A Favorite of the Queen: The Story of Lord Robert Dudley and Elizabeth 1 (13 page)

“My lord,” she answered softly, “I forget not your kindness to me.”

She was conducted to the apartments prepared for her—the most heavily guarded in the Tower; and as her weeping ladies gathered about her, she felt her courage return.

So it had come—that which she had so often dreaded. Her thoughts were not of the trials which lay ahead but of her conduct during her journey to this place. Had any seen that when they had brought her through the Traitor’s Gate she had almost swooned? She fervently hoped that none had witnessed that display of fear.

Now she felt so calm that she was able to soothe her women. “What happens now is in the hands of God,” she consoled them. “And if they
should send me to the block, I will have no English axe to sever my head from my body; I shall insist on a sword from France.”

They knew then that she was remembering her mother, and they wept more wildly; but she sat erect, her tawny head high, while she calmly looked into a future which might bring her a crown or a sword from France.

R
obert was pacing up and down his cell. He
had been excited since that rainy Palm Sunday when he had heard, from the warder who brought his meals, that there was a most distinguished prisoner not very far from him.

How long had he to live? he wondered. Young Guildford had gone, alas! It was a sobering thought. Guildford and he had spent so much of their lives together. Father … Guildford … Who next?

When the threat of death hung over a man for so long, there were times when he forgot about it. It was some months since he had walked from the Guildhall back to the Tower, aware of the axe with its edge turned toward him. When his cell door had been locked upon him and he was alone with those two servants, whom, because of his rank, he was allowed to have with him, he had felt nothing but bleak and utter despair; he had almost longed to be summoned for that last walk. But such as Robert Dudley did not despair for long. He had been born lucky. Was he not Fortune’s darling? Had she not shielded him when she had made him commit the seemingly foolhardly act of marrying Amy? If he had not done so, it would have been Robert, not Guildford, who had walked to the scaffold to be beheaded with the Lady Jane Grey, since his father would most certainly have married him to that most tragic young lady. The more he thought of it, the more convinced he became that he was preserved for some glorious destiny.

It was Easter time, always a season for hope.

The warder came in to bring his food, and with him he brought his small son. The little boy, not quite four years old, begged that he might accompany his father when he visited Lord Robert. The child would stand gravely surveying the prisoner, and although he said nothing, his eyes scarcely left Robert’s face.

Robert was amused. He could see in the child’s eyes the same admiration and sympathy which had shone in those of the women who had stood in the street to watch him on his journey from Guildhall to the Tower.

He bowed to the boy and said: “I am honored by your visit.”

The child smiled and hung his head.

“My lord,” said his father, “he asks always if I am going to visit you, and if I am he implores to come too.”

“I repeat,” said Robert, “I am honored.”

And with a display of charm which was natural with him, he lifted the child in his arms so that their faces were on a level.

“And what think you of what you see, my little one?” he asked. “Take a good look at this head, for the opportunity to do so may not long be yours. One day, my child, you will come to this cell and find another poor prisoner.”

The little boy’s lips began to quiver.

“And this poor head which you survey with such flattering attention will no longer have a pair of shoulders to support it.”

The warder whispered: “My lord, my lord, he understands your meaning. He will break his little heart. He sets such store by your lordship.”

Robert was immediately serious. He kissed the boy lightly on the cheek.

“Tears?” he said. “Nay, we do not shed tears. Do you think that I shall allow them to harm me? Never!”

The child smiled now. “Never!” he repeated.

Robert lowered him to the ground. “A bonny boy,” he said. “I look forward to his visits. I hope he will come again.”

“He shall, my lord. Always he pleads: ‘I want to see Lord Robert!’ Is that not so, my son?”

The boy nodded.

“And great pleasure it gives me to see you,” said Robert smiling.

“He has another friend in the Tower, my lord.”

“Ha! I grow jealous.”

“It is a lady Princess,” said the boy.

Robert was alert, eager to hear more.

“It is the Princess Elizabeth, my lord,” put in the warder. “Poor lady! It is sad for her … though they have allowed her a little freedom. She is allowed to walk in the small garden to take the air.”

“Would I could walk in a small garden now and then,” said Robert.

“Ah, my lord, yes indeed. They were at first strict with the Princess, keeping her closely guarded. But my lord of Sussex and the Lieutenant have put their heads together and have decided to give her this freedom.”

“It would seem that they are wise men.”

“How so, my lord?”

“They remember that the Princess may well be Queen one day. She would not look too kindly on those who had, during her imprisonment, shown her something less than kindness.”

The warder looked uneasy. He did not like this reckless talk. It was all very well for Lord Robert, who had little to lose since he was under sentence of death, but a humble warder to be caught listening to such talk concerning the Queen’s enemies!

He took the boy by the hand but Robert said: “And so my little friend visits the Princess in her garden, eh?”

“Oh yes. Her Grace is fond of children. She encourages them to talk to her; and young Will is almost as devoted to the lady as he is to your lordship.”

Robert swung the boy up into his arms once more. “It would seem, Master William,” he said, “that you are a gentleman of much discernment.”

The boy laughed aloud to find himself swung aloft, but Robert was thoughtful as he lowered him to the floor.

The next day
when the warder came, the boy was again with him; this time he brought a nosegay—flowers which he had picked from the patch of ground outside his father’s apartments within the prison precincts. Primroses, violets, and wallflowers made a sweet-smelling bunch.

The boy handed them shyly to Robert.

“Why,” cried Robert, “this is the pleasantest thing that has happened to me for a long time. I need a bowl in which to put them, for they will quickly fade if I do not. A small bowl of water. Could you procure such a bowl for me?”

“I will bring one next time I come,” said the warder.

“Nay, that will not do. I’d not have my friend’s flowers fade. Go, like a good fellow, bring me a bowl and leave your son with me that I may thank him for his gift.” He picked up the boy. “You will stay with me … locked in my cell for a little while, will you not? You are not afraid to stay with me?”

The boy said: “I wish to stay with my lord.”

The warder looked fondly at his son and, seeing that to be locked in the cell with Lord Robert would delight him, agreed to go and bring the bowl. He went out, carefully locking the door behind him.

As soon as he had gone, Robert, who still held the boy in his arms, whispered into his ear: “You are my friend. You would do something for me?”

The boy was all eagerness.

“Bring me some flowers tomorrow?”

“Yes, my lord … bigger, better flowers tomorrow.”

“And when you bring me more flowers, I shall take these which you have brought today, out of the bowl and give them to you.”

“But they are for you.”

“I would that you should take them to a lady.” The boy’s eyes were alert. “ To the Princess,” whispered Robert. “But you must tell no one … no one at all … not even your father. It must be thought that I give you a present of flowers, and so you in return give me one. No one must know that you are going to take a present from me to the Princess.”

The boy was puzzled, but he was concentrating with all his might. His one desire was to do what his hero wished.

“Remember! It is a great secret. No one must know. In the bunch of flowers I give you, there will be a letter. You must be careful that you do not drop it. And if no one is near when you give the flowers to the Princess you might say: ‘I bring these from Lord Robert!’ Could you say that?”

The boy nodded. “I bring these from Lord Robert,” he said.

“Then you will do this for me? Tomorrow … bring more flowers for me. I shall give you these which you brought today. It is a game we are playing because we are such friends. It is a present from me to the Princess … but a secret present, and none knows of it but my little ambassador. Do you understand?”

“Yes, my lord.”

Robert put his fingers to his lips and the boy nodded gleefully.

“And can you do this for me, my clever little friend?”

The boy nodded.

“Not a word,” said Robert. “Here comes your father. Remember. It is our secret—yours, mine, and the Princess’s.”

When the warder had returned, Robert marveled at his own fool-hardiness. What a reckless thing to do! For himself it was unimportant; he was under sentence of death. But what if he had involved the Princess in further trouble? He had trusted her life perhaps in the hands of a small boy.

But, he soothed himself, there was no political intrigue in this; he was not plotting rebellion or escape.

Moreover the plot was so simple. It could not fail. He sat down and wrote:

He hid the note in the posy, binding it fast; and eagerly he awaited the next day, wondering, as he had through the night, whether the child had been unable to keep the secret or if he would remember to bring fresh flowers on the next day.

As soon as the boy entered the cell with his father, this time bearing a
larger bunch of flowers, Robert saw from the brightness of the boy’s eyes and the tightly pressed lips that he had not forgotten.

“You bring me a present,” said Robert. “Now I shall give you one.” He took the new bunch and pressed the old one into the child’s hands. Their eyes met and the boy’s were brimming over with excitement.

“God bless you,” said Robert.

“God bless my lord,” said the boy.

“I envy you this fine boy,” said Robert to the warder. “I … who have no sons … nor daughters either, for that matter.”

He thought with exasperation of Amy, waiting for him in the manor house which was their home—Amy who had saved him from marriage with the Lady Jane Grey and who now stood between him and he knew not what.

“Ah, he’s a bonny fellow,” said the father. “And he has brothers and sisters.”

“You are a lucky man.”

The warder shook his head, thinking of the splendors of the Dudleys which had ended so tragically and abruptly.

The little boy wandered out, tightly clutching the bunch of flowers.

A change had
come over the Princess Elizabeth. There was fresh color in her cheeks, renewed sparkle in her eyes. It was obvious that she looked forward to her walks in the Tower garden.

She would smile and kiss the warder’s little boy who so often brought her flowers. She would pick him up in her arms and whisper to him, walking with him among the flower beds. Her attendants and the guards said: “She is very fond of children.” And it was touching to see the eager way in which she took the flowers which the child brought to her.

She had thrown off her melancholy. It was difficult to believe that her life was in danger and that none was more aware of that dismal fact than herself.