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

SIX

As the months passed, Elizabeth began to regain her hold on the people, and she knew that she had acted wisely. All the world thought that Robert had murdered his wife; but how could they believe that Elizabeth had had a part in that murder when she showed as little eagerness to marry her favorite as she did one of her royal suitors?

The Archduke Charles was spoken of once more. She also pretended to consider Eric, who had now become King of Sweden. She was sure of herself now, and determined never again to be the prey of her emotions.

This did not mean that she loved Robert any the less. She was unhappy when he was not with her and she was gay in his company; she liked to keep him at Court, guessing whether or not she would marry him.

She could not hide her affection. She believed she would never know another man who could stir her emotions as Robert did. Steadfast affection was one of her qualities, as Kat Ashley and Parry had seen; they had betrayed her once, but she understood and forgave them; once she loved, she did not easily cast that love from her.

And Robert’s charm had by no means diminished. To him their life together might seem unfulfilled; not so to her. She had all she wanted from him—his company, his admiration, his passionate love, which must always be kept at fever heat. She could almost be grateful to Amy for preventing their marriage—first as his wife by her existence, and then as his victim by her mysterious death.

The Queen was gay during those months, enjoying the festivals which were prepared for her, delighting to honor those who pleased her—and none did that as much as Robert. They did not understand her, these people about her; when Robert knelt to her and she so far lost her dignity before a company of statesmen, courtiers and ambassadors, as to stretch out a hand and stroke the curling hair at his neck and even call attention to his well-shaped head, they thought she was so much in love with him that she would surely marry him. They did not understand her desires; and it was her delight, as well as her necessity, to keep her secrets.

There were quarrels. He was the most arrogant of men, raging to be the master. Well, she would ask herself, how could I love a ninny? How could I love a man who was afraid to cross me for fear of losing my favors? A man must be a man, and never was there such a man as Lord Robert Dudley. She showered gifts upon him, it was true; but she wished them to be the rewards of the statesman not the lover. He was indeed becoming a statesman, taking a great interest in affairs of a political nature, preparing himself for the role of King of England. She would watch him, strutting a little. And why should he not? Was it not for men to strut? Why should he not show insolence to my lord of Norfolk who thought himself more royal than the Queen herself? A pox on Norfolk! A pox on the whole Howard breed! Her father had had to lower their pride; nor would she hesitate to do the same. They thought too much of their birth; they worried too much whether a man’s ancestors were lords or farmers. They should take care, for my Lord Robert would stomach none of their insolence; and, by God, she thought, I’ll make him an Earl … the mightiest Earl in the Kingdom, one day.

But although it gave her great pleasure to see him in his manly arrogance, she too enjoyed teasing him. At times she would stamp her foot, slap his face, and would herself remind him of his humble origins. “Do not dare show your arrogance to me, my lord. Remember it is to me you owe your position here at Court.” She would pretend that he had offended her over some lack of courtesy to the Queen when in truth they both knew that her outburst was due to her having caught him smiling a little too tenderly at one of her women.

She implied that she expected fidelity from him; but in reality she did not. He must be essentially masculine; and he was. Men, she believed, were not noted for their fidelity. Not for her some sighing love-sick fool. She must have a rampaging lover, impatient, angry sometimes, wayward perhaps. Robert had all these characteristics; and he provided all the joy in her life.

He longed for rank that he might flaunt it in the faces of such as Norfolk. He wanted to take first place, not only through the Queen’s love, but in his own right of nobility.

He would come familiarly into her bedchamber, startling her ladies; and once, after he had kissed her hand, he had the temerity to kiss her cheek … before them all.

“My lord!” she reproved him with mock dignity, but her eyes sparkled and he was in no mood to be moved by her assumed anger.

“I have kissed you before them all,” he said. “So would I serve you careless of others … all through the day … all through the night … all through my life.”

“Listen to him!” she cried. “What if the whole Court came in to kiss me good morning!”

“They should never enter this chamber. My sword would prevent them.”

She looked at her women, commanding them to admire him. She knew there were several among them whose thoughts were occupied unduly with Lord Robert Dudley.

He had dared to take her shift from the hands of the woman who held it; but Kat had snatched it away from him, declaring that it was not meet for a man to know the Queen wore such a garment.

How Elizabeth loved such games! She sat there imperiously, aware of his desires, protected by her women.

“Don’t dare leave me with Lord Robert! I fear this man!” she cried.

And his answer came: “If I read your Majesty’s meaning, you have need to fear him … though he would protect your life with his.”

“I know it,” she said tenderly. “But I forbid you to come thus into my chamber … ever again.”

But he heeded not the warning; he knew that she would be dis appointed if he did not come. Kat said it was as it had been with my lord Admiral. Did Her Majesty remember? It seemed that these big and handsome men found great delight in storming her chamber.

Kat’s face was slapped affectionately; and Elizabeth was very gay that morning.

When she next saw him she reproved him, whispering to him under cover of the music which was played in the gallery.

“My lord, you go too far.”

“Nay,” he said, “not far enough!”

“In my bedchamber! And daring to hand me my garments!”

“Ere long I trust I shall be with you all through the days and nights.”

“Ah … if that might only be!”

He showed his exasperation, which set a frown between his well-shaped brows. “It could be … quite simply.”

“No, Robert, not yet.”

“Not yet!” he cried hopefully; and he would have seized her hand but she prevented him.

“Have a care, foolish one. Do you want the whole Court to start its scandals once more?”

“They have never stopped.”

“How dare you suggest there are scandals concerning me? You forget I am your Queen.”

“Would I could forget it! Would it were not so…. Then …”

“Then you would have no need of me?”

“If you were a dairymaid I would have need of you.”

She laughed and retorted with the Tudor frankness: “Yes, for five minutes under a hedge.”

“Five minutes under a hedge and for the rest of my life.”

“Robert, when you look at me thus I believe that to be true. But we are too far apart.”

“That could be remedied.”

“It shall be, my darling.”

But later, when the papers which would have made Robert an Earl and restored the Earldom of Warwick to his brother Ambrose were put before her, she was in a perverse mood.

He was with her at the time; she looked from him to the papers. If he were an Earl—and the Earldom she would grant him would be one which hitherto had been granted to none but persons of royal blood—she knew that she would be very close to marriage with him. She could not help noticing the gleam in his eyes; she remembered how she herself had coveted the crown. She pictured herself relenting—for indeed there were times when, for all her resolutions, she felt herself weak in his company. She hardly ever granted him an interview with herself alone. She was strong, but so was he. To her he was the perfect man and as such would necessarily be triumphant, and how could he be unless she surrendered? It was only because she was a Queen that she could resist him.

He should not have his earldom yet. He should remain her gay Lord Robert. So she frowned and, to the astonishment of all, asked that a knife be brought to her. When this was done she drew it across the papers, cutting them through.

“How can I heap honors on these Dudleys!” she cried. “Have they not been traitors to the Crown for three generations!”

Robert faced her, his eyes blazing. How she loved him! What a man he was! He cared for nothing.

“Madam,” he said, “I understand you not. How, pray, have the Dudleys failed to serve you?”

“What excitement is this?” she asked as she smiled at him. “How can I, my lord, grant honors to the Dudleys? Do you forget that my great father had good cause to send your grandfather to the block? Do you deny that your father rose against the Crown and tried to make your brother King?”

“If my service to Your Majesty is considered treachery …”

She lifted her hand and gave his cheek a light slap—the most affectionate of slaps—denoting familiarity and indulgence.

Those present smiled. This was nothing but a lovers’ quarrel.

She is as much in love with him as ever, they thought; but he has offended her of late because his eyes have been straying to a fair young lady of the Queen’s bedchamber. The Queen is merely telling him that there must be only one love affair in the life of Robert Dudley.

All the same he continued to be plain Lord Robert.

The Queen was tormented by thoughts of those who she feared might be deemed to have a greater claim than herself to the throne. Nobles of royal blood always haunted, like grim shadows, the lives of the Tudors. Henry, her father, had solved his problems by murder; he liked to know that those who might have ousted him were dead. That was a wise policy, Elizabeth often thought; but times had changed, and she was not the absolute monarch that her father had been; she was more dependent on her ministers. After the persecutions of the Marian reign, the people looked to Elizabeth for clemency.

There were three women who gave her cause for anxiety; two of these were the sisters of Lady Jane Grey—Lady Catharine and Lady Mary. She knew that there were some who still considered her to be a bastard and usurper; these people would like to make the Lady Catharine Queen. The grandmother of the Grey girls had been Henry VIII’s sister and there was no doubt of their legitimacy.

Elizabeth was continually afraid that there would be a rising against her. Indeed that had been her great fear at the time of Amy’s death. The Grey sisters had been carefully brought up and their conduct was not likely to give rise to scandal. There had never been any admirals in their lives to burst into their bedchambers and slap and tickle them while they were in bed. There had never been a handsome man so in love with them that he was suspected of murdering his wife. The characters of Lady Catharine and Lady Mary were quite different from that of Elizabeth. They were quiet, learned, and good Protestants. Many remembered that Elizabeth had been ready to change her religion when she deemed it expedient to do so. The Greys were gentle, pliable; Elizabeth was full of feminine vagaries. Many people in this land might think Lady Catharine or Lady Mary would make a more suitable Queen than this red-headed virago who had a penchant for goading men to scandalous behavior.

There was another, even more formidable—Mary Queen of Scots. She was a greater rival, and she was far away, so that Elizabeth could not keep a watchful eye upon her. She would have been happy to have Mary in England, nominally as an honored guest but in reality a prisoner. That was why, when Mary had left France recently on the death of her husband, François Deux, Elizabeth had refused her a safe passage. What a prize a captured Mary would have been!

Mary had said—so Elizabeth had been told—when the death of Amy had been reported to her: “Ah, now the Queen of England will be able to marry her horse-master!”

“Insolence!” muttered Elizabeth. “Could she but see my ‘horse-master,’ I doubt not she would throw at him some of the languishing glances which we hear are so fascinating.”

That was another quality of Mary’s which exasperated her. Mary was reputed to be very beautiful, and it was mortifying to be reminded that she was nine years younger than Elizabeth herself. At least there was nothing of the meekness of the Grey sisters in Mary’s character.

There were many Catholics who looked on Mary as the real Queen of England.

Such thoughts of her rivals often made Elizabeth fretful; she would lose control of her temper, and many of those about her would be chastised, and not only with words. But her rages were short-lived and would give place to pleasant smiles; and when she felt that she had been unjust she would always seek to make up to her victim in some way.

One day when she was riding to the hunt she noticed that Lady Catharine Grey was not in the company. On inquiring the reason she was told that the lady was sick and had stayed in her apartments. She tried to forget the trifling incident and, if it had been any other, she would not have given it a further thought.

During the hunt she lost her temper, and as Robert was riding beside her he felt the full force of her annoyance.

She said to him quite suddenly: “I have decided that I cannot put off my marriage. I shall invite the King of Sweden to come to England without delay, that the preparations may go ahead.”

Robert was astounded. “The King of Sweden!” he cried. “That man! He is nothing more than an imbecile.”

“How dare you speak thus of your betters?”

“Not being an imbecile, Your Majesty, I do not consider that man to be even my equal.”

“Master Dudley, you give yourself airs.”

His temper was as hot as hers. Their natures were similar; therein lay the great understanding between them. Each was quick to anger and quick to forget it; both were proud of their positions yet perpetually aware of humble ancestors.

He answered: “Madam, I speak the truth—which is what I believe you have said you wished from me.”

“I would thank you to look to your own affairs.”

“Your Majesty’s marriage is my affair.”

“I do not think so.”

“Madam …”

“I command you to keep your nose out of my affairs.”

“And I insist that your marriage is my affair—mine as much as yours.”

“So you think I will marry you, do you?”

“You have led me to believe that it is not an impossibility.”

“Then you are a fool to hold such hopes. You … a Dudley … to marry with a Queen! Do you think I could so far forget my royal rank as to marry such as you!”

“Does Your Majesty mean that?”

“We do mean it.”

“Then have I Your Majesty’s permission to leave Court? I wish to go abroad.”

“Go! Go by all means. Nothing could please us more. It is with the greatest pleasure that we give you leave to go.”

He was silent. She watched him covertly. There, Master Robert, she thought, what now? That will show you who is in command.

He performed his duty with great care and detached perfection during the hunt. She was almost restored to good humor by the time they returned to the palace; but she waited in vain for him to ask her pardon.

For a whole day he absented himself from Court, since there was no particular duty to keep him there. The Queen’s ministers were alert. They had heard of the quarrel. Was this the beginning of a coolness between them?

The following day Cecil said to her: “Since Your Majesty has decided on a match with the King of Sweden, it would be as well to invite him here without delay.”

She was furious suddenly: “I decide on a match with the King of Sweden! I have heard he is nothing more than an imbecile!”

“Your Majesty, he is a King and would make a worthy husband.”

“I am the best judge of who shall be my husband.”

“Then Your Majesty has no intention of proceeding with this match?”

“I have no such intention.”

Cecil retired exasperated. So her statement, during the hunt, which had been reported to him by those who worked for him, had been made with no other purpose than to anger Robert.

She waited for Robert to hear of her remarks. He would, she felt, return humbly and she would meet him halfway; there would be one of those reconciliations which delighted her. She needed such consolation after a whole day without him, for other men seemed stupid and witless when compared with him.

But he did not come; and at length, when she commanded his presence, diffidently he came.

“Why is it that you have absented yourself from Court?” she demanded.

“Because I have been making preparations to leave the country, and I thought by so doing I was obeying Your Majesty’s orders.”

She became woeful and helpless. Her eyes pleaded: So you would desert me! You would leave me to the mercy of my stern ministers. Is that all your love is worth! Do all your protestations mean nothing?

“My lord,” she said despondently, “is it your wish to leave the country? If that is what you desire, so great is our wish for your contentment that we will grant you the permission to go, even though it is against our wishes to do so.”

He was smiling as he kissed her hand with ardor. “How could I ever find contentment but in the service of Your Majesty?”

“Then all is well,” she said gaily.

“And the King of Sweden?”

She “pupped” with her lips, which was a habit of hers; then she began to laugh, and he laughed with her.

“Come,” she said, “sit beside me and give me the benefit of your conversation. I declare the Court has been a dull place these last hours.”

And when the French and Spanish ambassadors were with her, and one expressed his surprise that Robert Dudley was still at Court, as he had heard his lordship had Her Majesty’s permission to go abroad, she laughed lightly.

“I cannot live if I do not see him every day,” she said.

Then, because she fancied Robert’s smile was too complacent, she added quickly: “He is as my lap-dog.”

That brought an angry look to his face and she put out a hand to him with a very tender smile. “Nay,” she went on, “’tis true that I will not be without him, and where this Dudley is, there you may be sure to find Elizabeth.”

Then the whole Court knew that she was as much in love with him as she had ever been; and they did not believe—nor did Robert—that their marriage would be long delayed.

Time passed pleasantly at Windsor. Elizabeth walked often on the terrace which had been built for her before the castle on the north side. She was fond of walking and was often seen at the head of a little procession of ladies and gentlemen, with Lord Robert beside her, holding an umbrella over her if it rained.

Often she hunted in the park or the forest, for she was as fond of the hunt as her father had been. Bull-baiting and cock-fighting delighted her. She had a stage put in the castle that she might indulge her taste for the drama, and many strolling players had come to Court in the hope of pleasing her and making their fortunes. There were places too for musicians; and in the Windsor Castle orchestra were players of many instruments including lutes and bagpipes, flutes and rebecks.

But she did not forget that it was a Queen’s duty to show herself to her people, and so she set out on a progress through Essex and Suffolk, staying at various houses which belonged to those ladies and gentlemen who were wealthy enough and worthy enough to entertain her.

While they were staying at Ipswich, Lady Catharine Grey attracted the Queen’s attention.

It was during the robing—always an important ceremony, for there were so many dresses from which to choose, so many jewels which must be tried on only to be discarded. Eventually Elizabeth decided on a gown of black velvet and a caul that went with it set with pearls and emeralds; there was a black velvet hat spangled with gold and adorned with a drooping feather which hung over the shoulder.

While the Lady Catharine was adjusting the jeweled girdle she fell into a faint at her mistress’s feet.

For a few seconds Elizabeth stood still, looking down at the girl, who was very beautiful and in that moment astonishingly like her sister, the tragic Lady Jane.

“See to the girl,” said Elizabeth.

It was Kat who came forward and unlaced Lady Catharine’s gown.

“It is but a faint, Your Majesty.”

“Lift her up,” said the Queen. “Get her to a couch. She looks a little better now. She is too tightly laced, I doubt not.”

While the women were putting Lady Catharine on a couch, Elizabeth drew Kat aside.

“What do you think, Kat?”

Kat’s eyes were alert. When a young lady fainted, one could always suspect a certain reason.

Elizabeth’s eyes were steely. “I know what you are thinking, you evil-minded creature.”

“Your Majesty, I may be wrong, but I have wondered about the lady of late.”

“You have wondered?”

“It is a look in the eyes, Madam. I just cannot explain.”

“You said nothing to me.”

“Madam, how could I be sure, and how could I voice such suspicions unless I was sure?”

“It would seem you have learned discretion in your old age. This is a matter of some moment. She is not a mere serving wench, you must know. I have a duty toward my kinsfolk and those in my personal service. If your suspicions are justified …”

“My dearest lady, do not be harsh with her. She is young and so pretty, and Your Majesty knows how easy it is for these things to happen.”

“Easy!” cried the Queen. Had she not fought her temptations? Had she not almost succumbed? Did she not long to be in the condition which might well have overtaken Lady Catharine? “Easy for harlots it may well be!” she snapped. “But this is Lady Catharine Grey—one of three sisters of whose virtue we hear so much.”

She could not control her wrath and jealousy. She thought of the pleasure she might have enjoyed; and being Elizabeth Tudor she was whipping her indignation to fury because the sly Catharine Grey was a possible rival for the throne.

She strode over to the group of women who were clustered about the couch.

“Well?” she demanded. “Well? Well? What is the meaning of this? Why does the girl faint in my presence? Have you discovered yet?”

“No, Your Majesty.”

“Then why not?” She bent over the Lady Catharine, who looked at her with frightened eyes. “Your Ladyship has often absented herself from duty,” went on the Queen. “Why? Answer me, girl. Have you been meeting a lover? Why do you lie there looking so frightened? What have you to fear if your conduct has been above reproach? But has it been above reproach? Come … let us see for ourselves!” Elizabeth pulled at the gold thread which laced Catharine’s bodice; she seized Catharine’s skirts.

Catharine scrambled up and fell on her knees crying: “Your Majesty, it is true that I am to have a child.”

Elizabeth’s cheeks were scarlet, her eyes blazing. “You … you harlot! You dare tell me that!”

“Your Majesty, it is not as you think. We were married before Christmas and …”

“Married! So your crime is even greater than I thought. What right have you to marry without our consent?”

“Your Majesty, we feared that it might not be granted and we could not endure to be parted … without …”

“Stop! Who is this man?”

“It is Lord Hertford. He is in France, as Your Majesty knows; but he is my lawful husband.”

“We will bring him back from France to answer for his sins. As for you, you will go to your apartment and there you will stay … my prisoner.”

“Your Majesty …” The girl had flung her arms about the Queen’s knees. “I beg of you, have pity on me. Do not blame him. It was not our fault …”

“So you were forced to marry against your wills, I suppose?”

“We acted so, Your Majesty, because we truly loved.”

“Take her away,” said Elizabeth. “I am covered with shame that this should happen in my Court. I do not believe there was a marriage. The girl’s a slut, and she talks thus to throw dust in our eyes. Take her away at once. She offends us.”

She gave Catharine a push with her foot, and the girl fell backward. Two ladies-in-waiting came and helped her to her feet; they led her away weeping.

“See that she is well guarded,” said Elizabeth.

And as she turned away, she was smiling. The Lady Catharine Grey had put herself into the Queen’s power, and Elizabeth was too shrewd a statesman to miss the opportunity which was offered.

Lord Robert came to the apartment of the Lady Catharine Grey. He was uneasy, for there would be trouble if the Queen heard of this visit; yet he could not ignore such an appeal as he had received.

She had sent a note to him, imploring him to come and see her. Robert was ruthless; he was self-seeking; but, beneath the shell which had been made by ambition, he had a kind heart. He was generous by nature, and it was his pleasure to help those who begged favors of him. He did not wish to bring trouble to any except those people who stood in his way or had slighted him. The Lady Catharine had never done him any harm; she was a beautiful young woman and he liked beautiful young women. Therefore, at the risk of Elizabeth’s displeasure, he could not ignore Catharine’s plea.

With great secrecy he was let into her apartment where he found her melancholy in her distress.

“My lord, it is good of you to come,” she cried.

“I am distressed on account of your plight.”

“Could you not speak for my husband with the Queen? It is for that reason I begged you to come. I so fear what will happen to him when he returns.”

Robert was silent. The young fool Hertford could lose his head for marrying a lady of royal blood without the sovereign’s consent, and he should have known it.

“The Queen is incensed that you should have married in secret.”

“I know, but what harm will it do her?”

What harm indeed! thought Robert. You who have a claim to the throne, some think, and about to produce an heir! Poor foolish girl! But so charming, so helpless, and looking to the powerful Lord Robert with such appealing and most beautiful eyes.

But he had not come to talk politics with the girl.

“You may rest assured that I will speak to the Queen on your behalf.”

She seized his hand and kissed it.

“But,” he went on, “this is a serious offense for a lady of your rank to have committed.”

“I ask nothing … only to live quietly with my husband and child. We will go away from the Court. We will live in the country. It is what we both wish.”

Poor innocent young woman! Would the Queen allow her to go from Court into the country where she might plot against the Crown, where she might ferment trouble? What an unfortunate family the Greys were! Would Catharine suffer as had her sister Jane?

“My dear sister,” said Robert, “I beg of you, do not hope for much leniency. I will choose a propitious moment to speak with the Queen. I will ask her not to be too harsh with your husband.”

“Robert, my dear brother, I have been so frightened. I have dreamed of late … about Jane. Poor Jane! She did not wish to make trouble. Did Guildford, I wonder? My sister and your brother. They were so young, were they not? Perhaps they only wanted to be happy, as we do. Is it our fault that we were born near to the throne?”

Robert comforted her and as soon as possible took his leave. He dared not stay long. As he went away he thought how ironical life was. The Greys had been born royal, and two of them at least wished this had not been the case. Yet he, who had been born far from royalty, longed to share it.

He did speak to Elizabeth about the Lady Catharine who, by that time, had become a prisoner in the Tower.

Kat was present at their interview, but he was accustomed to her being there and he spoke frankly before her.

“What will you do with that poor girl?” he asked.

“I am enraged,” said the Queen. “She … my own kinswoman … so to behave!”

He said boldly: “Your Majesty is envious of the child she will bear.”

“I … envious of a bastard!”

“Not a bastard. The marriage was lawful.”

“Without the Queen’s consent!”

“The marriage is lawful enough, Your Majesty. You would not be envious now if you were to bear a child.”

“How can you say such things to me!”

“Because from one who loves you as no other loves you, you must expect the truth. Elizabeth, we are wasting our time. Let us marry. Let us have children, as surely we were meant to.”

She put her hand in his and exultation leaped within him. “Would that it could be so,” she said.

“But why not?”

She shook her head but her eyes were brilliant.

“Dearest Elizabeth, do we not always see matters in the same light? We are one. We were meant for each other.”

“We see the world in the same light,” she said. “You are my eyes, dear Robin. Yes, you are right. I long for a child.”

“It is your duty. These perfections should not be allowed to pass away. They must be perpetuated.”

“I know of none who speaks to me so elegantly. What arts you have, Robert!”

“Nay! ’Tis love, not art, that puts these words into my mouth, the love inspired by the greatest lady in the world.”

She smiled and leaned against him.

Kat, watching, sighed. Why does she refuse him? wondered Kat. How can she refuse such a man? He does not lose his graces. He has murdered his wife for her. Dearest and most perverse, most strong and most frail Mistress, what more do you ask of a man?

But Elizabeth drew away from her lover. “Why should you plead for that girl? Is it because she has a fair face?”

“Is it fair? I had not noticed. I remember I have rarely seen her but in your presence.”

“She is pretty enough.”

“A pale moon compared with the blazing sun. When I plead for her, I think of you. That is why I say deal leniently with her. It is what the people would expect.”

“Robert, there are some who would make her Queen. My father would have chosen this moment to send her to the block.”

“But you have wisdom as well as beauty.”

“Was my father not a wise man, then?”

“Not always.”

“I think that could be called treason.”

“Nay, call it love … love for you, my dearest Queen. The people would not like to see you murder your rivals as your father did his. It is unworthy of you. You are stronger than that. A lioness does not slay mice.”

“What! Should I pardon her! Should I leave her and her husband to raise a brood of children to menace the throne!”

“Not so. Keep her prisoner and keep Hertford prisoner, but do not take their lives.”

She tapped his cheek in her affectionate way. “Did you think I should take their lives? Nay! I would not have her blood upon my hands. I shall keep her prisoner in the Tower, and Hertford shall be my prisoner. There I shall know that she is harmless. I would not hurt her silly head. Let her live … my prisoner.”

He kissed her hand fervently. “You are the wisest as well as the most beautiful of women.”

“Enough of Madam Catharine. Let us talk of more interesting matters.”

“Of Madam Elizabeth perhaps?”

“And Master Robert.”

“Then let us talk of the days when they met in the Tower, and of how he in his lonely cell dreamed of the future.”

“Well, that will make pleasant talk, I doubt not. I’ll send for a musician to charm us with his lute while we talk.”

He looked reproachful; but she felt too soft toward him to trust herself alone with him.

The Queen was pleased that the Lady Catharine Grey should be her prisoner. Lord Hertford was now in the Tower on a charge of treason. They should spend the rest of their lives there, decided the Queen. None should accuse her of having their blood on her hands.

She thought continually of that other and greater menace to her peace of mind. The very mention of Mary Queen of Scots could send her into a black mood.

If she had the Queen of Scots—and the Lady Mary Grey—in prison, she would be a happier woman. But there was another who had come to her notice; this was Margaret, Countess of Lennox. This lady was not very far removed from the throne, since she was the daughter of Margaret Tudor, Henry the Eighth’s sister. The Countess needed careful watching, for she had a son, Lord Henry Darnley; and women with sons could be very ambitious.

Prying into the affairs of the Countess of Lennox, the Queen’s spies soon discovered that she had been corresponding with Mary Queen of Scots.

Elizabeth laughed when the news was brought to her. “’Tis clear to me what she would wish. She would marry that boy of hers to the Queen of Scotland, and then plot to give him England as well.”

Robert agreed with her that this was doubtless in the lady’s mind.

“I wonder if Mary would take him,” mused Elizabeth. “But I doubt it. Madam Lennox sees him with a mother’s eyes. I see a beardless boy—more like a girl than a man.”

“Your Majesty’s Eyes sees him in the same way.”

She laughed at her “Eyes”—her new pet name for him. “What else do my Eyes see?” she asked tenderly.

“That the woman may well be a danger to my beloved one.”

“We’ll put her into the Tower. That’s where she should be.”

It was not difficult to find an excuse. The Countess’s apartments were searched, and some charts of the stars were found. Her servants, under torture, confessed that she had employed astrologers to discover how long Elizabeth would live, and they had foretold that she would die during the next year.

Here, beyond dispute, was high treason.

The Countess of Lennox became the Queen’s prisoner in the Tower.

Now she had two dangerous women behind bars; but her thoughts were still of Scotland.

That autumn Elizabeth fell ill of the smallpox.

All the country believed that she would die and that the prophecy of the Countess’s astrologers was to be fulfilled.

There was tension throughout the country. Two brothers of the Pole family, who had Plantagenet blood in their veins, tried with their followers to march on London. The plot was discovered and the brothers taken prisoner. They insisted that they had not meant to depose the Queen but merely to demand that the succession should be fixed on Queen Mary. Cecil and his ministers forcefully declared that there would be trouble until the Queen married and produced an heir.

Meanwhile the Queen had become so ill that she believed death was near. She opened her eyes and seeing Robert at her bedside she smiled feebly and held out her hand to him. “Robert,” she said, “so you are here with me. That is where you should be. You … of all others. Had I not been a Queen I should have been your wife.”

Those who heard those words were sure that if she recovered she would marry him.

She was filled with remorse because she had not treated Robert with fairness. She loved Robert; she would never love any as she loved him; and if she died, what would become of him? He had many enemies, and he had nothing but her favor. She could have given him the highest position in the land, and she had given him nothing … nothing but lands and riches, not even the earldom he had so ardently desired. Such nobles as Norfolk would deride him, taunt him with his lowly birth; he had no place in the Privy Council; she had delighted in having him by her side, and she had made a lap-dog of the most perfect man in her kingdom.

She sent for her ministers and gathered her strength to address them. “There is one thing I would ask of you, my lords. It is my dying wish, and I beg of you not to ignore the wish of a dying woman. When I die I wish Lord Robert Dudley to be Protector of this Realm. I wish you to swear to me that you will obey him, respect and honor him, for, my friends, he is a great and good man; he is the most perfect and virtuous gentleman it has ever been my lot to know.”

And when they had left her, having sworn to do as she asked, she lay back on her pillows and imagined him—Lord Protector as his father had been. She pictured him in all his manly beauty, his dignity and power; and she thought: How can I bear to leave a world that contains him? For what happiness could there be elsewhere compared with that of being near him?

She was not going to die! Life was too good while she had a crown which she had long coveted, and Robert Dudley was at her side.

She began to recover; and a few days later she again called her ministers to her. Robert Dudley was immediately to be made a member of the Privy Council. He was no longer to be a lap-dog. He was to be the Queen’s passionate and devoted friend, the statesman who must always be beside her to give her his advice, her Eyes, her companion, the man who must never cease to hope to be her husband.

In a happy mood she pardoned the two Pole brothers, providing they were exiled from the country; and each day her health improved and, with Lord Robert beside her, she planned entertainments to celebrate her recovery.

The Queen was fully restored to health when there came news from Scotland which infuriated her.

The Archduke Charles, who had for so long been her suitor, had now turned his attention elsewhere; and to none other than the Queen’s hated rival, that other Queen, Mary of Scotland.

The Queen sent for Cecil and declared herself to be insulted; she assured him she would never consent to Mary’s marriage with that philanderer of Austria.

As the Archduke had shown the utmost tolerance, patience, and courtesy, Cecil shrugged his shoulders and wrote to the Emperor requesting that his son’s advances should be made once more to the Queen of England. Elizabeth meantime wrote to Mary telling her that she would never give her consent to a marriage which could not fail to cause enmity between them; and as Mary’s heirs might succeed to the English crown she would be ill-advised to marry without the consent of the English Queen.

But the courtship of the Queen of England was beginning to be looked upon as one of history’s farces, and the Emperor wrote to Cecil that he could not have his son exposed to insult a second time. Cecil was perturbed. Eric of Sweden was now out of the marriage market. He had romantically married a beautiful girl whom he had seen selling nuts not far from his palace. So struck had he been with the grace and charm of Kate the nut seller, that he had defied all opposition and married her.

The Queen had laughed with great heartiness when she had heard of this, although she was piqued, as always, to lose a suitor. But now the news of the retirement of the Archduke from the field was disturbing.

The Queen must marry, and in Cecil’s opinion, if she now married Dudley the people would be ready to believe that she at all events was innocent of the unsavory suspicions connected with Amy’s death.

Perhaps, thought Cecil, when Mary had married the Archduke, Elizabeth would so intensely wish to be married that she would follow the example of the Queen of Scots. But Mary was ambitious. She wanted the throne of England for the son she hoped to have, and therefore she had no intention of offending Elizabeth.

She wrote humbly to the Queen saying that she would decline the Archduke, and was very willing to listen to any good advice on the matter of matrimony which her good sister of England would deign to give her.

So Elizabeth began to look for a suitable consort for Mary Queen of Scots.

Elizabeth was spending a good deal of time in the company of Sir James Melville, the Scottish ambassador.

The man amused her; he was so dour, so unlike the rest of her courtiers who had come to understand that one of their indispensable duties was to make love, conversationally, to the Queen, for the more accomplished they were in this, the more likely were they to succeed at Court. None, of course, had the elegant looks, the magnificent figure, the exuberant charm and the manner of paying a compliment which were Robert Dudley’s; but many of them were beginning to learn these arts, and almost to rival him.

Therefore it amused the Queen, while she plotted in her cautious way against Mary, to entertain this man who seemed somewhat uncouth. She would have him sit beside her, very close; she would tap his cheek affectionately; she enjoyed shocking him by the magnificence of her clothes, with the love-making of her courtiers to which she so archly responded; she would have music played while they talked, for she knew that he believed any sensuous pleasures to be sinful.

She insisted on his talking of that woman who was hardly ever out of her thoughts and for whom she felt an overwhelming jealousy.

“They tell me your mistress is a very fair woman, Master Melville,” she said.

“Aye, ’tis so.”

“And do you think so, Master Melville? Do you admire her as we hear all men do?”

“She is my mistress. How could I do aught else?”

“As a Queen and your mistress, yes. But then such a righteous man as you would admire a humpbacked one-eyed witch. Now tell me, how doth she look?”

“Her Majesty the Queen of Scots is neither humpbacked nor one-eyed.”

“You tease me, sir. Tell me of her clothes. Which does she favor? She has lived long in France, and they say that the French fashions are more becoming than the English. What do you say, Master Melville?”

“I know little of fashions, Madam.”

“But you must know which she likes. I myself favor the Italian caul and the bonnet. Do you know what is said of my preference? They say that I like it because it does not hide my hair, and I am very proud of my hair, of its color and curl. It is this redness which makes them say that.”

Melville was uncomfortable. It seemed an odd thing that the Queen should consider it part of his duty to discuss fashions and the color of hair.

He shifted in his seat, but she would not let him go.

“Whose hair is the better color—the Queen of England’s or the Queen of Scots’?”

“I beg Your Majesty to excuse me. I know nothing of such matters.”

“I believe that you do not remember what color hair your mistress has. It cannot have struck you very forcibly, you treacherous man.”

“Madam, I serve my mistress faithfully …”

She tapped his arm and laughed, for she was in a very frivolous mood; and it was as though her secret thoughts were so amusing that she could not refrain from laughter.

“I know it, I know it,” she cried. “You have not noticed your mistress’ hair, because it is so like other ladies’ hair that it has passed your notice. Now here is a simpler question: Who is the more beautiful, the Queen of England or the Queen of Scotland?”

Melville answered: “You are the fairest …” She smiled graciously at him, but he continued: “… in England. Our Queen is the fairest in Scotland.”

She pouted. “Come, come! That will not do.”

“Nay, Your Majesty pokes fun at this poor ambassador.”

“I am in earnest. I wish to know. I greatly regret that I have not my dear sister here in England. I would remedy the lack. I wish to know exactly how she looks.”

“Your Majesty, you and she are the fairest ladies in your Courts.”

“I am fairer of skin and lighter of hair, am I not?” she persisted.

“That is so, Your Majesty, but …”

“But what, sir?”

“Our Queen is very beautiful.”

“We have heard that said. We would we had her here that we might prove the truth of it. Who is the taller, she or I?”

“Our Queen is taller, Your Majesty.”

“Then she is too tall!” said Elizabeth. “For it is said that I am neither too tall nor too low.”

She was a little annoyed, and talked no more of appearances. This man was certainly uncouth; he did not even know how to compliment a Queen. She thought of the charming things Robert would have said to reassure her.

“How does your Queen pass the time?”

“She hunts.”

“Does she read?”

“She does, Your Majesty. She reads good books—the histories of countries.”

“And does she love music?”

“Very much, Your Majesty.”

“What instruments does she play?”

“The lute and the virginals.”

“Does she play well?”

“Reasonably well, Your Majesty … for a Queen.”

Then the Queen must play for the Scottish ambassador; she did so, and he had to admit that, on the virginals, she excelled her rival.

Then she must arrange for dances to be performed before him that she might show him how she danced. The inevitable question was asked: “Who is the better dancer, the Queen of England or the Queen of Scotland?”

He was frank: “My Queen dances not so high nor so disposedly as Your Majesty.”

She was inclined to be amused at the reply, but she answered tartly that she held the dance to be an expression of joy and high spirits, not so much a matter of elegance as she believed the French and the Spaniards looked upon it.

“Ah, that I might see your Queen!” she sighed. “You cannot guess how I yearn for a meeting. Would you could bring her to me.”

“I would willingly convey Your Majesty to Scotland. Our King James the Fifth went in disguise to France in order to inspect the Duke of Vendôme’s sister who was proposed for his bride. He was dressed as a page. What if Your Majesty so disguised herself?”

“Ah, that it could be so!” she sighed.

Then she said those words which set the whole world laughing and raised the high indignation of Scotland. “I have found a husband for your mistress.”

“Your Majesty?”

“Yes. I will give her the only man in the world whom I consider worthy to mate with her. This is the most virtuous, the most perfect of men, one whom I would have married myself had my mind not been given to

the virgin state. You have guessed? But surely you have. There is only one man who could fit such praises. I refer to my Lord Robert Dudley.”

The ambassador was at a loss for words.

She smiled at him pleasantly. “Ah, you feel his rank is not high enough? That is easily remedied. I shall do for him that which I have long promised. I shall make him the first Earl in the country. Now, my dear Melville, to your chamber, and write to your mistress that she may no longer remain in ignorance of the great good I would do her.”

Robert was furious.

He demanded instant audience and she, nothing loth, granted it.

“My lord, what ails you? See how I have your good at heart!”

“You would make a laughing-stock of me, Madam.”

“What! In offering you one of the most sought-after of brides?”

“There is only one bride I would have.”

“You are too ambitious, Robert.”

“I do not understand you.”

“You do not seem to understand that you speak with your Queen.”

“But you have led me to believe you would marry me.”

“Time and time again I have told you that I would never forsake the virgin state. Why, Robert, she is the fairest of women.”

She waited and of course it came: “That is untrue. You are the fairest of women.”

“Master Melville does not seem to think so, and he has seen us both.”

“The man is an uncouth ruffian from a land of barbarians.”

“I believe you are right, Robert.”

“Then put an end to this farce.”

“Come here, my love. Kat … a cushion for my lord. I would have him kneel at my feet. Nay, woman, the best of my cushions, for only the best is good enough for him. Hath he not said so?” He took her hand and kissed it. “Robert,” she said, “my fool Robert, do you think I would let you go to her!”

“Do you think I would ever leave you?”

“I’d send you to the block if you tried.”

“Then we see this matter through the same eyes as always?”

“Yes, my dearest Eyes, we do. But the woman is an arrogant creature. She will be angry when she knows I offer you, and she’ll not dare refuse you. But she will be angrier still when you refuse her. It will be as though you choose between us—marriage with her or the hope of marriage with me. And Robert, you are a man whom any woman would delight in having for her husband.”

“Except one who torments and teases and will not decide.”

“It is the Queen who is uncertain. The woman would take you this moment.”

“My beloved … my Queen …”

“Hush! That sly Kat listens. My dear one, now I shall show my love for you. I shall make you an Earl … the Earl of Leicester and Baron of Denbigh, that title which has only been used until now by royal persons; and I shall give you the Castle of Kenilworth and Astel-Grove. Now, you see, my darling, why I have seemed harsh to you to whom I could not be harsh. I did not grant you this state before, for I did not wish our enemies to call you my lap-dog. Now a great title will be yours; you will be the richest man in England—almost a King—and that is what I wish you to be. This I can do now, and none dare say me nay; for to marry with the Queen of Scots you must indeed be Earl of Leicester. And if you do not marry the Queen of Scots, you will still be with your own Elizabeth, and you will be none the worse—the Earl of Leicester instead of plain Lord Robert.”

He was kissing her hands, her throat, and her lips.

Robert was created Earl of Leicester with great pomp and ceremony at Westminster.

The Queen had insisted that, before he departed for Scotland, Sir James Melville must witness the ceremony, that he might report to his mistress in what high esteem the Queen held the man she was offering to her dear sister of Scotland.

She would allow none but herself to help him put on his robes. He was very solemn and dignified, and never had he looked quite so handsome as he did in his robes of state.

All those present noted the tender looks the Queen bestowed upon him; and, as he knelt before her and bent his head, she could not resist tickling his neck, there before them all.

She turned to the Scottish ambassador and, her face shining with love and pride, said: “How do you like him?”

“He is doubtless a worthy subject,” said Melville. “He is happy to serve a Queen who discerns and rewards good service.”

She smiled and her eyes fell on young Darnley who, as Prince of the Blood Royal, was standing near her. She knew that the sly ambassador was in touch—as he thought, in secret—with that young man, and that he hoped to make him, instead of the Earl of Leicester, the husband of Mary Queen of Scots.

She pointed to Darnley and said, imitating the Scottish accent: “Yet you like better yon lang lad.”

He was sly, that man. He did not know how much she had learned of his secret plotting. He whispered, thinking to please her: “No woman of spirit, Your Majesty, would make choice of such a man—for although he is very lusty, so I have heard, he is beardless and has the face of a lady.”

The Queen signified that she was well pleased with this answer, and her eyes went back with admiration to the newly made Earl.

Later at the banquet to celebrate the occasion she kept the Scot beside her.

She reminded him of the great affection she had for Mary.

“To no other would I offer Robert Dudley, the Earl of Leicester. You must tell your mistress that in so doing I offer her the greatest compliment I could offer any. I am giving her the man I would have married myself were I not determined to live and die in the virgin state.”

“Madam,” he said, “ye need not to tell me that, for I know your stately stomach. You think that if you married you would be but Queen of England, and now you are both King and Queen. You will not suffer a commander.”

She looked at him shrewdly. He was no fool, this dour Scotsman.

Very soon after Robert was made Earl of Leicester, the Archduke Charles, having been rejected by Mary, began again to sue for Elizabeth’s hand. Catherine de’ Medici was trying to get the Queen for her son, King Charles; and failing him, for his brother, the Duke of Anjou.

Elizabeth meanwhile feigned to consider these suggestions with rapt attention. She allowed Darnley, against the advice of Cecil and her Council, to leave for Scotland.

It seemed that as soon as the Queen of Scots saw the beardless boy with the lady’s face, she fell in love with him and decided to dispense with the consent of the Queen of England. She married him.

It was not until after the ceremony that Elizabeth heard of the marriage.

She received the information calmly, and laughed merrily over it with the newly-made Earl of Leicester.