When he considered all these points he did not have to feign illness; the prospect of her wrath, if she ever discovered that he, of all men, had worked against her, was enough to make him want to take to his bed.
But here she was, all solicitous concern for her Gay Lord Robert, as she sometimes called him.
He took her hands as she sat by his bed. “My Queen, my love,” he said, “you know that I would die for you.”
“Now, Robert,” replied the Queen gently, “do not speak to me of dying. You and I are too close to think happily of a world which does not contain the other.”
There were tears in Leicester’s eyes. “I want to assure you of my love and devotion. It is as firm now as it was in the days when we were in the Tower together and I loved you so madly . . . so hopelessly.”
“You were never without hope, Robert,” she told him.
“I hoped then . . . and I hope now, my Queen. I hope for your forgiveness.”
“There is only one thing for which I should never forgive you, Robert,” she told him. “That is—if you die and leave me in this world without you.”
Leicester then knew the answer to the question which had tormented him for the past week: Dare he confess? Yes, he might.
“My dearest,” he said, “there is a plot to marry the Queen of Scots to Norfolk. I am not guiltless. I have made myself a party to this. I felt it the lesser of two evils. The Catholics of the North have been restless since the Queen has been in England and are ready to rise. I thought it wiser for Mary to marry a Protestant and, as Norfolk was willing, I believed it the best way in which to protect Your Majesty.”
“So you entered into plots without my knowledge, Robert?”
“I confess my fault, sweetheart.”
“H’m. Here’s a pretty state of affairs when a queen’s ministers—and those whom she believes she has more reason to trust than most—begin to plot and scheme without her knowledge.”
“It has caused me great disquiet. It is the reason why I am brought to this sickbed. But I could no longer bear to keep this secret from you.” He reached for her hand and covered it with kisses. “I would give my life for you, as you know. It was for your good that I entered into this plot. But now I tell you, for I can no longer bear to have a secret which you do not share. You must punish me as you will. I shall insist always that all I do is out of love of your sweet self.”
“Who else was in this plot with you?”
“Pembroke and Arundel.”
Elizabeth rose from the bedside.
“My love . . . ” began Leicester anxiously.
She stooped over him and laid her hand on his forehead.
“I fear you are displeased with me . . . .” he went on.
“And what do you expect when you plot behind my back?”
“What can I do to win back your regard?”
“Get well. I like not to see you sick abed.”
She kissed him, and when he would have taken her in his arms she laughed and eluded him. “Remember you are a sick man, Robert. Remember too that the Queen commands you to be well. I expect you at Court ere long.”
Leicester was still smiling when she had left him. He felt limp with relief. He thanked his stars, his good looks, and his charm by which he had extricated himself from that dangerous situation.
ARRIVING BACK AT COURT Elizabeth was thoughtful.
Pembroke, Arundel, Norfolk, she was thinking. And so Norfolk fancies himself as her husband, does he? And doubtless she fancies Norfolk. She had been without a husband so long that she will be eager for one, I’ll swear. But she can go on panting for a man, for she’ll not get one!
When she was with her ministers, the Spanish ambassador found his way to her side.
He told her—as he did on every occasion they met—that His Most Catholic Majesty was deeply concerned about the imprisonment of the Queen of Scotland, and he requested Her Majesty to give the matter her attention.
“I give the matter attention,” retorted the Queen. “And I tell you this, that if the Queen of Scots does not bear her condition with a little more patience she may find some of her friends shorter by the head.”
A silence followed this remark. Those who were friends of the Duke of Norfolk sought the first opportunity of making their way to his apartments.
They warned him that he was in mortal danger. Someone had betrayed to Elizabeth his intentions toward the Queen of Scots, and Elizabeth’s remark was almost certainly directed toward him.
Norfolk, always on the alert for danger, was far from the Court before that day was over.
ELIZABETH SUMMONED the Earl of Huntingdon to her presence.
“I am sending armed guards to Wingfield Manor,” she told him. “I consider it an unsuitable residence for the Queen of Scots. You will go to Tutbury Castle whither the Queen is being removed. Shrewsbury and his Countess will be with you there. You will keep a watch on them also. There has been too much intrigue. See that there is no repetition of such happenings at Tutbury.”
Huntingdon assured her that he would leave without delay and that her orders should be carried out.
So Huntingdon set out for Tutbury, while the Earl and Countess of Shrewsbury left Buxton for the same destination.
VIII
Return to Tutbury
MARY WAS WORKING AT HER TAPESTRY at Wingfield Manor, with her ladies about her, when Lesley’s letter was brought to her. She read it and, noticing her pallor, Seton rose from her work to come to her side.
“Leicester has betrayed to Elizabeth that there is a contract between myself and the Duke, who has left Court with all speed. The Queen has hinted that my friends are in danger.”
“That means . . . ” began Seton and stopped.
“It seems so foolish,” cried Mary impetuously. “Why should Elizabeth object to my marriage with an English nobleman?”
“Perhaps,” suggested Seton, “it was unwise to keep the matter secret from her.”
“Lesley advises me to burn all the letters I have received from the Duke, together with any secret documents I may have in the apartment. He feels sure that a search will be made and that if anything which they can call treasonable is found it will give them the excuse they need.”
Seton said: “I do not think there is a moment to lose.”
Mary nodded, and she and Seton with the rest of the ladies left their tapestry. Mary then went to her table and unlocking a drawer took out certain documents which she threw into the fire.
“Is there anything else?” asked Seton anxiously.
Mary was searching through the boxes in which the few clothes she possessed were kept. She sent her ladies to their own chambers, instructing them to bring out any single thing that could be called incriminating.
The documents were still smoldering in the grate when there was a knock on her door and Hereford entered.
“Your Majesty,” he said, “you are to prepare to leave for Tutbury without delay.”
“Tutbury!” Mary’s voice rose in shrill protest.
“Those are the orders of Her Majesty, the Queen.”
“Oh, not Tutbury. Not that evil-smelling place!”
Hereford answered: “We shall be leaving within the hour.”
“But that is impossible. I am not prepared.”
“Have no fear on that account,” answered Hereford, grimly. “I and my guards will put your possessions together, and the Queen’s orders are that there must not be even an hour’s delay.”