In August of that year I went on one of my pilgrimages through the countryside to show myself to the people, which was what they wanted. I always made sure that they had a good view of me and I paused on the way to chat with them, and thank them personally for the little presents they brought me, and however humble these were I always made them feel they were just what I needed. These journeys gave me as much pleasure as they gave the people, for always I was aware of that which was more important to me than anything else—the approbation of my subjects.
I was particularly happy on this occasion because Robert was beside me and we spent a short time at Warwick Castle, the home of his brother Ambrose, a charming man who had served his country well. He had been in the Tower with Robert when I had been there for he was arrested with his brothers for complicity in the plot to set Lady Jane Grey on the throne. I liked him well. He was something of an invalid due to a poisoned bullet which had struck him when he was defending Le Havre. I was especially fond of all Robert's family and I had never forgotten what I owed to his sister who had so valiantly nursed me during my attack of smallpox which she had caught, to be left disfigured.
I was received magnificently at Warwick Castle. There were the usual pageants and songs of praise for my beauty and wisdom. I could almost guess what the next line would be when they quoted their verses, but I liked them none the less for that; and it was delightful to see the pleasure these simple country people took in pleasing me and how conscious they were of the honor of coming face to face with their sovereign.
I would never slight any of them, though I must admit there were occasions when I found it hard not to give way to a yawn. One of these occurred in Warwick where they had arranged a civic ceremony for me, and the speech made by the Recorder went on and on, repeated in parrot fashion, at the end of which he begged me to take a small present from the town. The bailiff then came to my coach and gave me a purse in which was twenty pounds. I took it graciously and told them that I was loath to take anything from them, because I knew that many of them had given what they could ill afford; but I accepted it with hearty thanks and that I should never forget the honor done to me by my good people of Warwick. I then gave him my hand to kiss, which he did in some confusion.
Ambrose whispered to me that the Recorder, a certain Mr Aglionby, had been overcome with terror at the thought of having to address me, and had learned his speech by heart, so perhaps that was the reason why it had been rather more than usually dull.
Fearing that the good Mr Aglionby might have noticed my boredom, I sent for him at once, for it was always my aim that no one should be allowed to think anything but the best of me, which after all was the purpose of these tiring and often uncomfortable pilgrimages I took among my subjects.
He came and I held out my hand.
“Come hither, little Recorder,” I said. “I hear that you thought you would be afraid to look at me and to speak boldly. I now tell you that you were not so afraid of me as I was of you; and I now thank you for putting me in mind of my duty.”
The little man was almost in tears—tears of gratitude and admiration. I knew that he would be my ardent supporter for the rest of his life.
And so into the castle.
That would have been a very pleasant trip for me but for a somewhat unsavory piece of gossip which came to my ears during it.
I had noticed Douglass Sheffield at once, for that instinct I had for picking out women who would appeal to Robert had singled her out to me. I remembered I had heard something about Douglass's and her sister's being enamored of Robert. I had not taken much notice at the time because I imagined many women at Court were enamored of Robert—and I liked to think of their being so.
The gossip came through some of my women whom I heard discussing it. They would never have dared tell me outright but when I heard one say to another: “Do you think the Earl of Leicester really did it?” I pricked up my ears and burst in on them, demanding to know what Leicester had been accused of doing.
It was only my anger which prized the story from them. They were loath to tell me, saying every few minutes that it was only gossip, and I knew how slanderous that could be toward the best of people.
Yes, I did know, and I understood that a man in Robert's position had many enemies. But could this story be true? I knew that Douglass Sheffield and her sister had been enamored of him. Had others seen that—and when Douglass's husband died rather mysteriously, had they fabricated the story to discountenance Robert?
It might well be—but on the other hand it might not.
The gossips said that Robert had had a love affair with Douglass Sheffield. This was possible. He was a man and certainly he had no sexual satisfaction from me. I had often thought that he must seek that elsewhere, and if he did so all well and good…as long as I did not know about it, and it was done discreetly and out of sight. That was one condition which I was sure Robert understood.
Apparently this affair with Douglass Sheffield had gone farther. He had, it was said, written a letter to her which he had asked her to destroy as soon as she had read it, but, foolish woman that she was, she had failed to do this. In this letter he had stated that he would marry her when her husband died, and he had added that damning sentence “and that may not be very long.”
It was like the casket letters all over again. What fools people were to put these dangerous thoughts on paper! What greater fools not to destroy them when they had been read!
She had kept the letter under her pillow to read it many times during the days and nights; and then the little idiot had dropped it; she hunted everywhere and could not find it. Of course she could not, for it had already been found by her sister-in-law who promptly took it to Douglass's husband.
And what did Lord Sheffield do on reading that letter? He decided to go to London to arrange for a divorce from the wife who, with her lover he believed, was seeking to murder him. Then came the damning part. Lord Sheffield died before he could show the letter to his lawyers and his death was due to dysentery—often the result of poison.
Why should Lord Sheffield have died so suddenly when he was about to disclose the relationship between Robert and his wife?
Well, it made a good subject for gossip. The alarming part was that Sheffield was dead. I could not believe though that Robert had planned to marry Douglass. He would know how furious I should be to receive such news, and he would never risk my anger for the sake of that silly little woman. On the other hand, could he have written such a letter? Yes, possibly in the hope of seducing the woman if she were holding out against him; and then when he was about to be exposed could he have arranged Sheffield's death?
I did not know. There was so much I did not know about Robert. Was that why he was so fascinating?
How often I had asked myself: How did Amy Robsart die? Was it an accident? Did she commit suicide? Or was she hastened to her death—and if so who would want that more than Robert? He would wish Lord Sheffield dead if he were going to create a scandal which would come to my ears.