"She certainly would not," said Elizabeth.

I stood back watching, Robert beside me.

He whispered: "Ah, Lettice, would to God this were my home, these my children. One day, though, I promise you, we shall have our home, our family. Nothing is going to stop us. I'm going to marry you, Lettice."

"Hush," I said.

My girls were not far off, and they were full of curiosity about everything.

When the Queen had made the required inspection we returned to the house and the children took their leave of her. She gave the girls her hand to kiss and when it was young Robert's turn, he took her hand and scrambled up onto her lap and kissed her. I saw by her soft expression that the gesture had found great favor with her. Robert examined the jewels on her gown and then looked searchingly into her face.

"Goodbye, Your Majesty," he said. "When will you come again?"

"Soon, young Robert," she said. "Never fear, you and I will meet again."

Looking back on my life, I think now that there are moments which are fraught with portent, yet how often do we recognize their significance when they come? I used to tell myself years later when I was suffering the bitterness and heartbreak of my great tragedy that the meeting between my son and the Queen was like a rehearsal for what happened afterwards and that on that occasion I was aware of something fateful in the air. But it was nonsense. It was nothing when it happened. The Queen had, behaved as she would have done to any charming child who amused her. But for what happened later I might well have long forgotten that first meeting of theirs.

When there was dancing in the hall and the minstrels were playing her favorite tunes, Elizabeth called me to her and said: "Lettice, you are a fortunate woman. You have a fine family."

"Thank you, Madam," I said.

"Your little boy, Robert, bewitched me. I do not know when I have seen a more beautiful child."

"I know Your Majesty bewitched him," I answered. "I fear he forgot, in the excitement of your company, the fact that you were his Queen."

"I liked well his manner towards me, Lettice," she answered softly. "It is good sometimes to meet the simplicity of a child. There is no subterfuge there, no deceit... ."

I felt uneasy. Was she suspecting that other Robert?

There was a wistful longing in her eyes, and I guessed that she was regretting her obstinate attitude and wishing that long ago she had been brave enough to marry Robert Dudley. She might then have had a family like mine. But then, of course, she might have lost her crown.

When the visit was over and the Queen left Chartley I stayed behind for a while. My children could talk of nothing else but the visit. I don't know whom they admired most—the Queen or the Earl of Leicester. I think perhaps the latter, because, in spite of the way in which the Queen had cast aside her royalty for them, Leicester seemed more human. Robert said that the Earl had promised him that he would teach him clever tricks with horses-turning, wheeling and jumping and how to be the finest horseman in the world.

"And when do you think you will see the Earl of Leicester again?" I asked. "Don't you know that he is at Court and must be in constant attendance on the Queen?"

"Oh, he said that he would be with me soon. He said that we were going to be great friends."

So he had said that to young Robert! There was no doubt about it—he had won the affection and admiration of my family already.

I should be going to Court again and it occurred to me that now Penelope and Dorothy were growing up they should not be left in the country. I would take them to London with me and we would live in Durham House, which was near enough to Windsor, Hampton, Greenwich or Nonsuch for me to be at Court and be now and then with my children. It would also mean that the girls would mingle in Court circles as they could not in the country.

Durham House was of especial interest to me because Robert had once occupied it. Now of course he lived in the much grander Leicester House, a very fine establishment, parallel with the river and close to Durham House, both houses being on the Strand, within a short distance of each other. I foresaw opportunities of meeting Robert, somewhat removed from the Queen's eagle eye.

The children were excited at the prospect, having had a taste of what closeness to the Court could mean, and no tears were shed when we left the inconveniences of Chartley for the London house.

Robert and I met frequently during the next month or so. It was easy for him to take a boat from the privy stairs of Leicester house, sometimes dressed in the garments of one of his servants, and to come secretly to Durham House. What this revealed was that our passion for each other did not diminish but increased when we were able to see each other every day. Robert talked continually of marriage—as though Walter did not exist—and was always sighing for the home we would have with my children— whom he already loved—and our own.

We both of us dreamed of what, in my more realistic moments, seemed the impossible, but Robert was so sure that one day it would come to pass that I began to believe it too.

Philip Sidney was a frequent visitor to Durham House. We were all fond of him, and I continued to think of him as a match for Penelope. Sir Francis Walsingham came too. He was one of the Queen's most influential ministers, but although he was exceptionally skilled in the art of diplomacy he was not so proficient in that of flattery, so, while she appreciated his worth, he never became one of her favorite men. He had two daughters—Frances, who was quite a beauty with abundant dark hair and black eyes and older than Penelope by several years, and Mary, who was, in comparison with her sister, insignificant.

They were exciting days at Durham House with periods at Court and my finding it easy to slip from there to my own home and family. London life suited me. It excited me. I felt that I was part of the scene, and the people who came to the house were men and women closely associated with the Queen.

Robert and I had become reckless. We should not have been surprised when the inevitable happened. I became pregnant.

When I told Robert his feelings were mixed.

"Would that we were married," he said. "I want your son, Lettice."

"I know," I answered. "But what of this?"

I foresaw myself being hustled to the country, kept in seclusion, having my child taken out of my hands and brought up in secrecy. Oh no, that was not what I wanted.

Robert said he would find a way.

"But what way?" I demanded. "When Walter returns, which could be at any time, he will know. I can't possibly pretend it's his. What if the Queen hears? There will be trouble then."

"Trouble indeed," agreed Robert. "The Queen must never know."

"She would certainly not be very pleased with you if she knew you had fathered my child. What do you think would happen then?"

"God forbid that she should ever know. Leave this to me. Oh God, how I wish ..."

"That you had never started this?"

"Nay. I could never wish that. I wish that Essex were out of the way. Then I'd marry you tomorrow, Lettice."

"Easy to say one would do that which one knows one cannot. It might be another story if I were free to marry."

At that he seized me in his arms and cried vehemently: "I'll show you, Lettice. By God, I'll show you."

His face was stern. He was like a man taking a vow.

"One thing I do know," he went on. "You are the woman for me and I am the man for you. Are you aware of that?"

"It had occurred to me that it might be so."

"Don't joke, Lettice. This is deadly serious. I have made up my mind that in spite of Essex on your side and the Queen on mine, you and I shall marry. We shall have children. I promise you. I promise you."

"It's a pleasant thought," I said, "but at the moment I have a husband and I am with child by you. If Walter were to return— and by the mess he is making in Ireland that could be at any time —we are going to be in trouble."

"I'll manage something."

"You don't know Walter Devereux. Ineffectual he certainly is and doomed to failure, but he is one who would consider his honor outraged, and he would care that the Queen would hate him for doing what he considered right. He would make such a noise about this that our conduct would be disclosed to the entire court."

"There is only one thing to do," said Robert. "Alas, I hate to do it, but it is necessary. We must get rid of the child."

"No!" I cried in dismay.

"I know how you feel. This is our child. Perhaps it is the son I long for ... but the time is not yet ripe. There will be others ... but not yet, not until I have made arrangements."

"So ..."

"I will consult Dr. Julio."

I protested, but he persuaded me that there was no other way. If the child were born it would be impossible to keep the matter secret. The Queen would see that we never met again.

I was depressed. I was a worldly woman, deeply selfish and immoral, and yet I did love my children and if I could feel deeply about Walter's how much more so could I for Robert's.

But he was right, of course. He kept telling me that before long we were going to be married, and the next time I became pregnant there would be joyous preparations for the arrival of our child in our home.

Dr. Julio was a man of many skills, but abortion was dangerous and when I had taken his prescriptions I became very ill.

It is difficult to keep from servants the nature of one's sickness. A man such as Robert was spied on day and night and in the excess of our passion we had not always been as careful as we should have been. I had no doubt that many of our household knew that the man who came up the privy stairs at night was Robert Dudley. One advantage was that few would dare gossip except in the utmost secrecy, for there was not a man or woman who would not fear the wrath of the Earl of Leicester—and that of the Queen—if any slander were directed against her favorite, even if it happened to be true.