I was beginning to believe that Cecil was right and governing Ireland was a thankless task; that was why it was best to send such as Devereux out there. The place abounded with traitors and dull as he was, Devereux could be trusted. He had, however, made some terrible mistakes. He had invited some of the chieftains to a banquet on one occasion and in the middle of the feast soldiers had entered the hall, seized the chiefs and murdered their attendants. There was no justification for this and Devereux's excuse had been that he had broken the faction which was working against him and made them all afraid of him.

There was no alternative after that incident but to recall him from Ireland.

He came to see me, full of excuses. I gave him credit for his loyalty; on the other hand he was no brilliant statesman. I was certain that Lettice must find him dull company.

Let her contend with his dullness. She had married him and he was the father of those four enchanting children.

I said to him: “There has been no happy result from the Irish question, but I daresay that is no easy matter to settle. You need a rest. I'll swear you are longing to be with your beautiful wife and children. I was at Chartley recently and I found the place delightful. Make sure there are no black cows born on your land, Lord Essex.”

He was gratified by my interest and I could not help comparing him with Robert who was present at the meeting. How splendid he looked in that dark red velvet, a color becoming to his handsome dark looks! I liked the new Italian-style doublet with the long peak in front. It was set with rubies, and there was a white feather in his red velvet hat, and his loose traveling coat was of the same rich-colored material. What a fine figure of a man! And how insignificant Walter Devereux looked beside him!

Walter thanked me and said he would be glad to return to his family for a while, until I found some task for him which he trusted would be ere long as his one wish was to serve me.

I laughed to think of Lettice receiving him. I was sure she would be somewhat nonplussed. There were a great many rumors about her and a love affair she was having with a certain nobleman. Nobody mentioned the name of the nobleman in my presence, so I knew it was Robert.

I shrugged my shoulders. As long as he and Madame Lettice realized that he could be with her only when I did not wish him to be with me, I would accept what was going on. In fact I would enjoy showing Lettice that Robert was only at her service if I did not need him.

I became more and more certain of this when one of Robert's men brought up the suggestion that Essex should be sent back to Ireland.

I was amused. Get him out of the way again, I supposed. Leave the coast clear for Lettice and Robert.

Cecil, however, thought it might be a good idea for Essex to go back. He was loyal; he was not very bright, of course, but if he were given clear instructions he would not be a man to go against them.

As a result it was decided that Essex should indeed return with increased authority and to stress this he was given the title of Earl Marshal of Ireland.

He left in July. That was a year after our visit to Kenilworth. By September he was dead. He had died of a virulent attack of dysentery.

I felt a quivering of alarm. Dysentery was a disease suffered by many, which often proved fatal. Whenever it occurred there were suggestions of poisoning. Thus the sudden death of a man of thirty-five, who had been in excellent health when he left England, coupled with the recent scandals about his wife, gave rise to fresh rumors.

It was reported that a black cow had been born on the Chartley estate. Whether it was true or not I did not know; but there was a great deal of speculation.

Henry Sidney came to me and said that in view of the suddenness of Essex's death there should be an autopsy. I agreed but I must say I was terrified of what might be found and whom it might involve. Robert had been on the perimeter of too many mysteries: Amy Robsart, Lord Sheffield and now Walter Devereux.

I heard that Walter had died bravely, although he had suffered intense pain. He had written to me in his extreme agony and begged me to favor his eldest son. He also wrote along the same lines to Cecil.

I was very relieved when the post-mortem revealed that there was no trace of poison in him. I wished that I could stop thinking that there were some poisons which left no trace, and that Robert's own physician, Dr Julio, was an Italian who had a masterly knowledge as to the effects certain concoctions could have on the body.

However, the case was closed. Walter Devereux was dead and that little boy, Robert, who had made such an impression on me at Chartley, had become the Earl of Essex.

MY POOR BURGHLEY RAN INTO A LITTLE FAMILY TROUBLE at this time. He had been rather flattered, I think, when Edward de Vere had married his daughter. It had seemed such a grand match. But Edward de Vere was a young man of very uncertain temperament and that he had too high an opinion of himself I had always known. He had been a favorite of mine—not the highest rank, but quite near it, for he was very handsome and such a good dancer; and he amused me. I had been delighted for him to marry Burghley's daughter, for I never ceased to be grateful and to appreciate the worth of my dear Spirit.

I sometimes believed, as I have mentioned before, that Oxford married Anne Cecil because he thought it would help to free his first cousin Norfolk, who was under sentence of death for his part in the Ridolfi plot, and when he did not succeed he was furious and vowed vengeance on Burghley.

Anne Cecil was giving birth while Oxford was abroad and out of revenge on Burghley, Oxford questioned his own paternity which was a great blow, not only to Anne, who was quite innocent, poor girl—but to my virtuous and strict-living Protestant Spirit.

Anne was heartbroken, Burghley was bewildered and he came to me at once to tell me the whole story. I tried to comfort him. Oxford was a wild and unpredictable young man, I told him.

When Oxford came back from his foreign travels, he presented himself to me. He had brought me some wonderful presents and these were all permeated with a delicious scent. There were elegant leather gloves which I found most acceptable and I said he must discover the name of the perfume, the like of which I had never smelt before, for I would have more of it. This he vowed to do and he was so charming in his manners that I could not believe he was really circulating lies about Burghley's daughter.

When I mentioned to him my displeasure in this he turned white with anger and told me that he would not take his wife back, nor would he own the child she had borne. I replied that to my knowledge Anne Cecil was a virtuous girl and I did not care for my good Burghley to be so disturbed as he was over this matter, and I insisted that Oxford should immediately reveal what evidence he had for making these accusations.

He replied that he would not blazon it forth until it pleased him to do so. As for the trouble the matter was causing Burghley, he preferred his own content to that of others.

I said: “I know that well.” And I tried to dismiss the matter from my mind.

I disliked trouble between those who were dear to me and although Oxford did not have the place in my affections that Burghley did, I was sorry that there should be this trouble.

Anne Cecil had gone back to her father and Burghley found a great deal of pleasure in his grandchild.

Anne did after a little while go back to Oxford, and there were three more children. I used to hear of them from Burghley who took the little ones into his household, Oxford having no talent for parenthood but Burghley being a family man. I liked to hear him tell me anecdotes of his grandchildren and at least some joy had come to him through his daughter's marriage to the unreliable Oxford.