On no account must Overbury’s parents be allowed to see him.
“My sweet lord,” he said, “Overbury is sick; he has been a prisoner for some weeks; you can be assured that he is angry with you. How can we know what lies he will tell against you? I have heard it whispered that he is in the Tower because he is in possession of a dark secret which involves you, and that it concerns the death of the Prince of Wales. By God and all his angels, Robert, if such a tale were bruited abroad—false as you and I know it to be—it could be the ruin of you. Even James would not be able to save you.”
“I cannot believe that Overbury would so lie about me.”
“Nor would he, when he was your friend. Now he is your enemy and never was an enemy so bitter who was one time a close and loving friend. Overbury is a dangerous man. Nay, Robert, let us get the divorce done with and then we will come to terms with him. We will give him his freedom in exchange for his promise never to utter a word against you.”
“But what of his parents? What can I tell them?”
Northampton considered. “That very shortly he is to be released, and that if you are to bring this about it is better for him to be quiet and say nothing that might jeopardize your plan. At the moment he is in prison and resentful. You do not wish to tell him how near his release is, just in case it should take a little longer than you hope to bring it about. Therefore, let matters rest as they are.”
“Very well, if you think it is necessary.”
“Necessary, my dear fellow. It is essential to your future—yours and Frances’s. Believe me, my greatest desire is to see you two happy together.”
“Then I will write to Sir Nicholas and Lady Overbury.”
“Do so. They will be delighted.”
“Others have asked permission to see him. Some of his kinsmen.”
“Tell them the same. It is the best way. And it is true. For as soon as the divorce has been granted, Overbury shall have his freedom.”
So Robert wrote as directed; and that was all the satisfaction the Overburys and their anxious relations received.
A terrible realization had come to Thomas Overbury.
He would never escape from the Tower.
There were days when he was too ill to think clearly; but these were sometimes followed by periods when, although his body was weak, his mind was active.
Why should he have been imprisoned merely because he refused to take an appointment overseas? It was unreasonable—and it had happened just at that time when he had quarreled with Robert about that evil woman of his.
What was the real truth behind his imprisonment?
His pen had always been a comfort to him and he used it now. He was going to write down everything that had happened since the day he met Robert Carr in Edinburgh; and he was going to send copies of this to his friends and ask them to read it and see if they could discover what had led to his imprisonment in the Tower.
The idea made him feel alive again, and he felt his strength coming back.
He wrote a letter to Robert—a long bitter letter of reproach and recrimination in which he accused him of throwing away their friendship for the sake of an evil woman. He told him that he had written an account of their relationship, his fears and suspicions, and was making eight copies of this which would be sent to eight of his friends. He did not believe Rochester could deny one word of what he had written; and he wanted people to know that he suspected he had been put into the Tower because of what he knew concerning Rochester and that evil woman who had been his mistress, and whom he now desired to make his wife.
When Northampton saw the letter which Robert showed him, he ordered Helwys to be more vigilant than ever. Eight letters which Overbury was writing must be brought to him and by no means allowed to reach the people to whom they were addressed.
Northampton was very uneasy. The divorce, thanks to the Archbishop of Canterbury, was being delayed. Overbury was becoming suspicious and truculent, although Helwys reported that he was growing more feeble every day.
There was a time of great anxiety when two physicians recommended by the King examined Overbury, and great relief when they reported that the prisoner was suffering from consumption aggravated by melancholy.
James’s sense of justice was disturbed when he received this report. Overbury had been put into the Tower for a flimsy reason. He had angered the King by a curt refusal to take a post abroad and James knew that if he had been another man his anger would have been shortlived. He had seen something of the friendship between Robert and Overbury and he knew Overbury to be a clever man; the truth was he was a little jealous of Robert’s affection for the man; and that was why he had, at Northampton’s instigation, treated him more harshly than the offense warranted.
He sent for the eminent physician Dr. Mayerne and asked him to do what he could for Overbury.
Dr. Mayerne attended Overbury once, saw no reason to doubt that he was suffering from consumption intensified by melancholy, and since he did not intend to spend much time on a patient who was after all in disgrace, appointed his apothecary Paul de Lobel to attend Overbury.
Each morning Frances would wake from disturbing dreams. She was so near achieving her heart’s desire, yet it could so easily be snatched from her.
She could not endure the waiting; it was unnerving her.
There was a meeting in the house at Hammersmith when she opened her heart to Mrs. Turner.
“I begin to wonder whether Dr. Franklin is as skillful as we thought,” complained Frances. “All this time and the man still lives!”
“He is loth to administer stronger doses for fear of discovery.”
“Afraid! These men are always afraid. My dear Turner, if they cannot give us what we want we must do without them.”
Anne Turner was thoughtful; then she said: “I heard that Paul de Lobel is attending him.”
“Well?”
“I sometimes visit his establishment in Lime Street and I have noticed a boy there who is very willing to do little services for me … for a consideration.”
Frances was alert.
“Yes, dear Turner?”
“Overbury has had several clysters since he has been in prison and de Lobel administers these. They would be prepared in Lime Street before taken to the Tower. If I could speak to this boy … offer him a large enough sum …”
“Offer him twenty pounds. He would surely not refuse that.”
“It would be a fortune to him.”
“Then tell him that he will receive the money when Sir Thomas Overbury is dead.”
“Three months and seventeen days I have been in this cell,” said Overbury. “How much longer shall I remain?”
Dr. de Lobel looked at his patient and thought: Not much longer, by the look of you. For if the King does not release you, death will.
He said: “Any day, sir, you will get your release. That’s how it is with prisoners. I come some days to a prisoner to find that he is no longer here. ‘Oh,’ they tell me, ‘he was released last week.’”
“One day you will come here, doctor, and find that I am gone.”
“I hope so, sir, I hope so.”
“Oh, God, let it be soon,” said Overbury fervently
“And how are you feeling today?”
“Sick unto death. Such pains I have endured! But let me be free of this place and I’ll recover.”
“You have been writing too many letters. You have tired yourself.”
“In a good cause,” Overbury smiled. They would be reading his letters now. They would learn the nature of the man for whom he had done so much and who now left him miserable in his prison. They would know something about the evil woman who had changed one of the best of men into a fiend.
“This clyster should do you much good.”
“Another clyster?”
“Sir, it is my pleasure and duty to make you well again. Come, prepare yourself.”
It was shortly after the clyster was administered that Sir Thomas Overbury was overtaken by such sickness as he had never known before.
He no longer wished for liberty and revenge; he only wished for death.
The next day the sickness continued and he lay panting for his breath.
What has come over me? he asked in his lucid moments. What has happened to make me thus?
No one could answer him. They could only shake their heads and tell each other that the wasting sickness of Sir Thomas Overbury had taken a more virulent turn.
For seven days he lay groaning in his cell; and on the eighth day when his jailers came to him, he did not answer them when they spoke to him.
They looked closer and saw that he was dead.
THE WEDDING
Overbury dead!
Frances was dizzy with glee. But what of the divorce? Oh, if it were only possible to give the old Archbishop a clyster.
She heard from Robert and her great-uncle that but for the Archbishop of Canterbury they would have the divorce by now. It seemed the old fool had a conscience and even the fear of the King’s displeasure could not make him offend that.
Why, in God’s name, if two people wanted to divorce each other, couldn’t they? demanded Frances. What had it to do with old men who had finished with life and could not understand the passions of the young?
The King, eager to have the matter done with, because it was causing too much talk throughout and beyond the Court, sent for his Archbishop and asked how the cause was going?
George Abbot looked grave.
“It is a cause for which I have little liking, Your Majesty,” he said.
James looked impatient. “Why, man, we all find ourselves facing distasteful problems at times. Then the best advice is to do the work with all speed and have the matter done with.”
“Your Majesty, this is not a matter which can be settled with a yea or a nay, and it grieves me that you should reproach me for listening to my conscience.”
“What grief can there be to your conscience if the Lady Frances is no longer the wife of the Earl of Essex?”
“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!”
