The Queen's Favourite

by Laura Dowers

  ‘If you wish it, madam, then I will be no other when he comes.’ Robert bent his head in obedience.

  ‘Then settle, you dogs,’ Elizabeth sneered. ‘Walsingham, keep these schoolboys under control or I shall dismiss you all.’

  8

  Greenwich Palace, London, August 1579

  The music had been playing for over four hours, and everyone, save the queen and her partner, wished it would stop. Cecil’s head sagged upon his chest, Hatton waved away offers of dance partners wearily, Walsingham read paperwork surreptitiously and Robert drank cup after cup of wine.

  Robert belched loudly and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Pushing away from the table, he staggered over to the corner of the room where Walsingham sat with his secretary William Davison, the two of them oblivious to the entertainment around them.

  Walsingham looked up angrily as the table jolted against his leg. ‘Take ca- , oh, Leicester. Davison, quick, get the earl a chair.’

  ‘Have mine, my lord,’ Davison said, guiding Robert to his seat.

  ‘What a farce this is,’ Robert said, shaking his head.

  ‘Are you well, my lord?’ Walsingham asked carelessly, running his eye down a list of names Davison handed him.

  ‘I am sick, Francis.’

  ‘I am sorry to hear that, my lord.’

  ‘Oh, for Christ’s sake, leave that accursed paperwork and talk to me.’

  With reluctance, Walsingham put down the document. ‘What do you want to talk about, my lord?’

  ‘Anything. That is if we can hear ourselves over this damned noise.’

  ‘Indeed,’ Walsingham nodded. ‘The music has played overlong to my mind.’

  ‘So has this scene.’ Robert waved his arm at the dancers. ‘This makes me sick.’

  ‘The dance?’

  ‘The dancers. Francis, do not play the fool with me. The queen. When did she sign the Duke’s passport so he could come here?’

  Walsingham grimaced apologetically. ‘When you were away, my lord.’

  ‘Damn it, could you not have dissuaded her?’

  ‘I made no attempt to, my lord. I know my limits in regard to Her Majesty.’

  ‘Oh, look at them,’ Robert scowled, as the Duke of Alencon leapt into the air. ‘How ridiculous they look. He barely comes up to her shoulder.’

  ‘Her Majesty seems pleased with him. See, they kiss.’

  ‘How can she bear it? I thank God the people cannot see this.’

  ‘But how long can his visit be kept a secret?’ Walsingham wondered as Robert reached over and refilled his cup.

  ‘When’s he leaving?’ Robert asked.

  ‘He is here for about a fortnight.’

  ‘Hell, we have to endure him that long?’ Robert cried loudly. ‘It will cost me a fortune.’

  ‘The queen will expect you to entertain him?’

  ‘Do I not always entertain her guests, though it near ruin me?’

  ‘You do, my lord,’ Walsingham agreed, setting aright the jug Robert’s elbow had just knocked over. ‘Though you usually take pleasure in it.’

  ‘Not this time. You are very quiet on the matter, Francis. What do you think of the Duke being here?’

  ‘I think it a step towards disaster for England, my lord. I would be grateful if you could allay my fears that the queen means to marry.’

  Robert sighed and shook his head. ‘I can’t. I hope she doesn’t mean to marry, but I can’t promise you she will not. Is there no more wine?’

  ‘That was the last of it,’ Walsingham said. ‘We have a council meeting early tomorrow, my lord. Perhaps it’s as well the wine is gone.’

  ‘Are you saying I am in my cups?’

  ‘No, my lord. I am merely trying to spare you an unpleasant morning.’

  ‘A broken head will only add to the unpleasantness,’ Robert said. ‘I understand you want me clear-headed, not brain sodden. Tell me, Francis, are you so used to people lying to you, that you do not know how to speak clear yourself.’

  ‘There is a distinction, my lord,’ Walsingham said haughtily, ‘between civility and dishonesty. I flatter myself I am exercising the former when we speak.’

  ‘Oh, alright, alright. I am a little drunk, I confess. What is to be discussed at the council meeting tomorrow?’

  ‘The queen desires our opinion on whether to wed or not.’

  ‘She has had our opinions,’ Robert cried exasperatedly. ‘How many more times must she hear them before she will make up her own mind?’

  ‘The indecision wearies me,’ Walsingham agreed, his eyes looking longingly at his papers. ‘Ah, at last the music stops.’

  They looked towards the dancers, the queen and her stunted partner. A few words were exchanged in French between them, before the Duke took Elizabeth’s hand and kissed her fingers, cradling her hand in his own as though it were a precious thing. A few more teasing words, a dozen meaningful glances and the evening’s entertainment was at last at an end. The queen rustled from the chamber, followed by her weary ladies. Courtiers took their leave of each other gratefully, and the crowd thinned.

  ‘Well, now we can go to our beds,’ Robert said, getting to his feet unsteadily. ‘Our cold, lonely beds.’

  ‘I sleep better alone,’ Walsingham said.

  ‘Do you? I prefer company.’

  ‘It’s a pity that the queen will not relent and allow your wife to come to Court.’

  ‘It’s a pity for me. Lettice complains continually. Perhaps when the child is born, she will not miss it so.’

  ‘Her confinement must be near.’

  ‘Next month. Well, till the morning, Francis.’

  ‘Till the morning,’ Walsingham said. ‘Sleep well, my lord.’

  9

  Greenwich Palace, London, September 1579

  Robert groaned as Sussex slammed his hand on the table. Could the man never make a quiet argument?

  ‘The queen desires the marriage -,’ Sussex was saying.

  ‘She has told you this?’ Hatton asked in surprise.

  ‘She has not actually said so. But her actions all point towards such a desire.’

  ‘I do not think it wise to assume the queen’s desires, my lord,’ Cecil said.

  ‘Well, it is safe to assume our own, I suppose,’ Sussex retorted. ‘And I, for one, wish her to marry the Duke.’

  ‘As do I,’ Cecil nodded.

  ‘I do not,’ Hatton said fiercely.

  ‘Nor I,’ said Robert quietly, rubbing at his temple. ‘Walsingham?’

  Walsingham laid down his pen. ‘I am against such a marriage.’

  There was silence for a moment, while the clerk’s quill scratched and bowling balls clicked in the gardens outside.

  ‘And if the queen informs us that she wishes to marry?’ Cecil asked.

  ‘Then we will support her, of course,’ Hatton said. ‘But it is not just us. Parliament will have to decide, and they will not give their approval. I know they will not.’

  ‘That fortunately, is not our concern, Hatton,’ Robert said with a smile. ‘Let us tell the queen that her council is divided, but we will support her in whatever decision she chooses to make.’

  ‘And who is to deliver this report?’ Cecil wondered. ‘It’s not what the queen wants to hear, and she will rail at whomever tells her so.’

  ‘I shall tell her,’ Walsingham said, getting to his feet. ‘It’s my duty as secretary, and I am not likely to lose favour with Her Majesty for the news as some might.’

  ‘She’s in her chamber, Francis,’ Robert said. ‘We will wait here for you.’

  Walsingham nodded and left.

  ‘There goes a brave man,’ Hatton said seriously. ‘I would not wish myself in his shoes.’

  ‘Nor I,’ Robert agreed. ‘I fear the queen will not take this well.’

  Robert’s prediction was correct. Not ten minutes had passed before the council door flew open and Elizabeth stormed into the room.

  ‘Is that all you can say to me?’
she demanded as they got to their feet. ‘You will support me whatever I decide? That is not the advice I need to hear, gentlemen.’

  ‘If you would just say whether or not you wished to marry, madam, then we could advise you,’ Hatton said.

  Elizabeth glared at him. ‘How can I decide to marry if you will not advise me on it?’

  ‘What Hatton means, madam,’ Robert interjected, bored by her prevarication, ‘is do you love the duke and wish to be his wife? It’s a simple question.’

  ‘Do you dare to mock me?’ she growled. ‘You mock me, sir?’

  ‘Indeed, madam, I do not.’

  ‘Do I love him?’ she cried incredulously. ‘Love him? What does it matter if I do or not? I, sir, do not have the luxury of marrying whom I love. Policy governs my decision.’

  ‘Then I shall counsel you on policy,’ Robert said. ‘It would not be good for England if you were to marry the duke, madam.’

  ‘In what way would it not be good, Leicester? Is an heir for England not a good thing? Is it not a good thing that the line of Tudor not die with me?’

  ‘Then your reason for marrying would be the getting of an heir?’

  ‘To have a child of mine own. Is it so unnatural?’ she pleaded. ‘You have wives, you have children, and yet you would deny me the comfort of family.’

  Robert moved to her side and took her hand. She met his gaze with softened eyes. ‘Madam, the time for that is past.’

  Her eyes lost all their softness. She pushed him away. ‘You rogue,’ she rasped and rushed from the room, pushing past Walsingham who hovered in the doorway. Her sobs echoed along the corridor.

  Walsingham stepped inside and closed the doors. ‘I am glad it was you who said that,’ he said wryly.

  ‘Leicester, what possessed you?’ Sussex asked. ‘You as good as called her old.’

  ‘What if I did? It’s time some of us faced the truth. How old is the duke? Seventeen, eighteen? And the queen nearing six and forty. I tell you, Sussex, bed her with the duke and we will lose her.’

  ‘That is by no means certain.’

  ‘It would be dangerous for her to bear a child now,’ Robert persisted. ‘Or does your ignorance prevent you from even realising that fact?’

  ‘It seems to me that she wants to marry, despite her talk of policy,’ Hatton said gloomily, falling into his chair.

  ‘There is no other business today, gentlemen,’ Walsingham announced, gathering up his papers.

  ‘Do you really think she wants to marry?’ Robert asked as he sat down next to Hatton, watching the others file out.

  ‘I fear so, Leicester. I have heard from her ladies such things that… well, I shudder to believe them.’

  ‘What have you heard?’

  ‘That Simier had …. Well, before the duke arrived, the queen permitted him great freedom with her person. And the duke is visited by her in his bedchamber before he has risen. She stays and dallies with him. Alone.’

  ‘I cannot believe it. She would not…. No, I will not believe it.’

  ‘I did tell you, Leicester, that your marriage may have made her desperate.’

  ‘I should see her. Ask her to forgive me for what I said.’

  ‘If she will see you,’ Hatton said doubtfully, looking towards the door as there came a knock upon it.

  ‘I must try. Come in,’ Robert called.

  A page entered. ‘A message from the queen, my lord. Her Majesty decrees that her councillors are no longer required and they will retire to their private homes.’

  Robert and Hatton looked at one another in total surprise.

  10

  Leicester House, London, September 1579

  Lettice was in bed when Robert arrived at Leicester House. He told the servants they could retire and went up to her, opening the door quietly and peering round. Lettice lay back in the bed, the sheets stretched over her bulbous belly. He tiptoed in, and began undressing.

  ‘I’m awake, Rob,’ she said.

  ‘I didn’t wake you, did I?’

  ‘No, I was waiting for you.’ She propped herself up on one elbow, her red hair falling over her shoulders. ‘Well, what news?’

  ‘No change.’

  ‘You mean she still has not made up her mind?’

  ‘No, and blames the council for it.’ He sat down on the end of the bed. ‘Are you well? Your face is flushed.’

  ‘No,’ she said, pressing her fingertips to her forehead, ‘I haven’t felt well all day.’

  ‘You should have sent word. I would have returned.’

  ‘There was nothing you could do. I always feel like this when I am near my time. Don’t fret so, Rob. Childbirth is something I am used to.’

  He smiled and kissed her cheek. ‘Well, you shall have me for company for the next few days, my love, whether you want me or not.’

  ‘Why? Are you not needed at court?’

  ‘Seems not. None of us are. Cecil, Walsingham, Hatton, myself, all of us are banished from the court because the queen is annoyed with us.’

  ‘Oh, she is being ridiculous. Get into bed and rub my back,’ she ordered. ‘How is she supposed to govern without you all?’

  ‘She’s frightened, Lettice.’

  ‘Of what?’

  ‘Of marriage. Of the wedding night, I think.’

  ‘Someone should tell her to ignore the panic and enjoy the pleasure.’

  ‘She’s not like you, Lettice.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘The act of love is something to be feared for Elizabeth. Believe me, I know.’

  Lettice turned to him, her interest aroused. ‘And how do you know? Is our revered virgin queen no virgin?’

  ‘Of the queen’s virginity, I can say only this. I, nor no man before me, ever took her maidenhead.’

  ‘But you doubt her now? Why?’

  ‘Hatton told me that Simier has been allowed certain liberties. Ones that I thought a mere servant, and a Frenchman at that, would ever be allowed.’

  ‘You don’t mean to say…’

  ‘But they are only rumours,’ he insisted. ‘And I prefer not to believe them. Elizabeth would not forget herself with such a man.’

  ‘You hope?’

  ‘I hope. But you’re tired, Lettice. Put out the light.’

  Someone was shaking him, but he didn’t want to wake up. He was warm and happy, it was a bright, breezy summer day and he was playing. Winning, of course, until Guildford started crying and his mother said he was to let his brother win. Robert should have been cross, but he hadn’t seen Gil for such a long time and Robert was happy to do anything to make him happy. A hand on his shoulder made him jump. He turned and there was his father, smiling at him. But then his father started talking. He looked as if he was shouting, but Robert could barely hear him.

  ‘Rob. Rob. ROBERT.’

  He reluctantly pulled his eyelids apart. ‘Wh…what?’

  ‘The child,’ Lettice panted, gripping his arm.

  ‘It’s coming?’ Robert asked, suddenly wide awake.

  Lettice groaned in answer. Within minutes, Robert had roused the household, lamps had been lit, doctor and midwife sent for and now all there was to do was wait.

  Before the sun rose, Robert was holding his son.

  11

  Greenwich Palace, London, October 1579

  Elizabeth and her councillors waited in the council chamber. Elizabeth spoke quietly and tiredly, patting Cecil’s hand and shaking her head. He was ill again, and in truth, should have been in bed, but Elizabeth had summoned him and he was a dutiful servant.

  The chamber door opened and Alencon rushed in, Simier and the French Ambassador, Fenelon, following more sedately behind. Alencon grabbed Elizabeth’s hand which, to Robert’s eye she reluctantly offered and he pressed his thick misshapen lips to it.

  ‘My lady,’ he exclaimed in French, ‘how cruel of you to keep me waiting for a glimpse of your face.’

  Elizabeth smiled thinly and withdrew her hand. ‘I would n
ot willingly be cruel,’ she answered in English, ‘but my face is the better for seeing yours.’

  Alencon began talking again in French. Elizabeth waved a reproving finger.

  ‘My lord, English, if you please.’ She indicated the council members, though she knew they all understood the French language. Alencon looked contrite, bowed his head and took a seat alongside his countrymen.

  ‘Let us to business,’ Elizabeth said, looking pointedly at Walsingham, who seemed to be taking his time at starting the meeting.

  Walsingham, who had been expecting the flattery and love play to go on a while longer, looked up in surprise and opened his mouth to speak.

  ‘When are we to marry?’ Alencon interrupted.

  Elizabeth flicked a glance at him. ‘Patience, my lord.’

  ‘I am not a patient man.’

  Elizabeth’s lips tightened.

  Robert saw his opportunity. ‘My lord,’ he said, leaning forward and placing his elbows on the table, steepling his fingers beneath his chin, ‘there are further terms to be discussed before a date can be settled on.’

  ‘I am not aware of further terms, Leicester,’ Cecil said, frowning.

  ‘No, I believe you were ill when it was discussed in Council,’ Robert lied smoothly.

  ‘When what was discussed?’

  ‘A concession on the duke’s part.’

  ‘A concession?’ Alencon queried, looking between Robert and Simier. Simier’s eyes narrowed as Robert continued.

  ‘Indeed, for the many that England has already ceded.’

  ‘Concessions have been made on both sides, my lord,’ Fenelon pointed out, in his best diplomatic voice.

  ‘I agree, sir. But England has borne the brunt of the negotiations, and if you’ll forgive me, we come off the worst for it. But let there be no lack of harmony between us. Our proposal is that since the late Queen Mary was so unfortunate as to lose Calais, we have had no port in France, where we can trade and come and go in as we please. So, we propose that Calais be restored to English sovereignty.’