Elizabeth (18 page)

But Elizabeth was his existence; Elizabeth was his title and his wealth and his entire significance. Without her he would have ceased to exist within a matter of days. He had made love to her and resisted her and fallen into the mortal mistake of treating her like other women; but when that phase was over and the correct adjustment made, he had found his position not only secure but in no way unmanly. It was possible to live as he did in permanent submission to the will of a woman only when that woman was Elizabeth and consequently so far above her own sex and its frailties that it was rather like serving a spectacular King.

The part of their relationship which now seemed strained and artificial was the most intimate; he instinctively felt it incongruous to embrace someone of whom he was fundamentally afraid. He wondered whether she shared his uneasiness; it was only an exercise in mutual frustration, and he suspected that she found it as unsatisfactory as he did, because the occasions when she indulged in amorous play were more and more infrequent.

Instead there was a greater warmth and intimacy in the purely platonic gestures of affection. He felt genuine love for Elizabeth when he held or kissed one of her hands, or helped to lift her from her horse; he had begun to take a fanatical pride in her achievements as if she were an extension of himself. They had entered a conspiracy to outwit the conventional world and make her unique among Queens as well as among women, and she was determined that they should remain together on their own peculiar footing and on their own agreed terms. He came into her rooms when she was dressing; not to indulge in liberties as their enemies imagined, but to help her choose her clothes for the day. He had a keen eye for what was both majestic and becoming. He picked out her largest jewels, suggested wider skirts and bigger ruffs, encouraging any fashion which made her outstanding. She was the Queen; she must never be mistaken for anything else whatever she was doing.

She was not only his consuming interest but his sole occupation. He was busy every moment of the day attending to her personal needs and her public necessities; he sat at the Council Chamber with her, escorted her when she went out, joined her hunting parties, and was never excused from a single evening's entertainment. It was widely accepted, even before the creating of his title and his expected marriage, that the way to the Queen could only be opened by Dudley. Cecil never asked favours for anyone.

He had played his part in the marriage farce with Mary Stuart as faithfully as she had demanded of him, though there were times when he needed her reassurance that it was all a trick, so convincingly did Elizabeth discuss his suit to the Scots Queen. And at those times she laughed and stroked his hair, and whispered that she meant to rivet a great chain round his leg with her own hands, just to make sure that he never left her.…

He had more enemies than at any time in his life; his earldom had emphasized the fact that he was no longer a bedchamber companion but a man of power and increasing substance whose voice counted for something in the government of the country. He was hated and courted at the same time; everyone who met his eye in the ante-room made him some acknowledgment, including some of Elizabeth's highest born and haughtiest nobles. The one exception who never looked at Robert or spoke to him if it could be avoided, was the Duke of Norfolk. He too was in the ante-room and his expression implied that the Queen's favourite, standing within five feet of him, did not exist.

He was a tall, thin man, with the prominent Howard features, and an intelligence which was chiefly occupied in the contemplation of his own importance. He was further elevated by close blood relationship with the Queen for the previous Duke had been the uncle of Anne Boleyn. They were a curious family, unscrupulous and mediaeval in their outlook; the uncle had not hesitated to sit as chief judge at the trial of his niece and to pronounce the sentence of death upon her. The present Duke lacked his ferocious predecessor's cunning; he had once condescended to tell Dudley some time earlier that unless he withdrew from the Court and ceased distracting Elizabeth from her foreign suitors he would be removed by the swords of his superiors.

Elizabeth had ordered both men to apologize and forbidden the duel which Dudley proposed to fight with the Duke, but they had remained mortal enemies.

The door of the Queen's room opened and her page of the bedchamber called out: “The Earl of Leicester to the Queen's Majesty!”

Everyone turned and looked as the Earl went in; only Norfolk remained quite still, his eyes fixed on a point on the opposite wall.

Elizabeth was dressed for the evening reception; she dined in public once a day, and then attended a play in the Palace Great Hall, or joined her Court in the dancing which she loved.

She wore a gown of brilliant emerald green, with a petticoat of white satin embroidered with emeralds and pearls; the same jewels were round her neck and blazing in her hair.

She held out both hands to Robert and he kissed them.

“They say Venus came out of the sea,” he said, “and looking at you tonight, Madam, I believe them. You should never wear anything but emeralds.”

Elizabeth laughed; he could see that she was in high spirits; her pale face was flushed and she stood back, giving him time to admire her costume.

“Then you know what present to give me next year. I will wear nothing but emeralds, my fond Leicester, unless you should happen to choose rubies or diamonds instead! However, this time I have something for you. Come here.”

She brought him to the cabinet which stood against one wall, and unlocked it herself. When she opened the door he saw a magnificent goblet shining in the recess. It was made of gold, the lid and rim were studded with diamonds, and engraved with his crest, the bear and ragged staff.

She held it out to him, smiling.

“A loving cup,” she said. “For you, my Robert, as a reward for playing the lover to someone else.”

“I cannot thank you,” he said after a moment, “there aren't enough words in the English language. My beloved, I have never seen anything so magnificent in my life.”

“It's a compensation.” Elizabeth closed the cabinet door and relocked it. He knew that she kept a fabulous ruby in one of the drawers. The jewel was too big to wear, but she liked to take the huge stone out and look at it. It was destined to be set in the Crown when she could be persuaded to part with it. “A compensation for not marrying my cousin in Scotland,” she continued.

“You mean the negotiations are broken off?”

“Not yet, but it's only a formality now. That's why I sent for you. Alas, my love, she has decided to resist your impetuous siege, and give her heart to someone else. The Earl of Lennox has just asked permission to go to Scotland. I have given it, and I'd wager that little goblet of yours that his son Darnley will sneak after him in a matter of days. She is about to spit you out, and swallow the true bait.”

“Thank God for it,” he said quickly. “I wish them joy of each other.”

“We'll drink to that.”

There was a silver jug of wine already set out for them; he poured some into the splendid goblet and handed it to her.

“No other woman will ever put her lips to that cup,” he said.

“Not to the cup or the owner.” Elizabeth sipped slowly and he drank from it after her. “Here's health to the Queen of Scots, and health to her bridegroom, may she see nothing beyond his blue eyes! It's my confident hope that she won't; other women haven't, and from all I hear she's so bent on spiting me that she'll fall on his neck the first time they meet.”

Dudley looked at her and slowly shook his head.

“I'm no match for you; God knows I can't see how you could let her marry a man with a claim to your throne, however distant. The whole world will say she's outwitted you.”

“We'll see what the world says after a year of marriage to that pup,” Elizabeth retorted. “We'll see what her nobles and her Reformers say when they find their Consort in the Edinburgh brothels.”

“How do you know this when Lethington doesn't?”

“It's my business to know what anyone does who has a claim to my throne, however distant,” she mocked. “Cecil has eyes and ears in every Palace and bawdy house in the kingdom. Darnley keeps his pleasures secret, but there are no secrets to be kept from me. He'll ruin my cousin once she gives him rein. There'll be no invasion of England with Darnley riding beside her unless she wants a drunkard in the saddle. I'd go further and say that her nobles will probably murder him before the year is out!”

“You always win, Madam,” Robert said slowly. “I know you so well and yet I don't know you at all. There isn't another woman in the world who could have made such a plan and manoeuvred her enemy into carrying it out for her. By God, England should be proud of you!”

“And proud of Cecil, too. I thought of it; he helped me to execute it every step of the way. And he never doubted its success.”

For a moment Leicester's face darkened.

“You told me I was the only one who knew.”

Elizabeth patted his shoulder.

“I had to say that; knowing how jealous you are of him, I knew you'd make difficulties if you thought he was a party to it. Come now, Robert, take me out into the ante-chambers; I must see Lethington tonight and pretend to be uneasy about Lennox's visit. And I shall find a few words for the Countess of Lennox; they'll be the last she'll hear from me before I put her in the Tower.”

At midnight on February 13th, 1565, the people of Edinburgh were brought out of their beds by a strange and terrifying phenomenon. The empty streets were filled with the sound of fighting, as if a ghost army were engaged in combat. There were cries and the clash of swords and the echo of hooves in the deserted squares and alleys, under a freezing cloudless sky. The next morning John Knox climbed into his pulpit at St Giles' Cathedral to point out that the phantom omens of war and disaster coincided with the arrival of Lord Henry Darnley in the City.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The two cousins, Henry Darnley and Mary Stuart, met for the first time on February 17th as guests of the Laird of Wemyss. It was deliberately informal because the Scots Queen did not wish to commit herself and give open offence to Elizabeth until she had met the man of whom Lethington spoke so well. They were both nervous; Darnley was unnerved by the presence of his father who blustered and behaved as if the match had already been made; Mary fidgeted and changed her dress twice before she was satisfied. Her feminine vanity was determined to make a personal conquest, for this was the first of all her suitors who had presented himself in person. She had been too occupied with policy to permit her emotions to become involved with any man on an intimate basis; she had no experience of masculine love beyond the sad, abortive relationship with her first husband and the hideous incident with Chatelard which ended on a scaffold. She came to meet Darnley dressed in one of the elegant, severe black velvet gowns which enhanced her graceful figure and exquisite colouring, with a long scarf in the scarlet tartan of the Royal Stuarts pinned from her shoulder to her waist like a sash. The reports of Lethington and his father had not prepared Darnley for the effect of her beauty as she came towards him down the long, cold room in Wemyss' house. He stood very still, his fair face flushing with nerves and excitment. He knew a great deal about women but he had never seen one that moved like the Queen; he had never seen such a complexion matched by that extraordinary hair, as warm and burnished as the autumn leaves on a beech tree, or the brilliant eyes where the same changing colour was repeated. She was certainly the most beautiful and the most unusual woman he had seen in his life.

Mary had not expected him to be so tall. When he was described as handsome, she had no idea of the impression of grace and youth which would meet her that February day.

“Welcome to our kingdom, my Lord. It gives us great pleasure to meet with you at last.”

Darnley bowed deeply over her hand and kissed it.

“The pleasure and the honour is mine, your Majesty. You must pardon my confusion; I find that I meet not only the Queen of Scotland, but the Queen of women.”

The gallant compliment came easily to him; he had been trained at the Court of one of the most sophisticated sovereigns in Europe. He spoke to Mary as all courtiers addressed his own Queen, Elizabeth. The Queen smiled, and her eyes softened, as if the sun had caught them, changing the hazel to green and blue.

She was prepared for the sort of young men who surrounded her in Scotland, men who had youth and vigour to recommend them, but none of whom matched this divinely handsome, charming youth whose admiration showed so plainly on his face. Mary had never been in love with any man in her life. She was twenty-four, a widow and a virgin; in spite of her training and her rough experience of the past four years, she was as fatally romantic as her father. Within twenty minutes of meeting Henry Darnley, she was lost.

He made an official appearance at Holyrood two days later, and it was obvious to the delighted Lennox that his son was going to be the next King of Scotland. Others, like Murray and Ruthven, a supremely evil man who could never endure the sight of innocent affection without reducing it to his own loathsome level, watched the Queen's courtship with suspicion and resentment. For it was Mary who was in love and in pursuit. Her infatuation with Darnley irritated the jealous Scottish Lords, who saw nothing admirable in his English manners and his extravangant clothes; their own sons were more manly, stronger, more truly Scottish than this lanky, pallid youth, with his simpering compliments and affectations. It annoyed them to discover that he was a capable horseman and athlete; he was too exhilarated by his own success and the attentions of Mary to need drink or debauchery to bolster his self-esteem. He had won such an easy victory, and at first he was still rather overwhelmed by the charm and beauty of the prize; he showed only the best side of his character, especially to those most anxious to detect a flaw in him, and to Mary he seemed incapable of a fault.