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

DEATH OF A PRINCE

Robert Carr was relieved to see Frances leave the Court. He was more attracted by her than he had ever been by a woman before, and when he had said that, were there no impediments, he would have willingly married her, he was speaking the truth.

He would have liked to have a son to whom he could leave his fortune and give his name; and Frances had everything that he could look for in a wife—rank, wealth, an influential family and greater physical attraction than any other woman he knew.

But because she was so vehement in character, because she was already married to a very noble gentleman, he preferred to forget about her.

He was becoming more and more involved in the King’s affairs. It was amazing what a difference Thomas Overbury had made to his life. Not only did Tom deal with his correspondence, but he had a way of explaining difficult matters so that they were clear to Robert; he could also advise and make suggestions which Robert passed on to the King, to James’s delight.

There was no doubt that Tom was a brilliant man, and he was in his element, working in the background, knowing that he was having an influence on the affairs of the country. Whenever Robert was in any difficulty he went to Tom and explained it, and there was a firm bond of friendship between the two men.

Robert showered gifts on his friend. At first Tom protested. “What I do for you, Robert, I do out of friendship.” “What I give you, Tom, I give out of friendship,” replied Robert.

But when Tom began to see how his suggestions were accepted and Robert received the credit for them, he asked himself why he shouldn’t be rewarded. After all he earned everything he received. It was Robert who took the honors, and the King’s gifts, so why should Tom hesitate to pick up the crumbs which fell from the rich man’s table? He earned them.

His attitude changed slightly. He was as devoted to Robert as ever; but he was beginning to look on him as his creature, a puppet, who danced to his tune.

It was an intoxicating thought that he, Tom Overbury, son of an obscure knight of Bourton-on-the-Hill in Gloucestershire, who had come to Court without any relations to help him along to fame and fortune, should now be an adviser to the King—for that was what he was, even though the King and others did not know it.

Well, he was happy to help a good friend; and his pleasure was to see Robert rise higher and higher in the King’s favor, for the higher Robert soared, the higher went Tom Overbury.

It was Tom who understood that the man who was deliberately trying to impede Robert’s rise was the Earl of Salisbury.

Robert Cecil, first Earl of Salisbury, was the greatest politician of his day. James had inherited him from Elizabeth, and shrewdly understood that this was a man who would work steadily for the good of the country, thrusting aside all thought of self-aggrandizement.

Salisbury disliked the influence the King’s favorites held over him; he would have liked to sweep the Court free of them all, and there might have been a personal feeling in this, for the favorites were noted for that personal charm which Salisbury sadly lacked. He was very small, being only a little over five feet in height; he suffered from curvature of the spine which had affected the set of his neck, and earned for him the epithet Dwarf. Both Elizabeth and James had found nicknames for those about them, and Elizabeth had affectionately called him her Little Elf. James’s name for him was less charming. He was Pigmy to him; and he often called him his Little Beagle to his face.

Again and again when James had sought to bestow some post on Robert Carr, Salisbury had pointed out the inadvisability of the action and James had to concede that he was right. The Little Beagle was too clever to be ignored; therefore although Robert Carr had become more firmly established in the King’s affection than ever, he still had not attained the posts and honors which could have been his.

Overbury was too clever to believe that at this time he and his friend could set themselves against the Little Beagle; but he did not see why Carr should not in time, when he, Overbury, had a greater grip of affairs, oust this rival from his place; and Overbury believed that eventually the leading statesman of Britain would not be Robert Cecil, Earl of Salisbury, but Robert Carr, Viscount Rochester.

The battle between Salisbury and Carr must at some time come to a head, and this seemed about to happen when the King needed money and asked the Parliament for it. When Parliament refused this, and hinted that if the King was in financial difficulties the first step toward easing the position might be to dismiss his Scottish favorites on whom he lavished a great deal, Robert was alarmed, because he knew that as the leading favorite, this suggestion was aimed primarily at him.

He went into conference at once with Overbury who shared his alarm, and reminded him that, as the King’s favorite, he had too many enemies in high places; and he would do well to remember that the King’s old Secretary of State, Lord Salisbury, was the first of these.

“You will have to tread cautiously, Robert,” said Tom. “Otherwise Salisbury will get his way. It would be the end of everything if you were sent back across the Border.”

“I’m afraid of Salisbury.”

“Who would not be? He’s a brilliant statesman and James knows that. Oh, how I wish I were there when you talk to the King. You must make him understand that he should not give way to the Parliament. Otherwise they’ll have the upper hand and they’ll strike against you.”

“But even if the King dissolves Parliament that won’t get him the money he wants.”

Overbury was silent for a moment; then he said: “There could be ways of raising money without the help of Parliament. James believes in the Divine Right of Kings so he would not be averse to trying them out.”

“What ways are these?”

Overbury pondered for a moment or so and then said: “Well, for one thing, there are many rich men about the Court who lack a good family background. They would give a great deal to possess titles. Why shouldn’t the King sell titles? I should imagine that would bring him quite a pleasant sum.”

“Why, that’s a brilliant idea,” cried Robert. “I’ll tell James at once.”

“Don’t rush in with it. Let it come out casually, as though you’ve thought of it on the spur of the moment.”

“I will, Tom. My dear, clever fellow. What should I do without you?”

The King’s ministers were beginning to think that Carr was a good deal more shrewd than they had suspected. The King had dissolved Parliament when it was rumored that that body was about to demand the return of certain Scotsmen to their own country. The position would have been extremely awkward for Robert Carr and James if Parliament had ordered the favorite’s eviction.

It was a shock to the King’s ministers because they had believed that, owing to his dire need of funds, he would not be able to do without their help. Moreover, only the judicious Salisbury prevailed on the King not to send the more troublesome of the ministers to the Tower.

Then it was understood why James could afford to do without his Parliament. He had a new idea which, it was said, had been put forward by Carr.

Any man of means who would like to become a baronet might do so if he would present a little over a thousand pounds to the royal exchequer.

From all over the country this offer was taken up. In rolled the money; and if there were a large number of baronets, what did the King care.

He was delighted with his clever Robbie who could concoct such plans to bring his old Dad and Gossip what he needed.

James was terrified.

He summoned Robert to him, and when he came bade him lock the doors of the apartment.

“I smell treason in this,” he declared.

“My dear Majesty, I pray you calm yourself,” begged Robert.

“I canna help feeling that this is another of their dastardly plots, boy. Have ye heard what has happened?”

“The Lady Arabella has escaped from Barnet.”

“Aye, lad. Escaped and on the high seas. I’ve ordered that a boat be sent after her from Dover. But if she reaches France and hides there, how can we guess what black mischief she’ll be at … she and that traitor of hers, Will Seymour?”

“Your Majesty, I feel sure that she will not be allowed to reach France. We shall capture her and bring her back.”

“Ye’re a great comforter, boy. But this is how the plots begin. I dream about them, Robbie. I dream they’re stacking gunpowder in the cellars again; and that those who wish me out of the way, as the Ruthvens once did, will be putting their heads together. I’ve had luck so far, Rob. It wouldn’t be logical to expect it to go on.”

James was thinking of the ministers of his own Parliament who had recently spoken against him. What were they planning? Wouldn’t they seize an opportunity to rally to Arabella; even if the girl did not wish to start a war, they’d make her; she would be a good figurehead. And who could say how ambitious Will Seymour was?

It was a mistake perhaps to have taken her from Sir Thomas Parry with whom he had lodged her when she had disobeyed him by her marriage. She must have been desperate when she heard that she was to go to Durham to be in the care of the Bishop there. She had fretted and her health had suffered so that on the way north she had seemed to become seriously ill and had had to rest at Barnet. Now James saw that that was very likely a trick.

She must have had friends who helped her; she could never have escaped if she had not. Where would she have found French-fashioned hose, and a man’s doublet? They must have been found for her; and she, while he believed her to be sick, had dressed herself in these, added a man’s peruke, a black hat and cloak—not forgetting a sword—and had, in the company of some of her friends, slipped away. She had reached the Thames, where she boarded a waiting vessel and was taken to a French ship which was lying in readiness for her.

This was not all. At the same time William Seymour, also wearing a peruke and a false beard, had walked out of his prison in the Tower down to the river where a boat was waiting for him.

How could this have been done, demanded James, if the pair of them had not possessed friends to help them?

“But mark ye this,” added the King. “Luck has not gone with them all the way, for I am informed that by the time Will Seymour made his escape, the French ship had already left with the Lady Arabella, fearing to wait longer. Where Seymour is we do not know, but we’ll find him. And when these birds are once more my captives, there shall be such a cage made for them that they will never fly away again.”

James’s fears were soon diminished. Before her ship touched the shores of France it was overtaken by its swift pursuer, and Lady Arabella was brought back to England.

“Take the Lady to the Tower,” said James. “And this time make sure that she is well guarded. And what of Will Seymour?”

There was no news of Will Seymour for some weeks; and then the rumor came to the Court that he had safely reached France and was sheltering there.

James was uneasy. He would have many a nightmare about that young man. It was good that Arabella was in safe custody, but plots would go on doubtless while Seymour was free.

In her cell Lady Arabella wept bitterly for the ill fortune which was hers. She did not wish to wear the crown of England; she only wanted to live in peace with her husband.

She prayed that he might stay safe in France and that at some time she would be able to join him.

Ready to catch at every hope, she thought of Robert Carr who had seemed to her a kindly man, and had so great an influence with the King.

She took up her pen and wrote to him, imploring him to plead her cause with the King; she begged him to consider her sorry plight, and signed herself the most sorrowful creature living.

Robert was distressed when he read the letter. He had only a casual acquaintance with the Lady Arabella but he had always believed her to be a gentle, harmless lady.

He wanted to plead for her with the King, but first he discussed the matter with Tom Overbury.

“There is nothing you can do,” his friend told him. “Why even I, to whom the King has scarcely spoken, know how he fears plots. He is in terror of the assassin’s knife or the hidden gunpowder. No, Robert, don’t be a fool. Your strength lies in your ability to make the King feel comfortable. He wouldn’t if you pleaded for Arabella. You may think you can risk offending James. Don’t be too sure of that, Robert. Always remember that there are other handsome men waiting to spring into your place. Say nothing of this.”

As usual Robert took his friend’s advice. So Lady Arabella continued to languish in the Tower—a melancholy prisoner who had committed no crime—except of course that of belonging to a branch of the royal family. All she asked was to be able to live quietly with her husband, somewhere in the country if need be, well away from Court intrigue.

Alas, for Arabella.

In the upper chamber of the Bloody Tower, Sir Walter was showing Prince Henry plans for a journey he was hoping to make.

Rarely had Henry seen Raleigh looking so well; and he thought: If he could only regain his freedom he would be as full of vigor as he ever was.

“Do you know,” he was saying, “I really believe this time I shall not be disappointed. I said: Let me serve as a guide in this expedition and if I do not lead the way to a mountain of gold and silver, let the commander have commission, to cut off my head there and then.”

“You seem very sure of finding treasure, Walter.”

Raleigh laughed. “Ah, my Prince. It will be a gamble.”

“You’d gamble your head!”

“And day, for my freedom.”

“I shall pray for your success.” Henry’s eyes lit up. “Do you think I might come with you?”

“Not for a moment, my dear friend. The heir to the throne would never be allowed to risk his life.”

“If I could make my own decisions I should come.”

“When the time comes for you to make your own decisions, your duty will lie here, and not in Orinoco.”

“None will rejoice more than I on the day you return in triumph; and Walter, when I am King everything that you have suffered shall be made up for … a hundredfold.”

Raleigh patted the young man’s hand.

“I shall serve you with my life, my King.”

Henry, feeling too emotional for comfort, hastily changed the subject. “You have heard of course that there is a move to marry Elizabeth to the Prince of Piedmont.”

“I have heard.” Raleigh shook his head. “I should not care to see our Princess married to the son of the Duke of Savoy; and I hear there is another project.”

“That I should marry his daughter. What think you of this match?”

“It does not please me.”

“Then do not hesitate to speak of your objections.”

“I shall not.”

“There has been a suggestion that Elizabeth should marry the King of Spain. As you know there are many secret Catholics at Court, in spite of the moves my father has made against them; and I believe that some of his ministers are in the pay of Spain. I should protest strongly against a Catholic marriage for my sister, and so would she.”

“A great deal depends on Salisbury’s attitude.”

“His desire is for closer alliance with the Princess of the German Protestant union, and the young Elector Palatine is looking for a bride.”

“And Elizabeth, what does she feel?”

“Poor Elizabeth. She is not very old, you know. It is a sad fate which befalls our Princesses. They must marry and go into a strange land. At least that is a fate which we avoid.”

“You are very fond of your sister, and you will suffer from the parting.”

“I shall come to you more often and expect you to comfort me. But perhaps by then you will be on the way to Orinoco. Who can tell?”

Henry saw the far-away look in his friend’s eyes, and knew that he was already picturing himself on the high seas.

He is longing to set sail, thought Henry. And when he goes I shall have lost him for a while; and if ill should befall him, perhaps for ever. And if Elizabeth marries and goes away, I shall have lost her too.

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.

A life of a member of the family was the price that must be paid for tampering with the dead. It was quite ridiculous.

Everything seemed more colorful to Henry that summer. The sun seemed to shine more brightly; the flowers in the gardens were more brilliant; he often thought of Frances Howard whom he had loved and who had deceived him; and their relationship now seemed a wonderful experience. He wished that Frances would come back to Court. He was sorry for her, a prisoner in Chartley, for he knew that she had deeply resented being carried there by her husband. But perhaps she was in love with him by now. She was a fickle creature. It was well that she was in the country. If she were back he might be tempted to sin once more. He did not want that. He wanted to live these days with a zest and verve that was new to him. He wanted to enjoy each minute; not one of them should be wasted. He had that feeling.

He did not visit Sir Walter as often as he used to. Sometimes he would sail down the river and look toward the Bloody Tower. He did not want those keen sailor’s eyes to discover something which he would rather keep secret.

He did not wish to cast a backward look at what was rapidly overtaking him. He knew that one day it would be level with him; it would stretch out its cold arms and embrace him. There was no eluding that embrace. When it came he would be ready.

The Queen was unaware of her son’s condition because he made such an effort to conceal it that he had succeeded.

When she said, “And how is my beloved son this day?” he always answered: “In excellent health, as I trust to find my dear mother.”

She saw him flushed from riding and mistook the flush for health. He was a little thin, and she scolded him for this. He must eat more. It was a command from his mother.

He would sit and talk to her, tell her how he had scored in the tiltyard; and she would listen delightedly. He made a great effort to restrain his cough in her presence and often succeeded.

When he could not she would say: “I should have thought that friend of yours, Walter Raleigh, would have given you some draught to cure that cough. He is supposed to be so clever.”

“I must ask him when I see him next.”

“Do so. I like not to hear it.”

If Anne had not been so concerned with the coming wedding she might have been more aware of Henry’s state. The match with the Elector Palatine, who was known as the Palsgrave in England, did not please her, for she thought the man not good enough for her daughter.

“I’d set my heart on her being Queen of Spain,” she grumbled. “Who is this Palsgrave?”

“I think it is an excellent match, dear Mother,” Henry told her. “It delights me.”

She smiled at him indulgently, and for his sake tried to hide her disappointment; but she could not manage this completely. When Elizabeth came to them she said: “So Goody Palsgrave comes calling on a Prince and Queen.”

“She looks very happy,” commented the Prince.

“Mayhap she has forgotten she was once a Princess. Come along, Goody; you must make a deeper curtsy now.”

But Elizabeth threw her arms about her mother and said: “Forgive me, dearest mother, but I think that good wife Mistress Palsgrave is going to be very happy.”

Queen Anne snorted; but Henry was laughing. And it made her very happy to have these beloved children with her.

It was October when Frederick V, the Elector Palatine, arrived in England. The streets of the capital were decorated to welcome him, and the people turned out in their hundreds to greet him.

He was immediately popular, being good-looking and eager to please; and Protestants throughout the country welcomed the union.

When Elizabeth met him she found him all that she had hoped he would be; and there was no doubt that he was as enchanted with her.

For once two people who had been elected to marry for political reasons had fallen in love on sight. It was a very happy state of affairs.

Even the Queen could not help being pleased, although she continued to mourn the loss of the Spanish crown.

Henry had been feeling steadily more ill, and was finding it increasingly difficult to hide this. But during the celebrations he determined to conceal his condition and he plunged into the celebrations with great zeal.

Elizabeth was in love and happy. He wanted her wedding to be something she would remember with pleasure for as long as she lived.

At the tennis tournament he was one of the champions, and everyone marveled at his skill. Being October the weather was cold, but he played in a silk shirt so as not to be hampered by too many clothes.

When the game was over he was very hot, but almost immediately began to shiver.

The next morning a fever had overtaken him and he was unable to rise from his bed.

The Prince was ill; the news spread through the City. His illness has culminated in a virulent fever which, his doctors were sure, was highly infectious.

The Prince being aware of this implored his doctors not to let his mother, father, his sister, Elizabeth, or his brother, Charles, come near him.

He lay on his bed, not being quite sure where he was.

There were times when he believed he was dancing with Frances Howard, and others when he was sailing the high seas with Sir Walter.

The Queen walked up and down her apartment clasping and unclasping her hands while the tears streamed down her cheeks.

“This is not possible,” she cried. “My Henry! He was always such a bonny boy. This cannot be true. He will recover.”

Nobody answered her. No one believed the Prince could recover, but no one dared tell her this.

“When he was a baby,” she said, “he was taken away from me. I, his mother, was not allowed to nurse my own son. It was the same with them all. And now … this!”

But for all her grief she made no attempt to go to him. It would upset him, she assured herself; and she was terrified of contagion. Yet within her a battle was raging. She wanted so much to go to him; it was meet and fitting that his mother should be at his bedside. But if she should catch this fever … if it should run through the Palace … She must not be foolish; she must stay away from her beloved son. This was yet another sorrow to be borne.

She called one of her women to her.

“Send to Sir Walter Raleigh in the Bloody Tower. Tell him of the Prince’s need. He is a clever man. Let him give him some of his elixir of life. That will save him.”

Then she threw herself on to her bed and wept.

But she felt better. He was wise, her Henry, and he had always declared that Sir Walter Raleigh was the greatest Englishman alive—not only a fine sailor, but a scientist of immense power.

Sir Walter loved the Prince. He would not fail now.

When Sir Walter heard the news he was horrified. He had feared for some time that the Prince was ailing; but it was a great shock to learn that this well set-up young man was now close to death, the victim not only of a wasting disease but a virulent fever.

But Sir Walter was a man of vision. He had always believed that whatever he undertook would be successful. In the past he had seemed to be right and it was only when his great misfortune overtook him, and he lost his freedom, that he had doubted the truth of his doctrine.

Even so, optimism had prevailed and sometimes he wondered whether he had been made a prisoner that he might write history instead of making it, that he might preserve life with his scientific discoveries rather than take it in rash adventures.

He therefore believed that he had the nostrum which would cure the Prince; and in all confidence he went at once to the hut at the end of the Walk and brought it back.

Before he dispatched the messenger he wrote a hasty note.

“This will cure all mortal malady, except poison.”

The good news spread through the Palace and City. The Prince had regained sufficient consciousness to know that the draught he was given came from his good friend, Sir Walter Raleigh, and so confident of his friend’s powers was he that he seemed to recover.

Crowds gathered outside St. James’s Palace; they filled the streets from the Palace to Somerset House, and some knelt to pray for the life of the young man whom they all admired, respected and loved.

There were other cases of fever in the City; people were stricken, became delirious and in a few days died.

The Queen had left for Somerset House to be away from contagion; she was inconsolable; longing to be at her son’s bedside, yet fearing to be.

When the news came that Henry had recovered a little after taking the nostrum she fell on her knees and thanked God.

The King came to her with Elizabeth and Charles. They were all weeping bitterly and to Elizabeth it seemed unbelievable that, now she was to have a husband whom she could love, she was in danger of losing the brother who had until now held first place in her affections.

“Raleigh’s nostrum is working the miracle,” cried Anne. “Our son will live and we have that man to thank for it. You must reward him with his freedom. I shall never be able to thank him enough.”

James was silent. He was not so optimistic as the Queen; he knew that Henry had revived temporarily, but he believed they should wait awhile before allowing themselves to hope.

“Why do you not speak?” demanded Anne. “Raleigh says that the mixture will cure everything except poison. Why do you cease to rejoice? Do you believe that our son has been poisoned?”

“Dinna excite yourself so, my dear,” begged James. “This is a sad time for us. Let us meet it with calmness.”

But how could Anne be calm? If her son recovered she would be mad with joy; if he died she would be demented.

There were loud lamentations in the streets.

The news was out. About twelve o’clock on the night of the 5th of November, Prince Henry died.

The 5th of November! A significant date in the history of the life of the royal family. A few years earlier, on this very day, the plot to blow up the King and Parliament had been discovered.

In the streets the Catholics were declaring that this was a judgment on the persecutions which had followed the revelation of the Gunpowder Plot. There were riots and fighting in the streets, because there was always the mob which was ready for trouble at any opportunity. But the chief sound that filled the streets that night was that of weeping for the death of the most popular Prince of his House, the young man who had seemed so full of promise and who one day, the people had hoped, would be their King.

When the news was brought to the Queen she could not take it in for some time. She refused to believe it.

But at last she was forced to accept it, and the only way she could curb her great grief was in rage and recriminations.

“Raleigh said it would cure all but poison. Poison! Someone has poisoned my son. Who could have done such a foul thing to one who was beloved by all? What enemies had he among righteous men? None. But he had his enemies. What about Robert Carr whom he always hated? What of that sly shadow of his, Overbury? I always hated Overbury. I do not trust Overbury. He has poisoned my son at the request of Carr. I will prove it. There shall be an autopsy. And if poison is found I shall not rest until I have brought those men to justice.”

Those who heard of the ravings of the Queen did not hesitate to speak of her suspicions. Soon they were being whispered, not only in the Palace but throughout the City.

Even when the autopsy revealed that Prince Henry had died from natural causes, the rumor still persisted that he had been poisoned; and the names of Robert Carr and Overbury were mentioned in this connection. It was said that the Prince had hated his father’s favorite and had stood in the way of his promotion to even greater honors. Carr had a reason for wishing him out of the way; and it was known that Overbury was Carr’s creature.

James, who had shown greater courage than the Queen during the Prince’s illness and had been at his bedside even though warned of the contagious nature of his illness, scorned these suggestions; and bade Robert put them from his mind.

“Why, lad,” he said, “’twas ever the same. A prominent person dies and the word Poison is bandied from mouth to mouth. The autopsy shows the cause of death and in time all will come to accept it.”

Robert was grateful for the King’s sympathy but he was uneasy. It was unpleasant to be suspected of murder.

One evening the guards at St. James’s were disturbed by the figure of a naked man; he was tall and fair, and in the dim light had a look of the Prince.

“I am the ghost of the Prince of Wales,” cried the naked one. “I have come from the grave to ask for justice. Bring my murderers to the scaffold. It is where they belong.”

Some of the guards fled in terror, but two, bolder than the rest, approached the man and saw that he was not the Prince of Wales.

They hustled him into the porter’s lodge and there demanded to know who he was.

“The Prince of Wales,” he answered. “Come from the grave for justice.”

“This is a trick,” said one of the guards. “Someone has sent him to do this. We’ll find out who.”

They then took a whip and proceeded to lash the fellow until he screamed in agony. But he persisted that he was the ghost of the Prince of Wales.

Ghosts did not allow themselves to be beaten, the guards were sure. They tried to force him to confess he was a human being trying to trick them; but he persisted in his story, and they kept him there through the night, every now and then trying, as they said, to make him see reason and confess the truth.

In the morning news of what had happened was carried to the Palace and brought to the ears of the King, and James himself went to the porter’s lodge to see the ‘ghost’ of Prince Henry.

He frowned when he saw the marks of lashes on the naked body.

“Why,” he said, “did ye no understand that the man is sick? He’s suffering from the same fever that carried off the Prince. He’s in need of doctors, not lashes.” He tried to soothe the man whose mind was clearly wandering. “Don’t ye fret, laddie. You’ll be taken care of.”

He gave orders that the man should be cared for and inquiries made as to who he was.

It was soon discovered that he was a student of Lincoln’s Inn who had left his bed, deposited his clothes in an open grave and wandered on to the Palace.

On the King’s orders he was looked after in the porter’s lodge; and one evening when his nurses went to his bed, they found he had disappeared.

It was presumed that he had wandered out of the lodge, perhaps in an effort to find his way back to the grave which he believed he had left.

Some boatmen thought they saw him at the river’s edge and, as he was never seen again, it was believed that he had drowned himself in the Thames.

The rumor of poison died down; but it was not entirely forgotten. Rather was it laid away to be brought out in the future when people were reminded of it.