In the dance he found himself next to Douglass.
She was not bold, as Lettice Knollys had been. Lettice had been attracted because of his reputation, Douglass in spite of it. But he was excited by this young woman. Let Elizabeth flirt with her dancing master.
He bent close to Douglass and said: “Fate brings us together.”
She started, and he went on: “You have heard evil tales of me. Do not believe them, I beg of you.”
“My lord,” she began, but he interrupted with: “Come. ’Tis true. Much evil has been spoken against me.”
She recovered her composure. “We know you here for the great Earl … the greatest Earl …”
“The wickedest Earl!” he put in. “That saddens me. I would like an opportunity of proving to you that it is not true.”
“I … I did not believe it,” she said.
But the dance had taken her from him. He thought of the pleasure which would be his when she became his mistress. He pictured happy meetings, riding away from Court to meet her at one of his houses; perhaps even arranging that the Sheffields should come to Court. It would be dangerous, but he was in the mood for recklessness.
The dance had brought him to the Queen.
“I have been watching you at the dance, my lord.” Her eyes challenged him.
He answered ironically, excited by Douglass who was so young and charming: “I am honored by Your Majesty’s attention. I did not believe that in the dance your Eyes could interest you as do your Lids.”
She gave his arm a nip. “You must not be jealous, Robert. There are some who excel at one thing, others at another; some are born dancers, some lovers of women.”
“And some fortunate ones, both, Your Majesty.”
She gave him her hand and he pressed it fervently. He saw that she was satisfied, and that was what he wished; he wanted no interference with his new experience.
Yet for all his arts and wiles it was not until the last day of his stay at Belvoir Castle that Douglass became his mistress. She feared her husband; he feared the Queen; therefore a meeting was not easy to arrange.
But he was expert at such arrangements. He managed to lure her away from the others during a hunt; he knew of an inn nearby where they might stay awhile to refresh themselves. He was so fascinating, so debonair that he could conduct such matters with skill and charm. To Douglass it seemed that he was all-powerful; and in any case he was quite irresistible.
Yet such an important personage could not absent himself even for a few hours without attracting some attention. Mercifully the Queen did not notice his absence, but there were others to smile behind their hands and to whisper together of my lord’s latest amorous adventure.
When the royal party left Belvoir, promises were exchanged between the lovers.
That had happened some time ago, yet Robert had never lost interest in Douglass. She was so charming, so well-bred, being one of the Howards of Effingham; she displayed none of the Tudor tantrums.
Two or three years after their first meeting, Lord Sheffield had unfortunately died. Robert regretted this because Douglass had changed when she became a widow. She was by nature a virtuous woman, and only the great fascination which Robert was able to exert could have made her break her marriage vows; consequently she had suffered much remorse, and she longed for a regular union. Whilst her husband lived, that, happily for Robert, was out of the question; but when he died and a suitable period had elapsed, she began pleading for marriage. She was even more in love with him than she had been during those ecstatic days at Belvoir Castle. It would be the happiest day of her life, she told him, when she could enjoy their union and feel herself to be free from sin.
It was at this time that a new danger presented itself. Douglass came to Court; and her sister, Frances Howard, who was also at Court, became enamored of Robert. The two sisters were jealous of each other and their jealousy became a subject for gossip.
And as if this were not enough, Douglass continued to plead for marriage.
Robert was charmingly regretful. “But, my dear Douglass, you know my position at Court. You know what I owe to the Queen’s favor. I doubt not that I should lose all that I have gained if there was a marriage between us.”
“What of a secret marriage, Robert?”
“Do you think such a matter could long be kept secret from the Queen? She has her spies everywhere. And I have my enemies.”
“But our love has been a secret.”
He smiled wryly at her. If only it had been so, he would have felt much easier in his mind.
“Do you know,” he asked her, “what I have risked for your sake?”
“Oh, Robert, if I should bring disaster to you I should never forgive myself.”
He would consider it worthwhile, he told her; but it would be senseless to run unnecessarily into danger.
Then the troublous times had come. The rebellion and the execution of Norfolk had given him other matters with which to occupy his mind. There was a new personality at Court—Sir Francis Walsingham—a protégé of Burghley’s and a man of great astuteness. He had been ambassador to the Court of France and, when he returned to England, had become a member of the Privy Council. Robert had recognized the dynamic qualities of this dark-skinned man and was trying to win him over to his side, that, if need be, they might stand together against Burghley. These matters took his thoughts from Douglass until it was necessary for her to leave Court because she was to have a child.
Now Douglass was alternately joyful and despairing. She wanted the child but could not bear that it should be born a bastard. How could she explain its existence, she wanted to know. It was some years since her husband had died. Robert must marry her now.
Robert himself was torn with indecision. What if the child should be a boy? Had he not always longed for a son? And yet … what of the Queen?
Frantically he searched for a solution.
Douglass, retiring though she was, was by no means a calm woman; she was given to bouts of melancholy and hysteria; and Robert was afraid that in her pregnancy these weaknesses might be intensified. He had many enemies, but he also had his supporters. There was his own family; his brothers and sisters and all those connected with the Dudley family looked to him as their leader; if he fell, they would fall too. He had his followers and they were dependent on him, so he could trust their loyalty. He was without doubt a powerful man, but because his power had come to him through his personal qualities rather than his achievements, he regarded it more lightly than a man would have done who had earned it by careful, constant effort. Robert had had much success; he believed he could succeed in what others dared not attempt.
So at last he agreed to go through a form of marriage with Douglass very quietly at Esher, with only a few of his trusted servants as witnesses.
This seemed to him a master-stroke, for he felt sure that the Queen’s anger would not be lasting if he were not properly married; and at the same time, as a result of this mock marriage, Douglass could call herself—in secret—the Countess of Leicester, and soothe her qualms.
She was soothed and thought of nothing but preparing for the child.
It was a boy, and they called him Robert.
But their enemies were already whispering one with another that the Earl of Leicester had secretly married, and that it was well known how he and the lady had been lovers before the death of Lord Sheffield.
The death of Lord Sheffield! Now how had Lord Sheffield died? Of a catarrh, it was said. Might it not have been an artificial catarrh which stopped his breath?
They only had to cast their minds back to another death. Had they forgotten the poor lady who had been found with her neck broken at the foot of a staircase at Cumnor Place! That was when Lord Robert had thought he might marry the Queen. And now that the Earl of Leicester wished to marry another lady, that lady’s husband had most conveniently died.