However, Alenon did not hesitate to betray his allies when the plot was discovered and they went to the scaffold.

In the midst of this Charles died. Anjou was proclaimed Henri III while Alenon took the title of Anjou as the new King's younger brother.

Denied the crown of France, Alenon—now Anjou—again turned his eyes back to England. I was amused for the situation was becoming really intriguing. I remembered that the new King had at one time been a suitor of mine and I wondered if he might renew the courtship now that he was King of France.

There was a certain irritation at home. I had suffered so much from the pretensions of Mary Stuart that I was especially sensitive about the actions of those claiming to have royal blood. Therefore I was much disconcerted when I heard of the marriage between Elizabeth Cavendish and Charles Lennox. These two young people had the most scheming mothers in the country. Charles was the son of the Countess of Lennox, Darnley's mother; she had already shown her ambition through her eldest son. And now she had married the younger, Charles, to the daughter of the Countess of Shrewsbury. I knew that lady very well. She was called Bess of Hardwick, being the daughter of John Hardwick in Derbyshire. She had only been married to Shrewsbury for a short time, but she had quickly shown that foolish man who was the master of the household. She had had three husbands—all wealthy—and had seen each of them out of this life after they had left her with their worldly goods. Bess had made sure of that.

Perhaps it had been wrong to put Mary Stuart into the charge of the Shrewsburys, but I had felt that Bess of Hardwick would make sure that a firm hand was kept on Mary and prevent her from trying her wiles on Shrewsbury, which was what I imagine she did with some of her jailers. None of them seemed entirely immune.

However what had resulted instead was a match—aided and abetted by Mary Stuart I gathered—and now Charles Stuart was married to Bess of Hardwick's daughter, and these ambitious ladies were already looking forward to offspring who would have a claim to the throne.

I flew into a rage when I heard this and Cecil had a hard task restraining me. “They have been intriguing at Sheffield Castle,” I cried. “Imagine them! The three witches! Getting their heads together… Mary Stuart urging them on, reminding them of the Stuart pretensions to the throne. I shall throw the three witches and the happy married pair into the Tower.”

“Your Majesty could hardly imprison Mary Stuart for approving of the match.”

For a few minutes I would not listen to Cecil and, knowing me, he let me rage on.

“To bring the Queen of Scots to the Tower would be dangerous,” he continued eventually. “There might be an attempt to rescue her on the way there; and the cause would scarcely be considered just. She would become a martyr and you well know the people's feelings for such.”

Of course he was right.

But those women had arranged this marriage without my permission.

“Ah, there we have a point,” said Cecil. “Charles, being of royal Stuart blood, should have asked permission before marrying, and failing to do this has broken the law.”

That was good enough. Very soon I had those two energetic countesses in the Tower.

But all this was very disturbing, bringing home to me again the uneasiness of royalty, particularly that of a House which many must still believe had come to the throne not through the straight line of succession. There had been three generations of sovereign Tudors by now, but can one ever be completely safe? Even my father had had to make sure that those who might lay claim by blood to the throne were put out of the way.

That set me brooding on Mary Stuart. There would never be real peace in my life while she lived.

A further cause for annoyance was that, on his way home from Poland to France, Henri III had met and fallen in love with Louise of Lorraine whom he insisted on marrying. What was particularly galling was that La Mothe, I discovered later, had been instructed to keep the news from me as long as possible. I always felt piqued when a one-time suitor married. I wanted them to be like Robert and go on sighing for the impossible forever.

I pretended that my anger was because Henri had married a member of the House of Guise, which had always been my enemy and with whom Mary Stuart had close connections, her mother being one of them.

Then I heard that Catherine de' Medici and her Court had been amused by the action of dwarfs who had been dressed up to look like my father and myself and the Earl of Leicester. I could imagine what ribaldry had been intended; and I saw no reason for not giving expression to my indignation. I let La Mothe know of it, pointing out to him that if the courtiers of France wished to make fun of any they might first start in their own Court.

However, Catherine was still anxious to preserve good relations. She must still have hopes for the newly created Duc d'Anjou, for she sent placating letters. I was assured that the dwarfs who had taken part in the masquerade were all very pretty and the scene had much charm and had been carried out with the impeccable taste due to persons of distinction. If any offense had been taken, it must have been because of my Ambassador's imperfect knowledge of the French language.

I did not believe it, and I continued to show my displeasure.

All the same, negotiations for a marriage with my little French Prince were not broken off.

ROBERT HAD LAVISHED A GREAT DEAL OF TIME AND MONEY on the Castle of Kenilworth, which had come to him with his title, and he often talked about the place, telling me how much he longed to entertain me there.

Why should I not visit his beloved mansion? I asked myself. I was constantly taking tours through the country. I liked the people to see me and I wished to be assured of their regard.

So in the summer I set out with my entourage. We made a rather impressive cavalcade passing through the countryside for we took not only trunks of clothes but household furnishings as well. I liked my bath to be taken along, for some of the houses were very primitive, and I am sure many of the inhabitants of them never dreamt of taking a bath. They had to be careful of their personal cleanliness when I was around though. I made sure of that. I liked them to know well in advance that I was coming so that they could look to the sweetening of their houses, for there was little I loathed as much as evil-smelling places and verminous rushes.

I was in good spirits when we set out, thinking of Robert whose company I should soon be enjoying, and imagining the lavish spectacles he would be devising for my pleasure.

Before we reached Itchingworth we were met by a party of riders, and I was delighted when I saw who rode at the head of them. I recognized him from a distance. No one sat a horse quite like Robert; no one had his air of distinction and mystery; it was a particularly delightful encounter because I had not been expecting it, imagining that Robert would have so much to prepare at Kenilworth that he would need to be on hand, waiting to greet me when I arrived.

“Why,” I cried out as he rode up, dismounted and knelt in that wonderfully courtly fashion which none could practice as he did, “if it is not my Lord Leicester! We did not expect you here, my lord.”

“My impatience to see Your Majesty was so great that I could wait no longer.”

“And you were sure of your welcome, I'll be bound.”

He was standing up now, so tall, so distinguished, my heart leaped with pleasure at the sight of him, as it always did after an absence.

“All is well at Kenilworth?” I asked.

“As well as it can be without Your Majesty's presence, but that I trust will soon be remedied; and then Kenilworth will be the happiest house in the world.”