He was now acting as Secretary and she did not like him to be out of her sight. People realized that if they would please the Queen, they might be brought to her notice through this young man on whom she doted.

He came to Leicester House in a state of great excitement one day.

"Prepare yourself, my lady," he cried. "You are going to Court."

I could not believe it was possible. "Will she really see me?" I said.

"She has told me that she will be passing from her chamber to the Presence Room and, if you are in the Privy Gallery, she will see you as she passes through."

It would be a very formal meeting, but it would be a beginning and I was exultant. The long exile was over. Essex wanted the meeting and she could deny him nothing. She and I would be on civilized terms again. I remembered how in the old days I could often make her laugh, with some wry comment, some remark about people around us. We were old now; we could talk together, exchange reminiscences, let bygones be bygones.

I thought about her a good deal. I had seen her over the years, but never close. Riding on her palfry or in her carriage, she was remote, a great queen but still the woman who had defeated me. I wanted to be close to her, for only when I was near her could I feel alive again. I missed Leicester. Perhaps I had temporarily fallen out of love with him at the end but without him life had lost its savor. She could have put something back for me. We could have compensated each other for his loss. I had my young Christopher—a good, kind, devoted man who still marveled at his good fortune in marrying me; but I found myself constantly comparing him with Leicester—and what man could compare favorably with him! It was not Christopher's fault that I found him lacking. It was merely that I had been loved by the most dominating, exciting man of the age—and because she, the Queen, had loved him too, only now that I had lost him could I recapture that zest for life if she would take me into her circle once more-laugh with me, do battle with me—anything if she would but come back into my life.

I was overwhelmed with excitement at the prospect of going back to Court again. She meant so much in my life. She was part of me. I could never be unaware of her any more than she could of me. She was lost and lonely without Leicester as I was too. Even if I had deluded myself into believing that I had not loved him at the end, it made no difference now.

I wanted to talk to her—two women, too old for jealousy surely. I wanted to remember with her the early days when she loved and thought of marrying Robert. I wanted to hear from her lips how much she knew of the death of Robert's first wife. We should be so close. Our lives were entwined with that of Robert Dudley and it was to each other that we should tell our secrets.

I had not been so excited for a long time.

On the appointed day, I dressed with great care and restraint— not flamboyantly, but unassumingly, which was the manner I wished to convey. I must be humble, grateful, and show my deep pleasure in an unrestrained manner.

I went to the gallery and waited with a few others there. There were some who were surprised to see me and I noticed the discreet glances which were exchanged.

The minutes slipped by. She did not appear. There was a whisper in the gallery and more glances came my way. An hour had passed and still she had not come.

At length one of her pages came into the gallery. "Her Majesty will not be passing through the gallery today," he announced.

I felt sick with disappointment. I was sure that it was because she knew I was waiting there that she had not come.

Essex came to Leicester House later in the day.

He was distressed. "You did not see her, I know," he said. "I told her you had waited and had gone away disappointed, but she said she felt too unwell to leave her chamber, and she has promised that there shall be another time."

Well, it could be true.

A week later, Essex told me that he had so persisted that the Queen had said she would see me as she passed out of the palace to her coach. She was dining out, and it would be a beginning if I waited once more, and as she passed she would have a word with me. That was all I needed; then I could ask to come to Court, but until I had received that friendly word I was powerless.

Essex was suffering from one of his periodic bouts of fever and was in bed in his apartment at the palace, otherwise he would have accompanied the Queen and what would have made it easier for me.

However, I was no novice of Court ways, and once more dressed myself, as I thought, suitably, and taking a diamond worth about three hundred pounds from that store left to me after so much had been sold to pay Leicester's debts, I set out for the palace.

Once more I waited in the anteroom where others, who sought a passing word with her, were assembled. After a while I began to suspect that it would be the same as before, and how right I was proved to be. After a while the coach was taken away and I heard that the Queen had decided not to dine out that night.

Fuming with rage, I returned to Leicester House. I could see that she had no intention of receiving me. She was using the same treatment to me as she had given her suitors. One was supposed to go on hoping, go on trying and be prepared to meet with failure at every turn.

I heard from my son that when he had learned that she had decided not to dine out he had left his sickbed to go to her and implore her not to disappoint me again. She had, however, been adamant. She had made up her mind not to dine out and she would not do so. Essex sulked and returned to his bed with the remark that as no small request of his was worth consideration it would be better if he retired from Court.

He must have made some impression on her, for shortly afterwards he came with a message from the Queen. She would receive me privately.

This was triumph. How much better it would be for me to be able to talk to her, to speak of the past, to make a bid for her friendship, seated beside her perhaps. How different from a passing word!

I wore a gown of blue silk and an embroidered underskirt of a paler shade, a delicate lace ruff and a light gray velvet hat with a curling blue feather. I was becomingly dressed (for I could not give her the satisfaction of thinking I had lost my good looks) and at the same time discreetly so.

As I went into the palace I wondered whether she would find some excuse yet for turning me away. But no, this time I did come face to face with her.

It was a thrilling moment when I stood before her. I sank to my knees and remained there until I felt her hand on my shoulder and heard her bid me to rise.

I stood up and we took measure of each other. I knew she was aware of every detail of my looks and dress. I could not repress a satisfaction as I noticed how she had aged. Even the careful toilette, the subtle application of rouge, the red wig could not hide it completely. She was over sixty, but her slender figure and her upright carriage did a great deal for her. Her neck showed the strains of age but her bosom was as white and firm as ever. She was in the white which she loved—a gown lined with scarlet and decorated with pearls. I wondered if she had given as much care to her appearance as I had. When she lifted her hand, the long hanging sleeve fell back disclosing the scarlet lining. She had always used her hands to effect. Beautifully white and still perfectly shaped, they showed little sign of age; they looked delicate, weighed down with the jewels which glittered on them.

She laid her hands on my shoulders and kissed me. I felt the blood rush to my cheeks, and I was glad, for she took it as emotion. But it was just plain triumph. I was back.

"It is a long time, Cousin," she said.

"Your Majesty, it has seemed an age."

"More than ten years since he left me." Her face puckered and I thought she was going to weep. "It is as though he is with me still. I still never grow accustomed to being without him."

She was, of course, talking about Leicester. I should have liked to tell her that I shared her feelings, but that would have seemed quite false since I had been married to Christopher for the last ten years.

"How did he die?" she asked. Obviously she wanted to hear again what she must know already.

"In his sleep. It was a peaceful ending."

"I am glad. I still read his letters. I can see him so well ... when he was but a boy." She shook her head sadly. "There was never one like him. There were rumors at his death."

"There were always rumors about him."

"He was closer to me than any. My Eyes ... indeed my eyes."

"I trust my son is a comfort to you, Madam."

"Ah, wild Robin." She laughed affectionately. "A charming boy. I love him well."

"Then I am happy to have borne him for your service."

She looked at me sharply. "It would seem that fate has played a trick on us, Lettice," she said. "Those two ... Leicester and Essex ... the two of them, close to us both. You find your Blount a good husband?"

"I thank God for him, Madam."

"You quickly married after Leicester's death."

"I was lonely."

She nodded. "That girl of yours should take a care or two."

"Your Majesty refers to Lady Rich?"

"Lady Rich ... or Lady Mountjoy ... I know not by which name we should call her."

"She is Lady Rich, Your Majesty."

"She is like her brother. They have too high an opinion of themselves."

"Life has given them a great deal."

"Yes, with Sidney moping over the girl and now Mountjoy stepping out of line for her."