I dared not look at him. I did not want to know the truth if it implicated Robert. I kept thinking of Amy Robsart at the bottom of that staircase in Cumnor Place and Douglass Sheffield's husband, who died just as he was about to divorce his wife. And now ... Walter.

"Oh God," I said, and I was praying, "I trust nothing will be found in him."

"Nay," said Robert comfortingly, "nothing will be found. He died a natural death ... of dysentery. Essex was never a strong man and Ireland did not suit him. However, I think it would be a good plan if you went back to Chartley for a while, Lettice. It might help to stop the gossip."

I could see that he was right and, after having received the Queen's permission, I left Court.

It was a great relief when I received the news that nothing had been found in Walter's body to suggest that he had been hastened to his death.

He was brought to England, and the funeral took place at the end of November at Carmarthen. I would not allow young Robert to make the long journey, for he was suffering from a cold at the time and he was in such low spirits that I feared for his health.

Lord Burleigh wrote to him assuring him that he was now his guardian and would welcome the time when he could receive him into his household, where he would be prepared for Cambridge.

I said that he should go after the Christmas holidays and that seemed agreeable to him.

I was in a state of expectancy. Obviously I could not marry Robert until a certain time had elapsed, for to hurry into marriage would set the tongues wagging again, which was the last thing we wanted. It would be necessary for us to wait for a year, I supposed. But we could accept that, for we should see each other in the meantime, and as soon as my son had left for Lord Burleigh's establishment I intended to take up my position at Court.

How long and dreary those winter days seemed! All the time I was wondering about Robert and what was happening at Court; and immediately after the Christmas holidays were over, I and my family—with the exception of young Robert—set out for Durham House.

A few days after my arrival I received a call from a lady I should have preferred not to see. This was Douglass Sheffield, and the story she had to tell gave me great misgivings.

She had asked that she might speak to me in secret, as she had something of moment to tell me.

There was no doubt that she was a very attractive woman and this fact made her story alarmingly plausible.

"I felt I must speak to you, Lady Essex," she said, "because I think you are in urgent need of advice. So I have come to tell you what happened to me in the hope that, when you have heard, you will realize the need to be cautious in your dealings with a certain gentleman of the Court."

"No one can overhear us, Lady Sheffield," I said coldly, "so there is no need for you to speak anything but openly. To whom do you refer?"

"To Robert Dudley."

"Why should you wish to warn me against him?"

"Because I have heard rumors."

"What rumors?" I tried—I fear not very successfully—to look surprised.

"That you and he are intimate friends. It is impossible for such a man to have friendships without its being talked of ... in view of his relationship with the Queen."

"Yes, yes," I said somewhat impatiently, "but why should I be warned?"

"Any lady should be warned whose name is coupled with his, and I should feel it my duty to tell her of what happened to me."

"You have already spoken of this to me."

"Yes, but I have not told you everything. The Earl of Leicester and I were contracted in '71 in a house in Cannon Row in Westminster, but he was reluctant to go through with the marriage for fear of the Queen's displeasure. When I became pregnant I urged him to marry me and he did at Esher at the end of '73."

"You have no witnesses of this," I said defiantly, seeing, if it were true, all my dreams of marriage evaporating.

"As I told you once before, Sir Edward Horsey gave me away and Dr. Julio, the Earl's physician, was present. Later my boy was born. He is Robert Dudley after his father. I can tell you that the Earl is proud of his son. His brother, the Earl of Warwick, is the boy's godfather and takes a great interest in him."

"If this is really true, why is his existence kept a secret?"

"You know full well the position with the Queen. She hates any man of whom she is fond to marry—most of all Robert Dudley, the favorite of them all. It is solely on account of the Queen that my son's existence is kept a secret."

"But if he is so proud of his son, I should have thought..."

"Lady Essex, you understand full well. I have not come here to argue with you but to warn you, for it would seem to me that the Earl of Leicester has transferred his affection from me to you and now has come the time for us both to beware."

"Pray come to the point, Lady Sheffield."

"The Earl of Leicester has spoken to you of marriage, but how can he marry you when he is married to me? I have come to tell you that he has offered me seven hundred pounds a year if I will disavow the marriage, and if I do not accept this offer he will give me nothing and withdraw himself from me completely."

"And what was your answer?"

"I emphatically refused. We were married and my son is legitimate."

Even as she spoke her voice quivered and the tears came into her eyes. I was sure that Robert would always get the better of such a woman.

But what if her story were true? And I could not believe she had made it up, for she did not seem to have the wit for that.

I said to her: "Thank you for coming along to warn me, Lady Sheffield, but I must tell you that you should have no fear for me. I know the Earl of Leicester, it is true, but I am recently bereaved of a good husband, and I can think of nothing at this time but my loss and my family."

She bowed her head in sympathy. "Then you must forgive me.

Forget what I have said. I had heard rumors and I felt it was my duty to tell you the truth."

"I appreciate your kindness, Lady Sheffield," I told her, and conducted her to the door.

When she had gone I could drop my display of indifference. I had to admit that the story seemed plausible. I kept reminding myself that Robert desperately wanted a son to bear his name. He was no longer young, for he must be forty-five years of age and if he was to get a family he must do so now. Yet he already had this son and disowned the boy's mother. This was for my sake. I must remember that.

I could not wait to see Robert and as soon as I had an opportunity I tackled him with what I had discovered.

"So she came here," he cried. "The fool!"

"Robert, how much truth is there in this?"

"There was no marriage," he said.

"But you were contracted to her. She says there were witnesses."

"I did promise her that we might marry," he admitted, "but the marriage never took place. The child was born and he is my child. He is in the guardianship of my brother Warwick and in due course he will go to Oxford."

"She said you offered her seven hundred pounds a year to deny the marriage."

"I offered her money to stop talking."

"If she is your wife, how can we be married?"

"I tell you she is not my wife."

"Only the mother of your son."

"Young Robert is my baseborn son. What am I expected to do? Live like a monk?"

"What indeed ... kept dancing as you are by Her Majesty. 'I will...' 'I won't...' Poor Robert! How many years has it gone on?"

"A good many, but this is going to be the end of it. You and I are going to marry in spite of everything."

"In spite of the Queen and your wife Douglass. Poor Robert, you are indeed a shackled man!"

"Don't taunt me, Lettice. I shall defy the Queen. As for Douglass Sheffield, she deceives herself. I tell you, there is no obstacle from that quarter."

"So there is no just cause why you and I should not marry?"

"None whatever."

"Then for what do we wait?"

"Until this talk about Walter's death has died down."

I allowed myself to be persuaded, because I wanted to.

The Queen's manner towards me made me a little uneasy, and I wondered whether she had heard the rumors about Robert and me. I found her eyes on me at odd moments, rather speculatively. This could have meant that she was wondering how I was bearing up in my widowhood, for she did take a great interest in the emotional problems of those about her—particularly members of her own family.

"Robin is rather sad at this time," she told me. "He is a man much devoted to his family and I like that. It shows good feeling. As you know I have a fondness for the Sidneys, and I shall never forget dear Mary and the way in which she nursed me, and the terrible affliction which came to her because of it."

"Your Majesty has always shown her the utmost kindness."

"I owe it to her, Lettice. And now, poor woman, she has lost her eldest girl. Ambrosia died this February. Mary was stricken with grief, poor woman. She has her dear boy, Philip, though, and a comfort he must be. I rarely saw a more noble-looking creature than Philip Sidney. I shall tell them to send their youngest daughter—Mary, named after her mother—to me and I shall give her a place at Court and find a husband for her."

"She is but fourteen, Madam, I believe."

"I know, but in a year or two we might marry her. There's Henry Herbert, now Earl of Pembroke. I have been thinking of a wife for him. I daresay he would please the Sidneys—and the young lady's uncle, the Earl of Leicester."