The Poison Bed

by Elizabeth Fremantle

  Thomas became a surrogate older brother of sorts and initiated me into the quiet ruthlessness of the court. He said he saw potential in me and recommended me for the post of household clerk, tallying the accounts. I never quite got to the bottom of how Winwood had amassed his wealth, but wealthy he was and liked everyone to know it. More recently he’d been in the Low Countries, serving as a diplomat, as far as I knew.

  ‘Here he is,’ said Winwood, as if I had been the recent topic of conversation. He was a small man, a good foot shorter than I, but broad and with an air of self-satisfaction. He looked me up and down, as if to assess the worth of everything I wore, saying, ‘Good fortune really has alighted on you, hasn’t it? I’d like nothing more than to hear your news but I have an appointment and I’m already late.’ He took something from his pocket and must have noticed I was staring, as he said, ‘For all your fine clothes I’d wager you’ve never seen anything like this before.’ He handed it to me. ‘Largest emerald the gem dealer had ever seen – bigger than anything in the King’s jewels.’

  It was the size of a bantam’s egg with a lid on a pivot and he was right: I’d never seen the like of it. I twisted the lid open to find a timepiece of exquisitely detailed enamel work on gold, beneath which a metal heart pulsed.

  Winwood smiled and held out a stubby hand to recover his treasure, pocketing it. ‘We must arrange to see one another. That is, if you have time. I should think His Majesty keeps you busy.’ His smile was a leer and then he was gone, leaving me alone with Thomas.

  ‘He’s as ostentatious as ever,’ I said.

  ‘He’s a decent man, and very generous.’ Thomas was clearly not pleased to see me. His jaw was set rigid. ‘What are you doing here anyway? I don’t know how you have the gall.’ He launched into a tirade about how I had not adequately defended his case with the King and that I only ever contacted him when I wanted his help. ‘This situation, my disgrace, is all your doing.’ He turned his back to look out of the window. ‘You haven’t been a good friend, Robin. After everything I’ve done for you – I feel betrayed.’

  In that moment, I wished myself back in that carefree time at Winwood’s house and had the stinging sense of innocence having been irretrievably lost. ‘I’ve come to make amends.’ I knew as I said it that my betrayal continued – my heart belonged to Frances. I stood beside him but he wouldn’t look at me and we silently watched some labourers dismantling a gibbet in the prison courtyard opposite.

  Eventually he spoke. ‘How do you think I felt seeing you and him like that?’

  ‘It was never my intention.’ I would have reminded him that we were friends now, not lovers, but couldn’t tolerate the thought of upsetting him further. ‘I won’t try to defend myself, I just want you to know I’m sorry. I truly am.’ I put a hand out to touch him but he flinched away.

  ‘I think you should leave.’ His tone was brusque and unforgiving.

  ‘I’m not abandoning our friendship, Tom. You matter too much to me.’ I meant it but feared it sounded trite and suspected he doubted my sincerity. ‘And I have good news. James wants you back at court.’ He turned then, looking as if he didn’t believe me. I nodded. ‘Really.’

  I saw that he was trying to suppress a smile. ‘Really?’

  I nodded again. ‘You haven’t told anyone what you saw at Royston, have you?’

  ‘What do you take me for?’ He pushed at my chest. ‘Don’t you trust me?’

  ‘Of course I do. You above all people.’ His posture relaxed slightly and I reached out to stroke back a lock of his hair that had fallen over his eye.

  He grabbed my wrist. ‘You – Whatever will I do with you?’ We were close, so close our foreheads almost touched. A bystander might have thought we were about to fight. There is always a sense of intimacy with those you have loved and with it the bittersweet understanding of time having passed, of no longer being who you once were. It seals a friendship. But what I had once felt for Thomas seemed insubstantial, a youthful indulgence, in the face of my feelings for Frances.

  ‘I’ve brought you something,’ I said. ‘Remember that bay gelding you liked so much?’ He looked at me with incredulity. ‘Outside with the groom.’ And there was that smile, catching like fire. ‘Why don’t you put him through his paces?’

  Soon we were out in the fields to the north of the city, riding side by side as we always used to and I felt a building elation. It was a balmy afternoon, one of those perfect days that belong in a painting with fat white clouds and pale golden light. It was a year, almost to the day, that I had first met Frances in the prince’s chambers. Time for me was marked out from that day – before Frances and after Frances – as if it was the moment I’d been born. And she was on her way back from Chartley.

  I knew this because I’d been with her brother Harry on the previous evening, drinking, finding ways to turn the conversation to her, when he whispered quite unexpectedly, ‘You like her, don’t you?’ I didn’t answer and he looked at me, amused, with black eyes stolen from her. ‘She’s on her way back.’ The door behind me had opened. Harry looked up. ‘Isn’t that right?’

  I turned to see Northampton. ‘Isn’t what right?’ he said.

  I scrutinized his face for signs of the cruel streak Frances had revealed to me but all I could see was the genial old man I’d come to know.

  ‘That Frances is on her way back to court.’ Harry exchanged a look with his great-uncle, as if they were sharing a secret.

  ‘It is true,’ said Northampton. ‘You must meet her properly. I have a feeling the two of you will like one another.’

  She’s on her way back, she’s on her way back. The words ran round my head in rhythm with the thrum of hoofs. In my mind, she was not on her way back to court, she was on her way back to me.

  Thomas had ridden ahead, getting the feel of his new horse. He looked fine in the saddle. He was a skilled horseman and the bay was highly strung, but Thomas had him completely under control. Watching his firm but gentle handling of that skittish gelding, I understood that I needed his friendship to keep me rooted. Perhaps I was asking for too much in wanting both Thomas’s friendship and Frances’s love.

  We arrived eventually at a stream in a light-speckled glade, where we stopped to let the horses drink. It was a place we knew well. We used to go there, years before, to swim and I was surprised to see the little dam, which caused the water to pool, still intact. Thomas and I had built it together.

  I dismounted, watching the dragonflies hover over the water in their metallic coats, glad we’d found ourselves at that secret place. The water was high and lapped at the grass, which was long and bright lush green. I lay back in it, spread-eagled. Thomas came to sit beside me.

  ‘What did Winwood want?’ I asked.

  ‘He’s got his eye on the position of secretary. He was hoping I could get you to put in a word with the King. I told him I hadn’t seen you and then you appeared, like a blessed mirage, on the doorstep. Just like you, Robin. What do you think about Winwood? You could give him a leg up.’

  ‘I’m not sure.’ The King had sworn me to secrecy about his plans for the post.

  ‘You owe me, Robin, and this would be a way ...’ His words trailed off.

  I felt a twinge of suspicion that he might have been trying to manipulate me for his own ends but dismissed it – not Thomas, he wasn’t like that. I did owe him and could see why he wanted a friend in high office, given I’d proved so unreliable. ‘He’s offering a large sum. He’d be good in the job – solid, dependable, someone we know, a proper Protestant.’

  A Painted Lady landed on his knee. We watched it in silence, opening and closing its brilliant wings, until it dithered away. ‘How much is a large sum?’

  ‘Two thousand.’

  ‘Good God.’ I was thinking it was the King, rather than I, who could have done with such an amount, given the state of the coffers. ‘Well, you shall have to tell him to keep his money.’ I saw Thomas’s good mood slide. ‘The King intends to keep the p
ost open. You mustn’t repeat this. I’m not supposed to tell.’

  He batted away a fly. ‘What do you mean? He’s not appointing anyone? Why?’

  I wasn’t about to tell him the King’s reasons. He already knew far too much, so I merely shrugged, saying I didn’t know.

  ‘Who’ll take on all those duties? The running of the country depends on a secretary.’

  ‘I’m to share the duties with the King.’

  ‘You?’

  I chose to rise above his condescending tone, saying, ‘Look, we both know I haven’t the education.’

  ‘It’s not that,’ he cut in. ‘You’re sharper than most of those inbreds on the Privy Council. But it’s the job of an experienced statesman.’

  I sat up. I wanted to see his face. ‘You will help me.’

  ‘Me?’ He looked as if he’d just learned of a very large and unexpected inheritance. ‘Is this what the King wants?’

  ‘Not officially, no. But it is what I want.’ He seemed to deflate infinitesimally. ‘No one must know.’ I had a sudden misgiving about having told him, wished I’d waited until things were settled. ‘I can trust you, can’t I?’

  ‘For God’s sake! It’s the second time today you’ve doubted my loyalty.’ His eyes narrowed and I saw his fists clench, knuckles blanching. ‘Perhaps you’re judging me by your standards.’

  I’d forgotten quite how quick to anger he could be. Things were different now, though, and I wasn’t going to allow a quarrel. ‘I won’t be able to do it without you, Tom.’ I put a hand on his knee and his fists released. ‘It’ll be our secret.’

  I’d said the right thing: his smile was testimony. I pulled off my boots and began unlacing my breeches. ‘Come on, let’s swim.’ Running towards the water’s edge, I flung off my clothes, discarding them like shadows on the grass. ‘Come on.’

  I threw myself into the water, embraced in the shock of its cool splash, and swam a few strokes. He was watching me from the bank where he sat with his feet hanging. I knew that look, knew he couldn’t help but forgive me. I swam over to him, tugging at his leg. ‘Come in.’

  He pushed me away with his foot. ‘I don’t feel like it.’

  I’d forgotten he was a weak swimmer, never went out of his depth and must have been put off by the height of the water that day. Holding my breath, I plunged down, disappearing. Gliding along near the bottom, where the dark shapes of fish darted, my heartbeat throbbed in my ears and I felt an overwhelming sense of joy to know that Thomas was back in my life. After all, he was the closest thing I had to a brother.

  I resurfaced and heaved myself on to the bank where I lay face down in a patch of sun. ‘You should’ve come in. The water’s glorious.’ I rolled on to my back feeling the heat soak into my skin.

  He was smiling at me. ‘You always loved the water.’

  We stayed there a while, reminiscing, until a bank of clouds blotted out the sun. I dressed, my clothes sticky against damp skin.

  ‘You’ve dropped something.’ He was crouched in the grass and had plucked up a small object between finger and thumb. ‘What’s this?’ He held it out to me.

  ‘Oh, God! Frances’s pearl.’ I snatched it from him, without thinking.

  ‘Who’s Francis, and why do you have his pearl cached away?’

  Her pearl,’ I corrected him, realizing my mistake even before he’d understood.

  ‘Her pearl,’ he echoed back at me, and I watched his face screw into contempt as realization settled in. ‘Tell me it doesn’t belong to Frances Howard. Any other Frances but that one.’

  I would have lied, or brushed it off with a quip, but I found myself unable to deny her, felt it would be a betrayal, so said nothing.

  Thomas’s forehead corrugated into a frown. ‘Have you lost your mind? Please tell me this is a joke.’ He was standing with one boot on, the other hanging forgotten from his hand.

  ‘If you knew her, you’d think differently. She’s not what she seems.’

  He hurled the boot to the ground. ‘She’s a Howard, for Christ’s sake.’

  ‘It’s you who insists the Howards are your enemies, not me.’

  ‘You can’t have a foot in both camps.’ He stooped to pull on his boot in silence, then vaulted on to his horse, girding it into a canter, calling back, ‘It won’t end well.’

  It sounded like a warning.

  Her

  Someone has been weeping for hours in the adjacent chamber, the sound worming its way beneath her skin, so Frances is relieved when the guard comes to take her out for air. She is glad it’s William today – the only one who doesn’t treat her warily.

  Once outside, the brightness of the day lifts her but they have only gone halfway across the walled yard when the sky darkens and a sudden chilled squall lashes them with rain. There is no immediate shelter and they stand for a moment, not knowing whether to go back or forward. Water runs down her face. It is fresh, exhilarating, not like the dark, moving mass of river water. William looks embarrassed as if the weather is his fault.

  A laugh escapes her as she runs towards a shallow arch. It offers little protection but she is already soaked, right through to her underwear. He is big and handsome, eager as a puppy, and is laughing too now, pink-cheeked, pressed up against the wall beside her. She feels alive for the first time since she came to this place, and the way he can’t quite look at her sets her thoughts to the vague possibility of escape. She might convince him to help her. Looking up at him through her lashes, she sees the sharp little intake of breath that signals his ignition. With careful planning it might be achievable – if it comes to the worst.

  The rain stops as swiftly as it began. ‘I hope you have a spare uniform.’ She smiles at him, imagining him shirtless, feeling a quick gush of desire. ‘Or you’ll catch a chill.’

  They stay for a few minutes, listening to the drip and gurgle of the gutters before he says, ‘We’d better,’ and stands aside for her to walk in front.

  The room is fuggy. It smells of baby and the windows have misted. At least the weeping has stopped. Nelly smirks at William. Frances stiffens and sends him packing, then stands by the fire to take off her wet clothes.

  Nelly begins to unravel her damp hair, saying, ‘It’ll take hours to dry.’

  Frances has a sudden memory of the moment Robert first saw her with her hair down, how he’d felt she’d been keeping a secret from him.

  ‘Robert loved my hair.’ She is surprised by how wistful she sounds.

  ‘What was he like?’ Nelly’s eyes are gleaming, hungry for the next instalment – too hungry, perhaps – and Frances realizes they’ve been talking about Robert in the past tense, as if he is already dead.

  There is a way of getting from Whitehall to Northampton House almost without having to set foot outside, by passing through the tangle of dark, little-used corridors that link the sprawl of buildings. I was in one of those corridors on my way to see Uncle when I heard footsteps in my wake.

  There was an urgent stealth to the tread that made me uneasy. I slowed. They slowed. I speeded up. They did the same. I broke into a run but my follower was with me, on my shoulder, tying my throat in a tight knot. Stopping abruptly, I turned and, before I had a chance to catch my breath, was pressed up against the wall. My cry was stopped with the clap of a hand over my mouth. His face was covered, save for a pair of scornfully probing eyes.

  Ripping my purse from my waist I held it up to him, willing my hand not to shake.

  ‘Keep your coins.’ His voice was a low growl. I kicked out, trying to bite his hand, and somehow managed to knock the bridge of my nose sharply against his forearm. It smarted painfully. Never show your fear. His face was an inch from mine. He smelt of bergamot, a scent of women and courtiers. He wasn’t some ordinary cutpurse, then. ‘Stay away from Robert Carr. I’m warning you.’

  He released me with a push, running off as I stumbled back, calling into the darkness. ‘Who are you?’ All I could hear was his departing footfall. ‘Who sent you?’
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  I stayed against the wall for a while, waiting for the clamour of my heart to subside before continuing. Uncle was at the entrance when I arrived.

  I must have been visibly shaken, as he said, ‘Whatever’s happened to you? You’re white as ash. Are you hurt?’ He seemed concerned, putting an arm round me, gently guiding me to a chair.

  ‘No – no, not hurt.’ There was a quiver in my voice, which I struggled to hide. ‘But some man just accosted me and warned me off Robert Carr.’

  ‘Who have you told about Carr?’ His tone was caustic, all his sympathy drained away in an instant.

  ‘No one. Only Anne Turner. No one but her. And she already knew.’

  ‘If Anne Turner’s been speaking out of turn, she’ll have me to answer to.’ I was glad Anne wasn’t there to be on the receiving end of his malice. I tried my best to defend her but he seemed more interested in identifying my assailant, firing questions at me about what he’d been wearing, the colour of his eyes, what kind of weapon he carried. ‘Didn’t you think to unmask him, Frances?’

  He hustled me upstairs to where my parents were waiting in the gallery. They had come to discuss the undoing of my marriage. I noticed that Uncle omitted to mention the incident in the Whitehall corridor, which made me wonder what else they kept from each other.

  Father was dressed for his portrait, sword, spurs, boots all polished to a sheen and an ostrich feather the size of a hearth brush in his hat. Master Larkin was painting us all that year, and Northampton House smelt permanently of linseed oil and turpentine. The likenesses were lined up at the far end of the room, none quite finished, though mine had been started months ago, before I left for Chartley.

  On a table to one side was an array of equipment: a palette wrapped in a damp cloth to keep the paints from drying out, a set of brushes fanned out in a jar, a stack of preliminary sketches trembling in the draught from the open window. Beside a pestle and mortar stood bottles of unknown liquid and coloured powders, like a sorcerer’s concoctions.