She talked to me more frankly than she did to most of her ladies. I think it was due to the family connection. She enjoyed clothes inordinately and we often talked of them in a most frivolous fashion. She had so many gowns that even the wardrobe women could not be sure of the number; her figure was slender and the fashions which were so hard on plump women became her as well as they could any. She endured tight lacing and the uncomfortable whalebone busks we had to wear because they called attention to the tiny waist; and her ruffs were of gold and silver lace and frequently magnificently jeweled. Even in those days she sometimes wore what we called "dead-borrowed hair"— false pieces to give additional body to her red-gold locks.

I am writing of the days before the Amy Robsart scandal. She was never quite so lighthearted after that, never quite so carefree. In spite of her incessant demand for expressions of wonder at her perfections she was always ready to learn from experience. That was another of the many contrasts which made up her complex nature. She would never chatter so freely to anyone again as she did to me before the tragedy.

I think in those days she really might have married Robert if he had been free; but at the same time I sensed that she was not too unhappy about his previous attachment, which made her marriage to Robert impossible. This I was too naive to realize at the time and I believed that the reason she was pleased he was married to Amy Robsart was solely because that marriage had saved him from an alliance with Lady Jane Grey. But that was too simple an explanation. It was obvious that I had a great deal to learn then about that devious mind.

She talked of him to me and I often smile to recall those conversations now. Even she, with all her power, could not see into the future. He was her "Sweet Robin." She called him fondly her "Eyes," because he was always on the watch for her well-being, she told me. She enjoyed giving pet names to the handsome men who surrounded her. None, though, could compare with her Eyes. We were all certain that she would have married him if he had had no wife, but when that encumbrance was removed she was too wily to step into the trap. Few women would have been as wise. Should I? I wondered. I doubted it.

"We were in the Tower together," she told me once, "I because of Wyatt's rebellion, Rob because of the Jane Grey matter. Poor Rob, he always said he had no great feeling for it and that he would have given all he had to see me on the throne." I saw the soft look come into her face which changed it completely. That rather hawklike expression completely disappeared, and she was soft and feminine suddenly. Not that she was not always feminine. That quality never failed to show itself in her sternest moments, and I always believed it was, in some measure, her strength, the very reason she was able to make men work for her as for no one else. Being a woman was a part of her genius. I never saw that look, though, for anyone but Robert. He was the love of her life—next to the crown, of course.

"His brother Guildford had married Jane," she went on. "That sly fox Northumberland had seen to that. It could have been Rob —imagine that. But Fate married him off so he was not available, and although it was a mesalliance, it is one for which we must be grateful. So there we were in the Beauchamp Tower. The Earl of Sussex came to me. I remember it clearly. Would not you, Cousin Lettice, if you thought that before long your body would be deprived of its head? I had made up my mind that it would be no ax for me. I would have a sword from France." Her expression was blank suddenly and I knew she was thinking of her mother. "But in fact I never intended to die. I determined that it must not come to that, and I stood firm against them all. Something within me said: 'Have patience. In a few years all this will have changed.' Yes, I swear it. I knew this would come to pass."

"It was the prayers of Your Majesty's subjects which you heard," I said.

She never saw through flattery, or perhaps she did and liked it so much that she gobbled it up like a gourmand who knows it is bad for him but finds it irresistible.

"That may be. But I was taken to the Traitor's Gate and for a moment—though only for a moment—my heart failed me. And as I alighted and stood in the water, because the fools had misjudged the tide, I cried out: 'Here lands as true a subject, being prisoner, as ever landed at these stairs. Before Thee, oh God, I speak it, having no other friend but Thee alone.'"

"I know it well, Your Majesty," I told her. "Your brave words were recorded. They were both brave and clever, for the Lord, put thus on His mettle, must prove that He was as good an ally as all your enemies put together."

She looked at me and laughed. "You amuse me, Cousin," she said. "You must stay with me."

Then she went on to explain: "It was all so romantic. But then anything concerned with Rob always is. He made friends with the warder's boy, who adored him. Even little boys are aware of Robin's charm. The boy brought him flowers and Robin sent them to me ... by way of the child ... and there was a note for me enclosed in them. Thus I knew he was in the Tower and where. He was always audacious. He might have got us straightway to the block, but then, as he said when I taunted him with this, we were both halfway there already. And he never visualized failure; that is a quality we share. When they allowed me to walk out for exercise in the precincts of the Tower I went past Robert's cell. Oh, they were afraid to be too harsh with me, those jailers. Wise men! There was a chance I might remember ... one day. And so should I. But I found Robin and saw him through the bars of his window and that encounter sweetened our prison stay for both of us."

Once she started talking of Robert she found it difficult to stop.

"He was the first to come to me,: Lettice," she went on. "That was right and fitting. The Queen, my sister, was sick unto death. Poor Mary, my heart went out to her. I was ever her good and faithful subject as all should be to their sovereign. But the people were sickened by what had happened during her reign. They wanted an end to religious persecution. They wanted a Protestant queen."

Her eyes were slightly veiled. Yes, I thought, it was so, my Queen. And if they had wanted a Catholic queen would you have obliged? I had no doubt in my mind as to the answer to that. Her religion sat lightly on her; perhaps it was as well; the late Queen had been so heavily weighed down by hers that it had ruined her good name with her people and made them rejoice in her death.

"A queen must rule through the will of the people," said Elizabeth. "Praise God, it is a truth which is clear to me. When my sister was near to death, the road to Hatfield was crowded with those who would come to pay homage to Elizabeth, whose name, but a short while before, few of them dared mention. But Robert had always been for me, and it was meet and fitting that he should be the first to come to me. He stood before me, freshly arrived from France. He would have been with me before, he told me, but by so doing he would have put me in danger. And he brought gold with him ... a token that should it be necessary to fight for my rights he would be beside me and would raise money to support me ... aye, and he would have done so."

"His loyalty did him credit," I said, and added slyly: "And brought him much good. Your Majesty's Master of Horse, no less."

"He has a way with horses, Lettice."

"And with women, Your Majesty."

I had gone too far. I realized that at once and a shiver ran through me. • "Why say you that?" she demanded.

"A man of such excellent parts, of such fine countenance and figure must surely enchant all that is female, Madam, walk they on two or four legs."

She was suspicious and although she allowed my comment to pass, my face was slapped none too gently a short while later because, she said, I handled one of her gowns clumsily. But I knew it was not for the gown but for Robert Dudley. Those beautifully shaped hands could deliver a sturdy blow, particularly when some jeweled ring cut into the skin. A gentle reminder that it would be unwise to displease the Queen.

I noticed that on the next occasion when Robert was present she watched him closely—and me. We did not look at each other and I think she was satisfied.

Robert was completely unaware of me in those days. He was firmly bent on one ambition from which nothing could make him swerve. At that time the determination to marry the Queen occupied him day and night.

I often wondered about his poor wife in the country and what she thought about the rumors. The fact that he never brought her to Court must have aroused her suspicion. I thought what fun it would be to bring her there. I imagined myself calling on Lady Amy and suggesting that she accompany me back to Court. I liked to picture myself presenting her. "Your Majesty, my good friend, Lady Dudley. You have shown such favor to my lord that passing Cumnor Place in Berkshire and meeting the lady, I was sure you would wish to give Lord Robert the pleasure of his wife's company." By which I betray that mischievous streak in my nature—also my annoyance because I, Lettice Knollys, so much more attractive than Elizabeth Tudor, was ignored—not even seen at all—by the most handsome man at Court; and all because she possessed a crown and I had nothing but myself.

I would, of course, never have dared to bring Lady Dudley to Court. There would be more than a sharp slap on the cheek if I did. I could see myself returning to Rotherfield Greys never to emerge again.

I was amused when an old woman was arrested for having slandered the Queen. It amazed me that a woman of no fixed address who spent her life tramping the countryside, doing odd jobs for which she could get food and lodging, should think she knew more of what happened in the Queen's bedchamber than those of us who were in attendance on her.

However, it seemed that old Mother Dowe, while doing some mending for a lady, had heard that lady say that Lord Robert had given the Queen a petticoat for a gift. Later Mother Dowe offered the information that it was not a petticoat which Lord Robert had given the Queen, but a child.

If the story had been clearly conjecture and utterly incredible, there would have been no need to take any notice of a mad old woman; but in view of the Queen's attitude towards Robert and his towards her, and the fact that they were undoubtedly often in each other's company unattended, the story could have been believed. Thus the old woman was arrested and the news of that arrest spread through the country at great speed.

Elizabeth showed her growing skill by dismissing the woman as mad and allowing her to go about her business, thus earning her undying gratitude, for the poor creature must have anticipated cruel death for spreading such rumors; and very soon the case of Mother Dowe was forgotten.

I often wonder whether it had some effect on the Queen's attitude to what happened soon after.

It was inevitable that, both at home and abroad, there should be speculation about her marriage. The country needed an heir; the recent troubles and dissensions which had beset us had been due to uncertainty about the succession. The Queen's ministers desired that she should choose a husband without delay and give the country what it wanted. She was not yet even middle-aged, neither was she so very young, though none would dare remind her of this.

Philip of Spain was making overtures. I heard her and Robert laughing about it because she had learned that the King had said that if he were persuaded to the match he would insist on Elizabeth's becoming a Catholic and he could not remain with her for long even if their brief encounter did not leave her pregnant. He could have said nothing more calculated to arouse her indignation. Become a Catholic!—when one of the main reasons for her popularity was her professed Protestantism and the cessation of the Smithfield Fires. And for any future husband to mention the fact that he wanted to escape from her as soon as possible was enough to bring about her haughty refusal.

But of course her ministers were eager for her to marry, and it seemed that, had it not been for the fact that Lord Robert was already married, some of them would have agreed to her union withhim. There was a great deal of envy directed against Robert. My long life, much of which has been lived among ambitious people, leads me to the belief that envy is more prevalent than any other emotion and certainly the deadliest of the seven sins. Robert had the Queen's favor to such an extent that she could not hide her fondness for him and showered honors on him; and those who would see that favor diminished found more suitable prospective husbands for her. The nephew of Philip of Spain—the Archduke Charles—was one of these suitors. The Duke of Saxony was another; then Prince Charles of Sweden was brought in. It was a case of the more the merrier as far as the Queen was concerned, and she delighted in teasing Robert by pretending to consider them, but she did not deceive many into thinking that she would accept any one of them. The prospect of marriage always excited her—even when she was much older—but her attitude to it forever remained a mystery. Somewhere at the back of her mind she greatly feared it, yet, at times, to consider it fascinated her as nothing else did. None of us ever understood that aspect of her character, which intensified as the years passed. At this time we were all unaware of it and everyone believed that she would marry sooner or later and that she would have taken one of her royal suitors if it had not been for Robert.