Jean Plaidy - The Murder in the Tower - The Story of Frances, Countess of Essex

“Then take us to her at once,” commanded Jennet. “My lady does not like delay.”

A door was opened and Frances and Jennet stepped into a pleasant room. It was small by the standards to which Frances was accustomed, but she realized that it was comfortably furnished. The ceiling was ornamental and there were some good pictures on the walls. A woman who had been sitting by the window rose as they entered and came forward swiftly. She curtsied before Frances; then rising, took her hand and said: “Welcome, my lady.”

Then she nodded to Jennet and bade them sit down while she called for refreshment.

Wine was brought with little cakes which Frances, who had a good appetite, found delicious; but she was too excited to care much for eating or drinking, and was very eager to get to the business which had brought her here.

“Jennet has often talked of you, Mrs. Turner,” said Frances.

“I am honored,” answered the woman.

She was handsome, richly dressed and had an air of distinction, and although no longer young—she could have been some fifteen years older than Frances—she was still very attractive. It occurred to Frances that she would not have been out of place in some Court circles.

“Jennet has told you why we have come?”

“As far as possible, my lady,” Jennet answered.

“You yourself must tell me exactly what you want,” said Mrs. Turner. “I am sure we shall be able to procure it for you.”

Frances wasted no time. “I was married as a child, having no say in the matter. I did not live with my husband who went abroad. Now I have met a man whom I wish to marry, but my husband is insisting that I go with him to the country. I cannot do this. I will not do it. I want to be freed from my husband; and to make sure of keeping the love of the other.”

“Is my lady in danger of losing the love she wishes to keep?”

Frances said firmly: “Yes.”

Mrs. Turner took up a fan and fanned herself. She was thoughtful.

Then she said: “My lady, you were given a potion some while ago.”

“Yes, that is so.”

“And it was … effective.”

“It is for that reason that I am here now.”

Mrs. Turner laughed lightly. “I see we shall get on well. You speak your mind. I am forthright myself. I must tell you that I only dabble in these arts. I myself used a love potion once.”

“It was successful?”

“Most successful. I have been to Court. My husband was Dr. George Turner. The late Queen was very good to him and saw that he gained advancement. He had a considerable practice among her courtiers.”

“I thought this must be so,” said Frances, who found a kindred spirit in this woman and was liking her more every moment. She had expected to meet some witch-like creature, some drab who would give her what she asked and demand a high price for it. To find a cultured lady, who knew something of Court life, was an agreeable surprise and was making this meeting, which she had thought might be an ordeal, very pleasant.

“Oh yes, I have had a comfortable life. Dr. Turner was so clever. A kind husband too. Of course I was much younger than he was, and he understood.” She became a little arch. “It was then I needed the potion. I had fallen in love with a very gallant gentleman. You may have heard of him—Sir Arthur Manwaring. The potion I took worked as I wanted it to. I have three children by him now—such darlings. They are all here with me.”

Frances looked a little startled and Mrs. Turner went on: “I tell you this, my dear, to let you know my secrets. You see, I shall have to know yours. And I have always believed that it is fair to share secrets. That is why I tell you … to let you know that whatever you wish to tell me, it is safe, locked in here.” She touched her silken bodice below the yellow ruff to indicate her heart.

“You are right,” said Frances. “I did feel a little chary of telling you all that I feel.”

“Then set aside your fears. Some turn their eyes upward and look pious because a handsome woman seeks a lover outside the marriage bond. I do not. I have done it all before you.”

“Can you help my lady, Mrs. Turner?” asked Jennet.

“I am sure I can.”

“Can you give me two potions? One to make my husband loathe me; the other to make my lover continue in such love for me that he cannot rest until I am his wife?”

Mrs. Turner was thoughtful. “It is not so easy to help a married lady to another marriage,” she said.

“But why not?”

“Because it is always a little more dangerous when there is an unwanted husband.”

“I do not understand.”

Jennet said quickly: “My lady does not wish to harm her husband.”

“Of course not. But the difficulties are there. I think in such a delicate situation I must call in the help of the wisest man in London.”

“Who is that?” demanded Frances.

“My father, Dr. Forman.”

“I have never heard of him.”

“You will soon. He gave me the little knowledge I have; but he is well known for his genius. When you have refreshed yourself I propose that we leave for his house. I have told him that he might expect us.”

Jennet glanced anxiously as Frances, but Anne Turner had so won her confidence that Frances was ready to go wherever she suggested.

In his Lambeth residence Dr. Simon Forman was waiting for his visitors.

The room in which he would receive them had been made ready; the Countess of Essex would be by no means the first highly born client he had welcomed here. Often ladies of the Court, having heard of his fame, came to beg favors of him; and he sold them dearly.

He rubbed his hands gleefully; it was pleasant to think that a member of the noble family of Howard was coming to consult him.

On the walls hung the skins of animals; there was a stuffed alligator on a bench, and ranged about it bottles of colored liquid. Painted on the walls were the signs of the Zodiac; and a chart of the heavens was propped up on the bench. Hangings were drawn across the one small window; and candles in sconces had been placed about the room.

Dr. Forman was pleased with this room; he considered that it had a desired effect on the applicant before the talk began.

He had a sharp, clever face; he had lived almost sixty years and a great many experiences had been packed into those years. He had always thirsted after knowledge; and it had become clear to him, at a very early age, that he was an extraordinary man. As a child he had been tormented by the strangest dreams; and he had quickly discovered that, by telling these dreams and putting a plausible construction on them, making a guess at what had a very good chance of happening to some of his acquaintances, he very soon earned a reputation for having supernatural knowledge. He decided to exploit this.

Simon Forman was born at Quidhampton in Wiltshire. His grandfather had been governor of Wilton Abbey but, with the suppression of the Monasteries, was robbed of that post and given inferior employment about the Park.

One of Simon’s early occupations was to compile a genealogical tree which, he insisted, revealed that the Formans were a family of some gentility and that several of his forbears had been knights.

His pride had been deeply wounded in his childhood, for poverty was humiliating to one who was certain that he possessed unusual powers. But he never lost sight of the need for education, and when William Riddout, an ex-cobbler turned clergyman who had fled from Salisbury on account of the plague, came to live near the Forman family, Simon was allowed to take lessons with him.