by Jean Plaidy
That satisfied her and she went away.
The next day the tarts arrived for Sir Gervase Helwys and because he was not there to receive them, his servant took them in. Thus they remained for several hours in his apartment before he found them. By that time they were already turning black and were touched with a strange phosphorescence.
No one would eat such tarts. Sir Gervase would not only be doing Overbury a good turn by throwing them away but those who had sent them, for had any but himself looked at the things that person would have suspected at a glance that some very foul substance had been used in preparing them.
The Archbishop of Canterbury was in despair. When he had put his case before the Commission he had a big following. He was certain then that right would prevail and that there should be no concessions because of the nobility and position at Court of the people concerned.
The King was impatient with the Archbishop. James did not like the case; he wished that Robert had chosen an unmarried girl for his wife; however, since Robert wanted this woman, he must have her. But in spite of James’s having made it clear to his Archbishop that he wanted the divorce, still Abbot was arguing against it—and carrying the majority of the Commission with him.
But James had taken one or two of the Commissioners aside and made known his wishes to them; and at the next meeting they no longer supported the Archbishop.
Frances was called before seven chosen ladies who had been instructed to consult her on the intimate details of her married life. Her mother was among them, and being a very forceful woman, and having decided how she intended the inquiry must go, she soon made herself leader of the group. Frances was grateful to her mother and herself gave a touching performance as she explained how her husband had been unable to consummate the marriage.
Essex, questioned by the Commission, was becoming eager to see an end to the proceedings and freedom from a marriage which was growing more and more distasteful as the case progressed; he now seemed ready to accept the slur of impotence for the sake of that freedom.
He was not in truth impotent, he told them, but he had no desire for his wife. He had loved her when he left France and came to England, but he no longer did so, and never could again.
It was suggested that a certain bewitchment might have been put upon him, which would explain why he was able to be a good husband to some woman but not to his wife.
Still the case was not settled and James was annoyed, for now it was being talked of in the streets and it was said that if a woman wanted to rid herself of a husband all she had to do was declare him impotent.
He summoned the Commissioners to Windsor where he was at that time and with them came Frances’s father, the Earl of Suffolk, who during the journey had talked with several of the members of the Commission and told them that he and lords Northampton and Rochester were growing impatient. They asked for a simple matter to be settled and these lords deliberately thwarted them. He hinted at rewards which would be given to the acquiescent; punishments which would befall the dissenters.
By the time the Commission appeared before James, several of its members had changed their minds and were opposing the Archbishop of Canterbury. But old George Abbot was not going against his principles whatever the advantages … or disadvantages.
James was not displeased that there should be this difference of opinion, because it gave him an opportunity of debating, an occupation from which he derived much pleasure, particularly if the subject was a theological one. He prided himself on being more learned in the scriptures than any priest and he could always back up his arguments with quotations.
He summoned George Abbot and engaged him in discussion. The Archbishop was tired and James was alert. Every point which the priest brought forward James quashed with a quotation from the Bible and his own subtle argument. He would have found arguments and quotations to oppose himself had it been necessary; but that was one of the joys of debate. James could have made a brilliant case for either side. He was not called the British Solomon for nothing.
It was said in the Bible that a man should take one wife and cleave to her until death parted them. Ah, but it may well have been that when that had been written the hideous cult of witchcraft had not appeared to sully the Earth. What had happened was that Essex had been bewitched. He was made impotent as far as his own wife was concerned. When they had wiped out witchcraft, cases such as this would never arise.
James was off on his favorite hobby horse. Ever since he believed he had proved that witches had tried to drown the Queen and prevent her reaching Scotland, he had become incensed by the very word witchcraft. On account of his hatred of this, witch-finders were flourishing throughout the kingdom and every day some old woman would be dragged before the judges and put to the tests.
It seemed to James that witchcraft was behind every evil scheme that was ever brought to light; and he believed it possible that witchcraft had made a normal married life impossible now and for ever between the Earl and Countess of Essex, and therefore the best thing that could happen would be to dissolve their marriage and let them both find partners elsewhere.
He reminded the Archbishop of events which had taken place when he was but a lad in Scotland. One concerned a woman who had been forced into marriage and ran away from her husband to whom her father insisted that she return.
“And the result, man. She poisoned him and was burned for it. Ye canna jerk a woman back to a husband and he to her when evil witches have juggled with them. Remember this, and disband the Commission. It shall meet again when you have had time to brood on it. It may be necessary to have a bigger Commission. The more heads to ponder on this the better.”
So there was to be a pause before the new Commission sat; and it gradually became known that the King was ready to reward those who gave the verdict he wished. Honors were given to some who pledged their support; Court wits referred to blessings bestowed as Nullity Honors; and when the Bishop of Winchester—who had shown himself zealous in the cause of Rochester and the Countess of Essex—brought his son to Court to receive an accolade, the young man was jokingly called: “Sir Nullity.”
It was comforting for Frances and Rochester to know that the King was so fervently on their side.
But they were still waiting for the divorce.
In his prison Sir Thomas Overbury was aware of changes. A lassitude had overtaken him; he suffered from sickness and griping pains.
“I shall die of melancholy,” he said, “if I remain here much longer. Prison sickness is already beginning to overtake me.”
His weight had rapidly decreased and his face had lost its once healthy glow; his skin was pallid and damp and there were days when he was too ill to rise from his bed.
He wrote to his parents and told them that his health had deteriorated in the last weeks and that if something was not done to bring him out of his prison he feared he would die.
Sir Nicholas Overbury and his wife were alarmed when they read this letter.
“I cannot understand it,” said Lady Overbury. “Why have they sent him to the Tower? He appears to have done nothing but refuse an appointment. Is this justice?”
Sir Nicholas shook his head and said that they could only guess at the strange behavior of people in high places.
“But Viscount Rochester was so fond of him. Our Thomas was one of the most important men at Court.”
“It is the important men at Court who are the most vulnerable.”
“I don’t intend to let matters rest as they are. We must go to London and see what can be done.”
Sir Nicholas could see that his wife was determined and as he too was growing anxious on his son’s account he agreed that to London they must go.
“I should like to see the King and ask his help,” said Lady Overbury.
That was an absurd suggestion, her husband knew, for humble people such as they were could not call on the King.
“We might send a petition,” he suggested.
“Explai
ning,” added his wife, “how anxious we are.”
They did so, begging the King to allow some physician to attend their son.
James read the petition and understood the parental concern behind it. He wrote kindly to the Overburys personally, telling them that he was sending one of his own physicians to see their son.
Sir Nicholas felt that he and his wife had already done some good, and when he heard that his son was suffering from some unspecified disease natural in the circumstances, he was very anxious to see him; he wrote to Viscount Rochester begging him to seek the necessary permission for the parents to visit their son.
Rochester, moved by the letter, was about to say he would arrange at once for the parents to see Sir Thomas, but before making a decision he consulted with Northampton.
Northampton knew far more than Rochester; and he was very suspicious of the prisoner’s illness. It could not be long before Overbury began to suspect that the sudden sickness which had overtaken him was not due to natural causes; and then there might be serious trouble. What, wondered Northampton, was Frances up to now? He was certain that she would never let matters take a natural course and she had far more reason to fear Overbury than she had allowed even him to understand.
On no account must Overbury’s parents be allowed to see him.
“My sweet lord,” he said, “Overbury is sick; he has been a prisoner for some weeks; you can be assured that he is angry with you. How can we know what lies he will tell against you? I have heard it whispered that he is in the Tower because he is in possession of a dark secret which involves you, and that it concerns the death of the Prince of Wales. By God and all his angels, Robert, if such a tale were bruited abroad—false as you and I know it to be—it could be the ruin of you. Even James would not be able to save you.”
“I cannot believe that Overbury would so lie about me.”
“Nor would he, when he was your friend. Now he is your enemy and never was an enemy so bitter who was one time a close and loving friend. Overbury is a dangerous man. Nay, Robert, let us get the divorce done with and then we will come to terms with him. We will give him his freedom in exchange for his promise never to utter a word against you.”
“But what of his parents? What can I tell them?”
Northampton considered. “That very shortly he is to be released, and that if you are to bring this about it is better for him to be quiet and say nothing that might jeopardize your plan. At the moment he is in prison and resentful. You do not wish to tell him how near his release is, just in case it should take a little longer than you hope to bring it about. Therefore, let matters rest as they are.”
“Very well, if you think it is necessary.”
“Necessary, my dear fellow. It is essential to your future—yours and Frances’s. Believe me, my greatest desire is to see you two happy together.”
“Then I will write to Sir Nicholas and Lady Overbury.”
“Do so. They will be delighted.”
“Others have asked permission to see him. Some of his kinsmen.”
“Tell them the same. It is the best way. And it is true. For as soon as the divorce has been granted, Overbury shall have his freedom.”
So Robert wrote as directed; and that was all the satisfaction the Overburys and their anxious relations received.
A terrible realization had come to Thomas Overbury.
He would never escape from the Tower.
There were days when he was too ill to think clearly; but these were sometimes followed by periods when, although his body was weak, his mind was active.
Why should he have been imprisoned merely because he refused to take an appointment overseas? It was unreasonable—and it had happened just at that time when he had quarreled with Robert about that evil woman of his.
What was the real truth behind his imprisonment?
His pen had always been a comfort to him and he used it now. He was going to write down everything that had happened since the day he met Robert Carr in Edinburgh; and he was going to send copies of this to his friends and ask them to read it and see if they could discover what had led to his imprisonment in the Tower.
The idea made him feel alive again, and he felt his strength coming back.
He wrote a letter to Robert—a long bitter letter of reproach and recrimination in which he accused him of throwing away their friendship for the sake of an evil woman. He told him that he had written an account of their relationship, his fears and suspicions, and was making eight copies of this which would be sent to eight of his friends. He did not believe Rochester could deny one word of what he had written; and he wanted people to know that he suspected he had been put into the Tower because of what he knew concerning Rochester and that evil woman who had been his mistress, and whom he now desired to make his wife.
When Northampton saw the letter which Robert showed him, he ordered Helwys to be more vigilant than ever. Eight letters which Overbury was writing must be brought to him and by no means allowed to reach the people to whom they were addressed.
Northampton was very uneasy. The divorce, thanks to the Archbishop of Canterbury, was being delayed. Overbury was becoming suspicious and truculent, although Helwys reported that he was growing more feeble every day.
There was a time of great anxiety when two physicians recommended by the King examined Overbury, and great relief when they reported that the prisoner was suffering from consumption aggravated by melancholy.
James’s sense of justice was disturbed when he received this report. Overbury had been put into the Tower for a flimsy reason. He had angered the King by a curt refusal to take a post abroad and James knew that if he had been another man his anger would have been shortlived. He had seen something of the friendship between Robert and Overbury and he knew Overbury to be a clever man; the truth was he was a little jealous of Robert’s affection for the man; and that was why he had, at Northampton’s instigation, treated him more harshly than the offense warranted.
He sent for the eminent physician Dr. Mayerne and asked him to do what he could for Overbury.
Dr. Mayerne attended Overbury once, saw no reason to doubt that he was suffering from consumption intensified by melancholy, and since he did not intend to spend much time on a patient who was after all in disgrace, appointed his apothecary Paul de Lobel to attend Overbury.
Each morning Frances would wake from disturbing dreams. She was so near achieving her heart’s desire, yet it could so easily be snatched from her.
She could not endure the waiting; it was unnerving her.
There was a meeting in the house at Hammersmith when she opened her heart to Mrs. Turner.
“I begin to wonder whether Dr. Franklin is as skillful as we thought,” complained Frances. “All this time and the man still lives!”
“He is loth to administer stronger doses for fear of discovery.”
“Afraid! These men are always afraid. My dear Turner, if they cannot give us what we want we must do without them.”
Anne Turner was thoughtful; then she said: “I heard that Paul de Lobel is attending him.”
“Well?”
“I sometimes visit his establishment in Lime Street and I have noticed a boy there who is very willing to do little services for me … for a consideration.”
Frances was alert.
“Yes, dear Turner?”
“Overbury has had several clysters since he has been in prison and de Lobel administers these. They would be prepared in Lime Street before taken to the Tower. If I could speak to this boy … offer him a large enough sum …”
“Offer him twenty pounds. He would surely not refuse that.”
“It would be a fortune to him.”
“Then tell him that he will receive the money when Sir Thomas Overbury is dead.”
“Three months and seventeen days I have been in this cell,” said Overbury. “How much longer shall I remain?”
Dr. de Lobel looked at his patient and thought: Not much longer, by the look
of you. For if the King does not release you, death will.
He said: “Any day, sir, you will get your release. That’s how it is with prisoners. I come some days to a prisoner to find that he is no longer here. ‘Oh,’ they tell me, ‘he was released last week.’”
“One day you will come here, doctor, and find that I am gone.”
“I hope so, sir, I hope so.”
“Oh, God, let it be soon,” said Overbury fervently
“And how are you feeling today?”
“Sick unto death. Such pains I have endured! But let me be free of this place and I’ll recover.”
“You have been writing too many letters. You have tired yourself.”
“In a good cause,” Overbury smiled. They would be reading his letters now. They would learn the nature of the man for whom he had done so much and who now left him miserable in his prison. They would know something about the evil woman who had changed one of the best of men into a fiend.
“This clyster should do you much good.”
“Another clyster?”
“Sir, it is my pleasure and duty to make you well again. Come, prepare yourself.”
It was shortly after the clyster was administered that Sir Thomas Overbury was overtaken by such sickness as he had never known before.
He no longer wished for liberty and revenge; he only wished for death.
The next day the sickness continued and he lay panting for his breath.
What has come over me? he asked in his lucid moments. What has happened to make me thus?
No one could answer him. They could only shake their heads and tell each other that the wasting sickness of Sir Thomas Overbury had taken a more virulent turn.
For seven days he lay groaning in his cell; and on the eighth day when his jailers came to him, he did not answer them when they spoke to him.
They looked closer and saw that he was dead.
THE WEDDING