A Favorite of the Queen: The Story of Lord Robert Dudley and Elizabeth 1

by Виктория Холт

  “Your Majesty’s Eyes sees him in the same way.”

  She laughed at her “Eyes”—her new pet name for him. “What else do my Eyes see?” she asked tenderly.

  “That the woman may well be a danger to my beloved one.”

  “We’ll put her into the Tower. That’s where she should be.”

  It was not difficult to find an excuse. The Countess’s apartments were searched, and some charts of the stars were found. Her servants, under torture, confessed that she had employed astrologers to discover how long Elizabeth would live, and they had foretold that she would die during the next year.

  Here, beyond dispute, was high treason.

  The Countess of Lennox became the Queen’s prisoner in the Tower.

  Now she had two dangerous women behind bars; but her thoughts were still of Scotland.

  That autumn Elizabeth fell ill of the smallpox.

  All the country believed that she would die and that the prophecy of the Countess’s astrologers was to be fulfilled.

  There was tension throughout the country. Two brothers of the Pole family, who had Plantagenet blood in their veins, tried with their followers to march on London. The plot was discovered and the brothers taken prisoner. They insisted that they had not meant to depose the Queen but merely to demand that the succession should be fixed on Queen Mary. Cecil and his ministers forcefully declared that there would be trouble until the Queen married and produced an heir.

  Meanwhile the Queen had become so ill that she believed death was near. She opened her eyes and seeing Robert at her bedside she smiled feebly and held out her hand to him. “Robert,” she said, “so you are here with me. That is where you should be. You … of all others. Had I not been a Queen I should have been your wife.”

  Those who heard those words were sure that if she recovered she would marry him.

  She was filled with remorse because she had not treated Robert with fairness. She loved Robert; she would never love any as she loved him; and if she died, what would become of him? He had many enemies, and he had nothing but her favor. She could have given him the highest position in the land, and she had given him nothing … nothing but lands and riches, not even the earldom he had so ardently desired. Such nobles as Norfolk would deride him, taunt him with his lowly birth; he had no place in the Privy Council; she had delighted in having him by her side, and she had made a lap-dog of the most perfect man in her kingdom.

  She sent for her ministers and gathered her strength to address them. “There is one thing I would ask of you, my lords. It is my dying wish, and I beg of you not to ignore the wish of a dying woman. When I die I wish Lord Robert Dudley to be Protector of this Realm. I wish you to swear to me that you will obey him, respect and honor him, for, my friends, he is a great and good man; he is the most perfect and virtuous gentleman it has ever been my lot to know.”

  And when they had left her, having sworn to do as she asked, she lay back on her pillows and imagined him—Lord Protector as his father had been. She pictured him in all his manly beauty, his dignity and power; and she thought: How can I bear to leave a world that contains him? For what happiness could there be elsewhere compared with that of being near him?

  She was not going to die! Life was too good while she had a crown which she had long coveted, and Robert Dudley was at her side.

  She began to recover; and a few days later she again called her ministers to her. Robert Dudley was immediately to be made a member of the Privy Council. He was no longer to be a lap-dog. He was to be the Queen’s passionate and devoted friend, the statesman who must always be beside her to give her his advice, her Eyes, her companion, the man who must never cease to hope to be her husband.

  In a happy mood she pardoned the two Pole brothers, providing they were exiled from the country; and each day her health improved and, with Lord Robert beside her, she planned entertainments to celebrate her recovery.

  The Queen was fully restored to health when there came news from Scotland which infuriated her.

  The Archduke Charles, who had for so long been her suitor, had now turned his attention elsewhere; and to none other than the Queen’s hated rival, that other Queen, Mary of Scotland.

  The Queen sent for Cecil and declared herself to be insulted; she assured him she would never consent to Mary’s marriage with that philanderer of Austria.

  As the Archduke had shown the utmost tolerance, patience, and courtesy, Cecil shrugged his shoulders and wrote to the Emperor requesting that his son’s advances should be made once more to the Queen of England. Elizabeth meantime wrote to Mary telling her that she would never give her consent to a marriage which could not fail to cause enmity between them; and as Mary’s heirs might succeed to the English crown she would be ill-advised to marry without the consent of the English Queen.

  But the courtship of the Queen of England was beginning to be looked upon as one of history’s farces, and the Emperor wrote to Cecil that he could not have his son exposed to insult a second time. Cecil was perturbed. Eric of Sweden was now out of the marriage market. He had romantically married a beautiful girl whom he had seen selling nuts not far from his palace. So struck had he been with the grace and charm of Kate the nut seller, that he had defied all opposition and married her.

  The Queen had laughed with great heartiness when she had heard of this, although she was piqued, as always, to lose a suitor. But now the news of the retirement of the Archduke from the field was disturbing.

  The Queen must marry, and in Cecil’s opinion, if she now married Dudley the people would be ready to believe that she at all events was innocent of the unsavory suspicions connected with Amy’s death.

  Perhaps, thought Cecil, when Mary had married the Archduke, Elizabeth would so intensely wish to be married that she would follow the example of the Queen of Scots. But Mary was ambitious. She wanted the throne of England for the son she hoped to have, and therefore she had no intention of offending Elizabeth.

  She wrote humbly to the Queen saying that she would decline the Archduke, and was very willing to listen to any good advice on the matter of matrimony which her good sister of England would deign to give her.

  So Elizabeth began to look for a suitable consort for Mary Queen of Scots.

  Elizabeth was spending a good deal of time in the company of Sir James Melville, the Scottish ambassador.

  The man amused her; he was so dour, so unlike the rest of her courtiers who had come to understand that one of their indispensable duties was to make love, conversationally, to the Queen, for the more accomplished they were in this, the more likely were they to succeed at Court. None, of course, had the elegant looks, the magnificent figure, the exuberant charm and the manner of paying a compliment which were Robert Dudley’s; but many of them were beginning to learn these arts, and almost to rival him.

  Therefore it amused the Queen, while she plotted in her cautious way against Mary, to entertain this man who seemed somewhat uncouth. She would have him sit beside her, very close; she would tap his cheek affectionately; she enjoyed shocking him by the magnificence of her clothes, with the love-making of her courtiers to which she so archly responded; she would have music played while they talked, for she knew that he believed any sensuous pleasures to be sinful.

  She insisted on his talking of that woman who was hardly ever out of her thoughts and for whom she felt an overwhelming jealousy.

  “They tell me your mistress is a very fair woman, Master Melville,” she said.

  “Aye, ’tis so.”

  “And do you think so, Master Melville? Do you admire her as we hear all men do?”

  “She is my mistress. How could I do aught else?”

  “As a Queen and your mistress, yes. But then such a righteous man as you would admire a humpbacked one-eyed witch. Now tell me, how doth she look?”

  “Her Majesty the Queen of Scots is neither humpbacked nor one-eyed.”

  “You tease me, sir. Tell me of her clothes. Which does she favor? She has lived
long in France, and they say that the French fashions are more becoming than the English. What do you say, Master Melville?”

  “I know little of fashions, Madam.”

  “But you must know which she likes. I myself favor the Italian caul and the bonnet. Do you know what is said of my preference? They say that I like it because it does not hide my hair, and I am very proud of my hair, of its color and curl. It is this redness which makes them say that.”

  Melville was uncomfortable. It seemed an odd thing that the Queen should consider it part of his duty to discuss fashions and the color of hair.

  He shifted in his seat, but she would not let him go.

  “Whose hair is the better color—the Queen of England’s or the Queen of Scots’?”

  “I beg Your Majesty to excuse me. I know nothing of such matters.”

  “I believe that you do not remember what color hair your mistress has. It cannot have struck you very forcibly, you treacherous man.”

  “Madam, I serve my mistress faithfully …”

  She tapped his arm and laughed, for she was in a very frivolous mood; and it was as though her secret thoughts were so amusing that she could not refrain from laughter.

  “I know it, I know it,” she cried. “You have not noticed your mistress’ hair, because it is so like other ladies’ hair that it has passed your notice. Now here is a simpler question: Who is the more beautiful, the Queen of England or the Queen of Scotland?”

  Melville answered: “You are the fairest …” She smiled graciously at him, but he continued: “… in England. Our Queen is the fairest in Scotland.”

  She pouted. “Come, come! That will not do.”

  “Nay, Your Majesty pokes fun at this poor ambassador.”

  “I am in earnest. I wish to know. I greatly regret that I have not my dear sister here in England. I would remedy the lack. I wish to know exactly how she looks.”

  “Your Majesty, you and she are the fairest ladies in your Courts.”

  “I am fairer of skin and lighter of hair, am I not?” she persisted.

  “That is so, Your Majesty, but …”

  “But what, sir?”

  “Our Queen is very beautiful.”

  “We have heard that said. We would we had her here that we might prove the truth of it. Who is the taller, she or I?”

  “Our Queen is taller, Your Majesty.”

  “Then she is too tall!” said Elizabeth. “For it is said that I am neither too tall nor too low.”

  She was a little annoyed, and talked no more of appearances. This man was certainly uncouth; he did not even know how to compliment a Queen. She thought of the charming things Robert would have said to reassure her.

  “How does your Queen pass the time?”

  “She hunts.”

  “Does she read?”

  “She does, Your Majesty. She reads good books—the histories of countries.”

  “And does she love music?”

  “Very much, Your Majesty.”

  “What instruments does she play?”

  “The lute and the virginals.”

  “Does she play well?”

  “Reasonably well, Your Majesty … for a Queen.”

  Then the Queen must play for the Scottish ambassador; she did so, and he had to admit that, on the virginals, she excelled her rival.

  Then she must arrange for dances to be performed before him that she might show him how she danced. The inevitable question was asked: “Who is the better dancer, the Queen of England or the Queen of Scotland?”

  He was frank: “My Queen dances not so high nor so disposedly as Your Majesty.”

  She was inclined to be amused at the reply, but she answered tartly that she held the dance to be an expression of joy and high spirits, not so much a matter of elegance as she believed the French and the Spaniards looked upon it.

  “Ah, that I might see your Queen!” she sighed. “You cannot guess how I yearn for a meeting. Would you could bring her to me.”

  “I would willingly convey Your Majesty to Scotland. Our King James the Fifth went in disguise to France in order to inspect the Duke of Vendôme’s sister who was proposed for his bride. He was dressed as a page. What if Your Majesty so disguised herself?”

  “Ah, that it could be so!” she sighed.

  Then she said those words which set the whole world laughing and raised the high indignation of Scotland. “I have found a husband for your mistress.”

  “Your Majesty?”

  “Yes. I will give her the only man in the world whom I consider worthy to mate with her. This is the most virtuous, the most perfect of men, one whom I would have married myself had my mind not been given to

  the virgin state. You have guessed? But surely you have. There is only one man who could fit such praises. I refer to my Lord Robert Dudley.”

  The ambassador was at a loss for words.

  She smiled at him pleasantly. “Ah, you feel his rank is not high enough? That is easily remedied. I shall do for him that which I have long promised. I shall make him the first Earl in the country. Now, my dear Melville, to your chamber, and write to your mistress that she may no longer remain in ignorance of the great good I would do her.”

  Robert was furious.

  He demanded instant audience and she, nothing loth, granted it.

  “My lord, what ails you? See how I have your good at heart!”

  “You would make a laughing-stock of me, Madam.”

  “What! In offering you one of the most sought-after of brides?”

  “There is only one bride I would have.”

  “You are too ambitious, Robert.”

  “I do not understand you.”

  “You do not seem to understand that you speak with your Queen.”

  “But you have led me to believe you would marry me.”

  “Time and time again I have told you that I would never forsake the virgin state. Why, Robert, she is the fairest of women.”

  She waited and of course it came: “That is untrue. You are the fairest of women.”

  “Master Melville does not seem to think so, and he has seen us both.”

  “The man is an uncouth ruffian from a land of barbarians.”

  “I believe you are right, Robert.”

  “Then put an end to this farce.”

  “Come here, my love. Kat … a cushion for my lord. I would have him kneel at my feet. Nay, woman, the best of my cushions, for only the best is good enough for him. Hath he not said so?” He took her hand and kissed it. “Robert,” she said, “my fool Robert, do you think I would let you go to her!”

  “Do you think I would ever leave you?”

  “I’d send you to the block if you tried.”

  “Then we see this matter through the same eyes as always?”

  “Yes, my dearest Eyes, we do. But the woman is an arrogant creature. She will be angry when she knows I offer you, and she’ll not dare refuse you. But she will be angrier still when you refuse her. It will be as though you choose between us—marriage with her or the hope of marriage with me. And Robert, you are a man whom any woman would delight in having for her husband.”

  “Except one who torments and teases and will not decide.”

  “It is the Queen who is uncertain. The woman would take you this moment.”

  “My beloved … my Queen …”

  “Hush! That sly Kat listens. My dear one, now I shall show my love for you. I shall make you an Earl … the Earl of Leicester and Baron of Denbigh, that title which has only been used until now by royal persons; and I shall give you the Castle of Kenilworth and Astel-Grove. Now, you see, my darling, why I have seemed harsh to you to whom I could not be harsh. I did not grant you this state before, for I did not wish our enemies to call you my lap-dog. Now a great title will be yours; you will be the richest man in England—almost a King—and that is what I wish you to be. This I can do now, and none dare say me nay; for to marry with the Queen of Scots you must indeed be Earl of Leicester. And i
f you do not marry the Queen of Scots, you will still be with your own Elizabeth, and you will be none the worse—the Earl of Leicester instead of plain Lord Robert.”

  He was kissing her hands, her throat, and her lips.

  Robert was created Earl of Leicester with great pomp and ceremony at Westminster.

  The Queen had insisted that, before he departed for Scotland, Sir James Melville must witness the ceremony, that he might report to his mistress in what high esteem the Queen held the man she was offering to her dear sister of Scotland.

  She would allow none but herself to help him put on his robes. He was very solemn and dignified, and never had he looked quite so handsome as he did in his robes of state.

  All those present noted the tender looks the Queen bestowed upon him; and, as he knelt before her and bent his head, she could not resist tickling his neck, there before them all.

  She turned to the Scottish ambassador and, her face shining with love and pride, said: “How do you like him?”

  “He is doubtless a worthy subject,” said Melville. “He is happy to serve a Queen who discerns and rewards good service.”

  She smiled and her eyes fell on young Darnley who, as Prince of the Blood Royal, was standing near her. She knew that the sly ambassador was in touch—as he thought, in secret—with that young man, and that he hoped to make him, instead of the Earl of Leicester, the husband of Mary Queen of Scots.

  She pointed to Darnley and said, imitating the Scottish accent: “Yet you like better yon lang lad.”

  He was sly, that man. He did not know how much she had learned of his secret plotting. He whispered, thinking to please her: “No woman of spirit, Your Majesty, would make choice of such a man—for although he is very lusty, so I have heard, he is beardless and has the face of a lady.”

  The Queen signified that she was well pleased with this answer, and her eyes went back with admiration to the newly made Earl.

  Later at the banquet to celebrate the occasion she kept the Scot beside her.

  She reminded him of the great affection she had for Mary.

  “To no other would I offer Robert Dudley, the Earl of Leicester. You must tell your mistress that in so doing I offer her the greatest compliment I could offer any. I am giving her the man I would have married myself were I not determined to live and die in the virgin state.”