“I was lonely, Your Majesty.”
“And you were lonely before his death, eh?”
“He was so much at Court.”
“It was his will,” I reminded her. “I trust you find joy in this new husband.”
“We have been married many years now.”
“Oh yes, I remember. Leicester was scarcely cold when you took young Blount to husband. So you are happy in this third marriage? What a woman you are for marrying!”
“I am contented in my marriage,” she said.
I went on: “And that girl of yours. She is another one to watch. Lady Rich is it…or Mountjoy?”
“Lady Rich,” she said.
“Oh yes, Rich is the husband, Mountjoy the paramour… but I believe she is everywhere with Mountjoy and shares his house.”
She was silent.
“And the other girl … rushing off and marrying Perrot. Yes indeed, Lettice, you have a lively brood.”
“They have made me very happy,” she replied quietly. “It is thus with children. We cannot expect to have the joys of parenthood without the accompanying anxieties.”
There she stood—she had been wife to three men and was the mother of several children—Essex among them. And there was I … in my regal state with no husband or child. This was my life; that was hers. I could feel a fleeting envy, but I knew I would not have bartered my crown for any of her husbands—not even Robert—nor for any of the children—not even Essex.
I was tired of her. She depressed me. I brought the interview to an end.
“Essex persuaded me to receive you,” I said, “and I gave in to him. So, Lettice, we have spoken to each other after all these years.”
I held out my hand. It was the signal for her to take it, kiss it and depart.
* * *
ESSEX CAME TO ME glowing with pleasure.
“Your Majesty, my dearest Majesty, you have done this for me. How I adore you! My mother is so happy. It is the one thing she needed for her contentment.”
“I received your mother to please you,” I told him.
“How I thank you! From the bottom of my heart, I thank you.”
All this excitement about receiving his mother! I was irritated. Moreover seeing Lettice again had depressed me considerably. She brought back too many memories of Robert and I had spent a most unhappy night recalling so much of the past, including that never-to-be-forgotten day when I had discovered that he had defied me … I might say abandoned me … to marry her.
The meeting may have gratified Lettice Knollys, but it certainly brought me no joy.
I had made up my mind that never again would I give way to Essex's whims. I would not see Lettice Knollys again. She would never be anything to me but the she-wolf who had spoilt the last years of my life with Robert.
“My mother says it was such a happy interview.”
“I was unaware of that happiness,” I said coldly. He should have realized it was dangerous to go on, but when had Essex ever been wise?
“She is looking forward to her next visit to Court.”
“She may look forward for a long time. She will not have another visit to Court.”
He looked at me in astonishment. “But you have received her! She has come back.”
“My Lord Essex, your mother can only come to Court if I give her permission to do so.”
“But you will, of course.”
“I have decided not to.”
“What?”
Really that young man was heading fast for trouble. He would have to learn to show some restraint.
I said coolly: “I did what you asked me to do. I have received your mother and there is an end to the matter. We have spoken and there is nothing more I have to say to her. And remember this: I have no wish to see her again.”
He stared at me and the color suffused his face. He did not speak, which perhaps was fortunate, for if he had I was sure he would have said something which was unforgivable.
He turned and without asking leave to retire strode from my presence.
* * *
BURGHLEY CAME TO talk privately with me. He seemed a little concerned.
Poor Burghley! He was showing his age. His beard was quite white now and his once lithe and upright figure stooping. I always felt moved when I saw him; he had lost his youth and his health in my service and I used to say to myself: God forgive me if I ever forget what I owe this man.
He had had so many troubles and he had been such a good husband and father, too. He was fond of all children and nurtured his own with great care. He had looked after his grandchildren—those of the profligate Earl of Oxford who had married his daughter, a match which Burghley had never ceased to regret. He had cared assiduously for my welfare and had even provided me with his son Robert, my “Little Elf,” so that when my dear old friend passed on there would be another as able—or almost as able—to step into his shoes.
When we were alone together I was always particularly affectionate with him. I wanted him to know how much I appreciated what he had done for me and for the country.
Of course he had put forward his son. What good father would not? He had kept Francis Bacon from office out of fear that he would displace the Elf. He never would. I wanted to make use of Robert Cecil's services because I recognized in him his father's particular qualities. Francis Bacon might be brilliant but that tutorial attitude of his would never have suited me.
It was a pity that Essex was in the opposing camp. I should have liked him to work with Burghley. But that was impossible. There could not have been two people less alike than Essex and either of the Cecils.
So when Burghley came to me I feared before he began to tell me that there was some fresh complaint against Essex.
“Pray sit down, my dear friend,” I said. “I know it tires you to stand.”
Gratefully he did so.
“First,” I said, “tell me this: Have you been taking the possets I recommended?”
“Without fail, Your Majesty.”
“Well, I trust they will do good work. My Spirit must take more care of himself. Why should he not rest more? He has that very able son of his to take over much of the work.”
“It is a great pleasure to me that Your Majesty finds my son satisfactory.”
“A clever little Elf. Yes, he pleases me, Master Cecil, and not only because of his good work. He is your son and that gives him special favor in my eyes.”
Now the pleasantries were over, he came to business, and, as I had feared, it concerned Essex.
“Since the regrettable death of Walsingham we have sadly missed his excellent service,” said Burghley, “but there are those among us who have tried to make sure that there are no secret plots which might put Your Majesty's life in danger…”
“Essex works well in that direction,” I said.
“Ah, Essex, Your Majesty.” He paused and I was full of foreboding. “I have made an alarming discovery and I have come here to tell you expressly of it. Essex is corresponding with the King of Scotland.”
“That is impossible!” I cried.
“Alas, Your Majesty, I have evidence. I had discovered this was going on and have secured some of the correspondence.”
“For what purpose was this?”
Burghley looked at me and lifted his shoulders. “The correspondence started when Essex was trying to restore Davison and wanted the King of Scotland to join in the pleas for him since the trouble was about the execution of the King's mother. From that… the letters have continued.”
“How did you discover this?”
“I planted a spy—one Thomas Fowler—at the Scottish Court. The letters have been copied and sent to me. It seems that the prime mover is Lady Rich. Her husband is with her in this.”
“But she is with Mountjoy now.”
“That is so, Your Majesty, but it seems the one thing Penelope Rich has in common with her husband, is a love of intrigue. They are all working for the aggrandizement of Essex. They have c
ode names: Penelope Rich is Rialta, Lord Rich, Ricardo; Your Majesty is Venus and Essex the Weary Knight.”
“It sounds like madness.”
“Not such madness, Your Majesty. Essex is the Weary Knight because he is weary of his bondage to you. He looks for a change.”
“He can have his change!” I cried. “He can go into exile at once. That is the change he will get.”
“If I may advise…”
“Certainly, my friend.”
“At this time the correspondence with the King of Scotland is not treasonable. It is clear to me that Penelope Rich—who is a schemer if ever there was one—is trying to ingratiate herself with James of Scotland, who some say would be the next in line to this throne. I think that is the reason for this correspondence.”
“So they are waiting for my death, are they?”
“It would seem so.”
“Traitors! Villains! By God's Precious Soul, they should all be in the Tower.”
“They are disloyal to Your Majesty, but I beg you to restrain your anger. I want this correspondence to continue, for who knows when it might break into something of significance. If we let them remain in ignorance of our discovery, they will go on writing to each other, and if we are vigilant we can by this means discover whether they have some ulterior motive and are plotting and hoping for James's help. But we must not betray our knowledge of what is taking place. I am sure this is the way Walsingham would have worked.”
“Oh my dear, dear Moor! How I wish he were with us now.”
“Amen! But Your Majesty, you still have loyal servants here to work for you.”
“My dear Spirit the chief of them.”
“Then I have Your Majesty's permission to keep this matter dark? No indication shall be given to the conspirators—if conspirators they be—that we have made this discovery?”
“Yes, let it be so,” I said.
“I have a letter here which was sent to Essex by Sir Francis Bacon in which he warns him of his treatment of you. I thought it would amuse you and let you know what these young men are thinking.”
“The letter came to you through the same sources, I presume?”
“I have many men who are ever watchful of all that concerns Your Majesty.”
I was in truth faintly amused by Francis Bacon's letter. He was telling Essex how he should treat me. Not too much blatant flattery, he advised; there were times, he wrote, when Essex appeared to be paying fine compliments rather than speaking sincerely. That should be changed. He should not slavishly imitate Hatton or Leicester, but as those two courtiers managed that sort of flattery very well, it would be advisable for Essex to study their methods.
Francis Bacon, I commented, was a young man who thought himself very clever. As for Essex… his behavior hurt me more than anything else.
I helped Burghley to his feet. His joints were very stiff.
I embraced him warmly.
“We are getting old, my friend,” I said. “We notice it … and so do others.”
* * *
MY FEELINGS FOR Essex were changing. I could not entirely abandon him, for he still had the power to charm me, and when he was with me, in spite of everything, I was still able to forget his faults. But there were times when I could not escape the thought that he was waiting for me to die. He wanted a new King—young James—and he and his sister were endeavoring to make sure of his favor when the change came.
It was perfidious of him. How could he pretend to love me! And how foolish I was, because I missed Leicester so much, to turn to this cruel young man.
He was philandering with one of my maids of honor, a Mistress Bridges. I pretended not to see what was going on, but it was really quite blatant. I heard that poor Frances was very unhappy on account of his infidelities. It had been a very sad day for her when she had married Essex.
He was his mother all over again. What could one expect from the cubs of the she-wolf!
I dismissed Mistress Bridges from Court for a few days—not because of her liaison with Essex, which I pretended to know nothing about, but because she had used the privy gallery to watch a tennis match, and the rule was that ladies should not use it unless they first asked for permission.
Essex knew that I was annoyed, for it was his game the girl had gone to see, and as I was very cool to him—and had been since Burghley's revelation—he retired from Court with the excuse that he had overexerted himself at the game and had a return of his fever.
Henri Quatre, having changed his religion, was fairly firm on the throne of France and, like myself, he was one who believed that peace brought prosperity. He was therefore trying to bring about a peace with Spain in which he wanted me to join.
Burghley was in favor of this, Essex against it. Burghley said that we needed peace and there was more to be gained from it than war. Essex made a fiery speech in which he extolled the bravery of the English, who had once defeated the Spaniards and would do so again.
Burghley did a strange thing then, which afterward people said was prophetic.
He took up a prayer book and turned the leaves. Then he placed the book in Essex's hands, indicating the words: “Men of blood shall not live out half their days.”
We had other matters nearer home. Burghley stressed the fact that Ireland was giving trouble again, and it was really necessary to appoint a strong Lord Deputy and that we should give full consideration to this without delay.
We were at Greenwich and I called a meeting there.
Burghley was not well enough to attend but his son Robert Cecil was present. There was also Howard of Effingham who, much to Essex's chagrin, had now become the Earl of Nottingham, Essex himself and the Clerk of the Council.
I began by saying that I believed the best man to send to Ireland was Sir William Knollys, who had proved himself to be reliable, shrewd and honest.
Cecil said that he was in complete agreement and he believed that Sir William should be sent without delay.
It was then that Essex raised the objection. Knollys was not the man, he said. It was obvious to him that we should send Sir George Carew.
There was silence in the chamber. Robert Cecil looked taken aback, but I realized the motive behind Essex's outburst. I found that now I was always looking for motives behind his actions. Sir William Knollys was his uncle and he could rely on his support at Court, so naturally he did not want to lose him. It could be said that Knollys was of the Essex faction, whereas George Carew supported the Cecils. To lose Carew would be a blow to them; to lose Knollys would be equally inconvenient for Essex.
I had already agreed with Robert Cecil and the Admiral that Knollys was our best man, and Essex had had the temerity to ignore my views and express his own.
I said firmly: “Knollys should be informed at once that he should prepare to leave for Ireland.”
“It is a mistake!” cried Essex. He was behaving like a petulant boy who has been denied a coveted plaything.
I was really angry with him. His follies were becoming intolerable. I thought of his philandering with the ladies of the Court and his reckless involvement with the King of Scotland. It was time he realized that he was not so sure of my favor that he could behave in such a manner. Robert, in spite of all that had been between us, had never been discourteous to me or raised his voice against me in public.
I saw his blazing eyes and the angry color in his face before he very deliberately turned his back on me.
There was a hushed silence in the chamber. I could not believe he had gone so far. This was something I would not endure. I strode toward him and boxed his ears.
“And now,” I shouted, “go and be hanged.”
That was not the end. He faced me, his fury evident. Then he put his hand on the hilt of his sword as though ready to draw it against me.
“I would not have taken such a blow from King Henry, your father,” he cried. “It is an indignity which I never could—nor would—endure from anyone… No! Certainly not from a king in petticoats.”
I was so taken aback that for a few seconds I did nothing, and just as I was about to call the guards, he dashed from the room.
* * *
NEVER HAD SUCH conduct been known. It was being discussed throughout the Court. This is the end of Essex, it was said.
Of course he should be in the Tower. He should suffer the traitor's death. But I was so shaken that I was uncertain how to act.
He is a foolish boy, I said to myself again and again.
He is a dangerous young man, said that wise part of me. Remember the letters to Scotland. What is the use of caring for him? He brings misery to all those who come into contact with him. Poor Frances Walsingham! I pity her. I can even be sorry for his mother.
I knew that his friends were trying to persuade him to attempt a reconciliation. If he had begged forgiveness, I supposed I should have granted it. I had to admit I missed him at Court. But the weeks passed and he remained in sullen retreat.
Then I ceased to think of him, for Robert Cecil came to tell me that his father was very weak indeed.
I went to his house in the Strand and I was shocked to see how ill the poor man was. He lay back in his bed, his eyes apologizing because of his inability to rise. I took his poor swollen hands in mine and kissed them.
I said: “My dear, dear friend, I did not know how ill you were until the Elf told me. Had I known I should have been here ere this.”
“Your Majesty is so gracious to come to me.”
“I shall come… and keep coming… until you are well again.”
He shook his head and said: “I shall rise no more from this bed.”
“I forbid you to say such things. You must get well. You have been beside me so many years. What should I do without you?”
He was overcome with emotion and so was I.
I rose from his bed and asked what food they were giving him. He could only take liquid food, I was told, and only a little of that. His hands were so swollen that he could scarcely lift a spoon to his lips.
I ordered them to make him a gruel which I knew was especially nourishing, and when it was ready I took it to him and fed my minister as though he were a child.
Queen Of This Realm Page 52