The entire country was talking of it—how those conspirators had met, how letters had passed between them, how the Queen of Scots was deeply involved in a plot, and on this occasion she was incriminated without doubt. Walsingham had all the evidence in his hands, and Mary was found guilty of trying to bring about the murder of Queen Elizabeth for the purpose of taking her place on the throne.

But even with the evidence before her, Elizabeth was reluctant to sign the death warrant.

Leicester was impatient with her, and I reminded him that not so long ago he had thought of making terms with the Queen of Scots when he thought there was a possibility of Elizabeth's dying and her coming to the throne.

He looked at me in amazement. He could not understand my lack of understanding of political expediency. Previously I should have been with him in what he suggested. Oh yes, indeed I was out of love.

"If she does not take care," he cried vehemently, "there will be an attempt to rescue Mary and it may succeed."

"You would not then be in an enviable position, my lord," I commented wryly. "I believe Her Majesty of Scotland is very fond of lapdogs, but she likes to choose her own, and would I am sure have no house room for those who once pleased the Queen of England."

"What has happened to you, Lettice?" he asked, bewildered.

I retorted: "I have become a neglected wife."

"You know full well there is only one reason why I cannot be with you."

"I know full well," I replied.

"Then enough. Let us ponder on serious matters."

But what was serious to him might not have been to me. That did not occur to him.

The people were restive, and still the Queen played that game of prevarication which she had practiced all her life. Often it had worked for her. But now her loyal subjects wanted to know when they could rejoice in the shedding of the Catholic Queen's blood.

Finally Secretary Davison brought the death warrant to her and she signed; and that scene of which we have heard so much was enacted in the hall of Fotheringay Castle.

The menace to the Queen of England was removed. But there was an even greater one: the Spaniards.

She suffered from remorse—that extraordinary woman. She, who was so clever, so subtle, was haunted by dreams. She had signed the death warrant which had caused the Queen to be taken to the block and her head cut off.

The King of France said it would have been better to have poisoned her, so that there could have been some doubt as to how she died. There were some excellent poisons available, and some of Elizabeth's subjects were evidently well practiced in the use of them. Was this a sly allusion to Leicester's Commonwealth? She might have been smothered by a pillow, which if skillfully done left little trace. But no! The Queen of Scots had been found guilty, and the Queen of England had signed her death warrant; and she had been taken to the hall of Fotheringay Castle and been beheaded. And while England was rejoicing that the Scottish Queen could trouble them no more, Elizabeth went on suffering intense remorse.

Leicester said he feared she might lose her reason. She raged against them all, calling them murderers, accusing them of inducing her to sign the warrant, when all the time they had known that she had not meant the deed to be carried out. They had acted too promptly, knowing well her wishes.

How like her that was! I pointed out to Leicester that she was trying to shift the blame. She was even talking of having Davison hanged. At first Leicester, Burleigh and those who rejoiced that the menace was removed were aghast until they realized that she had no intention of being foolish and was merely placating her enemies. She was afraid of war. She knew that the Spaniards were building an armada to come against her. She did not want the French to join them and attack her at the same time. The Scots had to be considered too. They had turned out their Queen and made it necessary for her to flee, but they would be ready to come against the Queen of England for beheading her. Besides, there was young James, her son.

The Queen's remorse began to be less vociferous. In her heart she must have accepted the truth that life would be more comfortable now that the Queen of Scots was no more—though a queen had been beheaded and that could be a precedent. Even after all these years the daughter of Anne Boleyn had moments when she felt her throne to be too insecure for her comfort. The thought of what had happened to one whose claim had never been disputed would, I knew, have made her apprehensive. She did not want the deposing of queens to become a habit.

But there were other matters to occupy her, and the greatest of these was the growing menace of the Spanish Armada.

Word came to me from Leicester's spies that the Queen was very taken with my son these days. Essex was maturing and was no less attractive because of this. His good looks were outstanding with that auburn hair and those flashing dark eyes bequeathed by me. I think he was like me in many ways. He was certainly vain—as I had been in my youth; and he gave the impression that he believed the world had been made for him and that everyone must share his view. One characteristic he did not get from me and which was the absolute opposite of Leicester's nature was his frankness. He never stopped to think what effect his words would have; if he meant something, he said it. God knows, this was no quality for a courtier, and one which I was sure would not find favor with the Queen, who since her youth had been surrounded by sycophants whose one idea had been to say what she wanted to hear.

I couldn't help comparing Leicester with Essex because they were both Elizabeth's favorites, and I am sure she never cared for any men as she cared for these two. It was ironical that she should have chosen my husband and son, in view of the relationship between herself and me. It gave me a new zest for life when I heard how her affection for Essex was growing. I wanted her to become more and more fond of him; it made her vulnerable as only affection could. I determined to do everything I could to help him hold that vacillating favor. Not that I could do much, except offer him advice. But I could say that I knew her well—her strength and her weakness had been revealed to me because of the rivalry between us—so I could perhaps be a little useful to him.

I often doubted whether Essex would keep her favor. One of Leicester's great assets had been his ability, as someone once said, "to put his passion in his pocket." Again and again he, ever her special Eyes, had offended and come to her and been forgiven. That was a lesson my son would have to learn—to put aside rancor and keep a rein on his tongue. Perhaps at first she found his graceful youth appealing; she was amused no doubt by his outspoken comments; I wondered whether she would go on being so.

When he came to me, he would talk of the Queen, and his eyes would shine with admiration.

"She is wonderful," he said. "There is no one like her. I know she is an old woman, but in her presence one forgets ages."

"So well it is disguised with rouge and powder and her wigs," I replied. "I had it from her silk-woman that she is at this time engaged on making twelve wigs for the Queen, who is most particular that the hair shall be of the color her own hair was when she was a young girl."

"I know not of these matters," replied Essex impatiently. "All I know is that when one is in her company it is like being with a goddess."

He must have meant that or he would not have said it. I felt a great wave of jealousy sweep over me for this woman who had the power to take from me first my husband and now my son.

As I have betrayed, I always had a special affection for my handsome son, but my feeling for Essex now grew more intense, which, in my heart, I knew was in some measure due to the Queen's affection for him.

She was nonetheless devoted to Leicester because of her interest in Essex. I sometimes thought that Leicester was to her as husband, Essex as a beloved young lover; but being the woman she was, of a most possessive nature, she could not endure that either of them should enjoy the company of another woman, much less their wife and mother, nor stray from her side lest she need them.

Those were days of growing tension when tempers ran high. The Spanish menace was creeping nearer and constantly in everyone's mind. The Low Countries were in difficulties and Leicester was sent over again—this time to tell them to come to terms with Spain, for with the threat to her own shores, the Queen could no longer afford to concern herself with them.

On this occasion she would not allow Essex to accompany his stepfather.

"I must have someone to divert me," she said; and she honored him by making him her Master of Horse, a post which she took from Leicester, making him the exchange of Lord Steward of her household. She would have Leicester know that there could only be one Eyes for her, and nothing could change that; but at the same time she liked to have his handsome stepson beside her.

Leicester must have realized at that time that when the Queen gave her love it was forever. Poor Leicester! now old and ailing. Where was the handsome dashing hero of her youth and mine? He was no more, being replaced by a man still of great stature but overheavy, overruddy of complexion where once there had been a healthy glow, plagued by the gout and other ailments which were the result of a lifetime of overindulgence.

Yet she stood firmly for him all through his life. He had survived the mysterious death of his first wife, his marriage to me, his attempts at deceiving her, and finally the fiasco of the Netherlands. Truly she was a faithful mistress.