It seemed however that Bothwell was indestructible, for he recovered from his sickness. But the confession had been made.

WITH THE COMING OF SUMMER the French ambassador persuaded Elizabeth to allow Mary to visit Buxton once more, and under such pressure Elizabeth agreed.

Mary had been deriving her usual benefit from the Spa and was hoping to spend the whole season at Shrewsbury’s Low Buxton, when an event at the English Court resulted in her stay there being brought to an abrupt end.

Leicester had been complaining to Elizabeth that he was unwell, and Elizabeth had been concerned about the health of her favorite.

She had sent him her own physician and visited him herself to see how he was progressing.

On her arrival a mournful Leicester thanked her for her solicitude and told her that her presence did him more good than anything else.

Gratified always to receive his compliments, she patted his cheek and told him that he must get well quickly, for her Court was the poorer for his absence. There was a sharpness in her eyes, though, for Leicester’s amorous adventures with other women had always annoyed her. She understood that, since she would not marry him herself, she must expect these wanderings; yet she believed that she could call him back to her without the slightest difficulty; and she enjoyed showing her power not only over his mistresses but over Leicester himself.

Then came the shock.

“My doctors have ordered me to drink the waters of Buxton and use the baths for twenty days. They tell me that if I do this—and only if I do—I can expect to recover.”

Buxton! thought Elizabeth. Was not the Queen of Scots at Buxton?

Her eyes were narrowed, her lips tight. One heard such stories of the charm of that woman. What was Leicester after? She was on the point of curtly ordering him to remain where he was but, glancing at him she saw that he did look wan. What if it were true that he needed the Buxton waters?

Seeing that he was waiting with some trepidation for her reaction, she smiled suddenly. “Well, my dear Robert,” she said, “if those Buxton waters are the cure you need, then you must have them. But we shall be loath to see you go so far from us.”

“’Tis but for twenty days, beloved!”

“H’m! If you linger longer, I myself may take a trip to Buxton to see if it is only the waters of which you are in need.”

When Elizabeth left him she sent for a messenger. An order was to be dispatched at once to Shrewsbury at Low Buxton. The Queen of Scots was to be removed to Tutbury Castle without delay.

“TUTBURY!” cried Mary in dismay, staring at the Earl.

“I fear so. The order of Her Majesty.”

“Not Tutbury. Sheffield is uncomfortable enough, but I shall die if I have to return to Tutbury.”

Shrewsbury had no wish to return to Tutbury either.

“I will write immediately to Walsingham,” he said, “and tell him that Tutbury is in such a state of ill repair that it is impossible for my household to live there at this time. But I fear we must leave Buxton.”

“Before my cure is finished!” murmured Mary.

“But you would prefer to go to Sheffield rather than Tutbury, and that is all we can hope for.”

Shrewsbury wrote to Walsingham who, after consulting Elizabeth, replied that the Queen of Scots was to be removed from Buxton and that Shrewsbury should conduct her to Sheffield Castle without delay.

So back to Sheffield went Mary and her guards.

Realizing Elizabeth’s suspicions and having learned that the Queen of Scots had been hustled from Buxton, Leicester thought it advisable to delay his visit to the Spa for a few weeks and explain his motives to the Queen before proceeding there.

Walking with the aid of a stick, he came into the Queen’s presence and managed to look so sickly that Elizabeth, whose feelings for him went deeper than those she felt for anyone else, was alarmed.

“Why Robert,” she said, “you are indeed ill.”

As he took her hand and kissed it she dismissed the women who were with her that she might talk in secret with her Robert.

“I have had disturbed nights since our last meeting, because I feared that I had not been entirely truthful to my adored Queen and mistress.”

“What have you been meddling in now, Robert?”

“I was about to meddle . . . on your behalf, of course. It is true that my doctors advised me to take the Buxton waters, but there is another reason why I wished to go there. Does Your Majesty remember who was there until you sent her away?”

“I remember.”

“My dearest love, I am afraid that where that woman is there will also be intrigue . . . dangerous intrigue which threatens the one whom I live to serve. These plans to marry her to Don Jon are not over. I believe that the greater freedom she is allowed to enjoy at Buxton may be an encouragement to conspirators.”

“And what do you propose to do about that?”

“To go to Buxton. To be the guest of the Shrewsburys. To keep my eyes and ears alert.”

Elizabeth nodded. “Well, Robert, you are one whom I would always trust to serve me well. There are so many bonds binding us.”

Leicester looked into her face and took both her hands. She was remembering how, before she was Queen of England, he had brought her gold and offered himself to fight in her cause should it be necessary to fight. She remembered the early days of her reign when she had believed she would marry him. And she would have done so but for the mysterious death of Amy Robsart. She could never think of that affair without a shudder. It had so nearly destroyed them both. They knew too much of each other not to work together. He might have other motives in wishing to meet the Queen of Scots, but he would never betray Elizabeth while she lived.

Leicester was thinking the same. He admired Elizabeth beyond anyone else on earth. He had good reason to respect her shrewd brain. He would be beside her while she lived; but if she were to die suddenly—a fate which could overtake any—and there was a new ruler on the throne, that ruler could well be the Queen of Scots.

He wished to ingratiate himself with Mary while he worked for Elizabeth. If he could find evidence to bring Mary to the block, he would do so. But if he could not, and if she must live, he wanted her to think of him as her friend. Thus he determined to make sure of a place in the sun in either camp.

“Robert,” cried Elizabeth, “you must go to Buxton. You need those baths. I will give Mary permission to return to Buxton to continue with her cure. I will also write to the Shrewsburys, telling them to expect you, for if you are to spy on Mary you will need to be under the same roof. There! Then you shall come and tell me if all the reports of her beauty are true. I shall want exact details of how she looks and what she wears.”

Robert smiled. He was already composing the compliments he would pay Elizabeth when he returned from his visit to Mary.

When he had left her, Elizabeth wrote to the Earl and Countess of Shrewsbury. They must treat the Earl of Leicester as they would treat her, for all that was done to him was done to herself. “He is another ourself,” she wrote indulgently.

There were still times when she could be indiscreet through love of Leicester.

IT WAS GRATIFYING to be back at Low Buxton. For the first few days Mary indulged in the pleasure which she found in this place; her health improved and there was gaiety in her apartments. She did wonder at the capricious behavior of Elizabeth in whisking her away and then allowing her to return.

Then Bess broke the news that Leicester was coming to Low Buxton.

“He has to take the waters on account of his health,” she said. “It seems strange to me that he should pay his visit while Your Majesty is here. You will have a chance of assessing the charm of this man who, rumor has it, has fathered several children on the Queen.”

Mary looked startled but Bess went on: “Oh, there is none to hear me. And if such a rumor were repeated, Elizabeth would never dare accuse me of uttering it. Such matters are best kept dark.”

“She could take her revenge by accusing you of something else.”

Bess snapped her fingers. She had changed since her stay in the Tower. Her dignity had certainly been ruffled; and there was one other event which had increased her pride; that was the birth of her granddaughter, Arabella Stuart, to Elizabeth and Charles whose marriage had been the cause of her imprisonment. Bess had a granddaughter—her own flesh and blood—who was in the line of succession to the throne; it was something she could not forget. Her Arabella, she thought, though she was wise enough not to give voice to this thought, was more royal than Queen Elizabeth, for the child was undoubtedly legitimate; and could Henry VIII’s marriage to Elizabeth’s mother, Anne Boleyn, be really accepted as legal? Bess believed that little Arabella might well one day be Queen. Why not? She had an indefatigable grandmother to scheme for her.

So, in the presence of Mary, she could snap her fingers at Elizabeth, and she had no compunction in recalling all the scandalous gossip she had ever heard about her.

Leicester arrived in due course at Low Buxton, and on the orders of Elizabeth the Shrewsburys treated him with the respect due to royalty.

When he was brought to Mary, they assessed each other, and Mary was immediately aware of the charm which Elizabeth had found so potent, though it had no effect on her. She was certain that Leicester was an enemy. As for Leicester, he was struck by the beauty of Mary and wistfully thought how pleasant it would have been if the attempt to marry her had been successful.