A Favorite of the Queen: The Story of Lord Robert Dudley and Elizabeth 1 (47 page)

She said to Elizabeth when they were alone: “Dearest Majesty, this Monkey and his master … you are not serious?”

“I am.”

“Would you then marry a man so much younger than yourself?”

“Am I so old then? Am I so ugly?”

“You are the youngest lady in the world—but that is in spirit, sweetheart. You are the most beautiful; but he is small and puny; and his skin is pock-marked.”

“How do you know?”

“We have heard it; and even his mother admits he has not the stature of his brother.”

“You meddle, Kat.”

“’Tis because of my love.”

“I know that. But I want no meddling.”

“Darling, why did you not marry him whom you truly love?”

“I know not whom you mean.”

“Ah yes, you do, darling. You have loved him long and he has loved you … and he is the one for you, and you for him.”

“Leicester!” she snapped; and her face hardened.

Was she thinking of Lady Sheffield and her child? wondered Kat. Or had she heard of the greater menace that was to come from the Countess of Essex?

Kat did not know and dared not ask; but she believed that it must be of Lady Sheffield that the Queen was thinking, for she would be less composed if she knew of his liaison with Lettice.

“What!” she cried. “Shall I so far forget myself as to prefer a poor servant of my own making to the first Prince in Christendom?”

Kat shook her head and was filled with sorrow.

“God preserve your Majesty from all unhappiness,” she murmured.

And Elizabeth lifted a hand to pat Kat’s arm affectionately.

Robert was on
his way to a meeting with Douglass. He had asked her to come that day to the Close Arbor in the grounds about Greenwich Palace.

He was worried concerning Douglass, who was becoming hysterical now that she guessed something of his plans regarding Lettice. Douglass had a post in the Queen’s bedchamber and that was a highly dangerous situation, since it brought her into close contact with the Queen.

He had made up his mind.

He had heard of Elizabeth’s words to Kat Ashley; and he was sure now
that, for many years, she had had no intention of marrying. Perhaps if he had never married Amy, if he had been free when they were both young, there would have been a different story to tell. But it was too late to think of that. He wanted children. He thought often of all the fine young men about the Court today who were the sons of his contemporaries. There were boys like Philip and Robert Sidney, and Bacon’s son Francis; there was Lettice’s own son Robert Devereux, since his father’s death, the Earl of Essex; and even Burghley’s son, young Robert Cecil, though humpbacked and far from prepossessing, was a son. The Queen was fond of him in spite of his lack of beauty, and this was not only because he was his father’s son; his keen wits and alert intelligence made him a son of whom to be proud; even the Queen, who could not tolerate ugliness, had a fondness for him and had christened him her Pigmy. And he, Robert, had no legitimate son! Come what may, he had decided to marry Lettice.

Accompanying him to this tryst with Douglass were a few of his trusted servants, those whose fortunes were so closely bound with his own that they dared not betray him even if they wished to do so.

Douglass was waiting for him.

He posted several of his men outside the Close Arbor that he might be warned of the approach of any whom he would not wish to witness this meeting between himself and Douglass.

She was pale and trembling.

He smiled kindly at her and, laying his hand on her shoulder, said: “You must not be afraid, Douglass. As you know, I have long both loved and liked you. I have always found that earnest and faithful affection in you which has bound me greatly to you. Douglass, that still exists, does it not?”

“It does,” she answered.

“But I made clear, did I not, on my first coming to you, in what sort my good will should and must always remain to you? It seemed to me that you were fully disposed to accept this.”

“It was before the child was born,” she said.

“But I had made my meaning clear ere that time. Had I not told you that I was not free to marry, that if I did and the Queen should hear of it, I were undone, disgraced, and cast out of favor forever?”

“Yes, but that was before the child came … and we were married.”

“It was no true marriage, Douglass. It was entered into for the sake of your peace of mind. You have no claim on me, but I will give you seven hundred pounds a year if you will disclaim that false ceremony and forget that it happened.”

“I could not do it.”

“You must,” he insisted.

“I must think of my son. Shall he face the world as a bastard?”

“We must all face the world as we are, my dear. Have no fear as to his future. I will watch him as carefully and with as much love and affection as though he were my legitimate son.”

“I cannot. I cannot. I believe he is your legitimate son. He is your heir.”

“Think over what I have said. Take the money I offer. Accept my good services for your son; for if you do not, what good can come to yourself and to him? I should never see you again and you would have no money from me. But take this income; admit there was no marriage; and all will go well with you and with him.”

She shook her head and began to weep as he took his leave of her.

Douglass lay on
her bed. Her women stood round her. She had long lain staring at the tester, and those about her feared for her sanity.

One of her maids, who had been with her since she was a child, had wept bitterly when she had witnessed her mistress’s infatuation for the Earl of Leicester.

Now this good servant dismissed the women and sat by her mistress’s bed, quietly watching her; and when she saw that the tears had started to flow down Douglass’s cheeks she came nearer and said quietly: “Dearest mistress, do as he asks. It is the only way. Remember Amy Robsart … and remember what has recently befallen a gentleman in Ireland.”

Douglass did not answer her but asked that her child be brought to her.

The boy knelt on the bed and asked her why she was so sad; but she merely shook her head and said: “It will pass.”

“I know of one who could make you happy,” he said. “I will find him and bring him to you.”

Wearily she shook her head.

“But you are always happy when the great Earl comes to see you … and so am I!”

She looked at him sadly and, drawing him to her, she kissed him.

“You and I will be happy together, my darling,” she said at last.

But she seemed to hear a voice warning her: “Be wise. Remember Amy Robsart!”

Robert and Lettice
were married at Kenilworth that summer. They were reckless, both of them; yet they strove to keep their secret from the Queen.

Lettice’s family heard what had happened, and insisted that the ceremony be repeated under their auspices at their house in Wanstead. They were not going to see their daughter in the position of poor Douglass Howard.

The Knollys family had been greatly disturbed when they heard of their daughter’s infatuation, and at the lengths to which it had carried her and the Earl. No one in the kingdom believed Robert guiltless of the murder of his first wife, and now the name of Essex was added to his victims. Rumors concerning him had multiplied, and yet, oddly enough, the news of the marriage had so far not reached the Queen.

But when Lettice’s family had assured themselves that Robert could not repudiate the marriage even if he wished to do so, and when they considered his power and his Protestant leanings, they realized the great advantages which could accrue from a connection between their house and his.

Philip of Spain had carried his persecution too far when he had set
up the Inquisition in the Netherlands. William the Silent was leading his people against the tyranny and fanatical cruelties of the Spaniards. It was more than a local struggle. It was a world-wide struggle between Protestants and Catholics; and the Knollys’s—that great Protestant family—wished to see England join in the struggle; they held, as did many statesmen, that the Queen’s aversion from war might lead the country to disaster, and that refusal to join the smaller conflict with friends might leave her to face a greater one alone. If Spain were victorious in the Netherlands, undoubtedly Philip’s savage fanaticism would be turned against the greatest stronghold of Protestantism in the world, which was England.

The Protestant Party must stand firm and strengthen itself in every way possible; and, in marrying a daughter of the foremost Protestant house, it was considered that Robert had abandoned his lukewarm profession of Protestantism and was now its staunch ally. Robert’s nephew, Philip Sidney, had married the daughter of another great Protestant, Sir Francis Walsingham. So now, as one of the greatest statesmen of the day, by his marriage with Lettice Robert found himself looked upon as the leader of the Protestant Party. And the Protestant Party opposed the Queen’s marriage with the Duke of Anjou.

Meanwhile Elizabeth continued to flirt with her Monkey, who was becoming more and more impatient with the passing of every day.

Would not Her Majesty allow him to bring her the marriage contracts? he was continually asking. His master was well-nigh sick with love of her.

She became perverse, as she always was when matters were being driven toward a conclusion.

“Dear Monkey,” she said, “I could not decide on marrying a man whom I have not seen.”

“Madame, I assure you he is the most handsome Prince in Christendom.”

“We have heard views to the contrary.”

“If he lacks a little in stature, he makes up for it in the bigness of his heart, Your Majesty.”

“But those pock-marks! I think of them often.”

“Now that his beard has grown, they are scarcely visible.”

“And the French are such deceivers. I think of his father who kept a mistress to whom he did more honor than to his wife.”

“He is more enamored of Your Majesty than any man ever was—even of his mistress.”

“As for his grandfather, I am too modest to speak of his conduct.”

“Ah! The Duke comes from a family of great lovers.”

“Lovers of women who were not their wives!”

“Those Kings loved incomparable women. King François loved above all others Madame de Chateaubriand and Madame d’Étampes; but these, Madame, were goddesses, not women. And my master’s father, great Henri Deux, loved throughout his life Diane de Poitiers. She too was a goddess. But there is one goddess incomparably beyond all others, a hundred times more beautiful, a thousand times more fascinating. She wears the crown of England; and I swear on my life that when my master sees her he will never think of another woman.”

“All the same I should wish to see a man before I married him!”

“Then, Your Majesty, allow me to bring him to you.”

“I am but a woman, dear Monkey. My ministers command me. They speak against the marriage.”

“The greatest Queen on Earth in fear of her ministers!”

“And my people … they murmur against the marriage.”