“Oh my God,” she said blankly.

Virginia creeper cloaked the entire building, choking the stone, smothering the windows. The drive was thick with dandelion and rosebay willowherb, poppies, convolvulus and ground elder, rioting in violent triumph. The lawn evidently hadn’t seen a mower in years.

“I didn’t have the chance to check it out before we came,” Jules said, scrambling out after her. She was looking shocked. “Bill said it was empty, which I took to mean the most recent tenant had vacated it rather than that it was actually derelict. Look, let’s find you a hotel instead.”

“No,” Lizzie said. The thought of checking in to a hotel, of having to speak to people, to have so little privacy, was impossible just now. She needed some quiet time. She started to laugh. If ever there was a metaphor for the state of her life, it was standing right in front of her in dire need of some attention.

“No,” she repeated. “It’s about time I sorted myself out and I can start here. The High is my home. I’m staying.”

18

Amy: Throcking Manor, November 1558

So empty had my life become in the autumn of 1558 that I lived for the letters I received all too rarely. Most highly prized were those from my brother Arthur in Norfolk, where he had bought a number of estates and turned a tidy profit from the wool revenues. Not even William Hyde had the temerity to open and read my correspondence from Arthur even though he reported to Robert on all my activities. Arthur was generous with both news and gifts although when I asked for money, he did reprove me.

I dislike this secrecy, Arthur wrote to me sternly. If you require additional funds you should ask your husband for money. It is his responsibility to provide for you. Nevertheless, his parcel to me also contained a bag of gold, hidden within a beautifully woven shawl.

You may tell Robert if the secrecy disturbs you, I wrote back airily, knowing he would not betray me. I require the money only so I may buy my husband a Christmas gift. Oh, my duplicity knew no bounds that autumn.

With Robert I was all docile and mild. I visited him in London; he came to see me in Hertfordshire. We were the very ideal of domestic bliss, if the ideal is a smooth surface with nothing but emptiness beneath. Robert had no suspicions of me. He did not realise that after I had visited the Princess Elizabeth, I had already started to hatch a plan for my own independence.

Robert was increasingly frustrated that year, chafing at his situation. It was a pleasure to see how he squirmed. He was not welcome at court when King Philip was absent and as Philip had no desire to be long in England, Robert’s ambitions were stymied. He talked of buying a house in Norfolk but I knew he would not. Being a country gentleman was not to Robert’s taste. It was nowhere near grand enough.