A Favorite of the Queen: The Story of Lord Robert Dudley and Elizabeth 1

FOUR

When the Princess Elizabeth was taken from the Tower, Robert fell into deep melancholy. There were times when he felt he would go mad if he were left much longer in his dismal cell. He would look through the bars at the grass on which she used to walk, and he would remember others who had spent a lifetime in the Tower. Shall I be here until I am old and gray? he would wonder. But he did not really believe that could happen to Robert Dudley.

There was nothing to do but brood. If Elizabeth were Queen … ah, if Elizabeth were Queen, she would not suffer him to stay long in the Tower.

But at length change came.

It was June, and he had heard from the jailers and his servants that preparations were going forward for the reception of the Prince of Spain, who was already on his way to England.

The Queen was not yet forty; she would marry Philip and if there were children of the marriage, there was small hope of Robert Dudley’s regaining his freedom.

“My lord,” said his jailer one day, “prepare to leave this cell. You are to be taken to the Bell Tower, there to share a room with your brother the Earl of Warwick.”

He felt elated. He might have known that Fortune would not allow him to continue gloomy. It would be good to be with brother John.

The brothers embraced warmly. Imprisonment had left a deeper mark on John, Earl of Warwick, than on Robert; John had had no charming adventure with which to while away the time. He brightened with the coming of Robert, although they were very sorrowful recalling their father and Guildford.

“It might have been you … or I,” they reminded each other. “Mere chance made it poor Guildford.”

“Yet,” said John, “how do we know we shall not meet a like fate?”

“Nay!” cried Robert. “If they intended that, the deed would have been done ere now. If we stay here quietly and nothing happens to call attention to us, we shall, ere long, be free.”

John smiled. “That is like you, Robert. You always believed that something miraculous was reserved for you.”

“How can you know that it is not!”

“What … for a poor prisoner in the Tower!”

“Other poor prisoners have survived and risen to greatness.”

“You are indeed a Dudley,” said John, not without a trace of sadness in his smile.

Fortune was turning in their favor. They were to be allowed to have visitors. Their wives might come and see them in their cells; their mother might also come.

Jane came first, and bravely she smiled at her two sons. John looked ill, she thought; Robert had scarcely changed at all.

“My darling,” she cried. “Why, John … how thin you are! And you … you are still my Robin, I see.”

“Still the same, dear Mother.”

“You keep your spirits up, my dearest son.”

“And mine too,” put in John. “He refuses to believe that we are unfortunate. We are certain of a great future, he says.”

“Come,” said Robert, “it is not the first time the Dudley fortunes have been in the dust.”

“Do not speak thus,” begged Jane. “That was how your father talked.”

“But Father was a great man. Think of all he did.”

Jane said bitterly: “All he did! He led his son to the scaffold, that with him he might shed his blood in the cause of ambition.”

But Robert laid his arm about her shoulders. “Dear Mother, that is the way of the world.”

“It shall not be your way, Robert.”

“Nay, do not fret. The axe is not for us. See how they keep us here. They leave us in peace. We are well fed, and now we may have visitors. Soon the day of our release will come.”

“I pray for it each night,” said Jane fervently.

She wished to know how they were fed, how their servants behaved.

“We are allowed more than two pounds each week for food,” said Robert, “and more for wood and candles. So you see, Mother, if we do not live like kings, we do not live like beggars.”

“I rejoice to hear it. But there is an evil odor here.”

“It comes from the river.”

“We dread the hot days,” said John.

“I will speak to the servants. They must take great care to keep the apartments sweet. This is not a good place to be in … especially during the summer.”

Robert was determined to drive away gloom. He was sure, he told her, that soon they would be free. He guessed it. He knew it. He had a way of knowing such things.

She could smile as she listened to Robert.

“How glad I am, dear John, that your brother is with you.”

“It has been merrier since he came,” said John.

And when Jane left them she felt happier than she had since she had lost them. That was due to her darling.

He can charm away even my miseries, she was thinking.

Amy came to see Robert. John asked that he should be taken to another cell, that husband and wife might be alone together.

Amy clung to Robert, covering his face with kisses. He returned her embrace and for a short while he was ready to make love to her. It was so long since they had met.

“Robert,” she insisted, “you still love me?”

“Have I not made that clear?”

“I have been so unhappy …”

“And what have I been, do you think?”

“But it has been so miserable without you. I thought that you would die.”

“Nay. I have many years before me.”

“Yes, Robert, yes. Do you think you will soon be free?”

He shrugged his shoulders.

“But you do not seem to care.”

He was thoughtful for a second or so. He was thinking of freedom, the return to the life in Norfolk, farming, riding, making love to Amy. Was freedom so desirable? How foolish Amy was! He had a fancy for a different woman—a sharper-tongued, subtler woman, with flaming red hair and an imperious manner. He wanted a Princess, not a country girl.

“Of what do you think?” she asked suspiciously.

Had she sensed his desire for another woman? he wondered. Had she more discernment than he gave her credit for?

He said: “I have been thinking that if I had not married you I might not be here now.”

“Where would you be then?”

“In my grave.”

She stared at him for a moment, then she threw her arms about him. “Why, Robert, I am some use to you then.”

He laughed aloud because the sun was shining outside and it was good to be alive. He lifted her and kissed her with that sudden abandonment which was a way of his.

Now he was the passionate lover as he had been in the beginning, and when he was thus he was quite irresistible.

Amy was happy. She was with him again. He loved her; he was glad they had married.

She did not know that the memory of a Princess was constantly with him and that his thoughts of her filled him with a delightful blend of excitement, desire, and ambition.

The days were hot and sultry. The smell of the befouled river pervaded the cell. The sweating sickness had come to London, and the most dangerous place in the City was the Tower.

Day after day the corpses were taken out, but the place was still overcrowded, as it had been since the Wyatt rebellion. The heat hung over the river and the prisoners lay languid.

One morning John complained of feeling very sick indeed. Robert looked anxiously at his brother. The Earl’s face was a sickly yellow color and, to his horror, Robert saw the drops of sweat forming on his brow.

John had contracted the dreaded sweating sickness.

Five of Robert’s brothers and sisters had died of this terrible disease. He wondered: Is John to be another?

But he determined that it should not be so. He would not lose John that way. Here was something to be done after weeks of inactivity, and he was glad of it.

He called to their two servants. They came running in.

“The Earl is sick,” he said; and he saw the terrible fear in their faces. He felt reckless; in spite of his anxiety for his brother he almost laughed. He was not afraid. He knew that he would not die miserably in prison of the sweat. He would do his utmost to save his brother; he would be the one who was constantly with him, ministering to him, because he felt himself to be immune from infection. For greatness, he was sure, awaited Robert Dudley.

It was a glorious feeling to be unafraid among the fearful.

He said coolly: “Go at once to my mother. Tell her what has happened. Ask her to send some of her simples to me. Tell her she is not to come visiting until I send the word. Be very sure of that.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Already they were looking at him as though he were a god.

He returned to his brother and, lifting him in his arms, he carried him to his bed and covered him up. He sat beside him and, when the palliatives arrived from his mother, he himself administered them.

He talked to John, trying to arouse him. It was said that if the patient did not come out of his coma during the first twenty-four hours he would die.

Robert often wondered afterward how he lived through that day and night; he himself must have been almost delirious.

He found he was speaking his thoughts aloud. “The Princess Elizabeth is in love with me. Bars separated us and I could not approach her, yet was I assured of her love. If ever she becomes Queen, greatness awaits me … greatness such as our father never knew … the greatness he would have had for Guildford if all had gone as our father wished. I think of our grandfather—humble lawyer, a farmer’s son who rose to sit in the Council chamber of a King. I think of our father who became Protector of England—almost the King he wished Guildford to be. In two generations from obscurity to greatness … only to die on the scaffold. I am of the third generation. I shall learn from the mistakes of others. Perhaps in the third generation a Dudley shall be a king.”

Yes, he must be almost delirious to speak such thoughts aloud.

John opened his eyes suddenly and said: “Brother, is that you?”

Then Robert knew that he had successfully nursed John through the sweating sickness, and he was certain that the sickness could not touch him. He was as certain of this as he was of the glorious future which awaited him.

There were many Spaniards at the Court that summer. None could find so much favor with the Queen as a Spaniard. Her bridegroom had come and she doted on him.

Jane Dudley—although she could not go to Court, was often found outside the palaces in which the Queen was residing.

She pleaded with old friends. She gave gifts to the Spanish ladies. She would tell them of the fate of her sons. Would not this kind lady, that kind gentleman, seek a moment, when the Queen was in a soft mood, to speak a word for poor Jane Dudley?

There were many who felt pity for her; and so those words were eventually spoken to the Queen.

Mary loved her husband, and love had softened her.

“Poor Jane Dudley,” she said, “what has she done to suffer so?”

Jane was a heartbroken mother, and now that Mary soon hoped to be a mother, she understood maternal hopes and griefs. Jane’s sons had risen against the crown, but they had obeyed their father in this. Mary in love was a kindly Mary.

As the hot summer gave place to autumn she decided she would pardon the Dudleys. They would still be attainted of high treason, of course, which meant that their lands and goods would not be restored to them; but they should have a free pardon.

Jane was almost delirious with delight.

At last her sons were to be free. Land and riches? What did they want with those? Let them live quietly, humbly; let them abandon their ambition which had proved so fatal to the family.

But Jane’s joy was clouded. His imprisonment in the Tower had changed her eldest son John from a strong man to a weakling. He died a few days after his release.

Of Jane’s thirteen children only five were left to her. Yet even while she wept for John she thanked God that Ambrose and Robert (and in particular Robert, for even the fondest mothers must have their favorites) had come safely through the ordeal.

As Robert rode with Amy from London to Norfolk, all that elation which had come to him when the gates of the Tower had shut behind him, left him. He was conscious of a nagging frustration.

His brother, whom he had nursed through sickness, was dead. His mother had Death written on her face. He realized how deeply she had suffered—far more deeply than any of them; and he knew that having spent her energies on working for their freedom, she would not live long to enjoy the result of her labors.

And if he was a free man, what was left to him? Amy and life in Norfolk! It had been made clear that although the Queen had graciously granted him his liberty, he must expect no further concessions. He, Lord Robert, son of a man who had been ruler of England, was now nothing but a penniless youth, married to the daughter of a country squire on whose bounty he was dependent.

When he looked at Amy he almost wished that she were not so faithful, or that he was less attractive.

He said, almost hopefully: “I have been away a long time, Amy. You are young and pretty. Come, you have not been faithful to me all the time, I am sure.”

She was indignant. “But, of course I have. How can you say such things?” Tears welled into her eyes. She went on: “Do you think that I could ever meet any to compare with you?”

She gazed at him through her tears. He had grown a little older during his imprisonment, but he was no less attractive for that. If his mouth were more stern, that but added to his strength; and if the events of the last months had set a little sadness in his face, that but made his smile the more intriguing. Beneath the sadness there was still that gaiety and vitality which told any woman who looked at him that he found life exciting, and that to be with him meant sharing in that excitement.

He smiled at her, but there was a hint of impatience in his smile. He knew she spoke the truth. The women of the Court had always smiled on him; and poor Amy, tucked away in the country, had not their opportunities.

His father-in-law greeted him with pleasure. He believed that if Lord Robert was unfortunately placed at this time, he would not always be so.

“Welcome home, Robert. Right glad we are to see you. It will be good to have the house made brighter by your presence and poor Amy happy again. The girl has been moping about the place, driving us all to share her melancholy.”

And so to the simple life. But how could the gay Lord Robert fit into that? Wistfully he thought of the Court and all the splendors he had once taken for granted. Robert the squire! Robert the farmer! It was too ironical. His great-grandfather had been a farmer. Had he, Robert, then completed the circle?

He would ride about the estate, watching the laborers at their work as they threshed the corn in the barns. Sometimes he would take one of the long staves with the short club attached and help flail the corn because it gave him some satisfaction to hit something. He would take the fan-shaped basket in which the grain was winnowed and shake it in the wind. And these things he did with a fierce resentment. He, Lord Robert, deprived of his lands and riches, was now nothing but a farmer.

He took part in the November killing of livestock and the salting for the winter; he gathered holly and ivy and decorated the great hall with it; he sang carols; he drank heartily, ate ravenously of the simple fare. He danced the country dances; he made love to the local women, among them the wife of a neighboring squire, and a dairy maid. It mattered not who they were, they were all Lord Robert’s if he willed it.

But this could bring only temporary satisfaction.

In January Jane Dudley died and was buried in Chelsea. She left the little she had to her children and expressed the hope that soon their full inheritance would be restored to them.

After the burial Robert did not immediately return to the country. He walked the streets with his brothers and sometimes saw members of the Court from which he was now shut out. He saw the Queen and her husband; he heard the sullen muttering against the Spanish marriage; he observed how ill the Queen looked, and rejoiced.

In Smithfield Square they were now lighting the fires at the feet of Protestants. Robert sniffed the acrid smell, listened to the cries of martyrs.

Ambrose and Henry were with him one day when they had been to see the terrible sights of Smithfield. They walked, shuddering, away and lay on the bank of the river, all silent, yet with angry thoughts in the minds of each.

Robert was the first to speak. “The people are displeased. Why should he be allowed to bring his Spanish customs here!”

“The people would rise against him if they had a leader,” suggested Ambrose.

“As Wyatt did?” said Henry.

“Wyatt failed,” put in Ambrose, “but he might not have failed.”

“Such matters,” said Robert, “would need much thought, much planning and preparation between trusted friends. Do not forget the damp cell and the odor of the river, the tolling bell. Remember our father. Remember Guildford. And John was killed in the Tower, though he in fact died afterward. He would be alive now, but for his imprisonment.”

“Is this Robert speaking?” cried Ambrose. “It sounds unlike him.”

Robert laughed. He was thinking of April in the Tower of London and the passion expressed in words which were spoken between the bars of a cell. “One day,” he said, “you will see what Robert will do.”

“You are making plans down there in Norfolk? Have a care, brother.”

“My plans are safe. I share them with none. That is the way to make plans.”

Two men passed them. They looked over their shoulders and said: “Good day to you, my lords.”

The brothers were on their feet. “We know you not,” said Robert.

“But all know the lords of Dudley.”

“Would you have speech with us?” asked Robert.

“We served your noble father, my lord,” said one of the men. “ We forget not those days. May good fortune return to your family. My lords, the people like not the Spanish marriage.”

“That is the Queen’s affair,” said Ambrose.

“My lord, you think so? Others think a Queen’s marriage is the affair of her countrymen. Those who think thus meet in St. Paul’s churchyard. They welcome among them those whose nostrils are offended by the smell of Smithfield smoke.”

The men bowed and walked on, and the three brothers looked at each other.

Henry said: “Let us not meddle. Have we not learned our lesson?”

But Robert was not attending. He was thinking of the monotony of life in Norfolk. Here was the place for him—if not at Court, then among the agitators of St. Paul’s.

The excitement of the meetings stimulated Robert. There were plots to be made in the precincts of St. Paul’s, plots to depose the Queen and put the Princess Elizabeth on the throne. Once she was there, the dull life would be ended. He would present himself to her and remind her that he had sworn to be her slave. It might not be long before she was his slave. What woman who had loved him had ever been able to escape from him? That masculine charm was irresistible to duchess and dairymaid; so should it be to Princess and Queen.

Amy was fretful for him. Why did he stay so long in London? If he did not return she would die of melancholy. She would travel to London to see what detained him; she was longing for her Robert.

He tried to soothe her with loving messages and with brief visits to Siderstern. He explained some of his plans. “You see, Amy, at Siderstern I am more or less dependent on your father. I like that not. I would wish to recover my inheritance.”

“You will be in trouble again,” she said. “You will be sent to the Tower and I shall die.”

Then he would be his gay self, enchanting her as he knew so well how to; he would play the passionate lover. “How could I tear myself away from you unless it were necessary! But this is important. We shall be rich again. We shall have power. I shall take you to Court with me, and your beauty will startle them all.”

She believed him; and she longed to go to Court as Robert’s wife.

When he left her he would leave her with happy dreams. She would see herself dancing at the Court balls, clad in velvet, stiff with jewels. She would lie on her couch eating the sweetmeats which she loved so well, lazily planning the future.

Pinto would shake her head, and while she warned her mistress that she would grow very fat if she ate so many sweetmeats, she would be thinking that Robert was visiting a woman in London. Poor Pinto! She did not understand Robert. He was very ambitious, but he was content with his wife. Amy remembered the passion between them. But he had another love, it was true; the love of power, the longing to see his riches restored; and was that not natural in one so proud?

But Pinto went on sorrowfully wondering. If Amy could not hold him when he was a simple country gentleman, how would she when he became the great man he intended to become?

He came riding home from London one summer’s day. Amy saw him from her window, coming into the courtyard with his servants about him. Her heart fluttered. She was wearing an old muslin and she called frantically to Pinto.

“Pinto, my lord is come. Quick … quick …”

Pinto helped her to pull off the old muslin, but before she was in her cherry velvet he was in the room. He stood looking from her to Pinto.

“Robert!” cried Amy.

Pinto scarcely turned, because Pinto always pretended to be unaware of him. She would say: He may be the gay Lord Robert to others; they may tremble at the sight of him; but not Pinto. To Pinto he is just a man—no different from any other.

Amy’s cheeks were first red then white; she was almost swooning at the sight of him. “Pinto … Pinto … look!”

And he cried, his words mingling with his merry laughter: “Pinto, look! Lord Robert is here!”

“A merry good day to you, my lord,” said Pinto, turning her head very slightly and making do with a nod instead of a curtsy.

He strode toward them; he caught them both in his arms. He lifted them and kissed first Amy, then Pinto. Amy was blushing with pleasure; Pinto was prim with disapproval.

“Now, Pinto,” he said, “get you gone, and leave a wife to her lawful husband.”

“I’ll first see my mistress dressed,” said Pinto.

“You’ll not!” he retorted. “For I like her best as she is.” And he took the cherry velvet and threw it to the other side of the room.

Amy squealed in delight, and Pinto went sedately to the dress and, without looking round, picked it up and walked out of the room.

Robert, laughing, began to kiss and caress Amy.

“Robert!” she gasped. “No warning! You should have let me know.”

“What! And give you time to send your secret lover packing?”

Amy clung to him. Pinto often said that his constant references to Amy’s secret lovers worried her. It was as though, said Pinto, he would put bad thoughts into the head of an innocent girl. But Pinto was against him. Poor Pinto! Poor simple countrywoman, she had never really known a Court gallant; and such a man as Robert must seem to her full of a sinister strangeness.

But why think of Pinto when Robert was here, glad to be home and full of passionate longing for his wife?

But his high spirits did not endure.

He and his brothers had been warned, he told her, that if they did not keep away from London, they would find themselves under arrest. The Queen’s agents had most seriously warned them that they must not forget that although they had been pardoned and had eluded the death penalty they still stood attainted of high treason. One false step, and they would again find themselves the prisoners of the Queen; and if they were once more in trouble, it was hardly likely that they could hope for their former good fortune to be repeated.

Robert was thinking—as he often did—of the Princess who had so much to win, so much to lose, and who had survived most miraculously by waiting. He and she were young, and the Queen had played out her ridiculous farce of false pregnancy; it was clear that there would be no royal offspring.

He longed to see Elizabeth. He made plans for breaking into her house either at Woodstock or Hatfield and presenting himself to her as her constant knight, her desperate lover who was ready to risk his life for a glimpse of her. But he quickly realized the folly of doing any such thing. He must wait, and waiting meant that he must endure the simple life and a return to the woman who was fast losing any power she had once had to attract him.

He was exasperated often and there were quarrels which reached their climax in her peevish reproaches. But always he could sweeten her when he wished to do the sweetening. Often he wished that she were not so madly in love with him. Even when he was harsh with her, when he took her clinging hands from about his neck and put her from him, even when he cried out that he had been a fool to marry her, still she came back whimpering for more love or more rough treatment. There was about him—whatever his mood—that ever-present fascination which could not fade. His power was in his person—the tall slim figure, the powerful shoulders, the haughty set of his well-shaped head, the strong features, the flashing eyes, the air of extreme masculinity, the curling mustaches and pointed beard, the blue-black hair, the arrogant, careless charm; and above all perhaps the certain assurance that there was only one thing on Earth which Robert Dudley could not do, and that was make women cease to love him.

Amy had to accept his carelessness, his philandering; all she asked was that he should stay with her and give her some of his attention.

But he was, of course, impatient to leave her; he was longing for adventure and excitement, and when, after two and a half years of this unsatisfactory existence, Philip of Spain persuaded Mary to join in war against France, Robert seized the opportunity as heaven-sent.

When St. Quentin fell to the English and Spanish soldiers under Philip, Henry Dudley met his death. Robert was complimented on his bravery which was so marked that Philip himself sent for him to thank him and tell him that he had played no small part in the victory.

In the King’s quarters on the French battlefield the two men faced each other—the trim little Spaniard with the fair hair and the blue eyes, and the powerfully built black-haired Englishman.

Robert could not resist the thought which occurred to him: If strangers had come into the tent and were asked which was the King and which the commoner, it was not difficult to guess what their answer would be. Kings should tower above their subjects as great Henry had over his.

But the mild young man, who was heir to more than half the world, had a kindly smile for the handsome beggar.

“Your Majesty,” said Robert kneeling, “you sent for me.”

“Rise, my lord,” said Philip. “I know of your circumstances. Now that the battle is won you have my leave to return to England if you wish to go.”

“Retire, Sire! With the French in flight and Paris open to your Majesty’s armies!”

Philip shook his head. “I have seen sights this day which have sickened me of war. We shall stay here. It would be unsafe to go on to Paris.”

Robert said nothing. A wise man did not argue with Kings. Not to seize the opportunity of marching on Paris would surely be the biggest mistake that had ever been made; but it was not for a penniless lord to tell a commander that.

Philip said: “You have displeased the Queen.”

“Your Majesty, I am the son of my father. I obeyed my father, as it seemed to me a son should.”

Philip nodded. “You were right in that.”

“And now, your Majesty, it is my earnest wish to serve the Queen.”

“I believe you,” said Philip. “And because you have proved this by your conduct on the battlefield, I will give you a letter which you may take to the Queen from me. In it I am telling her of your conduct.”

Robert fell onto his knees and kissed Philip’s hand.

“I have asked her to be kind to you,” said Philip. “You may prepare at once to leave for England.”

Robert remained kneeling while he expressed his gratitude and his desire to serve with his life the titular King of England.

Philip smiled wanly and dismissed him; and Robert lost no time in setting out; and while he urged his horse onward, while he waited for the boat which would carry him to England, he was filled with joy because the first step was taken.

There was much excitement at the Manor of Hatfield. The Queen was very sick and it was many months since her husband had visited her.

Elizabeth now had some of her old servants with her besides Kat Ashley and Parry; she was still guarded although she was allowed to hunt the buck in Enfield Forest. Spies surrounded her; and she knew that all her actions were reported to the Queen’s ministers.

Gardiner was dead, and that was the greatest relief she had had for a long time. Her hopes had never been so high. Already ladies and gentlemen were coming to her and asking for a place in her household, for they knew now that the Queen would never bear the child she longed for. But after Philip’s second visit she had declared herself to be again pregnant.

Then Elizabeth shut herself up with Kat and demanded that the cards be read. Kat declared that the cards told her there was no child in the Queen’s body; there was nothing but the delusions in her head. Elizabeth had commanded that certain astrologers be brought to her; they came in the guise of servants, and much trouble that had caused, the gentlemen eventually being taken and tortured in the Tower, and the Princess herself put into great danger which might have cost her her head but for the calm answers she gave.

The weeks would have been tedious without Kat’s gossip. Elizabeth liked to talk of the Queen’s husband and how his eyes gleamed when they rested on her, and how she was sure that he had wished she were the Queen.

“Mayhap one day,” said the frivolous Kat, “we shall have the King of Spain asking for your hand in marriage.”

“What! Marry my sister’s widower! Never. Remember the trouble my father had through marrying his brother’s widow.”

“Well, the King of Spain is not so handsome as some gentlemen. There is one in particular…. I was thinking of that dark young gentleman who haunts our cards, my lady.”

Then Elizabeth would talk of the days she had spent in the Tower, embellishing her adventures as Kat loved to garnish her stories. It was like putting the flavor into a tansy pudding, Kat always said when caught in an exaggeration; and what would tansy pudding be without its flavor?

Marriages were proposed for the Princess. Philibert’s name came up again. Philip wished her to marry that man. Then there was Prince Eric of Sweden, whose father was eager for the match with his son.

Elizabeth resisted: “Never, never, never! To leave England? Never would I be guilty of such folly.”

“And why should King Philip, being so enamored of your fair person, so passionately wish for your marriage with Philibert?” demanded Kat slyly.

“Stupid Kat! Do you not understand his cunning? Philibert is his vassal. Philip does not know how sick Mary is. He cannot wait for me. He wants me near him—as I should be if I went to Savoy.”

“He seemed such a cold, passionless man.”

“You did not see him when he was with me.”

She always had an answer ready; and if she was often frivolous and coquettish, when danger approached she was as alert as a jungle animal.

But now the dangers were less acute. Even the Queen could no longer believe in her second false pregnancy. Philip, it was said, would never come back to her; and her days were numbered. Never had hopes at Hatfield been as high as they were that summer and autumn.

One day a young man came to Hatfield and asked for an audience of the Princess; and when her attendants asked his name he answered: “Lord Robert Dudley.”

When Elizabeth heard that he had come, her eyes sparkled and she demanded that a mirror at once be brought to her.

“Bid him wait awhile,” she told her women. “Tell him I have some business to attend to before I grant him an interview.”

And the business was to be alone with Kat, for only Kat must see the excitement which possessed her.

“Kat … my emeralds! How do I look?”

“Never more beautiful, Your Grace.”

“I cannot receive him in this gown.”

“Why not?” said Kat artfully. “He is only a lord recently free from the taint of treason.”

“Not treason to me, Kat. And I speak of dresses. Let us have the one with the green thread work. Hurry. He is a most impatient man.”

“As impatient to see you as you are to see him, my lady.”

“I am not so impatient that I cannot pause to change my dress.”

“Now have a care, my lady. Have a care. You are not yet Queen of England, and the man’s an adventurer.”

“I am an adventuress, Kat, and adventurers are the men for me. My coif.”

“You are beautiful, dearest, but ’tis not the emeralds nor the gown nor the coif that make you so. ’Tis the joy bubbling within you. Have a care. Remember Thomas Seymour.”

“I’m older now, Kat. I’m almost a Queen now. And he is not Thomas. Tell them to send him to me.”

He came and knelt before her, keeping her hand in his while he raised his ardent eyes to her face.

She is not Queen yet, thought Kat; but you believe she will be, my lord. Oh, my love, take care. He is too handsome, this man. There is too much fascination there. Even I go weak to contemplate it.

“It is good of you to come to see me, my Lord Robert,” said Elizabeth with cool dignity.

“Good!” His voice had a ringing tone, and all the confidence in the world. “The goodness comes from Your Grace because you have permitted me to wait upon you.”

She laughed. “Many people wait upon me now, Lord Robert. A short while ago they did not come to Hatfield.”

“Might it not be that they stayed away for fear of putting a fair and gracious lady into danger?”

“Or themselves?” she suggested. “But I hear you have recently returned from France, in which land you did splendid service to our country; so we could not accuse you of cowardice, eh?”

“Yet it was fear that kept me from Hatfield ere this—fear of what an impulsive action might mean to one whose safety is of greater account to me than my own. Could I have speech with Your Grace alone?”

“My lord, indeed not! Could I, a young and unmarried woman, be left alone with a man of … forgive me, my lord, but these tales reach us … a man of your reputation with my sex? Kat Ashley will stay. She is my very good servant and friend.”

Robert appeared uneasy. Kat Ashley was not noted for her discretion. But the Queen was on the point of death and Elizabeth was all but on the throne; he need not be too concerned about the gossiping Ashley. Moreover he knew that his lot was cast with the Princess. Her failure would be his; as would her triumph. There comes a time in the life of an ambitious man when he must openly show which side he is on. But if only he could be alone with her, what weapons would be his! How far might he not go at one meeting! Did she know this? Was she, the young woman who had faced Gardiner and his like with calm courage, afraid of Robert Dudley’s potent charm?

He said almost sullenly: “It seems my fate never to be near Your Grace.”

She liked such sullenness. It was manna to her. He was comparing Kat with the prison bars. Elizabeth felt dizzy with pleasure. Yes, she must keep herself aloof until she grew accustomed to such intoxication.

“You forget my position, my Lord Robert,” she said, taking refuge from her feelings behind her royalty. “Now tell me why you have come to see me.”

He lifted hurt and angry eyes to her face. “Your Grace must have known that I would present myself at the earliest possible moment.”

“Is this the earliest possible moment? How should I know that?”

“I had believed there was a deep and lasting friendship between myself and Your Grace.”

“Ah yes. We have both suffered, have we not? Come, cheer up, my lord. I know you for my friend.”

“I have brought proof of that friendship.”

He laid two bags at her feet.

“What are these, my lord?”

“Gold. You say I may speak freely. Well, I will do so. Many, you say, come to pay you homage. Since the Queen has grown so sick, the roads to Hatfield are becoming congested. Dear lady, if the Queen should recover, the roads back to London will become even more congested, and if aught should go wrong Hatfield might again become a lonely prison.”

“Aught go wrong?”

“It is a dangerous world in which we live.”

“You know of plots against me?”

“I know of no plots. Do you think that any would confide them to me … the most staunch supporter Your Majesty … Your Grace ever had!”

“My lord!”

“Aye,” he cried, “I have made that clear, have I not?”

He had risen and taken a step toward her. The impetuous man! she thought with tender emotion.

But her eyes flashed. Do not forget, they said, that I am about to be your Queen. But a caressing smile accompanied the warning.

“I trust you, Lord Robert,” she said. “What are these bags you bring me?”

“They are full of gold. I bring them as a token. More awaits you … if you should need it. I have sold lands and will sell more. The end of a reign is not always followed by peaceful succession. I wish Your Grace to know that if you should need me … in any capacity … I am yours to command. My recently restored fortune I place at your feet. These bags are but a symbol. These arms are yours, this heart, this body, this man.”

She was deeply affected. She held out her hand for him to kiss, but he did not take it. He muttered: “Your Grace, I cannot. You are so beautiful … I could not trust myself …”

These words pleased her as much as the bags of gold. She was not only a Princess about to become a Queen, he was telling her; she was the most desirable woman, who could make him forget all else because he loved her so madly.

“Go now,” she said softly. “We shall meet again.”

He knelt before her; he did not touch her; and as he rose he said: “When Your Grace is Queen of England I shall be the first to come to pay you homage and to offer myself in your service. I swear it.”

When he had gone, Kat picked up the bags.

“He has bewitched you,” she said.

“I know, Kat. And might it not be that I have bewitched him?”

“Bewitching is second nature to him.”

“Mayhap it is to me.”

“It is easier to be sick of love for a Queen than for a gentleman of fortune. Do not forget, when your hour comes, that you have other friends. Remember William Cecil who has served you well all these years at your sister’s Court, writing to you, advising you.”

“Why should I forget William Cecil? Have I not said that he is my very good friend?”

“Nay, you have not! But he does not possess a pair of flashing black eyes that look at you as though they would devour you. He does not tell you that your beauty goes to his head, that he dares not touch your hand for fear of seducing you here and now in front of your good servant, Kat Ashley.”

“Shame on you, Kat! Did Lord Robert say any such thing?”

“He did, my lady.”

“Then I did not hear it.”

“But you saw … and I saw … as he meant it to be seen. He is an adventurer.”

“Well, what should I want—a sit-by-the-fire? A dwarf? A pockmarked ninny?”

“So you want this man?”

“You are dismissed, Kat Ashley. I’ll have no more of your insolence.”

“You have my love, and love such as mine is indifferent to the anger it may cause. It seeks to serve even if the serving sometimes gives displeasure.”

Then Elizabeth turned and embraced Kat. “I know it, Kat. I know it. But don’t provoke me.” She smiled. “So he looked at me as though he would devour me? I confess ’twas so. But as long as he but looks, what matters it? Have no fear, Kat; I shall not allow myself to be devoured. Let us take a look at the cards. Let us see what they have to tell us of our tall dark man now.”

“Beware of him! That is what they will say.”

“I? Beware? Let him beware of me!”

“No, my lady, it is you who are a-tremble. Have a care. He is no ordinary man.”

“There you speak truth,” said Elizabeth beginning to laugh in anticipation of a passionate friendship. “He is indeed no ordinary man.”

November came. The house at Hatfield was the scene of much activity. The Princess had become more haughty; she was regal yet gay, arrogant and more quick-tempered than ever.

The Count of Feria called upon her, and this caused fresh excitement, for all were aware what this meant.

Feria, on behalf of his master, Philip of Spain, had come to ingratiate himself with Elizabeth.

The Count bowed low—lower, Elizabeth was quick to notice, than he had on their last meeting. Such behavior made her want to laugh aloud. She thought: So your master will give his support to me whom he suspects of heresy, rather than allow his old enemy the King of France to put Mary of Scotland on the English throne.

It was good to know that she was to receive the support of mighty Philip, and to know that whatever she did would not alter that. She could be cold to Feria, if she wished; or she could be warm, and neither attitude would alter his master’s decision. She was the lesser of two evils as far as Spain was concerned, and so she would continue to be.

“I am honored, my lord Count,” she told him, “that you should lighten my humble house with your presence.”

“It is I who am honored,” said the solemn Spaniard.

Elizabeth looked at him appraisingly and wondered what had made Jane Dormer fall in love with him. He was handsome in his way—but a Spaniard! Give her a good hearty Englishman. Always her thoughts returned to Robert Dudley.

She bade Feria sup with her.

“It gives me great pleasure to know that you come to assure me of your master’s friendship,” she told him as they sat at table.

“It has always been my master’s endeavor to show friendship to Your Grace,” he answered. “You know that the Queen is very sick indeed?”

“I have heard it.”

“Your Grace, this is a momentous time for you,” went on Feria. “You will be named as the Queen’s successor. That is the wish of my master. You know of his influence with the Queen, and it is due to him that this will come to pass.”

The light sandy brows shot up; the tilt of the head was haughty in the extreme. “Your master is my very good friend, I doubt not,” she said, “but I cannot see that he—or any—can give me that which is mine by right of inheritance. None has any power of bestowing on me that which is my right; nor can I, with justice, be deprived of it.”

“It is the custom in England that a monarch shall name his or her successor, is it not?”

“It is the custom in England, my lord, that the succession goes to the next of kin.”

“There were some difficulties with regard to the marriage of Your Grace’s father and mother.”

“I am my father’s daughter,” she said. “Any, who knew him and knows me, doubts it not.”

“You speak truth and it is the Queen’s delight—at the suggestion of His Majesty, my master—to make you her successor. I would have you know that His Most Catholic Majesty is your friend.”

She put her head on one side. Feria could scarcely believe that this haughty young woman was the demure eager-to-please Princess of a few years ago. She knew her position was secure; she knew that the Queen was on her death-bed; she knew that it was but a matter of weeks—or possibly days—before she would be Queen of England. She behaved as though that honor were already hers, thought the exasperated Spaniard.

“There will be conditions,” he said. “You will be expected to discharge Her Majesty’s debts.”

“I should deem it my duty to do so.”

“She wishes that you shall not change her privy councillors.”

Elizabeth lifted her shoulders gracefully. “I should believe myself to be at liberty to choose my councillors, as she was to choose hers.”

The Count was silent for a few moments. She was being truculent and he saw trouble ahead. He continued, “And, what is most important of all, she would require you to make no alteration in the religion of the country.”

She bowed her head and spoke with reverent dignity. “I would not change it, providing only that it could be proved by the word of God, which shall be the only foundation of my religion.”

Feria was too exasperated to hide his feelings. What troubles lay ahead for his master, for Spain, with such a woman on the throne? What could he make of her? She was all coquetry when he admired her dress and jewels, so that it would seem he had a foolish simpering girl with whom to deal; then unexpectedly he found himself confronted by a cunning statesman.

He was anxious for the future and he fervently hoped that he would be recalled to Spain before he had to serve in a country governed by such a woman.

Jane Dormer, the betrothed of Feria, called at Hatfield. Her visit gave rise to much speculation, for next to Mistress Clarencius she was the favorite lady-in-waiting to the Queen.

Elizabeth received Jane with reserve. She looked at her speculatively—this lovely young girl, this fanatical Catholic who was about to become a Spaniard … and a spy, doubtless for that lover of hers.

Elizabeth trusted Jane Dormer slightly less than she trusted all those of the Queen’s Court who had not proved themselves to be her friends.

Jane knelt and told the Princess that as the Queen’s health was fast failing she had, on Mary’s request, brought the crown jewels to Elizabeth.

“Your Grace, I bring three requests from Her Majesty. They are that you shall be good to her servants, repay her debts, and leave the church as it is—re-established by Her Majesty.”

“Thank you, Mistress Dormer,” said Elizabeth. “You may rise. Her Majesty may rest assured that I shall be good to her servants and pay her debts. As to religion, as I have already said, that is a matter concerning which I rely on no other than God.”

Jane said: “I bring also a casket of jewels from the King.”

Elizabeth was pleasantly excited. She was fond of jewels, and jewels presented by Philip—who she felt was already beginning to woo her—were doubly attractive.

“He says they are to be presented to you as he knows you will admire them and they will become you.”

“So those were his words?” said Elizabeth.

Jane assured her that they were; and Elizabeth, well pleased, treated Jane to a show of affection.

When she had dismissed her, the Princess became thoughtful. It was clear that Mary must be very near to death. She remembered Robert’s warning and the gold he had brought. Had she been too firm over this matter of religion? Had she been too haughty with Feria? What if Spain should withdraw support after all? What if the French King should have set in motion some plot for putting Mary Queen of Scots on the throne?

She sent for a man whom she knew to be one of her ardent admirers, and whom she could trust. Nicholas Throgmorton had been concerned in the Wyatt rebellion but acquitted on account of insufficient evidence against him.

“Go with all speed to the palace,” she said. “Enter with as little fuss as possible and make a point of conversing with the ladies of the bedchamber. Most of them are willing to serve me—with the exception of Jane Dormer and old Clarencius. The Queen always wears a black enameled ring which was given to her by her husband at the time of their marriage. It is unmistakably a Spanish ring. Send that ring to me so that I may be sure the Queen no longer lives. I remember when my brother died, guards were placed about the palace and the news was not allowed to leak out. I must know immediately. Send me the ring with all speed.”

Sir Nicholas departed; but before he had time to reach London there was another visitor to Hatfield. He came hurrying into the house, demanding audience with the Princess, and when it was granted he fell on his knees before her and cried: “God save Your Majesty! God save Queen Elizabeth!”

He stood up, towering above her, and she was filled with delight in him.

“You know this to be true?”

“I was determined to be the first with the news. I swore it.”

Overcome with emotion she turned aside. She was Queen of England at last; and the man who had occupied her thoughts for so long and so pleasantly stood before her offering himself in her service.

Then she sank to her knees and cried: “This is the Lord’s doing and it is marvelous in our eyes.”

For a short while she gave herself up to solemn contemplation of her destiny. Then she rose and turning to him said: “Now I am indeed your Queen.”

He bowed his head and murmured: “Your Majesty … your most beautiful and beloved Majesty!”

“My friend,” she said, extending her hand to him, “my very good friend, you shall not regret the day you rode to the Queen with such news.”

She drew back as he stepped toward her. He said: “I hear others coming. The news is out.”

In a few seconds this intimacy would be over. She allowed herself to give him a caressing smile.

“Lord Robert Dudley,” she said, “from this moment you are Master of the Queen’s Horse.”

“My humble thanks, Your Majesty.”

She noted the heightened color in his cheeks. The post in itself would bring him fifteen hundred pounds a year. She thought: Never did a Queen have a more handsome Master of Her Horse than Robert Dudley.

“You are well suited for the post,” she said; “and it means that you will be in constant attendance upon me.”

He said passionately: “Your Master of Horse shall be all that Your Majesty requires of him.”

The intimacy was broken. Others were coming to proclaim Elizabeth the Queen.