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

He found her one day staring before her, the book having slipped to the floor; and, seeing the horror in her face, he knew what she had been reading.

“My darling,” he said, “you must not let it grieve you.”

“My mother … did that!”

“She was young; she had been too indulged.”

How explain Frances Howard to her daughter?

He thanked God that Anne was a sensible girl. After the first shock, after they had talked together and he had told her the story as he had known it, she was able to put it out of her mind. He was innocent and her guilty mother was dead. It was because of what had happened that they lived here together away from the Court. It was past; no amount of grieving could change what had happened.

He was glad that she knew because he had lived with the fear that one day she would meet someone who would tell her the story. It was better that she should hear it from him.

She was growing into a very lovely woman, with the features of her mother, made more beautiful by the kindliness of her expression, the modesty of her manners and the virtue which shone from her. He knew that he should not let her remain shut away from the world. It would have been pleasant to keep her to himself for she asked no other life. But he loved her too well.

He had one or two friends who had remained constant throughout his exile, and they helped Anne to see a little of society; but it was with reluctance that she left him to go on an occasional visit and she always returned to him with pleasure. It was during one of these visits that she met Lord William Russell; the attraction was mutual and immediate; and William, eldest son of the Earl of Bedford, was certain that the only wife he would have was Anne daughter of the disgraced Earl of Somerset and his notorious Countess.

One could not expect life to go on in the same gentle groove for ever. Robert knew now that this was the end of his cherished companionship with his daughter; she would either marry Russell or if she did not, spend the rest of her life grieving for him. It certainly seemed that she would not have Russell for Bedford had angrily declared that there should be no marriage between his heir and the daughter of such parents.

Bedford stormed about the Court and the old scandal was revived. Anne had lost her gaiety and that was more than Robert could bear; he knew that he would give everything he had to buy her her happiness, and would even be prepared never to see her again if that were necessary.

William Russell was a determined young man who had no intention of giving up the woman he loved, and being a friend of the King soon enlisted his sympathy and that of the young Queen Henrietta Maria. It was difficult for Bedford to refuse a request from the King to be kind to the lovers, and at last he agreed, but on a condition which, knowing Robert’s poverty, he did not believe would be complied with.

His son’s wife must have a dowry of twelve thousand pounds. That, he declared, was a reasonable suggestion when she was marrying into one of the most important families.

Anne was desolate. “He knows it is impossible,” she mourned. “That is why he has set this condition.”

Twelve thousand pounds! mused Robert. By selling everything he had perhaps he could raise that sum. It would mean he would live the rest of his life in poverty; but he was ready to buy Anne’s happiness on any terms.

When the money was raised Bedford had no more excuses and so the Lady Anne Carr was married to Lord William Russell and although he knew that their intimate companionship was over, that was one of the happiest days of Robert’s life.

He had had little possessions of his own for as long as he lived, which was for eight years after Anne’s marriage. They were happy years, for he was often with his daughter and he saw her the mistress of great estates and, what was more important, a happy wife and mother. Often when his grandchildren climbed on to his knee they would make the eternal plea: “Grandfather, tell me a story.”

And he told them stories of the splendor of Courts and the exploits of knights; but there was one story he never told; and he trusted that by the time they heard it—which in course of time they must—they would see it as a tragedy of figures become shadowy with time, and that they would not judge too harshly the grandfather whom they had known in the days of their childhood.

Bibliography

A Detection of the Court and State of England during the Reigns of James I , Charles I, Charles II and James II , Roger Coke

The History of Great Britain, being the Life of King James the First , Arthur Wilson

James I , Charles Williams

Lives of the Queens of England , Agnes Strickland

The National and Domestic History of England , William Hickman Smith Aubrey

British History , John Wade

King’s Favourite , Philip Gibbs

Her Majesty’s Tower , William Hepworth Dixon

The Dictionary of National Biography , Edited by Sir Leslie Stephen and Sir Sidney Lee

Abbeys, Castles and Ancient Halls of England and Wales , John Timbs and Alexander Gunn

Political History of England 1603–1660 , F. C. Montague

History of England , James Anthony Froude

History of England , John Lingard

AN EXCERPT FROM

THE LOVES OF

CHARLES II

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I t was late afternoon on a July day in the fourth year of the Great Rebellion. The sun was hot; the grass banks were brown; and the purple nettle-flowers and the petals of the woundwort were peppered with fine dust.

A small party—two men and two women—trudged slowly along the road, looking neither to right nor to left, their eyes fixed on the ground. One of the women was a hunchback, and it was this deformed one who carried a sleeping child.

Sweat ran down her face; she caught her breath as she saved herself from tripping over a stone and going headlong into one of the numerous potholes which were a feature of the road. She wiped the sweat from her face but did not lift her eyes from the ground.

After a while she spoke. “How far from the inn, Tom?”

“We’ll be there within the hour.”

“There’s time before dark,” said the other woman. “Let’s stop for a rest. The boy’s heavy.”

Tom nodded. “A few minutes will do no harm,” he said.

The hunchback spoke again. “Only let us rest if you are sure there’s time, Tom. Don’t let the dark overtake us. There’ll be robbers on the road at twilight.”

“There are four of us,” answered Tom, “and we look too poor to rob. But Nell’s right. There’s time for a rest.”

They sat on the bank. Nell took off her boots and grimaced at her swollen feet while the hunchback laid the child gently on the grass. The others would have helped, but she waved them aside; she seemed determined that none but herself should touch the child.

“Here’s the best spot for you,” said Tom to the hunchback. “The bush makes a good support.” But the hunchback shook her head and looked at him with some reproach. He smiled and sat down at the spot he had chosen as the best. “We should be in Dover long before this time tomorrow,” he added.

“Call me Nan,” said the hunchback.

“Yes … Nan … I will.”

“You must remember to call me Nan. It is short for Nanette. Ask my husband. Is that not so, Gaston?”

“Yes … that is so. Nan … it is short for Nanette.”