Franklin smiled at her, the lazy smile of power. These people were no longer humble as they had been. They had worked for her and as a result a man had died. That was something they could not forget.
How many more of them? she wondered. There was Mrs. Turner’s maid, Margaret, who had run many errands to find what the lady had needed; there was Mrs. Turner’s manservant, Stephen. They all wanted their little rewards—their silence money.
There was Mrs. Turner herself—not that she would do anything so vulgar as to ask for money. But they had been dear friends, had they not? That friendship must not cease because they had achieved success together.
“Sweetest lady,” said Anne Turner, “I’ll confess I am never happy away from your side. We worked well together did we not? It is foolish of me but I am almost sorry that we have successfully completed our task and I can no longer be of service to you.”
Mrs. Turner was therefore often a guest at the house of the Earl and Countess of Somerset and it was a great pleasure to her to be at Court again.
So, much as Frances tried to forget Sir Thomas Overbury, these people would not allow her to. It seemed that every day there was someone or some thing to remind her.
She became ill and Robert was anxious.
“What ails you, my love?” he asked her. “You seem nervous. Are you worried?”
“Nay, Robert,” she said. “I am well.”
“But you are not,” he told her tenderly. “You have changed. Others have noticed.”
“I think the long delay over the divorce was more upsetting than I realized. I so longed for it to be over.”
“Well now it is, and we can forget it.”
You may, she thought. But how can I?
She had thought it so simple to murder a man who stood in the way. But it seemed it was not.
Overbury haunted her. He would not let her forget. It was true she saw no ghost; but ghosts took many forms; they did not always have to materialize in order to make themselves felt.
Robert, alarmed for her health, took a house in Kensington for her, but as it did not improve there they went to Chesterfield Park; then Robert decided that she must see the King’s physician, and James himself insisted on this. He could not have his Robbie worried after all the trouble they had had to get him married.
So Robert bought a house in Isleworth, and the King’s doctor, Burgess, attended the Countess.
He could not understand what was undermining the Countess’s health, but he believed she would be well when the spring came.
That was a cold winter; the Thames itself was frozen and there was no escaping the bleak cold winds.
ENTER GEORGE VILLIERS
James was brooding uneasily when the arrival of Sir John Digby at the palace was announced.
Money! He could never find enough. It was not that he spent a great deal upon himself. If he asked his Parliament for it they would begin to snarl about his favorites, declaring that they were the ones whose greedy hands depleted the Exchequer.
One of the ministers had said that those handsome young men who were spaniels to the King were wolves to the people. They were eager to drag Robert down; he knew it. They were jealous of Robert on whom he was coming more and more to rely. Robert was the perfect companion, the perfect minister; he never criticized; he never attempted to impose his will. He worked for his master wholeheartedly and through love.
But it was a pretty pass when the brewers were at the door of the palace declaring they would supply no more goods until their bills were paid. Sixteen thousand pounds they said the palace owed them and on account of this they were all but ruined; they must have payment. They had even dared to go to law. Such a state of affairs could not be allowed. No tradesman could summons the King. There was only one way of dealing with such a situation if the dignity of royalty was to be maintained. The brewers who had dared act so were sent to the Marshalsea Prison for lèse majesté.
But James was a man who must consider a matter from all angles. He saw the brewers’ point of view, and recognized that it was unjust that a merchant should supply goods, receive no payment and when he asked for it be thrown into prison. Only James’s fervent belief in the Divine Right of Kings would have allowed him to act as he did; and even so his conduct depressed him.
Such were his thoughts when Sir John Digby entered and asked to speak privately to him.
James willingly gave the permission. He was fond of Digby, a personable man in his mid-thirties who had come to Court from his native Warwickshire in the hope of following a career in diplomacy. He had come to James’s notice at the time of the Gunpowder Plot when he had been sent to convey a message to the King; James had been impressed immediately by his good looks and intelligence, and Digby had become a Gentleman of the Privy Chamber and one of the King’s Carvers.
James had recognized the man’s integrity—a quality found all too rarely at Court—and had decided on his advancement. Opportunity had come to Digby a few years previously when James had sent him to Madrid as his ambassador to arrange a marriage between the Infanta Anne and Prince Henry. Digby had quickly discovered that the Infanta was already betrothed to Louis XIII of France; and when Philip III had suggested a match between the Prince and his younger daughter Maria, Digby had sensed a lack of seriousness on the part of the Spanish monarch and advised against the marriage. But although that matter had come to nothing Digby had proved himself a worthy ambassador in other ways.
Now his manner was very grave as he bowed before the King.
“Well, Johnnie,” said James, “I can see ye’ve brought me news which you’re hesitating to deliver. Is it so bad then?”
“I fear, Your Majesty, that this is going to be a shock to you.”
“Well, lad, I’ve suffered many a shock in my life and mayhap I’ll see a few more before I die. So let me hear this one.”
Digby took a scroll from his pocket and said slowly: “I have prepared this and think it my duty to lay it before Your Majesty. It is to give this to you—and to do it with my own hands—that I am here in London.”
James took the scroll, unrolled it and frowned at it. It was a list of names—all well-known people of his Court.
“I believed, Your Majesty, that certain information was leaking to Spain and I set my spies to watch how this could be. I have now completed my investigation. That list, Your Majesty, contains the names of your ministers and courtiers who are accepting pensions from the King of Spain for the service they do him.”
“Traitors?” murmured James.
“That is so, Your Majesty. I fear that when you read those names you will be deeply shocked.”
James was hastily scanning the list. He knew he could trust Digby, but he could scarcely believe what he read. Yet there it was in detail. The names and the amounts of the pensions.
He would not bear to study the list too closely because he was afraid of finding one name there and if he found it he knew he would never trust any man again.
“Thank you, Johnnie,” he said. “You’re a good servant. Leave the list with me. I wish to examine it closely. You will be hearing more of this, but leave me now, and tell my servants that I wish to be alone.”
When Digby retired James returned to the scroll.
Northampton! The rogue! And Northampton had been a close friend of Robbie’s … and was now related to him!
The Countess of Suffolk—his mother-in-law! He had never trusted her, knowing her for a rapacious woman.
Thank God! His name was not there.
Of what had he been thinking? Robbie, a traitor! Never. Thank God he could rely on Robbie.
The scroll had ceased to be so very important. After all, was he surprised that he was surrounded by rogues?