Legacy: The Acclaimed Novel of Elizabeth, England's Most Passionate Queen -- and the Three Men Who Loved Her (94 page)

could not imagine how she had slept alone in it for all these years. And

when she met him later, in the presence of her ladies, they smiled at each

other as though they shared some private joke.

Indian summer had transfigured their old stormy relationship, leaving

them in a quietly happy state of perfect companionship which was

evident to all. The Great Lord was in his place at Gloriana’s side, and

his broad shoulders cast a shadow which was suddenly long enough to

envelop his stepson.

Essex felt the chill of total eclipse and found he lacked the maturity to

stomach even the most fleeting exclusion from her favour.

He chewed over his resentment as he organised the victory review

of the troops in the tiltyard at Whitehall, a task which would have fallen

to Leicester, had he not relinquished the post of Master of the Horse.

Essex decked two hundred light horsemen in orange velvet and silver

and watched them take the honours of the day. As he rode beneath the

window where Leicester stood with the Queen, he noted the grim set of

his stepfather’s jaw with satisfaction. It amused him today to excite the old

man’s jealousy and he left the courtyard in high good humour.

It had been Essex’s day—all the court had said so, and that evening the

young man waited eagerly to receive some special token of the Queen’s

regard. A slight gesture of her hand would single him out from the gaudy

multitude and everyone else, even Leicester and Burghley, would be

muted into insignificance. He believed he would never tire of the thrill it

gave him to take his place at the side of the goddess, as though by right.

He would dance with her and make her laugh and at length she would

dismiss the court and they two would retire to her chamber, attended

only by her sleepy maids of honour, to play cards until the first birds sang

and dawn stole through the tall casement windows. She had not sat with

him like that since Leicester returned from Tilbury.

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All that evening Essex waited with growing impatience for his summons

to the dais, where Leicester stood beside her chair like a sentinel. They

danced very little, but they talked endlessly. Christ’s soul, what could they

find to talk about who had known each other all these years? At midnight

the old Earl leaned forward and tapped the watch which hung on a chain

at her waist. The gesture had authority and the Queen looked up and

smiled and nodded. She rose and allowed Leicester to hand her down the

steps of the dais; and seeing that, Essex began to elbow his way angrily

through the crowd towards her.

Leicester saw him first, hastily excused himself and went to intercept

the boy’s determined approach. Deference was owed to his mighty patron

and Essex had no choice but to bow with superficial reverence and follow

his stepfather to a window embrasure.

“My lord?” His tone was hostile, his glance flicking over Leicester’s

ruddy face with vague contempt.

“The Queen has just agreed to retire and you will oblige me by

detaining her no further tonight.”

Essex stared at him in surprise and resentment.

“Have you advised her to ignore me in this arbitrary fashion?”

“Don’t be foolish,” said Leicester calmly. “I have warned you

before against imagining slights where none are intended. Do you

imagine the Queen will engage you in conversation every time she

holds court?”

“After my services today I should have thought some gesture of

acknowledgment, however brief—”

Leicester laid his hand on the boy’s sleeve, suddenly patient,

indulgent—fatherly.

“Service to the Queen is in itself its own reward, Robert. Bear in mind

that we are all of us here at the Queen’s pleasure, and here to serve.”

“It’s barely midnight,” said Essex sullenly.

“The Queen is not well.” Leicester’s voice was suddenly curt. He

had been forced to betray a confidence now and he was annoyed by the

necessity to restrain this arrogant pup, snapping at his heels. “It’s time

some of you young upstarts remembered that she’s only human.”

“Like you, my lord?” Essex gave him a smile edged with insolence. “I

trust you don’t mistake your own mortality for the Queen’s.”

“That’s enough!” snapped Leicester softly. “It is not my intention to

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bandy words with a dependant. I might remind you that you are here at

court through my good offices alone.”

“You
needed
me at court,” the boy retorted heatedly. “Mother told me

you would go under to Raleigh without my aid.”

Leicester smiled suddenly.

“I fear your mother’s opinions on the subject are hardly unbiased.

And should you choose to be disobliging now I think you will find I can

quite safely dispense with your invaluable services—as indeed can the

Queen herself.”

Essex flushed at the threat.

“The Queen will not thank you for parading her human frailties,”

he muttered.

“That much I know, none better, but then—she won’t hear of it,

will she?”

The boy was defeated, inclined to be peevish and stalk out of the

room; Leicester took him gently by the elbow and began to steer him

towards the throne.

“Come,” he said pleasantly. “I’m sure Her Majesty will wish to bid

you goodnight.”

The Queen was surrounded by a press of people when they reached

the foot of the dais, but she turned immediately and smiled as she held

out her hand to Essex.

“Robert—your display in the tiltyard thrilled us all, did it not, my lords?”

There was a grudging murmur of assent from the men around her

which the young man acknowledged with a haughty inclination of his

head. He still held her hand and there was a shade of possessive arrogance

about the gesture.

“You must come and talk to me tomorrow.” She stepped back,

forcing him to free her fingers, and glanced over her shoulder as she did

so. “Kit—I believe I have lost my fan.”

When Hatton returned from the dais with the object in his hand she

smiled at him too, Essex noted jealously, as though he had just done her

the most noble service. But as she turned away, the smile was extinguished,

like the flame of a candle, leaving her lips set in a thin line of weariness.

She seemed unmistakably relieved to lay her hand on Leicester’s velvet

sleeve and let him lead her from the Great Hall, past a gauntlet of courtiers

and ladies who sank to their knees as she passed by.

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Essex watched them go; and went to his own apartment in a chas-

tened, subdued mood which invited no good-humoured chaffing from

his friends.

t t t

Leicester left the court at the end of August, pausing briefly at Wanstead

to collect his wife with the casual indifference a man shows when picking

up a forgotten glove.

Lettice greeted him with a bored smile and a cool kiss and her eyes

went past him to her lover, young Blount, standing unobtrusively by her

horse. When they set out upon the journey Leicester found he was glad

of the jingling harness and the stamping hooves, the constant hum of idle

chatter among the kingly retinue which accompanied him. It seemed in

part to camouflage the fact that they two alone in all this brave company

had precious little left to say to each other.

Once or twice, he glanced sideways in the saddle and saw her riding

slowly beside him in the quivering heat, very trim and upright on her grey

mare. Occasional y a little smile touched her pouting lips, as though at a

remembered pleasure for which he had not been responsible. Very hand-

some stil , he had to admit grudgingly—it was smal wonder Blount had been

attracted to her, though young enough to be her son. The affair no longer

outraged him. Over the last year he had been positively relieved that she had

found someone to satisfy her considerable sexual appetites; he had long since

lost his taste for the violent practices which gave her so much pleasure.

They were little more than strangers now, polite acquaintances who

occasionally shared a bedchamber to maintain appearances. The lust

which had drawn them together had been unable to sustain them through

the loss of their son.

He remembered that loss now, remembered trying to comfort her with

meaningless words, how she had lain on their bed stiff and unresponsive,

and somehow angry, as though he were to blame for that tragedy. Then,

just as he had begun to be sure his presence was doing no good, she put

out her hand to touch his sleeve.

“Must you leave me?”

He had bent to brush her forehead with his lips.

“A few minutes only—just long enough to send word to the Queen

of—” He hesitated, could not say it—“of what has happened.”

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Susan Kay

Lettice’s hands clenched on the coverlet.

“The Queen!” she said stonily. “The Queen, the Queen—must she

intrude on everything, even our grief ? Do you need her permission to

stay long enough to see your son buried? I suppose I should be grateful

she spared you to come at all!”

“There’s no call for that, Lettice. The Queen has been deeply

concerned—”

“She didn’t concern herself with his birth—not so much as a chris-

tening present. So why should she care now that he’s dead? Doubtless this

will make your life at court considerably easier. One less cause to excite

that savage jealousy of hers—isn’t that so?”

He stood back from the bed, looking at her with faint disgust.

“I have no idea,” he began slowly, “what has made you so bitter. You

knew when I married you that I had other—commitments.”

She had known, but had thought she could change it. Time had proved

her wrong and suddenly she could not contain her rage any longer.

“I’m tired of it, can’t you see that, Robert?” She stood up and drew

her wrap around herself. “I’m sick of wearing your ring and your name

and living in your house with no more status than a whore. I’m weary of

trying to be grateful for the odd night when she spares me your company.

Go back and weep on the Queen’s shoulder, which is so much more

accommodating than mine. But don’t expect to find me sitting by the fire

waiting for you when you return!”

It was soon after that that she took up with Christopher Blount, but

then at least the jealous harping ceased and Leicester no longer felt obliged

to excuse his feelings for the Queen.

When he showed her the draft copy of his will, she read the first lines

and then handed it back to him with studied civility, not even pausing to

examine the generous provision he had made for her.

“
First of all and above all persons, it is my duty to remember my most dear and

gracious princess, whose creature under God I have been and who has been a most

bountiful and princely mistress to me…
”

“I think that says it all, even for posterity,” Lettice had remarked coldly,

and walked out of the room, leaving him with the document in his hand.

But slowly the bitterness had softened into mutual tolerance, until at

last they had the empty, civilised relationship which characterised the

majority of marriages among nobility. And life was much easier on the

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increasingly rare occasions when, as now, for form’s sake, they must bear

each other company.

They rode down into the valley of the River Thame and there ahead

of them lay the great beeches of Ricote. Margery Norris, as plump and

pretty as ever, ran down the steps to meet him with her arms outstretched

in welcome, then stopped abruptly on seeing Lettice at his side for the

first time.

“Lady Leicester—what a delightful surprise,” she said icily, dropping

a perfunctory curtsey. Then she turned to take Leicester’s arm and hurry

him into the well-remembered house where he had spent so many hours

with Elizabeth, leaving Lettice to the attentions of a steward.

“The Queen’s own bedroom,” said Margery gaily, flinging the door

open to reveal a large, sunny room overlooking the terrace. “I know she

would want you to have it in her absence, Robert—but of course
you
,

my lady, in view of your lord’s ill-health, would doubtless prefer to lodge

in another room.”

Leicester caught his wife’s look of murderous rage and suppressed a

smile. Dear Margery, still the Queen’s loyal friend! And really he would

be quite glad to sleep alone in the Queen’s bed, left in peace to remember

the old laughing times within these walls.

At the precise moment when Lettice opened her mouth to voice her

indignant protest, he laid his hand on Margery’s arm and said with quiet

irony, “That is a very kind thought, madam, and I know my wife will

thank you for it.”

“A kind thought indeed,” parrotted Lettice dutifully, unable now to

say otherwise. She curtsied to her husband with a quick, contemptuous

gesture and turned to follow her hostess out of the room.