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Mary was however disturbed to learn of the discord between him and Norfolk and asked him for details. With much bitterness Dacre told her how he had, in his opinion, more right to the family fortune than his nieces who, through their betrothal to Norfolk’s sons, would allow the Dacre wealth to pass to Norfolk’s family.
Mary was sympathetic. “It certainly seems unjust,” she said. “Will you allow me to write to the Duke and give him my opinion? I am sure he would listen to me, and it would give me great pleasure to bring about some agreement between you.”
Dacre smiled ruefully. “Your Majesty must do as you wish. But I would warn you that Norfolk is a hard man where lands and wealth are concerned.”
“I believe that he will wish to do what is right,” replied Mary; and because she knew that she had deeply disappointed Dacre, she determined to persuade Norfolk to make some concessions to his benefit.
WHEN ELIZABETH HEARD that the Shrewsburys had left for Buxton without her consent she was very angry, and had they been on the spot would have committed them to the Tower without delay.
As they were out of reach she immediately commissioned Walter Devereux, Viscount Hereford, to go to Wingfield Manor to take charge of the Queen of Scots. She wrote to Buxton telling the Shrewsburys to return at once to Wingfield Manor where they would find Hereford installed; and at the same time sent orders to Hereford that he was to take charge of the Shrewsburys who were to be as much his prisoners as the Queen of Scots.
When Bess received the Queen’s instructions, she knew that she would have to tell her husband what she had done. But this did not perturb her as much as it would have done previously, for the baths and air of Buxton had done a great deal to restore the Earl to health; and, removed as he was from the anxieties of Wingfield, he had, as Bess had prognosticated, rapidly recovered.
She gently broke the news to him.
“Here are orders from the Queen,” he said. “I fancy she is somewhat displeased with us.”
“But why so?”
Bess laughed. “Because, my lord, we are at Buxton.”
“But she gave her permission.”
Bess shook her head.
“Bess! You mean that you . . . ”
“It was very necessary. Had I not done so, my dear George, you would not be alive today.”
“But . . . to desert Wingfield . . . without her permission!”
“If it is a matter of disobeying my Queen or losing my husband,” retorted Bess, “I choose the former. Now there is no need to become agitated. I know Elizabeth and she knows me. If we were on the spot she would be so furious with us that we might tremble for our heads. But we are not on the spot. And she knows that had she been in my place she would have done the same. We are alike in some ways and understand each other. Why, we even share the same name. This matter which angers her now will amuse her in a few days. We need time. You will write to her and so will I. We will tell her . . . in detail . . . how ill you have been, that your life was in danger, and that I considered it essential for you to leave Wingfield when you did. We left the Queen of Scots well guarded. No ill has come to her because of my decision; and great good has come to us. Now . . . write. And I will do the same.”
The Earl did as he was told. He marveled at the boldness of his wife, but he could not help admiring her; and he was touched that she had risked her life to save his—for that was what she had done.
He felt remorseful because of late he had been comparing her with other women—women such as the Queen of Scots and Eleanor Britton—and, it seemed, to her detriment. Now he was thinking of her as he had during the days before their marriage.
When he had finished his letter to the Queen, Bess read it through. She herself had written in more detail, telling of every symptom which had beset the Earl and how near he had come to death.
When Elizabeth received their letters she read them and smiled grimly.
This was the work of Bess of Hardwick. Deliberately flouting the Queen because she wished it! Elizabeth admitted to herself that had she been in Bess’s position she would have done exactly the same. She understood Bess and Bess understood her.
She sent for one of her own physicians and said to him: “Shrewsbury is very ill at Buxton. Go and see what you can do for him.”
Elizabeth had secretly forgiven Bess, but the Shrewsburys must believe that they were still in disgrace.
A FURTHER SHOCK awaited Elizabeth. News was brought to her that her favorite man, the Earl of Leicester, was grievously sick at his manor at Titchfield and was asking for her to visit him there. In view of all they had been to each other and the fact that at one time in their lives they had been on the point of marriage, Elizabeth lost no time in hurrying to Leicester’s bedside.
She found him in a sad state and was moved to pity by the sight of his handsome face on the pillows; but when he saw that she had indeed come, Leicester brightened and she quickly discovered the real reason why he had asked her to visit him.
Leicester was in a panic. He had placed himself on the side of those Protestant nobles who had tried to arrange a marriage between Norfolk and the Queen of Scots. He knew that the Queen’s spies were going back and forth between Wingfield Manor and the Court; he knew that Cavendish, who was a messenger for Mary, was also Elizabeth’s spy, and he believed that Elizabeth was aware of a great deal which was going on, and that if she knew he had been intriguing without her knowledge she would regard him as a traitor.
When he considered all these points he did not have to feign illness; the prospect of her wrath, if she ever discovered that he, of all men, had worked against her, was enough to make him want to take to his bed.
But here she was, all solicitous concern for her Gay Lord Robert, as she sometimes called him.
He took her hands as she sat by his bed. “My Queen, my love,” he said, “you know that I would die for you.”
“Now, Robert,” replied the Queen gently, “do not speak to me of dying. You and I are too close to think happily of a world which does not contain the other.”
There were tears in Leicester’s eyes. “I want to assure you of my love and devotion. It is as firm now as it was in the days when we were in the Tower together and I loved you so madly . . . so hopelessly.”
“You were never without hope, Robert,” she told him.
“I hoped then . . . and I hope now, my Queen. I hope for your forgiveness.”
“There is only one thing for which I should never forgive you, Robert,” she told him. “That is—if you die and leave me in this world without you.”
Leicester then knew the answer to the question which had tormented him for the past week: Dare he confess? Yes, he might.
“My dearest,” he said, “there is a plot to marry the Queen of Scots to Norfolk. I am not guiltless. I have made myself a party to this. I felt it the lesser of two evils. The Catholics of the North have been restless since the Queen has been in England and are ready to rise. I thought it wiser for Mary to marry a Protestant and, as Norfolk was willing, I believed it the best way in which to protect Your Majesty.”
“So you entered into plots without my knowledge, Robert?”
“I confess my fault, sweetheart.”
“H’m. Here’s a pretty state of affairs when a queen’s ministers—and those whom she believes she has more reason to trust than most—begin to plot and scheme without her knowledge.”
“It has caused me great disquiet. It is the reason why I am brought to this sickbed. But I could no longer bear to keep this secret from you.” He reached for her hand and covered it with kisses. “I would give my life for you, as you know. It was for your good that I entered into this plot. But now I tell you, for I can no longer bear to have a secret which you do not share. You must punish me as you will. I shall insist always that all I do is out of love of your sweet self.”