The Murder in the Tower: The Story of Frances, Countess of Essex

by Jean Plaidy

  In Sir Ralph Winwood’s opinion it was his duty therefore to work against the favorite.

  He knew that the Queen was a secret Catholic, and this shocked him deeply. It was time a good Protestant had some control of affairs.

  He deplored the King’s preoccupation with handsome young men. How much better a ruler he would be if he surrounded himself with serious men—men of experience rather than beauty.

  Still, it might be that Somerset would not always hold his present position; and the fact that Sir Ralph Winwood had become Secretary of State was a step in the right direction.

  Within the Court there was growing friction. The proposed Spanish marriage of the heir to the throne must necessarily be a cause of contention; and now that Somerset was joined by marriage to the Howards, theirs was by far the most powerful party in the country. Northampton, at its head, was a secret Catholic; as for the King, he had known that Northampton took bribes from Spain and yet had done nothing to deprive him of his power. The rulers of England seemed to be Somerset, Northampton and Somerset’s father-in-law, the Earl of Suffolk.

  The fact that the Queen had become a Catholic made further confusion, for she had always felt a deep resentment toward Somerset and often referred to the death of her son Henry and the suspicions which had been rife at the time concerning Somerset and Overbury.

  Somerset’s and Howard’s party; the Queen’s party; the Protestants such as Sir Ralph Winwood; those in favor of a Spanish match for Prince Charles; those in favor of a French one; they were all warring together; and this dissension resulted in insults which led to duels.

  James was distracted and turned more and more to Robert for solace; never had Robert been so powerful and never had so many longed to see him fall.

  It was at this time that the King and certain members of the Court made a journey to Cambridge; and because the Earl of Suffolk was the Chancellor of the University there, the arrangements for the entertainment of the royal party were left in his hands. It was an indication of how bold the Howards had become that Suffolk declined to invite the Queen.

  Anne was angry, apart from the fact that she loved pageantry of any kind, for she saw in this an insult; and as usual she blamed Robert Carr, although he had had no hand in it.

  “Let him wait,” she said. “I will have my revenge for this.”

  There were, in fact, very few ladies present in Cambridge during the King’s stay there, apart from those belonging to the Howard family.

  Frances was a member of the party, and as she rode out from London her spirits were lifted; she was putting a distance between herself and such places as Lambeth and Hammersmith; Robert was beside her, the devoted husband, who was always solicitous for her health and comfort; she was determined to be gay and enjoy that position for which she had so long fought.

  Her father, Suffolk, being the host, was lodged in St. John’s College, but Lady Suffolk, with Frances and other female members of the family, were to stay at Magdalen, while James and Charles—with Robert—were at Trinity.

  The men of the University were determined to provide entertainments for the royal party; the whole town was en fête, eager to do homage to the visitors, and banquets were given in St. John’s College and Trinity; but because this was a University town, there was an endeavor to keep the entertainment on an intellectual level.

  One day the company assembled to see a play called Ignoramus which was being presented for the pleasure of the King and his friends.

  In the play was a youth so handsome, so full of vitality that whenever he was present he attracted the attention of everyone. It was rare that anyone possessed such good looks; there was only one other man at the Court who was so outstandingly handsome; and that was Robert Carr.

  The King leaned forward in his chair and watched the play with more interest than it deserved. Or was it the play he watched?

  He turned to one of his gentlemen and said: “Tell me, what is the name of yon lad?”

  It was impossible to answer the question for the youth was so obscure that his name was not widely known.

  “Find out and tell me,” commanded James.

  The gentleman of whom he had asked the question hurried off and a few minutes later returned.

  “His name is George Villiers, Your Majesty.”

  “George Villiers,” repeated James, slowly as though he wished to memorize it.

  Many people noted the incident, some with apprehension, others with glee.

  Could it mean anything? Could it be made to mean anything?

  Perhaps not, for the King did not ask that George Villiers be brought to him; and when he left the Clare Hall, where the piece had been played, he leaned very affectionately on the arm of Robert Carr.

  On returning from Cambridge, Lord Pembroke, who had noticed the King’s passing interest in young George Villiers, went to see the Queen.

  Anne had always been friendly with Pembroke and when he asked for an audience, it was readily granted.

  Pembroke found her playing with her frisky miniature greyhounds, which she held by a crimson cord; the ornamental collars about their necks, embossed in gold with the letters A.R., branded them as royal dogs.

  “Ah, my lord,” she said. “I trust I see you well. You are recently come from the Cambridge revels, I believe.”

  She pouted with annoyance; she had not been invited to the revels. Rarely had a Queen of the realm been so insulted. But what could one expect when the King gave his attention to handsome young men; and the worst of them all was Robert Carr, who she would always believe had had a hand in the death of her darling son.

  She was ready to weep at the thought, and anger shone from her usually mild eyes.

  “I came at once to Your Majesty, because I knew you would wish to hear of the revels.”

  “I’ll swear you were surrounded by Howards.”

  “Your Majesty is right. There were scarcely any women present but Howard women.”

  “And Lady Somerset?”

  “Flaunting her beauty as usual.”

  “I never liked her. They make a good pair.”

  “Your Majesty, there was a play.”

  “A play. Was it good? They know how I love plays and pageants. Do you not think, my lord, that Suffolk should be reprimanded for so insulting me? Not to ask the Queen! Has any Queen ever been treated thus before, think you?”

  “Your Majesty’s good friends were alert in her interests.”

  “And what saw they? What heard they?”

  “In the play, Your Majesty, there was a very handsome young man.”

  “Another?”

  “This one was every bit as handsome as Somerset, I swear it.”

  “And the pretty’s nose was out of joint?”

  “I do not think he noticed, Your Majesty. He has become so sure of himself.”

  “He is too sure, my lord. He will discover that one day.”

  “Perhaps sooner than he believes possible, Your Majesty?”

  “What did you discover, my lord?”

  “The King asked his name.”

  Anne nodded.

  “Moreover,” went on Pembroke, “he insisted on its being supplied to him.”

  “And the name?”

  “George Villiers.”

  “I’ve never heard of it.”

  “Your Majesty, it occurred to me as I watched the play that you might conceivably hear a great deal of that name.”

  “What plans are you hatching, Pembroke?”

  “If we could replace Somerset with our man …”

  Anne’s eyes were gleaming. What a glorious revenge that would be on Somerset!

  “And you think it possible?” she asked quickly. “You know how he dotes on that man.”

  “I think that with grooming we might do something. This boy Villiers struck me as being one of the few who might in time oust Somerset from his place.”

  “Is he so handsome?”

  “He reminds me of that head of St. Stephen—the Italian
model, Your Majesty will remember.”

  “Here in Whitehall—I know it well. Is he as beautiful as that?”

  “I think Your Majesty will agree with me that he is when you see him.”

  “What do you propose to do?”

  “Bring him to Court, train him in the way he should go and, when the time is ripe, persuade Your Majesty to present him to the King.”

  Anne started to laugh. She picked up one of the dogs and held it against her neck.

  “Replace one pretty by another!” she said. “Well, providing my lord Somerset loses his arrogance, that will please me. Keep an eye on this Villiers, my lord; and bring him to me. I should like to see him for myself.”

  After the visit to Cambridge, Frances felt a little better; it always did her good to get away from London, for in London there was too much to remind her. It was hardly likely that she would be followed to Cambridge by some impecunious person who would assure her of all he or she had done to help the Countess to her present state. So at Cambridge she had tried to forget her fears and had joined with her mother and sisters in the gaiety of the occasion; and feeling so much better she began to review her situation with less nervousness. Why should she be afraid of these people who were after all so humble! If she could tell Robert, their importunings could be stopped tomorrow; but of course she could not tell Robert.

  But there was one whom she could tell; her great-uncle Northampton. He would understand, old rogue that he was; and he would tell her what to do.

  Having returned to London she decided to visit her great-uncle in his house at Charing Cross.

  When she arrived she was told that the Earl was in the Houses of Parliament where she knew stormy debates were taking place at this time, for many of the ministers still clung to their determination to drive the Scottish favorites back beyond the Border. Northampton was putting up a great fight against them. He had no intention of allowing Robert to be sent out of London, since his fortune and that of the Howards was bound up in Robert Carr. Frances felt calm only to think of that. There was a power about her great-uncle which was invincible.

  “He will be coming by barge, my lady,” one of the servants told her. “You will see him arrive ere long.”

  Frances said she would go into the garden and watch for his arrival.

  The hot June sun shone on the flowery pyramids of loose strife on the river bank and it was pleasant to listen to the lap of oars in the water as the boats passed along. Frances felt more at peace than she had for a long time. How foolish she had been to worry; how stupid to give way to these people who made so many demands! Why had she not thought of asking for her great-uncle’s help before this? He would know what to do.

  She had strolled down to the river’s edge and seeing his barge, hurried to the privy stairs to greet him.

  But what had happened? They were carrying him; his face was so white that he did not look like himself at all.

  “What happened?” she cried. “Is my Lord ill?”

  They did not answer her; they were intent on carrying Northampton ashore.

  They said he was dying, but Frances did not believe it; she dared not believe it. She was becoming hysterical at the thought because she had made up her mind that he alone could help her.

  She knew that he had a wennish tumor in his thigh; but so many elderly people suffered from such things. Now it seemed it had grown so large and was giving such pain that when he had collapsed in the House he had decided to have an operation. Felton, his surgeon, was coming to Charging Cross at once to perform it, because it was feared that if it were not done it would cost the Earl his life.

  He will soon be well, Frances soothed herself. Then he will tell me what I must do.

  It was said that when Felton cut open the wen in the Earl’s thigh such poison burst forth that Felton himself was likely to die from the very contamination.

  As for the Earl he lay on his bed and knew that the end had come.

  “There is now no need,” he said, “for me to keep my religion a secret. Send for a priest that I may have Extreme Unction.”

  When the priest had gone Frances went to his bedside and knelt there. But the eyes which looked at her were glazed and almost unrecognizing.

  She wanted to say: You cannot go like this. You are involved even as I am. You must stay and help me.

  But there were others about the bed and how could she talk of such secrets in front of them?

  “This is the end,” said Northampton. “Who would have thought I should die of a poisonous wen? Bury me in the Castle Chapel at Dover forgetting not that I died Warden of the Cinque Ports. A long procession will leave London and make its way across Kent to the coast, and that will be the last journey of Northampton.”

  “Great-uncle,” whispered Frances, “do not say that. You will recover. You must.”

  He peered at her. “Who is that then? Frances … ah, the wayward one! But Robert will care for her. Care for each other, Frances.”

  “You must not die … yet,” she cried.

  But his breathing was becoming rapid and his eyes were glazed.

  Now he did not see her at all. He was preparing to make his last journey to Dover.

  They had covered his body with a pall of velvet on which lay a white cross and by the light of candles, his gentlemen took turns to watch over him through the night.

  They talked of him in whispers while they watched. It was awe inspiring that one who such a short time ago had been a power in the land was now no more.

  In her apartments Frances wept and Robert tried to comfort her.

  “You must not weep so, my love,” he said. “He was a great man, but old; and death is something we must all come to.”

  But what could Robert know? He believed she wept for love of the old man; he could not guess that fear of facing the future without his help terrified her.

  Frances was angry with herself. What had happened to her? She had always been bold, going after what she wanted and caring nothing for the consequences. Why should she be so afraid because a man had died in the Tower?

  She was feeling stronger and her old vitality was returning to her. She would continue to pay these people but she would let them know that if they attempted to get more than what she considered their dues she would find some means of making them sorry.

  Robert was too meek. He did not seize his opportunities. James was so devoted to him that he could have anything he wanted; he was foolish not to take advantage of that. The Queen was insolent to him and to her. There was no reason why they should submit to that. Robert really had no notion of his power. It was up to her to guide him.

  At night when they lay together after lovemaking she would talk to him of all he might do, all she expected him to do.

  “James may be the King but you could command him, Robert. You are the uncrowned King of England and I am the uncrowned Queen.”

  Robert was so delighted to see her coming out of her depression that he was ready to agree. She was continually urging him to act this way and that. Sometimes she would insist that he did not keep an appointment with the King. What did it matter? She asked. James would forgive him.

  James always did—although he was a little reproachful.

  “It’s not like ye, Robbie,” was all he said sadly.

  And Robert began to realize that Frances was right. He was the real ruler of England because James would always do what he wanted.

  “Now that my uncle is dead,” said Frances, “you should be the Warden of the Cinque Ports.”

  “The wardenship has not been offered to me.”

  “Then ask for it.”

  He did and it was his.

  “What of the Privy Seal?”

  “I already hold high posts.”

  “The Seal should be yours. Ask for it.”

  So he asked and it was his.

  James was bewildered. What was happening to his sweet Robbie. His manner was changing; he was a little truculent; and he had never been so be
fore. He asked that he should be Chamberlain, and his father-in-law, Suffolk, Treasurer.

  James complied with these requests but he was growing more and more uneasy. For the first time he doubted Robert’s unselfish devotion.

  In his residence of Baynard’s Castle on the north bank of the Thames below St. Paul’s, the Earl of Pembroke called a meeting of his friends.

  Pembroke had selected these men carefully and they had one emotion in common: they all felt they owed a special grudge to Somerset and there was not one of them who would not have been delighted to see him fall.

  “Since the death of Northampton,” said Pembroke when they were all assembled, “Somerset has become more powerful than ever.”

  “Warden of the Cinque Ports,” agreed Sir Thomas Lake, “and now the Privy Seal and the Chamberlainship. What next, I wonder.”

  “The crown,” joked several of the others simultaneously.

  “Why should he want that?” asked Lake bitterly. “It is all but his already; the only drawback is that he cannot wear it.”

  “It is no use grumbling together,” insisted Pembroke. “We should act. And it is for this reason that I have asked you to come here this day.”

  “Pray tell us what you have in mind,” begged Lake.

  “George Villiers,” answered Pembroke. “I have seen the King watching him and I think the moment has come for us to do something about it.”

  “Your plan is to substitute this Villiers for Somerset?”

  “Exactly. We would coach him; he would be our man. He would work for us in the way Somerset has worked for the Howards.”

  “These favorites are apt to become overbearing once they are secure in the King’s favor.”

  “Somerset worked well for the Howards.”

  “But he has changed lately; have you noticed?”

  “I have,” agreed Pembroke. “And that is in our favor. He is becoming arrogant. On one or two occasions I have seen a distinct lack of respect in his manner to the King. This gives me hope.”