I knew that Walsingham was working hard to put before me the proofs of Mary's duplicity and intentions to murder me, and to present them in such a manner that I could no longer reasonably delay signing her death warrant.

A few years before, Walsingham had uncovered a plot which was being formulated in Paris. This was no Ridolfi affair—it was far more serious. Powerful forces were involved in it, including the Pope, Philip of Spain and the Guises as well as some leading Catholics in England—among these that pernicious little Jesuit Father Parson who had produced Leicester's Commonwealth.

Only Walsingham's superb spy system revealed what was going on and enabled him to arrest a Catholic gentleman named Francis Throckmorton. Walsingham had had him taken to the Tower where he was put to the rack and under torture confessed that he was involved in a plot with the Guises to invade England and set Mary on the throne.

Mary was concerned in these plots and had actually written to and received letters from the conspirators.

There was no reason, Walsingham pointed out, why she should not be brought to trial for treason. It would be an easy matter to prove that she was guilty and the penalty for treason was death.

Still I could not bring myself to it, and although Throckmorton was executed, Mary lived on.

I could understand Walsingham's exasperation and his determination to bring matters to such a pass that it would be difficult for me in all good sense to turn away from what must be the inevitable conclusion.

I wondered what Mary looked like now. She must be forty-four years of age—younger than I was. There were reports of her illnesses. She suffered cruelly from rheumatism, which was not surprising for some of those castles were not only cold but damp. She would not have had the aids to preserve her good looks which I had had, and although according to the poets she had started life rather specially endowed, I could imagine she was far from the sparkling beauty she had once been.

Still, she had that indefinable sexual allure which apparently had been hers since girlhood. There had been violent quarrels with the Shrewsburys when she had been in their care. I supposed there would always be trouble where a woman like Bess Hardwick was concerned, but Bess had accused Mary and her husband of being lovers, a charge which Shrewsbury had stoutly denied, and I must say, knowing Shrewsbury, I could hardly believe to be true. The Shrewsburys had parted, but I think that was owing more to a quarrel about property than Mary. Shrewsbury seemed greatly relieved to be free both of his wife and the Queen. He mentioned in a letter to the Spanish Ambassador (and Walsingham reported this to me for he made a point of seeing all diplomatic correspondence that went out of the country) that he was overjoyed to be rid of those two devils, his wife and the Queen of Scots, which did not sound to me like the words of a passionate lover.

However, wherever Mary was there was trouble with men, so Shrewsbury was recalled. I sent Sir Ralph Sadler to take charge of her. He was over seventy and would be a stern jailer, so it would be amusing to see if rheumatic-racked, forty-four-year-old Mary Stuart could work her charms on him.

Although I did not know what was happening at the time, I learnt it in detail afterward and I realized that Walsingham could not be expected, after the Throckmorton affair, to allow matters to lie dormant. He was determined for the sake of my safety and the future of England to bring Mary Stuart to the scaffold. In a way I suppose he set up his own plot and this time he was going to make it absolutely foolproof.

He had working for him an able spy called Gilbert Gifford. Gifford was particularly useful because he was a Catholic and had been trained for the priesthood and could move with ease among Catholic communities, sure of their trust.

Walsingham set Gifford to work on a certain Thomas Morgan, a Welsh Catholic who had been involved in the Ridolfi conspiracy. For some reason he had been allowed to escape and had settled in Paris. He was taken into the employ of the Archbishop of Glasgow, who was Mary's Ambassador in Paris. From there he wrote to Mary in cipher and arranged for her letters to be sent to the Pope and to smuggle them to Catholics in England.

When Walsingham brought me news of his activities I agreed with him that it would be advisable to arrest this man and bring him to England where he could be dealt with, but it was not easy.

It was at this time that William Parry was in touch with Morgan. William Parry was a Catholic member of Parliament for Queensborough in Kent. He had always put forward the case for tolerance toward Catholics and I was at heart in agreement with this. I wanted tolerance for any form of worship, but at the same time the burning zeal of the Catholics could bring disaster to a country, particularly if they introduced that Inquisition which had caused as much misery as anything in the world.

When Parliament passed a bill against Jesuits, seminary priests and such like disobedient persons, Parry rose in the House and denounced it as “a measure savouring of treason, full of danger and despair to the English subjects.”

The House was amazed at such rebellion and Parry was arrested. I ordered him to be released for I did not care for men to be imprisoned for their religious opinions, and as long as they did not try to make trouble— which Parry had not—I was in favor of their having their liberty.

Walsingham's men discovered only six weeks after his release that Parry was plotting to murder me when I was riding in the park. He was arrested and executed but before he died he implicated Thomas Morgan in the plot to murder me, so I immediately asked the French to send Morgan to England. This they refused to do; but they did send him to the Bastille in deference to my wishes. But it was evidently not a very rigorous imprisonment and Morgan was allowed to receive visitors. This fact gave Walsingham an idea, and very soon Gifford was paying a friendly call on Morgan, for, as Walsingham said, since all our efforts to get this man extradited had failed, we could turn this to an advantage.

He had already intercepted letters between Morgan and the Queen of Scots, so clearly the French were not serious in their imprisonment of Morgan. Walsingham thought they might be preserving him to use against us, and Gifford as a trusted Catholic could carry letters between Mary and Morgan. Morgan rather naturally fell into the trap so cleverly prepared for him and had absolute faith in Gifford.

This was typical of Walsingham's work. Gifford had been primed and instructed continuously and he played his part well. He returned to England and was soon in touch with all the Catholic factions. He was entertained by them in their country houses; he learned their secrets, all of which were passed on to Walsingham.

Then he went to Chartley where Mary was at the time.

I had memories of Chartley. It was where I had gone after that splendid entertainment at Kenilworth. It had been the she-wolf's home at the time when she was married to Essex. Now of course she had the grander homes of Wanstead, Leicester House and Kenilworth. I ground my teeth with rage when I thought of her enjoying all that splendor.

But back to Gifford. Poor Sir Ralph Sadler had complained so bitterly of his health and his desire to be released from the task of guarding the Queen of Scots that I had at last relented and sent Sir Amyas Paulet in his place. Sir Amyas was a stern Protestant—a puritan in fact. He had been my Ambassador in Paris and Mary was most put out that such a man should be put in charge of her for, while in Paris, he had behaved in a most unfriendly manner toward her agents.

Indeed he had! I thought. He was working for me, the Queen of England, and not for the Queen of Scots! I wrote back to Mary and told her that Sir Amyas had done his duty well while he was in Paris and I was sure that he would to her.