"We should know each other," I went on, "there is a family connection through the Howard family." She was one of the Effingham Howards and it was my great-grandmother, wife of Sir Thomas Boleyn, who was of the family.
"So we are distant cousins," I added.
I studied her intently. I could understand what Robert had found attractive. She had the quality which many of the Howard women had. My grandmother Mary Boleyn and Catherine Howard must have been somewhat similar. Anne Boleyn had something more—this immense physical attractiveness plus a calculating streak which made her ambitious. Anne had miscalculated—of course she had had a very fickle man to deal with—and she had ended up headless, but with a little dexterous handling of her affairs and aided by the birth of a son, it need not have happened as it did.
Douglass then was the soft and yielding type, sensuous and making no demands in return for what she gave. Her sort immediately attracted the opposite sex, but very often it was not durable.
I said: "The Queen grows more and more enamored of my Lord Leicester."
Her mouth drooped and she looked rather sad. I thought: There is something, then.
"Do you think she will marry him?" I went on.
"No," said Douglass vehemently. "He cannot do that."
"I cannot see why. He wants it and at times it seems she is as eager as he is."
"But he could not do it."
I began to feel uneasy. "Why not, Lady Sheffield?"
"Because ..." She hesitated. "No, I must not say. It would be dangerous. He would never forgive me."
"You mean the Earl of Leicester would not?"
She looked perplexed and tears came into her eyes.
"Is there anything I can do?" I asked soothingly.
"Oh no, no. I must go in. I don't know what I'm saying. I have been unwell. I have my duties, so ..."
"I thought you looked sad of late," I said, determined to detain her. "I sensed there was something and that I must speak to you. There is a bond between those whose blood is linked, I believe."
She looked a little startled and said: "It may be so."
"Sometimes it is helpful to talk to a sympathetic listener."
"I don't really want to discuss anything. There is nothing to be said. I shouldn't have come. I should be with my son."
"You have a son?"
She nodded.
"I have four children, Penelope, Dorothy, Robert and Walter. I miss them very much."
"So you have a Robert too?"
I was alert. "That is your son's name?"
She nodded.
"Well," I went on, "it's a good name. That of our Queen's husband ... if she ever decided to marry."
"She could not," said Douglass, falling into the trap.
"You seem vehement."
"It is when you talk of their marrying ..."
"It is what he is hoping for. Everybody knows it."
"If she had wanted to marry him she would have done so long ago."
"After the mysterious death of his wife," I whispered. "How could she?"
She shivered. "I often think about Amy Dudley. I have nightmares about her. Sometimes I dream I am in that house and that someone creeps into my room ..."
"You dream that you are his wife ... and he wants to be rid of you. How strange!"
"No ..."
"I believe you are afraid of something."
"How men change," she said wistfully. "They are so ardent and then it is someone else who claims their attention."
"And their ardor," I said lightly.
"It can be ... rather frightening."
"It would be with a man like the Earl... after what happened at Cumnor Place. But how do we know what happened there. It's a dark secret. Tell me about your little boy. How old is he?"
"He is two years old."
I was silent, calculating. When had the Earl of Sheffield died? Was it not in '71 that I had heard how the Howard sisters were pursuing Robert? It was in that year—or perhaps the next—that Lord Sheffield had died and yet in the year '75 Douglass Sheffield had a two-year-old son called Robert.
I was determined to discover what this meant.
I could scarcely expect her to pour out her secrets on this occasion even though there was a relationship between us. I had learned far more than I could have hoped from the rather foolish woman. But I would make a determined effort to discover the truth.
I tried to be sympathetic and friendly when she said she was suffering from a headache. I took her back to her apartment and gave her a soothing potion. Then I made her lie down and told her I would let her know if the Queen returned.
Later that day she told me that she had been feeling very unwell when we had met in the gardens and she was afraid she had talked a lot of nonsense. I reassured her and said we had merely had a friendly chat and how pleasant it was to meet a cousin. My potion had done her so much good and she wondered if I would give her the recipe. Of course I would, I told her. I understood perfectly these feelings of depression. After all, I had children of my own and longed to be with them.
"We'll have another chat... soon," I said.
I was determined to get to the bottom of the Douglass Sheffield affair.
The next day the Queen was entertained in the afternoon by a farce called A Country Bridal. This was, in a manner, poking fun at rustics, and I wondered that the Queen did not feel it was an insult to some of her people. The bridegroom, who was well over thirty, wore his father's worsted jacket of a tawny color, a pair of harvest gloves on his hands, and a pen and inkhorn strapped to his back. He hobbled onto the grass. A great deal of football was played in the country and often players were injured during the game, so the hobble was meant to imply that he had broken a leg at play.
With him were the mummers and Robin Hood with Maid Marian. The Queen's foot tapped as she watched the dancing, and I expected at any time that she would join in.
The bride in her worsted gown came next; she had made her face excessively ugly and wore a wig of hair sticking out in all directions. The spectators roared with laughter at the sight of her, and there were many of them, for the Queen had especially asked that any of those around the neighborhood should be allowed to see the show. So they had come in their hundreds—not so much to see the country wedding as to be in the company of the Queen. She herself—at her best as she always was when the people were present—smiled graciously, reserving her ill humor for her attendants later on. The bridesmaids were in their mid-thirties and, like the bride, quite ugly.
People rolled about in ecstasies of mirth to see the married couple stagger off, and I could not help thinking that this was rather a dangerous show to have put before our unmarried Queen, and the fact that the bride and groom made a great effort to tell us their ages could have been considered as touching Elizabeth. Perhaps that was what Robert had intended. Perhaps he wanted to show her that she was waiting too long. Of course anyone less like the ugly clumsy bride there could not be. She sat there, supreme in her power and her glory—glittering with jewels, her exquisite ruff about her neck, her head held high, looking beautiful, and young too, if one did not look too closely at her face, for her body was as slender as a young girl's and her skin was so delicate and white. She must have seemed like a goddess to these country folk, even apart from her jeweled garments. She was always fastidious and took regular baths, and those of us who attended on her must do the same, for she could not abide evil smells. When she visited country houses the cleaning of them had to begin weeks before her arrival. Ill-smelling rushes made her turn away in disgust, and of course there was the ever-present problem of the privies. I had often seen that somewhat curved nose quiver with distaste on more than one occasion and some sharp remark would be made about the ill preparation for her visit.