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

ENTER GEORGE VILLIERS

James was brooding uneasily when the arrival of Sir John Digby at the palace was announced.

Money! He could never find enough. It was not that he spent a great deal upon himself. If he asked his Parliament for it they would begin to snarl about his favorites, declaring that they were the ones whose greedy hands depleted the Exchequer.

One of the ministers had said that those handsome young men who were spaniels to the King were wolves to the people. They were eager to drag Robert down; he knew it. They were jealous of Robert on whom he was coming more and more to rely. Robert was the perfect companion, the perfect minister; he never criticized; he never attempted to impose his will. He worked for his master wholeheartedly and through love.

But it was a pretty pass when the brewers were at the door of the palace declaring they would supply no more goods until their bills were paid. Sixteen thousand pounds they said the palace owed them and on account of this they were all but ruined; they must have payment. They had even dared to go to law. Such a state of affairs could not be allowed. No tradesman could summons the King. There was only one way of dealing with such a situation if the dignity of royalty was to be maintained. The brewers who had dared act so were sent to the Marshalsea Prison for lèse majesté.

But James was a man who must consider a matter from all angles. He saw the brewers’ point of view, and recognized that it was unjust that a merchant should supply goods, receive no payment and when he asked for it be thrown into prison. Only James’s fervent belief in the Divine Right of Kings would have allowed him to act as he did; and even so his conduct depressed him.

Such were his thoughts when Sir John Digby entered and asked to speak privately to him.

James willingly gave the permission. He was fond of Digby, a personable man in his mid-thirties who had come to Court from his native Warwickshire in the hope of following a career in diplomacy. He had come to James’s notice at the time of the Gunpowder Plot when he had been sent to convey a message to the King; James had been impressed immediately by his good looks and intelligence, and Digby had become a Gentleman of the Privy Chamber and one of the King’s Carvers.

James had recognized the man’s integrity—a quality found all too rarely at Court—and had decided on his advancement. Opportunity had come to Digby a few years previously when James had sent him to Madrid as his ambassador to arrange a marriage between the Infanta Anne and Prince Henry. Digby had quickly discovered that the Infanta was already betrothed to Louis XIII of France; and when Philip III had suggested a match between the Prince and his younger daughter Maria, Digby had sensed a lack of seriousness on the part of the Spanish monarch and advised against the marriage. But although that matter had come to nothing Digby had proved himself a worthy ambassador in other ways.

Now his manner was very grave as he bowed before the King.

“Well, Johnnie,” said James, “I can see ye’ve brought me news which you’re hesitating to deliver. Is it so bad then?”

“I fear, Your Majesty, that this is going to be a shock to you.”

“Well, lad, I’ve suffered many a shock in my life and mayhap I’ll see a few more before I die. So let me hear this one.”

Digby took a scroll from his pocket and said slowly: “I have prepared this and think it my duty to lay it before Your Majesty. It is to give this to you—and to do it with my own hands—that I am here in London.”

James took the scroll, unrolled it and frowned at it. It was a list of names—all well-known people of his Court.

“I believed, Your Majesty, that certain information was leaking to Spain and I set my spies to watch how this could be. I have now completed my investigation. That list, Your Majesty, contains the names of your ministers and courtiers who are accepting pensions from the King of Spain for the service they do him.”

“Traitors?” murmured James.

“That is so, Your Majesty. I fear that when you read those names you will be deeply shocked.”

James was hastily scanning the list. He knew he could trust Digby, but he could scarcely believe what he read. Yet there it was in detail. The names and the amounts of the pensions.

He would not bear to study the list too closely because he was afraid of finding one name there and if he found it he knew he would never trust any man again.

“Thank you, Johnnie,” he said. “You’re a good servant. Leave the list with me. I wish to examine it closely. You will be hearing more of this, but leave me now, and tell my servants that I wish to be alone.”

When Digby retired James returned to the scroll.

Northampton! The rogue! And Northampton had been a close friend of Robbie’s … and was now related to him!

The Countess of Suffolk—his mother-in-law! He had never trusted her, knowing her for a rapacious woman.

Thank God! His name was not there.

Of what had he been thinking? Robbie, a traitor! Never. Thank God he could rely on Robbie.

The scroll had ceased to be so very important. After all, was he surprised that he was surrounded by rogues?

But he was glad to have seen the scroll because it had proved to him that he had not been mistaken in Robbie.

James decided to say nothing of the discovery. He had been warned that he was surrounded by men who took bribes from Spain, but he could see no good in making the matter public. He would be cautious in dealing with those people concerned, but it would be very unsettling to have a scandal now. The Essex divorce was still talked about. It was known that recently he had suggested offering baronetcies to any who could pay six thousand pounds for them; the matter had come to nothing, largely because there were so few who would have been ready to pay the price for the title. But somehow these matters leaked out and were talked of.

No, he wanted no more scandal.

So James gave no sign to those who were in the pay of Spain that he was aware of this, but he watched them very closely.

Northampton, meanwhile, was having many a secret meeting with the Spanish ambassador.

Count Gondomar had quickly realized the importance of this wily statesman, who was now related by marriage to the King’s favorite young man; and as that young man was the sort to be easily led, Count Gondomar was very hopeful for the future.

“It would be an excellent thing,” he told Northampton, “if a marriage could be arranged between the Prince of Wales and the Infanta Maria. I believe that if this marriage could take place, in a few years we should see the Catholic Faith back in England.”

Northampton agreed with this; he was ready to earn the pension he drew from Spain and he was against that French marriage for the Prince of Wales which was now being suggested.

“How does the Earl of Somerset feel about the Spanish match?”

Northampton smiled. “I doubt not,” he said, “that when I have had a word with him he will feel it to be an excellent proposition.”

“Then, my good friend, we shall have the King on our side. For I have heard it said that what Somerset desires today, His Majesty desires tomorrow.”

“Your Majesty is in urgent need of money,” said Robert. “Why should you not fill your coffers with Spanish gold?”

“By agreeing to the Spanish match for Charles, Robbie?”

“Yes, Sire. Philip would give the Infanta a magnificent dowry.”

“The people are against a Spanish marriage, lad.”

“Because they fear the Catholic religion would be brought back to England.”

“Which it never will be. I know this of the people of England. They remember Bloody Mary and the threat of the Armada. This country made itself the natural enemy of Spain in the days of Drake and Elizabeth. Legends die hard. The English would never have the Inquisition on these shores; and that means they are suspicious of Catholics, and particularly Spaniards.”

“Then Your Majesty does not wish to benefit from the Spanish gold?”

“I wouldna say that, Robbie. There’s no harm in your doing a little negotiation with Gondomar. Sound the man. See what they’ll offer. Whether we decide there should be a French or Spanish marriage ‘tis as well to know all that’s entailed. And Robbie, we’ve been long enough without a Secretary of State. I’ve decided on Winwood.”

Robert was astonished. Winwood was not the man Northampton had chosen, and therefore Robert had supported. Northampton had thought Sir Thomas Lake would be the man for the job because he was what the old Earl called a Howard man. Robert wondered what Northampton would say when he heard that the King’s choice had fallen on Winwood.

Had he chosen Winwood because, as a staunch Protestant and Puritan, he was fiercely against the Spanish marriage?

James waited for Robert to express his disappointment at the choice; but Robert did no such thing. Winwood was the King’s choice and although the man would not have been his, as soon as James mentioned it, it became acceptable to him.

How I love this man! thought James. Never shall any other come between our friendship; always the first place in my heart will be for Robert Carr.

Sir Ralph Winwood was overjoyed when he heard of his appointment. It was what he had wanted for a long time. Now he would be in a position to use his voice against all idolaters; and this was particularly important because he knew Northampton was working for the Spanish marriage and had persuaded Somerset to do the same.

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 before. 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.”

“Somerset’s a fool. One would have thought he would have realized that he kept his place through his gentle good nature. If Northampton were alive he would warn him.”

“Or Overbury.”

“Ah, Overbury. That fellow did all his work for him, if you ask me. Advised him too. Somerset without Northampton and Overbury … could be vulnerable.”

“And that,” said Pembroke, “is why we must act quickly. I have presented Mr. George Villiers with clothes in which he will not be ashamed to appear at Court. He was somewhat shabby and although he had good looks enough to make him outstanding in any company, in fine clothes he has the appearance of a young Greek god. The King is aware of him, but hesitates to show him favor because, although I am sure he is turning from Somerset, he turns slowly; and as you know he remains friendly toward those who have once been his favorites, even though others do supplant them.”

“He should be brought more to the King’s notice, this Villiers,” said Lake. “I will buy him a place as cupbearer to the King. What think you of that?”

“Excellent!” cried Pembroke. “That shall be the next step. And very soon I shall approach Her Majesty—who knows of our plan—and ask her to beg the King to give young Villiers a place as one of his Gentlemen of the Bedchamber.”

The conspirators were now certain that the heyday of the reigning favorite was coming to an end; and they were very gay when they took their leave of Pembroke and rode back to Whitehall.

As they came through Fleet Street, they passed several stalls on which traders had set up their merchandise. On one of these a painter had displayed his work and prominent among it was a picture of Robert Carr.

The party paused to look at it. It was a good likeness.

One of them turned to his groom.

“Take up a handful of mud,” he said, “and throw it at that picture.”

The groom looked amazed. “Did you mean that, sir?”

“I meant it. Do it, man.”

With a grin, the groom obeyed.

The painter who had been hovering close by, watching the party of Court gentlemen and hoping for a sale, stared in astonishment when he saw his best picture ruined.

He dashed out and cried: “Gentlemen, this is a poor joke.”

“We like not your subject,” said the man who had ordered the groom to throw the mud.

“It is my lord Somerset!” protested the painter. “What better subject in the kingdom?”

“You paint too well, my friend” was the answer. “We recognized the fellow at first glance. ’Tis the first of much mud which will be thrown at that man.”

“Having spoiled the picture you must pay for it.”

But the men were already spurring their horses and galloping on.

The artist shouted after them. “Think not you will escape with this. I know who you are. I shall complain to my lord Somerset. You’ll be sorry.”

Robert listened to the artist and as he did so anger flamed within him. He was becoming angry quite frequently now; he was nervous; his relationship with James had changed, and he was surprised at how readily his temper flared up.

He had noticed George Villiers about the Court and it seemed to him that many were trying to bring that young man to the King’s notice. He guessed why. He had studied Villiers closely and noticed the fine clear skin, the handsome features, the flush of youth; and that sent him to his own mirror. He had aged since the divorce; perhaps he had begun to age since he had first known Frances and the fact that he and she were deceiving her husband had given him so many misgivings; but he saw now that as far as looks were concerned he could not compare with this fresh young man.

It was too humiliating, because his spies brought him reports that Pembroke and Lake were at the head of this youth’s supporters, and he well knew how Pembroke and Lake felt about himself. So it was clear what they were trying to do.

This knowledge was perhaps at the very root of his touchiness. He wanted to prove that his power over James had not changed; that was why he allowed himself to lose his temper so often.

He found himself wishing that Overbury was alive and they were good friends again so that he could talk this matter over with someone of discernment and sympathy.

“Mud!” he exclaimed. “They threw mud at my picture.”

“Yes, my lord. And ’twas not boys’ play either. They were gentlemen of the Court and one of them commanded his groom to do this. The others were all with him though. I shouted after them that it was the best of my pictures, which was so, my lord, being copied from one I have seen of your lordship.”

“They knew it was of myself?”

“They said so, my lord. They said they did not like the subject, and this would be the first of much mud that would be slung at your lordship.”

Robert controlled his rage, rewarded the artist and tried to shrug the matter aside. It was natural that he should have enemies.

When Frances heard what had happened she was furious. She too was aware of George Villiers. She was determined that her husband was going to remain in his present position; he was to be the first gentleman of the Court and she the first lady. It would be ironical if after all she had gone through to achieve her present position, she should lose it to that nobody, George Villiers.

Frances had discovered who the insulting men were. They were of the Pembroke party—those men who were supplying Villiers with new clothes, who had arranged for him to be the King’s cupbearer, who were bringing him to the King’s notice on every conceivable occasion.

“You cannot allow this insult to pass,” she stormed at Robert. “They must be shown that you are all-powerful. It would be the utmost folly to ignore this.”

“It is of no real importance to me, Frances.”

“Then it is to me,” she cried. “We must revenge ourselves, and in like manner, to let them know that we are aware who did this thing.”

“But how?”

“I have thought of a way. That young upstart will be at the royal table this very day. He will be mincing in the fine clothes which have been bought for him. Just as he is about to rise and serve the King’s wine, one of our men shall tip a dish of soup over him. It’s a just reward for what they did to your picture.”

“Well, that’s harmless enough,” agreed Robert.

Robert was seated on the right hand of the King and James seemed pleased because Robert was in a good humor. Though it was a sad thought that Robert should have become like other lads to whom he had given his affection—subject to tantrums.

The King’s eyes strayed to the young cupbearer who was seated some distance from him. A winsome lad, who might have been a model for the head of St. Stephen. His was a rare beauty, and it was difficult to keep one’s eyes from that face. But he must not anger Robert. Robert had become very observant and was apt to sulk if he looked too long at yonder lad.

He wanted to say: Look here, Robbie, it’s some years since you lay with a broken arm on the grass of the tiltyard and our friendship was born. There’ll never be another to take your place with me. But why, lad, cannot you be as you once were. Once there was not a sweeter tempered laddie in my kingdom. I want my lad Robbie back. If he will come I’d never as much as glance at yon boy if I thought it pained him.

James sensed that Robert too was very much aware of that young man who sat there nonchalantly, as though his beauty made him an equal of all men.

The accident happened suddenly. One of the King’s gentlemen, who had risen to serve him with soup, had to pass the spot where young Villiers was sitting. As he did so, he seemed to slip and tilting the dish forward slopped it over young Villiers’ coat and fine satin breeches.

Villiers stood up, his handsome face scarlet (none the less beautiful for that, James noticed) and did an alarming thing. He lifted his hand and boxed the ears of the gentleman server.

There were several seconds of silence. Robert was aware of Frances whose eyes had widened with delight. He knew what she was thinking. For any man to strike another in the presence of the King was a crime to be severely punished; and the punishment was that the right hand of the offender should be struck off.

Somerset stood up.

He knew that everyone was watching. The Queen, Pembroke, Lake and all those who supported this man believed that by one rash act he had ruined his chances—and their hopes—of supplanting Somerset.

“You young fool,” he said. “To behave thus in the presence of His Majesty will bring its own reward.”

Young Villiers had turned pale, now looking more like the statue of St. Stephen than ever. He knew what Somerset meant because there was not a man at Court who was unaware of the penalty for striking another in the presence of the King. Those watching saw his left hand close over his right as though he would protect it.

“Come here, young man,” said James.

Villiers stood before the King.

“You’re over-rash, lad,” James continued.

The clear young eyes looked straight into his. James could not meet them. They were as beautiful as Robert’s had been when he was as young as this one. James’s eyes rested on that right hand; it was well shaped and the fingers were long and tapering.

Mutilate that beautiful body, thought James. Never!

“A fine coat spoiled,” went on the King and his mouth turned up at the corner.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” murmured the young man.

“But coats, lad, can be replaced; hands cannot.”

He saw the terror in the boy’s face; and he was aware of Robert, smiling almost complacently beside him. In that moment he began to turn away from Robert.

“Well,” he said, “ye’re young and a newcomer to Court. Guard your temper, lad, and dinna let such a thing happen again in my sight.”

When the young man knelt before the King and lifted his beautiful face, James was deeply moved. “Get back to your place, boy,” he said. “And remember my words.”

There was a rustle throughout the Court; there were sly glances and whispered comments.

Some fell from their horses; some boldly cuffed a gentleman in the King’s presence.

It did not matter. One way was as good as another for a handsome young man to bring himself to the King’s notice.

George Villiers had indeed come to Court.

There was great exultation in the Pembroke group, particularly when a few days after the incident of the ruined suit, a post in the King’s bedchamber fell vacant.

“It could not be more opportune,” cried Pembroke. “The time had come to put Villiers in the King’s intimate circle. It is the duty of one of us to suggest to His Majesty that Mr. George Villiers would adequately fill the post which has fallen vacant.”

When the matter was suggested to James he was excited. He had not forgotten young Villiers and he would have been delighted to comply with the request; but knowing Robert’s feelings he hesitated and said he would think of the matter and give his answer in a few days.

This was a blow because Villiers’s supporters had believed that James would agree immediately.

Robert still had his friends who knew that if he were supplanted by Villiers their own careers would automatically suffer. So it was not long before Robert heard that Pembroke and his friends were trying to get the bedchamber post for Villiers.

He talked to Frances about this and her eyes grew dark with anger. She was throwing herself wholeheartedly into the conflict against Villiers; she found it stimulating to have something to work for; also it took her mind off that little band of blackmailers whom she was paying regularly.

“Villiers must not have the post,” she cried. “If he does, depend upon it, he will be in your place ere long.”

“He could not be. He is too young and inexperienced.”

“You were once.”

“It has taken me years to get to my present position.”

“Villiers looks a sharp one.”

“I see,” said Robert bitterly, “that you mean I was a fool.”

“You had friends to help you.”

“And so has he.”

“That’s exactly what I mean. He has powerful men behind him. You had my great-uncle, but he is dead now.”

“I would to God Overbury were here.”

Frances clenched her hands and screamed: “He was no good to you … no good to us. You were a fool over that man, Robert. For God’s sake try to have a little more sense.”

She ran from the room and Robert scowled after her.

What had happened to his life? What had happened to him?

Frances was not the sweet and loving woman he had imagined her to be. She was continually goading him. A fool! Was he? He thought of other men who had taken bribes—something he had disdained to do. Had he been a simpleton? He had always agreed with the King … until now. He had never tried to force his opinions on James.

Did James think him a fool too? Did James think that he could introduce that sly boy into the bedchamber because he, Robert, was too soft to protest?

He went off to James who had retired for the night and arrogantly entered the private apartments.

“Why, Robbie,” said James, starting up. “What brings you here at this time?”

“I see, Your Majesty, that you are no longer my good friend.”

“Now, Robbie, what has come to ye, lad. Where’s the gentle boy I used to know?”

“Perhaps Mr. George Villiers has taken his place.”

“Ah—so it’s that, lad, is it. Nay, Robbie, there’s none who could take your place with me. Did you know?”

“It does not seem that is so.”

James patted the bed. “Sit ye down, Robbie, and listen to your old Dad. You’re not the boy you used to be. What’s happened to change you?”

“I change?” cried Robert. “It is you who have changed … toward me … ever since they brought that pretty boy to your notice.”

James shook his head. “You grieve me, Robbie. You grieve me sorely. You come to me in temper at this most unseasonable hour. You bereave me of my rest, it seems on purpose to hurt me. Why have you become sullen of late, Robert? What has happened to your love for me? I have suffered through my affection for you. I have prayed for you, because, my boy, I think that if you go on as you have begun you will be sorry. I never prayed for any subject alive but you. I will speak to you now with great seriousness. You should not forget that you owe your wealth and your standing here at Court to me. It is because I have loved you so much that I have borne patiently with your tempers. Do not try me too much. Continue to love me, be to me as you once were and hold me by the heart, Robbie. If you do this you may build upon my favor as upon a rock. Rest assured that I shall never weary of showing my affection for you. I have accepted your arrogance toward me, and I forgive it—although it is something I find hard to forget. Your fate is in your own hands. Here is the best and kindest master you could ever have. But if you are ungrateful, if you forget that although he loves you, he is still your King, then you will have only yourself to blame for the consequences.”

Robert listened sullenly to his speech. He longed, even as James did, to be back on the old footing. He wished that he were more articulate; he wished that he could explain to this good friend how everything had changed since he had betrayed Essex through his love for Frances. He believed that James would have understood more readily than he did himself.

He fell on to his knees then and kissed James’s hand, and seeing the sullenness fade from his face, the King was delighted.

“Your Majesty,” said Robert, “forgive me.”

“We’ll say no more of this matter, Robbie. But forget not what I have said.”

Robert remembered then why he had come here and he said: “Could I ask one favor of you?”

“What is it, Robbie?”

“A kinsman of mine seeks a place at Court and as there is one at this time in the Bedchamber it would give me the greatest pleasure to offer him that.”

Deeply moved the King answered: “My dear friend, dispose of the place as you deem fit. And remember this: I shall never suffer any to rise in my favor except that he may thank you for it.”

This was victory. Robert wept with affection and relief; and both he and James were happy because it seemed to them that their love was as firm as it ever had been.

There was disappointment in the Pembroke faction when it was known that the bedchamber post had gone to Somerset’s nephew.

“It seems,” said Sir Thomas Lake, “that Somerset has not lost a jot of the King’s favor.”

“James always clung to his old friends,” agreed Pembroke; “but he is taken with young Villiers and we must not lose heart. I am going to see the Queen.”

Anne received him, as always, with pleasure and he immediately told her what he wanted of her.

“Somerset is becoming unbearably arrogant, Your Majesty.” Anne nodded her agreement, being always ready to listen to criticism of Somerset.

“There is only one way of clipping his wings, and that is to turn the King’s affection to another.”

“And have another ape Somerset become as overbearing?”

“Villiers is young as yet.”

“Do not think that youth is less arrogant than middle-age. Promote this young man, my lord, and I tell you he will soon be despising us as Somerset does.”

“This young man is of a different nature. He is more ready to learn.”

“He’ll not be for long.”

“If he should in time grow like Somerset that time is far distant, Your Majesty. He could not become so powerful for years, and we must bring Somerset down or submit to his rule.”

“You are right in that,” Anne sighed. “What do you wish me to do?”

“Present him to the King. Tell him that you ask this favor of him, which is a knighthood for George Villiers and a place in the Bedchamber.”

“There was a place in the Bedchamber.”

“Gone to Somerset’s nephew, Your Majesty. Soon there will be no post at Court which is not occupied by one of Somerset’s men.”

“Well,” said Anne, “I think you are right in that.” She hesitated. “I will do as you wish,” she went on, “and I shall ask Prince Charles to give me his support.”

This was victory. The King was longing to give honors to Villiers; and if the Queen asked a favor how could he refuse her—particularly when it was one which it would please him so much to bestow?

It was St. George’s Day and outside the King’s bedchamber George Villiers waited with his patrons. With James were the Queen and Prince Charles and it was known that the Queen was going to ask a favor of her husband.

At last the summons for Villiers to enter the bedchamber was given and the young man went in.

Robert who had heard a rumor of what was about to happen could not believe it until he came to the door of the King’s bedchamber and saw a group of his enemies there—among them the excited young man on whom he knew they had fixed their hopes. He was in time to hear the summons and see the handsome youth walk into the bedchamber, and an impulse came to him to push them aside, to stride into the bedchamber, to upbraid the King before them all; but he remembered James’s words when he had not very long ago awakened him at what the King called an unseasonable hour. James had warned him then.

But how could he stand by and see this young man made a Gentleman of the Bedchamber when he had shown the King so clearly that he resented the office being given.

He curbed his anger. Frances would have spurred him on, but she was not with him now; and when he had to make his own decisions he was never as fiery as she would have him be.

He wrote a hasty message to the King, asking James to make Villiers a Groom of the Bedchamber instead of a Gentleman, if he must grant the Queen’s favor and give the young man some office.

Haughtily he called a page and bade him take the message to the King.

James received it, read it and thought sadly: Will he never learn his lesson?

He then knighted George Villiers and appointed him one of the Gentlemen of the Bedchamber.

That ambitious man, Sir George Villiers, had no wish to quarrel with the Earl of Somerset who still held the highest offices in the Kingdom. George Villiers knew that he had a long way to go before he was as powerful. If he could make a truce with Somerset, let him know that he had not thought of attempting to step into his place, he was sure he would more quickly climb in the King’s favor.

He therefore sought an interview with Somerset. When he heard who was asking to see him Robert was angry, with the most violent of all anger—that born of fear.

The fellow must be sure of himself, since he asked an audience of him. Who did he think he was? Did he imagine that because he was a Gentleman of the Bedchamber he could become on friendly terms with the most important ministers?

Villiers came to him, his handsome face wearing an expression of humility.

“My lord,” he said, “it is good of you to grant me this interview. I come to ask that I may serve you in whatever way you choose for me so to do. I have always wanted to take my preferment under your favor. I offer myself to you as your most humble servant.”

Robert’s anger was suddenly uncontrollable, because he saw himself in this young man, as he had been in those early days when the King had become so enchanted by his grace and beauty. It was a cruel thing to be asked to witness oneself on the decline, the new star about to rise.

“Get you gone from my presence,” he said, his mouth tight, his eyes smoldering. “You shall enjoy no friendship or favor from me. One thing I will give you—and that is sound advice. Listen, fellow. Attempt to come creeping to me again and I’ll break your neck.”

“So this is how you keep your promises to me?” stormed Robert.

“My promises to you?” answered James. “What mean you? What did I promise and not give you?”

“You have taken that young fool into the Bedchamber.”

“I am the King. I select my own Gentleman, you should know.”

“Gentleman! And who is this gentleman?”

“If you refer to Sir George Villiers, I’d say he was as good a gentleman as Robert Carr was when he first came to Court.”

“I asked you, if you must favor him, to make him a Groom.”

James was stern. “I wished to make him a Gentleman, and must I remind you again that I am the King?”

But Robert could not curb his anger. He was worried about Frances. He was beginning to feel that he was married to a woman whom he did not know. He was losing his hold on the King. His whole world had become insecure; and he was alarmed, though he did not entirely know why. He needed the advice of shrewd men; but those who had advised and befriended him were dead. Northampton! Overbury!

The memory of Overbury depressed him more than ever.

He cried out: “You are untrue to your promises. You have not dealt fairly with me.”

“Robert,” said James, and there was more sadness than anger in his voice, “I dismiss you now. Go to your own apartments, and do not come to me again until you remember that though I have humbled myself in my regard for you, I am the King of this realm and as such your master.”

“You have turned against me.”

James laid a hand on Robert’s arm.

“Nay. Cast off your sullenness, throw away your tempers. Only do that and you shall see that my love for you has not changed. I am a faithful man, Robert; but I cannot say how long my love for you will last if you goad me so. Go now and think on what I have said. Reflect well, Robert. Be my good friend once more and you shall see that my love for you has not diminished.”

Robert left the King and, pacing up and down his room, he realized how foolish he had been.

James was his friend and James was a faithful man. He might in time feel a great affection for Villiers, but that need not affect his love for Robert Carr. He must be sympathetic, understanding; he must not give way to these nervous tempers.

He held the Privy Seal; he was the Lord Chamberlain; he was still the most powerful man in the Kingdom.

He must regain his old sweet temper; he must explain to Frances that although the King loved him and had given him his great possessions, he would be a fool to continue to bully James who had hinted that he could not endure much more of it; he must be wise, calm, serene.

And when he endeavored to be so, James was his affectionate self once more.

But he was beginning to smile rather fondly on Sir George Villiers—not, he wanted everyone to know, that this interest in the young and charming man in any way changed his abiding affection toward my Lord Somerset.

James was happier than he had been for some time. He was delighted with the new young man whom he had nicknamed Steenie because of his likeness to St. Stephen; and Robert was being his old self, understanding that the friendship between them was too deep to be disturbed by a new fancy.

James had been on a tour of the south, for it was necessary to show himself to his people from time to time, and was resting at Beaulieu when he heard that Sir Ralph Winwood had ridden from London because he wished to speak to him on an urgent matter.

James had never greatly cared for Winwood but he believed him to be a good minister and he received him at once.

Winwood seemed over-excited and it must, thought James, be news of some importance to have brought him so far to tell it, since James would shortly be returning to London.

“Your Majesty,” began Winwood, “a strange rumor has come to my ears and it disturbs me so much that I could not rest until I had laid it before you.”

“Let us hear what it is,” said James.

“It comes from Flushing, Your Majesty, where an English boy has recently died in great distress on account of a crime he helped to commit in England.”

“What boy is this?”

“He was an assistant to Dr. Paul de Lobel, Your Majesty, and he declares that Sir Thomas Overbury died by foul means in the Tower and that he was bribed to poison the clyster which was administered to him.”

“Ha!” laughed James. “There are always rumors of this sort.”

“This seemed more than a rumor, Sire. The boy was in great distress and made a full confession on his death bed; he mentions certain people in connection with the case and I believe there to be such persons living in London as those he named.”

“What persons are these?”

“A jailer of the Tower, and a Dr. Franklin … a man of shady character, Your Majesty, even perhaps a dabbler in witchcraft.”

At the mention of witchcraft James’s face darkened.

“Look into this matter, Winwood,” he said, “and report to me what you find.”