She sat back nodding, and there was a smile about her lips.
It was not long after that when I heard that Lord Robert's wife was dead. She had been discovered at the bottom of a staircase at Cumnor Place with her neck broken.
The Court was agog. None dared talk of it in the presence of the Queen, but they could scarcely wait to do so out of her sight and hearing.
What had happened to Amy Dudley? Had she committed suicide? Was it an accident? Or had she been murdered?
In view of all the rumors which had persisted through the last months, in view of the fact that the Queen and Robert Dudley behaved like lovers, and Robert seemed to have a conviction that soon he would marry the Queen, the last suggestion did not seem an impossibility.
We whispered about it and forgot to watch our words. My parents sent for me and lectured me severely on the need for the utmost discretion. I could see that my father was worried.
"This could rob Elizabeth of her throne," I heard him tell my mother. Certainly he was worried, for the Knollys fortunes were as ever wrapped up in those of our royal kinswoman.
The rumors grew more and more unpleasant. I heard that the Spanish Ambassador had written to his master that the Queen had told him Lady Dudley was dead several days before she was found dead at the bottom of the stairs. This was completely damning, but I could hardly accept it as truth. If Elizabeth and Robert were planning to have Amy murdered, Elizabeth would never have told the Spanish ambassador that she was dead before she was. De Quadra was wily; it was in his country's interest to discredit the Queen. This was what he was trying to do. Being aware of the potent masculinity of Robert Dudley, I could imagine a woman's going to great lengths to get him. I put myself in Elizabeth's position and asked myself: Would I? And I could well picture our plotting together in the heat of our passion.
We all waited tensely for what would happen next.
I could not believe that the Queen would ever put her crown in jeopardy for any man, and that if Amy had been murdered, she would have allowed herself to become involved. Of course she was capable of indiscretion. One only had to remember the case of Thomas Seymour when she had allowed herself to be led into a very dangerous state of affairs. Ah, but the crown was not hers at that time and she had not then begun that passionate devotion to it.
The great point was that Robert was now free to marry her. The whole Court, the whole country, and, I suspected, the whole of Europe waited to see how she would respond. One thing was clear. On the day she married Robert Dudley she would be judged guilty, and that was what men like my father were afraid of.
The first thing she did was send Robert away from Court, which was wise. They must not be seen together so that people would in any way connect the Queen with the tragedy.
Robert, expressing great distress—feigned or otherwise (although perhaps he could have been distraught by what had happened even if he had arranged it)—sent his cousin, Thomas Blount, to Cumnor Place to take charge of the proceedings, and there followed an inquest at which the verdict was Accidental Death.
How difficult Elizabeth was during the weeks which followed. It was so easy to offend her. She swore at us—she could curse like her royal father, it was said, and took a great pleasure in using his favorite oaths—and then would give us a nip or a slap. I believed she was undergoing torment. She wanted Robert and yet she knew that to marry him would be tantamount to an admission of guilt. She would know that in the streets of the cities people would be discussing the death of Amy Dudley, and the words of Mother Dowe would be remembered. Her people would suspect her; if she married Robert they would not respect her again. A queen had to be above ordinary passions. They would see her as merely a weak and sinful woman; and she knew that if she were to keep her hold on the glittering crown she must retain her people's devotion.
At least that was what I surmised occupied her thoughts as she loured in her apartments. But later I began to think I was wrong.
Robert returned to Court—bold and boastful, certain that soon he would be the Queen's husband. After a while he grew sullen, and I, in common with the rest of the world, badly wanted to know what they said to each other when they were alone.
Now I believe that she had no hand in Amy's death, that in a way she had no real wish to marry Robert; she preferred to be unattainable as she had been while his wife lived. She wanted Robert to have a neglected wife not a dead one. Perhaps she did not want marriage because in a strange way she was afraid of it. She wanted romantic attachments; she wanted admirers pining for her love; but she wanted none of that climax which would be triumphant for them and so distasteful to her.
I wonder if that were indeed so.
Whatever the reason, she did not marry Robert. She was too wily for that.
And it was at this time that Walter Devereux came to my notice.
The First Encounter
... herself [Elizabeth] helping to put on his robes, he sitting on his knees before her, and keeping a great gravity and discreet behaviour, but as for the Queen, she could not refrain from putting her hand in his neck to tickle him, smiling, the French Ambassador and I standing beside her.
She [Elizabeth] said she was never minded to marry. ... I said, "Madam, ye need not tell me that. I know your stately stomach. Ye think, gin ye were married, ye would be but Queen of England, and now ye are King and Queen baith—ye may not suffer a commander."
God's death, my lord, I have wished you well, but my favour is not so locked up in you that others shall not participate thereof. ... I will have here but one mistress and no master.
I married Walter in the year 1561, when I was in my twenty-first year. My parents were pleased with the match, and the Queen readily gave it her nod of approval. Walter was the second Viscount of Hereford then, about the same age as myself, and because his family was one of standing, it was considered a good match. The Queen remarked that it was time I had a husband, which gave me some misgiving and I wondered if she had noticed that my eyes often wandered in Robert Dudley's direction.
I had come to the conclusion that Robert would never marry anybody but the Queen. Walter had asked me several times to be his wife. I was quite fond of him and my parents wanted the match. He was young and, as my father pointed out, appeared to have a good future ahead of him which would keep him at Court, so I chose him from several suitors and settled for married life.
It is not easy to remember in detail how I felt about Walter, all those years ago. The Queen had hinted that I was a girl who should be married—and she was right. I believe for a while I even thought I was in love with Walter and gave up dreaming of Robert Dudley.
After the ceremony, Walter and I went to his ancestral home, Chartley Castle, a rather impressive edifice rising from a fertile plain. From its high turrets it was possible to see some of the finest scenery in Staffordshire. It was about six miles southeast of the town of Stafford and situated halfway between Rugby and Stone.
Walter was proud of Chartley and I expressed great interest in it because it was to be my home. It had a circular keep and two round towers which were quite ancient, having been constructed as long ago as 1220. They had already stood up to more than three hundred years of wind and weather and looked ready to withstand three hundred more. The walls were twelve feet thick and the loopholes were built so that arrows could be shot horizontally, which made it a wonderful fortress.