‘Was the body examined?’ Winwood asked.
‘It was. The gut was severely inflamed, the liver and kidneys affected, the lungs congested, the heart enlarged. Some disease of the parts was long-standing, the doctor pronounced. Inflammation of an acute nature was the immediate cause of death.‘
‘Due to what?’ Sir Ralph demanded.
‘I think,’ Sir Gervase answered, ‘you must ask that of the learned physician himself, for he did not confide it in me.’
This was the second mistake the Lieutenant made because a report had gone about the Tower, though not directly to himself, that mercury sublimate delivered in the clyster had killed the poor victim. He had heard it and was known to have heard it. It was thought that he knew it already and this was why the physician had tried to keep it secret. Lies and counter lies, betrayal and counter betrayal were so common at this time that investigation went limpingly. None knew this better than Sir Ralph Winwood with his experience as a former ambassador and his personal observations of a corrupt Court.
‘I shall have to report all I find to his Majesty,’ he said at last. ‘There will be further probing of witnesses, further investigation into the facts. I recommend you, sir, in your own interests, to make a fair written statement of your knowledge in these matters. Also your motives in hiding them up, in taking no open steps to prevent their repetition. Your motive, too, in securing Richard Weston to be keeper to Sir Thomas Overbury.’
‘Sir Thomas Monson asked me to give him that position,’ Helwys stated. ‘I saw no reason to refuse. He came with a clear reference.’
‘That too will be gone into. Sir Thomas Monson will be asked for an explanation.’
With that he took leave and left the Tower, Sir Gervase going with him to the gate where his horse was waiting. Helwys took leave again and returned thoughtfully to his rooms. Instinct and reason both told him he stood in great and immediate personal danger. Later that day he visited the longest held prisoner in the Tower at that time, Sir Walter Ralegh, to put his case to him in confidence. They stood upon the battlement walk where Ralegh took his exercise, looking out over the river and the big ships in the Pool.
‘I stood here the night Overbury died in torment, his poisoned guts aflame,’ Sir Walter said. ‘We could hear his cries until he fell into a coma. I stood here also that same year when the Globe burned down from a flaming scrap of paper blown into the thatch. They have builded the theatre again with its quarter-roof tiled in slate, so they tell me.’ He turned sharply upon Helwys. ‘This year there will be a greater conflagration, Lieutenant, when a devilish plot will be exploded to burn those you have told me of and many more besides.’
‘And I among them?’ Helwys asked, a humble soldier asking advice from a great leader.
‘Deservedly so,’ Ralegh told him. But his eyes shone and he struck the Lieutenant lightly on the shoulder.
‘Unless thou make a run for it, man!’ he whispered. ‘Write thy report on it, make great play with it and then at tide-up take to the water and away!’
The next instant he had relapsed into his former dignified manner, an elderly misused man, hounded by an ungrateful master.
Sir Gervase Helwys went slowly back to his rooms and when he had with considerable labour written out all he had told Sir Ralph Winwood, he relaxed at cards with his friends. As usual, he lost money and continued to play to retrieve it, found himself both out of pocket and in debt. In no position to take Sir Walter Ralegh’s advice, he went to bed, not caring now very greatly that Fate and his own temperament had combined to overthrow him.
King James received the disclosure of the murder in a horrified silence. He had no doubt whatever that the plot had been devised by Lady Frances Howard to destroy both Overbury’s knowledge of her intrigue with Robbie Carr and his influence upon the favourite working against the Howard faction.
But here lay the appalling danger to himself, for he had resented Overbury’s influence quite as much as the woman did. He was aware of sniggering jokes to the effect that the raucous knight wagged Robbie’s tail and Robbie wagged the King’s. This had been insupportable. The fellow was openly insolent. Had he not been thrust into the Tower for his audacious, impudent refusal of a post of honour?
Yes, justifiably. And yet the legal excuse had been lame, barely adequate, though it was found so. Now if this story got abroad would not the whole suspicious populace conclude that the King had gone further, had completed his revenge for affront in taking the life of his prisoner? James writhed in impotent anger, argued with himself, argued with Sir Ralph Winwood, sent for the Archbishop, for the Chancellor, found he had spread his doubts and fears far too wide and in a kind of despair asked for advice from those whose advice he seldom took. It came with the authority of the high offices of the State. A Commission must be set up to inquire into the matter. Witnesses must be called to say what they knew. Later those accused must be questioned, if necessary forced, to make confession and later brought to justice.
A Commission—James submitted. It was the only way to preserve himself from falling into this pit of crime on the edge of which he still teetered in frantic fear. He knew where the lines of investigation would start and where they would end, with the present Earl of Somerset and his wife.
He remembered that other Commission whose finding had so pleased him because it gave happiness to Robbie. If he could have known that his eager meddling with that Commission’s work would lead to this fearful crime! If he could have known—But did he never suspect, had he never heard in the past years of secret poisonings, convenient removals? He covered his face with his hands and rocked to and fro in an agony of fear—for himself, his prerogative, his throne. He almost wished he were back in Scotland where such matters could be hushed up, forced down into the graves of their victims, not flaunted in public by cold-hearted lawyers devoted to a public cause they called justice.
After a few days, seeing the matter successfully taken out of his hands, though still anxious, the King became calmer and more able to plan his personal conduct. Besides, he had at least one major interest to distract his thoughts, the young and very beautiful Sir George Villiers. How gratefully the boy had knelt to receive the accolade! How smoothly rounded his cheeks, flushed with pleasure as he rose from his knighting! Interested, excited, though not yet quite infatuated, James was able to turn a shrewder, colder eye upon his present position with regard to that long-standing earlier love that must now be ended. A year before he could not have faced severing that tie. Now he planned it with care; an occasion to be recorded by onlookers, to be graced with suitable feeling, to be well understood by all, to be final.
Somerset was puzzled but did not understand until his wife enlightened him, though she was not present at the parting. After an interview upon a variety of topics, avoiding the most obvious, the new Commission, King James took leave.
‘When shall I see thee next?’ he cried, lifting his hands to his late favourite’s shoulders, drawing him close, kissing his cheeks in his usual slobbering manner.
Robbie Carr responded mechanically. He was used to such demonstrations over the years; he had come to expect them. He murmured an answer, any answer.
‘On Monday next,’ James cried. ‘I’ll see thee on Monday next,’ and kissed and slobbered even more wildly, for he was crying too, his eyes and nose running to join the spittle.
Robbie endured it all, giving back just so much as he imagined was required of him, still unalarmed, still cased in stupid confidence.
At last it was over. The King, who had come to Somerset as part of his planned duplicity, rode away, drying his eyes as he did so. Though his intention held, he was genuinely moved by the occasion. They were not Judas tears, for his love had gone very deep at a time when he had lacked true love of the kind his nature looked for. Even now, believing what he did of the other’s guilt, he wept true, though sentimental, tears for him.
But Lady Frances heard of the incident with an icy pang.
‘He wept as he left me,’ R
obbie said to her. ‘We have nothing to fear with the King on our side.’
‘Fool!’ she said. ‘We have everything to fear. He wept to make pretence of affection. He will betray us all. Thou wilt never see or speak with him again.’
And indeed he never did.
Chapter Twenty-One
Though the public in general knew nothing of the latest news in the Overbury affair and even Lady Bacon had been unable to bring the scandal to Gracious Street, Master Leslie himself was for once better informed than his housekeeper and her daughter.
‘I am much disturbed, mistress,’ he said to her, ‘by news of a fresh Commission of inquiry that hath been set up. Have you heard ought of it? Has Lucy seen her gossip, Alice, of late?’
He smiled as he spoke for he had never been able to take Lady Bacon as seriously as did Mistress Butters.
‘Inquiry into what particular matter?’ she asked, without answering his last question.
‘Why, the murder by poison of Sir Thomas Overbury,’ he told her. ‘That which we have suspected from the start and which now looks to be proved, for I hear the Court is greatly disturbed, Lord Somerset keeps his house, though the Lady Frances goes abroad as usual.’
‘Is it not too late for such an inquiry to succeed?’ Mistress Butters asked. ‘If indeed those great ones are guilty. Surely they will have dispersed the agents of their wickedness for fear they could betray them? Did not the poor man die in the Tower two years ago or more?’
‘He died a short while before Lady Somerset was given freedom from her marriage with my Lord Essex.’
Neither of them noticed that Lucy had come into the alderman’s office while they were speaking. She had not liked to interrupt their conversation as she supposed it was to do with the household accounts, for it was at just such an hour of the early evening that Master Leslie dealt with these matters. Their voices had been too low for her to hear from the door what they were saying until her mother’s tones rose with her indignation at remembering the crime.
She moved forward from the door which she had closed behind her.
‘I crave pardon, sir, for my presence,’ she said to Master Leslie, ‘but I come upon the receipt of strange and terrible news that Alice hath just brought to me.’
‘As I expected!’ cried the alderman. ‘Out with it, wench! It cannot greatly concern us, but let us hear it.’
Lucy clasped her hands together.
‘Indeed sir, I fear it may! Not directly this house, but Sir Francis—’
‘Her husband hath told her of the Commission? Then my news is correct and the King hath acted upon information. This I was told in the City. I marvel your Alice wheedled such a piece of State business from her old sage of a husband.’
‘Nay, nay!’ Lucy was trembling, but resolute. ‘I spoke not of Sir Francis Bacon, sir, but of Sir Francis Leslie. My Lady Somerset hath named her friend and servant, Mistress Anne Turner, as the one responsible in this dreadful business. So now the Commission will seek out all and each one of the Lady Somerset’s friends and familiars, of whom Lady Leslie—’
Words failed her, she covered her face with her hands.
‘’S blood and bones!’ cried Master Leslie, striking the desk before him so that his papers fell to the floor and his inkhorn bounced and turned on its side.
Mistress Butters went quickly to her daughter to put her arms about her and draw the girl’s head to her shoulder.
‘Tush, child!’ Master Leslie went on, rising in his turn to go up to Lucy. He took her by the shoulder and spun her round. ‘Stop this unseemly blubbering! Look up! Speak! Is Alice Bacon still in my house or hath she left, her venom discharged?’
‘I’ll go see,’ Mistress Butters said, quickly disengaging herself from her daughter.
‘Look ’ ee here, girl,’ Master Leslie said, more kindly. ‘Thou did’st right to come to me quickly with this news. But I must hear it from its source, thy friend. I know and thou know’st Kate Leslie followed her ambition for high places into that asp’s hole, that witch’s coven, that devil’s dwelling, where crooked souls conspired their evil together. How far she let herself be taken into that foul company, we do not know and may never know. But if fear moves the principals now, as it seems it may, then there is danger for any and all who so much as spoke with them, and mortal danger for any who received a favour from that quarter. And death for any, no matter how ignorant or how careless, who gave them support or joined them in their foul intrigues.’
‘It is what I greatly fear,’ Lucy answered. She was very white and still shaking but she had control of her voice, and when Mistress Butters came back with Lady Bacon she was able to stand away quietly until her mother took her out of the room.
‘Now, my lady,’ Alderman Leslie said, having made his formal bow and placed a chair for the unwelcome visitor. ‘I believe it due to me to hear from your own lips this troublesome news you bring to my house, since it very well may concern my own kith and kin.’
‘You have every right to hear it, sir,’ Lady Bacon answered. She spoke quietly, without malice, but with respect. She repeated all she had said to Lucy, adding some things she had forborne to tell the girl.
‘This Commission King James hath set up is to inquire into the names, persons and employment of all who had to do with Sir Thomas Overbury from the time of his imprisonment. I have heard upon good authority that my Lady Somerset’s friend and follower, the notorious Mistress Anne Turner hath been called to give evidence before the Commissioners. I know, have known it a long time, that your kinsman’s wife, Katharine Leslie, at one time was a constant visitor in Turner’s house, which is known to be a place of assignation.’
Alderman Leslie was appalled. He believed Lady Bacon. In her present grave, considerate mood, he even admired her. So the situation was far worse than he had feared.
‘I am grateful to you, madam,’ he told her. ‘I am very grateful you did not take ill my first anger at Lucy’s pitiable state, but I see that you did it with a laudable intention. Matters have gone too far already to admit of easy remedies, though I thank God Kate is in Oxford at the new house Francis hath built. At all costs she must remain there. She must cut herself off completely from the Court and all its dark doings.’
‘Pray God for all your sakes she is able to do this,’ Lady Bacon said, with feeling. ‘When I saw how she despised Lucy, how she hurt her feelings cruelly whenever she found opportunity, I confess I wished her ill and mayhap have sometimes spoken ill of her before those who could spread my words. May God forgive me if by ill-speaking I have increased her danger.’
‘As to that the remedy may lie with you, my lady,’ Master Leslie said stiffly, ‘in that you may now speak to her withdrawal, her country life, her peaceful enjoyment of her home, her husband, her children.’
‘It is clear you do not know the Court!’ cried Lady Bacon harshly, with a flash of her usual spiteful humour. ‘To praise Kate now with such excess of praise would treble the suspicion she must lie under. Above all you do not know the Lady Somerset. To remove herself from any part in the murder of that unfortunate man she will cast suspicion and blame on any wretch who tries in guilty or innocent manner to cut himself out of the web she spun to secure that death. Why, think you, hath Mistress Turner been called? At my Lady Somerset’s instigation, I’ll be bound. Silence, sir, is best. In that I will do my endeavours to help for Lucy’s sake, who suffers most in this.’
‘As things lie at the present,’ Master Leslie amended.
‘You need not think to preserve the poor child’s secret that is no secret to her mother or me. But I will not speak of it.’
There was nothing more to be said between them. Lady Bacon took leave of the alderman, promising to report to him any real news she could persuade her husband to disclose. She promised to say as little as possible to Lucy, certainly to keep from her any ill tidings concerning Katharine just as long as they could be concealed.
Two days later Master Leslie rode down to Oxford. He had al
ready an open invitation to visit Luscombe Manor whenever he wished. He did not send word in advance, in case his rapid departure so soon after the visit from Lady Bacon should give rise to any inquiry. At such a time and in such fearful circumstances he dared not put in writing even such an innocent intention.
But he called first upon Richard Ogilvy, for he had been to see the old people in Paternoster Row to announce his visit to Oxford and take any message they liked to give him for their two children. He delivered the first of the messages and then, when Celia had left him with Richard, he explained the real reason for his visit.
Young Doctor Ogilvy was as shocked as Master Leslie had been at Lady Bacon’s news. If his sister was seriously involved, then the whole family might be dragged into her disgrace or even punishment. He agreed that there was nothing to be done until Francis could discover from his wife exactly how deep had been her dependence upon Lady Frances Howard, both before and after the latter’s divorce and remarriage. When they knew exactly how Kate stood in relation to the Somersets, ‘and the Carrs’ Richard insisted, they could make plans to help her should she really be in peril.
‘My chief concern, I must confess, is Francis,’ Master Leslie explained.
‘And mine is my poor father,’ Richard answered.
‘God have mercy upon us all,’ Celia said later that day when the alderman had ridden off to Luscombe and Richard had told her the dreadful news.
At the new house Master Leslie found a surprised but joyful welcome. First from the children, who were at play in the meadow near the brook. Cows had first grazed the wide field beside the house when the building was finished. They trod down the humps and ate the tall grass, after which they gave place to sheep, who were nibbling the sward still lower. A terrace below the tall windows of the main rooms had been levelled and paved and a bank made with steps leading down to a formal rose garden hedged at its borders with young yew, now about eighteen inches high. Beyond this lay the meadow and the sheep.
The Dark and the Light Page 21