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

Frances, delighted, showed the note to Robert, but he frowned.

“My love,” he said, “we must be careful from whom we accept gifts.”

“But he has so many horses and he wants to give them.”

“He wants a post at Court. The secretaryship, I believe. I cannot have him think that by giving you four fine horses he can buy my support.”

He immediately wrote a note of thanks to Winwood telling him that his wife could not accept such a costly gift; but Frances was so disappointed and Winwood so eager to make the present, that at last Robert relented; and Frances rode through the city in her fine coach drawn by four of the most magnificent horses ever seen.

And Sir Ralph Winwood, watching her, congratulated himself that he had done a very wise thing.

She should have been happy, for Robert was a tender husband; she loved his simplicity; and it seemed a marvelous thing to her that one who had been so long at Court should have retained an innocence.

He was so different from her. Was that why she loved him so passionately? Perhaps. For her love did not diminish with marriage; rather did it grow.

Yet she would sometimes wake at night, sweating with terror. How strange this was, when before she had not had a qualm of conscience! When she had been working toward her goal she had thought of one thing only—success. And now she had achieved it she was unable to forget the road she had come to reach it.

What had started this? Was it a look in the eyes of Jennet when she had spoken sharply to her? Was Jennet reminding her that she knew too much?

Jennet had always been a saucy girl; she had shown respect it was true, but there had often been a suggestion of mockery beneath it.

“Jennet,” she had said, “would you like this gown? I have scarce worn it and I think it would become you.”

Jennet had taken it with less gratitude than a maid should show to her mistress.

“I’ll swear you’ve never had such a gown,” said Frances.

“No, my lady.”

“Yet you do not seem surprised to possess it.”

“I know my lady is grateful to me. We have been through so much together … to reach this … happiness.”

Then Frances remembered the darkened room, the incense, the low almost caressing voice of Dr. Forman; and Jennet watching in the shadows.

She would like to rid herself of Jennet; but Jennet knew too much. She dared not.

She, Frances Howard, dared not rid herself of a servant!

It was small wonder that she sometimes awoke in fright.

“My lady, there is a female to see you.”

“A female? Ask what she wants. No … no … One moment. What sort of a female?”

The fear had touched her again. She must go carefully. There was so much to hide.

“A respectable looking female, my lady.”

“I will see her. Bring her to me.”

They brought her; and the door was shut on them leaving them alone together.

“My name is Mrs. Forman, my lady. You were a friend of my husband’s, the late Dr. Forman.”

“I think you are mistaken.”

“Oh no, my lady. You wrote to him often you remember. He called you his daughter and to you he was ‘Sweet Father.’”

“Who told you this?”

“He used to show me his letters. I have them still. You see I was his wife and I worked with him. That is why, now he is gone, I have fallen on evil times and I thought that as such a good friend of the doctor—”

The woman must not know that she was afraid. She smiled and said: “Why, if times are hard with you, you must allow me to help you.”

Give them money. It was easy. There was so much money.

“My lady,” said Dr. Franklin, “the potions I procured for you were very costly. My experiments demanded a lavish use of these. I neglected other clients to serve you and, my lady, I find I have lost two hundred pounds this year because of this.”

“Two hundred pounds this year?”

“Two hundred pounds a year, my lady, would satisfy me well, with a little extra for food and my boat hire.”

Franklin smiled at her, the lazy smile of power. These people were no longer humble as they had been. They had worked for her and as a result a man had died. That was something they could not forget.

How many more of them? she wondered. There was Mrs. Turner’s maid, Margaret, who had run many errands to find what the lady had needed; there was Mrs. Turner’s manservant, Stephen. They all wanted their little rewards—their silence money.

There was Mrs. Turner herself—not that she would do anything so vulgar as to ask for money. But they had been dear friends, had they not? That friendship must not cease because they had achieved success together.

“Sweetest lady,” said Anne Turner, “I’ll confess I am never happy away from your side. We worked well together did we not? It is foolish of me but I am almost sorry that we have successfully completed our task and I can no longer be of service to you.”

Mrs. Turner was therefore often a guest at the house of the Earl and Countess of Somerset and it was a great pleasure to her to be at Court again.

So, much as Frances tried to forget Sir Thomas Overbury, these people would not allow her to. It seemed that every day there was someone or some thing to remind her.

She became ill and Robert was anxious.

“What ails you, my love?” he asked her. “You seem nervous. Are you worried?”

“Nay, Robert,” she said. “I am well.”

“But you are not,” he told her tenderly. “You have changed. Others have noticed.”

“I think the long delay over the divorce was more upsetting than I realized. I so longed for it to be over.”

“Well now it is, and we can forget it.”

You may, she thought. But how can I?

She had thought it so simple to murder a man who stood in the way. But it seemed it was not.

Overbury haunted her. He would not let her forget. It was true she saw no ghost; but ghosts took many forms; they did not always have to materialize in order to make themselves felt.

Robert, alarmed for her health, took a house in Kensington for her, but as it did not improve there they went to Chesterfield Park; then Robert decided that she must see the King’s physician, and James himself insisted on this. He could not have his Robbie worried after all the trouble they had had to get him married.

So Robert bought a house in Isleworth, and the King’s doctor, Burgess, attended the Countess.

He could not understand what was undermining the Countess’s health, but he believed she would be well when the spring came.

That was a cold winter; the Thames itself was frozen and there was no escaping the bleak cold winds.

ENTER GEORGE VILLIERS

J ames was brooding uneasily when the arrival of Sir John Digby at the palace was announced.

Money! He could never find enough. It was not that he spent a great deal upon himself. If he asked his Parliament for it they would begin to snarl about his favorites, declaring that they were the ones whose greedy hands depleted the Exchequer.