Виктория Холт - My Enemy the Queen

Essex then returned to England. How thoughtless he was! How reckless! When I look back I can see his walking carelessly step by step towards disaster. If only he would have listened to my warnings!

He reached Nonsuch Palace at ten in the morning, an hour when the Queen would be at her toilette. I think he must have been really afraid then. All his boasting about subduing Ireland was proving to be premature. He knew that his enemies at home surrounded the Queen and that they would be eager for his fall. He would let none deter him. He had to see the Queen immediately, before any could attempt to distort the facts and turn her against him. He was the great Essex, and if he wished to see the Queen at any hour he would do so.

How little he understood women!

In spite of my fears for him, I could not help laughing as I visualized that scene. A startled Elizabeth, recently risen from her bed, surrounded only by those women who were allowed to share the very intimate ceremony of her toilette.

A woman of sixty-seven does not want to be seen by a youthful admirer at such times. Essex told me afterwards that he scarcely recognized her. She was robbed of everything but her royalty. Her gray hair hung about her face, and no rouge gave the bloom to her cheeks and the sparkle to her eyes which courtiers were accustomed to see.

And there before her stood Essex—himself muddy from his journey, for he had not stopped to wash or change his clothes.

She was, of course, magnificent, as she would be in any circumstances. She gave no sign that she was not adorned, with painted face, wig, ruff and fine gown. She gave him her hand to kiss and said she would see him later.

He came to me in triumph. She was his to command, he told me. He had burst into her chamber and seen her in a state of undress as, he had already heard it said, no man had seen her before. Yet she had smiled at him most graciously.

"By God, she is an old woman. I did not know how old until I saw her this day."

I shook my head. I knew what she would be thinking. He had seen her in that state. I could picture her demanding a minor, and the misery in her heart when the reflection looked back at her. Perhaps for once she looked at herself as she really was and she could not in that moment, surely, pretend that she was as fresh as the young girl who had romped with Admiral Seymour and who had dallied with Robert Dudley in the Tower. They were gone, and she was left to cling desperately to that image of her youth which Essex had shattered that morning at Nonsuch. I did not believe she would easily forget that.

I begged him to go very carefully, but when she saw him again she was very gracious.

At dinner he was joined by his friends, among them both Mountjoy and Lord Rich, for neither of these two, in their friendship for Essex, bore any resentment towards each other—one being Essex's sister's lover, the other her husband. Raleigh, I heard, dined apart from them with his friends such as Lord Grey and the Earl of Shrewsbury—formidable enemies.

Later that day Essex was summoned to the Queen, who was no longer friendly. She was annoyed that he had left Ireland without her permission and she said his conduct there had been treasonable.

He was bewildered. She had seemed kind enough to him and had been gracious when he had burst into her bedchamber. Poor Essex, sometimes I think he was the most obtuse man I ever knew. Though it is true enough that many men can be said to be so concerning the working of the female mind.

I could picture that interview. She would be seeing not the glittering figure who at that time was reflected in the mirror of the Presence Chamber, but a haggard old woman, not long risen from her bed, stripped of her adornments, her gray hair hanging about her face. Essex had seen that and she could not forgive him for it.

He was told he must remain in his chamber. He was a prisoner.

Mountjoy came to me in great dismay to report that Essex had been judged guilty of disobeying the Queen. He had left Ireland against her wishes and had boldly forced his way into her bedchamber. The Queen could not tolerate such conduct. He was to be sent to York House and there he would remain until the Queen decided what should be done.

"The Court is going to Richmond," said Mountjoy. "I cannot understand it. She seems not to care for him any more. She has turned against him."

My heart sank with foreboding. My beloved son had gone too far at last. Yet I could understand her. She could no longer bear near her a man who had seen her as the old woman she was. I had always known that she was the vainest woman in her kingdom and that she lived in a dream where she was as beautiful as her sycophantic courtiers proclaimed her to be.

Essex had disobeyed her. He had made havoc of the Irish campaign. All that could have been forgiven. But having torn the mask of disbelief from her eyes, having looked on that which no man was intended to see, he had committed the unforgivable sin.

We were anxious about him. He was very sick. The dysentery which had attacked him in Ireland—and which those who did not believe Leicester had killed his father were sure had been the end of him—persisted. He could not eat; he could not sleep. We had this news from those who attended him, for we were not allowed to go to him.

Christopher returned in great haste to England. He came to me at once and I was glad to see him safe. But there could be no great joy in our reunion for both of us could feel very little but fear for Essex.

We were all terrified that he would be sent to the Tower.

Mountjoy was constantly at Leicester House. I knew that Essex had been, for some time, in correspondence with the King of Scotland, and Mountjoy and Penelope with him, to assure that monarch that they were in favor of his inheriting the throne on the death of the Queen. I had always felt this correspondence to be dangerous, for if the letters had fallen into the hands of the Queen she and others would have construed them as treason. Leicester would never have been so careless. I thought of those occasions when he had found himself in risky situations and how dexterously he had always made sure to cover his tracks. If only my son would listen to me; if only he would profit from what I had to tell him! But what was the use? It was not his nature to listen, nor would he have practiced caution if he had.

Now Mountjoy was making plans for Essex to escape from York House and go to France. Southampton, on whose account Essex had incurred the Queen's wrath, declared he would go with him.

Essex, however, scornfully—and wisely for once—refused to run away.

Poor Frances was in great distress. She wanted to be with him but he would not have her. In desperation she went to Court to sue for the Queen's clemency.

Essex's wife, who was disliked by the Queen, though not as fiercely as I was, of course, was the last person who should have attempted to plead with her, although certainly I, his mother, would have been even more unwelcome. But of course these young people didn't know Elizabeth as I did. They would have laughed to scorn my certainty that Essex's present disgrace was in some measure due to the fact that he had burst into her bedchamber and seen her unadorned.

Frances was naturally sent away with orders not to come to Court again.

My son's case was tried at the Star Chamber. The accusation was that he had, at great cost, been given the forces he had demanded; he had disobeyed instructions and returned to England without permission; he had entered into conference with the traitor Tyrone and made terms which were not fit to be listened to.

This was the fall of Essex. A few days later his household was broken up and his servants told to look elsewhere for masters whom they could serve. He had become so ill that we despaired of his life.