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

There was one other he had lost.

He thought of her occasionally and then he was aware of a nostalgia for the days of his innocence. He had never replaced Frances, having no further wish for a mistress. She could still make him sad. He had believed her to be perfect and his ideal had been shattered on the day when he had learned that Carr was also her lover.

There in the upper chamber of the Bloody Tower he felt a desire never to grow up, if doing so meant that he must lose that which, in innocence, he had cherished.

With the coming of the summer there was much activity at Court on account of the Princess Elizabeth, while one faction worked for a Catholic marriage and another was in favor of the German match.

Northampton, secretly in the pay of Spain, having made a friend of Robert Carr, sought to carry him along with him. On the other hand Prince Henry and his sister were fiercely against a Catholic marriage.

Henry, who loved his sister more devotedly than he loved anyone else, was convinced that she could be happier with a man of her own faith; she too shared his opinion.

The antagonism between Robert Carr and the Prince of Wales intensified, although Robert’s pleasant easy-going nature made an open breach difficult. He rarely took offense and was always deferential in his manner to the Prince, but Henry hated the man; whenever he saw him, he pictured him making love to Frances, who, now chafing against life at Chartley, would have felt some comfort to know that she was not forgotten at Court.

Tom Overbury was constantly watching his friend’s enemies; and there were two who gave him great cause for alarm. One was the Prince of Wales; the other, Lord Salisbury. But Lord Salisbury was an old man and of late had shown signs of failing health; and Overbury had secret ambitions which he hoped to see fulfilled when the old man died. To whom would fall the Secretaryship and the Treasury? Why not to Robert Carr?

Perhaps this was hoping for too much? But Robert—with Overbury working in the background—would be capable of holding these offices.

Overbury was growing more and more excited during these months.

Salisbury eventually succeeded in making the King see the advantages of the German marriage, and the Princess Elizabeth was formally plighted to the Elector Palatine, Frederick V.

This was in a way a defeat for Northampton of whom Robert Carr had made a friend, and Overbury was dismayed because such a matter was enough to set courtiers asking: Is the favorite losing his influence with the King?

Robert himself maintained his serene attitude and never betrayed by a look or word that he was disconcerted. This was the quality which so endeared him to the King. He always gave the impression that he was at the King’s side to carry out his wishes, not to intrude with his own.

Then Salisbury went off to Bath so see if the waters could relieve him, and the Prince of Wales gave himself up to the pleasure of planning the coming visit to England of his sister’s suitor.

Robert sought out Overbury, and it was clear that he was excited.

“News, Tom, which will be on everyone’s lips ere long. Salisbury is dead.”

Overbury was open-mouthed with astonishment, while slowly a look of delight spread across his face.

“Is it indeed true?”

“I have just had it from the King himself. Salisbury left Bath feeling that no good could come of his stay there. The journey home was too exhausting for him. He reached Marlborough, and there died. The King is mourning his Little Beagle. He says it will be long before we see a statesman of his brilliance.”

“We shall not share in the King’s mourning.”

“I had an admiration for the little fellow.”

“He was too clever for us. That’s why I am rejoicing that he is no longer here. Do you know that your Little Beagle put more obstacles in your way than the Prince of Wales ever did.”

“He didn’t think me worthy of the great posts and he was right.”

Overbury’s lips tightened. “I tell you this, Robert: with me behind you, you are worthy of any post the King could give you. Now we must be careful. We must tread cautiously. They’ll all be clamoring round now the Beagle’s gone. If you’re ever going to be number one in this kingdom, now is your chance.”

“Listen, Tom—”

“No, you listen to me. You’re going to have the offices Salisbury has vacated. You have to, Robert. There’s no standing still for you. It’s go on or fall out. I know and I’m telling you.”

Robert knew his friend was right, because he always had been. Therefore he must accept his guidance.

James looked on with cynical eyes while those about him jostled each other for the dead man’s shoes. There was not one of them who would match up to Little Beagle; James would miss Pigmy, but at the same time he was determined not to set up another in his place.

He had made up his mind what he was going to do. Robert Carr was the one who should benefit by the death of Salisbury; Beagle had been unfair to Robbie. Small wonder. The poor ill-favored creature must have been jealous of one who was singularly blessed with good looks.

Robert would be the ideal Secretary because he would always do what his master wanted. He would not have the title; that would cause too much of an outcry. He, James, would have a chance to put in action that policy which he had always favored: the Divine Right of Kings to act as they thought best.

Robbie should be the Secretary; he had become a genius with the pen and could always be relied upon to work along the lines his royal master suggested.

As the weeks passed it became apparent that Robert Carr was the most powerful man in the country under the King.

It was what many had suspected would happen, and some had feared.

But there were others who looked on jubilantly.

Among these was Thomas Overbury who saw himself as the secret ruler of Britain; another was the Earl of Northampton, Lord Privy Seal, who had decided to court Robert Carr that they might work together to further Northampton’s ends.

The Prince of Wales threw himself wholeheartedly into the preparations for his sister’s marriage. He had convinced her that she was fortunate to have escaped a Catholic match; and because she had always followed him in everything she did, she believed him.

As the summer months were passing the excitement grew. Elizabeth was busy being fitted for new gowns, examining jewels which would be hers. She had received a picture of the Elector Palatine; his looks enchanted her, and she kept this near her bed, each day declaring that she was a little more in love with him.

One day Henry said to her: “I think I shall come to Germany with you when you leave with your husband. Perhaps I shall find a bride there.”

“Then I should be completely happy, for Henry, there is one thing about my marriage that alarms me: leaving my family. I shall sadly miss our parents and Charles; but you and I have always been closer than the others. I never had a friend like you, Henry. Sometimes I wish that I were not going to be married, for I do not see how I can ever be really happy if I am parted from you.”

“Then that settles it,” said Henry with a smile. “I must accompany you.”

“In that case I can scarcely wait for the arrival of my bridegroom.”

Henry smiled at her fondly. “I shall not be sorry to take a little trip abroad. There are times when I feel it will be pleasant to get away from Rochester.”

“He has become more important since the death of my lord Salisbury, I fear.”

“If our father becomes much more besotted he will be giving him his crown. There is little else left to give him. He is at the head of all the functions now. Did you know that he is in charge of bringing our grandmother’s remains to Westminster?”

“You mean they are going to disturb the grave of Mary Queen of Scots?”

“That is what our father proposes. He does not care that his mother’s remains should be left in Peterborough. He wants to give them an honorable burial in Westminster.”

Elizabeth was silent; her expression had grown melancholy.

“What ails you?” asked Henry, coming over to her and putting his arm about her.

Looking up at him she thought he looked tired and strained.

“Henry,” she said, “you have been practicing too much in the tiltyard. You are tired.”

“It is good to feel tired.”

“I noticed that you have not looked well for some weeks.”

“It has been very hot. Why, what has come over you? Why are you suddenly sad?”

“I suppose it is the thought of what happened to our grandmother. In prison all those years and then taken into that hall at Fotheringay. How dared they, Henry? How dared they!”

“If Queen Elizabeth were alive you might ask her that.”

“I think our grandmother should be left in peace now.”

“Doubtless she would be pleased that our father wished to honor her.”

“But don’t you see, Henry, it’s unlucky to disturb the dead.”

“Nay, her spirit will rest in peace now that she knows her son mourns her truly.”

“It is all so long ago. Why disturb her now?”

Henry touched his sister’s cheek lightly. “I know what you’re thinking of—that old superstition.”

Elizabeth nodded. “A member of the dead person’s family must pay for disturbing a grave … pay with a life.”

Henry laughed. “My dear sister, what has come over you? It is a wedding we’re going to have in our family. Not a funeral.”

It was easy to make her laugh. She was about to become a bride; she believed that she was going to fall in love with her bridegroom and that she would not after all have to say an immediate farewell to her beloved brother.

Others were noticing a change in the Prince of Wales. He looked more ethereal than ever, and his face had lost a certain amount of flesh so that his Grecian profile looked more clearly defined. But there was a fresh color in his cheeks which gave an impression of health although he was beginning to cough so frequently that it was difficult to disguise this. He tried, it was true; and it was some time before anyone discovered that his kerchiefs were flecked with blood.

He did wonder why he could not shake off his cough. He tried to harden himself; he played tennis regularly and swam in the Thames after supper, which seemed invigorating; but at night he would sweat a great deal—and the cough persisted.

He was anxious that his sister Elizabeth and his mother should not know of this change in his condition, and he was particularly bright in their company; but often there would come into his mind Elizabeth’s fear when they had talked of the removal of Mary Queen of Scots from Peterborough to Westminster.