“Why should I forget William Cecil? Have I not said that he is my very good friend?”

“Nay, you have not! But he does not possess a pair of flashing black eyes that look at you as though they would devour you. He does not tell you that your beauty goes to his head, that he dares not touch your hand for fear of seducing you here and now in front of your good servant, Kat Ashley.”

“Shame on you, Kat! Did Lord Robert say any such thing?”

“He did, my lady.”

“Then I did not hear it.”

“But you saw … and I saw … as he meant it to be seen. He is an adventurer.”

“Well, what should I want—a sit-by-the-fire? A dwarf? A pockmarked ninny?”

“So you want this man?”

“You are dismissed, Kat Ashley. I’ll have no more of your insolence.”

“You have my love, and love such as mine is indifferent to the anger it may cause. It seeks to serve even if the serving sometimes gives displeasure.”

Then Elizabeth turned and embraced Kat. “I know it, Kat. I know it. But don’t provoke me.” She smiled. “So he looked at me as though he would devour me? I confess ’twas so. But as long as he but looks, what matters it? Have no fear, Kat; I shall not allow myself to be devoured. Let us take a look at the cards. Let us see what they have to tell us of our tall dark man now.”

“Beware of him! That is what they will say.”

“I? Beware? Let him beware of me!”

“No, my lady, it is you who are a-tremble. Have a care. He is no ordinary man.”

“There you speak truth,” said Elizabeth beginning to laugh in anticipation of a passionate friendship. “He is indeed no ordinary man.”

November came. The house at Hatfield was the scene of much activity. The Princess had become more haughty; she was regal yet gay, arrogant and more quick-tempered than ever.

The Count of Feria called upon her, and this caused fresh excitement, for all were aware what this meant.

Feria, on behalf of his master, Philip of Spain, had come to ingratiate himself with Elizabeth.

The Count bowed low—lower, Elizabeth was quick to notice, than he had on their last meeting. Such behavior made her want to laugh aloud. She thought: So your master will give his support to me whom he suspects of heresy, rather than allow his old enemy the King of France to put Mary of Scotland on the English throne.

It was good to know that she was to receive the support of mighty Philip, and to know that whatever she did would not alter that. She could be cold to Feria, if she wished; or she could be warm, and neither attitude would alter his master’s decision. She was the lesser of two evils as far as Spain was concerned, and so she would continue to be.

“I am honored, my lord Count,” she told him, “that you should lighten my humble house with your presence.”

“It is I who am honored,” said the solemn Spaniard.

Elizabeth looked at him appraisingly and wondered what had made Jane Dormer fall in love with him. He was handsome in his way—but a Spaniard! Give her a good hearty Englishman. Always her thoughts returned to Robert Dudley.

She bade Feria sup with her.

“It gives me great pleasure to know that you come to assure me of your master’s friendship,” she told him as they sat at table.

“It has always been my master’s endeavor to show friendship to Your Grace,” he answered. “You know that the Queen is very sick indeed?”

“I have heard it.”

“Your Grace, this is a momentous time for you,” went on Feria. “You will be named as the Queen’s successor. That is the wish of my master. You know of his influence with the Queen, and it is due to him that this will come to pass.”

The light sandy brows shot up; the tilt of the head was haughty in the extreme. “Your master is my very good friend, I doubt not,” she said, “but I cannot see that he—or any—can give me that which is mine by right of inheritance. None has any power of bestowing on me that which is my right; nor can I, with justice, be deprived of it.”

“It is the custom in England that a monarch shall name his or her successor, is it not?”

“It is the custom in England, my lord, that the succession goes to the next of kin.”

“There were some difficulties with regard to the marriage of Your Grace’s father and mother.”

“I am my father’s daughter,” she said. “Any, who knew him and knows me, doubts it not.”

“You speak truth and it is the Queen’s delight—at the suggestion of His Majesty, my master—to make you her successor. I would have you know that His Most Catholic Majesty is your friend.”

She put her head on one side. Feria could scarcely believe that this haughty young woman was the demure eager-to-please Princess of a few years ago. She knew her position was secure; she knew that the Queen was on her death-bed; she knew that it was but a matter of weeks—or possibly days—before she would be Queen of England. She behaved as though that honor were already hers, thought the exasperated Spaniard.

“There will be conditions,” he said. “You will be expected to discharge Her Majesty’s debts.”

“I should deem it my duty to do so.”

“She wishes that you shall not change her privy councillors.”

Elizabeth lifted her shoulders gracefully. “I should believe myself to be at liberty to choose my councillors, as she was to choose hers.”

The Count was silent for a few moments. She was being truculent and he saw trouble ahead. He continued, “And, what is most important of all, she would require you to make no alteration in the religion of the country.”

She bowed her head and spoke with reverent dignity. “I would not change it, providing only that it could be proved by the word of God, which shall be the only foundation of my religion.”

Feria was too exasperated to hide his feelings. What troubles lay ahead for his master, for Spain, with such a woman on the throne? What could he make of her? She was all coquetry when he admired her dress and jewels, so that it would seem he had a foolish simpering girl with whom to deal; then unexpectedly he found himself confronted by a cunning statesman.

He was anxious for the future and he fervently hoped that he would be recalled to Spain before he had to serve in a country governed by such a woman.

Jane Dormer, the betrothed of Feria, called at Hatfield. Her visit gave rise to much speculation, for next to Mistress Clarencius she was the favorite lady-in-waiting to the Queen.

Elizabeth received Jane with reserve. She looked at her speculatively—this lovely young girl, this fanatical Catholic who was about to become a Spaniard … and a spy, doubtless for that lover of hers.

Elizabeth trusted Jane Dormer slightly less than she trusted all those of the Queen’s Court who had not proved themselves to be her friends.

Jane knelt and told the Princess that as the Queen’s health was fast failing she had, on Mary’s request, brought the crown jewels to Elizabeth.

“Your Grace, I bring three requests from Her Majesty. They are that you shall be good to her servants, repay her debts, and leave the church as it is—re-established by Her Majesty.”

“Thank you, Mistress Dormer,” said Elizabeth. “You may rise. Her Majesty may rest assured that I shall be good to her servants and pay her debts. As to religion, as I have already said, that is a matter concerning which I rely on no other than God.”

Jane said: “I bring also a casket of jewels from the King.”

Elizabeth was pleasantly excited. She was fond of jewels, and jewels presented by Philip—who she felt was already beginning to woo her—were doubly attractive.

“He says they are to be presented to you as he knows you will admire them and they will become you.”

“So those were his words?” said Elizabeth.

Jane assured her that they were; and Elizabeth, well pleased, treated Jane to a show of affection.

When she had dismissed her, the Princess became thoughtful. It was clear that Mary must be very near to death. She remembered Robert’s warning and the gold he had brought. Had she been too firm over this matter of religion? Had she been too haughty with Feria? What if Spain should withdraw support after all? What if the French King should have set in motion some plot for putting Mary Queen of Scots on the throne?

She sent for a man whom she knew to be one of her ardent admirers, and whom she could trust. Nicholas Throgmorton had been concerned in the Wyatt rebellion but acquitted on account of insufficient evidence against him.

“Go with all speed to the palace,” she said. “Enter with as little fuss as possible and make a point of conversing with the ladies of the bedchamber. Most of them are willing to serve me—with the exception of Jane Dormer and old Clarencius. The Queen always wears a black enameled ring which was given to her by her husband at the time of their marriage. It is unmistakably a Spanish ring. Send that ring to me so that I may be sure the Queen no longer lives. I remember when my brother died, guards were placed about the palace and the news was not allowed to leak out. I must know immediately. Send me the ring with all speed.”

Sir Nicholas departed; but before he had time to reach London there was another visitor to Hatfield. He came hurrying into the house, demanding audience with the Princess, and when it was granted he fell on his knees before her and cried: “God save Your Majesty! God save Queen Elizabeth!”

He stood up, towering above her, and she was filled with delight in him.

“You know this to be true?”

“I was determined to be the first with the news. I swore it.”

Overcome with emotion she turned aside. She was Queen of England at last; and the man who had occupied her thoughts for so long and so pleasantly stood before her offering himself in her service.