“An ill time,” addeth Philippa, “close on James’s death. We have hardly time to dry our eyes betwixt them.”
“The right time, dear heart,” said my Lady Ashley, gently. “God knoweth best when His corn is ripe.”
“Was she ever other, if thou mean ripe for heaven?” said she.
“Perhaps,” answered my Lady Ashley, “we could not see much difference, but He might.”
I begged her to tell me, if she were present, any particulars of the matter.
“Ay, I was there,” she said. “I went straight to Potheridge from Wimborne, on receiving of a letter from Mr Monke, who told me that Frank had brought him another daughter, and, he could not but fear, was not faring over well. I came to Potheridge upon the 4th of December, when I found her in her bed, very weak and white. Still I feared no instant peril then. On the 5th, methought she seemed somewhat better in the morning; but that even she grew worse, and thence she sank quickly until she died, at sunset on Wednesday, the 7th. She remembered you, Mrs Avery, and bade me give you her most hearty and loving commendations, and to say that she was but journeying Home a little while afore you, and that however long the time were to you, it would be short to her, ere you should meet again. And only an hour ere her death (she was in her sense to the last), came a messenger to Mr Monke with news of the Queen’s death, and that the Lady Elizabeth was proclaimed Queen. He brake the tidings gently to her. She smiled when she heard them, as I should think an angel might smile in Heaven, and she saith softly, ‘Lord, Thou hast seen, Thou hast seen the affliction of Thy people.’ I answered her, ‘Ay, God hath been very gracious to us.’ She said, ‘He hath been very good to me.’ Quoth I, ‘Thou dost not think He hath given thee too much thought (anxiety) and sorrow?’ And as fervently as her weakness did allow, she answered, ‘O no, no! I shall clasp them all to my heart to-night.’ In another minute she repeated softly, ‘And so shall we ever be with the Lord.’ I do not think she spoke again.”
“Did she die hardly?” I faltered amid my tears.
“As softly as a child falling asleep in his mother’s arms,” answered my Lady Ashley. “We could not tell the very moment. Her life went out like a star hidden behind a cloud. We only knew that it was gone.”
“Farewell, sister of mine heart, my fair-souled Frances! The world is darker now thou art thence; but thou shalt never see evil any more. The storms shall not rave above thine head, nor the winds beat around thee and chill thee. God hath removed thee, His beautiful lily, from this rude and barren moor, to that great garden of His Paradise, where thou shall bloom for ever. ‘There shall in no wise enter into it any thing that defileth—but they that are written in the Lamb’s Book of Life.’”
So Isoult Avery wrote: but she did not hear until afterwards that Lady Frances had not passed through the Marian persecution without suffering. Her blood royal had not saved her. Only one child of her first marriage was left; and on the 10th of March 1554, men—not God—took that dearly-prized darling from her. The custody of the person and marriage of Arthur Basset was granted to James Basset, his Popish uncle (Rot. Parl., 1 Mary, part 7). This is sufficient to indicate that the Roman proclivities of Mr Monke and Lady Frances were at least doubtful. The double death—of the Queen and James Basset—freed Arthur; and by dint of hard riding night and day—he scarcely knew why—he reached Devon just in time to kneel and receive the last blessing of that beloved mother. She died two hours after her hand had rested on his head. If the Queen’s object had been to make Arthur Basset a Papist, she scarcely succeeded in her aim.