However, we all agreed that he should try for a reconciliation with the Queen.
An opportunity came when the Council was meeting and he, as a member of it, was to appear. His haughty reply was that he would not do so until he had first been granted an interview with the Queen. The Queen ignored this, and he did not attend, but went down to Wanstead to sulk.
There was bad news from Ireland, where the Irish Earl of Tyrone was in rebellion and was threatening the English, not only in Ulster, but in other provinces of Ireland. The English commander, Sir Henry Bagnal, had been completely routed, and it seemed that if immediate action were not taken, Ireland would be lost.
Essex came up from Wanstead with all speed and attended the meeting of the Council. He had special knowledge of the Irish question, he declared, and because of the danger, he asked the Queen to see him. She refused and he fumed with fury.
His rage and frustration had their effect on him. Penelope came to tell me that she feared he was ill. One of those intermittent fevers had attacked him, and in his delirium, he raved against the Queen. Christopher and I, with Penelope, went down to Wanstead to nurse him and protect him from those who were eager to report those ravings to Elizabeth.
How I loved him! Perhaps more than ever at this time. He was so young, so vulnerable; and all my maternal feelings rose in anguish to see him so. I shall never forget the sight of him, his beautiful hair unkempt and the wild look in his eyes. I felt furious with the Queen, whose treatment of him had brought him to this state, while, at the same time, in my heart I knew he had brought it on himself.
Would he never learn? I wondered. How I wished that Leicester were alive so that he could have talked with him. But when had Essex ever listened to anyone? My brother William and Mountjoy—whose relationship with Penelope made him like a son to me—were constantly trying to warn him. As for Christopher he seemed to be possessed of such adulation for my son that anything he did was right.
The Queen, hearing that Essex was ill, changed her attitude towards him. Perhaps the death of Burleigh had made her feel lonely —who shall say? They were all dead now—Eyes, Spirit, Moor and Bellwether. There was still one left to love—the wayward, reckless but fascinating son of her old enemy.
She sent her physician to see him with orders that she was to hear immediately of his condition; and as soon as he was well enough to travel—but not before—he was to come to her.
It was reconciliation, and he recovered quickly. Christopher was delighted. "None could resist him for long," he said. But my sober brother William was less euphoric.
Essex came to see me after he had been received by the Queen. She had been warm and expressed her pleasure to have him back at Court. He believed that everything was as it had been, and he was secretly elated that he could do that which no other would have dared and still regain her favor. At the Twelfth Night ball everyone noticed how he danced with the Queen and how delighted she seemed because he was with her.
Yet I was thoughtful, and I railed against her—in secret of course—for keeping me out.
Essex said he was going to Ireland. He was going to teach Tyrone a lesson. Nobody knew as much about the Irish question as he did, and he reckoned that his father had been ill served by his country. He had given all to the cause, and because he had died before he succeeded, he was considered a failure. He was going to avenge that. The Earl of Essex had died in Ireland and was said to have failed; now Essex's son was going to continue his father's good work; he was going to succeed and the name of Essex would be remembered ever after with reverence whenever Ireland was mentioned.
This was all very grand. The Queen, with one of her sly comments, reminded him that, since he was so concerned with his father's affairs, there were some debts of his which were still unsettled.
This reference to my first husband's debts sent a tremor of dismay through the family, and I was afraid that I might be called upon to meet them. Essex declared that if the Queen persisted in this rapacious manner—after all he had done for her—he would leave Court forever. This was wild talk, for he knew as well as any that his only hope of future advancement was through the Court.
The Queen must have cared deeply for him because the matter was dropped and no more heard of it, and, after some reluctance, she gave Essex permission to go to Ireland and command the army there.
He was flushed with triumph. He came to Leicester House and told us of his plans. Christopher listened to him intently with that adoration in his eyes which he had once shown for me.
I said: "You want to go with him, do you not?"
"I will take you, Christopher," added Essex.
My poor young husband! He could not hide from me where his inclination lay, though he tried to. How different from Leicester! It would never have occurred to him to turn from what he might desire or what could be advantageous to him. Oddly enough I was inclined to despise Christopher for his weakness.
"You should go," I told him.
"But how could I leave you ... ?"
"I am perfectly capable of looking after myself. Go with Rob. The experience will be good for you. Is that not so, Rob?"
Essex said it would be good for himself to have those about him whom he could trust.
"Then it is settled," I added.
Christopher was clearly relieved. Our marriage had been happy, but I had had enough of it. I was nearly sixty years old and at times he seemed too young to interest me.
In March of that year—the last of the century—my son, with my husband, marched out of London. The people came into the streets to see him pass, and I must say that he looked magnificent. He was going to subdue the Irish; he was going to bring peace and glory to England; there was something godlike about him, and it was small wonder that the Queen loved him.
Unfortunately when the cavalcade reached Islington, a violent thunderstorm broke and the riders were drenched with the rain. The lightning frightened the householders into their homes where they crouched in terror, it was said, seeing in this sudden violent storm some evil omen.
I laughed at this superstition, but later even I began to wonder.
Everyone knows now of the disastrous results of that campaign. How much happier we should have all been if Essex had not undertaken it. Essex, himself, soon realized the magnitude of his task. The Irish nobility were against him, so were the priests, who held great sway over the people. He wrote to the Queen telling her that to subdue the Irish was going to be the most costly operation of her reign. There must be a strong English army, and as the Irish nobility were not averse to a little bribery, perhaps this would be the best way of bringing them to her cause.
There was an argument between the Queen and Essex about the Earl of Southampton, whom she had not forgiven for having made Elizabeth Vernon pregnant, even though he had made amends by marrying her. Essex and Southampton were close friends and Essex had made Southampton his Master of Horse in the campaign—an appointment of which the Queen did not approve. She ordered Southampton to be removed from the post and this Essex was bold enough to refuse to do.
I was growing more and more apprehensive as this news reached me, not only about the growing resentment of the Queen, but the danger in which both my husband and son had placed themselves.
Penelope was always the first to hear the news and she kept me informed of what was going on. I was comforted too to have the company of my daughter Dorothy and her children. Her first husband, Sir Thomas Perrot, whom she had married so romantically, was now dead and she was married to Henry Percy, the Earl of Northumberland. This marriage, however, was not turning out well, and she was glad to come to me; and we talked sometimes of the trials and pitfalls of married life.