Queen of This Realm

by Jean Plaidy

  “By God's death,” I said, “it is fitting that someone should take Essex down and teach him better manners.” The fact was that I was so relieved that no great harm had come to either; and with typical perversity, Essex expressed an admiration for Blount and from then on they became good friends. It was through this incident that Blount came to know Essex's family better, and in due course set up house with Penelope.

  After the death of Robert I had found myself looking anxiously at my dear ministers and wondering morbidly who would be the next to leave me. I sometimes wondered whether I should ever find any to replace them. No one could take Robert's place, of course, but that was different. Robert was unique. But Burghley, Walsingham, Heneage, Hatton … men like that, who had served me well, were exceptional men. Each had his very special qualities and none appreciated more than I their rarity.

  I was really worried about Walsingham. He must be sixty or near it and he had never been robust; he had worked every hour of the day and had never spared himself. The spy system he had created was the finest in Europe. We might never have beaten the Spanish armada if we had not been kept so well informed of its movements and of what was going on in the secret conclaves of diplomatic Spain. He had had his men in every conceivable place and they had been of inestimable value to us.

  And now poor Walsingham was failing. All through the year he had been unwell, although he had continued to keep in close touch with his spies in every country in Europe.

  So it was a very great blow to me when he died that April at his home in Seething Lane.

  Another dear friend and able minister gone! This was the tragedy of growing old when one's friends went one by one like leaves falling from trees at the approach of winter.

  One was left wondering: Who next?

  He left a note in his will that he was to be buried without cost or ceremony because he was deeply in debt and had little to leave. He had spent his fortune lavishly on his spy organization, for he had wished to extend it beyond what the state was prepared to give. And thus he had little to leave to his own family.

  They buried him late at night in Paul's church and, as he had wished, without ceremony.

  I shut myself away to mourn. I wished that I had done more for him when he was alive. I should have questioned him about his financial position. It seemed churlish to have allowed him to spend his fortune on the welfare of the state. But that was how he would have it. There could never be a greater patriot.

  I would keep an eye on his daughter Frances.

  She was a good quiet girl and I was fond of her for her own sake as well as her father's. I had thought her an excellent wife for Philip Sidney, for she was a beautiful, gentle girl, and I was pleased that he should marry her and put that odious Penelope Rich out of his mind.

  Frances Walsingham had a daughter by Sidney—she must have been about seven years old at this time—a pleasant child to whom I had acted as godmother. And when Philip had been wounded in battle, Frances, again pregnant, had gone out to nurse him. Unfortunately he had died and she, poor soul, had lost the child she was carrying and come near to death herself.

  Since then she had lived quietly with her mother and I thought I should bring her to Court and perhaps find a husband for her. I owed that to Walsingham since his widow and daughter had very little money.

  Not long after Frances had come to Court I noticed something about her which aroused my interest. At first I could not believe it. She was such a virtuous girl, and nothing had been said of any suitor for her hand. I should have been the first to know if any had honorable intentions toward her. Surely Frances was not the sort to indulge in immoral relations outside marriage. It was unthinkable. What would my poor Moor have had to say to that!

  I decided I would watch her. It might be that she suffered from some minor ailment. Poor girl, she had gone through a good deal after the birth of that stillborn baby, and had been very ill. Perhaps it was the result of all the tragedy that I was seeing now.

  But there came a time when I believed my suspicions to be correct.

  I called her to me and said: “Frances, does anything ail you?”

  “No, Your Majesty,” she answered promptly.

  I said: “Come here.”

  She came wonderingly and I prodded her in the stomach.

  “I have for some time wondered,” I said, “if you were carrying something which a virtuous widow would not be expected to.”

  Frances was so taken aback that she flushed scarlet.

  “So,” I cried, “I was right. You had better explain yourself, my lady.”

  Frances held her head high and looked defiant.

  I slapped her face. I was so angry with her. I had misjudged her. I had thought her a good, quiet, virtuous widow and when any of those about me indulged in furtive love affairs I always felt enraged. Perhaps it was because of my own virgin state. I was not sure. I certainly did not wish it to be otherwise… and yet there was this anger at the indulgence of others.

  I said impatiently: “Come, come. Who is the man?”

  Frances astonished me then, for she held her head even higher and said: “My husband.”

  “Your husband!” Another of those secret marriages which I deplored! How dared they go behind my back and marry without my consent? If they wished to marry was I not the first to be told?

  “Why was my permission not asked for this marriage?” I demanded.

  Frances held her head still higher, her beautiful face showing a rare defiance as she replied: “I could not think that I was of sufficient importance to warrant informing Your Majesty.”

  “Not of sufficient importance! Did I not love your father! Did he not enjoy my highest regard? Have I not always looked to you for his sake? Not of sufficient importance indeed!”

  I slapped her again. She took a few paces back and as I saw the red mark on her cheek where I had struck her, my anger increased.

  I took her by the arm and shook her.

  “Your father married you in secret to Philip Sidney. I berated him strongly for such an act and he made like excuse. Not important enough to warrant my attention! Did you know that I scolded him and told him he showed scant gratitude to me to tell me I thought him of no importance. Have I not looked to you since he died? I would have found a suitable marriage for you. Tell me now who is this man who has got you with child? I will not have this philandering at my Court.”

  She would not answer and I was beginning to feel uneasy.

  I cried: “I grow impatient. His name! Come girl, do you want me to force you to talk?”

  She fell to her knees and buried her face in my skirts. I was becoming quite sorry for her. She was really distressed, and the girl had had such a bad time with Sidney writing all those love poems to Penelope Rich while he was married to her, and then dying at Zutphen after her going out to nurse him and losing the child she was carrying. Yes, I was sorry for her. Perhaps she had been lonely. Well, I would make this knave marry her—if he were not already married—and the marriage should take place before the child was born.

  “Are you going to tell me, Frances?” I said more gently.

  She raised her agonized eyes to my face and nodded.

  “Well?” I prompted.

  She began to talk incoherently. “We met in the Netherlands…He was with the army…He was there with Philip…We have known each other well…We loved…We… married…”

  “Who?” I demanded.

  There was a pause of a second or two; then she said in a voice I could scarcely hear: “My lord Essex.”

  “Essex!” I thundered.

  She rose to her feet and took a few paces away from me, and without asking permission she turned and ran as fast as she could from my presence.

  Essex! I thought. My Essex! And he had philandered with this girl, Walsingham's daughter! No, he had married her. He had dared to do that without telling me … without asking my permission. Oh, the traitor! The deceiver! All the time he had been showing me how much he ad
ored me, he had been making love with this girl… even marrying her!

  I shouted: “Send for Essex.”

  He came sauntering in with that nonchalance which delighted me while it angered me.

  He would have taken my hand and kissed it but I stood glowering at him.

  “So, Master Husband,” I said, “you are here.”

  Understanding dawned on him and what infuriated me was that he did not care. He knew that I had learned of his marriage and he was shrugging his shoulders. How different it had been with Leicester when I heard that he had married Lettice Knollys. He had made an excuse. I had refused him so many times, and he had been contrite and eager to make me understand that whoever came into his life, I was the first and always would be. With Essex there had been no suggestion of marriage with me. On the other hand he was my favorite young man and I had made it clear that I wanted to be aware of all the proposed marriages of my important courtiers.

  He said rather carelessly: “So the news is out?”

  “Your pregnant wife has told me.”

  “Well it could not remain a secret forever, could it?”

  “And why must it be a secret?” I asked.

  “Because I feared Your Majesty's disapproval.”

  “You were right to fear that.”

  “I thought you were fond of Frances. You are a godmother to Sidney's child. Her father was one of your most able statesmen and you always showed great appreciation of his services.”

  “To marry… without my consent…you!”

  He replied coolly: “I adore Your Majesty. You are a divine being, apart from all others. I have loved you from my boyhood when I first saw you at Chartley. My great joy in life is to serve you…”

  “And take steps behind my back?”

  “I am a man who must live his own life and marry where he will.”

  “If there is one thing I hate most in my subjects it is deceit.”

  “No deceit was intended. Frances's father approved of the match.”

  “I've no doubt he did. He wanted his daughter well provided for.”

  “It seemed to us that his consent was enough.”

  “You are insolent,” I cried. “You have enjoyed great favor at Court. I gave you that. I brought you to the position you now enjoy. You must not forget that I can cast you down as quickly as I brought you up.”

  “That is true,” he said lightly, “and I must accept Your Majesty's decision as to my future.”

  “Why do this in secret?”

  “I know Your Majesty's uncertain temper and I had naturally no desire to arouse it.”

  “You insolent dog!” I cried.

  “That is not insolence, Your Majesty,” he replied with a slight smile, “just honest frankness for which you have so often commended me. If I had come to you and asked permission, you would have refused it. Then I should have had to disobey you. Now I have merely displeased you.”

  I was so hurt, and angry with myself, for caring so much about this brash young man.

  I said: “It is not the secrecy only which I find insupportable. I had plans for a grand marriage for you. I had been considering that… and now you go and tie yourself up with this girl…”

  “Walsingham's daughter.”

  “Penniless!”

  “I do not set great store by riches.”

  “Nor on royal favor either, it would seem. I believe you will be wanting to spend time with your wife… particularly in view of her condition. So, we shall not be seeing you at Court for some time, I gather.”

  It was dismissal. Banishment.

  He bowed low and with great dignity retreated.

  I WAS IN A mood of dejection for days. Essex's absence from Court reminded me of the old days when Leicester had not been there. What was it about them? Was it a certain magic in their personalities which made life seem flat without them?

  Raleigh was much in evidence, and he was a charming young man, very interesting to talk to, as well as gallant in manner, behaving toward me as though he were a lover. That was soothing and helped to shut out from my mind the thought of Essex and Frances together. Perhaps I should cultivate Raleigh, let the beautiful young men squeeze Essex out. He had gone too far—not only by making this marriage but in his entire attitude toward me.

  Poor Frances! I thought. If stories are true she will have a philanderer for a husband. She should not forget that Essex had the blood of that she-wolf in his veins.

  I danced merrily with my young men. I did not ask for news of Essex; but I was sad and depressed. How life had changed! My dearest one gone. Walsingham gone. And poor old Hatton sick and ailing. Nothing would be the same again.

  Hatton had been out of favor. It was a foolish matter over some money he owed the crown. I had always been insistent that debts should be paid. In fact when I played cards in the evening and won I never allowed anyone to default on payment. I had not realized that Hatton was financially pressed. These men of mine lived in such splendor and spent so lavishly that I imagined they were richer than they made out to be.

  Hatton had pleaded an inability to meet the debt and I had insisted it be paid.

  The effect of this had worsened his illness so that he was confined to his bed and I was horrified to learn that the doctors considered his condition to be grave.

  I immediately went to Ely House where I found him in bed. They were trying to make him take a posset, and I was alarmed to see that his hands shook so much that he could not hold the dish.

  As I entered this was taken away from him and he made an attempt to rise. I quickly forbade him to do this, and then I dismissed those in the bedchamber and sat down beside his bed.

  I could have wept to see the ravages of pain on the face of my once so handsome dancing partner.

  “Your Majesty does me great honor …” he began.

  “Be silent,” I commanded. “Talking takes too much effort for you. My dear old Mutton, here is a pretty pass. You must get well at once. I command you to do so. We miss you at Court.”

  He smiled and shook his head and an infinite sadness swept over me.

  “My Eyes have gone. My Moor has left me. I must keep my old Bellwether.”

  “Your Majesty has made me very happy.”

  “Methinks we have made each other happy over the years,” I said. “Now enough of this. What is this posset we have here?” I picked up the dish and sniffed it, recognizing it as a well known remedy and an efficacious one. “I know this well,” I said. “Many times have I benefited from it. Eat it. It will give you strength.”

  He took the dish from me but his hands were shaking too much for him to lift the spoon to his mouth, so I took it and fed it to him.

  “There,” I said, as though talking to a child, “take every drop.”

  And he did so, smiling almost sheepishly. “Your Majesty should not so humble herself.”

  “Humble myself!” I cried. “You are one of my men, and I love my men. They are to me the husband and the sons I never had.”

  I saw the tears on his cheeks. He was very moved.

  I bent over him and kissed his brow, and I said to him: “You must obey your Queen, Chancellor, and she orders you to get well.”

  This was one of the occasions when Christopher Hatton did not obey me.

  I felt his loss deeply… more than I had imagined possible. There were few of my own generation left now. New men were appearing on the horizon and I wondered whether I should get the same unswerving devotion from them as I had had from those who had brightened my youth. They were a different breed: Essex, Raleigh, Mountjoy… No, the days were passing. Life would never be quite so wonderful again.

  Hatton's death was a loss to the country as well as a personal one. Because he had been so handsome and such a good dancer, people had been apt to underestimate him. He had been an excellent Vice Chamberlain before he had become Lord Chancellor and had organized celebrations and festivities with a masterly hand—which was another reason why he had not been taken se
riously by some. But I knew that he had been an able politician and had seen as clearly as I did that one of the dangers in our country was that of religious conflict, which had brought civil war to others—as in the case of France. We wanted none of that in England. We had to take a stand between Puritans and Papists, and I did not know which sect I disliked most. Hatton had agreed with me that there must be no war over religion, which was a matter of an individual's conscience. In fact, he had been suspected of being a secret Catholic because of his leniency toward Catholics. This was not so. He felt as I did and we had been completely at one on this point.

  Hatton had wanted to avoid excesses from both extremes, a view with which I heartily agreed. He had been a fine orator. True, he had liked rewards. Who does not? He had been very eager to acquire the London estate of the Bishop of Ely, and I had thought he should have it for he had need of a splendid home so that he could entertain visitors from abroad when necessary—and his Queen, of course. The lands were said to be some of the richest in England and comprised several acres of vineyard and arable land besides a house and chapel.

  I had been delighted when this was passed to Hatton. He had been such a good servant and loyal courtier, and I had a specially fond feeling for him because he had remained unmarried. He had always said that he could love only one woman—even though it must be from a distance—his Queen. That seemed to me the ultimate gesture of love.

  He had been a clever man and only had seemed less so because he had to stand beside greater statesmen like Burghley and Walsingham—and above all my incomparable Leicester.

  So, another bitter loss.

  I needed refreshing company, so I brought Essex back to Court.

  I asked about the child which had now been born and was pleased that it was a boy and to be called Robert.

  Essex and I were on the old terms. We played chess and cards together into the early hours of the morning. But I did not want to see the new Lady Essex. So Frances did not come to Court, but I believe lived nearby with her widowed mother, as she had before her marriage.

  IT WAS GRATIFYING to me that although I was growing old my people did not love me less. I had lost a tooth or two; my skin was becoming lined, though it never lost its whiteness which I preserved most carefully; and my hair was growing scanty so that I had to resort to more false pieces and mostly wigs; but whenever I went out I was greeted with acclamations of joy and admiration. The people were uplifted by the defeat of the Spaniards; but other monarchs had been victorious in battle, yet none of them had ever had that firm hold on the people's affections which I had.