“It would be a great relief to know that I was no longer bound to her.”
“To us both, my lord. I should not have to keep watch for some evil she might do you.”
The Earl laid his hand on Wilson’s shoulder. “I owe you much, my friend,” he said.
“There is no talk of owing, my lord. I give my services for what they are, with all my heart and strength; and in return—but there is no need for returns—I have your friendship. So if there must be talk of payments between friends, we have each given and each taken.”
“God bless you, Wilson.”
“And, my lord, you will not stand in the way of this divorce?”
“I long for my freedom even as you long for me to have it. I shall have to answer questions, doubtless, and must tell the truth; but I shall let all know that I am as eager to sever the bond as she is.”
“Then, my lord, for the first time I shall hope and pray that the Countess succeeds in what she is endeavoring to do.”
The King summoned the Archbishop of Canterbury, a man for whom he had a great admiration.
George Abbot had risen to the highest post in the Church by his great ability, a fact which endeared him to James. He had sprung from humble beginnings, being the son of a cloth worker of Guildford, and had been born in a small cottage. But from the first his brilliance had been apparent although it was commonplace in this family, for George had two brothers, both extremely clever, and destined to make their way in the world; but even in such a family George was able to shine.
He had gone to Oxford, taken Holy Orders and very quickly displayed his extraordinary gifts; and in spite of his lack of family background, over the years he began steadily to rise in his profession until he attained the Bishopric of London.
Brought up in a strictly Puritan manner he had always clung firmly to his principles; James appreciated his integrity and it was his ability to discuss theology which had attracted the King’s interest.
When the Archbishopric of Canterbury had fallen vacant, Abbot was more surprised than any that James should have bestowed it on him, although he had supporters in Salisbury, who was then the Lord High Treasurer, and the Lord Chancellor Ellesmore, as well as a rising statesman named Sir Ralph Winwood. It was natural that he should have his enemies also, and these were those who were the secret friends of Spain, led by the Earl of Northampton.
As soon as the Archbishop had arrived at Whitehall James explained to him why he had summoned him.
“My lord Archbishop,” he said, “the Countess of Essex is seeking to divorce her husband.”
Abbot’s mouth tightened; as a Puritan he did not approve of divorce.
“It is a special case,” went on James. “It seems the Earl is impotent.”
“Your Majesty, I feel bound to express my abhorrence of divorce.”
James waved a hand. “We all share that abhorrence,” he said quickly. “But there are times when it is necessary to undertake unpleasant tasks. I wish you to judge the matter and see that the Countess is freed from a union which can find no favor in the eyes of God who commands us to be fruitful and replenish the Earth.”
“Your Majesty …”
“I explained that the Earl is impotent and how can the Countess obey that divine command if her husband is incapable of the act?”
“Your Majesty is commanding me—”
“To look into the matter and grant the divorce.”
“Your Majesty, if I am to be judge of such a matter, I beg that other bishops may be summoned to help me.”
James considered this.
It would mean a little delay before Robbie got his wish, but it would be interesting to see the Bishops wrangling together. He would make it understood what their verdict should be, for Robbie must not be disappointed; but it was a fair enough request and one must always be fair.
“Well, whom do you suggest?”
Abbot thought quickly. “The Bishops of London, Ely and Lichfield I think, and perhaps others.”
James nodded. Yes, it would be amusing to hear them arguing together. Abbot would be a stumbling block, for even though the King made his wishes known he would not go against his beliefs. He was that sort of man. James’s ancestor Henry VIII might have had him sent to the Tower, but not James. James had to respect a man’s principles—particularly if he had the powers to express them.
He chuckled. He was going to look forward to the arguments; but at the same time he was determined that Robbie was not to be cheated of his wish.
“Go to,” he said. “Form your Commission. And let there be no delay, for I am eager to see this unsavory matter settled.”
Frances was disturbed by nightmares; but they were not merely dreams; they had their roots in fact and sometimes she would start out of her sleep remembering some dream, only to realize that the evil of her dream could, by ill chance, in fact overtake her.
One morning she woke, sweating with fear. Overbury was in the Tower but he was a man who had lived by his pen; he would still be able to use it; and she had dreamed that he had done so against her, with dire results.
Overbury must not be allowed to live; but his death must seem a natural one. He must not suddenly die; his health must be noticed gradually to deteriorate. In the meantime he must be stopped from writing letters to those who could use them against her. She already knew that the Archbishop of Canterbury had been put in charge of the Commission and she was well aware of that old Puritan’s views.
They could not afford to take chances.
She went at once to her great-uncle, with whom she was spending more time than she ever had before; over this matter of the divorce they had become fellow conspirators.
“Uncle,” she said, “we must make sure that any letters Overybury writes shall not reach those for whom they’re intended until they have passed through our hands.”
Northampton saw the point of this at once. He did not know how far his great-niece had gone in her attempts to rid herself of Essex; and he did not care to probe because he preferred not to know. At the same time he was as anxious as she was that her past adventures should remain secret.
“How can we make sure the correspondence comes straight to us?” asked Frances.
“Only through the Lieutenant of the Tower.”
“Can you speak to him?”
“I must see what can be done, for we must examine any letters Overbury writes. Leave this to me.”
The Lieutenant of the Tower received the Earl of Northampton in his apartments there.
Sir William Waad, a man of about sixty, who had traveled widely on diplomatic missions and had been member of Parliament for Thetford, Preston and West Looe was not a man to be intimidated; and he quickly grasped what was behind the Earl of Northampton’s request.
“My lord,” he said, with a quiet smile, “I should be exceeding my duties if I were to pass over to you the correspondence of my prisoners.”
“But this is a special case.”
“Then perhaps the King will give me his orders. I cannot take them from any but His Majesty.”
Northampton was furious. This fool was going to give trouble. How could he go to James and tell him that he wanted to study the letters of Thomas Overbury before they were allowed to reach their destination? Obviously James would want to hear why. Overbury was not in the Tower as a traitor. He had merely shown contempt of the King’s orders and was in there to cool his heels for a while. James would be astonished that his correspondence should be so important to his Lord Privy Seal and, being of curious nature, would want to know why.