cream turn sour? Then like as not you would be wrong.”
“Robert, what have I done to merit your displeasure?”
He looked at her sadly. Married me, was the answer, Closed the door which led to the highest power in the land. But he said: “Who told you I was displeased? Did I? Nay, Amy, I am not displeased, for I know that you will perform the most difficult task in your life … and all for my sake. You will keep a secret!” He laughed softly. He was so sure of her, so sure of himself. He could even succeed in making Amy keep a secret! “Now I will tell you, Amy. My mission is to capture the Princess Mary and take her to my father as his prisoner, thus making the throne safe for my sister Jane and my brother Guildford.”
“But … Robert, these are great matters. They frighten me.”
“You are too easily frightened, Amy. My father is unsafe, and so am I, until we have Mary under lock and key.”
Amy’s teeth began to chatter. “I am so frightened,” she said.
He kissed her and laughed, thinking that it was just as well. “Be in good spirits, Amy. Now you will see what it means to have married a Dudley.”
Lord Robert rested with his men at the town of King’s Lynn. It was useless to keep up the pursuit. Mary had evaded him. She had too many friends in the country and someone had betrayed the Dudleys’ intentions. When Mary had heard of her brother’s death, and of the plot to capture her, she had gone at once to Kenninghall, the mansion which was owned by the Dukes of Norfolk—those sturdy Catholic enemies of the Dudleys—who had been out of favor lately, but were now preparing to return to it. The Howards of Norfolk, who thought themselves more royal than the Tudors, hated the Dudleys as they could only hate those whom they called upstarts. They were ready now to fight for Mary and the Catholic cause. So now, Mary proclaimed herself Queen, and hearing that Northumberland had sent his son Lord Robert Dudley to capture her, was gathering supporters about her as she went to Kenninghall.
At King’s Lynn Robert heard that Mary had reached Framlingham, the heavily defended stronghold of the Norfolks; he knew that even if he pursued her, he could not take Framlingham with his present force. Therefore there was nothing to do but rest at King’s Lynn and await his father’s instructions.
Because the waiting seemed long, Robert began to lose a little of his confidence. He knew now that not only were many noblemen rallying to Mary’s cause, but that the people were with her too.
What was happening in London? His father was to have joined him in Norfolk and he had not expected him to be so long in coming. At least one of his brothers should have come with the necessary reinforcements, that the soldiers might go on and capture Mary.
The anxious days passed slowly.
One night Robert was aroused from his sleep by the clatter of horses’ hoofs in the cobbled streets. He sprang from his bed, shouting to his servants: “Hurry! The reinforcements are here!”
Soldiers were tramping up the stairs of the inn in which he lay. Robert met them at the door of his room; but they were not the men he had expected; they did not come from his father nor his brothers. Two came forward and took their stand on either side of him. Robert was unarmed and helpless.
“Lord Robert Dudley,” said another who stood before him—and beyond him he could see that the stairs and corridors were full of soldiers—“you are my prisoner.”
“What means this?” demanded Robert. “How dare you come here thus? On whose authority?”
“On the authority of Queen Mary.”
“I know no such Queen,” said Robert contemptuously. “I serve Queen Jane.”
“There is no Queen Jane, my lord. Mary is Queen of England.”
“My father …”
“The Duke has been arrested at Cambridge. He is now a prisoner in the Tower of London whither you are to go and join him with other members of your family.”
There was no escape.
During the journey to London he learned that the whole country had risen to support Queen Mary. Jane Grey’s short reign was over. She had fallen and with her had fallen the Dudleys.
For many days Robert brooded on these events in his dismal cell in the Beauchamp Tower.
Crowds had gathered on Tower Hill that hot August day.
“Death to the Dudley!” they cried. “Long