Elizabeth (27 page)

They had been shown to the Council and to certain privileged peers, including Norfolk, all of whom affected to believe them and expressed their horror. Elizabeth was publicly shocked and privately cynical.

The early days of 1569 were a time of acute strain for Leicester. He felt uncomfortable with his fellow intriguers; he could not quite trust the men with whom he was involved or believe that they could succeed in the second part of their design which was to impeach Cecil for treason. He still hated Cecil but he was so close to Elizabeth and knew her mind so well that he often lay awake and thought that the whole scheme would end in disaster foundering on her invincible will and her uncanny aptitude for turning everything to her own advantage. She would fight hard for Cecil; she was ruthless and exacting, but she had never yet abandoned anyone who served her faithfully.

Fear had brought Leicester into the intrigue and fear kept him in it, long after his confidence in its success had begun to fade.

It was Lettice Essex who persuaded him to betray the conspiracy and the conspirators to the Queen before it was too late.

They were dining together at his new house on the Strand; it was a magnificent mansion surrounded by a park and gardens which had just been completed, and staffed by his personal retinue of several hundred servants. Lettice often stayed there with him when the Queen allowed him leave of absence from the Court. She was his accepted mistress; they lived an almost domestic life when they could arrange to be together, and he had begun to tell her more than most men told their wives.

“For the last ten minutes you've been playing with your food,” she said suddenly. “And if you lose your appetite, my love, then I know something serious is wrong; what is it?”

He pushed back his plate and made a sign for his steward to remove it. When the servant had gone and they were alone, he leant his head in his hands, staring moodily in front of him.

“What is it?” Lettice asked him. “Tell me.”

“You were right,” he said suddenly. “You told me not to join this intrigue with Norfolk and I wouldn't listen to you; now I only wish to God I had. Every day I feel more certain it will fail; every time the Queen looks at me I wonder if she knows, and if she doesn't, what will she do to me when she finds out!”

“She's fond of you,” Lettice said. “She may forgive you. But you were so confident when you began—why have you changed?”

He moved irritably. “I don't know; it sounded clever enough. Make an insurance against the Queen's death, get rid of Cecil who's eating up lands and power for himself.… I think that was what really trapped me. I'd give anything to see him humbled. But the Queen is in better health than she's ever been lately; there's no move from Spain, there's no move from anyone. And I feel certain now that the whole damned scheme will founder. She will find it out, or Cecil will. And even if she doesn't and we succeed, there's something else I don't like.” He paused, groping for the right words, knowing how jealous Lettice was of his feelings for Elizabeth. “I don't trust Norfolk,” he went on. “If he marries the Queen of Scots he may aim for the throne with her.”

“And that would mean overthrowing the Queen,” Lettice said slowly. “They would have to put her to death, wouldn't they, Robert?”

“Yes,” Leicester muttered. “And I want no part of that.”

Lettice Essex watched him for a moment. She knew him very well, as well as that other woman from whom she had stolen him; she knew that he was unscrupulous and ambitious and primarily in love with himself. He had many faults and few compensating virtues, but she loved him enough not to wish him any different. And because she loved him and understood him, she knew what it meant when he shrank from harming Elizabeth.

“You still love her, don't you?” she said at last. “No, Robert, don't deny it! It's not like our love, but it is there.”

“It won't save me if she finds this out,” he interrupted. “I am the one man above all the others that she'll rend to pieces when she discovers what I've done. Why didn't I listen to you, Lettice? Why did I ever get involved with these fools?”

“What's done is done,” she answered quickly. “If you think she'll punish you, you're probably right. There's only one way to make sure that she doesn't.”

She left her chair and came and knelt beside him. He put his hand over hers, and she felt that it was shaking slightly.

“How?” he asked her.

“By betraying the whole business before it is too late. Go back to Whitehall and tell her everything. It is your only hope.”

For a moment he hesitated; for a moment he weighed the chances, imagined the consequences to the other men who had trusted him, and how many enemies he would make once it was known what he had done. And then he imagined Elizabeth if the intrigue miscarried and he had said nothing.

“Go,” Lettice whispered. “Go now, and don't hesitate. Who will come forward to save you if things go wrong? No one, I tell you. I love you, and I'm not blinded by false loyalties to anything or anyone but you. Confess everything to the Queen and you'll be safe. If you don't tell her, someone else will.”

He stood up and they embraced; he realized at that moment that he was very much in love with her. He kissed her with real tenderness.

“I won't wait,” he, said. “I'll ride to Whitehall now. God keep you, Lettice, and pray that all goes well.”

Elizabeth had been very quiet while he told her. She had sat in her chair, embroidering, occasionally looking up from her needlework frame into his flushed and anxious face while he talked of his fear and his doubts and the influence which had been brought to bear on him by the other conspirators. The recital did not do him credit. When he had finished she still said nothing; the silence in the room became unbearable. He went on his knees beside her chair.

“Madam, I beg you to forgive me.”

“So first you betray me, and now you betray your fellow traitors. Tell me, Robert, what made you confess?”

“I was afraid for you,” he stammered. “I kept wondering whether you would be safe if the marriage took place and Cecil was forced out of office. It seemed a wise plan at first … a sort of safeguard … then I thought Norfolk might try to go further still …”

“And make an attempt to remove me along with Cecil,” she finished for him. “A reasonable conclusion; I'm surprised it took so long to occur to you.”

“Believe me,” he begged, “believe me the moment it did, I made up my mind to warn you.”

“Would Bedford have agreed to that?” she asked him, “and Arundel and Throckmorton, who's such a stout Protestant? Were they prepared to dethrone me in favour of Mary Stuart and Norfolk?”

“No,” he said desperately; he was so frightened by her calm almost casual reaction to the plot that he began to tell the truth. “No, it was Cecil they aimed at, not you. But once these things begin, when you have a claimant like her married to the first noble in the country, anything can happen.”

“How true.” Elizabeth leant back and looked at him. “But what would have become of you when I was gone, Robert … I expect you thought of that too, in your anxiety for my safety?”

He only shook his head. “I warned you,” he said unsteadily. “I beg you to remember that.”

Elizabeth stood up.

“I shall remember, Robert, and I am flattered that you were more afraid of me than of Norfolk and the rest.”

“That's not the only reason.” Leicester came towards her. He caught her hand; but it was cold and lifeless.

“God knows, and so do you, I'm not an admirable character; but if I have one feature that redeems me from your absolute contempt, it is my love for you. Whatever I am, that has never changed and never will. I couldn't stand by and risk anything happening to you. I risked your anger instead, and that's no small hazard.”

He faltered. Her face was white, as expressionless as a mask; it told him nothing of her thoughts as she looked down at him.

So Robert had intrigued against her. He had lied to her for months, and most of his explanation was a lie in the attempt to excuse himself and minimize his responsibility. But he had told the truth when he said that the plot might go further than he supposed. He was untrustworthy, but she had always known that. He was vain and ambitious, but his vanity and his greed stopped short of agreeing to her death. He had confessed to her from several motives, but at that moment she believed that concern for her safety was the main one. When she was desperately ill with smallpox, the same inconsistent loyalty had kept him beside her, now at a moment of equal danger he had shown in his own way that he loved her still.

“You can arrest me now,” he said at last. “It's no more than I deserve. But say that you forgive me first.”

“Arrest you?” To his astonishment she laughed.

“I'm not going to punish you, Robert. If you want forgiveness you can have it. I don't feel inclined to play our little comedy of rift and reconciliation yet again; this matter is too serious. I'll pardon you now, but on one condition.”

“Name it, Madam! Anything, anything in the world.” He had begun to kiss her hand; there were tears of relief in his eyes.

“Promise me that you'll join every plot against me in the future, then I can watch its course from the beginning. Nobody shall know you told me about this one, except Cecil. He may trust you more after this. I could get it out of Throckmorton in ten minutes if I sent for him, but I think I'll squeeze the truth out of the eager bridegroom. Norfolk shall tell me. And when he does, he'll go to the Tower.”

“The best place for him,” Leicester said quickly. “And the Queen of Scots?”

Elizabeth's face hardened. “Something must be done to dissuade her from making trouble; I must think, Robert. I know what Cecil will advise—return her to Scotland and let her brother execute her.”

“It's good advice, take it,” he urged. “She has repaid your shelter by intriguing against you, she deserves to die.”

“For that matter, so do you and all the others.” Elizabeth sat down and pulled the embroidery frame towards her. “That isn't the answer, Robert; I'm not going to salve your conscience by putting a sovereign to death, even indirectly. Leave me now, I want a little time to think.”

“And you have really forgiven me?” he insisted.

She glanced at him; if her smile was cynical it was also strangely sad.

“I have forgiven you, Robert. I'm afraid it has become a habit.”

She sewed for some time when he had left her. She was an exquisite needlewoman; as a young girl she used to work for hours, straining her eyes to make presents for her sister Mary and her brother Edward when she had no money to buy something suitable. Like music it soothed her nerves and cleared her brain, and she was thinking fast and clearly as she sewed. She was not surprised by Robert; old habits died hard, and he was born with a passionate care for his own skin. They had all begun this intrigue to protect themselves, thinking she might die, or Spain would invade, doubting the wisdom of her policy even though she had never been proved wrong through the last ten years. Frightened men would stoop to anything; even those like Robert, who loved her in his own worthless way. They were all jealous of Cecil, who was braver and shrewder than any of them, and they made him the scapegoat for their own lack of confidence. She had spent those ten years in building confidence, steadying her throne and stabilizing her country, and there had been no whisper of discontent until Mary Stuart crossed into England. She had plunged Scotland into civil war, her crown was stained with the blood of her husband, the Hamiltons and Gordons had perished in thousands defending her; the villainous Bothwell was now a prisoner of the King of Denmark where he had sought shelter, because his association with Mary had made him worth holding to ransom. Everyone connected with her had suffered, and the same sinister pattern had begun to form in Elizabeth's kingdom now that she was in it. Plots and betrayal and fear. And finally bloodshed would follow, as Cecil had prophesied from the beginning. She would not kill Norfolk or imprison the others. She would send him to the Tower and hope that he had learnt the lesson without having to lose his head as well. She would try and avert the violence which her instincts warned her to expect, and she would continue to hold Mary in spite of Cecil, because she dared not let her go. But she too must be taught that intrigue would be followed by consequences.

Elizabeth went to her writing-table and wrote out an order for Mary's removal to Tutbury Castle. It was a damp and gloomy mediaeval building, buried in a desolate part of Staffordshire, and uninhabited for many years. It was also one of the strongest fortresses in England.

CHAPTER TEN

The first armed rising in favour of the Queen of Scots came from the North, and the revolt was an offshoot of the intrigue to marry her to Norfolk. The Catholics in the North were seething with discontent; the Reformation had taken root in the centre and south of England, but the ancient religion flourished in the more inaccessible part of Elizabeth's kingdom, where it was supported by the two nobles most powerful in land and seniority next to the Duke himself. The Earls of Northumberland and Westmorland were staunchly Catholic and they were too influential to be terrified into apostasy by Cecil's government. For ten years they had kept a truce with Elizabeth until the woman they believed to be the rightful Queen of England came over the Scottish Border as a fugitive. Her charm, her beauty, and her professed piety were like a match dropped in straw. But it was a clumsy intrigue, and Mary made the first of many errors when she suggested that it should be supported by a landing of Spanish troops from the Netherlands. If Northumberland and Westmorland were guilty of rash judgment, Philip of Spain was not; he agreed to support the rising, but only when Mary had been released from custody and Elizabeth assassinated. The negotiations were conducted through a Florentine banker called Ridolfi, an amateur meddler who entirely overlooked the efficiency of the English Government's spy system.