“What think you will be the judgment in that case?” inquired Grimbald.
“I have my own opinion,” returned the apothecary, with a significant smile; “but I care not to reveal it. I am a witness in the case myself, and something may depend on my evidence. You asked me just now whether I took any interest in this young man. I will tell you what surprised me to find him here. Sir Francis Mitchell has taken it into his head to rob him of his intended bride.”
“Ah! indeed!” exclaimed the jailer, with a laugh. “The old dotard does not mean to marry her?”
“By my troth but he does — and the wedding is to be a grand one. I will tell you more about it anon.”
At this moment Sir Jocelyn, who had hitherto remained with his eyes closed, uttered a cry of anguish, and again vainly endeavoured to raise himself.
“Aveline married to Sir Francis?” he cried. “Said you she was to be forced into a union with that hoary miscreant? It must be prevented.”
“I see not how it can be, Sir Jocelyn,” replied Luke Hatton, “since she is in the power of Sir Giles Mompesson. Besides which, the ‘hoary miscreant,’ as you style him, will take means to ensure her acquiescence.”
“Means! what means?” demanded Sir Jocelyn, writhing in agony.
“A love-potion,” replied Luke Hatton, calmly, “I am about to prepare a philter for her, and will answer for its effect. She will be the old knight’s, and without opposition.”
“Infernal villain! and that I should be lying here, unable to give her aid!”
And overcome by the intensity of his emotion, as well as by acute bodily suffering, Sir Jocelyn relapsed into insensibility.
He was not, however, suffered to remain long in this state. Stimulants applied by Luke Hatton soon restored him to consciousness. The first object his gaze fell upon was the apothecary, and he was about to vent his fury upon him in words, when the latter, cautiously raising his finger to his lips, said in a whisper— “I am a friend. Grimbald is only at the door, and a single exclamation on your part will betray me.” He then leaned down, and bringing his lips almost close to the young knight’s ear, whispered— “What I said before the jailer was correct. I have been applied to by Sir Francis for a philter to be administered to Mistress Aveline, and I have promised it to him; but I am secretly in the service of Clement Lanyere, and will defeat the old usurer’s villainous designs.”
Sir Jocelyn could not repress a cry of delight, and Grimbald entered the cell.
CHAPTER XXVII.
Showing how judgment was given by King James in the Star-Chamber, in the great cause of the Countess of Exeter against Sir Thomas and Lady Lake.
Five days had King James and the whole of the Privy Council been sitting within the Star-Chamber; and the great cause that had occupied them during the whole of that time was drawing to an end — little remaining for his Majesty to do in it, except to pronounce sentence.
The cause to which James and his Councillors had lent a hearing so long and patient, was no other than that of the Countess of Exeter against Sir Thomas Lake and his Lady. Throughout it, whether prompted or not as to the course he pursued, the Monarch displayed great sagacity and penetration. Prior to the trial, and when the preliminary statements had alone been laid before him, he determined personally to investigate the matter, and without acquainting any one with his design, while out hunting, he rode over to the Earl of Exeter’s residence at Wimbledon — the place, it will be recollected, where the forged confession was alleged to have been signed by the Countess — and proceeded to examine the particular chamber indicated by Lady Lake and Sarah Swarton as the scene of the transaction. He was accompanied by Buckingham, and some other lords high in his favour. On examination it was found that the chamber was of such size, and the lower part of it, where Sarah was reported to have been concealed, was so distant from the large bay window, that any conversation held there must have been inaudible to her; as was proved, upon experiment, by the King and his attendants. But the crowning circumstance was the discovery made by James himself — for his courtiers were too discreet to claim any share in it — that the hangings did not reach within two feet of the floor, and consequently could not have screened a secret witness from view; while it was further ascertained that the arras had been entirely undisturbed for several years. On making this discovery, James rubbed his hands with great glee, and exclaimed— “Aha! my Lady Lake and her handmaiden may forswear themselves if they choose — but they will not convince me. Oaths cannot confound my sight.”
This asseveration he repeated during the trial, at which he proffered his own testimony in favour of the plaintiff; and indeed it was evident from the first, however much he might seek to disguise it, that he was strongly biassed towards the Countess. Not content, however, with the discovery he had made at Wimbledon, James had secretly despatched a serjeant-at-arms to Rome, where Lord Roos had taken up his residence after leaving England, and obtained from him and from his confidential servant Diego, a statement incriminating Lady Lake, and denouncing the confession as a wicked forgery. Luke Hatton, moreover, who had gone over, as already intimated, to the side of the Countess, and who took care to hide his own complicity in the dark affair, and to give a very different colour to his conduct from what really belonged to it — Luke Hatton, we say, became a most important witness against the Lakes, and it was said to be owing to his crafty insinuations that the King conceived the idea of visiting Wimbledon as before-mentioned.
Notwithstanding all this, there were many irreconcileable contradictions, and the notoriously bad character of Lord Roos, his cruel treatment of his wife, and his passionate devotion to the Countess, led many to suspect that, after all, he and Lady Exeter were the guilty parties they were represented. Moreover, by such as had any knowledge of the man, Luke Hatton was not esteemed a credible witness; and it was generally thought that his testimony ought not to be received by the King, or accepted only with the greatest caution.
But the opinions favourable to Lady Lake and her husband underwent an entire change in the early part of the trial, when, to the surprise of all, and to the inexpressible dismay of her parents, Lady Roos, who had been included in the process by the Countess, made a confession, wherein she admitted that the document produced by her mother against Lady Exeter, was fabricated, and that all the circumstances said to be connected with it at the time of its supposed signature, were groundless and imaginary. The unfortunate lady’s motive for making this revelation was the desire of screening her husband; and so infatuated was she by her love of him, that she allowed herself to be persuaded — by the artful suggestions, it was whispered, of Luke Hatton — that this would be the means of accomplishing their reconciliation, and that she would be rewarded for her devotion by his returning regard. If such was her belief, she was doomed to disappointment. She never beheld him again. Lord Roos died abroad soon after the trial took place; nor did his ill-fated lady long survive him.
Thus, it will be seen, all circumstances were adverse to the Lakes. But in spite of the difficulties surrounding her, and the weight of evidence, true or false, brought against her, no concession could be obtained from Lady Lake, and she stoutly protested her innocence, and retaliated in most forcible terms upon her accusers. She gave a flat contradiction to her daughter, and poured terrible maledictions on her head, ceasing them not until silenced by command of the King. The fearful charges brought by her ladyship against Luke Hatton produced some effect, and were listened to; but, as they could only be substantiated by herself and Sarah Swarton, they fell to the ground; since here again Lady Roos refused to be a witness against her husband.
Unwilling to admit his wife’s criminality, though urged by the King to do so in order to save himself, Sir Thomas Lake was unable to make a successful defence; and he seemed so much bowed down by affliction and perplexity, that sympathy was generally felt for him. Indeed, his dignified deportment and reserve gave him some claim to consideration.
In this way was the trial brought
to a close, after three days’ duration.
Now, let a glance be cast round the room wherein the lords of the Council were deliberating upon their judgment.
It was the Star-Chamber.
Situated on the south-eastern side of Westminster Hall, near the river, this famous room, — wherein the secret councils of the kingdom were then held, and had been held during many previous reigns, — was more remarkable for the beauty of its ceiling than for size or splendour. That ceiling was of oak, richly carved and gilt, and disposed in squares, in the midst of which were roses, portculises, pomegranates, and fleurs-de-lys. Over the door leading to the chamber was placed a star, in allusion to its name, with the date 1602. Its walls were covered with ancient tapestry, and it had many windows looking towards the river, and filled with painted glass.
Though it would appear to be obvious enough, much doubt has been entertained as to the derivation of the name of this celebrated Court. “Some think it so called,” writes the author of a learned treatise on its jurisdiction, before cited, “of Crimen Stellionatus, because it handleth such things and cases as are strange and unusual: some of Stallen. I confess I am in that point a Platonist in opinion, that nomina naturâ fiunt potiùs quam vagâ impositone. And so I doubt not but Camera-Stellata (for so I find it called in our ancient Year-books) is most aptly named; not because the Star-Chamber, where the Court is kept, is so adorned with stars gilded, as some would have it — for surely the chamber is so adorned because it is the seal of that Court, et denominatio, being à praestantiori magis dignum trahit ad se minus; and it was so fitly called, because the stars have no light but what is cast upon them from the sun by reflection, being his representative body, and, as his Majesty was pleased to say when he sat there in his royal person, representation must need cease when the person is present. So in the presence of his great majesty, the which is the sun of honour and glory, the shining of those stars is put out, they not having any power to pronounce any sentence in this Court — for the judgment is the King’s only; but by way of advice they deliver their opinions, which his wisdom alloweth or disalloweth, increaseth or moderateth at his royal pleasure.” This explanation, which seems rather given for the purpose of paying a fulsome compliment to James, in whose reign the treatise in question was written, is scarcely satisfactory; and we have little doubt that the name originated in the circumstance of the roof of the chamber being embellished with gilded stars. We are told in Strype’s Stowe, that the Star-Chamber was “so called, either by derivation from the old English word Steoran, which signifieth to steer or rule, as doth the pilot of a ship; because the King and Council did sit here, as it were, at the stern, and did govern in the ship of the Commonwealth. Some derive in from Stellio, which signifies that starry and subtle beast so called. From which cometh the word stellionatus, that signifieth cosenage; because that crime was chiefly punishable in this Court by an extraordinary power, as it was in the civil law. Or, because the roof of this Court was garnished with gilded stars, as the room itself was starry, or full of windows and lights. In which respect some of the Latin Records name it Camera Stellata; the French Chambre des Ètoiles; and the English the Starred Chamber.” The derivation of the name, we repeat, seems to us sufficiently simple and obvious; but as it has been matter of controversy, we have thought it worth while to advert to the circumstance.
To proceed. In a chair of state, elevated above the table round which the Lords of the Council were gathered, and having a canopy over it, sat the King, calmly watching them as they pursued their deliberations, — his own mind being completely made up as to the sentence he should pronounce — and ever and anon stealing a glance at Lady Lake and her husband, who were seated behind a bar that crossed the room below the Council-table. The defendants, or prisoners — for such in effect they were — were under the guard of a pursuivant and a serjeant-at-arms. A little behind them was Sarah Swarton; but, though faint and frightened, and scarcely able to sustain herself, she was not allowed a seat. On a raised bench at the side sat the beautiful Countess of Exeter, radiant with smiles and triumph. She was receiving the congratulations of several dames of high rank by whom she was accompanied. Amongst the Judges of the Court were the Lord Chancellor, who sat immediately under the King, with his mace and seal before him; the Lord Treasurer and the Keeper of the Privy Seal; the President of the Council; the Judges; the Archbishop of Canterbury, and eight bishops and other prelates; and all the dukes, marquises, earls, and barons composing the Privy Council, to the number of forty. Besides these, there were present Prince Charles, three of the lieger ambassadors, and many other distinguished persons. Though all had gone against her, Lady Lake’s spirit was still undiminished, and she eyed the Council imperiously; but her husband’s regards were fixed upon the ground, and his head rested upon his breast.
After some further time had been needlessly consumed by the Council in stating their opinions to the King, he prepared to deliver judgment. On this the defendants arose, and profound silence reigned throughout the Court as James addressed them.
The sentence was to this effect: — A fine of upwards of £22,000 was imposed upon Sir Thomas, with a further censure of imprisonment in the Tower, during the King’s pleasure. Lady Lake was to be imprisoned with him. A public recognition of their offence, for reparation of the Countess’s injured honour, was to be made by them, in the most ample manner His Majesty could devise. Sarah Swarton was adjudged to the Fleet. “Thence,” ran the sentence, “to be whipped at the cart’s tail to Westminster, and afterwards from the same place to Cheapside. At Cheapside to be branded with F.A. (signifying false accusation), one letter on either cheek. To do public penance in Saint Martin’s Church. To be detained in the Fleet till they do weary of her; and then to be sent to Bridewell, there to spend and end her days.”
When the poor handmaiden heard this severe sentence, she uttered a cry of despair, and fell down on the floor in a swoon.
Thereupon the delinquents were removed; and as Lady Lake withdrew, a look passed between her and the Countess, which, in spite of the assurance of the latter, made her turn pale, and tremble.
In a very remarkable letter, subsequently addressed by Lady Lake to her successful opponent in this great case, she said:— “I wish my submission could make you an innocent woman, and wash you as white as a swan; but it must be your own submission unto God, and many prayers, and tears, and afflictions, which, seeing you have not outwardly, examine your heart, and think on times past, and remember what I have written to you heretofore. The same I do now again, for I yet nothing doubt, but that, although the Lord Roos was sent away, and is dead, yet truth lives.” The truth, however, was never fully brought to light; and that justice which the vindictive lady expected was denied her.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
The two warrants.
At the conclusion of the trial, James was observed to smile, and Buckingham, who had drawn near the chair of state, ventured to inquire what it was that entertained his Majesty.
“Our fancy has been tickled by a curious conceit,” answered the King. “We discern a singular similitude between the case we hae just heard, and the transgression of our first parents.”
“How so, your Majesty?” asked the favourite.
“As thus,” replied James. “Sir Thomas Lake may be likened to our gude Father Adam, wha fell into sin frae listening to the beguilements of Eve — Mither Eve being represented by his dochter, my Lady Roos — and ye will own that there cannot be a closer resemblance to the wily auld serpent than we find in my Lady Lake.”
“Excellent!” cried Buckingham, joining in the royal laughter; “but before your Majesty quits that seat, I must entreat you to perform that which I know you delight in — an act of justice.”
“Anither act of justice, ye should say, my Lord,” returned James in a tone of slight rebuke; “seeing we hae just delivered a maist memorable judgment in a case which has cost us five days of incessant labour and anxious consideration. But what is it ye require at our han
ds? In whose behalf are we to exercise our prerogative?”
“In that of Sir Jocelyn Mounchensey, my gracious Liege,” replied Buckingham, “who has been committed to the Fleet for contempt of this high and honourable Court, and can only be released by your Majesty’s warrant. As I was myself present on the occasion, when the intemperate expressions laid to his charge were used, I can affirm that he was goaded on by his enemies to utter them; and that in his calmer moments he must have regretted his rashness.”
“Ye shall have the warrant, my Lord,” said James, with a smile. “And it does ye meikle credit to have made the request. The punishment Sir Jocelyn has already endured is amply sufficient for the offence; and we hae nae fears of its being repeated. A single visit to the Fleet is eneuch for any man. But in respect to Sir Jocelyn, I am happy to say that his Excellency the Conde de Gondomar has quite set him right in our gude opinion; and has satisfactorily proved to us that the spy we suspected him to be was anither person, wha shall be nameless. Ha! here comes the Count himself,” he exclaimed, as the Spanish Ambassador approached. “Your Excellency will be glad to hear, after the handsome manner you have spoken of him, that it is our intention to restore Sir Jocelyn to the favour he previously enjoyed. My Lord of Buckingham is to have a warrant for his release from the Fleet, and we shall trust to see him soon at Court as heretofore.”
“While your Majesty is in this gracious mood,” said De Gondomar, bending lowly, “suffer me to prefer a request respecting a person of very inferior consequence to Sir Jocelyn — but one in whom I nevertheless take an interest — and who is likewise a prisoner in the Fleet.”
“And ye require a warrant for his liberation — ah, Count?”
“Your Majesty has said it,” replied De Gondomar, again bending lowly.
“What is the nature of his offence?” demanded the King.
The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth Page 548
