A Favorite of the Queen: The Story of Lord Robert Dudley and Elizabeth 1 (6 page)

And for a
time Robert was happy.

Still greater power had come to his father. He had brought a charge of treason against Somerset, who on Tower Hill had met the same fate as that which a short while ago had befallen his brother, the fascinating Thomas. With Somerset headless, John Dudley was ruler of England, for the fourteen-year-old King—sick and steadily growing weaker—counted for little.

John’s immediate action was to assume the title of Duke of Northumberland, although never before had any man, unconnected with royalty, had the title of Duke bestowed upon him.

Honors found their way to the Siderstern manor house. The Duke of Northumberland bestowed Hemsley Manor, which was not far from Yarmouth, on Robert and his wife. John Robsart was given jointly with Robert the Stewardship of Manor Rising. This was a sure sign of the King’s favor; but the King’s favor was in reality Northumberland’s favor and it was small wonder that that fell upon his son and his son’s father-in-law.

For Robert and Amy the long days were full of pleasure. Whether it was hunting, hawking, tilting, or sport of any sort, there was none in Norfolk to compare with Robert. Wherever he went his smile was sought. He was called by the folk of Norfolk: “
Our
Lord Robert.”

So he grew in strength and beauty, taking a great interest in local affairs. If his father was the greatest man in England, Robert was the greatest in Norfolk. There was scarcely a woman in the county of Norfolk who would not have been his for the asking. The young bridegroom of seventeen had become a handsome man of twenty—the handsomest in Norfolk, the most fascinating, it was believed, in the whole of England; and if a search of the entire world were made, where would one so merry and gay, so full of charm and chivalry, be found to equal Lord Robert!

It was not his father’s wish that he should stay forever in the country. Now and then there would come a call to Court, and Robert would set out with his servants while the country folk—particularly the women—would sadly watch him go. They said that Norfolk was a dull place without Lord Robert.

A great welcome always awaited him in London. His mother wept with joy over him, and his brothers and sisters rejoiced to see him. Even his father, who had little time for family affairs, was not insensible to his charm and often would look at him with something like regret. The Robsart marriage was scarcely good enough for the most personable member of a powerful family.

One day during a visit to London Robert was at Hampton Court when his father took him into a small room and, with an air of secrecy, said he must have a few words with his son in the greatest privacy.

“I have had it from the King’s doctors,” said the Duke, after having ascertained that they could not be overheard, “that Edward is dying and cannot last the year.”

“What then, Father?”

“What then indeed! Unless matters go our way, we are lost.”

Robert was well informed enough of current affairs to know what his father meant. The Duke had, for political purposes, set himself at the head of the Reformers; and there were many in the kingdom who would say that Edward’s lawful successor was Mary Tudor—that fanatical Catholic.

It would be the end of his father’s power if Mary came to the throne, and the Dudleys, who had made their second rise to great heights, would make their second abysmal fall.

Northumberland smiled grimly at his son.

“Robert,” he said, “you have been a fool.”

“I, Father?”

“You will see what I mean when I tell you what I plan to do. Mary Tudor is a bastard; so is Elizabeth. Their own father said so. England will not tolerate bastards on the throne when there is a legitimate heir. The Grey sisters come before Mary Tudor. Jane, the eldest, will be the rightful Queen when Edward dies. Is she not the granddaughter of Henry VIII’s sister Mary? There is no taint of bastardy in Jane and, by God, she shall be Queen of England.”

“Jane! Little Jane Grey Queen of England!”

“Certainly. It is the King’s custom to name his successor here in England … and I have Edward’s consent to this. With that and her superior claims over the bastard daughters of Katharine of Aragon and Anne Boleyn, she will indeed be Queen. But do not imagine my plans end there. Robert, had you not been such a fool as to rush into marriage with the daughter of a country squire, I would have made you King of England.”

Robert for once was without speech. King of England! He saw himself in regal velvet. How that would have become him! Power! What did he know of power as yet? He realized his recent ignorance when he pictured what he might have been as husband to Lady Jane Grey—that fragile and most beautiful girl. It was true that she was a little too pious for Robert’s taste, but she was an enchanting creature.

“Well, you have missed your chance,” said the Duke, “and it will go to Guildford.”

“I … see,” said Robert.

His father laid his hand on his shoulder. He was regretful. What a king Robert would have made! Guildford would do his duty, but the Duke would rather it had been Robert. “Learn your lesson, my son. You are young, but it is never too soon to learn, as you now understand. See what your headstrong behavior has done for you. You might have been the King, but you in your own youthful folly chose to be a country squire. Always look ahead. Always think of what the future may hold. No doubt your brother and his wife Queen Jane will bestow many honors upon you. But, you see, a little patience, a little foresight, would have brought you so
much more. Now you know the position, but remember it is a secret as yet. We must succeed. The future of our house depends upon success. On the King’s death there will be opposition to Jane’s succession. We must be ready for that. You will return to Norfolk and wait there, but while you wait, you will gather together a goodly force in secret to be called upon if need be. You understand me?”

“Yes, Father.”

That interview entirely changed Robert’s outlook.

He returned to Norfolk in a very thoughtful mood. Nothing looked quite the same to him again. Amy was loving, but what a simpleton she was! He could not help comparing her rustic charm with the beauty of Jane Grey, her simplicity with Jane’s learning; and he could not help seeing beside Robert the Squire, Robert the King.

They saw the
change in him when he returned. Amy was fretful and jealous. Pinto believed that he was in love with a woman whom he had met at the Court. Pinto had always sensed danger in Amy’s marriage.

She tried to warn and advise. “Be patient. Do not flatter him so wholeheartedly. Hold aloof. Let him come to you for favors. Do not bestow them so generously.”

Poor Amy tried to follow Pinto’s advice, but how could she? When Robert was near her, she must beg for his smiles like a little dog performing her pretty tricks for him.

“Amy,” he cried in exasperation, “when will you grow up?”

“But you used to say you loved my childishness.”

“You cannot be childish forever.”

“But you used to rejoice because I was different from the girls you met at Court.”

Ah, he thought, different indeed! Lacking the gracious enchanting dignity of the Lady Jane Grey, the fire and exciting qualities of the Princess Elizabeth.

Amy was shaking his arm. “Why do you not speak to me? Of what are you thinking? Why are you always staring out of the window, listening it seems. For what do you listen?”

“I … Listen! I listen for nothing.”

“You do. I swear it. You are waiting … waiting for a message from someone … someone whom you met at the Court. Why do I never go there with you? Why must I always stay here in the country? Why, when you go to Court, do you go without me?”

How stupid she was!

He looked at her with mild distaste. Oh, what a fool he had been! He was the husband of a simple country girl, when he might have been married to a queen.

Her lips were trembling. He watched the tears roll down her cheeks as she fell on to a couch and began to sob.

Would he never learn? He was more foolish than ever. His father had entrusted him with a secret, and already he had almost betrayed it. She knew that something had happened on his visit to Court and, being the foolish child she was, she believed he was in love with another woman.

He sighed. He certainly had eyes for women—the women of the Court and the women of the country. Did silly little Amy think that since their marriage he had never looked at another?

Yet he must soothe her; she must not know that he had changed. She must not know of the thoughts which were now chasing each other through his mind. He who might have been the King of England would be the brother of a king; and Guildford had always admired him. He would be able to do what he wished with Guildford; power would come his way—but not if he allowed a simple country girl to know when he had a dangerous secret.

He bent over her, lifting the hair from her hot and tearful face.

“Amy,” he whispered, “little Amy. What ails you? Why should you be jealous of the most faithful man in England?”

She raised her eyes to his face as he bent over her.

“But, Robert …”

“Why should you think these evil thoughts of me, eh? Tell me that.”

“Because you have been away from me.”

“On duty. Nothing but duty to my father would tear me from your side.”

“But … there is something. Pinto says it is another woman.”

“Pinto! What does she know of my affairs?”

“She knows much of the world, and she says that men are the same the whole world over.”

“Come, kiss me, Amy. Let us prove that Madam Pinto, though she knows so much of most men, knows nothing of this one.”

Now he was soothing her and she was ready to listen, so ready to believe what she wanted to believe more than anything on Earth; and he would not have been Robert if he had not been able to convince her.

It was night
, and Amy awoke to find herself alone in the bed; the curtains about it were drawn, yet not so closely that they shut out the moonlight which filled the room. She put out a hand and touched the feather bed which still bore the impression of Robert’s body.

She sat up. The fur rug which covered the blanket had been thrown aside. There was one thought in her head. He had crept out to go to a woman, she was sure; and that woman was not a lady of the Court, but one of her own household.

With tears in her eyes she got out of bed and put a wrap about her shoulders. She stood hesitating then, wondering whether to go and tell Pinto what she had discovered. Now that she was sure he was unfaithful she was miserably unhappy, and covering her face with her hands she sat down on a stool and began to rock to and fro. She sat thus, undecided for a long time until a noise from outside startled her. Hastily she rose and went to the window. In the moonlight she saw Robert, and with him was her father and another man. She was so delighted that she threw open the casement and called his name.

The men looked up. Her father waved his hand angrily at her indicating
that she was to move away from the window. She obeyed in great perplexity.

It was only a few minutes before she heard the boards in the corridor outside her room creaking, and her door was opened by Robert, who came quietly in. He was half dressed but she saw that his eyes were shining with excitement. She flung herself at him, sobbing with relief.

“I thought … I thought …”

He put his hand over her mouth. “Quiet … for the love of God, Amy, be quiet. What are you doing out of bed? You’ll wake the whole household.”

“But … I must know … I believed …”

He led her to the bed; he sat down on it and drew the curtains about them.

He was angry and his anger frightened her. “You will ruin everything,” he said.

Even as he said those words they seemed to have a prophetic ring. She
would
ruin everything. Had she not already done much harm? His brother Guildford was married to the Lady Jane Grey; and at this moment, though few knew it, Jane Grey was Queen of England. He looked at Amy, pretty enough with her hair hanging about her shoulders and her wrap falling open to show those plump shoulders; but he had grown up; he had outgrown the simple country charms of Amy Robsart.