The only other time was quite disastrous. But more of that later.
There was no lack of devotion from my courtiers in spite of the fact that I was fast moving out of the stage when I could expect compliments, but perhaps because of it they were more fulsome and more frequent than ever. I loved my men—and I think some of them had a genuine affection for me. I was sure Hatton and Heneage did; and as for Robert there was a special relationship between us which nothing could alter. Men like Oxford never cared for anyone but themselves; and such as Philip Sidney were too inherently honest to be able to play the part of an admirer. I respected Philip for it but while I liked to have him at the Court—in any case I owed it to his mother and he was a favorite of his Uncle Robert's—he could never be in my immediate circle. Hatton was my Old Mutton or Bellwether. He was also My Lids. Robert was of course My Eyes—the most precious thing I had, and I always said he was continually looking out for my good. Burghley was in a different category; he was My Spirit; and Francis Walsingham, because of his dark looks, was affectionately known as My Moor.
Lettice Knollys was back at Court. I liked to keep an eye on her. I commented that she must be mourning her husband and feeling his loss sadly.
“Oh yes, Your Majesty,” she said, lowering her eyes.
I thought: Sly creature! Is she up to some mischief, and with whom? Her attitude of mourning was not very sincere. She did not look like a sorrowing widow to me.
I said: “You must have been deeply saddened when you heard of Walter's death. It was so sudden…so unexpected. Poor Essex! He was not an old man, and he had so much to live for. I am glad it was discovered that his death was a natural one. That must have been a trying time for you. To lose a husband through God's will is disastrous enough, but if it should be by man's foul play that would be very hard to bear.”
“Walter was a quiet man, Your Majesty. He had no real enemies.”
“And not one to wish him out of the way?”
She lifted those beautiful dark eyes to my face with the utmost candor. “Oh no, Your Majesty.”
She was one of two women whom I found it hard to get out of my mind. The other was Mary, Queen of Scotland. I imagined, although I had never seen Mary, that she had a quality similar to that of Lettice. It was an overriding attraction which I think most men found irresistible. They are of a wanton nature, I thought angrily, both of them! They want men as much as men want them. It is not superior beauty or skill… except perhaps in lewd conduct. But it is there in Lettice Knollys as it must be in Mary of Scots.
And in view of the rumors which had reached me about Lettice and Robert, I was particularly suspicious of her. What was happening between Lettice and Robert would be kept from me by those around me and the fact that some hints had filtered through told me there must be a great deal of it.
New Year came—always an enjoyable time of giving and receiving. My courtiers, of course, brought me the richest gifts—jewelery and garments, but I also had more humble presents from my household servants. For instance from Mistress Twist, the Court laundress, I had three handkerchiefs of black Spanish work edged with gold—all worked by her; and in addition she brought me four tooth cloths of rough holland wrought with black silk and edged with fine netting delicately worked with many colored silks. From Mrs Montague, my silk woman, I had a pair of sleeves decorated with roses and buds in black silk.
Philip Sidney brought me a cambric smock decorated with black silk work and edged with bone lace of gold and silver; it was covered with real gold spangles—a most delightful and acceptable gift. From my physicians I had pots of ginger and other preserves, and one of the cooks made a marchpane in the shape of St George and the dragon.
I had given Robert a doublet of white satin fastened with clasps of diamonds in which he looked very splendid. My favorite gift was of course his, not only because it was the most magnificent but because he had given it. That year it was a magnificent necklace of diamonds, opals and rubies. I wore it constantly.
Lettice brought me two wigs—one black and one red to match my own hair.
When I tried on the black one she stood back looking at me, her hands clasped together, all prepared to make the flattering comment.
I said to her: “I hear disturbing news about Lady Sheffield. I wonder what is the cause of her ailment. Do you know?”
“No, Your Majesty.” The beautiful eyes were wide and her face a study of innocence. “I doubt not the doctors will have an answer.”
“It is one of those mysterious illnesses which affect some,” I went on. “They tell me that her hair is falling out and her nails dropping off.”
Lettice shivered.
“No one can say what the cause of that is. And you know how ready people are to talk when others are beset by these illnesses. They begin to look around for reasons.”
“Reasons, Your Majesty?”
“Well, it is possible that our meek little Douglass is being a nuisance to someone.”
“She seemed a very mild gentle creature when I met her. Our encounter was brief certainly.”
“I remember rumors about her at Kenilworth. Rumors about her … and one other.”
In spite of her attempt at calm she was shaken. My suspicions that an affair was still simmering between her and Robert were heightened.
“I hope that Lady Sheffield recovers,” I said. “There was that delightful little boy she had. He reminded me in a way of your young Robert. Another Robert, you see. What a popular name that is! And what of your son, eh? My Lord Essex now. I must give him his full title I suppose.”
“He is well, Your Majesty, and with my Lord Burghley now.”
“Yes. Burghley reports that he is a clever little fellow.”
“He is certainly bright, Your Majesty. I am proud of him.”
“And so you should be. You are young yet, Lettice, and a comely woman. I doubt your father before long will find a husband for you.”
She was silent, her eyes downcast, but I did notice that the color had deepened in her cheeks.
“And how does this wig become me?”
I could see it hardened my face and added a few years to it. When one grows older one's hair must never be darker than it was in one's youth. Lettice had an eye for color; she was one of the most elegant ladies of the Court. She saw what I saw and I was amused by the tact of her comment. She said the black was too coarse for my fine skin. She added: “The golden red is ideal.”
She was right. I made her get Robert's necklace and put it on me.
“Is it not beautiful, cousin,” I said. “It is a gift from my lord Leicester. He always chooses so carefully for me.”
She scratched me a little and I turned and nipped her on the arm. I had a feeling that the scratch was not accidental.
Lettice had an undoubted effect on me. I should have sent her away, and yet on the other hand I did enjoy tormenting myself with speculations as to a liaison between her and Robert.
As for Robert himself he was the same as ever—my devoted if unfulfilled lover, ever hopeful and able, at times, to hide a certain exasperation, knowing, of course, that negotiations for a French marriage were still going on and, I believed, casting lustful eyes on Lettice.
Sometimes I could be amused but at others I was quite angry; and in one of these moods I decided to play a trick on Robert just as I had when I had offered him to Mary of Scotland.