by Laura Dowers
‘And you would get a crown.’
‘Which is no more than you desire here in England.’
Robert considered. ‘Do you think you could stomach Scotland, Norfolk? It’s a savage country.’
‘So is the north of England, Leicester. I manage that well enough.’
‘Well, in that case then, you have my support.’
‘I wonder...,’ Norfolk began and paused, embarrassed. ‘I wonder if you would speak with the queen about it.’
‘You want me to ask her?’
‘I thought it might be better coming from you.’
Robert smiled, which annoyed Norfolk. ‘Very well.’
‘Good.’ Norfolk shuffled his feet, unsure what to say or do next. Gratitude was called for, he knew, but he couldn’t bring himself to thank Robert. ‘I’ll be going then.’
‘You’re welcome,’ Robert called out to him as he left, causing Norfolk to nearly walk into the doorframe.
44
Hampton Court Palace, Surrey, December 1571
Elizabeth had declared it was too hot to move about, and had instructed all the windows to be thrown open. Cushions had been strewn upon the floor and she and Robert lay there, likes bees drunk with pollen, too stupefied to move.
‘Is that Norfolk hovering?’ Elizabeth jerked her chin towards the opposite end of the corridor.
Robert glanced behind him. ‘I’m rather afraid it is, Bess.’
Elizabeth groaned. ‘Oh, what can he want? Go and find out, Rob, but don’t bring him back with you. I don’t think I can bear him today.’
Robert got to his feet and sauntered over to Norfolk. ‘Can I help you, Your Grace?’
‘Have you spoken to her yet?’ Norfolk demanded.
‘No, not yet.’
‘Why the devil not?’
‘I’ve been waiting for the right moment to approach her.’
‘So, what’s wrong with now?’
‘All right, I’ll talk to her now. But don’t wait here. I’ll let you know later.’
‘I’ll come to your rooms after six. Don’t keep me waiting.’ Norfolk strode off.
‘Well, what did he want?’ Elizabeth asked as he plumped back down on the cushion.
‘He asked me a few weeks ago to speak with you on a delicate matter. Regarding Mary Stuart.’
Elizabeth looked away. ‘Oh, yes?’
‘He wants –’
‘Since when have you and Norfolk been such good friends?’
‘We’re not,’ Robert assured her.
‘Then why are you doing his begging for him?’
‘I’m not begging. Besides you don’t know what I’m going to say yet.’
‘I do know what you’re going to say,’ Elizabeth replied energetically. ‘You must all think I’m stupid.’
Robert was startled. ‘What am I going to say, Bess?’
‘Norfolk wants to marry Mary Stuart. He wants you to find out if I’m agreeable to the idea.’
Robert stared at her, open-mouthed. ‘I think you must be a witch, Bess.’
‘Cecil keeps me fully informed,’ Elizabeth said. ‘Unlike some.’
‘You think I should have told you this before?’
‘Well, don’t you?’
‘It’s only a question of marriage, Bess.’
‘It’s not just marriage,’ she cried, her voice rising. ‘God, what a fool you are! He’s plotting rebellion, Robert, do you hear me? Rebellion. Marriage to Mary Stuart is only the first stage.’
‘Bess, I didn’t realise,’ he protested.
‘There seems to be much you don’t realise.’
He swallowed and licked his dry lips. ‘I’ll tell him No then, shall I?’
‘You’ll tell him nothing, for the present.’
‘Why not?’
‘He expects me to say No, so he’s making contingency plans. He’s written to Mary, offering himself, and she’s accepted him. They’re not prepared to wait for my permission. What they are preparing for is to act. As uncrowned king of the north, he thinks he can raise an army to rise against me.’
‘Bess, for God’s sake, you must have him arrested.’
‘Not yet,’ she shook her head and reached for her fan.
‘But if he’s plotting against you -’
‘We will wait. That’s what I want and Cecil agrees with me. We wait.’
‘I don’t understand. Wait for what?’
‘For Norfolk to incriminate himself. Which he will do, before long.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
‘Why, Robin,’ she looked up at him, wide-eyed, ‘it’s a gift us witches have.’
45
Earl of Southampton’s house, Hampshire, January 1572
‘What is Elizabeth playing at?’ Robert shoved Ambrose’s letter across the table to Cecil. ‘My brother tells me it is common knowledge the northern earls are planning a rebellion, so why aren’t they under arrest?’
‘We want time to gather evidence against them.’
‘Surely there is evidence enough!’ Robert scoffed.
‘We want more,’ Cecil replied simply.
‘What about Norfolk then?’
‘Ah,’ Cecil raised an eyebrow, ‘there I have some news that will please you. The queen has ordered his arrest.’
‘But Norfolk has left the Court,’ Robert said, sitting up in agitation. ‘I saw him leaving.’
‘Don’t concern yourself. He is being pursued and will be brought back to the Tower.’
‘Thank God for that. Let’s just make sure he stays there, where he can’t cause us any more trouble.’
But Elizabeth released Norfolk. He behaved himself for a while, but he soon grew restless and began writing to the Scottish queen again. They picked up where they had left off, with talk of marriage and usurpation. Cecil knew about it from the start, of course. There wasn’t a noble’s house in England that did not house his spies. So, Norfolk was arrested and went back to the Tower. The northern earls he had been plotting with heard of his arrest, and decided to go ahead without him. Their rebellion failed, and they were punished.
Norfolk meanwhile begged the queen to show him mercy. Elizabeth may have been prepared to forgive Norfolk, but there were men in her Privy Council who would not.
46
Whitehall Palace, London, May 1572
Cecil winced as he shifted his swaddled foot on the stool. He looked across the bed. ‘I didn’t hear what the doctor said.’
Robert kept his eyes on Elizabeth, asleep in the bed. ‘She’s suffering from pains in the chest. He couldn’t find any cause.’
‘I wonder...,’Cecil scratched his temple, ‘I wonder if it could be because of the duke.’
Robert frowned at him. ‘Norfolk?’
‘Well, this latest treachery of his has struck at her hard, Leicester. She is ever inclined to be merciful, you know. She had expected the Duke to have learnt his lesson when she allowed him to leave the Tower. For him to betray her once again...,’ Cecil shook his head.
‘Why doesn’t she just sign his death warrant and be done with him?’
‘The queen has not ordered an execution before, Leicester.’
Robert leant forward and gently took hold of Elizabeth’s cold hand. ‘Let Norfolk be the first, I say. If anxiety is the cause of this sickness, then she should execute him without further delay.’
‘Have you spoken to her of the duke?’
‘I’ve tried. She signed the warrant once and then tore it up.’
‘Well,’ Cecil sighed, ‘he is her kin.’
‘But she’s not fond of him, so her hesitation can’t be due to familial affection. It can’t be a question of guilt. He’s admitted his treason.’
‘And the Commons do want his death. They petition me almost weekly to press the queen to it.’
Elizabeth suddenly jerked, her feet kicking out beneath the blankets and she cried out, her face screwing up as if in pain.
‘Bess,’ Robert said softly, reaching out to
stroke her cheek. ‘It’s alright, I’m here.’ She seemed soothed and turned on her side, drawing her legs up, becoming small like a child.
‘I’m sure Norfolk plagues her dreams,’ Cecil said, almost angrily. ‘I wish she would act.’
‘We’ll have to work on her when she’s better, Cecil.’ Robert rubbed at his eyes. ‘You know, you don’t have to stay up, Cecil. I’ll sit with her.’
‘I’m quite comfortable, really.’
‘But your gout must be painful.’
‘It’s better than it was. And I wouldn’t be able to sleep if I went back to my rooms. I’m quite content sitting here.’
Leicester House, London, June the 2nd 1572
‘Did you manage to get any sleep, Bess?’ Robert asked, watching Elizabeth as she picked at a loose thread on a cushion she clutched to her chest.
She gave him a derisive look. ‘How could I sleep?’
‘Will you take some breakfast?’ Robert asked, gesturing towards a table where bread and meats were laid out.
‘I can’t eat,’ she cried, incredulous. ‘The Duke of Norfolk, the highest peer in the land, my cousin, Robin, is even now walking out to his death on Tower Hill. At my command! I signed my name to his death warrant. His blood will be on my hands.’
‘How many more times?’ Robert slammed down his cup of beer. ‘All your council, the Commons, urged you to this. For your own safety, Bess.’
‘I know, I know.’ She sat down next to him. ‘I wonder what he will say on the scaffold. Will he speak against me?’
‘You’ll get a report.’
‘I’m not sure I want to know.’
‘Then I won’t let you see the report, Bess. Now, please, eat. You’ll make yourself ill again.’
‘Is there still time to stop it?’
‘No,’ he replied curtly and placed a plate of meat before her. She nibbled at a slice of beef until the Tower cannon fired, and announced the death of the duke.
As their thunder died away, Elizabeth began to shake. Robert hastily moved to her side and drew her to him.
‘It’s over,’ he said softly into her hair. ‘There will be no nightmares, I forbid it. And you will be safe, Bess. We will make you safe.’
47
Leicester House, London, November 1572
Lady Douglass Sheffield sat stiffly upright as she heard Robert’s voice in the hall. She pinched her cheeks, fearing they might be too pale just as the door opened and Robert walked in.
‘Douglass,’ he cried, holding his arms out. ‘Why didn’t you let me know you were coming tonight?’
‘Sit down, Robert.’ She patted the chair beside her. ‘I have something to tell you.’ Douglass took a few deep breaths and said ‘I’m with child, Robert.’
‘You’re...,’ he gasped, his eyes widening. ‘Good God.’
‘It is quite natural, I assure you,’ Douglass replied. ‘The wonder is, it hasn’t happened sooner. And I need to know what your intentions are.’
‘My intentions?’
Douglass’s eyes filled with tears. ‘Oh, Robert, are you going to make me beg?’
‘Douglass,’ he said, dropping to his knees and taking her hands, ‘don’t cry.’
‘We must marry.’ She slid her hands away and delved inside her bodice for a handkerchief.
Robert clambered back into the seat. ‘Douglass, let’s not be hasty –’
‘I won’t be known as the mother of your bastard, Robert.’
‘Please understand, I have to be careful. You know how the queen is.’
‘I don’t care about the queen. She can’t stop us marrying.’
‘No, but she can make it damned unpleasant for us, Douglass. All I have I owe to her generosity. She could withdraw everything just like that.’ He clicked his fingers to indicate the swiftness of Elizabeth’s disapproval.
She grasped at his hands. ‘Don’t let me be your whore, Robert. I’ll beg you, if that’s what you want. Please, please, let us marry.’
Robert took his own handkerchief and wiped her eyes. ‘Just give me a little time, Douglass. I have to go to Kenilworth in a few days to see how the building work is coming along. I’ll be back in about a month and we’ll sort it out then. Everything will be fine, I promise.’
Warwick Castle, December 1572
‘I rode over to Kenilworth last week,’ Ambrose said, pulling his fur cloak tighter about his shoulders. ‘I couldn’t believe the change in it.’
Robert stared into the fire. ‘I’m going to see it tomorrow. It should be impressive, the amount of money it’s costing me.’
‘That sounds like regret.’
‘No, not at all.’ Robert ended the sentence with a sigh.
Ambrose narrowed his eyes. ‘What’s on your mind, Rob?’
Robert looked up. ‘It’s Douglass,’ he said sulkily.
‘The delectable Douglass?’ Ambrose raised a surprised eyebrow. ‘Whatever can she have done?’
‘She’s with child.’
‘But Rob, that’s wonderful. Why aren’t you pleased?’
‘How can I be pleased?’
‘You’ve always wanted children.’
‘It’s difficult, Am.’
‘Oh, you mean the queen?’ Ambrose nodded. ‘Well, I admit it will be a trifle awkward for you, but surely she’ll understand?’
‘Oh, you think so? Be understanding, finding out that I’ve had a mistress for almost four years, and that she is going to bear my child? Can you really believe Elizabeth won’t mind?’
‘I’m sure she’ll be angry at first. But what does her anger matter when you have the prospect of an heir before you? And Douglass will make a fine wife.’
Robert grimaced.
‘You don’t still have hopes of marrying Elizabeth, do you? Oh, Rob, surely not?’
‘She still might agree,’ Robert said with a shrug.
‘Rob, if Elizabeth was going to marry you, she would have done so years ago. You must marry Douglass.’
‘Must I?’
‘Of course you must. You don’t want your child to be a bastard, do you? After all, who else do you have to leave all your worldly goods to?’
‘I can leave what I have to anyone I choose, bastard or no. And bastards can be legitimised. Anyway, when Douglass and I began our relationship, I told her then she couldn’t expect me to marry her. I kept nothing from her.’
Ambrose shook his head. ‘I think you’re a fool,’ he said, his annoyance showing. ‘You’re free to wed whom you please. You have the prospect of an heir before you, yet you still hold out for a woman who has no intention, and to my mind, has never had, any intention of marrying you.’
‘And you don’t, or won’t, understand,’ Robert retorted angrily. ‘Everything I have, I owe to Elizabeth. What she has so freely given, she can take away. And then where would I be?’
‘I do know that. What then of Douglass?’
‘I don’t want to hurt her, Am.’ Robert rubbed his forehead. ‘I have thought of a way out. What if I were to seem to marry her?’
‘What do you mean ‘seem’?’
‘I mean go through a ceremony, but have no witness to it. That way, Douglass will be content believing herself married, but I can deny the marriage if Elizabeth ever does agree to marry me.’
‘Rob!’ Ambrose cried in horror.
‘You think it despicable.’
‘You know it is.’
‘But I don’t see I have any other option, Am. After all, I’m not saying I will disavow her. Just that I can if I need to.’
Leicester House, London, January 1573
Robert shook the rain from his cloak and handed it to his servant. ‘Wine and cakes,’ he ordered.
‘At once, my lord,’ the servant replied. ‘Sir Henry and Lady Sidney have arrived. They are in their chamber.’
‘Very well.’ Robert, tired, climbed the stairs slowly. He knocked on the door and opened it. ‘Hello, you two.’
Henry, stretched out full length on the bed, wav
ed to him and lazily sat up. Mary, her ravaged face uncovered in the safety of her chamber, turned to him from the window and held out her arms. ‘How dare you not be here when we arrive,’ she scolded as they embraced.
‘Forgive me, I’ve been in Esher.’
‘And what were you doing in Esher?’ Henry asked jauntily.
Robert hesitated, looking from one to the other. ‘Has Ambrose not told you?’ Both shook their heads. ‘I’ve married Douglass. Sort of. Well, she’s going to have a child.’
He accepted their cries of joy and congratulation tetchily.
‘How is she?’ Mary asked.
‘She’s well enough. I’ve sent her up to Warwick. She’s going to stay with Ambrose until Kenilworth is ready and the baby is born.’
‘But why have we heard nothing of this?’ Henry asked. ‘The court should be buzzing with this news.’
‘The court knows nothing of this, and that’s the way I intend to keep it. The queen must never find out.’
‘But if you’re married, she’ll have to know. And what do you mean, sort of?’
Robert sighed impatiently. ‘It’s complicated, Mary. Oh, look, write to Ambrose, he’ll explain. I’m sick of talking about it.’
‘Forgive us for being pleased for you,’ Mary replied haughtily, more than a little put out.
‘Oh, don’t be like that.’ He put his arm around her waist. ‘Are you going to Court while you’re in London?’
‘Yes,’ Henry said, ‘we must pay our respects to the queen.’
‘Well, then for God’s sake, don’t mention any of this to Elizabeth. She mustn’t know.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Mary assured him, ‘we won’t.’
48
On Progress, Summer 1573
Robert hurried along the corridor. Clutched in his hand, a letter from Douglass he dared not read until he was back in his own room, and alone. Courtiers importuned him as he went, hurrying alongside him even as he brushed them off. At last, he closed the door to his bedchamber behind him, moved to the window for the light and opened the letter.
