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?”