My Enemy the Queen

Disclosure

The next day I left for Chartley with a few of my servants, accompanied by Philip and his retinue. I found him a most agreeable companion. The journey was less irksome than I had believed it would be, for I was naturally not pleased to leave Robert behind with those two who were clearly besottedly in love with him—the Queen and Douglass Sheffield. I could laugh to compare them—our imperious, demanding, all-powerful Lady Elizabeth, and poor shrinking Douglass, who was afraid, as they say, of her own shadow. Perhaps in the latter case it was the warning ghost of Amy Robsart. Poor girl! I could understand it, though. I could well picture her nightmares about Amy, for she could be in a similar position to that unfortunate lady—if her story was true.

In due course we arrived at Chartley. This time I was not depressed to see it as I had been on the last occasion when I had returned to it from Court, for very soon Robert would actually be within these walls.

I had managed to send a messenger ahead of us to proclaim our arrival, and the children were waiting at the gates to greet us.

I felt proud, for my little darlings were a handsome quartet. Penelope had grown; she was going to be a beauty, and now she was like a lovely bud on the point of bursting in flower. Her skin was smooth and childlike, and she had beautiful thick fair hair and the dark attractive Boleyn eyes—her coloring inherited from me. She would develop early and the signs of womanhood were already showing themselves. Then Dorothy—less noticeable perhaps, but only when seen side by side with her more flamboyant sister. And my darling of them all—my Robert, eight years old now—quite a man, adored by his younger brother Walter and tolerated by his sisters. I embraced them all with fervor, demanding to know whether they had missed me and, being assured they had, was gratified.

"Is it true, my lady," asked Penelope, "that the Queen is coming here?"

"It's true indeed, and we have to make ready. There is much to be done and you will all have to be on your best behavior."

Little Robert bowed low to show us how grandly he would greet the Queen and commented that if he liked her he would show her his best falcon.

I laughed at that and told him that it would not be a matter of whether he liked her but whether she liked him. If she did, I told him, "she might graciously inspect your falcon."

"I doubt she has ever seen such a falcon," cried Robert hotly.

"I doubt she has not," I told him. "I don't think you realize that it is the Queen who is coming. Now, children, this is Mr. Philip Sidney, who will stay with us and show us how we must prepare to entertain the Queen."

Philip had a word with each of the children and when I saw him talk to Penelope it occurred to me that he would make a very suitable husband for her. She was too young as yet, for the disparity in their ages was too wide at this stage—he being a young man ready for marriage and she but a child—but when they were a few years older it would not seem so. I would tell Walter that while Leicester remained in such high favor it would be an excellent idea to marry our daughter to his nephew and link ourselves with that family. I was sure my husband would agree with this.

My servants had already started to work on the castle. The privies had been emptied and I noticed with relief were not evident by their odor. The rushes were swept out each day and a large quantity of hay and straw had been laid in so that on the day of the Queen's arrival everything could be renewed. Wormwood seed was mingled with the rushes, for it was well known that fleas could not live with it; and sweet-smelling herbs were used to scent the air.

Beef, mutton, veal and pork were being prepared in the kitchen. Pies, decorated with royal symbols, full of meats seasoned with the best of our herbs, were being baked in the ovens. Our table would be loaded with dishes, otherwise it would be considered a repast unworthy of royalty—although the Queen herself would, I knew from past experience, eat sparingly. I had already ordered that the best of our wines be brought out; Walter was proud of his cellars, where he kept the products from Italy and the Levant. I was not going to let anyone say I did not know how to entertain the Queen.

Through the days of preparation the musicians practiced those songs and tunes which I knew to be Elizabeth's favorites. It was rarely that there had been such excitement in Chartley Castle.

Philip Sidney was an ideal guest. His easy manners and charm had quickly made him a favorite with the children; and the servants were eager to do some service for him.

He read the children some of his poems, which I feared might bore the boys, but even young Walter was content to sit and listen, and I noticed how they all watched him intently while he read.

Over meals, he told them of his life, which, to my children, seemed very adventurous; days at Shrewsbury School and Christ Church, Oxford, and how his father had sent him out to complete his education by three years' travel on the Continent. Penelope rested her elbows on the table and watched him as though she were in a trance; and I thought: Yes, I should like this very attractive young man as her husband. I will certainly talk to Walter when he returns and perhaps we can make a match of it.

Some of Philip's adventures had been lighthearted, others somber. He had been in Paris staying at the house of the English Ambassador on that fateful August night of '72, the Eve of St. Bartholomew; he had heard the tocsins sound in the early hours of the morning and, looking from his window, he had seen the terrible sights of bloodshed and massacre when the Catholics had risen against the Huguenots and slaughtered so many of them. He did not enlarge on this although young Robert urged him to.

"That night," he said, "was a blot on the history of France, and is one which will never be forgotten." Then he turned the occasion into a gentle lesson on the need for tolerance of the opinions of others, to which the children listened with an attention which astonished me.

Then he told them of the festivities at Kenilworth, which we had just left, and the fairylike scenes which had been enacted on the lake at midnight; he spoke of the mummers and the dancers, the plays and the pageants; and it was like seeing it all over again.

He spoke often and affectionately of his uncle, the great Earl of Leicester, of whom the children had of course heard often. Robert's name was known everywhere. I hoped they had not heard the whispers of scandal attached to it or, if they had, they would have the sense not to speak of it before Philip. It was clear that the young man regarded his uncle as some sort of god; and it pleased me that such a clearly virtuous person should have an entirely different picture of Robert from that of the envious scandalmongers who longed to believe the worst.

He told us how clever his uncle was with horses.

"He is the Queen's Horse Master, you know, and has been from the day of her accession."

"When I grow up," announced my son Robert, "I am going to be the Queen's Horse Master."

"Then you cannot do better than follow in the footsteps of my uncle Leicester," said Philip Sidney.

He explained to us all the art of manege, which Leicester had mastered, and that there were certain tricks which were practiced by the French to perfection. After the St. Bartholomew massacre, he went on to tell us, Leicester had sounded out Frenchmen who had worked in the stables of murdered noblemen and who he thought might be seeking employment, but they all had too high an opinion of their skills and the payment demanded was excessive.

"In time," Philip said, "my uncle decided to go to Italy for his horsemen. They had not such high ideas of what they were worth as the French. In any case, there is little any man alive can teach my uncle about horses."

"Is the Queen going to marry your uncle?" asked Penelope.

There was a brief silence while Philip looked at me. I said: "Whoever told you she might?"

"Oh, my lady," said Dorothy reproachfully, "everybody is talking about them."

"There will always be gossip about people in high places. The best thing is to shut one's ears to it."

"I thought we were to learn all we could and never shut our ears and eyes to anything," insisted Penelope.

"Ears and eyes should be open to the truth," said Philip.

Then he started to talk again about his adventures in foreign places, and as usual he fascinated them.

Later I saw him in the gardens with Penelope, and noted afresh how they seemed to like each other's company in spite of the fact that he was a young man of twenty-one or two and she but a girl of thirteen.

On the day of the Queen's expected arrival, I was on the lookout. As soon as the cavalcade was sighted—and there would be scouts who would give me some warning—I must ride out with a little party to welcome her to Chartley.

I received the warning in good time. I was dressed in a very fine coat of mulberry-colored velvet and a hat of the same shade with a cream-colored feather which curled down at one side. I knew that I looked beautiful, not only because of my elegant well-chosen clothes but because of the faint color in my cheeks and the sparkle in my eyes which the prospect of seeing Robert had put there. I had dressed my fair hair simply with a love lock falling over my shoulder—a fashion from the French which I much fancied because it called attention to the natural beauty of my hair, which was one of my greatest assets. This would contrast with the Queen's frizzed, puffed style which had to be augmented by false hair. I promised myself I must look far younger and much more beautiful in spite of her splendor—and that should not be difficult because I was.

I met them halfway from the castle. He was riding beside her and in the brief time since I had seen him I had miscalculated that overwhelming magnetism which swept away every desire I had except to be alone with him and make love.

His Italian style doublet in which rubies had been set, his jornet about his shoulders of the same deep red wine color, his hat with the white feather—all these were of matchless elegance; and I scarcely noticed the glittering figure at his side who was smiling benevolently at me.

"Welcome to Chartley, Your Majesty," I said. "I'm afraid you will find it somewhat humble after Kenilworth, but we shall do our best to entertain you in a manner which I fear cannot be worthy of you."

"Come, Cousin," she said, riding beside me. "You look in good spirits, does she not, my Lord Leicester?"

My Lord Leicester's eyes met mine, earnestly pleading, conveying one word: "When?"

He said: "Lady Essex does indeed look in good health."

"The entertainments at Kenilworth were such as to excite us all and revive our youth," I replied.

The Queen frowned. She did not want it to be said that her youth needed reviving. She must be seen as the perpetually youthful. It was about such matters as this that she was pettishly foolish. I could never understand that trait in her character. But I was sure she thought that if she behaved as though she were perpetually young and the most beautiful woman in the world—kept so by some divine alchemy—everyone would believe it.

I could see that I must be careful, but being in Robert's company went to my head like strong wine and I felt reckless.

We rode at the head of the cavalcade—Robert on one side of her, I on the other. In a way it seemed symbolic.

She asked about the countryside and the state of the land, and showed a rare knowledge and interest; she was gracious and declared that the castle was a fine sight with its towers and keep.

Her apartment satisfied her. It should have, for it was the best in the castle and the bedchamber which Walter and I occupied when he was at home. The bed hangings had been shaken and repaired where necessary and the rushes on the floor gave off the fragrance of sweet-smelling herbs.

She seemed well pleased and the food was excellent, the servants all being excited by her presence and eager to please and humor her. She treated them with her usual grace and had them ready to grovel if need be in her service; the musicians played her favorite tunes and I had made sure that the ale was not too strong for her taste.

She danced with Robert, and as the hostess it was fitting for me to take the floor with him—but briefly, of course. The Queen would not have him dance for long with anyone but herself.

The pressure of his fingers on my hand was full of meaning.

"I must see you alone," he said, turning his head and smiling at the Queen as he did so.

I answered, with a blank expression, that I had much to say to him.

"You must have someplace here where we could be alone to talk."

"There is a room in one of the two round towers. We scarcely use that tower now. It is the west one."

"I will be there ... at midnight."

"Take care, my lord," I mocked. "You will be watched."

"I am accustomed to it."

"So many are interested in you. You are as talked of as the Queen herself ... and so often your names are linked in the same snippet of gossip."

"Nevertheless I must see you."

He had to return to the Queen, who was tapping her foot impatiently. She wanted to dance, and with him, of course.

I could scarcely wait until midnight. I took off my gown and wrapped myself in a robe of lace and ribbons. I had much to say to him, but I did not think it would be possible to be alone with him without our passion overcoming all other needs. I wanted to be seductive as poor Douglass could rarely have been and Elizabeth never. I knew I had that in my power; it was my strength as the Queen's crown was hers. I had quickly ascertained that Douglass was not of the party and must have gone home to her son—hers and Robert's.

He was waiting for me. As soon as I entered I was in his arms and he was attempting to strip off the gown beneath which I was naked.

But I was determined that first we should speak.

He said: "Lettice, I am mad with my need for you."

"Methinks, my lord, it is not the first time you have been maddened by your need of a woman," I replied. "I have made the acquaintance of your wife."

"My wife! I have no wife now."

"I did not mean the one who died in Cumnor Place. That's past history. I mean Douglass Sheffield."

"She has been talking to you!"

"Indeed she has, and telling me an interesting tale. You married her."

"That's a lie."

"Is it so? She did not seem to lie. She has a ring you gave her ... a ring which was to be given only to your wife. More important than a ring—she has a son—little Robert Dudley. Robert, you are sly. I wonder what Her Majesty will say when she hears."

He was silent for a few seconds, and my heart sank, for I desperately wanted him to tell me that Douglass's story was untrue.

He seemed to come to the conclusion that I knew too much for him to protest, for he said: "I have a son, yes—a son by Douglass Sheffield."

"So all she says was true?"

"I did not marry her. We met at the Rutlands' place and she became my mistress. Good God, Lettice, what am I supposed to do! I am kept dangling... ."

"By the Queen, who does not know whether she wants you or not."

"She wants me," he replied. "Have you not noticed?"

"She wants you in attendance—together with Heneage, Hatton and any handsome man. The point is does she want to marry you?"

"As her subject I have to be ready to obey her if she wishes me to."

"She'll never marry you, Robert Dudley. How can she when you are already married to Douglass Sheffield?"

"I swear I am not. I am not such a fool as to do that which would finish me with the Queen."

"If we were discovered here tonight that might finish you with the Queen."

"I am ready to risk that to be with you."

"As you were ready to risk marrying Douglass Sheffield to be with her?"

"I did not marry her, I tell you."

"She says you did. You have a child."

"He would not be the first to be born out of wedlock."

"What of her husband? Is it true that he threatened to divorce her on account of her liaison with you?"

"Nonsense!" he cried.

"I heard that a letter you wrote to her was discovered by him and that he had the evidence he needed to put you in a very uncomfortable position with the Queen. And he died just as he was about to do this."

"Good God, Lettice! Are you suggesting that I had him removed!"

"The whole Court found it strange that he should die so suddenly ... and at such an opportune moment."

"Why should I want him dead?"

"Perhaps because he was going to disclose your relationship with his wife."

"It was not important. It was not as you have been led to believe."

"The Queen might have thought it important."

"She would have seen it for the trivial matter it was. Nay, I did not want Sheffield dead. It was better for him to be alive from my point of view."

"I see you have the same sentiments for Lord Sheffield as you have for the Earl of Essex. If you wish to make love to a woman, it is more convenient for her to be someone else's wife than a widow. Otherwise she might begin to think of marriage."

He had placed his hands on my shoulders and was pressing the robe from them. I felt the familiar excitement creeping over me.

"I am not Douglass Sheffield, my lord."

"Nay, you are my bewitching Lettice, and there is none to compare."

"I hope those words never reach the Queen's ears."

"The Queen is outside all this. And I would risk her knowing ... for this."

"Robert," I insisted, "I am not a light of love to be taken up and cast aside."

"I know it well. I love you. I never ceased to think of you. Something is going to happen, but you must not believe evil tales of me."

"What is going to happen?"

"The day will come when you and I will marry. I know it."

"How? You are committed to the Queen. I have a husband."

"Life changes."

"You think the Queen will turn her favor in some other direction?"

"Nay, I shall keep it and have you too."

"You think she would agree to that?"

"In time. As she grows older."

"You are greedy, Robert. You want everything. You are not content with a share of life's good things. You want yours and everyone else's."

"I do not expect more than I know I can get."

"And you believe you can keep the Queen's favor and have me too?"

"Lettice, you want me. Do you think I don't know that?"

"I admit I find you personable enough."

"And what is your life with Walter Devereux? He's a failure. He's not your kind. Admit it."

"He has been a good husband to me."

"A good husband? What has your life been? The most beautiful woman of the Court moldering in the country!"

"I may come to Court providing I do not offend Her Majesty by attracting the attention of her favorite man."

"We must be careful, Lettice. But I tell you this: I am going to marry you."

"How and when?" I laughed at him. "I am no longer the young innocent I was. I shall never forget that when she sent for you, when she hinted that she knew you were not indifferent to me, you let me go. You behaved as though I meant nothing to you."

"I was a fool, Lettice."

"Oh, never that! You were a wise man. You knew where the advantage lay."

"She is the Queen, my dearest."

"I am not your dearest, Robert. She, with her crown, is that."

"You are wrong. She is a woman who will be obeyed, and we are her subjects. Therefore we have to placate her. That is why things are as they are and must be. Oh, Lettice, how can I make you understand? I never forgot you. I longed for you. All those years I was haunted by you ... and now you have come back ... lovelier than ever. This time there must be no parting."

He was beginning to win me over—although I only half believed him, but desperately I wanted to.

"What if she decrees otherwise?" I asked.

"We will outwit her."

The thought of our standing together against her intoxicated me. He understood very well my weaknesses as I understood his. There could be no doubt that we were meant for each other.

I laughed again. "I would she could hear you now," I said.

He laughed with me, for he knew he was winning. "We are going to be together. I promise you. I am going to marry you."

"How would that be possible?"

"I tell you I have made up my mind that it shall be."

"You do not always get your will, my lord. Remember you once made up your mind to marry the Queen... ."

"The Queen is set against marriage." He sighed. "I have come to believe she will never take a husband. She plays with the idea. She likes to be surrounded by suitors. If she had ever married I should have been the chosen one. But in her heart she has decided never to marry at all."

"So for this reason you feel you may turn to me?"

"Let us face the truth, Lettice. If she would have had me I should have married her. Of course I would. Only a fool would not. I should have been a king in all but name. But that does not prevent my loving the most beautiful, the incomparable Lady Essex. Oh my God, Lettice, I want you. I want you to be my wife. I want to see our children ... a son to carry on my name. Nothing but that will satisfy me. It is what I shall aim for and I know it will come to pass."

I was not sure whether I believed him, but how I wanted to! And when he talked he spoke with such conviction that I was carried along. He was the most plausible of men; he could talk himself out of any difficulty as he must have so many times with the Queen. Few could have lived so dangerously and yet preserved themselves as Robert had.

"One day, my dearest," he assured me, "it shall be as I plan."

I believed him. I refused to look at all the obstacles.

"And now," he said, "enough of talk."

We knew what we were risking, but we could not leave each other. The dawn was just appearing in the sky when we parted and went to our rooms.

The next day I was apprehensive, wondering whether the events of the previous night might be obvious, but none looked at me questioningly. I had reached my room without being detected and Robert evidently did too.

The children were excited by all that was happening in their home, and, listening to their talk, I learned that they were already fascinated by Robert. In fact it was difficult to know whom they admired most—the Queen or the Earl of Leicester. The Queen was remote of course, but she had insisted that they be presented to her, and she asked them several questions, which I was proud to see they answered with intelligence. Clearly they had found favor with her as most children did.

There was an occasion when Leicester was missing and had been for some time. The Queen had asked for him and he was not to be found. I was with her at the time, and her growing impatience worried me. I wanted no display of the royal temper in my house which would make the visit a failure and all our efforts in vain. Moreover I was growing as suspicious as the Queen. Memories of our encounter were still strongly with me. I could not stop thinking of his protestations and imagining that we were indeed married and that this was our home. I thought then that I should have been quite content to stay in the country with Robert Dudley.

But where was he now? Douglass Sheffield was not here, but was there some other beauty whom he met in the night, to whom he had promised marriage, always supposing the Queen would permit him to marry and the prospective bride's existing husband be conveniently removed?

The Queen said she would look at the gardens. Quite clearly she suspected he was out there with someone and she was determined to catch him. I could guess what her fury would be like—it would match my own.

Then a strange thing happened. As we stepped into the grounds we saw him. There was no beautiful young woman with him. In his arms he carried my youngest, Walter. The other three children were with him. My Lord Leicester looked slightly less immaculate than usual. There was a smudge of dirt on his cheek and another on one of his puffed sleeves.

I felt the Queen relax beside me and I heard her low chuckle.

She cried out: "So my Lord Leicester has become a stable lad."

Seeing us, Robert hurried forward, put down Walter and bowed first to the Queen, then to me.

"I trust Your Majesty did not need me," he said.

"We wondered what had become of you. You have absented yourself these last two hours."

How magnificent he was! He was facing his royal mistress and that other mistress with whom, shortly before, he had been passionately preoccupied, and none would have guessed the relationship between us.

My Robert ran up to the Queen and said: "That Robert ..." pointing to the Earl of Leicester, "says he never saw a falcon to match mine. I want to show it to you."

She put out a hand and Robert took those white slender fingers into his grubby ones and started to pull her forward. "Come on. Let's show her, Leicester," he shouted.

I said: "Robert! You forget to whom you are speaking. Her Majesty ..."

"Let be," interrupted the Queen, her voice soft, her eyes tender. She had always loved children, and they took to her immediately, probably for that reason. "I am about to be engaged on an important mission. Master Robert and I have a falcon to inspect."

"He will only obey me," young Robert told her with pride. Then he stood on tiptoe and she leaned down that he might whisper. "I'll tell him you are the Queen, then perhaps he will obey you. But I couldn't promise."

"We shall see," she replied conspiratorially.

Then there occurred this spectacle of our magnificent Queen's being dragged across the grass by my son and the rest of us following while Robert chatted about his horses and dogs, all of which he was going to show the Queen, Leicester having already seen them.

She was wonderful. I had to grant her that. She seemed but a girl herself among the children. She was a little wistful, and I guessed she was envying me my pleasant family. The girls, being older, were a little restrained. But they behaved rightly of course, for too much familiarity from them would have been frowned on. In any case it was my elder son who had caught the Queen's fancy.

He shouted and laughed and pulled at her gown to take her to another side of the stables.

I heard his high-pitched voice. "Leicester says this is one of the finest horses he ever saw and his opinion is worth something. He's the Queen's Horse Master, you know."

"I did know it," answered the Queen with a smile.

"So he must be good or she wouldn't have him."

"She certainly would not," said Elizabeth.

I stood back watching, Robert beside me.

He whispered: "Ah, Lettice, would to God this were my home, these my children. One day, though, I promise you, we shall have our home, our family. Nothing is going to stop us. I'm going to marry you, Lettice."

"Hush," I said.

My girls were not far off, and they were full of curiosity about everything.

When the Queen had made the required inspection we returned to the house and the children took their leave of her. She gave the girls her hand to kiss and when it was young Robert's turn, he took her hand and scrambled up onto her lap and kissed her. I saw by her soft expression that the gesture had found great favor with her. Robert examined the jewels on her gown and then looked searchingly into her face.

"Goodbye, Your Majesty," he said. "When will you come again?"

"Soon, young Robert," she said. "Never fear, you and I will meet again."

Looking back on my life, I think now that there are moments which are fraught with portent, yet how often do we recognize their significance when they come? I used to tell myself years later when I was suffering the bitterness and heartbreak of my great tragedy that the meeting between my son and the Queen was like a rehearsal for what happened afterwards and that on that occasion I was aware of something fateful in the air. But it was nonsense. It was nothing when it happened. The Queen had, behaved as she would have done to any charming child who amused her. But for what happened later I might well have long forgotten that first meeting of theirs.

When there was dancing in the hall and the minstrels were playing her favorite tunes, Elizabeth called me to her and said: "Lettice, you are a fortunate woman. You have a fine family."

"Thank you, Madam," I said.

"Your little boy, Robert, bewitched me. I do not know when I have seen a more beautiful child."

"I know Your Majesty bewitched him," I answered. "I fear he forgot, in the excitement of your company, the fact that you were his Queen."

"I liked well his manner towards me, Lettice," she answered softly. "It is good sometimes to meet the simplicity of a child. There is no subterfuge there, no deceit... ."

I felt uneasy. Was she suspecting that other Robert?

There was a wistful longing in her eyes, and I guessed that she was regretting her obstinate attitude and wishing that long ago she had been brave enough to marry Robert Dudley. She might then have had a family like mine. But then, of course, she might have lost her crown.

When the visit was over and the Queen left Chartley I stayed behind for a while. My children could talk of nothing else but the visit. I don't know whom they admired most—the Queen or the Earl of Leicester. I think perhaps the latter, because, in spite of the way in which the Queen had cast aside her royalty for them, Leicester seemed more human. Robert said that the Earl had promised him that he would teach him clever tricks with horses-turning, wheeling and jumping and how to be the finest horseman in the world.

"And when do you think you will see the Earl of Leicester again?" I asked. "Don't you know that he is at Court and must be in constant attendance on the Queen?"

"Oh, he said that he would be with me soon. He said that we were going to be great friends."

So he had said that to young Robert! There was no doubt about it—he had won the affection and admiration of my family already.

I should be going to Court again and it occurred to me that now Penelope and Dorothy were growing up they should not be left in the country. I would take them to London with me and we would live in Durham House, which was near enough to Windsor, Hampton, Greenwich or Nonsuch for me to be at Court and be now and then with my children. It would also mean that the girls would mingle in Court circles as they could not in the country.

Durham House was of especial interest to me because Robert had once occupied it. Now of course he lived in the much grander Leicester House, a very fine establishment, parallel with the river and close to Durham House, both houses being on the Strand, within a short distance of each other. I foresaw opportunities of meeting Robert, somewhat removed from the Queen's eagle eye.

The children were excited at the prospect, having had a taste of what closeness to the Court could mean, and no tears were shed when we left the inconveniences of Chartley for the London house.

Robert and I met frequently during the next month or so. It was easy for him to take a boat from the privy stairs of Leicester house, sometimes dressed in the garments of one of his servants, and to come secretly to Durham House. What this revealed was that our passion for each other did not diminish but increased when we were able to see each other every day. Robert talked continually of marriage—as though Walter did not exist—and was always sighing for the home we would have with my children— whom he already loved—and our own.

We both of us dreamed of what, in my more realistic moments, seemed the impossible, but Robert was so sure that one day it would come to pass that I began to believe it too.

Philip Sidney was a frequent visitor to Durham House. We were all fond of him, and I continued to think of him as a match for Penelope. Sir Francis Walsingham came too. He was one of the Queen's most influential ministers, but although he was exceptionally skilled in the art of diplomacy he was not so proficient in that of flattery, so, while she appreciated his worth, he never became one of her favorite men. He had two daughters—Frances, who was quite a beauty with abundant dark hair and black eyes and older than Penelope by several years, and Mary, who was, in comparison with her sister, insignificant.

They were exciting days at Durham House with periods at Court and my finding it easy to slip from there to my own home and family. London life suited me. It excited me. I felt that I was part of the scene, and the people who came to the house were men and women closely associated with the Queen.

Robert and I had become reckless. We should not have been surprised when the inevitable happened. I became pregnant.

When I told Robert his feelings were mixed.

"Would that we were married," he said. "I want your son, Lettice."

"I know," I answered. "But what of this?"

I foresaw myself being hustled to the country, kept in seclusion, having my child taken out of my hands and brought up in secrecy. Oh no, that was not what I wanted.

Robert said he would find a way.

"But what way?" I demanded. "When Walter returns, which could be at any time, he will know. I can't possibly pretend it's his. What if the Queen hears? There will be trouble then."

"Trouble indeed," agreed Robert. "The Queen must never know."

"She would certainly not be very pleased with you if she knew you had fathered my child. What do you think would happen then?"

"God forbid that she should ever know. Leave this to me. Oh God, how I wish ..."

"That you had never started this?"

"Nay. I could never wish that. I wish that Essex were out of the way. Then I'd marry you tomorrow, Lettice."

"Easy to say one would do that which one knows one cannot. It might be another story if I were free to marry."

At that he seized me in his arms and cried vehemently: "I'll show you, Lettice. By God, I'll show you."

His face was stern. He was like a man taking a vow.

"One thing I do know," he went on. "You are the woman for me and I am the man for you. Are you aware of that?"

"It had occurred to me that it might be so."

"Don't joke, Lettice. This is deadly serious. I have made up my mind that in spite of Essex on your side and the Queen on mine, you and I shall marry. We shall have children. I promise you. I promise you."

"It's a pleasant thought," I said, "but at the moment I have a husband and I am with child by you. If Walter were to return— and by the mess he is making in Ireland that could be at any time —we are going to be in trouble."

"I'll manage something."

"You don't know Walter Devereux. Ineffectual he certainly is and doomed to failure, but he is one who would consider his honor outraged, and he would care that the Queen would hate him for doing what he considered right. He would make such a noise about this that our conduct would be disclosed to the entire court."

"There is only one thing to do," said Robert. "Alas, I hate to do it, but it is necessary. We must get rid of the child."

"No!" I cried in dismay.

"I know how you feel. This is our child. Perhaps it is the son I long for ... but the time is not yet ripe. There will be others ... but not yet, not until I have made arrangements."

"So ..."

"I will consult Dr. Julio."

I protested, but he persuaded me that there was no other way. If the child were born it would be impossible to keep the matter secret. The Queen would see that we never met again.

I was depressed. I was a worldly woman, deeply selfish and immoral, and yet I did love my children and if I could feel deeply about Walter's how much more so could I for Robert's.

But he was right, of course. He kept telling me that before long we were going to be married, and the next time I became pregnant there would be joyous preparations for the arrival of our child in our home.

Dr. Julio was a man of many skills, but abortion was dangerous and when I had taken his prescriptions I became very ill.

It is difficult to keep from servants the nature of one's sickness. A man such as Robert was spied on day and night and in the excess of our passion we had not always been as careful as we should have been. I had no doubt that many of our household knew that the man who came up the privy stairs at night was Robert Dudley. One advantage was that few would dare gossip except in the utmost secrecy, for there was not a man or woman who would not fear the wrath of the Earl of Leicester—and that of the Queen—if any slander were directed against her favorite, even if it happened to be true.

But of course there were whispers.

There was one time when I was so ill that I thought I was about to die. Robert came openly to see me then, and I think that lifted my spirits to such an extent that I started to get well. He really did love me; it was not just that excessive physical excitement that he sought; he really cared for me. He was tender; he knelt by my bed and begged me to get well and he talked all the time of the life he and I would have together. I never saw a man more sure of anything.

And then Walter returned.

His mission in Ireland had been a failure, and the Queen was not very pleased with him. I was still weak and his concern for me disconcerted me while my conscience troubled me a good deal. I told him that I had been ill of a fever and would soon recover. The manner in which he accepted my word made me feel ashamed, particularly as he had aged considerably and seemed tired and listless. I had behaved so badly to him and had had nothing but kindness in return, yet I must keep comparing him with the incomparable Robert Dudley.

I had to face the fact that I was tired of Walter and I was irritated and frustrated because now that he had come home my meetings with Robert would be difficult to arrange, if they could occur at all. In any case after my recent experiences I should have to be more cautious in the future. I mourned the loss of the child and used to dream it was a little boy who looked like Robert. In the dream he would look at me sadly as though accusing me of robbing him of life.

I knew Robert would say: "We'll have more. Only let us marry and we shall have both sons and daughters to delight our old age." But that was small comfort at this time.

Walter declared his intention of never traveling again.

"I've had enough of it," he told me. "Nothing will ever come out of Ireland. From henceforth I shall stay at home. I shall live an untroubled life. We shall go back to Chartley."

Inwardly I decided we should not. I would not be buried in the country away from the delights of the town, the intrigues of the Court and the magic of Robert Dudley. Separation from him only enhanced my desire, and I knew that when we did meet I would be as reckless as ever—in spite of my conscience—living for the moment and meeting the consequences when the time came.

I grew stronger and felt capable of leading Walter where I wanted him to go.

"Chartley is inviting," I lied, "but have you noticed that our daughters are growing up?"

"Indeed I have. How old is Penelope?"

"You must remember the age of your daughter—and your firstborn at that. Penelope is fourteen."

"Over young for marriage."

"But not too young for us to find a suitable parti for her. I should like to see her well contracted."

Walter acceded that I was right.

"I have a particular fancy for Philip Sidney," I said. "He was with us when I entertained the Queen at Chartley and he and Penelope developed a liking for each other. It's a good thing when a girl knows her future husband before she is hustled into marriage with him."

Once more Walter agreed and said that Philip Sidney would be an excellent choice.

"As Leicester's nephew he would find some favor with the Queen," he commented. "She dotes on Dudley as much as she ever did, I understand."

"He is still in high favor."

"There is a consideration, though. If the Queen married some foreign prince, I doubt Leicester would be tolerated at Court, and then his relations would not be so comfortably placed."

"Do you think she will ever marry?"

"Her ministers are trying to persuade her. The lack of an heir to the throne becomes a more and more pressing problem. If she died there would be dissension, and that's never good. She should give the country an heir."

"She's a little old for childbearing, though none is allowed to say so within earshot of Her Majesty."

"She might just manage it."

I laughed aloud, suddenly wildly pleased because I was eight years younger than she.

"What's amusing?" asked Walter.

"You are. You'd be in the Tower for treason if she could hear you."

Oh, what a bore he was and how tired of him I was!

There were only snatched conversations with Robert.

"This is unendurable," he told me.

"I cannot escape from Walter, nor can you come to Durham House."

"I'll manage it somehow."

"My dear Robert, you can scarcely share our bed. Even Walter would then be aware that something unusual was afoot."

Frustrated as I was, I was exultant to see how Robert fretted against the situation.

"Well, Robert," I said, "you are a magician. I await the magic."

Something had to be done soon after that because I suppose what was again inevitable happened. Someone—I never found out who—had whispered to Walter that Robert Dudley had been taking an undue interest in his wife.

Walter refused to believe it—not of Robert but of me. What a simpleton he was! I could have managed him, but Robert had some pernicious enemies whose motive was not so much to make trouble for the Essex family as to wrest from Robert his favor with the Queen.

Then there was that night when Walter came into our bedchamber, his face very serious. "I have heard the most wicked accusations," he said.

My heart started to beat fast, so guilty was I, but I managed to ask calmly: "What about?"

"About you and Leicester."

My eyes were wide open and I hoped looked innocent. "What can you mean, Walter?"

"I heard that you are his mistress."

"Whoever could have said such a thing?"

"I was only told after my promise to keep the informant's identity a secret."

"And you believe this secret informer?"

"I don't believe it of you, Lettice, but Dudley's reputation is far from savory."

"Even so you could hardly believe it of him if you didn't believe it of me." You fool! I thought to myself, and I decided that attack was the best form of defense. "And I must say that I take an ill view of your tattling about your wife to people in dark corners."

"I didn't really believe it of you, Lettice. It must be someone else he has been seen with."

"You suspected me, of course," I accused, whipping myself to anger. It was most effective. I had my poor Walter almost begging for pardon.

"Not truly so, but I did want you to tell me yourself how false it all was. I shall call out the man who dared mention it."

"Walter," I said, "you know this to be false. I know it to be false. If you make a great noise about it, it will come to the Queen's ears and she would blame you. You know how she will hear no ill of Robert Dudley."

He was silent, but I could see that my remarks had struck home.

"I'm sorry for any woman who becomes involved with him," he said.

"So should I be," I retorted meaningfully.

But I was worried. I had to see Robert to tell him what had happened. It was difficult for me. I had to seek an opportunity, and as Robert was always attempting to do the same, we did manage at last to have a few words together.

"This is driving me mad," said Robert.

I replied: "Here is something to drive you madder." And I told him.

"Someone must have talked," said Robert. "They will be saying now that your recent illness was due to ridding yourself of a child you had by me."

"Who could have done this?"

"My dear Lettice, we are watched and spied on by those we trust the most."

"If this gets to Walter's ear ..." I began.

Robert put in wryly: "If it got to the Queen's we should then have good cause to worry."

"What can we do?"

"Leave it to me. You and I are going to marry. Rest assured of that. But there will be work to be done first."

I understood how hard he was working to bring this about when a summons came from the Queen for Walter to attend on her without delay. When he returned to Durham House I was eagerly awaiting him.

"Well, what happened?" I asked.

"It's madness," he retorted. "She does not understand. She has ordered me back to Ireland."

I tried not to show my relief. This was undoubtedly Robert's work.

"She is offering me the post of Earl Marshal of Ireland."

"That is a great honor, Walter."

"She expects me to think so. I tried to explain the position to her."

"And what did she say?"

"She waved me aside." He paused and looked at me searchingly. "Leicester was with her. He kept saying how important Ireland was, and how I was the man to become Earl Marshal. I think he has done a great deal to persuade the Queen."

I was silent, pretending to be perplexed.

"Oh yes. Leicester said what a great opportunity it was to retrieve my failure. They wouldn't listen to me when I tried to explain that they did not understand the Irish."

"And ... the outcome?"

"The Queen made it clear that she expects me to go. I don't think you will like it out there, Lettice."

I had to go carefully now so I said: "Oh well, Walter, we must make the best of it."

That satisfied him. He was still doubtful about Leicester, and although Walter's code made him accept the word of his wife, I could see that the suspicions were still there.

I pretended to make some preparations to go to Ireland, although, of course, I had no intention of going at all.

The following day, I said to him: "Walter, I'm very worried about Penelope."

"Why so?" he asked surprised.

"I know she is young, but she is mature for her age. I fancy that she is not very discreet in her friendships with the opposite sex. Dorothy worries me too and I found Walter in tears and young Robert looking very glum trying to comfort him. Robert said he was going to ask the Queen not to let me go to Ireland. I shall be so worried about them if I go away."

"They have their governesses and nurses."

"They need more than that. Particularly Penelope. It's her age ... and the boys are too young to be left. I have spoken to William Cecil. He will take Robert into his household before he goes to Cambridge, but he should not leave his home just yet. We cannot both abandon the children, Walter."

The children saved me. Walter was very depressed but he was fond of his family and he did not want them to suffer. I spent a good deal of time with him, listening to his account of the Irish question, and I made plans for the future when he would come home—which would not be long, I told him. He would then have good standing at Court as the Earl Marshal of Ireland, and perhaps if he went back later we could all go with him.

Finally he departed. He embraced me warmly before he left and begged my pardon for the slander which had been uttered against me. It would be as well, he told me, to take the children back to Chartley and as soon as he returned we would make our plans for the future. We would get the girls married and the boys educated.

I embraced him with real affection, for he looked so melancholy, and I felt, mingling with relief that he was going, pity for him and shame because of what I was doing.

I told him that we must endure this separation for the sake of the children, and although this may seem like the greatest hypocrisy, at that moment there were genuine tears in my eyes and I was glad that my obvious emotion seemed to give him some comfort.

In July he sailed for Ireland and I resumed my meetings with Robert Dudley. Robert told me that he had indeed advised the Queen that Walter's presence was needed in Ireland.

"You get what you want," I commented. "I see that."

"I get what I deserve," he retorted.

I pretended to be alarmed. "Then I fear for you, my Lord Leicester."

"Never fear, my Lady Leicester-to-be. If one would succeed, one must learn how to take what one wants boldly. It's the best way."

"And now?" I asked. "What next?"

"For that we must wait and see."

I waited only two months.

One of the servants from Chartley rode up to Durham House. I could see that the man was greatly disturbed.

"My lady," he said, when he was brought to me, "a terrible thing has happened. A black calf has been born and I thought you should know."

"You did well to come here," I answered. "But this is but a legend and we are all in good health."

"My lady, the country folk say that this has never failed. It has always meant death and disaster to the lord of the castle. My lord is in Ireland ... a lawless place."

"It is true that he is there on the Queen's business," I said.

"He must be warned, my lady. He must come back."

"I fear the Queen would not be willing to stake her policy on the birth of a black calf at Chartley."

"But if your ladyship went to her ... explained ..."

I replied that all I could do was to write to the Earl of Essex and tell him what had happened. "You shall be rewarded for bringing the news to me," I added.

When he had gone I was thoughtful. Could it really be true? How strange it was that the calf should be born as it must have been on that occasion when the death of the lord of the castle had originally given rise to the legend.

Before I could dispatch a letter to my husband I received the news that Walter had died of dysentery in Dublin Castle.