Виктория Холт - My Enemy the Queen

Finally Essex came back unharmed. For four years he had stayed out of England.

They were dangerous years. Although Essex rose high in the Queen's favor, I never knew a man so play with fire. He was my son after all. But I was continually reminding him of Leicester.

Once he said: "I wonder Christopher Blount does not object. You are always talking of Leicester as though he were a pattern of a man."

"For you, he could be," I said. "Remember that he kept the Queen's regard all his life."

Essex was impatient. He was not going to squirm and humble himself, he declared. The Queen, like everyone else, must take him as he was.

And it seemed she did. Oh, but he was surrounded by dangers. I knew Burleigh was against him now and determined to make the way clear for his son, but I was glad that Essex had struck up a friendship with the Bacon boys—Anthony and Francis. They were a clever pair and good for him, although they both suffered from resentment, fancying themselves both kept from high office by Burleigh.

Essex now had two more sons—Walter, after his sadly missed uncle, and Henry. He, alas, was a far from faithful husband. He was lusty and sensual and he could not live without women, and as he had never curbed his desires in any respect, it was natural that he should not in this. One woman was not enough for him, for his fancy strayed quickly, and being in the position he was, there was no dearth of young women ready to submit to him.

It was typical of him that, instead of choosing a mistress with care—someone whom he could visit secretly—he must become enamored of the Queen's maids of honor. There were at least four who were known to me. Elizabeth Southwell bore him a son who was known as Walter Devereux and that was a great scandal; then there were Lady Mary Howard and two girls named Russell and Brydges, all of whom were publicly humiliated by the Queen.

I was very apprehensive about his indiscreet behavior, because Elizabeth was particularly strict with her maids of honor, who were carefully taken from families selected by her—usually someone in the family had done her a service, and to take the girls was a reward. Mary Sidney was a good example of this, for she had been taken when her sister Ambrosia had died because the Queen was sorry for the family and Mary had, shortly afterwards and due to the Queen's efforts, made a brilliant marriage with the Earl of Pembroke. The parents of the girls were always delighted at the honor because they knew that the Queen would do her best to look after their daughters. If any of these girls married without her consent, she was furious; if she suspected any of what she called lewd behavior, she was even more incensed; and if their partner in disgrace should be any of her favorites, she would be wild with rage. Yet knowing this, Essex philandered, not only endangering his position at Court but causing great sorrow to his wife and mother.

I often wondered how long he would be able to steer himself safely through all the perils which he made no effort to avoid. Of course the Queen was old and clung more and more to the young; and when he was charming he was quite irresistible, as we all found.

Penelope had now left her husband and was living openly with her lover Charles Blount, who had become Lord Mountjoy on the death of his elder brother.

Penelope had never been a favorite with the Queen; she shared a lack of tact with her brother and of course the Queen would not accept from beautiful women what she did from handsome men. Moreover Penelope labored under the difficulty of being my daughter, and when the Queen heard that she had left her husband and was living with Mountjoy, while she was prepared to accept Mountjoy's departure from conventional behavior, for he was a good-looking young man, she did not apply the same leniency to Penelope, though not of her affection for Mountjoy, she did not forbid her to come to Court.                                .

Penelope and Essex were fast friends, and she, being of a somewhat domineering nature, was constantly trying to advise him. She was very sure of herself. She was known as one of the most beautiful women at Court, as I had been; and Philip Sidney's poems which extolled her charms increased her good opinion of herself. Mountjoy adored her, and as Essex thought very highly of her also, she was a woman who could not but be pleased with her position, particularly as she had rid herself of a distasteful husband simply by leaving him.

It so happened that Penelope was staying with the Warwicks at North Hall when messengers came with the news that the Queen was not far off. Essex knew that Elizabeth would be displeased to find his sister there and might humiliate her by refusing to see her. He rode out to meet the Queen—a fact which delighted her, but she soon realized that his reason for coming was to warn her that his sister was at North Hall and to ask her to receive her kindly.

Elizabeth made little comment and Essex, as sure of himself as ever, thought she was naturally giving him what he asked. His dismay was great when orders were given that Penelope was to stay in her chamber while the Queen was at North Hall.

Impulsive Essex could never bear to be thwarted. He was devoted to his family and was constantly trying to persuade the Queen to receive me. That she should treat his sister in this way was insupportable to him.

After she had supped he asked her if she would receive Penelope. He had believed she had promised him that she would, he said, and he was hurt and bewildered that she should break her word. This was no way to tackle the Queen and she replied sharply that she had no intention of allowing people to say she had received his sister merely to please him.

"Nay," he cried hotly, "you will not receive her to please that knave Raleigh." Then he had gone on to say that she would do a good deal to please Raleigh. She would disgrace him and his sister for her love of that adventuring churl.

The Queen told him to be quiet but he would not be. He let out a tirade of scorn about Raleigh. She was in awe of the fellow, he said. He himself could find little pleasure in serving a mistress who was afraid of a low fellow like that.

This was all the more foolish, for Raleigh was of the party, and even if he did not overhear what was said, others soon would report it to him, so he was making of Raleigh an enemy for life-even if he had not already done so.

But the Queen tired of his tantrums. She shouted at him: "Do not presume to address me thus. How dare you criticize others. As for your sister, she is another such as your mother, and there is a woman I would not have at my Court. You have inherited her faults, and that is enough for me to send you away from here."

"Then do so," he cried. "Nor would I stay here to listen to my family's being slandered. I have no desire to serve such a mistress. I will remove my sister from this roof without delay, and since you are afraid to displease that knave Raleigh and he wants me gone, I will go too."

"I am weary of you, you foolish boy," said the Queen coldly, and turned away.

Essex bowed, retired and went straight to Penelope's room. "We are leaving here immediately," he told her. "Prepare yourself."

Penelope was bewildered, but it was necessary, he said, because he had had a disagreement with the Queen and they were in danger.

He sent her back to her home with an escort of servants and declared he was going to Holland. He would be in time to join in the battle for Sluys and it might well be that he would fall. Never mind. Death was preferable to the service of such an unfair mistress, and he doubted not that she would consider herself well rid of him.

He then set out for Sandwich.

The next day, when the Queen asked for him, she heard that he was on his way to Holland. She sent a party after him to bring him back.

He was about to board a ship at Sandwich when they arrived, and at first he refused to return, but when he was told that if he did not they would take him back by force, he had to obey.

When he returned the Queen was delighted to see him. She scolded him and told him that he had been foolish and he was not going to leave Court without her permission.

Within a few days he was back in favor.

He had such good fortune, this wayward son of mine. If only he had taken advantage of it! Alas, it often seemed to me that he showed only contempt for the benefits showered on him. If ever a man tempted fate, that man was Essex.

One of his dearest wishes had been to get me reinstated at Court, for he knew how greatly I had desired this, and as Leicester had been unable to bring this about, I believe one of his reasons for wanting it was to achieve that which his stepfather had failed to.

It had always been a source of great distress to me that I could not be part of the Queen's circle. Leicester had been dead for ten years. Surely she could bear to see me now. I was a kinswoman; I was getting old; surely she could forget I had married her Sweet Robin.

I had given her her favorite man. Surely she must realize that but for me there could have been no Essex to disrupt and at the same time enchant her days. But she was a vindictive woman. My son was well aware of my feelings and had promised me that one day he would bring us together. He regarded it as a slight to himself that he could not persuade her to a reconciliation, and it was a challenge to his determination to enforce his will.

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.