A Favorite of the Queen: The Story of Lord Robert Dudley and Elizabeth 1 (43 page)

Frantically he searched for a solution.

Douglass, retiring though she was, was by no means a calm woman; she was given to bouts of melancholy and hysteria; and Robert was afraid that in her pregnancy these weaknesses might be intensified. He had many enemies, but he also had his supporters. There was his own family; his brothers and sisters and all those connected with the Dudley family looked to him as their leader; if he fell, they would fall too. He had his followers and they were dependent on him, so he could trust their loyalty. He was without doubt a powerful man, but because his power had come to him through his personal qualities rather than his achievements, he regarded it more lightly than a man would have done who had earned it by careful, constant effort. Robert had had much success; he believed he could succeed in what others dared not attempt.

So at last he agreed to go through a form of marriage with Douglass very quietly at Esher, with only a few of his trusted servants as witnesses.

This seemed to him a master-stroke, for he felt sure that the Queen’s anger would not be lasting if he were not properly married; and at the
same time, as a result of this mock marriage, Douglass could call herself—in secret—the Countess of Leicester, and soothe her qualms.

She was soothed and thought of nothing but preparing for the child.

It was a boy, and they called him Robert.

But their enemies were already whispering one with another that the Earl of Leicester had secretly married, and that it was well known how he and the lady had been lovers before the death of Lord Sheffield.

The
death
of Lord Sheffield! Now how had Lord Sheffield died? Of a catarrh, it was said. Might it not have been an artificial catarrh which stopped his breath?

They only had to cast their minds back to another death. Had they forgotten the poor lady who had been found with her neck broken at the foot of a staircase at Cumnor Place! That was when Lord Robert had thought he might marry the Queen. And now that the Earl of Leicester wished to marry another lady, that lady’s husband had most conveniently died.

Such rumors there would always be concerning one so prominent, one who had known such spectacular good fortune.

Robert must make sure these rumors did not reach the ears of the Queen.

News of one
of the most horrible massacres the world had ever known came to England.

On the Eve of St. Bartholomew’s Day, King Charles with his mother, Catherine de’ Medici, and the Duke of Guise had incited the Catholics of Paris to murder thousands of Huguenots assembled in the capital for the wedding of Catherine’s daughter, Marguerite, to Henry of Navarre.

The whole Protestant world was shocked and scandalized by the bestial cruelties which had been let loose. The streets of Paris, it was said, were running with the blood of martyrs. Two thousand, it was reported, had been slain in Paris alone; and in Lyons, Orléans, and many other cities
the horror had been repeated. The noble Coligny himself—known throughout the world as the most honorable of men—was one of the victims; his son-in-law Téligny had followed him, as had many other gentlemen of high reputation.

The little boats were crossing the Channel and thousands of men and women were seeking refuge in England; the whole of the Protestant world was ready to take arms against the Catholics.

Preachers thundered from pulpits; letters of warning were sent to the Queen and her Council. “Death to all Catholics!” cried the people. “Make a treaty of friendship with Germany, with the Netherlands, and with Scotland. Stand together against the bloodthirsty idolators. And take that dangerous traitress, the pestilence of Christendom, the adulteress and murderess, Mary of Scotland, without delay to the block. Was it not her relations, the Guises, who had been behind the massacre! The Duke of Guise had conceived the murderous plan in conjunction with that Jezebel, the Italian Catherine de’ Medici. The Queen of England was in danger. Let her not bring rape, robbery, violence, and murder into the land for the sake of her miserable mercy to a horrible woman who carried the wrath of God with her wherever she went.”

Elizabeth was shaken. Like everyone else she daily expected war. She believed that the massacre was a preliminary move in a full campaign of the Catholics against the Protestants. She had all the ports manned; the ships of England were ready. She allowed Burghley and Leicester to persuade her to take some action with regard to Mary; but she would not agree to her execution. Mary was to be sent back to Scotland where she would doubtless be tried for Darnley’s murder and executed. Thus Mary would die and Elizabeth be said to have had no hand in her death.

But the months passed and there was no attack by the Catholics. Mary was still detained in England; but Elizabeth and her ministers knew that as long as there were Catholics and Protestants in the world there would be strife in one form or another between them.

Even as she looked at those ministers about her, Elizabeth sensed their irritation with her actions regarding Mary.

Burghley was a stern Protestant. Robert, though not religious, was giving himself to the Protestant cause. Only the Queen remained lukewarm.
She would not admit it, but she favored neither sect. Both provoked bloodshed, and that fact prevented her from approving of either. How could it matter, she would ask herself in secret, whether a man believed the bread of the sacrament to be the body of Christ or blessed bread! What mattered was that she should continue to reign over her people, that her people loved her, and that her country should come to greatness through that peaceful prosperity which only tolerance could bring.

Life flowed more
easily in England, although the Queen and her ministers were watching events abroad with an even keener interest than they had before the massacre.

The Dutch, under the Prince of Orange, were rebelling against the Spaniards who, with their relentless Inquisition, had inflicted such cruelty upon them.

Later the Queen issued a law against the wearing of over-sumptuous apparel among the common people, although her own wardrobe had never been so magnificent. There was trouble in Ireland and, to subdue it, Elizabeth had sent over the Earl of Essex who had been Lord Hereford and the husband of Lettice—the central figure in Robert’s escapade of some years before.

The King of France died, and Elizabeth, who had considered the Duke of Anjou, who was now Henri Trois of France, as one of her suitors, pretended to be annoyed because he had married unexpectedly.

Wheat was scarce and the price rose to six shillings a bushel. This was disquieting; the people began to murmur.

Then came the threat of war. The Prince of Orange and the Provinces of Zeeland and Holland suggested to Elizabeth that she should become their Queen, but she was stout in her refusal. Her ministers begged and implored. “What!” she cried. “Plunge my people into war with Spain!”

In vain did they protest and point out that she would become the head of the Protestant world. She wanted no part in the wars of religion,
she told them. Let others fight such wars. She would remain aloof. She believed that those who stood aside and looked on at the wars of others were the real victors.

That summer she took her usual trip through the countryside. Robert had gone on ahead of the royal party, for the route that year passed through Kenilworth and Robert was to be the Queen’s host for twelve days of July. He was determined to prepare such pageants and entertainments as had never before been seen.

He was uneasy as he rode North. He could not help wondering whether she had heard the rumors concerning Lord Sheffield’s death; he wondered whether any had dared face her wrath by telling her that Douglass believed herself to be married to him and that he and Douglass had a son.

Elizabeth had been haughty with him recently and it was this that had started those uneasy thoughts. She was more devoted to her old Mutton and Bellwether—her new names for Hatton. She was very fond of her Moor; this was Walsingham, who was swarthy enough to merit the name. Therefore, thought Robert, he must plan such diversions as had never been known, even in the days of Cardinal Wolsey and her father.

Kenilworth Castle was surrounded by nearly twenty miles of rich estates. Robert had spent thousands of pounds beautifying the place and cultivating the land. He was a proud man as he rode through his estates. He wished that his father—who had always been his model—were alive to see him. This year alone the Queen had already seen that fifty thousand pounds had come his way—and that was in addition to the income he received from his many activities.

He no longer hoped for marriage with the Queen, for he now believed that she would never marry. She was a strange woman, not to be judged by ordinary standards. Many rumors circulated concerning her. Some said that she would not marry, knowing herself, on account of an obstruction, to be incapable of sexual intercourse. He knew the Queen better than any living person. He knew that love, for her, was a matter of flattery, compliments, kisses, and fond embraces. Her eyes would glisten at the sight of a handsome man; she could not refrain from caressing him. She was indeed a strange woman. She was fond of men, but she was perpetually in love
with power. And … she wished to linger in romantic lanes, never reaching any definite journey’s end.

When he arrived at the Castle, a shock awaited him, for Douglass was there, and the child was with her. He was astounded. She should be at one of his manor houses awaiting the day when he could visit her. Although these people who were with him were his friends, he was not entirely sure that he could trust their discretion forever.

She had evidently decided not to embarrass him. “My dear friend,” she said, “I was passing nearby and, hearing of your great plans, called in to give you my help. You will have much to do here and I fancy I can be of some service to you.”

Were there amused smiles among the spectators? Was that a frown of anxiety between Philip Sidney’s eyes? Robert’s nephew loved him as did no other man, and Philip was wise. He scented danger.

Robert’s quick wits asserted themselves. “You are good indeed, Lady Sheffield,” he said. “I doubt not that I owe much to your kindness.”

But he was thinking: What, when the Queen is here! And his delight was turned to apprehension.

Elizabeth was very
gay as she set out on her journey. With her were all the ladies of the Court, forty earls, and more than sixty lords and knights. She was looking forward with pleasure to her arrival at Kenilworth, to see Robert surrounded by that magnificence which he owed to her.

Dear Robert! He was not so young now. To tell the truth the figure which had once been lithe and slender was no longer so; the dark curling hair which she had loved to fondle was thinning and turning gray, and there were pouches under the beautiful eyes. She, who loved him, saw him clearly; all his faults she saw, but they mattered not, for they could not alter her affection. He had not the clever mind of her Sir Spirit or her dear exasperating Moor; yet he had twice their ambition. He was—she would confess to herself—a little too careful of his health; he loved taking a
physic; she often smiled to hear the earnestness with which he discussed a new cure with another such as himself. She herself defied pain; she would never admit she had any. She defied death and old age.