"I daresay," I said.

Very shortly after that Mary Sidney came to Court. She was a beautiful girl with amber-colored hair and an oval face. Everyone commented on her likeness to her brother, Philip, who was recognized to be one of the best-looking men at Court. It was true he lacked the lusty virility of men like Robert. His was a different kind of attractiveness—an almost ethereal beauty. Young Mary Sidney had this too and I did not think it would be difficult to find a husband for her.

The Queen made much of her and I was sure this brought about some consolation to the family. Towards me, Elizabeth kept up that special attention, but I continued to remain unsure of what lay behind it. Often she would mention the Earl of Leicester to me—sometimes with a teasing affection as though she were aware of certain frailties in his nature but loved him nonetheless because of them.

I was very close to her at this time, being in her bedchamber, and she would often talk to me about the garments she would wear. She liked me to take them out and hold them up against myself, so that she could get an idea of what they looked like.

"You are a handsome creature, Lettice," she told me. "You resemble the Boleyns."

She was thoughtful, and I guessed she was thinking of her mother.

"You will doubtless marry again in due course," she said once, "but it is early yet. But you'll soon grow out of your widowhood, I'll trow." I did not answer and she went on: "Every fashion is white on black now—or black on white. Do you think it is becoming, Lettice?"

"For some, Madam. Not for others."

"And on me?"

"Your Majesty is fortunate that you only have to put a garment on to transform it."

Too far? No, her courtiers had conditioned her to accept the grossest flattery.

"I want to show you the handkerchiefs my laundress worked for me. Get them out. There! Black Spanish work edged with bone lace of Venice gold. What do you think of that? And there are some tooth cloths—coarse Holland, which is the best for the purpose, decorated with black silk and edged with silver and black silk."

"Very good, Madam." I smiled at her, revealing my perfect teeth, of which I was very proud. She frowned slightly; her own were showing signs of decay.

"Mistress Twist is a good soul," she commented. "There is a great deal of work in those items. I like well when my servants labor for me with their own hands. Look at these sleeves which my silk-woman, Mrs. Montague, made for me and presented to me with great pride, I might tell you. See those exquisite buds and roses."

"Black on white again, Madam."

" Tis becoming, as you say, to some of us. Have you seen the smock Philip Sidney gave me this New Year?"

I took it out, as she bade me. It was of cambric worked with black silk and with it were a set of ruffs edged with gold and silver thread.

"Exquisite," I murmured.

"I have had some wonderful New Year's gifts," she said, "and I will show you my favorite of them all."

She was wearing it. It was a gold cross set with five flawless emeralds and beautiful pearls.

"That is superb, Madam."

She put her lips to it. "I admit to a special fondness for it. It was given to me by the one whose affection is more important to me than that of any other."

I nodded, knowing full well to whom she referred.

She smiled almost roguishly. "I fancy he is somewhat preoccupied at this time."

"You mean, Madam?"

"Robin ... Leicester."

"Oh, is that so?"

"He has pretensions. He has always fancied himself as royal, you know. He inherited his father's ambitions from him. Well, I would not have him otherwise. I like a man to have a good conceit of himself. You know well my fondness for him, Lettice."

"It has seemed clear, Madam."

"Well, can you understand it?"

The tawny eyes were alert. What was this leading to? Warnings flashed in my mind. Have a care. You are on very dangerous ground.

"The Earl of Leicester is a handsome man," I said, "and I know, as all do, that he and Your Majesty have been friends since your childhood."

"Yes, it seems to me sometimes that he has always been part of my life. If I had married he would have been the one I should have chosen. Once I offered him to the Queen of Scots, you know. She, poor fool, refused him. But does it not show how I have his welfare at heart? If he had gone to her a light would have gone out of my Court."

"Your Majesty has many bright beacons to make up for the loss."

She gave me a sharp nip suddenly. "Nothing could compensate me for Robin Dudley and you know it."

I bowed my head in silence.

"So I have his good at heart," she went on, "and I am going to help him to make a good marriage."

I felt she must be aware of the violent beating of my heart. To what was she leading? I knew her devious ways, when she would say one thing which was the complete opposite of what she meant. This was part of her greatness; it had made her the wily diplomat she was; it had kept her suitors at bay for years; it had kept England at peace. But what did she mean now?

"Well?" she said sharply. "Well?"

"Your Majesty is good to all your subjects and mindful of their welfare," I said perfunctorily.

" 'Tis true, and Robert always had a fancy for a royal bride. The Princess Cecilia has lost her husband, the Margrave of Baden, and Robert sees no reason—providing I approve—why he should not ask her hand in marriage."

"And what does Your Majesty say to this suggestion?" I heard myself say.

"I have told you that I want the best for my dear friend. I have said he may make his proposal with my approval. We must wish the pair of them happiness, I suppose."

"Yes, Madam," I said quietly.

I could scarcely wait to get away. It must be true. She would not have said it otherwise. But why was she telling me, and was there really a hint of malicious triumph in her voice or had I imagined it?

What had she heard? What did she know? Was this mere gossip or was it her way of telling me that Robert was not for me?

I was angry and fearful. I must see Robert without delay and demand an explanation. To my intense dismay I learned that he had left Court. He had gone to Buxton, on the advice of his doctors, to take the baths. I knew that whenever he was in a difficult situation he feigned illness. He had done this several times when he was in danger with the Queen. It always had the effect of softening her, for she could never bear to think of his being seriously ill. I felt angry. I was almost certain that his departure was due to the fact that he could not face me.

So it was true, then, that he was hoping to marry the Princess Cecilia!

I knew that she had visited England at one time. She was the sister of King Eric of Sweden, who had been one of Elizabeth's suitors; and there had been a rumor at the time that if Robert Dudley would persuade the Queen to take Eric, his reward would be the hand of Eric's sister, Cecilia. It could not have been much of a dilemma for Robert, who at that time had been certain that the Queen's husband would be himself and it was hardly likely that he would consider Cecilia fair exchange for his royal mistress. Elizabeth had prevaricated with Eric as with all her suitors and in due course Cecilia had married the Margrave of Baden. They had visited England together, a country Cecilia declared she yearned to see, but it was suspected that her motive in bringing her bridegroom to pay his respects to the Queen was in fact to urge her to take Eric for her husband.

She had arrived in winter, heavily pregnant. With her extraordinarily long fair hair, which she wore loose, she was so appealing that she won immediate popularity. Her son was christened in the Chapel Royal at Whitehall and the Queen herself stood as godmother.

Unfortunately the happy parents stayed too long and, being under the impression that they were guests of the country, ran up debts which they could not pay. This meant that the Margrave was forced to make an attempt to evade his creditors, was caught and put in jail. A very odd experience for visiting royalty and when the news of what had happened was brought to the Queen, she immediately paid his debts.

But they no longer had a happy impression of England, particularly as, when Cecilia was about to sail for her home, more creditors boarded the ship and took her belongings away with them. It was an unfortunate episode and the Margrave and his wife must have wished they had never set foot in England.

But now that the Margrave was dead and Cecilia a widow, Robert wished to marry her.

I asked myself again and again why I loved him. I kept going over the story of Amy Robsart. Uneasily I thought again and again of the death of Lord Sheffield and my own Walter, and I asked myself: Could this really be coincidence? And if not ... there was only one terrible conclusion to be drawn.

But my passion for Robert Dudley was not unlike the Queen's. Nothing that could be proved against him could alter it.

So now I was in a fury of impatience to see him. I was haunted by the fear that we should never marry, and that he was ready to throw me aside for a royal princess just as he had been ready to throw Douglass aside for me.

The Queen was in high good humor.

"Our gentleman is not acceptable, it seems," she told me. "Poor Robin and foolish Cecilia! I'd swear if she came here and he wooed her, she'd submit."

I was unable to stop myself: "Not all those who are wooed— even by Robert Dudley—submit."

She was not displeased.