Lord Huntingdon shrugged his shoulders impatiently, implying that consultation with the prospective bride was unnecessary. It was a good match, the best Penelope could hope for now that her mother was in disgrace, and it should be arranged without delay.
But I knew Penelope. She was no weak girl and would have decided views of her own.
When I told her of Lord Huntingdon's visit and its purpose she was stubborn.
"Lord Rich!" she cried. "I know of him and I do not want to marry him no matter what my Lord Huntingdon decrees. You know I am betrothed to Philip."
"You are of a marriageable age, and he has expressed no eagerness for it. Huntingdon points out that my disgrace will reflect on you and you should therefore be very ready to consider a good match while you can get one."
"I have considered it," said Penelope firmly. "I do not want to marry Robert Rich."
I did not pursue the matter, for I knew that would only increase her stubbornness. Perhaps when she grew accustomed to the idea it might not prove so repulsive to her.
There was great excitement throughout the country when the Duc d'Anjou came to Court. He arrived in a manner calculated to win the Queen's heart, for he came secretly to England accompanied by only two servants and presented himself at Greenwich, where he asked permission to throw himself at the Queen's feet.
Nothing could have delighted her more and her infatuation-assumed though it must have been—amazed everyone. There could have been few men as unattractive as this French Prince. He was very short—almost a dwarf—and when he was a child had suffered from a violent attack of smallpox which had left his skin badly scarred and discolored. The end of his nose had become enlarged and had split in two, which gave him a very odd appearance. In spite of this, being a Prince, a life of debauchery had been possible for him and he had indulged himself freely. He had refused to learn, so his education had been scanty; he was completely unprincipled and irreligious, ready to become a Protestant or a Catholic to fit the moment. What he did have was a certain charm of manner and an ability to flatter and insinuate his passion—and this appealed to the Queen. When he was seated low in a chair he resembled nothing so much as a frog, which the Queen was quick to notice, and with her passion for nicknames he soon became her Little Frog.
I was disappointed not to be at Court to see the farce of these two together—the little French Prince in his early twenties, repulsively ugly, playing the ardent lover, and the dignified Queen in her forties, languishing under his passionate gaze and utterances.
It must have been quite comic, but the implications were far from that, and there was not a man who had the interests of the Queen and the country at heart who was not dismayed. I reckoned that even Robert's greatest enemies felt it was a pity she had not married him and by this time given the country an heir.
Robert was obliged to attend Court, although he was in disfavor, and I sometimes wondered whether she put on this nauseating display to anger him. I heard that she had had an ornament made in the shape of a frog—it was of flawless diamonds—and she carried it with her everywhere.
For a few days the Duc rarely left her side and they walked in the gardens, laughing and chatting, holding hands and even embracing in public; and when the Prince returned to France it was with the certainty that the marriage would take place.
It was the beginning of October when she summoned her council to debate on her marriage and as Robert was still a member of that council he was present, so I had an account of what took place.
"As she was not there," Robert told me, "I was able to discuss the matter with freedom, and as a purely political venture. It seemed she had gone so far with the Prince that it might be difficult to draw back, and for that reason the marriage might be necessary. We all knew the Queen's age and it seemed hardly likely that she could have an heir; and if by some chance she did, she would endanger her life by doing so. The Queen was old enough to be the Duc's mother, said Sir Ralph Sadler, and, of course, that was something with which we all had to agree. However, knowing her temper, we thought it advisable to suggest the project be dropped, but compromised by asking to be informed of her pleasure and assuring her that we would endeavor to make ourselves conformable to it."
"She did not like that, I'll swear," I put in. "She wanted you to beg her to marry and give the country an heir, keeping up the illusion that she was still a young woman."
"You're right. She looked daggers at us all when we told her— and at me in particular—and said that some were ready to marry themselves but wished to deny that pleasure to others. She said we had talked for years as though the only surety for her was to marry and get an heir. She had expected us to petition her to proceed with the marriage, and she had been foolish to have asked us to deliberate on her behalf, for it was a matter too delicate for us. Now we had aroused doubts in her mind, and she would break up the meeting that she might be alone."
She had been in an evil mood that day, abusing everyone; and those whose duties brought them close to her person, I had no doubt, bore the worst of the brunt.
Burleigh called the council together and said that as she seemed so set on marriage perhaps they should agree to it, for her temper was such that whether they advised it or not, she would follow her own inclination.
Even then I could not believe she would marry the Duc. The people were against it, and she had always considered the people.
Robert said he had rarely seen her in such a mood. It seemed that the Frog had cast some spell on her. He must be a magician, for an uglier man few had ever seen. It would be ludicrous if she accepted him. The English hated the French in any case. Wasn't it the French who had supported Mary Queen of Scots and given her grandiose ideas about her claim to the throne? Elizabeth would be playing right into the hands of the French if she married. There could be a revolt in the country. It was true that Anjou was a Protestant ... at the moment. He was, everyone knew, like a weathercock. Fine today, raining tomorrow—only in his case it would be Catholic and Protestant. He turned with the wind.
We went to Penshurst to consult with the Sidneys what was best to be done.
There was a great welcome for us there. I had always been struck by the family loyalty of the Dudleys. Robert was greeted even more warmly now that he was in disgrace than he had been at the height of his popularity.
I remembered that Mary had left Court because she could no longer bear to hear her brother abused, and Philip had come to Penshurst for the same reason. He was a special favorite of the Queen. She had made him her cupbearer. But she had willingly given him leave of absence, for she had declared that he looked so sullen every time she let it be known how enraged she was at the conduct of that uncle of his that she wanted to box his ears.
Philip was beautiful rather than handsome. The Queen liked him for his looks and his learning, for his honesty and goodness; but of course the type of men who excited her were of a different kind.
Philip was deeply concerned about the marriage, for he said it would cause disaster if it took place, and it was decided that as he had the gift of words, it might be a good idea if he wrote his objections in a letter to the Queen.
So those days at Penshurst were spent in discussion. Robert and I would walk in the park with Philip and discuss the dangers of the Queen's marriage, and although I was firm in my insistence that she would never marry, they wavered in their opinions. Robert might be said to know her better than any—indeed he had been close to her—but I felt I knew the woman in her.
Philip shut himself in his study and at last produced the letter which was read by us all, commented on and, as we thought, toned down. In the end it read: