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

James had little royal dignity; he was too ready to laugh at himself and see the other person’s point of view. All the same, having tradesmen demanding payment of bills was something he could not tolerate.

He told Robert about it. “A sorry state of affairs, Robbie. And here am I wanting to give ye the grandest wedding the Court has ever seen!”

“Your Majesty must not think of me. You have already been over generous.”

“You’ve had nothing more than you deserve, lad. You look sad. And you about to be a bridegroom!”

“I am sad because of Your Majesty’s plight.”

“Why, bless you, boy, old Dad has been in difficulties before. We’ll think of a way.”

Robert did think of a way. He gave twenty-five thousand pounds to the treasury.

When James heard of this he wept with emotion.

“The dear lovely laddie,” he kept saying. “God bless his bonny face.”

He knew of a way to reward his lad.

“Robbie,” he said one day, “it seems Viscount Rochester is a title hardly worthy of you.”

“I am grateful for receiving it at Your Majesty’s hands.”

“I know that, lad. But I’d like to see you on a level with the best. You are, of course; but I want them to have to recognize it too. Ye’re going to be an Earl.”

“Your Majesty!”

“My wedding present to you and the lady.”

“Your Majesty, how can I …? What can I …?”

“Ye deserve it, boy.”

Robert’s eyes were bright with excitement. How pleased Frances would be!

A few days later James created him Earl of Somerset.

Frances was being dressed by her women. She had chosen white for her wedding gown and she wore diamonds; with her golden hair about her shoulders, she had never looked as beautiful as she did on that day.

She refused to think of the dead body of Sir Thomas Overbury, but it was significant that she had to admonish herself on this point. Why should she think of a man who was dead? What was he to her now?

“Oh, my lady,” cried one of the maids, “there could never have been such a beautiful bride.”

Jennet was settling the white ruff about her neck, her eyes downcast.

“Just as a bride should be,” went on the garrulous maid. “White for innocence, they say.”

Frances turned sharply to look at the maid; had she caught a glance passing between her and one of the others? Were they whispering about her in corners?

She had to suppress an impulse to slap the girl’s face.

She must be watchful.

She turned to Jennet; Jennet’s eyes were still lowered. Was that a smile she saw curving her lips?

They wouldn’t dare, she assured herself. She was over-wrought. But was this how it was going to be in future? Must she be watchful, furtive; must she always be asking: How much do they know?

Frances was led into the chapel at Whitehall by her great-uncle Northampton and the Duke of Saxony, who was visiting England.

This wedding was attracting as much attention and almost as much pageantry as that of the Princess Elizabeth. The King had expressed his desire that no expense should be spared; Whitehall was to be the setting; and the Banqueting Hall was festooned and decorated with a brilliance rivaling that displayed for the wedding of the King’s daughter.

Robert Carr’s desire for a wife had in no way diminished the King’s affection; and now that the favorite had his earldom it seemed that he could climb no farther. His task in future would be to hold his place at the very heights of power.

Chief advisor and favorite of the King, joined through marriage to the most powerful family in the land—it seemed that at last he was secure.

Frances could not help thinking when the Bishop of Bath and Wells married her to Robert, of that occasion when the same man had married her, in the same place, to another Robert. She dismissed the memory as hastily as she could; she need never again think of Robert Devereux. It must be as though they had never met. He could now go his way and she hers.

She must be happy. Here was Robert smiling beside her; and there was no doubt of his satisfaction. He was respectably married; no more secret meetings, no more furtive messages.

No more fear—only ecstasy.

In the Banqueting Hall was a scene of great magnificence. The King, Queen and Prince of Wales had taken their seats, and beside the King sat the bridegroom and beside the bridegroom his wife.

A curtain was drawn back to display a scene of such fantasy that all those watching gasped with astonishment. Above was an impression of cleverly painted clouds, and below this, a sea on which boats appeared to move as though with the wind. On either side of the seascape were promontories, rocks and woods. Now the dancers came forward, each significantly garbed to indicate a certain quality. First came the villains: Error, Rumor, Curiosity; these were followed by Harmony and Destiny, the latter represented by three beautiful girls. Then there were Water and Fire, the Earth and Eternity, followed by the Continents—Africa, Asia and America. The costumes were brilliant in color and planned to give a clue to the watchers as to what their wearers represented before they sang their songs of explanation.

Queen Anne, who enjoyed such pageantry more than any other member of the royal family, watched intently, waiting for the moment when she would be called upon to play her little part, for she could never bear to be left out of these occasions; and when the three Destinies brought toward her a golden tree, she plucked a branch from it and presented it to one of the knights who came forward to kneel and receive it. This was the moment for a chorus to appear and break into song, extolling the virtues of the newly married pair.

Then from pillars of gold which had stood on each side of the big stage, maskers appeared; there were six of them and their garments glittered as they came before the royal party and the bride and bridegroom.

They began to dance, twisting, turning and leaping; and as they danced they sang:

“Let us now sing of Love’s Delight ,

For he alone is Lord tonight .

Some friendship between man and man prefer ,

But I the affection between man and wife .

“What good can be in life

Whereof no fruits appear

Set is that tree in ill hour

That yields neither fruit nor flower .

“How can man perpetual be

But in his own posterity.”

Everyone applauded this, even the King, who might have thought it a slur on his own nature but for the fact that his own son, tall, handsome, becoming as charming a prince as the brother who had died, was sitting there with himself and the Queen.

The curtain fell and when it rose again a scene of London and the Thames was displayed, with barges from which merry sailors alighted to perform their dances and sing their songs.

Frances watching all the pageantry which had been arranged for her delight, determined to thrust aside those niggling little worries which beset her. The future was going to be glorious. There would be no question of her living in the country with her new husband. It would be the gaiety of the Court all the time; and there would not be a woman more respected than the Countess of Somerset, for her husband was, in all but name, the ruler of England.