The Royal Court of King James, at Whitehall, was furnished and embellished with all the luxury which love of show and the power of the owner could command. Choicest tapestries draped the walls, carpets of marvelous softness covered the floors. In the King's bedchamber stood an elaborately carved bedstead canopied with perfumed velvet cunningly wrought in silk and gold. Upon its front glittered the royal arms of England.
Reared as he had been in the plainness of Scottish simplicity, the wealth and lavish display in the English manor houses where he had rested during his journey from Edinburgh delighted and enchanted him in the highest degree. Vain, fond of indolent diversions, and prodigal in expenditures, he at once surrounded himself with the choicest products of the weavers, decorators and artisans of the Continent.
In a chamber of this palace, on the second afternoon following the meeting of Catesby with Rookwood and Anne Vaux at the hiding place of the Jesuit Superior, an interesting conversation took place between the Queen's lady-in-waiting, and one Robert Carr, a Scotchman, and favorite of the King. After James ascended the throne of England he meted out ample measure to his countrymen, likening himself to Joseph, who, being raised to power, forgot not his brethren. That this Robert was of goodly parts, being fair of feature and elegant of limb, rendered him the more acceptable to his royal master; forsooth, there were few of the nobles in the two kingdoms but knew certain tales concerning the favorites of the King, young gallants of the period whose presence at Court added nothing to the honor of their sovereign.
Robert Carr, a person of deep perception and gifted with certain Scottish wit, pandered much to the follies and pride of his benefactor. He was also a man easily excited by beauty of face and grace of manner, and had fallen desperately in love with Mistress Vaux, to his own undoing and the jealousy of the Queen's women. It was this state of affairs which the Jesuit had reckoned upon, when, in casting about for an expedient to check the fiery zeal of Sir Robert Catesby, he had suggested that one dwelt at Court who might learn what was in the mind of the King concerning certain policies. Being instructed by Garnet what course to pursue, Anne Vaux, on her return to Whitehall, made haste to summon into her presence the King's favorite. Nor did Carr need a second bidding to betake himself to the lady's chamber.
"Sweet Anne!" cried he, dropping upon his knee before the maid-in-waiting, "thou hast saved me from despair. Knowest thou 'tis eight and forty hours since thy gentle presence hath made earth to me a paradise?"
"Nay, good Robert!" replied she, demurely casting down her eyes, yet permitting the gallant to retain her hand, "Speak not of despair; thou who hast so high a place with our royal master. Amid thy pleasures the absence of Anne Vaux can be but of small moment unto thee."
Carr covered her hand with kisses.
"Whitehall without thee is a barren wilderness," cried he, "for thee would I barter faith, honor——"
Anne raised her head until her eyes met his.
"Nay, sweet gentleman!" said she, softly, "'tis not faith, nor honor I would ask of thee; 'tis——"