by Jean Plaidy
James called on the Queen, knowing that it would be a pleasant call at such a time. He found her in the center of a bustle, ordering her women to do this and that; almost hysterical, he thought, in her excitement.
“Well, my dear,” said James, “one would think this was all in honor of you.”
She turned to him, her eyes shining and for a moment he felt old sentiments stirring; she looked like the young girl whom he had crossed the seas to woo. It occurred to him that he had grown old and Anne had stayed young. He did not envy her. Poor creature, he thought, she has the mind of a child.
“It is to honor me,” she cried. “When I see my beautiful one given these honors, they will be mine too.”
“You love the boy,” said James with a smile, “and so do I, for all that he sets himself against me.”
Anne looked petulant. “Henry would never set himself against Your Majesty if—”
“If I acted in a manner which would win his approval? He is but sixteen, wife. I’m a little more than that. Much as I should like to please you—and him—I must still make my own decisions. But enough of that. Tell me of this masque. Is Jonson giving us some fine poetry, eh? I like that man’s work. And Daniel’s too. And what of Inigo?”
“You will see all in good time,” Anne told him. “And I have a surprise for you. He is very excited about it. I do hope he won’t be too excited. After all it is but a short time since—”
“Charles?”
She pouted. “There, you have guessed and ’twill be no surprise.”
“Dinna fret. I’ll store the little matter at the back of my mind and be astonished when I see him. It gives me pleasure every time I set eyes on that boy.”
Anne’s petulance disappeared and her face was almost beautiful in her maternal love. “It is a miracle,” she said. “I cannot thank Lady Carey enough. She has given so much to him.”
“We’ll not forget her for it.”
“She has been rewarded, but her greatest reward is to look at him. I could not have done more myself. She gave him the confidence, the tenderness, the love. Oh James, I love that woman, although she usurped my place. I should have been the one.”
James patted her hand. “But ye’re too much of a mother to be jealous of her. What matters it? The task was done. And I’m to see young Charles dance at his brother’s ceremony, eh?”
“But it was to be a secret, James!”
“Oh, aye, I mind that. There’ll be no one more astounded to see Charlie dance than the King of England.”
Prince Henry, who had his own private establishment at Richmond, came by state barge to Westminster.
It was a glorious May day and the river was as smooth as silk. Lady-smocks and cuckoo flowers decorated the banks and there was pink apple blossom in the orchards of those gardens which ran down to the water. Henry was no longer a boy, being sixteen; old enough to be given the first title under the King: Prince of Wales.
His mind was filled with ideals as he sailed down the river on that day; the spires and steeples of the capital touched him with emotion. One day he would be ruler of this land; and he was determined to make it great. He would devote himself to the task of kingship. He would be zealous, yet modest. He would choose his ministers with care; he would dismiss men such as Northampton, whom he suspected of working for Spain, and Suffolk and his wife who he knew used their positions to enrich themselves; there would be no room at Court for men such as Robert Carr. On the other hand his first task would be to release his dear friend Sir Walter Raleigh from the Tower. Such men who had proved their worth should be his premier advisers. England would be a different country under him. And today, this solemn ceremony would be the first step toward the change. Life could not stand still. He was young yet, but this day he would cease to be a boy and become a man of consequence to his country.
On some of the attendant barges sweet music was being played; the Lord Mayor and authorities of the City accompanied him; and the river was crowded with smaller craft, for on such an occasion all those who possessed a boat must be out to pay homage to the young man who they believed would one day be their King.
Arriving at Westminster, the Prince’s barge drew up at that jetty known as the Queen’s Bridge. It had been erected by Edward the Confessor and led to Anne’s apartments in Westminster Palace. Henry bowed and smiled to the applause of the people, and when he eventually reached his mother’s privy chamber she was waiting to embrace him with tears of pride in her eyes.
“My beloved son,” she cried, “this is in truth the happiest day of my life.”
It was a few days later when Henry was introduced by his father to the Houses of Parliament which were assembled to see the heir to the throne created Prince of Wales.
As soon as this solemn ceremony was over it was the signal for the pageantry to begin; and in one of the rooms of the Palace several young women were chattering excitedly as they awaited their cue to take their places.
These were reckoned to be the loveliest of the Court ladies and it had been decided that each should represent a river of England. Among them was one, much younger than the others and more vivacious; this was the fourteen-year-old Countess of Essex.
Frances had plagued her parents until they allowed her to come to Court; though fourteen, she reminded them she was a married woman and, having glimpsed something of the excitements of Court life, she would be driven mad by melancholy if she were forced to spend many more days in the country.
Her father, the Earl of Suffolk, was indulgent. Poor Frances, she was much too gay to be expected to sulk in the country. Let her come. His wife was agreeable. She herself had matured early and believed this would be the case with Frances. The child was safely married, even though her marriage had not been consummated and her husband was far from home. Let her come to Court.
Thus the nymph of the River Lea took her place among the others, and secretly she was delighted because she knew that she could attract attention even among such beauties.
She studied them dispassionately. Were they such beauties? There was the Lady Arabella Stuart—a very important lady, it was true. But she’s quite ancient! thought Frances. She must be thirty-five. Thirty-five and unmarried! Poor Arabella Stuart, whom the King watched constantly and did not like much because of her nearness to the throne. There had been plots involving her, and James would never allow her to have a husband.
I wouldn’t change places with Arabella Stuart, royal though she may be, thought Frances. Arabella on this occasion was the nymph of the Trent. She was preoccupied, and Frances had heard it whispered that she was in love with William Seymour and determined not to lose him, in spite of the fact that the King would certainly forbid the match.
Frances shrugged aside the affairs of that ancient one. Those of Frances Howard were—or soon would be—far more interesting.
There was no one so beautiful as she was. Certainly not Elizabeth Grey—the nymph of the Medway because she was the daughter of the Earl of Kent—nor the Countess of Arundel—nymph of Arun. There was one though who was attracting most attention, and that was the Princess Elizabeth, who represented the Thames.
But that is only because she is the King’s daughter, Frances told herself scornfully.
The Lady Anne Clifford had noticed Frances pirouetting this way and that and came over to her smiling.
“It is your first Court occasion,” she said.
“How did you know.”
“You are so excited.”
Frances clasped her hands. “Is it not wonderful to be at Court?”
Anne laughed and said: “Take care. You are too young to come to Court.”
“I am fourteen.”
“So young? I had thought you a little older.”
Frances was delighted. “It is such a handicap to seem a child!”
“You must be watchful. There are people at Court who would be ready to take advantage of one so young.”
“What people?”
“Men.”
Several of the ladies laughed, and agreed that there was something about the nymph of Lea to suggest that she would take care of herself.
In the great hall beautiful scenery had been set up; there were to be several scenes, and the first represented Milford Haven and the arrival of Henry VII. Songs, written by the poets especially for the occasion, were sung, extolling the beauties of the rivers; and all the nymphs were mentioned in turn as they took their places in the dance.
Frances was intoxicated with happiness.
“The beauteous nymph of crystal streaming Lea …” sang the musicians and for one moment everyone in that great hall was looking toward Frances Howard.
Too soon the charm of Anne Clifford, the nymph of Aire, was being acclaimed, but the words about the nymph of Lea went on and on in Frances’s mind.
As she danced with the others after the fashion which they had practiced together, she tried to get as near as possible to that spot where the Prince sat beside his father.
He too had become older since she had last seen him; he was no longer a boy.
He had noticed her, she was sure of it. Every time she took a sly look at him, he was watching.
This is the happiest moment of my life … so far, Frances told herself.
Anne, the Queen, assured those surrounding her that it was the happiest of hers, for now the nymphs had stood aside and little Zephyr had appeared. His green satin robe was decorated with gold flowers, and wings made of silver lawn were attached to his back. A wreath of flowers had been placed on his flowing hair and Anne’s eyes sought the valuable diamond bracelet which she had put on his little arm when she went to see him being dressed.
With him were his naiads, lovely children with their hair hanging loose, garlanded like Zephyr, dressed in pale blue tunics decorated with silver flowers.
The children made a charming sight, particularly as they danced so skillfully to the music which had been written for the occasion.
Applause broke out and there was a whisper of astonishment, for Zephyr, who now danced so elegantly, was none other than the ten-year-old little Prince Charles who, a few years ago, had been unable to walk and in danger of having his legs put into iron supports.
Lady Carey who was standing near the Queen, was weeping, although she did not seem to be aware of it; Anne reached out and taking her hand, pressed it.
“Your Majesty …” whispered Lady Carey.
But Anne put her fingers to her lips and whispered: “Well done. I shall never forget.”
The scene of Milford Haven had been withdrawn and another even more striking was presented to view. Waterfalls were visible about a grotto, and in this grotto was a throne on which sat Tethys, daughter of Uranus and wife of Oceanus. This was none other than Queen Anne herself, who was always delighted to play a part in the pageantry. For days she had thought of little but the costume she would wear, and it was truly striking. On her head was a helmet in the shape of a shell; it was decorated with coral and a veil of silver floated from it. Her gown was blue silk, traced with silver seaweed; and her magnificent blue and silver train was draped about her throne.
Seated at her feet were the river nymphs. Frances had placed herself in the most prominent position, and every now and then threw a glance in Prince Henry’s direction, for, she told herself, was it not all in honor of him, and should not every river nymph among them seek to please him?
The poem which was being recited explained what was happening.
Little Zephyr would now take presents from Tethys and present them to those for whom they were intended.
Gracefully he walked to the Queen, who handed him the trident she carried and whispered to him. Charles carried it to his father and bowed. James took it awkwardly; and Charles returned to his mother once more and received the sword, which was encrusted with precious gems and was said to be worth four thousand pounds, and a scarf which the Queen herself had embroidered. These were for her beloved son who was now the Prince of Wales.
The assembly applauded enthusiastically and little Charles held up his hand as he had been taught to do, to remind them that this was not all; he then returned to his mother and kneeling, implored her in a high, sweet voice, with only the slightest stammer, to come down from her throne and dance, for the Court’s enjoyment, with her river nymphs.
The Queen pretended to consider this while Charles, beckoning to his little naiads, took the floor and once more danced with his charming companions.
Then the Queen rose and the girls who had been ranged about her in the grotto fell into place about her. She led the way and they danced the stately quadrille which they had practiced together for many days.
Anne in her shell-helmet and her blue and silver gown looked ecstatic. She was completely happy. It seemed to her on that day that she had all that she desired. She herself the center of the dance; James looking on, a little bored but tolerant, understanding that it was necessary from time to time to have such pageants; her beloved eldest, now the Prince of Wales; her daughter a charming, docile girl; her youngest, over whose state she had shed many tears, now a normal boy, promising to be as handsome as his brother.
Oh, thought Anne, that this day might last forever!
Robert Carr, who was seated with the King, found his attention wandering from the dancing. He was turning over in his mind something which James had said to him recently. Why did he not find himself a clever scribe?
Easier said than done. Where could Robert find such a man? But how inviting was the suggestion. The King’s secretary! One of the most important of posts—particularly if a man enjoyed the King’s favor. It was only his lack of ability which was keeping him from reaching the top of his ambition. James was ready to bestow on him anything he wished; but how could even James give him a post which all those about him would know he was inadequate to fulfill?
A scribe? He needed more than a scribe. He needed someone on whom he could absolutely rely, someone who would be prepared to work for him in secret, someone who knew how to use words and had a sharp and clever brain. But surely such a person would want to seek honors for himself. Not if he had little hope of doing so. Moreover, how could an ambitious man hope to rise more easily than by doing service to Robert Carr, who could direct the King’s attention toward him?
Like James he was a little bored with the Queen and her dancing girls.
Then it was almost as though a prayer had been answered, for while the Queen and the River Nymphs were dancing their quadrille he caught sight of a man whom he had known a few years earlier and had not seen for some time.
They had been great friends. Thomas Overbury was a clever fellow, a poet, a graduate of Oxford; a very pleasant young man. Older than Robert, he would be about twenty-nine. What had been happening to Tom Overbury since they last met?
His fortunes had certainly not risen as Robert’s had. He was at the pageant, not exactly as a member of the Court but from somewhere on the fringe. He had been rather fond of Robert, amused at his lack of scholarship while, like the King, he recognized a shrewd brain and intelligence.
As soon as he could make an opportunity he would seek out Tom Overbury.
An opportunity came during the ball that followed the pageant.
The King, unwillingly, must partner the Queen in opening the ball, and Robert had his opportunity to slip away.
As he pushed his way through the crowds, he was met by ingratiating smiles.
“Sir Robert, I have a request to make—”
“Sir Robert, I humbly ask—”
To all he said: “Come and see me tomorrow. At this moment I am engaged on the King’s business.”
Unsure of himself, it was his policy never to make an enemy, however humble. That might have been one of the reasons why he remained first favorite for so long. James liked a man to be easy going and not stir up trouble.
He took Overbury by the elbow and said: “
My friend, it is good to see you.”
Thomas Overbury’s thin clever face lit up with pleasure.
“Why, Robert,” he said, “it’s good to hear such an important man call me friend.”
Robert laughed; it was his habit to feign a modesty he did not feel. “Important?” he said. “Poor Robert Carr, whom you used to marvel at because he could just manage to spell his own name.”
“Life is more than a matter of spelling, it seems. Any scholar can spell. There’s a surfeit of scholars and only one Robert Carr.”
“I want to speak with you in private … for the sake of our old friendship.”
“Give the word, and I am at your command.”
“Now.”
“I am ready.”
“Then follow me. We must be quick, for the King will expect me to be at his side.”
Carr led the way to a small ante-room and, when they were there, he shut the door.
“Now, Tom,” said Carr, “tell me when you returned.”
“But a few weeks ago.”
“From the Low Countries, was it?”
Overbury nodded. “Whither, you will remember, I retired from Court in some disgrace.”
“I do remember.” Robert burst out laughing.
Overbury lifted his finger. “Do not expect me to join in your laughter, Robert. Remember it was laughter that led me into disgrace.”
They were both thinking of those days which immediately followed the accident in the tiltyard. Good-natured Robert had sought to help his old friend, and it had seemed that Thomas Overbury would bask in the sunshine of Robert’s success. The Queen, disliking Robert, disliked his friends; and although she could not harm Robert, he being so warmly protected by his benefactor, the same thing did not apply to his friends.
On one occasion Thomas Overbury—who had recently been given a knighthood at Robert’s request—had been walking in the gardens at Greenwich with Robert when Anne had noticed them from a window. She had remarked: “There goes Carr and his governor.” Neither Robert nor Overbury had heard the comment but, just at that moment, Overbury had laughed aloud at something his friend had said. Incensed, certain that he was laughing at her, Anne had declared she would not be insulted and had given orders that Overbury be sent to the Tower.
