Douglass, it seemed, wanted to defend what she called "her honor"; and of course she was fighting for her son. That was a point in our favor. Leicester, as a family man wanting legitimate sons, was, it was said, hardly likely to disclaim one as bright and intelligent as Douglass's Robert.
We waited in trepidation for the result of the inquiry. Douglass was questioned by Sussex, and it was disconcerting to remember how much Sussex disliked Robert, for we were sure that he would be delighted if he could bring a case against us.
Douglass insisted, under cross-examination, that there had been a ceremony when she and Leicester had plighted their troth in a manner which she considered binding. Then, it was said, she must have some document; there must have been some settlement. No, said silly little Douglass, there was nothing. She had relied on the Earl of Leicester and had trusted him completely. She wept hysterically and begged to be left alone. She was now happily married to Sir Edward Stafford, and the Earl of Leicester and Lady Essex had a fine boy.
Then, it would seem, Sussex was forced to declare that what had taken place between Lady Sheffield and the Earl of Leicester was no true marriage and in that case Leicester had been free to marry Lady Essex when he did.
When the news was brought to me I was overcome with joy. I had been terrified on account of my son. Now there was no doubt that the little boy in the cradle was the Earl of Leicester's legitimate son and heir.
While I was rejoicing in my good fortune I could also enjoy the Queen's discomfiture. It was reported to me that when she heard the news she stormed and raged, called Douglass a fool, Leicester a rogue, and me a ravening she-wolf who roamed the world seeking for men whom it could destroy.
"My Lord Leicester will rue the day he ever took up with Lettice Knollys," she declared. "This is not an end of that affair. In time he will have recovered from his besotted folly and feel the She-Wolf's poisonous fangs."
I might have trembled to realize the hatred I had aroused in our all-powerful lady, but somehow I found it stimulating, especially now that I knew I had got the better of her again. I could picture her fury, and that it was mainly directed against me exhilarated me. My marriage was secure. My son's future was protected. And the mighty Queen of England—although she had exerted all her power to do so—could not take that from me. Once again I was the victor.
I could come out into the open now that there was no need to skulk behind secrecy, and I turned my attention to my husband's magnificent residences and determined to make them even more grand. They should all exceed the splendor of the Queen's places and castles.
I refurbished my bedchamber in Leicester House, installing a walnut bed, the hangings of which were of such grandeur that no one could look at them without gasping. I was determined that my bedchamber must be more splendid than that set aside for the Queen when she came visiting the house. I remembered that when she came I should have to disappear—either that or she would refuse to come at all. And if she came I knew her curiosity would impel her to see my bedchamber, so I spared nothing in making it beautiful. The hangings were of red velvet, decorated with gold and silver thread and lace; everything in the room was covered in velvet, silver and gold cloth; my night stool was like a throne. I knew she would be furious if she saw it all. And she would certainly hear about it. There would be plenty of malicious hands ready to stoke up the fires of her hatred against me. All the bed linen was decorated with Leicester's crest, and very fine it was; we had rich carpets on the floors and walls, and what a joy it was to dispense with the rushes which in a short time became ill-smelling and full of lice.
Robert and I were happy. We could laugh together behind the elaborate curtains of our bed at the clever way in which he had married me in spite of all the obstacles against us. I referred to the Queen when we were alone together as That Vixen. After all she was as cunning as a fox; and the female of the species was more wily than the male. As she called me the She-Wolf I called Robert My Wolf, and he retaliated by naming me his Lamb, for he said that if the lion could lie down with that sweet creature so could the wolf. There was little that was lamblike about me, I reminded him, and he said that was true as far as the rest of the world was concerned. The joke persisted, and whenever we used these nicknames the Queen was never far from our thoughts.
Our little son was a joy to us both and I began to revel in my family, not only because I was devoted to them but because the Queen, for all her splendor, must feel the lack of sons and daughters.
There was, however, a certain sadness in the house which was brought about by Penelope. She had stormed and raged for a time, declaring her opposition to the marriage with Lord Rich. Lord Huntington would have had her beaten into submission, but I would not allow this. Penelope was very like myself—beautiful and high-spirited; in any case to have beaten her would have strengthened her resistance.
I reasoned with her. I pointed out that this marriage with Lord Rich was the best thing that could happen to her at this time. The family was in disgrace—particularly myself—and my daughter would never be received at Court, but if she became Lady Rich and the wife of such a man, that would be a different matter. She might feel that she would prefer a life in the country to marriage with a man she did not love, but she would change her mind when the boredom set in.
"I cannot say that I was wildly in love with your father when I married him," I confessed, "but it was not an unsuccessful marriage, and I have you children through it."
"And you were very friendly with Robert during that marriage," she reminded me.
"There is no harm in having friends," I retorted.
That made her somewhat thoughtful, and when Lord Huntingdon came once more to talk sternly to her, she relented.
She was married to Lord Rich, poor child. I was sorry for her and for Philip Sidney, although he had been somewhat lackadaisical and prepared to drift along without coming to any conclusion. Now he seemed stunned and I heard that he referred to Lord Rich as a coarse illiterate fellow. The marriage certainly brought him out of his lethargy and his relationship with Penelope changed from that time. He started to write verses to her and about her and according to them Penelope was the love of his life.
However, most people said how fortunate she was in view of the fact that her mother was in dire disgrace and the Queen still put out with her stepfather, who, many believed, would never regain his old footing with her.
At that time I believed that the Queen might in time relent towards me, for she certainly did towards Robert. After a few months he gradually began working his way back into favor. Her affection for him never ceased to astonish me. I think she still cherished romantic dreams about him, and when she looked at him she still saw the handsome youth who had been with her in the Tower instead of the aging man he was becoming, for he was putting on weight rather alarmingly, his face was too ruddy, and his hair seemed to whiten a little each week.
One of Elizabeth's greatest virtues was her fidelity to old friends. I knew she would never forget Mary Sidney's nursing, and every time she saw that sad pockmarked face, pity and gratitude welled up within her. She had arranged a marriage for young Mary Sidney with Henry Herbert, the Earl of Pembroke, and although he was twenty-seven years older than his bride, it was considered a very worthy match by all.
Robert was one who would always have a place in her heart, and if there were occasions when he was ousted there would always come the time when he would be reinstated. The truth was, she loved Robert, and she always would. Thus it was no great surprise that before six months had passed he was back in favor.