The Queen must marry, and in Cecil’s opinion, if she now married Dudley the people would be ready to believe that she at all events was innocent of the unsavory suspicions connected with Amy’s death.

Perhaps, thought Cecil, when Mary had married the Archduke, Elizabeth would so intensely wish to be married that she would follow the example of the Queen of Scots. But Mary was ambitious. She wanted the throne of England for the son she hoped to have, and therefore she had no intention of offending Elizabeth.

She wrote humbly to the Queen saying that she would decline the Archduke, and was very willing to listen to any good advice on the matter of matrimony which her good sister of England would deign to give her.

So Elizabeth began to look for a suitable consort for Mary Queen of Scots.

Elizabeth was spending a good deal of time in the company of Sir James Melville, the Scottish ambassador.

The man amused her; he was so dour, so unlike the rest of her courtiers who had come to understand that one of their indispensable duties was to make love, conversationally, to the Queen, for the more accomplished they were in this, the more likely were they to succeed at Court. None, of course, had the elegant looks, the magnificent figure, the exuberant charm and the manner of paying a compliment which were Robert Dudley’s; but many of them were beginning to learn these arts, and almost to rival him.

Therefore it amused the Queen, while she plotted in her cautious way against Mary, to entertain this man who seemed somewhat uncouth. She would have him sit beside her, very close; she would tap his cheek affectionately; she enjoyed shocking him by the magnificence of her clothes, with the love-making of her courtiers to which she so archly responded; she would have music played while they talked, for she knew that he believed any sensuous pleasures to be sinful.

She insisted on his talking of that woman who was hardly ever out of her thoughts and for whom she felt an overwhelming jealousy.

“They tell me your mistress is a very fair woman, Master Melville,” she said.

“Aye, ’tis so.”

“And do you think so, Master Melville? Do you admire her as we hear all men do?”

“She is my mistress. How could I do aught else?”

“As a Queen and your mistress, yes. But then such a righteous man as you would admire a humpbacked one-eyed witch. Now tell me, how doth she look?”

“Her Majesty the Queen of Scots is neither humpbacked nor one-eyed.”

“You tease me, sir. Tell me of her clothes. Which does she favor? She has lived long in France, and they say that the French fashions are more becoming than the English. What do you say, Master Melville?”

“I know little of fashions, Madam.”

“But you must know which she likes. I myself favor the Italian caul and the bonnet. Do you know what is said of my preference? They say that I like it because it does not hide my hair, and I am very proud of my hair, of its color and curl. It is this redness which makes them say that.”

Melville was uncomfortable. It seemed an odd thing that the Queen should consider it part of his duty to discuss fashions and the color of hair.

He shifted in his seat, but she would not let him go.

“Whose hair is the better color—the Queen of England’s or the Queen of Scots’?”

“I beg Your Majesty to excuse me. I know nothing of such matters.”

“I believe that you do not remember what color hair your mistress has. It cannot have struck you very forcibly, you treacherous man.”

“Madam, I serve my mistress faithfully …”

She tapped his arm and laughed, for she was in a very frivolous mood; and it was as though her secret thoughts were so amusing that she could not refrain from laughter.

“I know it, I know it,” she cried. “You have not noticed your mistress’ hair, because it is so like other ladies’ hair that it has passed your notice. Now here is a simpler question: Who is the more beautiful, the Queen of England or the Queen of Scotland?”

Melville answered: “You are the fairest …” She smiled graciously at him, but he continued: “… in England. Our Queen is the fairest in Scotland.”

She pouted. “Come, come! That will not do.”

“Nay, Your Majesty pokes fun at this poor ambassador.”

“I am in earnest. I wish to know. I greatly regret that I have not my dear sister here in England. I would remedy the lack. I wish to know exactly how she looks.”

“Your Majesty, you and she are the fairest ladies in your Courts.”

“I am fairer of skin and lighter of hair, am I not?” she persisted.

“That is so, Your Majesty, but …”

“But what, sir?”

“Our Queen is very beautiful.”

“We have heard that said. We would we had her here that we might prove the truth of it. Who is the taller, she or I?”

“Our Queen is taller, Your Majesty.”

“Then she is too tall!” said Elizabeth. “For it is said that I am neither too tall nor too low.”

She was a little annoyed, and talked no more of appearances. This man was certainly uncouth; he did not even know how to compliment a Queen. She thought of the charming things Robert would have said to reassure her.

“How does your Queen pass the time?”

“She hunts.”

“Does she read?”

“She does, Your Majesty. She reads good books—the histories of countries.”

“And does she love music?”

“Very much, Your Majesty.”

“What instruments does she play?”

“The lute and the virginals.”

“Does she play well?”

“Reasonably well, Your Majesty … for a Queen.”

Then the Queen must play for the Scottish ambassador; she did so, and he had to admit that, on the virginals, she excelled her rival.

Then she must arrange for dances to be performed before him that she might show him how she danced. The inevitable question was asked: “Who is the better dancer, the Queen of England or the Queen of Scotland?”

He was frank: “My Queen dances not so high nor so disposedly as Your Majesty.”

She was inclined to be amused at the reply, but she answered tartly that she held the dance to be an expression of joy and high spirits, not so much a matter of elegance as she believed the French and the Spaniards looked upon it.

“Ah, that I might see your Queen!” she sighed. “You cannot guess how I yearn for a meeting. Would you could bring her to me.”

“I would willingly convey Your Majesty to Scotland. Our King James the Fifth went in disguise to France in order to inspect the Duke of Vendôme’s sister who was proposed for his bride. He was dressed as a page. What if Your Majesty so disguised herself?”

“Ah, that it could be so!” she sighed.

Then she said those words which set the whole world laughing and raised the high indignation of Scotland. “I have found a husband for your mistress.”

“Your Majesty?”

“Yes. I will give her the only man in the world whom I consider worthy to mate with her. This is the most virtuous, the most perfect of men, one whom I would have married myself had my mind not been given to

the virgin state. You have guessed? But surely you have. There is only one man who could fit such praises. I refer to my Lord Robert Dudley.”

The ambassador was at a loss for words.

She smiled at him pleasantly. “Ah, you feel his rank is not high enough? That is easily remedied. I shall do for him that which I have long promised. I shall make him the first Earl in the country. Now, my dear Melville, to your chamber, and write to your mistress that she may no longer remain in ignorance of the great good I would do her.”

Robert was furious.

He demanded instant audience and she, nothing loth, granted it.

“My lord, what ails you? See how I have your good at heart!”

“You would make a laughing-stock of me, Madam.”

“What! In offering you one of the most sought-after of brides?”

“There is only one bride I would have.”

“You are too ambitious, Robert.”

“I do not understand you.”

“You do not seem to understand that you speak with your Queen.”

“But you have led me to believe you would marry me.”

“Time and time again I have told you that I would never forsake the virgin state. Why, Robert, she is the fairest of women.”

She waited and of course it came: “That is untrue. You are the fairest of women.”

“Master Melville does not seem to think so, and he has seen us both.”

“The man is an uncouth ruffian from a land of barbarians.”

“I believe you are right, Robert.”

“Then put an end to this farce.”

“Come here, my love. Kat … a cushion for my lord. I would have him kneel at my feet. Nay, woman, the best of my cushions, for only the best is good enough for him. Hath he not said so?” He took her hand and kissed it. “Robert,” she said, “my fool Robert, do you think I would let you go to her!”

“Do you think I would ever leave you?”

“I’d send you to the block if you tried.”

“Then we see this matter through the same eyes as always?”

“Yes, my dearest Eyes, we do. But the woman is an arrogant creature. She will be angry when she knows I offer you, and she’ll not dare refuse you. But she will be angrier still when you refuse her. It will be as though you choose between us—marriage with her or the hope of marriage with me. And Robert, you are a man whom any woman would delight in having for her husband.”

“Except one who torments and teases and will not decide.”

“It is the Queen who is uncertain. The woman would take you this moment.”

“My beloved … my Queen …”