Then Elizabeth Tudor took a deep breath and said in a tight, controlled voice, “Get up, Essex.” When he had risen, she continued, “I forgive you, for someone had to tell me, and I had as lief it was you. Now leave me, all of you!” Then, turning, she moved swiftly back into her private closet.
“Come along.” Bess Throckmorton hurried them all from the Maiden’s Chamber, but not swiftly enough, for they all heard the sound of Elizabeth Tudor’s bitter weeping. Shock coursed through them for never in the memory of anyone present had the queen been heard to cry.
It was said that though Elizabeth was sorry about the Earl of Leicester’s death, no one else was. The court was too worried over their sovereign’s grief, however, to stop and mourn even had they had the desire to do so. The queen locked herself in her rooms for some days, weeping until her eyes were virtually swollen shut and vastly irritated by the salt from her tears. Food was brought in upon trays only to be taken out barely touched as the ladies-in-waiting and the Maids of Honor huddled, whispering worriedly, with the queen’s councillors in the palace corridors.
Finally, when several days had passed, and the queen was still prostrate with her grief, Lord Burghley’s concern for Elizabeth Tudor overcame his respect for the privacy of the woman he had served for more than thirty years. Pounding on her bedchamber door, he shouted, “Madame, you must cease your grieving now! I understand your sorrow, but it will not bring my lord of Leicester back to life again, and it would pain him to know that you neglect your duties in this way!”
“He would love every minute of her grief,” muttered Ralegh irreverently.
Lord Burghley sent Sir Walter a fierce look, effectively silencing him. “Madame, I beg you,” William Cecil continued.
“You must give up your sorrow now. We need you. England needs you!”
There was no sound from within the queen’s closet now, and after a few moments Lord Burghley took it upon himself to order the door broken down. It was the smashing of the wood that finally brought the queen to her senses. Rising from her bed, she admitted her ladies into the room. She was queen of England, and there was no further time for sorrow. She would have to face the rest of her days without hersweet Robin.
Her grief was stirred afresh however, several weeks later when the Earl of Leicester’s will was read. In it he wrote:
First of all, and above all persons, it is my duty to remember my most dear and gracious Princess, whose creature under God I have been and who hath been a most bountiful and princely mistress to me.
The queen was then presented with a rope of six hundred pearls from which hung three great bright green emeralds and a large diamond set amidst them. Dudley had left the necklace to Elizabeth, his parting gift to her. A single bright tear rolled down the queen’s face before she firmly recovered herself.
When Leicester’s widow, Lettice Knollys, quickly remarried Sir Christopher Blount, the queen sued the Dudley estate for all of the thousands of pounds he owed the crown. She would have forgiven the debt but for her cousin Lettice’s lack of respect for Leicester’s memory. Now she would rather impoverish Lettice than see the money go to the Blounts.
Robert Devereux, the Earl of Essex, was mortified by his mother’s lack of respect for her late spouse. There were times, he thought, when Lettice could be an embarrassing liability, and this hasty marriage to a man young enough to be her son was certainly one of those times. Besides, he had come to like his stepfather.
He grumbled about it to Velvet one afternoon as they stole a few moments from their duties, seated together in a secluded, windowed alcove. “Blount, of all people, Velvet! What in God’s name does she see in him?”
“He’s very handsome,” Velvet ventured.
“Handsome!” Essex was forced to laugh. “That’s just the sort of answer I would expect from an inexperienced girl.”
“I am not inexperienced!” Velvet huffed.
Essex chuckled and slipped a bold arm about her waist. “You’re certainly not experienced, Mistress de Marisco,” he teased her fondly, and then stole a lingering kiss.
“Fie, sir!” she scolded him breathlessly, but she dimpled and colored becomingly, totally unaware of how very lovely she was at that moment, of how she glowed, flattered by his attention.
It would have added greatly to her pleasure to know that across the room, unobserved by the pair, Alexander Gordon seethed with impotent rage. He could not hear what they said, but it mattered not, for it was obvious that Velvet was flirting shamelessly with the Earl of Essex, and Alex could do nothing about it.
The court that autumn was a dull place, for the queen would hold no revels nor allow any gaiety until the official thanksgiving for the Armada victory, which was to be held on November 17. Nonetheless, the younger members of the court managed to find their way to the beer gardens, the theaters, and the autumnal fairs during the afternoons when the queen was less apt to notice their absence.
Alexander Gordon kept up his seemingly ardent pursuit of Lady de Boult. One warm autumn afternoon Velvet came upon the couple in an arbor by the river. The sight of his hand down her well-filled bodice enraged Velvet.
“Lecher!” she shrieked at him as Mary de Boult looked stunned, caught between the two of them. “So you court her to make me jealous and to bring me to heel, do you? Liar! Liar! Liar! You could not possibly have known that I would choose to walk at this hour along this path! You but use our estrangement as an excuse to pursue any bitch who is willing to lift her tail for you!” Then she slapped him with all her might and, turning on her heel, stalked angrily away.
“Madame!”His voice roared after her, and when she did not stop, he leaped the space between them and, grasping her arm, spun her about.
“Unhand me, lecher!” she snapped, “else I’ll tell the queen of your behavior with this woman!” She tried to pull away from him, but his fingers tightened cruelly about her flesh.
“You’re jealous,” he said flatly.
“Never!”She shouted the hollow denial.
“Aye, you’re jealous, Velvet, and I’ve been jealous, too, each time I’ve seen you cuddling with my lord Essex.” His grip loosened enough to pull her toward him, while his other hand tipped her face up toward his. “Come, sweetheart, enough of this warring between us. We have both been wrong. Now let us make peace and begin afresh. Your parents will be home in the springtime, and we will celebrate our marriage then. Let us spend the winter learning to love one another.” He bent to kiss her, but Velvet turned her face from his.
By this time Mary de Boult had recovered her surprise and, glaring at them, demanded to know, “Are you to marry this, this chit, my lord Gordon? How dare you lead me on, then! I have never been so insulted in my entire life!”
“Nor as amply rewarded for your infidelity!” snapped Velvet. “If you feel so abused, my lady, then I suggest you complain to your husband!”
