Queen of This Realm - Plaidy Jean. Страница 86

Philip Sidney was at Chartley to greet us. What a charming boy! But he did not quite qualify as one of my special men. I could not imagine that he could ever give me the blatant flattery which Oxford, Hatton, Heneage and the rest practiced with such outrageous ease. He had the good looks and the learning, but perhaps he was too learned—and he could never be anything but scrupulously honest, and that was no quality to make a good courtier. Although I respected it, it was not always comforting, and the older I grew, the more I welcomed such reassurance. My hair was growing thinner and must be padded out with false pieces; my face demanded more attention than it had in the past; my skin was still very clear, smooth and pale but must have very special attention. More than ever I needed people around me to tell me I was beautiful, because in my heart I knew I was not… especially when compared with people like the Countess of Essex, an undeniable beauty, and she had something else besides—a sensuality, an air of promise which I had noticed in some women, and which had an immediate appeal to the opposite sex, presumably, I reasoned, because it was obvious that there would be no delaying tactics, no unnecessary preliminaries before the goal was reached. No, Philip Sidney was not, nor ever could be, one of those handsome men I kept fluttering around me, whose duty it was to keep me assured that I was the most beautiful and desirable woman on Earth.

The Essex children were presented to me.

There was Penelope—another such as her mother; she must have been about fourteen but already sexually aware; then there was Dorothy, a charming girl, and after her Robert and Walter.

Young Robert attracted me immediately. Perhaps it was simply because he was another Robert and I had such a fondness for the name. I guessed he was about eight years old, and later his mother told me that he would be nine in November. He was alert; he was bold too; he came to me and touched the aglets on my gown to see if they came off. He raised his eyes to me and smiled rather mischievously, I thought; he told me that his dog had puppies and he would show them to me if I liked.

His mother reminded him that he must show more respect because I was the Queen. At which he took my hand and kissed it in a most courtly manner and raising his saucy eyes to mine, he said: “I like queens.”

Of course he won my heart. Many children did. I often thought that I should have liked children of my own if it were not for the undignified manner of getting them.

Penelope interested me too. She was going to be like her mother—very wayward, difficult to control. She had already formed a friendship with Philip Sidney, and there seemed to be quite an understanding between them.

I talked about them to Robert afterward. Perhaps a match could be arranged for them. “How would you like a member of your family to marry into that of Devereux?” I asked.

“It is a good family. I suppose it would depend on what Henry and Mary thought.”

“Oh come, Robert, they would be prepared to take the advice of their powerful brother.”

“I fancy Philip would have his own way.”

“Yes, indeed. One must be wary of those quiet ones. They have wills of their own, I believe, and I have a fancy that if your handsome nephew wanted to marry Penelope Devereux, he would do so.”

“They are very young.”

“The girl, yes. Philip… not so young. How old is your nephew?”

“He must be twenty… twenty-one…”

“Ready for marriage, and Madam Penelope is fourteen … but a ripe fourteen, would you say?”

“I know little of that.”

I gave him a tap on the hand. “Now, Robert, all know that you are wise in these matters.”

“My attentions are so centered on one that I see little of others.”

It was the remark I wanted to hear, but while I listened and was gratified, my suspicions remained.

“I am very sorry for Lady Essex,” I said maliciously. “She must be a very lonely woman.”

“She appears to be happy in her family.”

“But the head of that family is missing. A woman such as Lady Essex needs to have a man beside her. Devereux is in Ireland. Perhaps he should be brought back or she join him there.”

“There are her children.”

“Children… and without a husband! If he stayed in Ireland that can be a problem. But if he were brought back…He does not appear to be making much of a success in Ireland. I have a fancy that Devereux is a man who would never make a success of anything … saving marriage, of course. Would you say he had made a success of that?”

Robert was clearly uneasy. He must be wondering if I had been listening to gossip.

However, he did seem quite indifferent to Lady Essex and devoted himself to the children. Robert was the sort of man they adored. It was that essential masculinity, that aura of power, that magnificence. His confident way with horses was endearing, for what child does not love horses? I found him once in the stables with young Robert Devereux, talking of horses, showing him tricks, giving him instructions in the art of manege which he himself had mastered from the French. He was telling young Robert how, after the massacre of St Bartholomew's Eve, he had tried to fill his stables with grooms from households where the owners had been massacred.

“But,” he was saying, “these gentlemen have so high an opinion of themselves and demanded such fees for their services that I decided I could do better… and I could instruct my own Englishmen to do as good a job as they did.”

“Of course you could,” agreed young Robert. “Philip says you can do everything better than anyone else.”

“Philip is a loyal nephew.”

“And the French are wicked. Philip was there when the killing started. He told us about it. He was in the Ambassador's house and he heard the bells ringing and saw the people running into the streets. He said that night was a blot on the history of France which will never be forgotten. He said we must always respect the religious views of others.”

“Philip is a good and noble gentleman,” said my Robert with feeling.

They were then aware of me and the elder Robert came swiftly to my side and kissed my hand while the young one looked on.

“When I am grown up,” he said, “perhaps I shall be your Master of Horse.”

Little did I know then what an important part that boy would play in my life. I shall always remember him as the bright young boy he was during my stay at Chartley. I think I began to love him from that moment, which was surprising considering whose son he was.

But in that moment he was merely young Robert Devereux, one of the most enchanting children I had ever met.

I HAD TO ADMIT that the Countess of Essex had entertained us very graciously at Chartley. It was particularly laudable considering that she had the whole burden of the visit. There had been pleasant festivities in the great hall in the evenings, good hunting during the day; and the food was adequate, the ale of the desired quality, and above all the place sweet-smelling. The Countess had given instructions that the rushes be swept out every day. So many people failed to do that and I imagined their noses had become so accustomed to evil smells that they did not notice them. Dorothy Devereux told me that her mother had ordered that wormwood seed be mingled with the rushes for fleas could not live in wormwood.

“My mother knows full well that Your Majesty is the cleanest lady in the land, and she was determined that no flea should sup your royal blood at Chartley.”

That amused me. They were bright, these Devereux children. They took after their mother, I supposed—and certainly not after Walter. Walter was a fool. There was no gainsaying it. It was a mistake to have sent him to Ireland. Cecil had said there was no hope of succeeding in Ireland. It was like trying to fill a bottomless pit. However much was poured into it, it would disappear. The reason was that the Irish were a people given to quarreling, so that if they were met on any point that would simply raise another. It was the quarrel itself which they sought—not the solution; so if one trouble was solved they lost no time in finding another.