ever forget? The house was still asleep when there was a clatter of hooves over the bridge and Mr Hyde’s voice rose above the hubbub, shouting for the grooms. We tumbled from our beds; I grabbed my shawl over my nightgown for the autumn air was chill and laden with the scent of wood smoke and cold ash, the fire dead in the grate and too early for a maid to have come in to build it anew. I winced as my feet touched the cold floor.
I ran to the window. The first light of a grey dawn was creeping across the flat lands about Throcking, a mist floating above the moat, and below in the courtyard I could see William Hyde and Robert and a whole army of men in the Dudley livery. Steam rose from the sweating horses, urgency in every breath.
‘The Queen is dead!’ I heard the words pass from man to man, running like lightning through the crowd of servants now thronging the courtyard.
My heart gave a strange, sickening lurch and I thought I might fall. I opened the casement to call down to Robert, to ask if it were true, but then I saw that he was leaving already. They were leading out another horse for him, a showy white stallion that disliked the morning chill as much as I did and was side-stepping and trying to rear. Robert brought him under control with a ruthless hand, turning once more for the bridge over the moat.
He paused, looked up and caught my eye. He said nothing, made no gesture, hesitated for less than a breath. I knew where he was going. Robert was ever the showman, even at a time like this, on his white charger as he rode to the Princess Elizabeth’s side. This was his moment, his time at last. Now his ambition would be unleashed.
I closed the casement silently and sat down.
Let it begin.
Chapter 19
Lizzie: Present Day
The house looked even worse in the daylight, like a nightmare version of Dickens crossed with an explosion in an upmarket hotel. Every surface was thick with dust. Ivy and Virginia creeper clawed at the windows, cutting out what natural daylight there was. Cobwebs hung as thick as curtains from the chandeliers. Lizzie groaned and stuffed her head under the pillow. Then she realised that the reason she had woken in the first place was because she could hear someone knocking at the door.
Jules had gone home the previous night when Lizzie had insisted she didn’t need anyone to babysit her. She was desperate to have her own space, which was odd when she had been isolated for so long, but it was how she felt. Jules had grumbled that she needed someone to keep an eye on her but to Lizzie this felt like a watershed. She’d come back to The High to make a fresh start and she was doing that on her own. She’d had a hot shower, drunk some tea and eaten some toast that Jules had whisked up and had fallen into a deep and dreamless sleep, much to her own surprise.
She struggled out from underneath what appeared to be an ancient eiderdown. She vaguely remembered Jules putting her to bed in her grandmother’s room and assuring her that the sheets at least were clean. She wasn’t complaining; she would have slept on a clothesline if needs be. The air was cold and smelled stale; reaching for the huge fur lined coat she had found in the wardrobe the night before, she dragged it on over her pyjamas and stumbled downstairs.
The knocking sounded again. Lizzie felt disoriented. There couldn’t be anyone at the door because they couldn’t get past the huge gates and even if they had, she shouldn’t open up because it was probably some paps who had discovered where she was – she didn’t want a photograph taken with her hair as tangled as the cobwebs and her make-up all over her face. LIZZIE KINGDOM IN MELTDOWN would be the inevitable headline.
The knocking was coming from the kitchen. She peered around the open door and saw a face staring back at her through the window. It was an old lady, a very old lady with curly white hair and sharp, bright eyes, her head tilted like an inquisitive blackbird. When she saw Lizzie, she smiled and knocked even more vigorously. Lizzie felt a huge rush of warmth and affection.
She struggled across the kitchen, stubbing her toe on the table