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

In the Court they were discussing the King’s latest oddity. Each morning he was at the bedside of Robert Carr. The young man was not an apt pupil; but the teacher quickly forgave him this deficiency because he had so much that gave him pleasure.

It was clear; the King had found a new favorite.

Opposite the entrance to the tiltyard at Whitehall was the Gatehouse, a magnificent pile, built by Holbein, of square stones and flint boulders, tessellated and glazed. Several busts of terracotta and gilt adorned the Gatehouse; one of these represented Henry VII and another Henry VIII; and it was known as the Cockpit Gate.

At one of the windows two children—a boy and a girl—stood looking down toward the tiltyard where a group slowly sauntered, led by the King who was leaning on the arm of a tall, golden-haired young man.

The boy was about thirteen although he looked older and the expression on his handsome face was very serious. The girl, who was some two years younger than her brother, slipped her arm through his.

“Oh, Henry,” she said, “do not let it disturb you. If it were not this one, it would be someone else.”

Prince Henry turned to his sister, frowning. “But a King should set an example to his people.”

“The people like our father well enough.”

“Well enough is not good enough.”

“It will be different when you are King, Henry.”

“Do not say that!” retorted her brother sharply. “For how could I be King unless our father died?”

Elizabeth lifted her shoulders. Although but eleven, she already showed signs of great charm; she adored her brother Henry, but she was much happier when he was less serious. There were so many pleasures to be enjoyed at Court, so why concern themselves with the odd behavior of their parents? At least they themselves were indulged and had little to complain of. Their father might be disappointed because they did not show signs of being as learned as he was, but on the whole he was a tolerant parent.

Henry however had a strong sense of the fitness of things; that was why everyone admired and respected him. He was constantly learning how to be a good king when his time came. He was wonderful in the saddle but did not care for hunting, believing it to be wrong to kill for the sake of killing. Many thought this a strange notion, but it was natural that the son of King James should have odd ideas now and then.

If he had not excelled at all games and disliked study he would have been too perfect to be popular, but his small faults endeared him to everyone.

Elizabeth put her head on one side and regarded him with affection.

“What are you thinking of?” he demanded.

“You,” she told him.

“You might find a more worthy subject.”

She put her arms about his neck and kissed him. “Never,” she told him. Then she laughed. “I heard two of your servants grumbling together today. They complained that you had caught them swearing and insisted on their paying a fine into your poor box.”

“And they liked that not?”

“They liked it not. But methinks they liked you for enforcing the rule. Now Henry, tell me this: are you pleased when your servants swear?”

“What a question! It is to prevent their swearing that I fine them.”

“Yes, but the more fines they pay, the more money for the poor. So perhaps the poor would wish your apartment to be filled with profanity.”

“You are becoming as serious-minded as you say I am.”

“Oh no!” Elizabeth laughed. She changed the subject. “Our father does not like you to visit your friend in the Tower.”

“He has not forbidden me to go.”

“No, he would not. Our father is a strange man, Henry. He hopes that you won’t, but he understands that you must; and therefore he does not interfere.”

“Why do you tell me this?”

“It is like the fines in the poor box all over again. So much that is good; so much that is not good. It is hard to weigh good against evil. There is much our father does which you do not like; but he is a good father to us.”

“My dear sister,” said Henry with a smile, “I sense you reproach.”

“Why do we concern ourselves with matters beyond us? Are you practicing vaulting now, and shall I come to watch you?”

“I am going to the Tower.”

At that moment the door opened and a woman entered holding a little boy by the hand; the child was about seven and walked with great difficulty.

“My lord, my lady,” she said, “I did not know you were here.”

“Come in, Lady Carey,” invited Henry. “And how is my brother today?”

The woman’s face was illumined by a loving smile.

“Tell your brother, sweeting,” she said. “Tell him how you walked all alone this morning.”

The pale-faced little boy nodded his head and his eyes sought those of his elder brother with adulation.

“I w … walked,” he said, “alone.”

An impediment in his speech made the words sound muffled.

“That is good news, Lady Carey,” Henry told her.

“Good news, of a surety, my lord. And when I think of this little one … not so long ago!”

“You have been good to him,” put in Elizabeth.

“He is my precious boy,” declared Lady Carey. “Are you not, Charles?”

Charles nodded and thickly confirmed this.

Elizabeth came and knelt down by the side of her younger brother. She touched his ankles. “They don’t hurt anymore, do they, Charles?” she asked.

He shook his head.

Lady Carey picked him up in her arms and kissed him. “My boy will be taller and stronger than any of you before long; you see!”

Elizabeth noticed how the little boy gripped Lady Carey’s bodice. Poor little Charles, he was the unfortunate one. But at least he was able to walk now, after a fashion; there had been a time, not very long ago, when they had all thought he would neither walk nor speak; and several of the Court ladies had declined the honor of bringing him up because they feared it was an impossible task.

Lady Carey, however, had taken a look at the poor helpless child and decided to devote herself to his care; it was small wonder that she was proud of what she was doing, even though little Charles was an object of pity to most who beheld him.

Elizabeth took her little brother from Lady Carey and set him on a table.

“Have a care, my lady,” implored Lady Carey; and she was immediately at the side of her little charge to hold his hand and assure him that no harm could come to him.

Henry came to the table. “Why, Charles,” he said, “you’re as big as I am now.”

Charles nodded. He was intelligent enough; it was merely that his legs were so weak, and it was feared that his ankles were dislocated and he would never be able to do anything but stagger about; moreover some deformity of the mouth prevented him from speaking clearly.

Henry, deeply touched by the plight of his young brother, began to talk to him about riding and jousting and all the sports which he would be able to take part in when he grew stronger. Young Charles listened avidly, nodding from time to time while he smiled with delight. He was happy because he was with the people he loved best in the world—his adored foster mother, his wonderful brother, his sweet sister.

Anne, the Queen, chose this time to visit the royal nursery. She came whenever she could, for she loved her children dearly, particularly her first-born who seemed to her all that a Prince should be.

So while Henry and Elizabeth talked to the little boy seated on the table, Anne came in followed by Katrine Skinkell and Anna Kroas.