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

“Oh no, Your Majesty. I implore you. Why, do you not see how he has improved since he has been in my care? The boots would be too heavy for him and he would never walk. He has a horror of them. Your Majesty, I beg of you, do not do this.”

Lady Carey’s eyes were full of tears; her lips twitching, her hands trembling. She looked imploringly at the Queen.

“Why should she have the care of my baby?” Anne asked herself. “She behaves as though she were his mother.”

Lady Carey was so overwrought that she laid a hand on the King’s arm. “Your Majesty, he is speaking more clearly than he was a month ago. He needs confidence … and loving care. To cut the string might mean that he would never speak again or at best have an impediment for the rest of his life.” Her eyes were shining with faith. “I know I can make him well. I am certain of it.” She looked from the King to the Queen and seemed suddenly aware of her temerity. “Your gracious pardons,” she murmured, lowering her head; and the King and the Queen saw that she was fighting to control her tears.

James looked at his wife, but she would not meet his gaze. She was thinking: This woman loves my Charles as though she were his mother in truth. And I hate her because she has taken him from me. But it is good for Charles to have one who loves him so.

The maternal instinct was stronger in Anne than any other and she could forget her jealousy in her concern for her son. So she said: “Lady Carey should be given a further opportunity to prove her words. It is true that Charles is better since she took charge of him. It is my wish that there should be no iron boots, nor cutting of the string … as yet.”

“My dears,” replied James, “this is the advice of the doctors.”

But the two women stood firm; there was a bond between them; they were so conscious of their feelings for the child, and they shared the belief that the power of maternal love could exceed the experiments of doctors, however wise.

James regarded them with mild good nature. They loved the boy; there was no doubt of that; and there was also no doubt that young Charles loved his nurse.

James often preferred to thrust aside decisions.

“Then for the time let things be as they are.”

Lady Carey seized his hand and kissed it.

“Why,” he said kindly, “it is the Queen and myself who should be showing gratitude to you, my dear.”

The Queen’s mouth tightened. “I know,” she added, “that Lady Carey has looked after him as though she were his mother. She could not do more than that.”

James turned to Robert Carr who had been standing at some little distance while this conversation took place.

“Come ye here, Robbie,” he said. “Give me your arm.”

“So Your Majesty needs support, even as little Charles?” murmured Anne maliciously.

“Aye,” retorted James. “I like a strong arm to lean on.”

“There might be stronger and more practiced arms,” said the Queen.

And when Robert Carr came to the King she turned her back on him.

James, smiling, went to the children, exchanged a few jocular words with them and then, learning on the arm of Robert Carr, left the apartment.

James went on to his own quarters and when his little party arrived there he dismissed them all, with the exception of Robert, because he sensed that the Queen’s antagonism had upset his favorite.

“Sit down, lad,” he said, when they were alone, and Robert took a stool and placed it by the King’s chair. He sat leaning his head against James’s knee while the grubby royal fingers gently pulled at his golden hair. “Ye mustna let the Queen upset ye, Robbie,” went on James. “She never did take kindly to my lads.”

“I thought she hated me,” Robert said.

“No more than many another. The Queen’s a kind woman in her limits and it grieves me to plague her. Ours has been a good union, though, and we’ve children to prove it. Two boys and a girl left out of seven; and the two eldest as bonny as children could be. Little Charles … well, you heard how the women stood against me, Robbie. But ’tis on account of their fears for the boy. The Queen would have been a good mother if she’d been in another station of life. Queens, poor bodies, are not permitted to care for their own. From the time of Henry’s birth she changed toward me, and all because I’d not dismiss the Marrs and give her charge of the bairn.”

“I fear that she will poison Your Majesty’s mind against me.”

“Nay, laddie. Never. I’ve been a happy man since my Robbie came to cheer up his old Dad. Dinna take much notice of the Queen’s little spites. Bless ye, boy, others have felt it before you.”

“Sire, there is something I must explain to you.”

“Your old Dad is listening, Robbie.”

“Your Majesty has raised me so high in so short a time. But often I feel out of place at Court. Your ministers look down on me—men like the Howards. I’m not one of them. I’m shabby … I’m poor.”

“Give your old gossip time, laddie. I’m going to make ye the most grand gentleman among them. Ye shall have fine clothes and in time an estate of your own. Why, I might find you a rich bride. That would be a fine plan, eh?”

“Your Majesty is so good to me.”

“I like to see my boys happy. Now, dinna fret. All will be well. If fine clothes would help you to be happier, fine clothes you shall have. This very day you shall see some silks and satins, brocades and velvets; and make your choice. Why, mannie, there’ll be no one to hold a candle to you. Though your old Dad thinks that’s the case without fine clothes.”

“How can I thank Your Majesty?”

“Ye do well enough, Robbie. Now bide quiet a wee while and let me chat with you. Conversation is a pleasant pastime; and when ye’ve spent a little more time with your books, there’ll be conversation in plenty for us.”

“I fear I am a simpleton—and Your Majesty so learned.”

“And you such a winsome fellow and me an old scarecrow. Dinna make protest, lad. I was ne’er a beauty. Which is surprising, for my mother was reckoned the foremost beauty of her day; and my father was a handsome fellow. But ye see, I was never cared for as a babe. There were too many who wanted what I had—a crown. And I had it too young, Robbie, for they took it from my poor mother who was the captive of the Queen of England, and they wanted it … they wanted it badly. And now I’m no longer a boy; and there are still some who’d like to see me out of the way. Look at these padded breeks. I often wonder, when my subjects press too close, whether one of them is not waiting … with a hidden dagger.”

“No one would harm Your Majesty.”

“Oh, laddie, ye’ve not long come to Court. Did ye never hear of the Gunpowder Plot? Did ye never hear how the Catholics planned to blow up the houses of Parliament while I and my ministers were sitting?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. Everyone was talking of it at the time and rejoicing in your escape.”

“Aye,” murmured James. “Yet the scoundrels might so easily have succeeded. Do you know, lad, if one of the conspirators had not been anxious to save the life of Lord Monteagle, if he hadn’t warned him to stay away from Parliament, the cellars would never have been searched; we should never have discovered the gunpowder and Guido Fawkes keeping watch. And that would have been the end of the Parliament and your King, Robbie.”

“But Your Majesty had loyal subjects who prevented the treachery.”

“Ay, loyal subjects—and good luck. You can never be sure when they’re going to turn, lad. I’ve had my troubles. You’re too young to remember the Gowrie Plot; but I came as near to death then as a man can without dying, and I’ve no mind to be so close again … if I can help it. Oh, Robbie, ’tis a dangerous life, a King’s. There was a time when I thought even the Queen was with my enemies.”