“Her Majesty wishes Lady Sheffield to come to her. Pray bring her here.”
“I will, my lord.”
“And,” added Robert, “take the boy with you. Doubtless his nurse will be looking for him.”
The servant went away with young Robert, while his father fervently hoped that Douglass would do what was expected of her.
The Queen talked of the bears, and how she had enjoyed the spectacle. But all the time Robert sensed that she was watching him closely.
To his great relief the servant came back alone.
“Lady Sheffield sends her thanks to Your Most Gracious Majesty. Lady Sheffield is distraught because she is so unwell that she cannot leave her bed. She begs that Your Majesty, with your well-known clemency, will excuse her for this occasion.”
“We will,” said the Queen. “Yet will we see her before we leave. We will visit her in her bedchamber if need be. But tell her now that we excuse her for this day.”
Robert felt almost gay.
“I seem to have seen that boy before,” said the Queen.
“I am fond of him,” said Robert, “and I have a reason for being so.”
She was alert.
“He reminds me of a boy I knew long ago … in the Tower of London. I was a desolate prisoner and he took flowers from me to a goddess whom I adored from the moment I saw her.”
Such flattery was food and drink to Elizabeth. She remembered too.
“He was a pleasant child,” she said, “but methinks he lacked the good looks of this young Robert.”
Robert went on: “I remember the day you came by, and I looked through my prison bars. I firmly believe that I have never been happier in the whole of my life than I was then.”
“A poor life has been yours, my lord, if your best moments were those of a poor prisoner. Is that the way for a proud man to talk?”
“It is indeed, gracious Majesty, for then I had hopes … great hopes. I dreamed of love … of a perfect being. But alas, my dreams were only partly fulfilled. I had high hopes once.”
“A man should never give up hope, my lord. Surely you know that. Never as long as he lives.”
“But, Madam, what is a man to do when he finds the woman he loves is a goddess, above all earthly desires and needs?”
“He might become a god. Gods may mate with goddesses.”
So did he delight her with this flattering conversation, luring her away from a train of thought which, started by a handsome boy named Robert who had something of the Dudley looks, might have led to grave disaster.
Robert and Lettice met in a quiet chamber of the castle. Their meetings must be brief for they must not both be missed at the same time; and Robert was expected to be in constant attendance upon the Queen.
Meetings were very precious. Lettice might have urged him to recklessness, but she was looking far ahead. Once she had lost him through the Queen, and she was determined not to do so again.
She said to him as they lay behind locked doors in that small room: “And what afterward?”
“We must see each other,” he said, “and often.”
“How so?”
“Doubtless it can be arranged.”
“The Queen watches you as a dog watches a rabbit. And what when my husband returns from Ireland?”
“Essex must not return from Ireland.”
“How can that be prevented when his task is completed?”
“There will be a way.”
“There may be a way. But we shall not meet. There is too much to prevent our doing so.”
“We shall,” he insisted. “We must.”
“I would that we might marry. I long for that. To live graciously … without these secret meetings … to have sons like my own Robert, but your sons.”
“You cannot know how fervently I wish that.”
“Will you spend the rest of your days behaving like the Queen’s lap-dog, yapping at her heels, cowering from her anger, being taken up and set down at the whim of a moment?”
“Nay!” he said passionately.
She strained herself against him. “Should we not mold our own lives, Robert? Were we not meant to marry, to have children?”
“You are right. We were meant to. But,” he added, “there is Essex.”
She was silent for a while, then she said: “Mean you, my lord, that only Essex stands between our marriage … not the Queen?”
“But for Essex we would marry. We could keep that secret from the Queen.”
She said quietly: “It would have to be a true marriage. My family would insist on that. My sons would be your heirs … nothing less.”
“Nothing less,” he repeated.
“And only Essex is between us and that?”
“Only Essex.”
He thought of the boy whom she had borne Essex—young Robert Devereux—one of the tallest and most beautiful children he had ever seen. Such would his sons be if he married Lettice. He loved Douglass’ boy, but not enough to make Douglass his true wife.
Her next words startled him: “How much do you love me?”
He answered: “Infinitely.”
He knew then that she was thinking of Amy Robsart; and next day, during the water pageant he had planned for the Queen’s delight, he also was thinking of Amy.
Douglass knelt before the Queen. She had never been so frightened in the whole of her life. She had scarcely seen Robert since the Queen had come to Kenilworth. He had paid one visit to her to tell her how she must conduct herself before the Queen. He had been cold, and she had sensed his deep anger; and that anger she knew was directed against herself.
She knew too that he was in love with the Countess of Essex. She had heard it whispered. They could not keep it secret as they would wish; it showed in their faces when they looked at each other. Pray God the Queen did not notice. No one would tell her, for she would not thank the one who did, and that person would gain the eternal enmity of the Earl of Leicester.
And now who knew what questions the Queen would ask of Doug lass, whose mind was not quick and clever. She prayed that she might find the right answers.
The Queen was in a mellow mood. She bade Douglass rise while she studied her closely. Douglass had been a beautiful woman, but the days and nights of strain had left their mark upon her face in dark shadows under her eyes; and an air of drooping melancholy could not be hidden from the Queen.
He may have loved her once, mused Elizabeth, but he no longer does.
“Come, Lady Sheffield, sit beside us. We hear you have been indisposed, and we are sorry.”
“Your Majesty is most gracious.”
“It is a pity indeed that you have missed those pageants which have been prepared for our delight. Our host has surpassed even himself, and we have rarely been so entertained. We hear you had some hand in the arrangements.”
“Oh, no, Your Majesty. My husband was a friend of the Earl’s who graciously gave me permission to rest here while he was at Court. And so did I. I confess that a desire to see Your Majesty made me delay my departure.”
“Well, you have seen me now. I trust you are pleased with the sight. Have I changed since you served at Court?”
“Your Majesty performs the miracle of growing more beautiful with the passing years.”
“You have a charming son.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Named Robert, eh?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“The Earl seems fond of him.”
“The Earl, like Your Majesty, has a fondness for children.”
“That’s so. And the boy is three years old, I hear.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“I remember your husband … Sheffield.”
Elizabeth had the pleasure of watching the flush spread from Douglass’ neck to her brow, and the circumstances seemed clear to her. But she was sure the affair was over, so she was only mildly annoyed; her wicked Robert, she told herself, must be given a little license.