by Jean Plaidy
He now began to examine his dissatisfaction. He believed that above all things he had wished for marriage with the Queen; perhaps he still did. But he also felt a great desire to have children—sons—and they must be legitimate; yet what chance had he of getting legitimate sons while he must go on awaiting the Queen’s pleasure? Naturally he would prefer his first-born to be heir to the throne; but had Elizabeth decided to wait until they were too old to have children?
He had heard the words of the Scottish ambassador: “Madam, I know your stately stomach. You would be King and Queen.”
There was truth in those words, and it might well be that she, who would tolerate none equal with herself, had secretly made up her mind never to marry.
He had not, of course, been faithful to the Queen; but his love-affairs had had to be secret. He could never so much as look for long at any one of the Court beauties, for if the Queen’s jealous eyes did not detect a Court peccadillo, her spies would; and they were everywhere. He had powerful enemies who were hoping for his overthrow; Cecil was one of them, and since he had been made Earl of Leicester and Cecil had received no similar honor, the Queen’s chief minister must certainly be envious. Norfolk, Sussex, Arundel—those most powerful men—were only a few of his enemies. He knew that they were secretly working against his marriage with the Queen, and that the friendship they feigned to express was merely a sign that they feared Elizabeth might one day marry him. He suspected that Cecil had put into Elizabeth’s head the idea of marrying him to Mary Stuart, and although he had come well out of that matter as the Earl of Leicester, he could not help feeling that he had been exposed to a certain amount of ridicule.
Such thoughts as these were in his mind when he first noticed Lettice.
Lettice was one of the Queen’s ladies, and in appearance not unlike the Queen herself, for she was the daughter of Sir Francis Knollys, a cousin of Elizabeth’s.
The Queen had greatly favored Sir Francis and a good match had been made for his daughter Lettice with Lord Hereford.
Although Lettice bore a family likeness to the Queen, all who were impartial would agree that Lady Hereford had real beauty; indeed she was secretly voted the most beautiful lady of the Court. The perfect oval of her face was enhanced by her ruff; her hair was not red as was the Queen’s, but yellow-gold; her large eyes were brown, her features clear-cut, her teeth white, and she was tall and most graceful.
She was a bold woman and by no means afraid of provoking a situation which, if it came to the Queen’s knowledge, might end in disaster for herself and Robert. For her, the moment’s enjoyment was all-important. She was married to a man whom she did not love, and she was by no means displeased when she saw the eyes of Robert Dudley on herself. William Devereux, Lord Hereford, was some years younger than Robert and he seemed callow and dull when compared with the Queen’s favorite—the man who was acknowledged to be the most handsome and desirable at Court.
It seemed natural to Lettice that she and Robert should fall in love, and she proceeded to give him that encouragement which made him ready to put aside caution.
They met daily in the presence of others, but that was good enough for neither. Notes were exchanged; he must see her in private.
Could they meet in the pond garden? A meeting by night was arranged. A full moon shone that night on Hampton Court Palace.
This was recklessness. Robert knew it. But he was tired of waiting for the Queen’s decision; he was tired of village girls. He was even wondering what the Queen’s reaction would be if he told her he had decided to marry Lettice Knollys. It was true that Lettice had a husband, but husbands and wives could be dismissed in special circumstances. There was divorce. But he remembered Amy and the trouble she had caused. He had no real intention of marrying anyone but the Queen. Who knew, if he told her of his affection for Lettice. Elizabeth might realize that she was putting too great a strain upon him and, since he was sure she would never allow him to marry anyone else, marry him herself?
His thoughts were a little incoherent, but he was safe with a married woman; and why should he not enjoy a love affair which might bring him closer to marriage with the Queen?
Was this recklessness after all? Or was it sound good sense?
He went down to the pond garden to wait.
But Lettice did not come.
Nor came the storm for which Robert waited, for he knew that Elizabeth had discovered his philandering.
Elizabeth was not merely a jealous woman; she did not forget that she was also the Queen. The affair had not surprised her and she was not so displeased as Robert imagined her to be. The death of Amy had taught her a good deal. Love of power was in future to be the big brother in charge of her wayward affections; they should march together.
Her ministers were becoming alarmed at her failure to choose a husband, for suitors were not so eager to make a bid for her hand as they had once been. All the world believed that she was the mistress of Robert Dudley, and that as soon as she considered it expedient to do so, she was going to marry him. It was believed that only the scandals which still clung to her favorite, and which must touch herself, were preventing her.
She had been over-fond of Robert. Now she would show the world that he was not the only handsome man at her Court, and that fond as she was of him, she had affection to spare for others.
She was cleverer than Robert; he was merely a man, with a man’s appetites, while she was a Queen who knew the meaning of power, the absolute joy which that power alone could give her; and she intended never to forget it, never to place it in jeopardy if she could help it.
She admitted that Lettice was beautiful. She would have been furious if he had chosen any but a beautiful woman. Lettice was also married and that meant he could not become too involved with her. The gossips were busy. Robert should flirt with Lettice while the Queen showed the world that Robert was merely one of the young men whom she liked to have about her. She had already singled out a charming gentleman who was married to one of her ladies: Sir Thomas Heneage, a gentleman of the bedchamber. He was already wondering why favors such as those heaped upon Leicester should not fall on other handsome shoulders.
Very well, let the world see her affection straying from Robert. Then the suitors would re-appear and Master Cecil and his men would be satisfied because they could dabble in foreign politics to their hearts’ content. The Queen did not like to think that she had frightened away her suitors; one of the most amusing pastimes of her reign had been to consider marriage with one or other of them.
But moonlight meetings in the pond garden she would not allow. Robert’s love affair with Lettice must not go beyond a few languishing glances and whispered words. Let Robert wait in suspense. Let him, if he dare, make another assignation with Lettice. He should never keep it. Meanwhile the Court might whisper that the Queen seemed less fond of Leicester and was keeping at her side a most handsome gentleman of her bedchamber.
Negotiations with Austria were renewed, for the Emperor had died and Charles’s brother had taken the Imperial crown. The Queen was now thirty-three years old, and her ministers were restive. How could they hope for an heir if she did not marry soon?
She was alarmed, she told Cecil, concerning the religion of the Archduke. “Remember,” she said, “the marriage of my sister. The people were against it, and it brought no good to England. And, Master Cecil, if you would say that I might marry an Englishman, I would ask you to turn your eyes to what has happened to my sister of Scotland.”
She was clever. She knew what she was talking about. The Queen of Scots had found in her husband, Darnley, a weak and dissolute youth who was no good to her. The murder of David Rizzio before the Queen’s eyes had just taken place, and the world was still shocked by it. The Queen of Scots was six months pregnant, and there were many who said that the child she carried was Rizzio’s.
Here was a pretty scandal, Elizabeth could point out to her ministers, a scandal such as—in spite of the evil gossip of lewd people
—no one had been able to lay at her door. Here was a fine example of marriage; and she would say to them all that it made her cling more eagerly than ever to the single state.
Let her ministers contemplate affairs in Scotland before they urged her to set out on the perilous journey which the Scottish Queen was undertaking with such dire results.
Her ministers quailed before her; in a battle of words she could always confound them. They were called upon to face her feminine illogicality to which they could find no answer in their masculine logic; and when they were exasperated almost beyond endurance, and when they were ready to retire from office rather than serve such a woman, she would turn about and present them with an irrefutable truth which would astound them, since for all their clear thinking, they had missed it.
She kept her eyes on Scotland; she dreamed of having the Queen of Scots in her power. Catharine Grey was still her prisoner; Catharine’s sister, Mary, had obligingly made a love match without the Queen’s consent, and now Mary and her husband with Catharine and Hertford were in the Tower. Darnley’s mother, the Countess of Lennox, who had had to be released since the sorcery charges could not be proved, had been sent back to the Tower on the marriage of Darnley with Mary of Scotland, for Elizabeth accused her of having arranged the marriage, knowing it would be against the wishes of the English Parliament.
Quietly, and for reasons other than the apparent ones, she had collected her dangerous enemies and was keeping them under lock and key. Cecil, Norfolk, Bacon, Leicester, Sussex, and Arundel watched her with amazement; they had thought themselves wily statesmen until they tried to pit themselves against this woman of thirty-three.
Cecil, who knew her a little better than did most people, did not now turn from Leicester as Norfolk and Sussex had. Cecil believed that she still kept a fond eye on her beloved Earl, that her seeming indifference to him was not to be taken too seriously and that it would be folly to seek the friendship of young Heneage whom she was using, partly to show Leicester that he must not turn to other women of the Court and partly to deceive the foreign ambassadors.
It was typical of her that she should get the utmost amusement out of the situation.
She ordered that Robert be brought before her. She would not see him alone, and there before her ladies and some of the gentlemen of the bedchamber, she warned him that she did not care to see philandering in her Court between widowers—however eligible—and married women. It shocked her profoundly and she would not tolerate it.
Robert wanted to retort that she herself set a poor example. Was she not casting coquettish glances on a gentleman of the bedchamber who was married to one of her women? But he saw the cold light in her eyes which told him clearly that this was Elizabeth the Queen who was reprimanding him.
He was profoundly shaken. He feared that if he showed any more interest in Lettice he would be banished from the Court.
Elizabeth was triumphant. She had established a new relationship between them. She wished him to stay at Court. He was a favorite—one of many.
This change did not go unnoticed.
Leicester’s reign is over, it was whispered. The Queen has fallen out of love. What of this new man, Heneage? Is he to take the favorite’s place? What had he that Robert had not? It was true that he was a little younger, but in everything else he was inferior.
Heneage was with the Queen on that day at Greenwich when, after supper, the whole Court was dancing in the great hall, and Cecil came to the Queen to tell her that the Scottish ambassador was without and wished to see her.
There was news from Scotland, and when Cecil had whispered this news into the Queen’s ear, she no longer had any heart for dancing. She sat down, putting her hand to her head, unable to hide her deep feeling. She said in a mournful voice to her women who had gathered about her: “The Queen of Scots is lighter of a fair son, and I am but a barren stock.”
Cecil waved away the women and, bending over her, whispered: “Madam, I know your feelings; but it would not be well for Melville to see you in this state. You must let him see you rejoice in the Prince’s birth.”
She grasped his arm and said: “You are right, as you generally are, my friend. Now bring in Melville.”
She was up and dancing when he came. She pirouetted merrily at the sight of him.
“This is good news you bring us,” she cried. “I have not felt so well for many weeks as I do on contemplating the birth of this fair son to my sister.”
Melville knelt before her and kissed her hand.
He said with emotion: “My Queen knows that of all her friends Your Majesty will be the gladdest of this news. Albeit her son has been dear bought with peril of her life. She has been so sorely handled in the meantime that she wishes she had never married.”
Elizabeth was pleased with this remark which the wily Scot had clearly added for her pleasure.
“You will be gossip to the baby Prince, Your Majesty?” asked Melville.
Elizabeth said that she would be pleased to stand godmother to the child.
But when she dismissed the ambassador and there was no longer need to play a part, she remembered with some disquiet that here was another claimant to the English throne who could not lightly be dismissed.
There was now no doubt that the Earl of Leicester had lost much of the Queen’s favor. Norfolk and Sussex came out in the open and showed their dislike on every occasion. Only Cecil, being wiser, kept aloof from the feud between them.
For the Twelfth Night Festivities the Queen astonished all by proclaiming Sir Thomas Heneage King of the Bean—a role which normally would have fallen to Robert Dudley, for none had the wit, the charm, and the gaiety to play the part as he had always played it.
Robert was secretly furious but he could do nothing. It was impossible for him to have private audience with the Queen, and he wished to speak to her in a way which he could not use before others.
Elizabeth appeared to be completely diverted by the new favorite. Norfolk and Sussex tittered together, and some of their followers were involved in quarrels with Robert’s men.
It was an intolerable position for Robert. Cecil was outwardly his friend, but Robert knew that he was merely following his cautious course; one word from the Queen that her indifference had turned to dislike, and Robert would have hardly a friend at Court. As for the people, he had never been popular with them; they had blamed him for all the scandal which had touched the Queen.
He was wondering whether he would support the marriage with the Archduke. But he could not do that; it would be to deny all that he had hoped for. He had ceased to look at Lettice, and was greatly disturbed because the Queen did not seem to be interested, while she herself continued to smile at Heneage. He had believed in the first place that when he dropped Lettice, she would drop Heneage; but she was clearly showing him that he and she were no longer on the old terms. If he were to continue at Court he would, like everyone else, have to obey the Queen.
He felt desolate and melancholy; and the Twelfth Night Festivities seemed to him the climax of his suffering, for during them Heneage was deliberately insulting. He ordered Leicester to ask the Queen a question, which was: “Which is the more difficult to erase from the mind, an evil opinion created by a wicked informer, or jealousy?”
This was a significant question, made doubly so since the man Elizabeth had once so evidently loved must ask it of her.
With the nonchalance to be expected of him, Robert put the question to the Queen, who smiling, pretended to consider deeply before answering: “My lord, it is my opinion that both are hard to be rid of, but jealousy is the harder.”
After the revels Robert, in a fury, sent one of his men to Heneage’s apartments with a warning that he should prepare himself for the arrival of the Earl of Leicester, who was about to set out with a stick with which he would administer a beating to Thomas Heneage.
Heneage’s reply was that the Earl of Leicester was welcome, but if he should come with a stick he would find a sword wait
ing for him.
Robert was baffled. He dared not provoke a duel, for duels had been forbidden by the Queen herself.
When the Queen heard of this she dismissed from Court the gentleman who had dared to take Robert’s message to Heneage. Dueling was forbidden by her command, and any man who took part in any attempt to provoke one should be punished.
She sent for Robert.
“As for you, my lord Leicester,” she said, without looking at him; “I beg of you, retire to your apartments.” She stamped her foot suddenly, crying out: “God’s Death, my lord! I have wished you well, but my favor is not so locked up in you, that others shall not participate thereof, for I have many servants, unto whom I have and will, at my pleasure, confer my favor; and if you think to rule here, I will have to teach you otherwise. There is one mistress here and no master. Those who by my favor become impudent, must be reformed. They should remember that as I have raised them up, so could I lower them.”
Robert bowed and without a word retired.
In the utmost dejection he kept to his apartments for four days. But at the end of that time Elizabeth cried in pretended surprise: “Where is my lord of Leicester? It seems some time since I saw him.”
He presented himself, and although she was gracious to him, she was no more than that.
Leicester is in decline, said his enemies gleefully.
Yet again she acted as though he meant no more to her than any other courtier.
Sussex openly flouted him while the Queen looked on.
Antagonisms flared up. Robert insisted that his followers wore blue stripes or laces that he might know them immediately and recognize any stranger among them. Norfolk put his followers into yellow laces. Quarrels were continually breaking out between the two factions; and the Queen’s reprimand was as harsh for Robert as it was for Norfolk.