We all believed that Norfolk would lose his head, but the Queen seemed reluctant to sign the death warrant. Following her usual line in such cases, she prevaricated and in due course Norfolk was released, though he must live in restraint on his estates. But he was a man who seemed determined on self-destruction. It had been said that the very name of the Queen of Scots exerted a terrible fascination. Perhaps it was so, for Norfolk had not seen her. Perhaps he was intrigued by a queen who had committed adultery and was suspected of murder. It was difficult to say, but the fact remained that Norfolk was soon involved in the Ridolfi plot.
Ridolfi was a Florentine banker who had a plan to capture Elizabeth, set Mary on the throne after marrying her to Norfolk, and bring Catholicism back to England. The plot was doomed to fail. Several agents were caught and tortured, and in a short time Norfolk's involvement was revealed. There was no hope for him then. William Cecil, now Lord Burleigh, pointed out to the Queen that Norfolk could no longer be allowed to live; and in this he was supported by the Privy Council and the House of Commons.
Once again the Queen shrank from signing the death warrant. She was so distressed that she became ill with one of her mysterious disorders which resulted in what she called heavy and vehement pains. These pains could have been attributed to poison and, in view of the fact that the Ridolfi plot had just been uncovered, there was fear that the Queen's life might be in danger. But it turned out to be merely another of those illnesses which attacked her when something unpleasant had to be done. I used to wonder whether, when a death warrant was presented to her, she thought of her mother and the memory upset her. The fact remained that she was reluctant to kill, even when she herself had been put in danger.
Her ministers thought that here was a good case for ridding herself of Mary Queen of Scots, who was implicated in the plot; but this she refused to consider.
Eventually, however, the Duke of Norfolk's death warrant was signed, and a special scaffold was erected on Tower Hill, for since the Queen's accession there had been no beheadings there and a new one was required.
All this happened during the years of my exile.
Walter had gone to Ireland full of plans for colonizing Ulster, but in less than a year he was having to confess to failure. He did not give up, however, and after returning to England for a while to consult with the Queen and her ministers he went back to try again.
He would have liked me to accompany him, but I pleaded that the children needed me. I had no intention of going to that wild country and enduring all kinds of discomfort. I was almost certain, too, that the expedition would be a failure, as most things Walter undertook would in time prove to be.
I was glad that I had stood firmly against going, for it was while Walter was in Ireland that the Queen intimated that I might return to Court.
I was filled with a wild excitement. My son Robert was eight at the time and Walter six; the girls were growing up but still not of an age to make it necessary to find husbands for them.
A spell at Court was just what I needed.
So I found myself at the Kenilworth revels and at the beginning of a new and exciting life. I was no longer young, being in my thirty-fourth year, and at Chartley I had begun to feel that life was passing me by.
Perhaps that was why I plunged so recklessly into the richness which fate threw at me during the following years, with little thought of where it would lead me. My banishment had lasted too long, but it had at least shown me that I could never forget Robert Dudley and that my relationship with the Queen added to the flavor of my life without which it would have been insipid.
There were two things I wanted—my passionate life with Robert and my battle for superiority with the Queen—and I wanted them desperately. Having tasted them once, I could not be satisfied to live without them and I was ready to face any consequences to get them. I had to prove to myself and to Robert—and perhaps one day to the Queen herself—that my physical attractions were irresistible to him—far more so than the Queen's royalty.
I was heading for a dangerous road. I did not care. I was reckless, eager for life, and was convinced I knew how to find what I wanted.
Kenilworth
Kenilworth where he [Leicester] lodged the Queen and her ladies, forty earls and seventy other principal milords, all under the roof of his own castle, for the space of twelve days...
... the clok bell sank not a note all the while her Highness waz thear; the clok stood also withal, the hands of both the tablz stood firm and fast, always pointing at two o'clock...
The fireworks were a ... blaze of burning darts, flying to and fro ... streams and hails of fiery sparks, lightening of wildfire a' water and a' land.
I was to join the Queen at Greenwich and as my barge carried me along the river I was overwhelmed by the excitement and bustle of London life and the fact that I was coming back to it. The river was, as ever, the busiest of the country's thoroughfares. Craft of all description was sailing along in the direction of the palace. The Lord Mayor's gilded barge was among them, escorted by the less glorious vessels of his officials. The watermen in their livery and silver badges rowed skillfully among the more cumbersome barges, whistling and singing, calling pleasantries to each other. In one was a girl who might have been a boatman's daughter; she was strumming at a lute and singing,
" 'Row thy boat, Norman' "—a song which had been sung for more than a hundred years—in a powerful but somehow raucous voice to the delight of the occupants of passing boats. It was a scene typical of London's river.
I felt in turns exultant and apprehensive. Whatever happened, I warned myself, I must not be banished again. I must guard my tongue—but not too much perhaps, for the Queen liked the occasional caustic remark. I would be watched with regard to her favorite men—people like Heneage, Hatton and the Earl of Oxford —and most of all the Earl of Leicester.
I was telling myself I must have changed in eight years, but I fancied it was not for the worse. I was more mature naturally. I had borne several children, but I knew that men found me more attractive than ever. One thing I was determined on. I should not allow myself to be picked up and dropped as I had been before. Of course, I kept reminding myself, he would only have behaved as he did because of the Queen. There was not another woman who could have displaced me for herself alone. Still, my feminine vanity had been wounded and in future—if there was a future with Robert—I would let him know that I had no intention of allowing it to happen again.
It was spring and the Queen had come to Greenwich, which she liked to do at this time of the year to enjoy the delightful situation there. Everything had been freshened for her arrival; and in the quarters of the ladies attendant on her I was greeted by Kate Carey, Lady Howard of Effingham; Anne, Lady Warwick; and Catharine, Countess of Huntingdon. Kate was my mother's sister and cousin to the Queen; Anne was the wife of Robert's brother Ambrose; and Catharine was Robert's sister.
Aunt Kate embraced me, told me I was looking in good health and that she was glad to see me back at Court.
"You have escaped so long," said Anne with a little grimace.
"She has been with her family and now has a goodly one to show for those years away from Court," said Aunt Kate.
"The Queen talked of you now and then," put in Catharine. "Did she not, Anne?"