wish to witness this meeting between himself and Douglass.
She was pale and trembling.
He smiled kindly at her and, laying his hand on her shoulder, said: “You must not be afraid, Douglass. As you know, I have long both loved and liked you. I have always found that earnest and faithful affection in you which has bound me greatly to you. Douglass, that still exists, does it not?”
“It does,” she answered.
“But I made clear, did I not, on my first coming to you, in what sort my good will should and must always remain to you? It seemed to me that you were fully disposed to accept this.”
“It was before the child was born,” she said.
“But I had made my meaning clear ere that time. Had I not told you that I was not free to marry, that if I did and the Queen should hear of it, I were undone, disgraced, and cast out of favor forever?”
“Yes, but that was before the child came … and we were married.”
“It was no true marriage, Douglass. It was entered into for the sake of your peace of mind. You have no claim on me, but I will give you seven hundred pounds a year if you will disclaim that false ceremony and forget that it happened.”
“I could not do it.”
“You must,” he insisted.
“I must think of my son. Shall he face the world as a bastard?”
“We must all face the world as we are, my dear. Have no fear as to his future. I will watch him as carefully and with as much love and affection as though he were my legitimate son.”
“I cannot. I cannot. I believe he is your legitimate son. He is your heir.”
“Think over what I have said. Take the money I offer. Accept my good services for your son; for if you do not, what good can come to yourself and to him? I should never see you again and you would have no money from me. But take this income; admit there was no marriage; and all will go well with you and with him.”
She shook her head and began to weep as he took his leave of her.
Douglass lay on her bed. Her women stood round her. She had long lain staring at the tester, and those about her feared for her sanity.
One of her maids, who had been with her since she was a child, had wept bitterly when she had witnessed her mistress’s infatuation for the Earl of Leicester.
Now this good servant dismissed the women and sat by her mistress’s bed, quietly watching her; and when she saw that the tears had started to flow down Douglass’s cheeks she came nearer and said quietly: “Dearest mistress, do as he asks. It is the only way. Remember Amy Robsart … and remember what has recently befallen a gentleman in Ireland.”
Douglass did not answer her but asked that her child be brought to her.
The boy knelt on the bed and asked her why she was so sad; but she merely shook her head and said: “It will pass.”
“I know of one who could make you happy,” he said. “I will find him and bring him to you.”
Wearily she shook her head.
“But you are always happy when the great Earl comes to see you … and so am I!”
She looked at him sadly and, drawing him to her, she kissed him.
“You and I will be happy together, my darling,” she said at last.
But she seemed to hear a voice warning her: “Be wise. Remember Amy Robsart!”
Robert and Lettice were married at Kenilworth that summer. They were reckless, both of them; yet they strove to keep their secret from the Queen.
Lettice’s family heard what had happened, and insisted that the ceremony be repeated under their auspices at their house in Wanstead. They were not going to see their daughter in the position of poor Douglass Howard.
The Knollys family had been greatly disturbed when they heard of their daughter’s infatuation, and at the lengths to which it had carried her and the Earl. No one in the kingdom believed Robert guiltless of the murder of his first wife, and now the name of Essex was added to his victims. Rumors concerning him had multiplied, and yet, oddly enough, the news of the marriage had so far not reached the Queen.
But when Lettice’s family had assured themselves that Robert could not repudiate the marriage even if he wished to do so, and when they considered his power and his