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“Ha! You should see her with Leicester. There are times when she ca
“But this is impossible!”
“Impossible is a word Elizabeth does not know. Why, has Your Majesty never heard of all the romping with Thomas Seymour? Then she was little more than a girl. They say there was a child as a result of that. Oh yes, they do, and I for one believe it. And what she felt for Seymour is nothing compared with her passion for Leicester. He’s her husband . . . without benefit of clergy, of course. Our Elizabeth does not want a man to share her throne . . . only her bed.”
Mary was scandalized. Then she realized how angry Bess was. Elizabeth had had her sent to the Tower, and Bess would not forgive such insult in a hurry. There was nothing she could do to take her revenge on Elizabeth—except remember all the scandal she had ever heard of her and repeat it to the Queen who, like herself, had very little for which to thank the Queen of England.
THE EARL OF SHREWSBURY came to Mary’s apartments one day and told her that he had news which he thought would cheer her.
Bothwell, incarcerated in the Castle of Malmoë, was grievously sick of the dropsy, and because he feared that his life was nearing its end he had written a confession in which he exonerated Mary from the murder of Darnley.
He had written: “The Bastard Moray began, Morton drew, and I wove the web of this murder.” And he went on to say that Mary was completely i
When he had given her this news Shrewsbury left Mary who felt so moved that she went to her bed and lay there. Memories came vividly back to her. She could not imagine Bothwell sick unto death. She thought of their brief and stormy life together and she wept for them both; yet she rejoiced that in his last hours he should remember her and seek to do what was right. She had always known that he was not wholly wicked. He had been blessed—or cursed—with twice the vitality of most men. He had been guilty of so much; all his life, rough Borderer that he was, he had taken what he wanted without thought of the consequences. It had seemed that the rape of a Queen meant no more to him than that of a shepherdess in the Border country of his enemies; yet it could not have been so, for when the pains of death were on him, he remembered her with tenderness.
She rose from her bed and went to her prie-Dieu, where she prayed for his soul; and she gave thanks that he had at the end thought kindly enough of her to write his confession.
It seemed however that Bothwell was indestructible, for he recovered from his sickness. But the confession had been made.
WITH THE COMING OF SUMMER the French ambassador persuaded Elizabeth to allow Mary to visit Buxton once more, and under such pressure Elizabeth agreed.
Mary had been deriving her usual benefit from the Spa and was hoping to spend the whole season at Shrewsbury’s Low Buxton, when an event at the English Court resulted in her stay there being brought to an abrupt end.
Leicester had been complaining to Elizabeth that he was unwell, and Elizabeth had been concerned about the health of her favorite.
She had sent him her own physician and visited him herself to see how he was progressing.
On her arrival a mournful Leicester thanked her for her solicitude and told her that her presence did him more good than anything else.
Gratified always to receive his compliments, she patted his cheek and told him that he must get well quickly, for her Court was the poorer for his absence. There was a sharpness in her eyes, though, for Leicester’s amorous adventures with other women had always a
Then came the shock.
“My doctors have ordered me to drink the waters of Buxton and use the baths for twenty days. They tell me that if I do this—and only if I do—I can expect to recover.”
Buxton! thought Elizabeth. Was not the Queen of Scots at Buxton?
Her eyes were narrowed, her lips tight. One heard such stories of the charm of that woman. What was Leicester after? She was on the point of curtly ordering him to remain where he was but, glancing at him she saw that he did look wan. What if it were true that he needed the Buxton waters?
Seeing that he was waiting with some trepidation for her reaction, she smiled suddenly. “Well, my dear Robert,” she said, “if those Buxton waters are the cure you need, then you must have them. But we shall be loath to see you go so far from us.”
“’Tis but for twenty days, beloved!”
“H’m! If you linger longer, I myself may take a trip to Buxton to see if it is only the waters of which you are in need.”
When Elizabeth left him she sent for a messenger. An order was to be dispatched at once to Shrewsbury at Low Buxton. The Queen of Scots was to be removed to Tutbury Castle without delay.
“TUTBURY!” cried Mary in dismay, staring at the Earl.
“I fear so. The order of Her Majesty.”
“Not Tutbury. Sheffield is uncomfortable enough, but I shall die if I have to return to Tutbury.”
Shrewsbury had no wish to return to Tutbury either.
“I will write immediately to Walsingham,” he said, “and tell him that Tutbury is in such a state of ill repair that it is impossible for my household to live there at this time. But I fear we must leave Buxton.”
“Before my cure is finished!” murmured Mary.
“But you would prefer to go to Sheffield rather than Tutbury, and that is all we can hope for.”
Shrewsbury wrote to Walsingham who, after consulting Elizabeth, replied that the Queen of Scots was to be removed from Buxton and that Shrewsbury should conduct her to Sheffield Castle without delay.
So back to Sheffield went Mary and her guards.
Realizing Elizabeth’s suspicions and having learned that the Queen of Scots had been hustled from Buxton, Leicester thought it advisable to delay his visit to the Spa for a few weeks and explain his motives to the Queen before proceeding there.
Walking with the aid of a stick, he came into the Queen’s presence and managed to look so sickly that Elizabeth, whose feelings for him went deeper than those she felt for anyone else, was alarmed.
“Why Robert,” she said, “you are indeed ill.”
As he took her hand and kissed it she dismissed the women who were with her that she might talk in secret with her Robert.
“I have had disturbed nights since our last meeting, because I feared that I had not been entirely truthful to my adored Queen and mistress.”
“What have you been meddling in now, Robert?”
“I was about to meddle . . . on your behalf, of course. It is true that my doctors advised me to take the Buxton waters, but there is another reason why I wished to go there. Does Your Majesty remember who was there until you sent her away?”
“I remember.”
“My dearest love, I am afraid that where that woman is there will also be intrigue . . . dangerous intrigue which threatens the one whom I live to serve. These plans to marry her to Don Jon are not over. I believe that the greater freedom she is allowed to enjoy at Buxton may be an encouragement to conspirators.”
“And what do you propose to do about that?”
“To go to Buxton. To be the guest of the Shrewsburys. To keep my eyes and ears alert.”
Elizabeth nodded. “Well, Robert, you are one whom I would always trust to serve me well. There are so many bonds binding us.”
Leicester looked into her face and took both her hands. She was remembering how, before she was Queen of England, he had brought her gold and offered himself to fight in her cause should it be necessary to fight. She remembered the early days of her reign when she had believed she would marry him. And she would have done so but for the mysterious death of Amy Robsart. She could never think of that affair without a shudder. It had so nearly destroyed them both. They knew too much of each other not to work together. He might have other motives in wishing to meet the Queen of Scots, but he would never betray Elizabeth while she lived.