This was triumph. How much better it would be for me to be able to talk to her, to speak of the past, to make a bid for her friendship, seated beside her perhaps. How different from a passing word!
I wore a gown of blue silk and an embroidered underskirt of a paler shade, a delicate lace ruff and a light gray velvet hat with a curling blue feather. I was becomingly dressed (for I could not give her the satisfaction of thinking I had lost my good looks) and at the same time discreetly so.
As I went into the palace I wondered whether she would find some excuse yet for turning me away. But no, this time I did come face to face with her.
It was a thrilling moment when I stood before her. I sank to my knees and remained there until I felt her hand on my shoulder and heard her bid me to rise.
I stood up and we took measure of each other. I knew she was aware of every detail of my looks and dress. I could not repress a satisfaction as I noticed how she had aged. Even the careful toilette, the subtle application of rouge, the red wig could not hide it completely. She was over sixty, but her slender figure and her upright carriage did a great deal for her. Her neck showed the strains of age but her bosom was as white and firm as ever. She was in the white which she loved—a gown lined with scarlet and decorated with pearls. I wondered if she had given as much care to her appearance as I had. When she lifted her hand, the long hanging sleeve fell back disclosing the scarlet lining. She had always used her hands to effect. Beautifully white and still perfectly shaped, they showed little sign of age; they looked delicate, weighed down with the jewels which glittered on them.
She laid her hands on my shoulders and kissed me. I felt the blood rush to my cheeks, and I was glad, for she took it as emotion. But it was just plain triumph. I was back.
"It is a long time, Cousin," she said.
"Your Majesty, it has seemed an age."
"More than ten years since he left me." Her face puckered and I thought she was going to weep. "It is as though he is with me still. I still never grow accustomed to being without him."
She was, of course, talking about Leicester. I should have liked to tell her that I shared her feelings, but that would have seemed quite false since I had been married to Christopher for the last ten years.
"How did he die?" she asked. Obviously she wanted to hear again what she must know already.
"In his sleep. It was a peaceful ending."
"I am glad. I still read his letters. I can see him so well ... when he was but a boy." She shook her head sadly. "There was never one like him. There were rumors at his death."
"There were always rumors about him."
"He was closer to me than any. My Eyes ... indeed my eyes."
"I trust my son is a comfort to you, Madam."
"Ah, wild Robin." She laughed affectionately. "A charming boy. I love him well."
"Then I am happy to have borne him for your service."
She looked at me sharply. "It would seem that fate has played a trick on us, Lettice," she said. "Those two ... Leicester and Essex ... the two of them, close to us both. You find your Blount a good husband?"
"I thank God for him, Madam."
"You quickly married after Leicester's death."
"I was lonely."
She nodded. "That girl of yours should take a care or two."
"Your Majesty refers to Lady Rich?"
"Lady Rich ... or Lady Mountjoy ... I know not by which name we should call her."
"She is Lady Rich, Your Majesty."
"She is like her brother. They have too high an opinion of themselves."
"Life has given them a great deal."
"Yes, with Sidney moping over the girl and now Mountjoy stepping out of line for her."
"It tends to raise their opinion of themselves—as Your Majesty's kindness to Essex has shown."
She laughed. Then she talked about the old days, of dear Philip Sidney, who had been such a hero, and the tragedies of the last years. It seemed particularly cruel to her that after the defeat of the Armada when it was as though a great burden had been lifted from her shoulders—though another had been laid on them since by the same enemies—she should have lost the one with whom she could have shared her triumphs.
Then she talked of him, how they had been together in the Tower, how he had come to her when her sister had died... . "The first to rush to me, with the offer of his fortune... ."
And his hand, I thought. Sweet Robin, the Queen's Eyes, how high his hopes had been in those days. She took me along with her, making me see again the handsome young man—incomparable, she called him. I think she had completely forgotten the gouty, bleary old man he had become.
And she seemed to forget me too, as she rambled on, living the past with Leicester.
Then suddenly she looked at me coldly. "Well, Lettice," she said, "we have met at last. Essex has won the day."
She gave me her hand to kiss, and I was dismissed.
I left the palace in a state of triumph.
A week passed. There was no summons from the Queen. I could not wait to see my son. I told him what had happened, that the Queen had talked with me and had been most friendly, even cousinly. Yet I had received no further invitation to go to Court.
Essex mentioned the matter to her, telling her how delighted I was to have been received in private. Now what I earnestly wished for was to be allowed to kiss her hand in public.
He looked at me sadly.
"She is a most perverse old woman," he cried; and I was terrified that the servants would hear. "She says that she promised me she would see you and this she has done. And that, she tells me, is an end of the matter."
"You can't mean that she won't receive me again!" I cried, aghast.
"She says it is the same as it ever was. She does not wish to receive you at Court. She has nothing to say to you. You have shown yourself to be no friend of hers and she has no wish to see you."
So there I was, back in the same position. That brief meeting had meant nothing. It might just as well never have taken place. I pictured her laughing with her women, perhaps commenting on the meeting.
"The She-Wolf thought she was coming back, did she? Ha! She will have to change her views... ."
Then she would look in her mirror and see herself not as she was then, but as a young woman newly come to the throne, in all the splendor of her glorious youth and beside her her Sweet Robin, with whom none could compare.
Then to soothe her grief and add balm to her wounds which he had given her by preferring me, she would laugh afresh at my dismay at having had my hopes raised and dashed so that she could add to my humiliation.
I am now approaching in these memories of mine that time which is the most tragic in my life, for I believe, looking back, that that terrible scene between Essex and the Queen was the beginning of disaster for him. I am sure she never forgave him for it, any more than she ever forgave me for marrying Leicester. Faithful as she was to her friends, one could say she was equally faithful to her enemies, and while she remembered an act of friendship and rewarded it again and again, she could never forget an act of disloyalty.
I know that Essex gave great provocation. His close friend, the Earl of Southampton, was at this time in disgrace. Elizabeth Vernon, one of the maids of honor and a niece of my first husband, Walter Devereux, had become Southampton's mistress, and Essex had helped them to make a secret marriage. When the Queen heard of it, Essex boldly declared that he saw not why men should not marry as they wished and still serve the Queen. This displeased her.
Meanwhile Elizabeth was seeking to make a peace treaty with Spain. Her hatred of war was as strong as ever, and she often said it should be undertaken only in cases of dire emergency (as at the time when the Armada was threatening to attack) and at all other times every step should be taken to avoid it.