighed. ‘A lot of historians feel he tried to influence the inquest jury. You certainly don’t hear a word of regret or sorrow from him about Amy’s actual death, though. He knew he had lots of enemies and that they would accuse him of her murder and he was determined it wouldn’t be allowed to queer his pitch with the Queen. No, a complete accident was the only outcome for him because he would have been blamed for her suicide as surely as he was for her murder.’
‘You know a lot about it,’ Lizzie said. ‘I’m only just starting to find out the story.’
‘Oh, I’ve read about it a lot over the years,’ Avery said vaguely. ‘Poor child – Amy, I mean. Her story has a hold on the imagination. We always want to know the truth about a historical mystery