Norfolk's heart must have quailed, for he fell on his knees, vowing that he had no desire for marriage, only to serve her.

Unfortunately for him he was not speaking the truth, and as it came out afterwards when he received secret communications from the Queen of Scots, he was soon once again deep in the intrigue to marry her and rescue her from captivity.

Walter was immersed in his plans for Ulster, but when he went to Court he did hear a little of what was happening in those circles. He was disturbed because the Catholic threat to England was growing and the Queen's refusal to marry complicated it. While she lived, the country was safe for Protestantism, but if she died it could be plunged into war. He told me that ministers were constantly discussing the seriousness of a situation in which the succession was insecure, a fact which left England very vulnerable, particularly with the Queen of Scots actually in captivity in the country. Walter secretly agreed with this and told me that even Leicester had joined those who supported the plan for Norfolk to marry Mary Queen of Scots, so that she could be assured of an English husband. He could then make a Protestant of her, and if Elizabeth were to die and Mary inherit the throne, the religion of England would not change.

William Cecil was against such a marriage, but there were many influential men in the country who would have been pleased to see Cecil deposed. As Leicester had joined the plotters he was chosen to explain to the Queen the danger in which Cecil was placing the country. His present policy was alienating those influential Catholic countries, France and Spain, and to placate them it might be necessary to send Cecil to the block.

I heard from several sources what had happened at that meet­ing of the Council and never had the Queen shown her true nature so openly as she did on that occasion. I could picture her clearly. Her greatness must have been evident as she faced those schemers. The ax for Cecil! She broke out into a torrent of abuse for all those round that table who had dared suggest such a thing.

She reminded them that these were not the days of her father when ministers were sent to the block to make way for others. Cecil was against the marriage of Mary of Scotland and Norfolk, was he? They should know that Cecil's mistress agreed with him, and they should be well advised to watch their actions, lest they find themselves in that position into which they were trying to hustle Cecil. She would like them to inform their friend, the Queen of Scots, that if she did not take better care of them, some of her friends might find themselves shorter by a head.

When Walter discussed this with me, I said that I supposed they would drop their plan to remove Cecil now, but he shook his head and hinted that they might be conspiring against him in secret.

I was a little afraid then because I knew that Robert was involved, and I wondered what would happen if the Queen discovered that he was working against her. His treachery would be a thousand times worse than that of anyone else. I could not understand myself. I had wanted revenge on him for what he had done to me. I had often, overwhelmed by my young bitterness declared —to myself, of course—that I should like to see him dismissed from Court as I had been. And now, here I was, worried because he was in acute danger.

But even though he was deeply involved with the conspirators, I might have known he would find a way out. I heard the story in snatches: How news had come to the Queen that Robert was dying and how she left everything to go to his bedside. She loved him. There was no doubt of that and I think that hers was a more abiding passion than that which Mary of Scotland ever had for Bothwell. With Mary it had been that irresistible physical attraction which had overwhelmed her so that she had bartered her crown for it; but she never had for him that enduring devotion which Elizabeth felt for Robert. Elizabeth simply wanted her throne more than she wanted Robert. But she loved him all the same.

He was relying on that affection to extricate him from a very dangerous situation—and it worked.

I could well imagine that pathetic bedside scene, with Robert lying there enacting the deathbed scene with great panache. All her love would have flowed to the surface. She could be so loyal to those whom she loved, just as she could never forgive those whom she hated.

I could picture Robert's account of his devotion to her. How he feared for her and had been led to believe that it was best for Elizabeth that Mary should marry Norfolk. And that was the reason why he had given his support to the plan ... solely out of love for her ... and now he could not forgive himself for acting without her knowledge, although he had done it out of his concern for her. He was clever with women. He knew how to give just the right amount of flattery; he was very artful with the artless comment. It was small wonder that so many women loved him—and Elizabeth was one of the many.

She had wept. Her Sweet Robin must not fret. She commanded him to get well, for she could not lose him. I could imagine the looks which would pass between them. Of course he would live. Hadn't he always obeyed her commands?

How typical it was of our sovereign lady that she should forgive Robert while at the same time she sent for Norfolk. The Duke was arrested and sent to the Tower.

We all believed that Norfolk would lose his head, but the Queen seemed reluctant to sign the death warrant. Following her usual line in such cases, she prevaricated and in due course Norfolk was released, though he must live in restraint on his estates. But he was a man who seemed determined on self-destruction. It had been said that the very name of the Queen of Scots exerted a terrible fascination. Perhaps it was so, for Norfolk had not seen her. Perhaps he was intrigued by a queen who had committed adultery and was suspected of murder. It was difficult to say, but the fact remained that Norfolk was soon involved in the Ridolfi plot.

Ridolfi was a Florentine banker who had a plan to capture Elizabeth, set Mary on the throne after marrying her to Norfolk, and bring Catholicism back to England. The plot was doomed to fail. Several agents were caught and tortured, and in a short time Norfolk's involvement was revealed. There was no hope for him then. William Cecil, now Lord Burleigh, pointed out to the Queen that Norfolk could no longer be allowed to live; and in this he was supported by the Privy Council and the House of Commons.

Once again the Queen shrank from signing the death warrant. She was so distressed that she became ill with one of her mysterious disorders which resulted in what she called heavy and vehement pains. These pains could have been attributed to poison and, in view of the fact that the Ridolfi plot had just been uncovered, there was fear that the Queen's life might be in danger. But it turned out to be merely another of those illnesses which attacked her when something unpleasant had to be done. I used to wonder whether, when a death warrant was presented to her, she thought of her mother and the memory upset her. The fact remained that she was reluctant to kill, even when she herself had been put in danger.

Her ministers thought that here was a good case for ridding herself of Mary Queen of Scots, who was implicated in the plot; but this she refused to consider.

Eventually, however, the Duke of Norfolk's death warrant was signed, and a special scaffold was erected on Tower Hill, for since the Queen's accession there had been no beheadings there and a new one was required.

All this happened during the years of my exile.

Walter had gone to Ireland full of plans for colonizing Ulster, but in less than a year he was having to confess to failure. He did not give up, however, and after returning to England for a while to consult with the Queen and her ministers he went back to try again.

He would have liked me to accompany him, but I pleaded that the children needed me. I had no intention of going to that wild country and enduring all kinds of discomfort. I was almost certain, too, that the expedition would be a failure, as most things Walter undertook would in time prove to be.

I was glad that I had stood firmly against going, for it was while Walter was in Ireland that the Queen intimated that I might return to Court.

I was filled with a wild excitement. My son Robert was eight at the time and Walter six; the girls were growing up but still not of an age to make it necessary to find husbands for them.

A spell at Court was just what I needed.

So I found myself at the Kenilworth revels and at the beginning of a new and exciting life. I was no longer young, being in my thirty-fourth year, and at Chartley I had begun to feel that life was passing me by.

Perhaps that was why I plunged so recklessly into the richness which fate threw at me during the following years, with little thought of where it would lead me. My banishment had lasted too long, but it had at least shown me that I could never forget Robert Dudley and that my relationship with the Queen added to the flavor of my life without which it would have been insipid.

There were two things I wanted—my passionate life with Robert and my battle for superiority with the Queen—and I wanted them desperately. Having tasted them once, I could not be satisfied to live without them and I was ready to face any consequences to get them. I had to prove to myself and to Robert—and perhaps one day to the Queen herself—that my physical attractions were irresistible to him—far more so than the Queen's royalty.

I was heading for a dangerous road. I did not care. I was reckless, eager for life, and was convinced I knew how to find what I wanted.