“It is no concern of mine, Your Majesty, whether the Lady Frances be the wife of the Earl of Essex or another. But I cannot give a verdict which I do not believe to be just. That is my problem, Sire. I am fifty-one and have never yet muffled my conscience when called upon to do my duty. It grieves me that I must displease Your Majesty and it is a matter of desolation that this verdict should be of importance to you. But if I said yea when I meant nay, then you might say that a man who did not serve his conscience could not be trusted to serve his King.”
James saw that the Archbishop was deeply moved and his sense of justice forced him to admit that the priest was right.
But what a pother to make about the matter! And Robert would not be happy until he had his bride; the Howards were also eager for the match.
Nevertheless he laid a gentle hand on the Archbishop’s arm.
“You’re an honest man, I know well. But it is my wish that the Lady Frances should be divorced from the Earl of Essex.”
The Archbishop was on his knees. This was indeed a trial of strength. If he fell from royal favor through this matter, then fall he must. A man of God must obey his conscience.
He felt strengthened when he rose; he knew exactly what he would say to the Commission when it assembled. He was going to show those men that there was no true reason why this marriage should be severed except that two people—one a woman belonging to a family of influence, the other a favorite of the King—desired to marry. If this divorce were granted it would be a blow to marriage throughout the country. It would never be forgotten; women would be accusing their husbands of impotency when they sought to marry someone else. Everything that he, as a man of the Church, had ever believed in, cried out against it.
He could feel the power of his eloquence. He was certain that he could sway those men the way in which they must go; even those who had received favors from the King, and those who were promised more, must surely reject them for the sake of their immortal souls.
He knew he could count on five honest men, and these were led by the Bishop of London. No matter what the consequences to themselves they would vote as they thought right. But the remaining seven? He was not sure of them—though he knew that some of them had already taken their bribes.
With great confidence he awaited the arrival of the Commissioners at Lambeth. He was well prepared for he was certain he had been inspired. He would work on them with the zest and fire of truth; he would make them see the sin they were committing by selling for wealth and honors their right to decide.
When they were all assembled he rose to speak, but before he could do so a messenger from the King arrived and said he had a command from His Majesty.
“Pray tell us this,” said the Archbishop.
“That, my lord, you spend no further time in talking one with another. It is His Majesty’s command that you give the verdict and that alone.”
The Archbishop felt deflated. The brilliant speech he had prepared would never be uttered. He saw that the men who he suspected were going to vote in favor of the divorce were delighted; they were eager to have done with the business and retire, their favors earned.
One could not disobey the command of the King. The vote was taken.
Five against the divorce; seven in favor of it.
“A majority!” cried Northampton when he heard the news. “At last we are triumphant!”
Frances received the news with rapture.
Overbury dead! Herself no longer the wife of Essex and free to marry the man she loved!
Everything that she had longed for, schemed for, was hers.
“I am the happiest woman in the world,” she told Jennet.
James was thankful that that unsavory matter was at an end. Now let it be forgotten. Let Robert marry as soon as he liked; and let everyone forget that Frances Howard had ever been Frances Essex.
There were other troubles. It was a sorry thing to see tradesmen calling at the palace and threatening the servants that they would deliver nothing more until their bills were paid. Small wonder that people compared this Stuart with the Tudors. Imagine anyone asking Henry VIII or Elizabeth to settle a bill!
James had little royal dignity; he was too ready to laugh at himself and see the other person’s point of view. All the same, having tradesmen demanding payment of bills was something he could not tolerate.
He told Robert about it. “A sorry state of affairs, Robbie. And here am I wanting to give ye the grandest wedding the Court has ever seen!”
“Your Majesty must not think of me. You have already been over generous.”
“You’ve had nothing more than you deserve, lad. You look sad. And you about to be a bridegroom!”
“I am sad because of Your Majesty’s plight.”
“Why, bless you, boy, old Dad has been in difficulties before. We’ll think of a way.”
Robert did think of a way. He gave twenty-five thousand pounds to the treasury.
When James heard of this he wept with emotion.
“The dear lovely laddie,” he kept saying. “God bless his bonny face.”
He knew of a way to reward his lad.
“Robbie,” he said one day, “it seems Viscount Rochester is a title hardly worthy of you.”
“I am grateful for receiving it at Your Majesty’s hands.”
“I know that, lad. But I’d like to see you on a level with the best. You are, of course; but I want them to have to recognize it too. Ye’re going to be an Earl.”
“Your Majesty!”
“My wedding present to you and the lady.”
“Your Majesty, how can I …? What can I …?”
“Ye deserve it, boy.”
Robert’s eyes were bright with excitement. How pleased Frances would be!
A few days later James created him Earl of Somerset.
Frances was being dressed by her women. She had chosen white for her wedding gown and she wore diamonds; with her golden hair about her shoulders, she had never looked as beautiful as she did on that day.
She refused to think of the dead body of Sir Thomas Overbury, but it was significant that she had to admonish herself on this point. Why should she think of a man who was dead? What was he to her now?
“Oh, my lady,” cried one of the maids, “there could never have been such a beautiful bride.”
Jennet was settling the white ruff about her neck, her eyes downcast.
“Just as a bride should be,” went on the garrulous maid. “White for innocence, they say.”
Frances turned sharply to look at the maid; had she caught a glance passing between her and one of the others? Were they whispering about her in corners?
She had to suppress an impulse to slap the girl’s face.
She must be watchful.
She turned to Jennet; Jennet’s eyes were still lowered. Was that a smile she saw curving her lips?
They wouldn’t dare, she assured herself. She was over-wrought. But was this how it was going to be in future? Must she be watchful, furtive; must she always be asking: How much do they know?
Frances was led into the chapel at Whitehall by her great-uncle Northampton and the Duke of Saxony, who was visiting England.
This wedding was attracting as much attention and almost as much pageantry as that of the Princess Elizabeth. The King had expressed his desire that no expense should be spared; Whitehall was to be the setting; and the Banqueting Hall was festooned and decorated with a brilliance rivaling that displayed for the wedding of the King’s daughter.
Robert Carr’s desire for a wife had in no way diminished the King’s affection; and now that the favorite had his earldom it seemed that he could climb no farther. His task in future would be to hold his place at the very heights of power.