Elizabeth waved a hand at the musicians, and they began to play; the program had already been planned. The queen would lead first a staid basse danse, then that would be followed by a more lively, but dignified pavane; then they would enjoy the raucous galliard. Hatton was the perfect partner, but her eyes still searched the room at every turn for Robert.
The first galliard had almost concluded when she saw him. He seemed almost to wander in, as if he had come upon the lively scene unawares, and wondered what it was about. He smoothed his hair and straightened his doublet with a nervous hand. He was at the opposite end of the room, but her eyes fixed onto him like a beacon the moment he entered. She would finish the dance and then she would seek him out. He had some explaining to do, and no mistake!
Robert skirted the wall, waiting for the dance to end. He had quickly spotted her amongst the dancers, she could tell, but he had not made his way to the end of the hall. She was baffled by his seeming reticence to seek her out.
And then she spied her cousin, Lettice Knollys, entering the hall, a mere two minutes behind the tardy, missing Robert. He, straightening his doublet, and she, pulling at her sleeves and adjusting the fit of her stomacher. The implication was clear. She had missed Robert; she had no reason to miss Lettice. The girl annoyed her simply by breathing. Why had they both entered the hall only moments apart? A red mist began to swim before her eyes. In it she saw them together in a bed, naked legs entwined. Or perhaps it was more visceral than that; a stolen moment in a curtained alcove, skirts lifted, codpiece unstrung…
The music had stopped and all were awaiting the queen’s next move. She would be damned if she would relinquish Hatton as her partner for the tardy Robert! And if what she suspected were true, she would not be responsible for her actions! It was best to keep dancing, to take time to think.
The last time she had accused Robert of a flirtation with Lettice, her cousin had been very pregnant, and Robert had vehemently denied the allegation. He had wept at the withdrawal of the queen’s favor. Now he made no effort even to meet her eye. Something was clearly amiss.
As the cornets and hautboys, the flutes and shawms, the sackbuts and the timbrels made a cacophony, she barely heard the music; only her innate musical sense allowed her to keep time properly and execute the steps of the dance unerringly. Hatton was a skilled dancer; he sensed her detachment and made up for it with his strong lead.
And then another curious thing happened. The Earl of Essex swept into the hall, and when his eyes alit upon his wife, he pulled Lettice roughly aside by the arm. The hall was pandemonium; the revelers conversed animatedly, they laughed and sang; the music played, and the dance was in full swing. It was impossible to do other than continue dancing and observe the goings on. It was obvious that Lettice and Lord Walter were arguing; Robert was on the other side of the hall by now, engaged in animated conversation with another of her cousins, the Lady Douglass Sheffield. Lady Douglass placed a proprietary hand on Robert’s arm, but just as she did so, her sister, the Lady Frances Howard, approached, said something indiscernible, and flung her sister’s arm from Robert’s sleeve. Robert, an exasperated expression on his face, walked away from both women, leaving them arguing animatedly. But still he made no attempt to work his way to the end of the hall where she should be when the dance ended. He was avoiding her. Why?
Finally, she could stand the suspense no longer. She abruptly left the line of dancers, and in the confusion, the dancing stopped; the musicians sensed the discord, and the music trailed away and finally ceased. She strode over to where Robert stood; he stared at her as if he had been poleaxed. She glared at him but said nothing.
Realizing that all eyes were upon them, she turned and bellowed, “Musicians, play!” The music struck up again, and the dance resumed.
Elizabeth turned a cold gaze upon Robert. “And you,” she said. “You come with me.”
###
Elizabeth said nothing as she strode down the passageway. The walk back to the royal apartments was ordinarily a leisurely one; she was usually escorted back to the royal apartments by throngs of courtiers, stopping at this door or that along the way. She was surprised, therefore, by how quickly they arrived at the doors to her chambers. If the halberdiers were surprised to see the queen return so early and in the company only of Lord Robert, they gave no indication of it; they simply uncrossed their weapons and opened the doors.
The older of her women often forsook the festivities in the hall for a quiet supper in the privy chamber. Trays of food lay abandoned here and there; Lady Blanche and several others sat near the fire with their sewing.
“Everyone out!” cried Elizabeth on a sob. It irritated her even further to realize that in another moment, she would be in tears. Her ladies arose and departed without a word. When the door closed softy behind the last of them, she rounded on Robert.
“I saw!” she cried. “I know everything!”
Neither had said a word to the other on the swift march from the hall to the royal apratments. Robert had stood speechless in the queen’s wake since they arrived in her rooms, but now he blanched and swayed as if he would collapse into a heap where he stood. If what the queen said were indeed true, then all was lost. And he knew exactly whom to blame! His head swam; he fought to stay upright, and on his feet.
Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed and her fists clenched. “I saw you arrive in the hall, straightening your doublet! And Lettice barely a moment behind you, smoothing down her skirts!”
His head cleared and he blinked like an owl. “Lettice..?” he whispered.
Elizabeth stamped an impatient foot. “Yes, Lettice! Do not even attempt to deny it! You are having an affair with my cousin!”
Robert held his head high, straightened his back and said, “That is a vile accusation!”
“Oh, is it?” shouted Elizabeth. “Then kindly explain where the devil you were when you supposed to be escorting me to the hall!” Her chest heaved and her eyes flashed.
That he had been delayed was true; but the reason for it was a deadly secret that could ruin him. And Elizabeth only suspected him of dalliance with Lettice Knollys! He could never tell her the real reason for his tardiness; but he must tell her something. In the morass that a royal court could often be, he had learnt that offensive measures were often far more effective than defensive ones. And he knew Elizabeth well enough to know that he must remain calm in the face of her rage, or all would be lost.
“I have been accused of engaging in a flirtation with your cousin before,” he said softly. “It was untrue then, and it is untrue now.”
Elizabeth’s golden eyes bore into his own. He did not flinch. “I saw her come in behind you. I saw my lord of Essex arguing with her.”
“What has that to do with me?” he asked, eyebrows raised and chin tilted haughtily. “I know nothing of Lady Essex or her quarrels with her husband.”
Elizabeth pursed her lips. “Then where were you?”
Robert took a deep breath and expelled it; he assumed the stance of someone attempting to explain something to an especially thick child.
“I was performing my duties as the queen’s Master of Horse. If you must know, I was in the stables, helping to foal a mare.” It was a thumping lie, but it was something that the queen was unlikely to check. And it would explain why he was straightening his doublet!
She looked taken aback. “Foaling a mare? Why? Have we no grooms or farriers to see to such?”
“Why?” he repeated. “Because every piece of horseflesh in the royal stable is under my purview, and is my responsibility. There are aspects of my life, Elizabeth, of which you know nothing.” A pompous statement to put her off the scent; but God send that it remained true!
“All right, then,” she said. “But why did you not send word? I was right vexed. Pour us some wine.”
He was just about to breathe a sigh of relief when she said, “And what were Douglass and Frances going on about?”
His hands shook so much at the mentio
n of those two names that he almost spilled the wine. Thank God his back was to her!
“I forget me,” he said casually. “Something about an unpaid wager.” The offense again, his only hope! “And what were you about with that oaf, Hatton, may I ask?”
Elizabeth banged her fist on the arm of her chair. “He is no oaf!” she cried. “And you were nowhere to be found! I had to make my entrance with someone. Besides, he is a much better dancer than you are. I was quite enjoying myself.”
Best to let her get away with that taunt, lest she turn her attention back to the scene that Douglass and Frances had made in the hall.
He was a good Protestant, who had read his bible; he knew that a soft word was supposed to turneth away wrath. He handed her a goblet and said, “I am sorry. It was remiss of me not to send word. I had quite forgotten the time. The birth was breech and I felt it my duty to attend until I was certain that all was well.”
Elizabeth sipped her wine. “And was it?”
“In the end, yes,” he said. “All was well.” He wished he could say the same for the tangled mess that he was in!
They sipped their wine beside the fire in silence.
Robert thought back over the past years since Elizabeth had become queen, and she his favorite. He had lived in close intimacy with her for over fourteen years. He marveled that as close as they were, he had been able to conceal from her his affair with her cousin, Douglass, Lady Sheffield. He had first become Douglass’s lover the year before, at Rutland, under Elizabeth and Lord John’s very noses. The summer Progress had stopped at the Sheffield’s country home for several days. He knew Douglass, she was a lady of the Queen’s Privy chamber, but he had never paid her any particular mind before. But that warm, sultry summer, she had shone like at star as the gracious hostess, putting even her beautiful sister, Lady Frances Howard, in the shade. A spark ignited and before long, he was burning for her.
He had not had to burn long; Douglass was aware of his long engazes, and one velvet night not long after, she came to him. And so had started a burning amour that no amount of lovemaking seemed able to quench. It was less easy to hide their trysts once they were back at court; Elizabeth watched him like a hawk and demanded all of his free time. But they had managed.
And then Douglass’s jealous sister, Frances, had found a carelessly laid lover’s letter. But Frances was shrewd; she knew Elizabeth well enough to know that she would likely destroy the messenger who came to her with such tidings as that her great love was playing her false. Clever Frances divulged the unwelcome news of his wife’s perfidy instead to Lord Sheffield himself. Let it be he who ran to the queen to tell her of Robert’s deceit! But before Lord Sheffield could tell Elizabeth what he knew, he died suddenly.
Douglass had always thought that it was the shock of her infidelity that had killed her husband. But Frances believed that the erring lovers had poisoned him to prevent him from informing the queen of their betrayal, and nothing would move her from this certainty. All had seemed lost then; should Frances shout her belief to the rafters, it would be like Amy’s death all over again. But instead of betraying them to Elizabeth, wicked Frances had instead struck an evil bargain with them. She would keep their secret…if Robert would become her lover, too. Oh, Frances was more than willing to share him with her sister! And he was nothing loath! It was obvious that never would he be Elizabeth’s lover. And even if he did have her, he very much doubted that she would have been able to satisfy him. No woman could. Even whilst in the throes of his infatuation with Douglass, he had not been faithful to her. Then it became apparent that Douglass was with child. It could be her husband’s; no harm done. And when Douglass quickened, there would come a time very soon when it would be quite convenient to have Frances; so insistent, so willing. But Douglass had miscarried the child, and things went back to normal for a while.
And then that very evening, disaster had struck again. Douglass was once again with child, and this time, with no husband to cover for them. Lady Sheffield must have marriage or be ruined. It was that which he, Douglass and Frances had been arguing about in the hall. And Elizabeth had noticed little, save that Lettice had chanced to enter the hall just after he did! He thanked Saint Michael and all His angels for it, if it had served to distract the queen from his real dilemma!
He was fond of Lettice, she was clever and witty, but there had never been anything between them save friendship. His argument with the queen over Lettice seven years before was the worst row they had ever had; Elizabeth had berated him before the entire court and shunned him for Tom Heneage. Never had he thought to be grateful for that dismal time, but he had occasion now to thank God fasting for that tearful scene with Elizabeth all those years ago, if it now served to divert her attention from the scene in the hall with Douglass and Frances. Their argument over Lettice had been fierce, but in the end he had convinced her that there was nothing between the two of them. And the falling out of friends in that case had certainly been a renewal of love. They had become closer than ever before, and remained so all these many years. And now this!
Robert’s eyes were trained upon his wine cup. He eyed Elizabeth from under his lashes. God send that his tale had convinced her of his innocence, at least where Lettice was concerned.
And what the devil was he to do about Douglass and Frances? Douglass was demanding marriage, and Frances was adamant that if he married her sister, she would tell the queen all. God blast all women!
He spied a bowl piled high with oranges and apples on a silver tray on the sideboard. A knife gleamed from the tray on which it sat. He was tempted; but there must be a better way.
Buxton, Derbyshire, August 1573
Lord George stood at the window looking out over the gardens of the manor house at Buxton. The summer flowers were in bloom, the insects buzzed about busily, and at least a dozen livered serving men rushed about, quietly efficient, seeing to the needs of the guests. He often wondered how Bess did it. She could make a penny do the work of a groat, and everything that she set her hand to turned to gold. He often thought to himself that if she fell into the moat, she would bob up with a gleaming sovereign clenched between her teeth.
The Romans had recognized the value of the waters at Buxton; remains of their occupation could be seen in the strange tiles that lay scattered here and there on the ground, and the odd coin that was found when farmers tilled their fields. Taking the waters as a cure had been popular on the Continent for centuries; why not in England? And so Bess had quietly and subtly informed the court that the waters that were to be had at her estate at Buxton were most efficacious and were believed to relieve gout, the joint evil, and host of other ills. But where to stay? Why not, for a price that included the healing waters, abide at the manor house that Bess had built especially for the purpose? It was not trade, the Countess was quick to point out; the waters were medicinal, and did not one pay one’s apothecaries and physicians? She was willing to share her healing waters…for a price.
As his eyes traveled over the scene outside, it did his heart good to see Mary and Seton, with the ever-present Willie hovering nearby, enjoying the fresh air and sunshine. He may even have saved Mary’s life by begging the queen to allow her cousin to come to Buxton to take the healing waters. For she had fallen grievous ill in the spring, when the news of the fall of Edinburgh Castle had reached them at Chatsworth.
The Queen of Scots had already been in a decline, if no one could see it besides himself. But hope seemed to have abandoned her when he had been compelled to break the news to her in April that with the cannon supplied by the Queen of England, James Douglas, the Earl of Morton and Regent of Scotland, and the Protestant Lords, had breached the castle after all the years that it had been the last stronghold held in the Queen of Scotland’s name. The royal regalia and the last of her jewels had been seized. The regalia and the crown jewels were sent to Stirling Castle for safe keeping in the name of the little king; but Mary’s personal jewels had been sent to the Queen of England
in payment for the loan of her cannon and bombardiers.
The loss of her jewels deeply saddened Mary, but the news that Sir William Kirkcaldy of Grange and Sir William Maitland of Lethington had been taken prisoner had plunged her into black despair. They were the last of her loyal lords.
All through the rest of the spring and into the summer Mary had declined in spirit. He had hopes that time would heal the wounds of her great disappointment, but then Kinsey had met an untimely end in the stables one day. Mary may be a prisoner, but the dog was not, and occasionally needed to be taken outside. Willie had turned his back for only a moment, and the curious, incorrigible Kinsey escaped into the stall of an unbroken stallion and had been trampled to death. Bess had taunted Mary for weeping, saying it was only a dog, after all; and had not the Queen of Scots lost so much more than that? Her kingdom, her son, her husband, her freedom? Seton had said the first sharp words she had ever uttered to the Countess of Shrewsbury then; Bess had departed the room as she was bidden by the indignant Seton, with a little smile curving her thin lips.
Just at that moment, he heard Mary’s tinkling laugh, and it brought tears to his eyes. He had not seen her smile, had not heard her laugh, in many a day. With a troubled heart, he glanced once again at the parchment that lay on his writing desk. He must delay longer in breaking the news it imparted to the Queen of Scots. It was his duty to do so, and he did not want her to hear of it by way of idle gossip, a real danger at Buxton, where she had daily contact with others. He sighed and called for a page.
In High Places Page 63