“Anyway, Nicholas proved much harder to kill than Christopher had been, so Lettice began to look for someone to help her.”
“And she found Robert Sydney.”
Lee smiled. “I bet you’re great with detective novels, always figuring out the ending.
“Yes, Lettice found Robert Sydney. He was Arabella Harewood’s husband, and he must have been pretty mad about all of England laughing about Stafford and his wife on the table. To make matters worse, nine months later, Arabella presented him with a black-haired son.”
“And the child and Arabella died.”
“Right. Lady Margaret thinks Sydney had a hand in those deaths.”
Dougless took a breath. “So Lettice and Robert Sydney contrived to get Nicholas accused and executed for treason.”
“Yes. Lady Margaret thinks Lettice just waited for an opportunity to get Nicholas for something, so when Stafford started gathering men to protect his Welsh estates, she informed Sydney, who rode hell-bent-for-leather to the queen. In a way, it’s understandable that Elizabeth believed Sydney. Just months before, Mary Queen of Scots had declared herself queen of England as well as Scotland, and here was the earl of Thornwyck raising an army. Elizabeth just clapped Stafford in chains, had a mock trial with “secret” evidence, then whacked off Stafford’s head.”
Dougless winced. “So Lettice and Robert Sydney went free.”
Lee smiled. “Sort of. Actually, what happened after Stafford’s execution was one of the great ironies of life. It seems that Lettice, who had planned everything so carefully, hadn’t considered Robert Sydney’s ambition. Lady Margaret thought Lettice planned to marry some English duke who was Elizabeth’s cousin and start all over again, but Sydney had other plans. He threatened to tell the queen everything if Lettice didn’t marry him. He wanted to put his kid on the throne.”
“Blackmail,” Dougless whispered.
“Right. Blackmail. I told you this was like a movie. Or a best-seller. Maybe I should fictionalize this. Anyway, she was forced to marry Sydney.” Lee gave a snort of laughter. “What’s really ironic about this whole story is that Lettice was barren. She never conceived at all, not even to miscarry. So she sent her first husband to the blade because of what she wanted for the child she planned to have; then she couldn’t have children. Unbelievable, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Dougless said through a closed throat. “Unbelievable.” She paused. “What of Lady Margaret?”
“Neither Lettice nor Sydney had any idea the old woman knew what they’d done. No doubt they’d have killed her if they’d known, but she was a clever old broad and kept her mouth shut. Maybe she realized she couldn’t prove anything. The queen confiscated everything she owned, so Sydney stepped in and offered her a choice between the pauper’s farm or marrying his ex-father-in-law, Lord Harewood. Of course Sydney had an ulterior motive. Since he had three kids of Arabella’s still alive, Lady Margaret’s marriage made them obscurely related. It isn’t much of a relationship by our standards today, but back then it was enough that Queen Elizabeth gave Sydney two of the Stafford estates.”
He took a sip of his beer. “After Lady Margaret married Harewood, she wrote everything down, put it in an iron chest, had some faithful old servant knock out part of a wall, and hid the box in there. As an afterthought, she put her letters in a chest and hid them too. Then the wall was sealed up.”
He paused. “It was a good thing she did it when she did. According to a letter that’s survived that was written by a friend of hers, two weeks later Lady Margaret was found dead at the bottom of a staircase, her neck broken. I guess after Mr. and Mrs. Sydney got the two Stafford estates, they had all they needed from her.”
Dougless leaned back against the booth and was silent for a while. “What happened to them? To . . . Lettice and Robert Sydney?” She could hardly bear to say the names.
“Roasted in hell, I imagine. But actually, I don’t know. I know that since they never had any kids, their estates passed into the hands of his nephew, who was a dissolute little bastard. In one generation the little creep managed to bankrupt the Sydney estates. It’ll take more research to find out specifically what happened to Lettice and her husband. Historians haven’t been too interested in them.” He smiled. “Up to now, that is. History will change after I write my book.”
&nb
sp; “To change history,” Dougless whispered. That’s what Nicholas had wanted to do, but all they’d managed was to make his execution happen. “I have to go,” she said abruptly.
“Where are you staying? I’ll walk you there.”
“I don’t have reservations.” Her head came up. “But I plan to stay at Thornwyck Castle.”
“Yeah, don’t we all? You have to book a year in advance to get into that place. Wait a minute, don’t look so sad. I’ll call.” He walked away and minutes later returned, grinning. “You are one lucky devil. They had a cancellation, so you can check in now. I’ll walk you there.”
“No,” Dougless said. “I need to be alone. Thanks for dinner, and thanks for telling me. And I’ll see that you get your chair at an Ivy League school.” She put out her hand to shake his, then turned and left the pub.
TWENTY
At Thornwyck no one remembered Nicholas. Dougless looked back through the guest register, and where Nicholas had signed the book, an unfamiliar hand had written “Miss Dougless Montgomery.” Listlessly, she put her tote bag in the single room, then went outside to look at the unfinished part of the castle. This time, it had never been finished because Nicholas had been executed.
As she looked at the roofless walls, at the vines hanging down them, she remembered every word of what Nicholas had told her about what he’d planned for this place. A center of learning, he’d said. Yet all his plans had come to nothing.
When he’d left her yesterday, had he gone back to his cell? she wondered. Had he gone back to the time when he’d been writing his mother and trying to find out who had betrayed him? What had he done in those three days before his execution? Would no one listen to him when he told them of Robert Sydney’s lies?
Wearily, she leaned back against a wall. Whom had he told about Robert Sydney? Lettice? Had his beloved wife come to visit him? Had he told her what he knew and asked for her help?
Irony, Dougless thought. Lee had said all of it was ironic. The true irony was that Nicholas had died because he was good. He’d refused to commit treason with his wife, refused to even consider it—and he’d died for it. Not a quick, honorable death, but a death that was public and meant to ridicule him. He’d lost his life, his honor, his name, his estates, and the respect of future generations, all because he’d refused to conspire with a power-mad woman.