The Queen's Favourite

by Laura Dowers

  Robert sank back in his chair, enjoying the long moment of stunned silence as his words sunk in. Then the room seemed to explode with noise. The duke rose to his feet, and began to exclaim in ridiculously fast French the outrage he felt at the earl’s words, while Fenelon appealed to Elizabeth to explain. Sussex harangued Robert for not having discussed this new tactic, while Simier sat, still and silent, his eyes locked in an understanding with Robert, whose own eyes dared him to act.

  ‘Your Majesty,’ Simier said in a low voice, and astonishingly, the room quietened. ‘The earl has made a most audacious proposal, and despite what he says, I do not think it a proposal discussed or agreed upon in council. The earl himself puts this forward, to shatter any chance of making my master’s happiness or your own.’

  ‘That is a bold assertion, sir,’ Robert declared. ‘The queen’s happiness is more important to me than anything, second only to that of England, as the queen would agree. If I thought she could find happiness in marriage to a prince of France, I would not oppose you.’

  ‘So you do oppose me?’ Alencon demanded.

  ‘I find you a most personable and charming man, my lord, a credit to France and an ornament to our Court. But I would be no good councillor if I did not advise the queen what is best for her country as well as for her.’

  ‘You deny that marriage would be good for Her Majesty?’ Simier countered.

  ‘Marriage between princes is a political contract. As I have said, the welfare of the country is the queen’s and my first concern.’

  Simier slammed his hand on the table. ‘You profess such concern for queen and country.’

  ‘I am devoted to both, sir, and you will address me as ‘my lord’.’

  ‘Indeed, my lord,’ Simier sneered. ‘And how does your wife feel about being third in your consideration?’

  ‘My wife is none of your concern.’

  ‘But she may be of concern to Her Majesty, who has no knowledge of her, as you have seen it fit to keep her existence a secret.’

  A silence fell upon the group. All eyes were upon Elizabeth. ‘You will all leave,’ she said finally. ‘The earl will remain.’

  The company rose, the duke reaching out to take her hand, but Elizabeth kept it resolutely by her side. Simier plucked at his sleeve and the duke followed him out of the chamber.

  ‘Bess,’ Robert murmured.

  ‘Must I be made a laughing stock, Robin?’

  ‘You should have told them that you already knew about Lettice. Why didn’t you?’

  ‘And admit to them all that you didn’t care for me?’ She gave a hollow laugh. ‘Well, they’ve known all along, I suppose.’

  ‘You know that’s not true,’ he said, taking her hand. ‘May God strike me dead the day I stop loving you.’

  She squeezed his hand. ‘How can I face them?’

  ‘You’re the queen, you can face anyone.’ He reached up and smeared her tears across her cheeks. She nestled against his hand and smiled weakly.

  ‘The pretence has turned sour now,’ she said.

  ‘What pretence?’

  ‘I don’t want to marry the duke.’

  ‘I’m so glad to hear you say that, Bess.’

  ‘Even though you have the pleasure of being wed yourself?’

  ‘I assure you, Bess, there are times when being a married man is anything but a pleasure.’

  She stroked his face. ‘You are a terrible liar, Rob.’ She sniffed. ‘They’ll expect me to send you to the Tower.’

  ‘Send me then. If it will help you to face them.’

  ‘I could never send you to that place, not again.’ She smoothed her skirts and took a deep breath. ‘You had best call Cecil in.’

  Cecil entered, surprised to find Robert still in one piece.

  ‘Oh, don’t look so wary, Cecil,’ Elizabeth said. ‘I haven’t murdered Leicester, nor do I intend to.’

  ‘You see, Cecil,’ Robert got to his feet, ‘Simier thinks he has surprised the queen. He has not. Her Majesty has known for some time that I am married.’

  ‘Indeed,’ Cecil raised an eyebrow. ‘I was not aware.’

  ‘I’m afraid I have an unpleasant job for you, Cecil,’ Elizabeth said. ‘You must tell the duke there will be no marriage between us.’

  ‘But -,’ Cecil started.

  She cut him off with a wave of her hand. ‘I am resolute. There is to be no marriage. I have no doubt he will have to be bought off, but I rely upon you to do it as cheaply as possible. Now, I dismiss you both. I am not to be disturbed for the rest of the day.’

  12

  Greenwich Palace, London, October 1579

  The brush pulled gently at the queen’s thinning hair. She was melancholy tonight, and unusually silent. No gay chatter, no laughter broke the quiet tension of the room. Her ladies looked to one another from beneath lowered lids, and each trod carefully lest their footfalls rouse their mistress.

  Someone knocked on the door. Elizabeth pointed to her wig with its tight red coils and jewels. With it fixed in place, she signalled for the door to be opened.

  ‘Has he gone?’ she asked as soon as Robert entered.

  He nodded. ‘I left the Duke of Alencon on a sandbank, madam.’

  ‘Stranded?’ she gasped. ‘Oh, Rob, you didn’t?’

  ‘I did,’ he assured her, taking a seat and helping himself to wine. ‘And from what I hear, the Monkey is in high disgrace. One of my men overheard an almighty quarrel between him and the duke.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes. My man doesn’t understand French too well, but he got the gist of it. Alencon seemed to think that Simier had let him down, that he shouldn’t have said what he did and that he ruined everything.’

  ‘Leave us,’ Elizabeth waved away her ladies. They scurried from the room. ‘The duke was right. Were it not for Simier… I suppose I should be grateful to him.’

  ‘A pox on gratitude. You owe him nothing.’

  ‘I am glad they’re gone. And do not flatter yourself it was done for you.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That I ended it. I always said I never meant to marry. I was keeping my promise.’

  ‘Hatton believed you wanted to marry the duke,’ Robert said.

  ‘Oh, and you did not?’

  ‘I knew better,’ he shrugged.

  ‘You presume to know me better, do you? Well, I tell you, little man, you know me not at all. What do you know of my heart?’

  ‘Forgive me. I meant no… I merely meant -’

  ‘Yes, merely. You would do well to remember your place, my lord.’ She moved away to the fireplace, kicking at a log sticking out from the hearth with a slippered toe.

  Robert searched his mind for something to say, wanting to ease the sudden tension between them.

  ‘I have news, madam,’ he ventured. Elizabeth turned her head slightly, still frowning. ‘I have a son.’

  ‘A boy,’ she said dully. ‘He is well?’

  ‘Yes, bonny and lusty.’

  ‘His name?’

  ‘Robert.’

  ‘You already have a son called Robert.’

  ‘Yes, but this one is legitimate. The other was base-born.’

  ‘Oh,’ she rolled her eyes, ‘I remember your sister telling me about you.’

  ‘What did Mary tell you?’

  ‘Your obsession with the family name. How it must be continued.’

  ‘I see nothing wrong with that,’ Robert said defensively. ‘My father thought the same.’

  ‘As did mine,’ Elizabeth agreed, ‘but it is I who bear the scars for it. I wonder if he can see me now. Sovereign of such a country, with subjects a queen can be proud of. He would never have believed a woman could rule alone.’

  ‘If ever a woman could, that woman would be the daughter of Henry the Eighth.’

  ‘And of Anne Boleyn,’ Elizabeth said quietly, looking down at her hands.

  Robert’s breath caught in his throat. Elizabeth had never before spoken of her mother to him
.

  ‘I killed my mother, you know,’ she said. ‘Had I been a son, she would have been safe. It’s strange, but when I was a child, I thought my father was a god. He seemed one to me. People worshipped him, obeyed him and he had the power of life and death over them. And he exercised that power all too often.’ She leant over to a side table and pulled a mirror towards her. She stared into it. ‘No one ever told me when my mother died, but I knew something was happening. All the servants, they all tiptoed around me, and everyone, everyone was whispering and casting furtive glances at me. My dear Kat, God bless her, told me as sweetly as she could. She said that my mother was in a better place, but that I would not see her again, and I must not ask for her, or say anything to anyone. I was but a child of three, but I understood she was dead. I asked Kat why my mother was gone. As far as I knew, she had not been ill and I could not comprehend any other reason. I remember Kat hesitated. I suppose she was wondering what she could tell me. And then Kat told me my mother had offended the king and she had been punished. She would not tell me more. Only later, when Katherine Howard died, did she gave me the full story, of what my mother had done. I believed her, believed that my mother was such a wanton, that she would fornicate with her own brother. If I didn’t believe it, then my father was a murderer and my father couldn’t be that. But the same thing had happened to Katherine, and I started to doubt.’

  ‘After Katherine,’ Robert said slowly, ‘that was when you told me you would never marry.’

  ‘Now you understand why I said it. I still cannot think ill of my father. Odd, isn’t it? I know he had my mother murdered. And those crimes she was accused of would never have been brought against her, if I had been the son my father craved. No one would dare to attack the mother of the heir to the throne. But the only child she had was a girl, and I couldn’t protect her.’

  ‘You blame yourself? But Bess, it wasn’t your fault. How could it be?’ He reached out and squeezed her shoulder.

  ‘You may not touch me,’ she said, shrugging off his hand. ‘I am pleased you have a son.’

  ‘I could bring him to you, if you wish,’ he offered hopefully.

  ‘In time. Perhaps. When he is older.’

  ‘My wife could bring him anytime.’

  Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed. ‘Robert, this is the last time I will tell you. As far as I am concerned, your wife does not exist.’

  13

  Greenwich Palace, London, July 1584

  Robert opened one bleary eye. ‘What is it?’ he mumbled into the pillow. The head poking through the bed hangings smiled roguishly.

  ‘The queen wants to ride, my lord,’ Johnson, his manservant said. ‘You had best rise.’

  ‘Now?’ Robert said incredulously.

  ‘I am afraid so, my lord.’

  Robert threw the bedclothes off and sat up. ‘Get me my slippers. And take that grin off your face, you knave. How the devil does she do it?’

  ‘Do what, my lord?’

  ‘Stay up most of the night and still get up with the lark. Oh, who is that?’

  Johnson opened the door. ‘Sir Christopher,’ he announced, holding the door open wider for him to enter.

  ‘Leicester,’ Hatton said loudly, ‘are you still not dressed?’

  ‘Should I be at this ungodly early hour?’ Robert grumbled, moving behind the screen that enclosed his close-stool and emptying his bladder. ‘What do you want, Hatton?’

  ‘The queen sent me to hurry you along. It’s a good job I came.’

  Robert grunted, shrugging off his nightshirt and grimacing at the sight of his rotund belly. ‘Quick, give me my clothes.’ He was almost dressed when there came another knock at the door.

  ‘If that is someone else sent to hurry me...’

  ‘Who are you?’ Johnson demanded of the tall, ginger-haired lad standing in the doorway.

  ‘Tom.’

  ‘Tom who?’

  But Robert recognised the voice. ‘Tom, what are you doing here? Is something wrong?’

  ‘The Countess sent me to fetch you, my lord. She begs you to return to her with all haste. Your son…’

  Robert grabbed Tom’s shoulders and swung him round to face him. ‘Not dead?’

  Tom blinked and swallowed uneasily. ‘Not when I left. But he was very sick then, my lord.’

  Johnson touched Robert gently on the arm, and he flinched as if he had been struck. ‘My lord,’ Johnson said quietly, ‘shall I pack?’

  ‘No,’ Robert’s voice came out cracked. ‘No time. We must leave at once.’

  ‘Just your boots then, my lord,’ Johnson said, leading him by the elbow towards a chair. Robert obeyed meekly, feeble hands, his own, tugging at the boots to pull them on. Johnson threw a riding cloak over his shoulder and tied it deftly under Robert’s left armpit.

  ‘Hatton,’ Robert said, looking up at him blankly, ‘will you tell the queen-’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ Hatton waved him silent, ‘don’t worry, I shall tell her. You get to your son, my friend. I pray to God that all will be well.’

  14

  Wanstead House, Essex, The same day

  Robert rode like the devil, Johnson and Tom struggling to keep up. When they reached Wanstead, and the house was in sight, Robert closed his eyes. Please God, he prayed, please do not let my son die.

  Robert flung open the front door and charged into the hall. ‘Where is your mistress?’ he demanded of a huddle of girls at the bottom of the stairs.

  ‘In the nursery, my lord,’ one answered timidly, pointing upstairs. They scurried out of his way as he sped past them. He paused on the top stair to catch his breath; he had caught sight of the nursery door, a weak light melting through the gap at the bottom. He continued on, his hand shaking as he reached for the handle.

  Lettice sat beside the small bed that contained their son, the faint glow of the candles throwing into perfect relief the Bear and Ragged Staff emblem carved on the wooden frame. She turned as Robert entered, her face oddly crumpled. Her hand flew to her mouth as their eyes met, muffling fresh sobs. She looked back to the bed, not wanting to waste a moment when she could be looking at her son. Robert’s throat tightened as he approached his wife and child. Clutching at Lettice’s shoulder for support, he felt her hand, cold and bony, grasp at his fingers.

  The Noble Imp, their nickname for their little boy, so lovingly bestowed when he had ran into their bedroom not three months before, wearing the tiny suit of armour Robert had had made for him as a surprise, lay pale and unmoving, save for the slight rise and fall of his chest beneath the covers. His breathing was too shallow, and his mouth, so sweetly cherubic, lay open, his lips pale and cracked. Someone, one of the doctors perhaps, stepped from the shadowy corners of the room and provided Robert with a chair. He sat down next to Lettice, held her hand and with the other, took hold of his son’s. He bent and kissed the small fingers.

  Robert prayed every prayer he knew, promised anything. Lettice prayed beside him, all the servants in the house prayed, Hatton and Walsingham prayed, everyone at Court friendly to Robert prayed.

  But God was not listening.

  At least, he wasn’t listening to them. A jealous woman, who had been told of the news, thought a wicked thought. It was brief and she regretted it at once, but it had existed and it could not now be undone. If the boy died, she had thought, Robert would have no reason to stay with Lettice. As her father had once said, when a monarch prayed, God listened.

  15

  Wanstead House, Essex, A few days later

  ‘Rob?’ Mary stepped into the room. She saw her brother, sitting by the fire, one hand against the side of his head, his dog, Boy, lying on the rug, his chin upon Robert’s feet. She laid her hand upon his arm. Robert looked up, startled.

  ‘Mary,’ he said croakily, and made to rise.

  She stayed him with her hand and moved to the place vacated by Boy, who was pushing his wet nose into her hand. She knelt down and grasped Robert’s hands, looking up earnestly into his face.
r />   ‘You’re not wearing your veil,’ he smiled weakly, stroking her lumpy cheek.

  ‘How are you?’

  ‘I’m not sure, to be honest.’

  ‘How’s Lettice?’

  ‘She cried herself to sleep.’

  ‘Shouldn’t you-’

  ‘I’m not tired. I’m…’ he shrugged, ‘I’m not anything.’

  ‘I can’t imagine how you must be feeling,’ Mary rested her head against his hands and stared at the flickering flames. It was July and warm. ‘Are you cold, Rob?’ she looked back up at him. ‘Oh, Rob.’ Tears were streaming down his cheeks. She pulled him down to her, putting her arms about him, resting his head against her breast.

  ‘Mary, I am cursed.’

  ‘Cursed? What do you mean?’

  ‘Everything I love dies.’

  ‘Oh, Rob, that’s ridiculous. You have Lettice. You have me and Ambrose. Now, sit back up in your chair.’

  ‘Oh, my head hurts.’ He smiled meekly. ‘So tell me, what do I do now?’

  ‘Go back to work?’ she suggested.

  ‘What there is of it.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Mary, I’m not what I once was. My influence is on the wane, the queen doesn’t care for me as she used to, my work abroad is being undone by my colleagues on the council, and now, all hope of the Dudley name living on for centuries is gone.’

  ‘You may have more children.’

  He shook his head. ‘Lettice is past bearing now. There won’t be any more children. Ironic, isn’t? I have a healthy son, whom I have made bastard, and Lettice had four healthy children by Walter Devereux to carry on his name. And yet, together, we couldn’t make even one strong enough to carry on mine.’

  ‘You will go back to Court?’

  ‘There is nothing there for me.’

  ‘Robert,’ Mary said sharply, ‘you will be missed.’

  ‘By whom exactly?’

  ‘The queen will miss you. Despite what you say. She wrote to me.’

  ‘She sent a very sympathetic message. To me. Not to Lettice.’