“I often think of those Edinburgh days.”
“It was a good day for me when my father decided to send me on a visit to Edinburgh with his chief clerk as my guardian. But for that … we should not have met.”
“We should have met later at Court.”
“There would not have been the same bond between us, Robert. Then we were two humble youths; now you are humble no longer.”
“Nor are you, Sir Thomas.”
“Humble compared with Sir Robert.”
“I’ll tell you a secret. I am soon to be created Viscount Rochester.”
“There is no end to the titles and wealth which will one day be yours.”
“I trust you are going to stay in London now, Tom.”
“Providing the Queen does not see fit to banish me.”
“Why should she?”
“Perhaps because Sir Robert Carr … or Viscount Rochester … continues to be my friend. Let me tell you this, I would be ready to risk the one for the sake of the other.”
Robert clasped his friend’s hand and said: “We shall always be friends, I trust. Did I not soon bring about your release from the Tower?”
“And arranged that I should be sent to the Low Countries an exile.”
“It was the only way, Tom. The King does not flout the Queen too openly. But you see, you did not remain long in the Low Countries.”
“A year seems an age to an exile.”
“Exile no longer. Do you still write excellent poetry?”
“I write poetry, though whether it be excellent or not, as the author it is not for me to say. But I’ll tell you this: Ben Jonson has told me that he admires my work, and since I admire his, that is a compliment.”
“The Queen insists that Ben Jonson be called when she wants poetry for a pageant.”
“He’s a rare fellow—Ben Jonson.”
“Not too rare, I trust, Tom. I mean I hope there are others who admire your work.”
“I am writing some sketches which I’m calling Characters. I’ll show them to you. I think they will amuse you.”
“You will be famous one day, Tom. I am sure of it. You have a great gift. You need a patron … someone who will help you make the best of your talents.”
“A patron? Who?”
“Tom, you have seen me rising. I shall go much farther. Those who come with me will rise too.”
“What are you suggesting, Robert?”
“I need a secretary—someone who has a gift for words, hard work, and who is shrewd and loyal. I know you well and I know that you possess these gifts. Tom, throw in your lot with mine. I am traveling upwards … you can come with me.”
Overbury stared at his friend. He was fond of Robert. He trusted him. Attach himself to the brightest star at Court, the petted boy who only had to whisper his desires in the King’s ear for them to be readily granted?
He was an ambitious man but he had never thought such an opportunity possible.
The music could scarcely be heard above the talk in the crowded ballroom.
The dance went on; the Queen was among the dancers, while the King sat looking on with Robert Carr beside him.
The Prince of Wales was dancing with one of the River Nymphs; he had noticed her in the ballet and thought her by far the most beautiful of them all. He was surprised at his interest, for girls had not greatly attracted him until now. This girl was different. She was so vital, so young; her lovely eyes which seemed determined to miss nothing betrayed her innocence; he was sure this was her first visit to Court.
Their hands touched.
“I liked the dance of the nymphs,” he told her.
“I noticed how you watched.”
“Did you? You seemed so intent on the dance.”
“It was all in honor of the Prince of Wales and I was so anxious to please him.”
“Will it give you pleasure if I tell you that you did?”
“The greatest pleasure.”
“Then it’s true.”
“Thank you, Your Highness.”
“I fancy I have seen you before at Court, and yet this is your first appearance here. I find that strange. It seems as though …”
“As though we were meant to meet, Your Highness.”
“Just so.”
“I am surprised that Your Highness noticed me. There are so many girls….”
“I suppose so, but I have never noticed them before. I hope you will be often at Court.”
“I intend to be there whenever I can.”
“We must arrange it. I shall hold my own Court at Oatlands or Nonesuch, and perhaps Hampton or Richmond. You must come there.”
“Your Highness, how that would delight me!”
He put her hand to his lips and kissed it. Several people noticed the gesture for there would always be some to watch the Prince of Wales and comment on his actions.
“Tell me your name,” he said.
“It is Frances.”
“Frances,” he repeated tenderly.
“Countess of Essex,” she went on.
He looked startled. “Now I remember where I saw you before.”
She smiled. “It was at my wedding.”
But Henry’s expression had lost its gaiety. “You were married to Robert Devereux, Earl of Essex. So … you are a wife.”
“A wife and not a wife,” she answered. “After the ceremony my husband went abroad. I have not seen him since. Our parents considered us too young to live as man and wife.”
“But he will return,” said the Prince.
“I know not when. I care not when.”
“I care,” said Henry almost coldly. “I should conduct you to your guardian.”
“Oh … please not—”
“It is better so,” he answered.
Frances could have wept with disappointment. He had noticed her; more than that he was attracted by her; and because she was married he wanted to end their friendship before it had begun.
It was true. The Prince of Wales was prim and prudish. He implied that while he was ready to be the friend of a young girl, he was not eager to cause scandal on account of a married woman.
Who would have thought that she would have found such prudery at Court? And in the Prince of Wales!
Frances was not one to accept defeat. In that moment she knew she wanted a lover; and that lover must be the Prince of Wales.
THE PRINCE OF WALES TAKES A MISTRESS
The King was alarmed and no one but Robert Carr could pacify him. James paced up and down the apartment while Robert sat helplessly watching him. At every sound James started: he could never get out of his mind the treachery of the Gowrie and Gunpowder plots.
“You see, Robbie,” he said, “I have enemies. They’re all over the Court; and I know not where to look for them. When I think of how the Ruthvens laid their snare for me … and how I walked into it, I marvel that I came out alive.”
“There is some Providence watching over Your Majesty.”
“Providence is fickle, Robbie. Guarding you one day and turning its back the next. I’d liefer rely on my head than my luck. And Providence is another name for the last.”
“Your Majesty is unduly alarmed. You acted with your usual shrewd sense; Arabella Stuart can no longer be a threat.”
“Can she not, Robbie? Can she not? There’s many a man in this city that would like to see me back across the Border … or under the sod. There’s many looking for a Queen to put on the throne. They like to be ruled by a woman. Have ye never heard them talk of my predecessor? Ye’d think she was God Almighty to hear some of them. These English like to be ruled by a woman; the Scots would have none of my mother, but the English worshipped their Queen. How should I know that they’re not drinking their secret toasts to Queen Arabella?”
“Your Majesty is the true King of Scotland and England, and Prince Henry the true heir.”
“Aye, lad. That’s true. And Henry will have many to support him. Have you noticed how they flock to his Court and desert the King’s? I wonder they don’t shout for King Henry in the streets. That boy will bury me alive if I don’t take care.”