"And what happened then?"

"John died before he could make any of this known."

"How did he die?"

"It was some sort of dysentery."

"And you think that Leicester arranged it... ?"

"Oh no, no. He did not. It just happened that way."

"It was very convenient for Leicester, wasn't it? Had your husband suffered before from this... dysentery?"

"I never knew that he did."

"Well, then there was no obstacle to your marriage."

She looked forlorn. "It would have been the end of everything for him, he said. He used to tell me how much he wanted to marry me, but you see the Queen was so jealous and she had such a fondness for him."

"Which we understand."

"Oh yes, anyone who knew Robert would understand. You see, there were people who knew. There are always some people who know. There was John's family. They were angry. They blamed Robert for John's death and me too of course."

"They accused him of murdering your husband so that you would be free, and yet when you were free he didn't marry you."

"So you see how rumor lied," she said.

I thought: Well, John Sheffield was about to make trouble for him, trouble which would have put him in danger of losing the Queen's regard as a marriage would. I could imagine Elizabeth's fury if she had known of the secret meetings at Belvoir Castle and that Robert had talked of marriage with Douglass. And if Robert had in fact married Douglass he would have been involved in a matter as unsavory as that of the death of his own wife.

I was learning more and more about this man who was dominating my life—as he did the Queen's and Douglass Sheffield's.

"And your son?" I persisted.

She hesitated and then she said: "He was born in wedlock. Robert is not a bastard."

"You mean that you are Leicester's wife?"

She nodded.

"I can't believe it," I burst out.

"Tis true," she answered firmly. "When John died, Robert contracted to marry me in a house in Cannon Row, Westminster, and afterwards he said he could not go through with it because of the Queen's fury. But I was frantic. I was dishonored and this gave me a great deal of anxiety. At length he gave way and we were married."

"When?" I demanded. "And where?"

I was desperately trying to prove that she was lying. I was half convinced that she was, but whether that was because I so badly wanted to believe it, I was not sure.

She answered promptly: "In one of his places—at Esher in Surrey."

"Were there witnesses?"

"Oh yes, Sir Edward Horsey was present and so was Robert's physician, Dr. Julio. Robert gave me a ring with five pointed diamonds and one table diamond. It had been given him by the Earl of Pembroke, who had asked him to give it only to his wife."

"And you have this ring?"

"It is carefully hidden away in safety."

"Why do you not proclaim yourself as his wife?"

"I'm afraid of him."

"I thought you were madly in love with him."

"I am. It is possible to be both in love and afraid."

"And your child?"

"Robert was delighted when he was born. He comes to see him whenever possible. He loves the boy. He always wanted a son. He wrote to me when he was born, thanking God for him and saying that the boy would be a comfort to us in our old age."

"It would seem that your cup should be full of bliss."

She looked straight at me and shook her head. "I am so much afraid."

"Of discovery?"

"No. I would welcome it. I should not care if the Queen dismissed him from Court."

"But he would," I reminded her grimly.

"I should be happy to live quietly away from Court."

"Then you would have to live without this ambitious man you call your husband."

"He is my husband."

"Then what are you afraid of?"

Again she gave me that steady look. "Amy Robsart was found at the bottom of a staircase with her neck broken," she said simply.

She did not go on. There was no need to.

As for myself, I could not believe her. My senses were crying out against this story. It could not be true. Yet she told it guilelessly, and I did not think she was capable of much invention.

Of one thing I was sure. Douglass Sheffield was a very frightened woman.

I had to speak to him. But how difficult it was! I was deter­mined though to discover the truth even if it meant betraying Douglass. If he had in fact married her, it must have meant that he was really in love with her. The very thought enraged me. Had I not often imagined myself married to him, and consoled myself with the assurance that he would never have married anyone but me, and the only reason he had not done so before I had married Essex was because he was dazzled by the Queen's favor and feared an end of his career at Court if ever he turned to anyone else? Not even for me could he afford to risk the Queen's displeasure, and I had understood what disaster there would be for him if he did. Yet he had risked it for silly little Douglass Sheffield. That was if there was any truth in this story of a marriage.

So I must know because I should have no peace until I did.

On the day following that one when I had received Douglass's revelations, one of the servants came to tell me that Lady Mary Sidney wished to speak to me in her apartments. Lady Mary, Robert's sister, who was married to Sir Henry Sidney, was always given the utmost consideration by the Queen because of the smallpox she had developed while nursing her and which had disfigured her. She came to Court now and then to please the Queen, though I knew she would rather have remained in retirement at Penshurst. Elizabeth always made sure that very special apartments were allotted to her. Another reason why Elizabeth was fond of her was because she was Robert's sister. Her affection for him overflowed to the rest of the family.

Carefully veiled and keeping her face in shadow, she greeted me. Her apartments were magnificent, as everything was at Kenilworth, but I imagined that these rooms were of the best. On the floor were fine carpets from Turkey such as I had rarely seen before. Robert was one of the first to make use of carpets to a large degree. There were no rushes on the floors at Kenilworth. I glimpsed the four-poster bed in the next room with its hangings of scarlet velvet. I knew that the sheets would be embroidered with the letter L in a coronet. The pewter pans of the night stools were set in cases covered with quilted velvet to match the colors of the room. How Robert loved extravagance—but it was so tasteful. I let myself imagine a home we would share together one day.

Lady Mary had a gentle voice and she received me with affection.

"Come and sit down, Lady Essex," she said. "My brother has asked me to speak to you."

My heart was racing fast. I was all impatience to hear.

"We cannot tarry much longer at Kenilworth," she said. "It will soon be time for the Queen to continue with her progress. As you know, she rarely stays so long in one place. She made an exception in the case of Kenilworth as a mark of her affection for my brother."

It was true, of course. The visit to the castle had been made during one of her progresses through the country which she frequently undertook. It was part of her wisdom that she did so because these progresses kept her in touch with the humblest of her subjects and her gracious and careful treatment of them continued to be the reason for her popularity in every town and hamlet throughout the land. It meant, too, that there was scarcely a large country house in which she had not stayed for a night at least, and those which lay on her route must be prepared to entertain her in a royal manner. If she were displeased with the hospitality she received, she would not hesitate to make this known. It was only with the humble folk that she remained gracious.

"My brother has been planning the Queen's route with her. They have decided that she will be passing close to Chartley."

I was exultant. He had arranged this and persuaded the Queen to stay at Chartley because it was my home. Then my heart sank as I thought of the inconveniences of Chartley, which, compared with Kenilworth, was poor indeed.

I said: "My husband is in Ireland."

"The Queen knows this, but she thinks you can very well play the hostess. You look dismayed. It has been suggested that you leave us and go to Chartley in advance that you may make arrangements for the visit."

"I fear she will find Chartley most uncomfortable ... after this."

"She does not expect to find a Kenilworth wherever she goes. She has said that she believes there is no place like it. Do your best. Make sure that the place is clean. That is of the greatest importance. Fresh rushes everywhere and the servants in fresh clean livery, of course. Then all will be well. Let your musicians practice the tunes she likes best and if you give her plenty of dancing and music, she will enjoy her stay. I trow she loves that better than anything."

There was a knock on the door and a young man entered. I knew him. He was Philip Sidney, Mary's son and therefore Robert's nephew. I had taken an interest in him because I had heard that Robert loved this young man dearly and looked upon him as a son. He was a very noble-looking boy; he must have been about twenty years of age at this time. He had a very special quality—as Robert had—yet how different was that of this young man. There was something truly gentle about him, although this did not denote a lack of strength. It was a rare quality; I had never known anyone like him then, nor have I since. He was very courteous to his mother, and it was clear to me that she doted on him.