Queen of This Realm

by Jean Plaidy

  I wondered if Mary Stuart would take him. I knew the Lennoxes were now openly trying to put forward young Darnley.

  Another of my suitors married. This was Eric of Sweden, and it was such a romantic tale that I could not help being affected by it. Apparently he had seen a girl selling nuts outside his palace when he rode in and out, and had become so enchanted by her surpassing beauty that he had fallen violently in love with her and married her.

  “How romantic!” I sighed. “Do you know, I think he would have made rather a charming husband. Better,” I added, “than that rake of Austria who offers his hand here and there to whoever he thinks might take it.”

  I was greatly interested in Mary Stuart. Would she take the Archduke Charles? What of Don Carlos, son of Philip? They said he was half mad, but would that matter if he were the heir to Spain?

  I found myself obsessed by the woman. Was she really as beautiful as people said she was? I wondered how she was faring in those grim Scottish palaces—Holyrood House and Edinburgh Castle. How she must be missing France and those gallant poets. There would not be much poetry in Scotland, gallantry either.

  I was always questioning the Scottish Ambassador about her. I would command him to sit beside me and try to make him talk of his mistress.

  “I constantly hear of her beauty,” I said. “Do you find her very fair?”

  “Aye,” he replied.

  “All men are said to admire her. Do you, Master Melville?”

  “She is my mistress and I could do nothing else.”

  “As your mistress you must serve her and such an upright gentleman as you would admire a hideous hag, I doubt not, if she were your Queen.”

  “The Queen of Scotland is not a hideous hag.”

  “Tell me of her clothes. They say she is more French than Scottish, and has brought much of France into Scotland.”

  “I know little of fashions, Your Majesty.”

  “How does she wear her hair? I am told that mine is of a striking color. What is Queen Mary's hair like? Do you think it is of a more attractive color than mine?”

  I could not help laughing at the dour young man and I liked to tease him while I was gleaning information about her whom I was beginning to think of as my tiresome rival.

  Melville said: “Your Majesty must ask others. I know nothing of such matters.”

  “Well, you would not notice your mistress's hair because it is so like that of other ladies, I doubt not. It is only when the hair is of an unusual color and particularly beautiful that people are aware of it. Now answer me this: Who is the more beautiful, the Queen of England or the Queen of Scotland?”

  “The Queen of England is the fairest in England and the Queen of Scotland in Scotland.”

  “That is no answer,” I cried.

  “Your Majesty is pleased to plague this poor Ambassador.”

  “My skin is lighter, is it not? My hair fairer?”

  “That is true, Your Majesty, but…”

  “But what, man?”

  “The Queen of Scotland is very beautiful.”

  “That is often said, but how much of her beauty does she owe to royalty?”

  “The usual amount, Madam.”

  Poor man, he did not like this conversation. It must seem very frivolous to a man of his nature. On the other hand he did not want to say anything which when reported to his mistress might displease her. But I was relentless in my desire to know more of this paragon of beauty.

  “Who is the taller, she or I?” I demanded.

  “She is,” he answered promptly.

  “Then she is too tall,” I snapped, “for I am told that I am neither too high nor too low. Does she hunt? Does she read? Does she love music?”

  “She does all these, Madam, and is very fond of music.”

  “What instruments does she play?”

  “The lute and the virginals.”

  “Does she play them well?”

  “Reasonably well for a queen.”

  I said no more then but I was determined that he should admit that there was one thing at least in which I triumphed over that perfect mistress of his.

  One day I arranged to play the virginals behind a curtain and instructed some of my ladies to bring Sir James Melville into the room so that he might hear the music and not know who was playing.

  He had sat entranced during the performance, they told me, and when it was over he had declared that it was brilliant. When my ladies asked him if he knew who the performer was, he said he did not know, only that he was a fine musician.

  “It is the Queen,” they said, and drew back the curtains to disclose me, sitting there.

  “Ah, Sir James,” I said, “now you have heard my music. Does your mistress play as well on the virginals?”

  He had to admit that he had rarely heard such a performance from any, and he believed that very few could rival me.

  “Not even the talented Queen of Scotland?” I demanded with much incredulity.

  “No one, Madam. You are indeed a musician.”

  That mollified me a little.

  Then I danced for him and he had to admit that the Queen of Scots could not leap as high as I could, nor did she dance with such verve.

  One day I said to him: “Your Queen is a lady of such talent and overwhelming beauty that I know of only one man worthy of her. You must go to her, Sir James, and tell her that I will offer her the finest man in my kingdom for only she is worthy of him and he of her.”

  He was looking at me as though I mocked him.

  But I went on: “Oh yes, Sir James, I mean it. I shall rob my Court of its brightest jewel that it may adorn that of this most worthy lady. I offer her as the husband she needs, my dearest friend, Lord Robert Dudley.”

  THE NEWS SPREAD around the Court like wildfire. I wondered what effect it would have on Robert and was quite prepared when he came bursting into my apartments with a face of thunder.

  I said to the few ladies who were with me: “I see Sir Robert has forgotten again that he is in the presence of the Queen. Pray leave us so that I may deal with him as he deserves.”

  They hastily retired and I had no doubt that they would not go too far out of earshot. They all loved to add to the gossip about Robert.

  “Well, my lord, what is the meaning of this most unseemly conduct?” I demanded.

  He cried: “I have heard this monstrous rumor. It cannot be true. I demand an immediate explanation.”

  “Robin,” I replied, “there are times when you try me sorely. Perhaps out of my regard for you I have allowed you certain friendly intimacies. You take advantage of them.”

  “I demand to know if you are aware of what is being said.”

  “I am the one who makes demands, you should remember.”

  He stamped his foot. His face was flushed, his eyes flashing with rage. “They are saying that I am to be sent to Scotland.”

  “To marry the most beautiful of queens … according to her Ambassador. Robert, surely you should be dancing with joy at your good fortune.”

  “You know of this. It is your doing.”

  I lowered my head so that he should not see that I was smiling. He came to me and took me by the shoulders. I could call the guards to arrest him, I reminded him.

  He held me against him and shook me.

  I said mockingly: “Robin is in a rage.”

  “How can you be so heartless?”

  “Does a crown mean nothing to you?”

  “That one does not,” he said. “And a beautiful Queen to go with it.”

  “There is only one Queen for me. You cannot be serious.”

  “I am serious,” I said.

  He looked at me in bewilderment and I felt I could not tease him anymore, but I did… just a little.

  “You have led me to believe …” he began.

  “I have led you to believe! Everything you believe, my lord, is in your own mind. How many times have I told you that I will not marry? I will remain a virgin. How many times ha
ve I told you that?”

  “But you do not mean it.”

  “Robin, you want a crown. There is one waiting for you in Scotland.”

  “No!”

  “And the fairest of queens…”

  “The fairest of queens is here, standing before me now.”

  “I am not sure that Master Melville would agree with you on that.”

  “A barbarian from a barbarous land!”

  “Perhaps you are right and it would be unkind to condemn my elegant Robert to that land. Perhaps I had better keep him here. I confess my Court would be a dull place without him.”

  He seized my hand and kissed it.

  “I am tired of hearing of the perfections of that woman,” I cried petulantly. “Do you think there are some in this land who would rally to her if she came against me?”

  “I would soon rout the lot of them,” he boasted. “There is only one Queen for this country and with God's help she will reign over us for years to come.”

  He was regaining his assurance. In his heart he must have known I would never let him go.

  Again he kissed my hands. He would have kissed more if I had allowed it; but I held him off and he was faintly unsure.

  “She will be angry when she hears of my proposal concerning you, Robert. She has said some cruel things about you, called you my horse master who killed his wife in order to make room for me. I hear that she has not a good word to say for me either, and what have I done save take my rightful inheritance, for which she craved? Perhaps she will accept you…and you, Robert, what will you do? You will refuse her. You will let Master Melville and his Scots know that you prefer the hope of a crown with me to a safe one with her.”

  “I like this not,” he said.

  “I like it well,” I answered.

  “You do it to plague me as you ever have done.”

  “Perhaps you would be better treated in the Court of Scotland.”

  “Don't talk of it,” he said. “There is one place I want to be… here, beside you. Elizabeth, my Queen, have done with this nonsense. Let us marry. It is what everyone wants you to do. Even Cecil would agree to our marriage.”

  I said: “Not yet. And, Robert, there is something I have to say to you. Plain Lord Robert could not be acceptable to the Queen of Scots. Her husband must be an earl at least…so I thought this an excellent way of honoring you, and I have decided to create you Earl of Leicester and Baron of Denbigh, a title which, till now, has been used only by royalty. There will be estates to go with your titles. There is the Castle of Kenilworth and Astel Grove…”

  He was staring at me with wonder. I knew Robert well. He was rather acquisitive and although he was becoming one of the richest men in the land, he could not have too much.

  “I see,” I went on, “that you are well pleased. On your knees, you ungrateful dog, for thinking I would cast you off when all the time I am planning for your pleasure.”

  CREATING ROBERT EARL of Leicester was the brilliant ceremony I intended it to be. I had dressed with even more than my usual attention to that important and absorbing matter and I sparkled as I walked to my place in the Presence Chamber with young Lord Darnley going before me, as nearest Prince of the Blood, carrying the sword of state. Surrounding me were several noblemen among them Sir James Melville and Lord Hunsdon who was carrying the velvet ermine-lined mantle which I should put on Robert when the moment came.

  Robert followed in surcoat and hood. I was seated as he came forward and knelt before me and Lord William Howard gave me the parchment containing the letters of patent. Then Sir William Cecil read from it in a voice which could be heard throughout the chamber and Lord Hunsdon brought me the peer's robe which I put about Robert's shoulders. As I bent over him and saw the dark hair curling about his neck, I could not resist allowing my fingers to touch it and I tickled him to show how fond I was of him and that my pretending to give him to Mary of Scotland was just a joke so that I could bestow this title upon him.

  I saw James Melville watching me, trying to hide his shocked expression, and I was greatly amused. I could not wait to ask him what he thought of my new Earl of Leicester and Baron of Denbigh.

  “He is a worthy subject,” replied Melville, “and is a happy man to have such a good prince who can discern and reward his good service.”

  “Yet,” I replied, pointing to Darnley, “you like better yonder long lad.” He knew what I was referring to and he said: “No woman of spirit would make choice of a man who was more of a woman than a man, for he is beardless and lady-faced.”

  Sly Melville! He did not know how much I had learned of his intrigues with Darnley's mother to get Darnley to Scotland and married to Mary.

  He was a wily one, this Melville; but I liked him for his loyalty to his mistress and the manner in which he had always sought to defend her even over the matter of her beauty and her achievements.

  I was so proud of Robert as the second part of the ceremony took place. He looked so magnificent in his robes and it gave me the greatest pleasure to place the white sash over his right shoulder and present him with the sword and fix his cap and coronet. And there he was, standing before me in all his glory, my Robert, now the mighty Earl of Leicester.

  His eyes glittered as he looked at me and I was overwhelmed by my love for him. I could see from the triumph in his eyes that he believed that this was a preliminary to marriage … our marriage. And in that moment I almost felt that I could have acquiesced. Almost… but not quite.

  The trumpets sounded and we went to dine in the Council Chamber. It was a glorious and triumphant occasion.

  Afterward some of the guests came to my bedchamber where the glow of candles flickered over the rooms giving a pleasant intimacy. I had rarely seen Robert so happy. This honor would mean that people regarded him with even greater awe than ever. It was four years since his wife had been found dead at the bottom of a staircase. Had people forgotten? I had an idea they never would. But at least they could not now believe that I had been implicated in the murder, for why, if I had agreed to Amy's removal that I might marry Robert, had I not married him now that he was free? Some- times it seemed clear to me that I must never marry him for if I did—whatever the lapse of time—I should be suspected.

  I was glad to see that William Cecil and Robert were talking together in the utmost amity. They had always been suspicious of each other but Cecil was so obsessed with the idea that I must marry and get a child that he was almost inclined to smile on Robert as a means of achieving that end.

  Sometimes I wished that I had not the ability to see quite so clearly, for to see many sides to a question makes one uncertain. I liked Robert's company more than that of any other person; I was happy when he was near me and dissatisfied when he was not. Is that loving? Yet on the other hand I saw him just too clearly for comfort; he was avaricious, arrogant, determined to dominate all who came near him, ruthless in the extreme … yes, even enough to commit murder if the need were dire enough. All this I knew, yet I loved him. I should never be sure how Amy Robsart died, whether it was accident, suicide or murder… never wholly sure, and if it were really true that he killed her, should I not be very wary of a man who could act so to a woman whom he must have loved at one time? Then again it might have been that I was fascinated by Robert because I was unsure of him. I would not want a dull man like my cousin Lettice's Walter Devereux. There was a man who could be relied upon to do his duty to his country and his family. Yet such a man would tire me so much that I would not want him near me for long. I wondered how Lettice fared with him. She seemed happy enough; but she was sly. One would never know what Lettice was up to. It would not surprise me if she were deceiving poor Walter Devereux. But my feelings for Robert? Well, I loved him, I suppose—and I loved him as he was—ruthless and mysterious.

  Melville was beside me and he asked me what I thought of his Queen's letter regarding the proposed match with the Earl of Leicester.

  I replied: “She angrily refused him. I will em
ploy lawyers to seek out who should be next in succession to me. I would wish it were your Queen more than any other, Sir James. My father had a wish to unite England and Scotland and would have declared his sister Margaret's son, James V of Scotland, next in line of succession after his daughter Mary; but at that time I was not yet born and there was my brother Edward to come. So it would seem that when I should die your Queen could likely come to the throne of England.”

  “There may be heirs of Your Majesty's body.”

  “Nay, I do not think that likely, Sir James. I was never of a mind to marry unless I was compelled by my sister's harsh behavior toward me to do so. But as you know I stood out against it and my victory brought me freedom. I have promised myself that I shall remain a virgin.”

  “Madam,” he answered with his Scots canniness, “you need not tell me that. I know your stately stomach. Ye think gin ye were married ye would be but Queen of England, but now ye are King and Queen baith. Ye would not suffer a commander.”

  I smiled at him. He understood me well.

  “Come,” I said, “I will show you some of my treasures. I have them here to hand.” I opened my desk in which I kept miniatures of those of my friends whom I loved best. I had carefully wrapped them and written their names on them so that I could select them and study them at will. On one of these I had written “My Lord's Picture”. I unwrapped it and showed it to Melville. It was a very good likeness of Robert.

  I said: “If the Queen of Scots saw it she would not hesitate to take him. What think you, Sir James?”

  “Allow me to take it to her.”

  I almost snatched the picture from his hands. “I have only this one of him. If he goes to Scotland she would have the original.”

  I certainly was not going to give up Robert's picture. I feared that if the Scottish Queen saw how handsome he was, she might decide to take him in spite of his lack of royal blood.

  No, Robert's picture was certainly not going to Scotland.

  When I was alone in my bedchamber and my ladies concerned themselves with the intricate operation of preparing me for my bed, unlacing me, helping me out of my whalebone hips and petticoats, letting down my hair, placing the false pieces in their tray, I was feeling contented.