D. O. M.
Hic conjugi conjux amantissima adjacet Domina Blancha Somerset, filia Edwardi Somerset, Wigorniæ Comitis, privata sigilli custodis, magistri equitum, &c., quæ marito par generis splendore, exercitio virtutum non impar, in aula regia quasi in cella privata vixit quanto dignitate terrena sublimior, tanto pietatis fulgere splendidior, quantoque regiæ vicinior majestati, tanto (quod parum est inter mortales) supremo dilectior numini quo ut proprius frueretur cœlo natura mortalitatem exuit Wintoniæ die 28o Octob: ann: ætat: LXVI. annoque Dom: M.DC.XLIX.
Henry, their son, spent five years in the Tower, 1678 to 1683, on the information of the infamous Titus Oates, but afterward became Lord Privy Seal to James II.
"Which Henry Lord Arundell, at his own charge, raised a regiment of horse for the service of King Charles the First in the time of the usurpation, and stoutly defended his Castle of Wardour against those rebellious forces, which, under the command of Edward Hungerford, did then attempt it on behalf of the Parliament. In the year 1678, he was with William Earl Powis, William Viscount Stafford, William Lord Petre, and John Lord Bellasis, committed prisoners to the Tower, and afterwards were impeached by the House of Commons of high crimes and offences, without being brought on their trial. He continued prisoner with the other Lords, till the year 1683, when they were admitted to bail.
"On King James II. accession to the throne he was sworn of his Privy Council, and on 11 March, 1686, was constituted Lord Keeper of the Privy Seal, also, when that Monarch, in 1688, began his journey towards Salisbury, he committed the administration of affairs in his absence to the Lord Chancellor, the Lords Arundell, Bellasis, Preston, and Godolphin. He departed this life 28 December, 1694, having married Cecilie, daughter of Sir Henry Compton, K.B., of Brambletye, in the county of Sussex." (Collins.)
Henry, the seventh baron, by his marriage in 1739 with Mary Arundell-Bealing of Lanherne, who died in 1769, re-united the antient branch of the family from which he was descended; he died in 1756, aged 38, is interred below, and his epitaph (by translation) tells us, "who taking to himself to wife Mary Arundell, the most noble heiress of the family of Lanherne in Cornwall, and having gotten a son of her, a most renowned race which for more than two centuries had been rent asunder, now happily united, flourishes, and may it for ever flourish by the favour of God."
With the memory of this delightful incident, so gracious and refreshing after the blood-stained relation of the earlier portion of our little narrative, we take our leave of this garner of the departed Arundells, and, seeking once more the rapid convenience of the iron road, are passing swiftly homeward. As the train glides rapidly by the little station of Sutton-Bingham, we remember that not far from this, another and almost unique trace of Arundell of Cornwall is to be found. At about a mile's distance is the village of East-Coker, and in the south transept window of its church are two antient shields of painted glass side by side, on one are the arms of the See of Exeter, on the other quarterly, Arundell and Carminow. These are the arms of John Arundell, Bishop of Exeter, who presided over the diocese two years, died 19 Feb., 1506, and was buried in the church of St. Clement Danes, London, and, as far as we have knowledge, is the only trace of memorial existing to him.
Once more the career of the subject of our little narrative returns to us. All appears to have gone well with him, even among the perils with which he was environed during the reign of Henry VIII. It may be, the instant danger of giving offence to the wishes or inclinations of that capricious tyrant kept him in the path of caution and safety.
But when that king's baby son assumed the reins of sovereignty this terror had disappeared, and men were busily vieing with each other as to whom,—professedly under the little king,—should really rule the destinies of the nation. Sir Thomas now appears to have taken action, and identified himself with one side of the contending factions, not prominently, but sufficiently marked to make him a subject of suspicion—to say nothing beyond—with those he was presumed to differ from, and this on an adverse emergency was a position of considerable peril. So it turned out, for in the end his death appears to have been resolved on, not because his offence was easily proved, or that he deserved such punishment, but as a makeweight, to give the colour of complicity, and so justify the death of Somerset, by the execution of himself, and that of others, thereby inferring the plot was a real one, and of dangerous extent. If so,—and circumstances seem strongly to confirm this view,—his was altogether a hard fate; it is difficult indeed, to imagine a harder one.