Elizabeth I (91 page)

At least they were out of Ireland, I thought. No matter what happened here, they were safe. Better to be disgraced and still draw breath than to perish honorably on the battlefield. Hardly very noble of me, but what mother can afford to be noble at her child's expense?

Was he ill? So often he had been ill, felled by his constitution. Perhaps he had despaired and thought his only hope of cure was to get out of the bogs. I sat before the fireplace, throwing another log on the fire, sending out bursts of sparks. I was chilled straight through, not from the weather but from fear.

I must have sat like this for an hour. Then I heard a commotion at the door, someone coming in. Christopher? I rose and looked down into the hall to see the top of that familiar head.

“Christopher!” I cried. “Christopher!” I rushed down the stairs.

He looked different. Thinner, darker. He put his bag down and stood wearily. “Wife, I am safely back,” he said. I embraced him, putting my face up against his soiled and tattered coat. It had been stiff and bright with embroidery when he left. He took my chin and lifted my face toward his and kissed me. His lips were chapped and rough.

“And thank God for it,” I said. He had escaped from Ireland, escaped the death that that land dealt out to anyone daring to spend time there.

“You know about Robert?” he asked.

“Hunsdon came here to tell me. He's confined at York House? And may have no visitors?”

“That's true.”

“But why?”

“Let me sit. My leg is bothering me. It got smashed when a horse fell on it. Not broken, but it's not the same. And how about some ale? Wine? Anything, truth be told.”

“Of course. Of course.” I settled him in a comfortable chair before the fire and ordered some drinks brought, along with bread, pears, and walnuts. He took a long sip of the ale and relaxed back into the chair.

“I'll tell it as quickly as I can,” he said, taking another sip. “Robert had nothing from the Queen but criticism and scolding. No matter what he did, she put the worst interpretation on it. He was convinced that his enemies back here were using every opportunity to turn the Queen against him. Her harsh tone told him they had succeeded. He felt he had to come in person, surprise her before Cecil and the rest knew he was here, and tell her his side of the story.” He refilled his cup. “I thought it foolish. I thought he should take the entire army with him.”

“Christopher, no! Think how it would look!”

“He was too cautious for that. Like you, he thought it would look bad. I argued that it didn't matter how it looked; at least that way he couldn't be taken prisoner. Well, now. That's what happened.”

“But why?”

“Because he was foolhardy enough to come to England, without the Queen's permission, with only a small contingent of men, not enough to protect him. The Queen tricked him, made him think she welcomed him, when all the while she was making sure he didn't have the army with him. Once she knew that, she had him arrested. There was even a little mock trial before the Privy Council that condemned him for disobedience, and a few other things.” He wiped his mouth. “The Queen's a wily one. She had us all to dinner and looking at her down the table, you'd never know that she wasn't delighted her dear Robert had returned. Then, bang! He's locked in his room to await the Queen's pleasure.”

I remembered her cold eyes when she handed the Boleyn necklace back to me. Once she had loved me, but her change was absolute. How could I have forgotten what she was capable of?

“Why did she let you go?”

“He was the fish she wanted. The rest of us didn't count. Throw the minnows back in the water. And so, here I am, having swum back. Or rather, ridden back.”

“What do we do now?”

“We wait. We wait.”

Two weeks went by. London talked of nothing else but the arrest of Essex. Swarms of people gathered at our gates, and many more in front of York House. Ballads celebrating Essex's bravery and chivalry were brayed in taverns and outside his prison. Slurs against Cecil were painted on walls, calling him a mole, a miscreant, and a mouse. People muttered against the Queen, although they dared not do it so openly. Frances decked herself in mourning clothes and applied to the Queen for permission to visit her husband. She was turned away, so she went and took her place before the courtyard of York House and stood forlornly, attracting much attention, until the Queen ordered her out of sight. I was astounded at her audacity and rather applauded it.

Southampton, free to roam, moved into Essex House at Robert's invitation. He, his wife Elizabeth Vernon, Penelope, and Rutland took up theater-going and lolled their days away in idleness, seeing a new play almost every day. No one had been punished, no one curtailed, for the injudicious gallop back from Ireland but Robert.

On the rare occasions we all dined together, I could not help looking at Southampton in wonder that I had ever involved myself with him. Had that truly happened? I could not imagine it now. He seemed a feather-pated child, laughing and playing while my son languished in prison. Rutland was no better. What pitiful material crept around court these days. No wonder Robert Cecil had no rivals.

“What's it to be this afternoon?” my own daughter Penelope—a companion to them in idleness—asked before dinner was over. Her paramour, Lord Mountjoy, to his credit, was attending to state business and seldom came with them.

“There's something new at the Swan,” said Southampton. “But I understand it was just dashed off in a fortnight.”

“Blah,” said Rutland. “It's a comedy, too. I can't stand another romp with clever servants and fat masters. No!”

“Jonson's
Every Man Out of His Humour
is said to be amusing,” said Elizabeth.

“I saw it. I don't mind sitting through it again,” said Rutland.

They turned accusatory eyes at him. “When? You went without us?”

“You were riding,” said Rutland.

Children: riding and plays and amusements. I was angry at all of them, as if it were their fault Robert was in disgrace.

“Essex! Essex!” wavering voices from outside carried into the chamber. I rose and looked out to see a group of at least twenty people, held back by the iron gates, shouting into the courtyard. “Brave honor graces him! Foul envy has struck him down! Set him free! Set him free!”

“He is not here! Shout your demands at York House!” Frances leaned out the window to answer them. “Shout them at Whitehall!”

“Frances,” I said. “Sit back down. Do not shout such things in public.”

She turned to me. “This is my home and I'll shout what I please. Let it come to the Queen's ears!”

“There is nothing that does not come to the Queen's ears,” I hissed. “And do you think this”—I gestured to the gathering, murmuring crowd—“is helping Robert's cause?”

“Cause? His cause should be justice!” she said.

“Justice is a prostitute,” said Southampton. “For sale to the best customer.”

Then I remembered what I had liked about him. So young and so world-weary.

October turned into November. The crowds grew in front of the gates, and soon members of my household were inviting some into the courtyard and mingling with them. Christopher seldom missed an opportunity to go down and talk with them. Since his return from Ireland he seemed changed; once in a while I had even come across him in the chapel, sitting motionless and staring at the altar. I knew he had Catholic leanings, due to his upbringing, but he had always seemed cheerily indifferent to religion. Had his exposure to Irish Catholicism converted him? The wayside shrines, the Celtic crosses, the legends about saints and snakes and whatnot were said to be seductive. There is no one more vulnerable to the lure of religion than an uncommitted person, assuming he is not outright hostile to it. Christopher had never cared enough to be hostile. I hoped my suspicions were wrong. This was not the time to turn Catholic. We had enough trouble as it was.

Ever-larger crowds gathered in front of York House. Egerton, distressed at his role as jailer, ordered them away. But all his warnings had no effect. When his guards came out, the crowds melted away, but a few hours later they returned, like ants to a source of honey.

Suddenly Elizabeth Vernon and Penelope announced they could no longer stand the commotion around the house and left for the country. Once they were gone, the men felt free to indulge in all the tavern- and playgoing they wished, and to drink themselves silly. Frances, her daughter Elizabeth, and I remained sober and kept watch, while Christopher spent more time in the courtyard with the accusatory crowd.

Then the word came down: The Queen announced that the Court of Star Chamber was to issue a public pronouncement about Robert's misdeeds.

“She seeks to defend herself,” said Christopher. “If we hear the murmurs and accusations in the streets, so does she. She cannot rest until the matter is settled.”

“It will never be settled in any way detrimental to herself,” I said. “Robert told me she plays with loaded dice, so as never to lose.”

“That's Robert talking. Foolish of him not to see all along that if you are Queen you do not need loaded dice.”

As the day neared for the hearing, I noticed Southampton suddenly curtailing his carousing and huddling with Christopher and Charles Blount, Lord Mountjoy, in my house. I asked Christopher several times what they were concerning themselves with, and he gave evasive answers. I disliked being shunted aside like that.

That they were plotting was obvious. What they were plotting was less obvious. Clearly it was in my own interest to be ignorant of whatever it was, so I would be innocent of any accusation of collusion. But the feeling of uselessness, of not mattering enough to anyone to be consulted, was painful.