Queen of This Realm

by Jean Plaidy

  I was no less in love with Robert Dudley after his wife's death than I had been before.

  Constantly he urged marriage.

  “How could we,” I demanded, “while there are rumors in the air?”

  “If you do not marry me people will say it is because you do not believe in my innocence.”

  “But if I do, might they not believe in my guilt?” I went on: “Robin, this matter has caused grievous harm to us both.”

  “Nonsense,” he replied, for there were times when he seemed to forget that I was the Queen, and I did not always reprove him. In fact I liked his insolence. It was all part of that overwhelming masculinity which so appealed to the feminine side of my nature. “It has done us great good. It has cleared the way for us.”

  At such times I thought: Yes, he is guilty. He arranged for that poor woman to fall down the staircase.

  I could easily believe that, and yet it made no difference.

  Cecil continued to be concerned about my unmarried state.

  Time was passing, he said. I must produce an heir. Was I going to put off marriage until it was too late for me to bear children?

  “I have many years before me yet, I would remind you,” I retorted.

  “Madam,” he replied, “the people look for it.”

  I prevaricated and Cecil was too shrewd not to know what I was doing.

  “I would agree to marriage with Robert Dudley, Madam,” he said, “for I truly believe that in your fondness for him you would quickly conceive.”

  I was amazed.

  “The scandal concerning his late wife is too recent,” I said.

  “I know. I know. Perhaps a secret marriage. Once the heir was born, the people would be ready to love you again.”

  “They will love me,” I said firmly. “Give me time.”

  “Marriage is the answer and if it must be Robert Dudley, then so be it.”

  Perhaps he had thought such a suggestion would make me wild with joy. It did not.

  I said: “Not yet. Not yet. I will decide in my own time.”

  I think I had already decided. Much as I loved Robert I knew his nature. He yearned to be King and once I married him he would be. He was too sure of himself. One would think he was there already. No! I wanted no man to stand beside me. I would be sovereign, and I alone.

  Moreover, I had to win back the people's trust, and I would never do that if I married Robert Dudley.

  When I came to think of it, the death of Robert's wife was the greatest lesson I was ever likely to learn and if I did not take advantage of that, I deserved to lose my crown.

  THE LADIES OF MY BEDCHAMBER WERE A CHARMING AND handsome company of women. I should not have chosen them if they had not been. I was very susceptible to beauty in both men and women. I liked to have good-looking people around me. I had sufficient personal attraction myself not to be jealous of a pretty woman, and as I was surrounded by an aura of royalty, I must outshine them all.

  The three who pleased me best were Mary Sidney, Jane Seymour and Lettice Knollys—and all for different reasons.

  Mary Sidney was a dear affectionate creature, and as she was Robert's sister that made a special bond between us. Mary loved all her family but there was no doubt who was her special favorite. She was able to tell me little anecdotes from his childhood and we would laugh together over his boldness like two doting parents. Mary was such a faithful creature and I liked Henry Sidney, her husband, whom I had known since his boyhood. When my brother Edward had come to the throne, he had been made one of the principal gentlemen of the Privy Chamber. He had obviously been seen as a rising star since Northumberland had chosen him to marry his daughter Mary. It was a happy marriage, Mary being such a gentle, loving girl who, I suppose, would have made a success of most relationships. She certainly had become one of my dearest companions.

  Lady Jane Seymour was another gentle girl. I took to her because she was Thomas Seymour's niece and I was sorry for her because both her father and uncle had gone to the block. I felt sympathy for the children who had been thus deprived of a parent—perhaps because I had myself. Jane was a very delicate girl and I was always scolding her about not taking more care of her health. In one matter she did not altogether please me and that was in her friendship with Lady Katharine Grey. Katharine gave herself airs. The silly little creature thought she had more right to the throne than I had, and it had been brought back to me—not by Jane Seymour I hasten to say—that she had said she should have been declared next in succession. I supposed there were some few who would agree that she should. But then there were some who talked of Mary of Scotland, not only as the next Queen but the rightful one. I was always on my guard against successors to the throne, for I imagined they were always casting covetous eyes on the present occupier. Moreover, clever people had a habit of paying court to such, and if too much favor was shown to them it might well be that they would wish to speed up the inheritance.

  No! I did not like successors to the throne—unless of course one should be the natural heir of my body, which was very unlikely in my present mood or, I was inclined to think, my mood hereafter. Even some sons had tried to replace their fathers. Successors were a breed to be avoided rather than cultivated and I decided to keep a watchful eye on Katharine Grey. And the one thing which prevented my complete confidence in Jane Seymour was her close friendship with Katharine Grey.

  The third of my favorite ladies was Lettice Knollys. She was quite different from the other two. There was nothing gentle about Lettice. She was a fiery creature. Her father, Sir Francis Knollys, had married the daughter of Mary Boleyn who was my aunt, so there was a family connection between me and Lettice. I always liked to advance the Boleyn side of my family when possible for, on the death of my mother, life had been hard for them. Thus Lettice would have been of interest to me even if she had not been an outstandingly attractive girl; and if she had not been one of the most beautiful girls at Court, she would have been noticed for her wit and vivacity. I liked her immediately but I realized that it might be necessary to curb those high spirits and a certain tendency which I discovered of trying to outshine everyone… including me.

  She danced well and dancing was one of my special accomplishments. I never tired of it. I loved to glide across the floor and I knew that I looked my best when dancing because of my tallish willowy figure. I often chose to dance with Robert, who also performed well. Very often when we took the floor others would fall away as though to suggest it would be sacrilege to dance while Robert and I cavorted together. The applause would always ring out when the music stopped, and I would smile at the appreciation on the faces of the courtiers knowing that part of their eulogies were directed to the crown; but nevertheless I was an expert performer.

  And this girl Lettice Knollys danced as well as I did. None would say she did, of course, but they knew it; and she often called attention to herself when I was dancing and it irritated me faintly; but whatever her charms and accomplishments she had no crown to augment them.

  She was inclined to be a little familiar too—presuming on the fact that we were some sort of cousins. I often found the need to rebuke her and sometimes gave her a sharp rap across the knuckles for her clumsiness when she helped to dress me, and I knew that when she hung her head and assumed a humble attitude, she was quite aware that the rebuke had been incurred not for clumsiness but for her own attractions.

  Sometimes I wondered why I did not dismiss her. But she was so pretty in a very striking way. I think she had my mother's eyes for they were dark and heavily lashed but whereas my mother had been dark-haired, Lettice's hair was honey-colored. It was abundant and curly. She must have been very like her grandmother, Mary Boleyn, my mother's sister who had been my father's mistress before he married my mother Anne. I heard that Mary had been one of those yielding women who are irresistible to men. I always supposed this was because the men knew there need not be long delays in reaching their desires. Mary was said to be one of those who could not say
no, and those are the ones who are naturally irresistible to men, being a constant reminder to them of their own irresistibility.

  We were in June. Robert's wife had died last September, but the rumors persisted. I tried to show my indifference to them and had long since ordered the freedom of Mother Dowe who had set the rumors about that I had borne a child or was about to have one. I wanted to show that such foolish gossip was not worth punishing anyone for and that I cared little for my detractors—much as my grandfather Henry VII had done with such good effect in the case of Perkin Warbeck. I was often glad that I had made such a close study of history. It was full of lessons for the living.

  Robert was still hoping for marriage and I was still prevaricating. I would not give him a direct no. Nor would I accept any other suitor.

  “Time is passing. We are growing older,” pleaded Robert.

  “We are still young and because of what happened, there must be a gap of time between then and any steps we take.”

  Robert grew sullen, hectoring, which made me laugh. I was constantly reminding him that I was the Queen and that he should not forget it. Poor Robert, how his fingers itched to grasp the crown!

  There are men like that. They yearn for power. I could have told him that great tribulations come with a crown as so many of my ancestors had discovered to their cost. It would make no difference. Men like Robert stretched out their eager hands for it. They would do anything for it. They would fight for it, kill…

  Mary Sidney was a strong advocate for her brother. “The burdens of state are too much for a woman to carry alone,” she said.

  “It depends on the woman,” I told her, my eyes flashing so that she knew better than to pursue the subject.

  She changed it. “Robert is planning a Midsummer's Day water party.”

  “I have heard nothing of it,” I replied sharply.

  “He wanted it to be a surprise for you.”

  “He is always planning for me,” I said tenderly.

  “Your Majesty, he has told me that he thinks of naught but your pleasure.”

  “There is no one like him,” I said.

  Mary beamed with pleasure. “I loved all my brothers,” she went on, “but we all agreed there was no one like Robert. He shone among the rest of us from the time he was two.”

  “How I should have loved to see him when he was two!”

  “He was very sure of himself even then, so they tell me,” said Mary. “They always said he should have been the eldest. He looked after the family. The death of my father and brother…”

  “I forbid you to speak of such things. I know Robert looks out for those he loves.”

  “And he loves none as he loves Your Majesty.”

  “I believe that to be true. I call him My Eyes, because he is always looking out for what is good for me.”

  “It is so comforting for a woman to have a man to care for her … even if she is a queen.”

  I gave her a slap across the hand—playful but there was a touch of irritation in it. “There are some women, Mary Sidney,” I said, “who are capable of managing their own affairs, even if it be ruling a kingdom.”

  “I know that full well. Your Majesty is an example of such.”

  “Well, tell me about the Midsummer party.”

  It turned out to be an interesting occasion. It was a glorious day as was fitting for Midsummer and the sun shone on the pageant Robert had devised. He was an expert with such arrangements. He had several boats, all decorated with roses and other summer flowers, and it seemed as though the whole Court had turned out to witness the pageant.

  There was stirring music coming from one of the barges and children's voices singing the sweetest songs, all in praise of me.

  I was sumptuously gowned in white damask with a greenish pattern on it. Green was becoming to my coloring and brought out the red in my hair. My puffed slashed sleeves fell back to show my hands which were adorned with jewels. My hair was carefully dressed with a few false pieces to give it body and I always looked well with it piled high because of my high forehead. I tried to look as much like my father as possible. People still talked of him affectionately; moreover it reminded them that I was his undoubted daughter and the true inheritor of the throne.

  Robert was magnificent as always in blue satin. The sleeves of his jerkin were slit from wrist to shoulder to show the doublet beneath which was decorated with pearls and embroidery. His breeches—a fashion borrowed from the French—were full at the top and narrowed at the knee, slashed and puffed looking like latticed windows with bars across which sparkled with jewels. He had the most perfectly shaped legs I have ever seen and had no need for garters. His stockings, with gold and silver thread woven into them, fitted perfectly. In his hat was a curling blue feather.

  I listened for the cheers of the people. They were not quite so wholehearted as they had been before the scandal but they were affectionate enough for me. Less so perhaps when Robert appeared with me, and I knew that I must still act with the utmost caution.

  Lettice Knollys was in the same satin-padded, flower-decorated barge as I was and although she was much less elaborately dressed, she managed to look strikingly handsome. I felt a sudden qualm because I caught Robert watching her. She herself was gazing at the shore, but a certain smile played about her lips which could have implied something. What?

  He is looking at that woman, I thought. And what was it I saw in his eyes. Lust! How dared he, when I was there.

  Then I thought: Robert is a man. I would not have him otherwise. I have held myself aloof. Must I be surprised if he sometimes turns his eyes on other women? I blamed her. Was she playing some game with my Robert?

  I would have to watch Madam Lettice. Robert too, perhaps.

  I was faintly uneasy. I did not want the situation to change. Marry Robert I could not. I saw that clearly. What if I told him definitely that there could never be marriage between us? He was a free man now—no longer shackled to his little country wife.

  Nothing stands still. Life changes. Was Robert growing restive? That was a matter of some concern, especially with a minx like Lettice Knollys close by.

  Robert was beside me and I said to him curtly: “So you are admiring the view?”

  Whether he knew I had been aware of his interest in Lettice or not, I was not sure. But he immediately turned to me. “I cannot see anything but Your Majesty when you are near.”

  “It did appear that you found other objects of interest.”

  “I was lost in thought,” he said glibly, “wondering what I could devise for your pleasure.”

  The Spanish Ambassador de Quadra was standing near. “I trust my lord,” said Robert, “that you do not find our little entertainment too boring.”

  “On the contrary,” said de Quadra, in his rather halting English, “I found it most interesting.”

  He was looking from me to Robert speculatively.

  “Did you hear the people cheering the Queen?” asked Robert.

  “I did. They love her well.”

  “We all love the Queen,” went on Robert. “It is our bounden duty to do so, but there are some of us who love her with such intensity that we think of nothing else night and day.”

  “And you are one of these, Lord Robert?”

  He looked at me fervently and I forgot momentarily what I had thought to be his interest in Lettice Knollys.

  “I, more than all the Queen's subjects, love her with an undying love. In fact, my lord, you are a Bishop. Why should you not marry us here and now?”

  I looked sharply at the Spanish Ambassador. He did not seem in the least surprised at such a request and looked at Robert almost as though there was some secret pact between them.

  I said: “I doubt the Bishop would have enough English to carry him through the ceremony.”

  De Quadra was watching me steadily and his next words amazed me. “If you will rid yourself of William Cecil and the band of heretics who surround you, I would willingly perform the ceremony.
”

  He bowed and turned away.

  I said to Robert: “Why did he say that? It is almost as though he had considered the request before.”

  “Oh,” replied Robert, “you know these Spaniards. It would have been a delightful way of marrying, don't you think? On a barge…on Midsummer's Day, unexpectedly…”

  I felt uneasy. I said rather sharply: “It is not the way in which the people expect their Queen to marry.”

  I called Lettice to my side. I wanted to know whether I had imagined what I thought I had seen. She came demurely. Robert scarcely spoke to her. The poor girl must have felt completely snubbed. She did not appear to mind though and Walter Devereux joined us. He was Viscount Hereford, just about Lettice's age—quite a presentable young man but rather dull as I supposed every young man must be when compared with Robert. He seemed quite taken with Lettice and she was turning those startlingly beautiful eyes of hers on him in such a way that was inviting, promising—just as I had imagined she had looked at Robert a short while ago. It was her way with any man—not to be taken seriously.

  What I was really thinking about was the strange words of the Spanish Ambassador.

  They remained in my mind during the whole of that magnificent pageant.

  MARY SIDNEY WAS NOT the sort of girl who could keep a secret and I very quickly discovered that something was on her mind. She was preoccupied, anxious and uncertain. I reproved her several times for her clumsiness; she did not even seem to hear me, which was strange because generally she was so sensitive and could be upset for hours after a reprimand.

  I contrived to be alone with her after my toilette had been completed and I said: “Mary, you had better tell me what is on your mind.”

  She looked startled and then fell on her knees and buried her face in my gown.

  “You should be careful,” I said tartly. “Those aglets on the skirt can be very sharp if they catch your skin. I am always complaining about them.”