by Jean Plaidy
“And now my lady wants more.”
“Yes, Jennet, I want more. I no longer want to be married to Essex. And if he were dead, I shouldn’t be. And he is dying, Jennet. Soon I shall be free.”
Frances curtsied before the King.
James smiled at her kindly, though vaguely. That was as well for she could not keep her attention on him because beside him stood his favorite, the Viscount Rochester.
“Well, my dear,” James was saying, “we rejoice with you. A terrible tragedy has been averted. I am told that the worst of the fever is past. You must be a very happy woman.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” murmured Frances, and she thought: Happy! I must be the most unhappy woman at your Court.
Robert Carr’s benign smile, a replica of the King’s, only added to her unhappiness. It seemed as though he too were pleased because Essex was recovering from his fever, and that the good which could come to them through the death of Essex had not occurred to him.
She was in despair.
It would have been better if Essex had never caught the fever. Then she would not have glimpsed that glorious possibility; but that it should have come so near only to be snatched away was intolerable.
“And now we are going to lose you, Lady Essex,” went on the King. “I have talked with your husband and he tells me that as soon as he is quite recovered he is going to take you away from us.”
Speak, Robert! she wanted to cry. Tell him that I must not go.
“We shall miss Lady Essex, eh, Robbie?”
“We shall miss her, Your Majesty.”
“Well, my dear, your bonny smile will cheer old Chartley instead of Whitehall. Chartley needs your cheerful presence. It was one of the prisons in which they kept my mother. I think she did not hate it as much as some. You will come to Court again, I doubt not.”
Frances must pass on. She knew what was behind James’s words. This was a command to stop being a recalcitrant wife and obey her husband. She supposed that her father had told the King that she was refusing to leave Court with her husband.
James had spoken and there could be no disobeying the wish of the King.
Never would she forget that dreary journey to Chartley. They rode side by side, not speaking, two young people, their faces set into lines of determination—his to subdue her, hers never to be subdued.
She had ridden to Lambeth before she started on this journey north. It was her only comfort to remember what had taken place there.
“The spirits were not strong enough,” Dr. Forman had told her. “There were other forces at work against us. It takes time to bring about such a conclusion as we wish for. A little more time and the fever would have proved fatal.”
She had changed in the last weeks. Previously she had been a spoiled girl, anxious to have everything that she desired; she had not thought of death when she planned to rid herself of Essex. She only wanted him to go away and leave her in peace.
But he was so stubborn; and she had changed. She was now a woman who might not hesitate to kill if she had the opportunity.
Secreted about her person were certain powders which had been given her by Dr. Forman. Some were to be put in her husband’s food; others to be sprinkled on his clothing.
If she obeyed his instructions it should not be long before she achieved her heart’s desire.
She believed in Dr. Forman, but as she rode farther north her spirits quailed.
Every mile lengthened the distance between her and the Court, between her and Robert Carr. And was he thinking of her while she was absent? He had never loved her with the violence with which she had loved him. And now that she was away from him, suppose others sought to lure him from her with potions and philtres? They might easily do it while she was not there to fight them.
So she was melancholy and would have been even more so but for the thought of Dr. Forman and Mrs. Turner in London who would, they had assured her, continue to work for her, even though she was far away.
She saw her new home—a castle on an eminence in a fertile plain. She looked with distaste at the circular keep, at the round towers.
Chartley Castle—her prison.
DEATH OF A PRINCE
Robert Carr was relieved to see Frances leave the Court. He was more attracted by her than he had ever been by a woman before, and when he had said that, were there no impediments, he would have willingly married her, he was speaking the truth.
He would have liked to have a son to whom he could leave his fortune and give his name; and Frances had everything that he could look for in a wife—rank, wealth, an influential family and greater physical attraction than any other woman he knew.
But because she was so vehement in character, because she was already married to a very noble gentleman, he preferred to forget about her.
He was becoming more and more involved in the King’s affairs. It was amazing what a difference Thomas Overbury had made to his life. Not only did Tom deal with his correspondence, but he had a way of explaining difficult matters so that they were clear to Robert; he could also advise and make suggestions which Robert passed on to the King, to James’s delight.
There was no doubt that Tom was a brilliant man, and he was in his element, working in the background, knowing that he was having an influence on the affairs of the country. Whenever Robert was in any difficulty he went to Tom and explained it, and there was a firm bond of friendship between the two men.
Robert showered gifts on his friend. At first Tom protested. “What I do for you, Robert, I do out of friendship.” “What I give you, Tom, I give out of friendship,” replied Robert.
But when Tom began to see how his suggestions were accepted and Robert received the credit for them, he asked himself why he shouldn’t be rewarded. After all he earned everything he received. It was Robert who took the honors, and the King’s gifts, so why should Tom hesitate to pick up the crumbs which fell from the rich man’s table? He earned them.
His attitude changed slightly. He was as devoted to Robert as ever; but he was beginning to look on him as his creature, a puppet, who danced to his tune.
It was an intoxicating thought that he, Tom Overbury, son of an obscure knight of Bourton-on-the-Hill in Gloucestershire, who had come to Court without any relations to help him along to fame and fortune, should now be an adviser to the King—for that was what he was, even though the King and others did not know it.
Well, he was happy to help a good friend; and his pleasure was to see Robert rise higher and higher in the King’s favor, for the higher Robert soared, the higher went Tom Overbury.
It was Tom who understood that the man who was deliberately trying to impede Robert’s rise was the Earl of Salisbury.
Robert Cecil, first Earl of Salisbury, was the greatest politician of his day. James had inherited him from Elizabeth, and shrewdly understood that this was a man who would work steadily for the good of the country, thrusting aside all thought of self-aggrandizement.
Salisbury disliked the influence the King’s favorites held over him; he would have liked to sweep the Court free of them all, and there might have been a personal feeling in this, for the favorites were noted for that personal charm which Salisbury sadly lacked. He was very small, being only a little over five feet in height; he suffered from curvature of the spine which had affected the set of his neck, and earned for him the epithet Dwarf. Both Elizabeth and James had found nicknames for those about them, and Elizabeth had affectionately called him her Little Elf. James’s name for him was less charming. He was Pigmy to him; and he often called him his Little Beagle to his face.
Again and again when James had sought to bestow some post on Robert Carr, Salisbury had pointed out the inadvisability of the action and James had to concede that he was right. The Little Beagle was too clever to be ignored; therefore although Robert Carr had become more firmly established in the King’s affection than ever, he still had not attained the posts and honors which could have been his.
Overbury
was too clever to believe that at this time he and his friend could set themselves against the Little Beagle; but he did not see why Carr should not in time, when he, Overbury, had a greater grip of affairs, oust this rival from his place; and Overbury believed that eventually the leading statesman of Britain would not be Robert Cecil, Earl of Salisbury, but Robert Carr, Viscount Rochester.
The battle between Salisbury and Carr must at some time come to a head, and this seemed about to happen when the King needed money and asked the Parliament for it. When Parliament refused this, and hinted that if the King was in financial difficulties the first step toward easing the position might be to dismiss his Scottish favorites on whom he lavished a great deal, Robert was alarmed, because he knew that as the leading favorite, this suggestion was aimed primarily at him.
He went into conference at once with Overbury who shared his alarm, and reminded him that, as the King’s favorite, he had too many enemies in high places; and he would do well to remember that the King’s old Secretary of State, Lord Salisbury, was the first of these.
“You will have to tread cautiously, Robert,” said Tom. “Otherwise Salisbury will get his way. It would be the end of everything if you were sent back across the Border.”
“I’m afraid of Salisbury.”
“Who would not be? He’s a brilliant statesman and James knows that. Oh, how I wish I were there when you talk to the King. You must make him understand that he should not give way to the Parliament. Otherwise they’ll have the upper hand and they’ll strike against you.”
“But even if the King dissolves Parliament that won’t get him the money he wants.”
Overbury was silent for a moment; then he said: “There could be ways of raising money without the help of Parliament. James believes in the Divine Right of Kings so he would not be averse to trying them out.”
“What ways are these?”
Overbury pondered for a moment or so and then said: “Well, for one thing, there are many rich men about the Court who lack a good family background. They would give a great deal to possess titles. Why shouldn’t the King sell titles? I should imagine that would bring him quite a pleasant sum.”
“Why, that’s a brilliant idea,” cried Robert. “I’ll tell James at once.”
“Don’t rush in with it. Let it come out casually, as though you’ve thought of it on the spur of the moment.”
“I will, Tom. My dear, clever fellow. What should I do without you?”
The King’s ministers were beginning to think that Carr was a good deal more shrewd than they had suspected. The King had dissolved Parliament when it was rumored that that body was about to demand the return of certain Scotsmen to their own country. The position would have been extremely awkward for Robert Carr and James if Parliament had ordered the favorite’s eviction.
It was a shock to the King’s ministers because they had believed that, owing to his dire need of funds, he would not be able to do without their help. Moreover, only the judicious Salisbury prevailed on the King not to send the more troublesome of the ministers to the Tower.
Then it was understood why James could afford to do without his Parliament. He had a new idea which, it was said, had been put forward by Carr.
Any man of means who would like to become a baronet might do so if he would present a little over a thousand pounds to the royal exchequer.
From all over the country this offer was taken up. In rolled the money; and if there were a large number of baronets, what did the King care.
He was delighted with his clever Robbie who could concoct such plans to bring his old Dad and Gossip what he needed.
James was terrified.
He summoned Robert to him, and when he came bade him lock the doors of the apartment.
“I smell treason in this,” he declared.
“My dear Majesty, I pray you calm yourself,” begged Robert.
“I canna help feeling that this is another of their dastardly plots, boy. Have ye heard what has happened?”
“The Lady Arabella has escaped from Barnet.”
“Aye, lad. Escaped and on the high seas. I’ve ordered that a boat be sent after her from Dover. But if she reaches France and hides there, how can we guess what black mischief she’ll be at … she and that traitor of hers, Will Seymour?”
“Your Majesty, I feel sure that she will not be allowed to reach France. We shall capture her and bring her back.”
“Ye’re a great comforter, boy. But this is how the plots begin. I dream about them, Robbie. I dream they’re stacking gunpowder in the cellars again; and that those who wish me out of the way, as the Ruthvens once did, will be putting their heads together. I’ve had luck so far, Rob. It wouldn’t be logical to expect it to go on.”
James was thinking of the ministers of his own Parliament who had recently spoken against him. What were they planning? Wouldn’t they seize an opportunity to rally to Arabella; even if the girl did not wish to start a war, they’d make her; she would be a good figurehead. And who could say how ambitious Will Seymour was?
It was a mistake perhaps to have taken her from Sir Thomas Parry with whom he had lodged her when she had disobeyed him by her marriage. She must have been desperate when she heard that she was to go to Durham to be in the care of the Bishop there. She had fretted and her health had suffered so that on the way north she had seemed to become seriously ill and had had to rest at Barnet. Now James saw that that was very likely a trick.
She must have had friends who helped her; she could never have escaped if she had not. Where would she have found French-fashioned hose, and a man’s doublet? They must have been found for her; and she, while he believed her to be sick, had dressed herself in these, added a man’s peruke, a black hat and cloak—not forgetting a sword—and had, in the company of some of her friends, slipped away. She had reached the Thames, where she boarded a waiting vessel and was taken to a French ship which was lying in readiness for her.
This was not all. At the same time William Seymour, also wearing a peruke and a false beard, had walked out of his prison in the Tower down to the river where a boat was waiting for him.
How could this have been done, demanded James, if the pair of them had not possessed friends to help them?
“But mark ye this,” added the King. “Luck has not gone with them all the way, for I am informed that by the time Will Seymour made his escape, the French ship had already left with the Lady Arabella, fearing to wait longer. Where Seymour is we do not know, but we’ll find him. And when these birds are once more my captives, there shall be such a cage made for them that they will never fly away again.”
James’s fears were soon diminished. Before her ship touched the shores of France it was overtaken by its swift pursuer, and Lady Arabella was brought back to England.
“Take the Lady to the Tower,” said James. “And this time make sure that she is well guarded. And what of Will Seymour?”
There was no news of Will Seymour for some weeks; and then the rumor came to the Court that he had safely reached France and was sheltering there.
James was uneasy. He would have many a nightmare about that young man. It was good that Arabella was in safe custody, but plots would go on doubtless while Seymour was free.
In her cell Lady Arabella wept bitterly for the ill fortune which was hers. She did not wish to wear the crown of England; she only wanted to live in peace with her husband.
She prayed that he might stay safe in France and that at some time she would be able to join him.
Ready to catch at every hope, she thought of Robert Carr who had seemed to her a kindly man, and had so great an influence with the King.
She took up her pen and wrote to him, imploring him to plead her cause with the King; she begged him to consider her sorry plight, and signed herself the most sorrowful creature living.
Robert was distressed when he read the letter. He had only a casual acquaintance with the Lady Arabella but he had always believed her to be a gentle, harmles
s lady.
He wanted to plead for her with the King, but first he discussed the matter with Tom Overbury.
“There is nothing you can do,” his friend told him. “Why even I, to whom the King has scarcely spoken, know how he fears plots. He is in terror of the assassin’s knife or the hidden gunpowder. No, Robert, don’t be a fool. Your strength lies in your ability to make the King feel comfortable. He wouldn’t if you pleaded for Arabella. You may think you can risk offending James. Don’t be too sure of that, Robert. Always remember that there are other handsome men waiting to spring into your place. Say nothing of this.”
As usual Robert took his friend’s advice. So Lady Arabella continued to languish in the Tower—a melancholy prisoner who had committed no crime—except of course that of belonging to a branch of the royal family. All she asked was to be able to live quietly with her husband, somewhere in the country if need be, well away from Court intrigue.
Alas, for Arabella.
In the upper chamber of the Bloody Tower, Sir Walter was showing Prince Henry plans for a journey he was hoping to make.
Rarely had Henry seen Raleigh looking so well; and he thought: If he could only regain his freedom he would be as full of vigor as he ever was.
“Do you know,” he was saying, “I really believe this time I shall not be disappointed. I said: Let me serve as a guide in this expedition and if I do not lead the way to a mountain of gold and silver, let the commander have commission, to cut off my head there and then.”
“You seem very sure of finding treasure, Walter.”
Raleigh laughed. “Ah, my Prince. It will be a gamble.”
“You’d gamble your head!”
“And day, for my freedom.”
