A Net for Small Fishes

Home > Other > A Net for Small Fishes > Page 25
A Net for Small Fishes Page 25

by Lucy Jago


  Christmas, 1613

  21

  The tremendous chatter in the bed chamber flew up like starlings as quiet washed in from the doorway. The crowd yielded, their bodies bent low; even Frankie and Robin seated in bed did their best to bow. As the sighing of silken skirts subsided, I could hear a light tapping. It was the King’s Italian greyhound, picking its way between the obeisant rows, stopping frequently to look back at its master. Brutus trotted up to sniff the King’s dog, but the little creature cowered away, its skin shivering.

  When the King finally appeared on the arm of a gentleman of the bed chamber, he opened his arms wide and cried, ‘My dear lad!’

  Stiffly, he climbed the wooden steps to the marital bed and settled against the barrow of his favourite’s legs. These he patted and rubbed, making the groom shift about like a schoolboy. For all his carping about the King’s demands, I could see that Carr sought the love of this man who was, at the least, both sovereign and father to him. Two weeks previously, he had been made Earl of Somerset so that Frankie would suffer no loss of rank when they married. From page to earl in six years; I did not wonder that he appeared dazed on occasion, and sometimes afraid.

  That this moment had arrived was a miracle, dearly bought. At the back of my mind I could still hear Weston reciting a ditty sung in every ale shop, tavern and marketplace between here and Dover, since news of Frankie’s annulment became known.

  There was at Court a lady of late,

  That none could enter she was so straight,

  But now with use she is grown so wide,

  There is a passage for Carr to ride.

  When I was young, there was no news. Gossip perhaps, about neighbours, but nothing of high persons. Since then, a great hunger had arisen in the bellies of ordinary people to know everything that happened beyond their own parish. The streets were littered with the ballads and broadsides ripped from the doors of churches and walls of taverns to make way for the next. No person was safe from the libellers and intelligencers, not even the King, and especially not the Howards. It was printed that Frances had depraved habits, suffered from the French pox, could not contain her lust and so on, all for the scandal of her escaping a cruel husband not of her own choosing. The only good thing was that Sir Thomas Overbury’s death was never mentioned in the broadsheets.

  The King reached out and took the silk of Robin’s nightshirt in his fingertips. ‘How fine worm-spit can look on a man,’ he said. ‘Eh, lassie?’ he addressed Frankie. ‘Are ye content? Rid of yer gelding and riding a stallion now, eh? Is he going to make a mother of ye? Did ye do yer duty, Rabbie? Got over yer cold feet?’ The King’s eyes were damp at their red corners.

  ‘Aye, Sire,’ said Robin, looking down at the King’s hand on his leg. Frankie made to take out the bloodied cloth that I had put there the night before, but the King waved this away with an expression of distaste. ‘No need, no need,’ he said. ‘Ah feared it was an omen when the mechanics of yer masque failed last night.’

  ‘My own machine works fine, Sire,’ said Robin, grinning.

  ‘A’ve more than a thousand pounds for ye and a wee present for the Countess,’ said the King, waving forward a page. The boy carried a cushion to which was pinned a golden cross, set with precious stones and suspended from a thick chain. James pulled it off, ignoring the pins cascading to the floor, and leant across Robin to drop it over Frankie’s head.

  ‘The jewel cost three thousand pounds,’ he announced to thespian gasps from the crowd. Frankie and Carr smiled their gratitude, but I kept watch on the onlookers from my position behind the bed on Frankie’s side. I knew that the King’s public show of generosity would unite a good number of the Court against the new Earl and Countess of Somerset. Those who had hoped that the scandals surrounding Mary Woods and the annulment would reduce the couple in the King’s eyes were being told by this gesture that they had not.

  The King leant forward and kissed Robin full on the lips. Then he climbed from the bed and left the room, trailed by his flimsy dog. The moment the doors closed behind him, the starlings fell to earth. Wave after wave of them pressed close to see the jewel on Frankie’s chest.

  ‘I can bear no more kissing,’ she said to Robin. He laughed, the first I had heard from him in weeks, although he was not looking at Frankie but greeting and embracing the well-wishers come to pay court. Frankie had concluded that it was grief and remorse for Overbury’s death that had caused Robin’s reluctance to marry her once it was possible. He had assured her of his love, but I sensed that something between them had been lost; they had not made love on their wedding night, exhausted by the ceremonies and a tedious masque that had dragged on until the early hours, but perhaps also because the memory of Overbury stalked them both.

  ‘He might as well have lain between us,’ said Frankie. ‘I think I see him sometimes and so does Robin.’ We rarely mentioned him by name.

  I too thought I saw him. His death had been protracted and terrible. From April to September he had languished in the Tower, isolated from every contact except with his gaoler, Weston, and the Lieutenant of the Tower, Elwes, who was charged by Northampton with persuading him to apologise to Frankie. Our first attempt to poison him had little effect on his already sick body. Dr Mayerne’s remedies further complicated the picture, for it was unclear whether Overbury’s condition later worsened through our efforts or those of the royal physician. We resorted to sending in tainted tarts and jellies, but still Overbury struggled on.

  We had given up with poison and were considering a different approach when Weston informed me of Overbury’s death. Frankie and I were as surprised as we were shocked. Weston had been out first thing in the morning buying beer for Overbury when the end came and he was unforthcoming when I asked the circumstances of how it had happened. I did not wish to question him further; he looked as distressed as were we. And now I saw Overbury across courtyards and through windows, and it was even less pleasant an experience than when he was alive.

  Murder and marriage is not a happy mix, and I wished for Frankie and her husband’s sake that Overbury’s death would not forever stain their union. ‘Try to appear enraptured, it will help him believe he made the right choice,’ was all I said.

  Frankie had sought a modest wedding at Audley End, something to heal wounds and cause no strain. Her parents had readily agreed, not wanting more odium heaped upon her head for marrying so soon after the annulment of her previous union, but Queen Anna had chosen to demonstrate her disapproval by deciding at the eleventh hour to attend the wedding and insisting it be held at Whitehall, where festivities could only be lavish. It had become the centrepiece of the Christmas celebrations and would continue for days.

  ‘I need a drink,’ said Frankie.

  ‘The Archbishop of Canterbury is leaving the room without wishing you well,’ I informed her. The Archbishop had led the Nullity Commission and spoken out strongly against it. Frankie nudged her husband and nodded towards the door.

  ‘My Lord Archbishop,’ Carr called out, sitting up higher. The Archbishop halted as if there was a crossbow at his back. He turned and bowed slowly, looking only at Robin, whom he could not afford to snub. Robin frowned, whether at the Archbishop’s ignoring of Frankie or at her nudging, I could not tell.

  Around the Archbishop were his allies, including the Earls of Hertford, Bedford, Montgomery and Southampton, the Herberts, the Russells and the Earl of Pembroke, who had expected to be made Lord Chancellor on the death of Salisbury, though the King gave the post to Robert Carr. Lord Northampton called them ‘the vicious crew’ and they had pointedly refused the couple’s invitation to join the ceremonial tilt to mark their wedding. For them to shun the wedding breakfast as well was impossible due to the King’s presence. Frankie’s first husband was under house arrest for seeking a duel with her brother Harry. They had got as far as France but the Ambassador had found them there and escorted them home.

  The Archbishop said nothing and made no move forward to congratulate
the newlyweds.

  ‘Show him your displeasure,’ Frankie whispered, but Robin only nodded, at which the Archbishop bowed briefly and walked out.

  ‘He has insulted us,’ Frankie said.

  ‘He has insulted you,’ Robin replied.

  I watched Frankie fight back a response to this. All eyes in the room flickered from her to the group of Essex supporters, who looked ready to follow the Archbishop’s example. Frankie dropped any pretence of smiling. Nearly every important position at Court was still held by a Howard, by blood or marriage, or else a Howard client. Her face invited her enemies to show themselves. The silence was becoming uncomfortable as the Earl of Northampton arrived by their bedside.

  ‘My lords and ladies!’ he cried, in a loud voice for an old man. He swivelled to address all gathered there, including the malcontents. ‘United by God and King, I offer to the couple before us my heartiest good wishes.’ His herald stepped forward to present wedding gifts, distracting many from the Archbishop’s slight. The bed’s coverlet soon disappeared under largesse of a value greater than had been seen at any wedding before this.

  ‘A sword and gold to the value of one thousand and five hundred pounds,’ the herald announced as a page stumbled forward with an elaborate sword for Robin and a chest of gold coins for Frankie. Northampton’s generosity was met with nods and murmurs. I wondered what he would expect from Frankie in return.

  ‘From Her Majesty Queen Anna, silver dishes curiously enamelled.’

  ‘They must be from Denmark,’ whispered Frankie. Carr did not reply.

  ‘… From Sir Ralph Winwood, a new town coach.’ This provoked clapping, for it was a fine wedding present. Encouraged, Sir Ralph stepped forward and Robin indicated that he might speak.

  ‘My most noble and honoured Earl and Countess,’ he bowed, obsequious as ever, ‘allow me to offer the use of my best horses to pull your coach to the Lord Mayor’s entertainments in honour of your marriage?’ Robin inclined his head.

  ‘We shall not give them back,’ Frankie whispered to him with a giggle. She looked tipsy on the gold, jewels and envy heaped upon her. ‘He wants you to get the Secretary of State position for him. That’s worth a few ponies.’ Again, Robin did not respond, and I could see that Frankie would poke him until he did.

  ‘From Sir Edward Coke, a basin and cover of silver gilt.’ Frankie did not acknowledge the present, for she did not care for the Lord Chief Justice. To his wife, whom we had spied with Simon Forman and whom he openly called the ‘the thorn in his side’, she gave a gracious welcome.

  Frankie’s father approached and chatted amiably to Robin, whom he had come to like. They were united over several matters, including the grievances they bore against Lord Northampton who, Frankie said, was becoming cantankerous in his old age and overly fussy. They both displayed coldness to him, and I wondered at this division in their ranks when the malicious crew were hunting for any weakness.

  Lord Northampton moved away and walked to the head of the bed. I thought he had not seen me there, but he began talking so quietly that I alone could be his intended audience.

  ‘The King has made clear his continued love for the Earl of Somerset, but his opponents muster forces.’ I did not know whether an answer was expected of me, so I remained silent. ‘A meeting is to be held soon at Barnard’s Castle between the Lords Pembroke, Herbert, Russell, Seymour and Essex, to discuss how best to oust the King’s favourite and the House of Howard.’ I thought of the covered portraits in Larkin’s studio. Were these out-of-favour nobles having themselves painted to immortalise this meeting? ‘Frankie’s father and the Earl of Somerset are unwilling to recognise the dangers, and my niece runs headlong into them. I strongly suggest that she take heed and advise her husband to do likewise.’

  I looked directly at the Earl for the first time. His eyes were brown like Frankie’s but full of calculation. I felt not seen but assessed.

  Frankie was climbing down from the bed and I moved to shield her from the prying eyes of those searching out smears of virgin blood. We went to the garderobe and I bolted the door as Frankie sat and leant her head against the cold bricks of the outside wall.

  ‘They hate me, all of them, for escaping tyranny. I will have satisfaction against the Archbishop and Essex and all their faction,’ she said, looking tired.

  ‘If you like, you can,’ I agreed.

  ‘Yet I feel afraid. I think Robin preferred me as a mistress.’

  ‘That is not unusual. He needs time to adjust.’

  ‘I pray I fall pregnant at once, so I can leave this place,’ said Frankie, and I thought how much she had changed.

  ‘Maybe you should stay. Your great-uncle just warned me that Essex plans to unseat Robin,’ I said, relaying Northampton’s warning.

  ‘That man would see danger in an infant’s crib,’ said Frankie, standing once more.

  ‘But now that Robin is married, there will be times when he is not by the King’s side.’

  ‘Let us hope so,’ she said.

  I unlocked the door and Frankie walked through the crowd, dignified, but twisting her lace cuffs between thumb and forefinger. I had tried and failed to cure her of this habit, for it revealed all that her face disguised.

  I thought of the only person who did not care that Frankie was a despoiler of lace, Mistress Bowdlery. A vivid picture came to mind of the lace-maker sitting on her doorstep earlier that week, watching me remove from Paternoster Row to Frankie’s household.

  ‘You’ll forget us once you’re with your countess.’

  ‘No indeed,’ I said, although I would happily consign Paternoster Row to the Devil. It had been the backdrop to a disreputable and poverty-stricken period, which was now over. My life, and that of my children, was to be transformed by honour and wealth; not my own, but close enough to rub off.

  ‘I have something for you,’ Mistress Bowdlery had said, retrieving from the deep pocket of her apron a square of fine linen. I recognised at once the labour that had gone into the decorative embroidery of my initials and the needle-lace border.

  ‘It is beautiful,’ I replied, tears burning. ‘When the Countess sees it she will order a hundred.’ We had smiled at each other then, united by widowhood and motherhood, both knowing we were unlikely to meet again.

  ‘Someone sit on your grave?’ said Mr Palmer, joining me. I was both surprised and delighted to see him there and had not time to hide either from him. He kissed my hand and stood firmly beside me in the line forming to tour the new Earl and Countess of Somerset’s apartments. I tried not to look too often at him, but was aware of everything, from the little coughs that indicated a slight sore throat, to the wear on the outside edges of his shoes.

  There was plenty to discuss as we began our jaunt around the forty-one-room apartment, stuffed with precious objects from ports unimaginably distant. The King had given them the rooms previously occupied by his daughter, the Princess Elizabeth. These were situated away from the river, facing St James’s Park. Mr Palmer made fewer and fewer comments, for what was the point of this visit but to remind the Court of the dominion of the Earl and Countess of Somerset? He looked out of the windows at the trees; he loved beauty, not power.

  The most startling thing to me was not that every manner of modern and exotic furniture was displayed, but that the Earl had no bed. Despite being married to Frankie, it seemed the King still expected him to spend every night at Court in the royal bed chamber. I knew this would be a mark of great favour to the couple that neither of them wanted, but as Mr Palmer made no comment about it, I too held my tongue.

  The finale of the tour was a long room with walls covered in large paintings. Only then did Mr Palmer return to his usual animated self.

  ‘My Lord Somerset has created this gallery from a bowling alley. It says much about the man, does it not?’ He bent closer to whisper, ‘It is unsurpassed even by the Prince’s collections. The Earl has bought twenty-nine cases of statuary, at a cost of over two thousand ducats, only fifteen
of them here displayed. He is the first in these isles to collect such statues.’

  I doubted that Robert Carr had yet paid for them. Some poor dealer in Venice would be waiting a long time, perhaps until the King granted Carr more land or another pension, for meagre instalments to reach him. Since moving in with them, I saw that he maintained position by spending money he did not have; the King kept his nobles in check this way. Displays of extravagance won his attention but threw his courtiers into such grave debt that only he could relieve it; they all owed or depended on him for money. Frankie had so little cash that she could not pay Weston what she owed him. Nor could she pawn her clothes or jewellery because almost everything in the apartment was yet to be paid for except the wedding presents, and they could not be pawned until the benefactor had been invited to see the gift in use. Carr also borrowed from a City moneylender, as did every courtier of rank, in return for contact with the monarch. If that courtier fell from grace, then the money dried up and great pressure was applied for debts to be repaid. I had pressed Frankie to find Weston the money she had agreed to pay, for he had had no employment since his role as gaoler was concluded.

  ‘I will pawn my green silk when the portrait of me is finished,’ she promised, and I told her that I would keep her to her word for Weston was not a man to disappoint.

  ‘Does the collection please you?’ asked Mr Palmer, bringing me back to the present. I saw that this was no empty civility. I hesitated before speaking. Since Overbury’s death, I had developed an intense dislike of Italian painting.

  ‘It disturbs me,’ I ventured finally, ‘that the human appetite for violence and lust is so much on display. It is perhaps a result of the hot climate in Italy.’

  Mr Palmer looked steadily into my eyes. I saw no scorn for my parochialism. ‘I have never viewed it in that way,’ he said at last, ‘but I fancy you are correct.’

  ‘It is generous of you to say so,’ I replied, warmed by his gentle manner.

  ‘Are you and the children happily settled in the Countess’s household?’

 

‹ Prev