The Poison Bed

by Elizabeth Fremantle

  ‘You’re much more honest than you need be.’ He was smiling, appraising me.

  ‘I’m not like the others.’ I saw everyone trying to bleed him dry, taking and giving nothing in return. I was determined not to be one of them.

  I held out my gloved hand. Artemis came to me for her reward. Her beak and face were smeared crimson, black eyes quivering as she reined in the wild part of her.

  ‘Do you mean it, about me marrying?’ My question hung in the air. He was watching Hannibal.

  ‘My jealousy doesn’t extend to women, if that’s what you’re asking.’ The hawk swooped near and away again. ‘And the advantages do seem numerous. If it’s Lady Essex you want, then Lady Essex you shall have. We’d better set proceedings in motion to undo her ties.’ He paused, smiling – ‘I look forward to being godfather’ – and gave my cheek a sharp little slap. ‘You’d better not fall for her.’ The smile had gone from his face.

  Her

  Nelly plants the sleeping bundle on Frances’s lap. ‘She’s an easy little thing – not like some.’

  The baby’s sour-milk smell makes Frances nauseous. There is a small blister on its lip, created by the force of its suckling, and the little swollen mouth still pumps minutely. Its entire existence is an eternal cycle of feeding, dreaming of feeding and demanding to be fed. ‘Like a tick,’ she murmurs.

  ‘What?’ says Nelly.

  ‘Nothing.’

  Envy drip-drips into Frances, uninvited. She would steal the baby’s contented oblivion, if she could. Every night worries flit into her shallow dreams, spiralling round her exhausted mind. The hours are punctuated by half-human sounds, yelps and moans and whimpers, coming from the bowels of the building. The trial looms and the outcome she once felt quite sure of now seems uncertain, as if some malevolent god has her fate in his fist.

  Nelly is standing over her, gazing at the infant. Frances wonders if the girl is thinking of her own stillborn baby but there is nothing wistful about her expression. ‘She’s the spit of you.’

  Frances looks again and sees then what she hadn’t yet noticed. There is nothing of Robert Carr in his daughter. The baby stretches, yawning, and in the most fleeting glimpse she can see Uncle. It is as if they made this child with bits of themselves. A well of emptiness opens in her and she realizes, for the first time since his death, the extent to which she misses him. It surprises her. I am only half myself without him.

  She hands back the baby abruptly.

  Thoughts of Uncle give way to thoughts of Robert and she is thrown, with unexpected vividness, to a bright afternoon almost four years before, the sun falling through the window in stripes over their skin, the peal of cathedral bells, their bodies hot, the smell of him on her and her on him. She had felt as if he saw into her soul and loved her despite what he found there – because of what he found there even, perhaps.

  The memory of it is vivid in her mind, the heat that day and his lilting voice: I’ve never known a woman. The idea had engorged her desire. She feasted on the sight of him, his burrowing eyes, the curve of his mouth, the way his hair gathered into golden whorls at his temples. He drew on his pipe and puffed out a ring of white smoke. She put a finger through it and it disappeared. She wanted to consume him, absorb him into her, imprison him in her body until they were a single entity, a monster of desire.

  Never? she’d murmured in disbelief.

  Never, he’d echoed.

  She could hear laughter beyond the thin walls. Someone strummed lazily at an instrument, singing a lewd song. He had unfastened her ruff, casting it off, and brought his fingers to her bared throat, pressing slightly with a sigh. They began to tear at each other’s clothes, feverishly unpinning and undoing until they found the warm accommodation of each other’s flesh. I was always waiting for you, he was saying. I didn’t know it but now it is all clear. Do you believe in destiny?

  She felt him stiff, pushing at her pubic bone. I don’t know. She didn’t know. Everything in her life had been so carefully planned. She had never thought about destiny. Everything was as it was – Uncle always there to make things happen.

  The cathedral bells reminded her she was being watched. Will God punish us for this?

  No. He seemed so sure. We are promised to each other.

  But he hesitated then, halting the exploration of her body, shifting away minutely, enough for her to feel a sense of departure: But –

  She was beset with a sudden fear that he had changed his mind, not just about that afternoon but about everything, about her, having seen her unwrapped, with her banal thoughts and ordinary female body, all the mystery gone. She felt herself caving in, a fault line opening in her. But what? The bells had got inside her head and she couldn’t hear her own thoughts.

  I’m afraid it will hurt you – you so soft and me so ...

  She wanted to laugh. Relief made her solid again and she sensed that a person can be pared back to their bones yet retain their enigma. Her appetite, the need to consume him, possess all of him, was renewed in force. She rolled, lifting herself, until she was lying flat along his body, her face so close as to transform his two eyes into one. The coarse maleness of his smell intoxicated her to a point at which she couldn’t be held responsible for her actions.

  Frances. Precious Frances, he murmured. I couldn’t bear you to suffer even the smallest hurt.

  Hurt me, she said. She wanted to feel something, wanted to feel the sting of his palm against her skin, to feel the hard press of his thumbs in her flesh, nails digging, leaving marks to prove she was alive. He looked horror-struck.

  No, you don’t understand. It’ll be the sweetest pain – make me feel as if I exist.

  His smile flashed.

  Him

  My boat slid through the oily water, heading home from the playhouse. I’d invited Thomas there in a bid to soften him before I announced my plans. It was cold on board but we drew the hangings around us, huddling over the burner in the dark.

  ‘I have some news.’

  ‘I assume by your conciliatory tone that you think I won’t like it.’

  ‘Don’t be daft!’ I made it sound light. ‘I’m to be married.’ I sensed a charge of tension between us and added, ‘Just for convenience’s sake.’

  ‘Whose convenience?’ There was an edge to his voice, before I’d even mentioned Frances.

  ‘Come on, don’t be like that.’

  ‘Like what?’ He sat back, arms splayed, in pretend insouciance.

  There was no good way to tell him so I simply gave him the bald fact of it. ‘The bride is Frances Howard. I have James’s blessing.’

  ‘Well, you won’t have mine.’ He was simmering but kept his voice low because the oarsmen were so close. The vague light obscured the detail of his expression but the air had grown thick with resentment.

  ‘It’s the King’s wish.’ It was partly true.

  Thomas changed the subject, began to talk of the play we’d just seen, about a king of Scotland sowing the seeds of his own demise. ‘Through his own weakness,’ he said pointedly, and I saw he hadn’t changed the subject at all. ‘At the hands of his own wife.’

  ‘And you imagine such a fate for me. You can be so dramatic, Tom.’

  ‘I do – I do imagine such a fate for you, if you must insist on pursuing your folly. Every tragic hero has a flaw and she is yours.’

  ‘But you don’t know her.’

  ‘I know she’s a Howard.’

  ‘Meaning what, exactly? James sees advantage in having the Howards kept close.’

  ‘I don’t have to tell you how corrupt her family is. They’re dangerous, Robin.’

  ‘Only according to your so-called friends.’ This was an old argument and I could feel a storm brewing. ‘The Howards seek only to serve the King, not like some.’ He knew exactly whom I meant. ‘There’s not a bad bone in Frances Howard’s body.’

  He gave a burst of sour laughter. ‘What was it Cicero said – “Only a fool persists in error”?’

 
; ‘You always think there’s an answer in something someone said a thousand years ago.’ I felt belittled by his learning, unable to counter his comment with an apt quotation of my own.

  ‘She’s to be divorced – been married for years. I won’t see you ruin yourself for a divorced woman.’

  ‘Annulled, not divorced – annulled!’ Frances was paying a high price for her freedom. All the Howard enemies were doing everything in their power to destroy her reputation, spreading it round that she’d bewitched Essex and caused his impotence. Court was a cacophony of lewd gossip spread by those Thomas believed were his friends. But I realized that in his mind this was not about court factions or who took whose part – it was about him and me.

  ‘Annulled! She’s no virgin.’

  ‘You don’t know that.’

  ‘Oh, but I do – Essex himself told me, described it in explicit detail, blow by blow.’

  ‘He’s lying.’ My thoughts were tangling. Since when was Thomas so close to Essex as to discuss such a thing? ‘I don’t believe you had any conversation with Essex.’ I wanted to knock the deceit out of him.

  ‘I’ve never known a husband loathe his wife so much.’ He paused, leaning in closer. ‘I could repeat the things he said about her – filthy things.’

  His words catapulted me back to Caritas House where I was untying her shoes, unrolling her stockings, peeling her like a fruit, finding her soft flesh within – my beautiful broken Frances, whom I would put back together. ‘You are the first to have my heart,’ she had whispered. She had told me of her husband’s cruelty, his terrifying temper, how sometimes she feared for her life.

  I wanted to shout at Thomas that it was true she was no virgin for I’d taken her virginity and see what he thought of that. But it was deeply secret – even Northampton knew nothing of our tryst.

  ‘For pity’s sake, when are you going to wake up and see she’s a base whore and her family are pimps?’

  Without thinking, I slapped him hard across the cheek, shocked by the power of my strike. My palm stung and, even in the gloom, I could see a mark where my ring had caught him. A cloud of impenetrable silence engulfed us. I opened the curtain to look out at the river.

  The oarsmen were laughing and exchanging jokes, passing a bottle round. I took it, swallowing. It seared my throat. ‘You want to be careful with that. It could knock out a bull,’ said one of the men. I took another swig and another, until my head felt comfortingly muffled, then slouched back on the bench. I offered the bottle to Thomas, slinging an arm over his unyielding shoulders.

  He leaned forward to swipe the curtain shut again, taking a gulp of the drink, then turning to me. ‘I care too much for you to stand back and watch you ruin yourself on that witch.’

  ‘Why do you hate women so much?’ The drink had made my anger seem distant.

  ‘I don’t.’ He was offended. ‘Just that one. God, Robin, I can’t let you do it – won’t let you.’

  ‘How do you plan to stop me?’ My head was swimming and my diplomacy had floated out of reach.

  ‘I’ll testify – prevent the annulment. Tell of what Essex confided – all the sordid details.’

  I sobered in an instant. ‘Essex was lying. Besides, you wouldn’t dare. You’d find yourself at the sharp end of a sword, kicked quietly into the gutter – murder made to look like robbery. You think they are your friends but they don’t care about you. Any one of them would happily see it done. Essex’s lot want this annulment as much as everyone else – apart from you, it seems.’

  ‘It’s a risk worth taking – for your sake, Robin. Can’t you see? It’s for you.’ He was pleading, had taken my hand tight in his. The mark on his cheek had deepened. ‘Can’t you see I’m the only one who truly loves you?’ He drew me to him, as if to kiss me, but whispered, ‘Don’t you remember?’ His eyes were wet. I couldn’t bear to see that. But then he pulled away. ‘I’ll do anything to stop you.’

  ‘You wouldn’t dare,’ I repeated. ‘I know you, Tom. I know you don’t have the guts. You’d make a hundred enemies in a single morning. At best, you’d be an outcast – lose everything you’ve worked your whole life for.’

  We sat in silence for some time and I thought that was the end of it, but then he said, very quietly, ‘I know a good deal about the King’s state affairs. I have been party to all sorts of details that he wouldn’t want leaked.’

  ‘Are you threatening me – the King?’ I snatched my hand out of his. I was thinking of all the confidential state papers he’d helped me with and suddenly my gut felt heavy, as if filled with a ballast of gravel.

  ‘I’m not threatening anyone. I’m trying to save you. You don’t understand – you’re nothing but an object to her, something to collect, like one of the prince’s bronze figures.’ He held his forehead in his hands and let out a groan of frustration. ‘You’ll thank me for it one day.’

  ‘You wouldn’t do it.’

  He had begun to list the things he knew in a murmured growl: ‘Most people wouldn’t be pleased to hear of the King’s flirtation with Spain, his desire to broker a marriage for his son with a Catholic infanta just for the dowry she’d bring. You see, Robin, I also know the truth about the depleted coffers – England is bankrupt – and I know ...’ He hesitated. ‘Oh, never mind.’

  ‘What? What else do you know?’ Alarm was gushing through me. I couldn’t look at him, focused on a spot of grease on my glove, trying to settle my thoughts.

  ‘What I came upon at Royston.’

  An insistent pulse beat in my temple. ‘The King would force you to keep your silence.’

  ‘He won’t need to’ – I had never seen this calm, ruthless Thomas before: he was a complete stranger to me – ‘because you will let go of that Howard girl and find another woman to wed.’

  I could sense the resolve scored into him as I flailed for a response, a way to make him change his mind.

  ‘I’ll do whatever it takes to protect you.’ He sounded absolutely rigid.

  ‘Don’t make me choose.’ His breath was the loudest sound in that enclosed space. ‘You’ll regret it.’

  A dark thought washed through my mind.

  A little provocation and Thomas would be on his feet, dragging me up by my collar. He knew me better than anyone, but the reverse was also true. My right arm would swing round, fist exploding into his jaw. Stunned, his grip would release and a firm push would send him toppling backwards into the black water.

  He was a weak swimmer, even without the drink. The oarsmen would stand witness to the fact that I was defending myself. They would try to save him, shouting at him to cling to an oar, but the cold and the panic and the alcohol would have crept through his body, along his limbs to his fingers, making his grip weak. And he would slip under, down, into the dark.

  I could never do that, of course.

  Her

  A thick March fog is pressing at the windows, as if the building has been wrapped up, with them in it. Frances wonders if they are slowly suffocating. Not for the first time she is profoundly grateful for Nelly’s presence, whatever the reason she is here – she needs the girl. It is an unfamiliar feeling that she is compelled to nurture for the sake of her sanity.

  ‘Want to hear a secret?’ she asks, watching as Nelly’s eyes glitter with intrigue. People like it when you trust them with a secret. It makes them feel special.

  ‘I slept with Robert Carr once before we were married.’

  Nelly looks as if she has been given a fistful of sovereigns. ‘How did you do it without being caught? Where?’

  ‘At Caritas House.’

  ‘Caritas House?’

  ‘It was what Anne Turner called her place in Paternoster Row – Charity House.’

  ‘What?’ Nelly smirks. ‘Where her girls would meet their gentlemen? Sounds more like a bawdy house to me.’

  Frances snorts with laughter, they both do, forgetting, for a moment, where they are. Frances likes Nelly more for her apparent inability to be shocked, though she s
uspects the girl would be shocked to know that she’d confessed to the murder.

  ‘You’re right,’ Frances says. ‘All sorts of things went on at Caritas House.’

  ‘But ...’ Nelly is counting on her fingers, then lifts the baby slightly ‘... this one wasn’t made then, was she?’ It is not a question. ‘You didn’t have her till a while after you were wed, did you?’ She burrows into Frances with her green eyes.

  ‘What exactly are you suggesting?’ says Frances. ‘If you mean to question her paternity...’ She was well aware of the slanders – after all, when you’re labelled a whore people assume things.

  Nelly laughs, loudly enough to startle the baby in her sleep, the little arms lifting, hands spreading open. ‘No need to sound so suspicious. I’m not here to interrogate you! I’m only interested in this little poppet’ – she strokes a finger fondly over the baby’s cheek – ‘aren’t I?’

  Frances feels exposed. ‘It was all a secret for so long. I’m not used to sharing it.’ She tries to keep her tone playful, as if they are just two women swapping confidences.

  ‘The whole of London was talking of you and him, waiting to see if you already had one in the oven at your wedding.’

  It is easy for Frances to forget the extent to which her private life was a source of public fascination. But no one knew of that first time at Caritas House, not even Uncle, and she wonders if she will regret having divulged that particular fact.

  ‘Did you do it just the once?’

  ‘Yes. Something happened then, you see. It all changed.’

  A dense crowd had gathered outside St Paul’s under a fine haze of drizzle. The mass of the cathedral, its perpendicular walls reaching up to the thick sky, blocked out the light, casting the path in gloom. I had to force my way through the press of people into the narrow entrance of Paternoster Row and was thankful to enter the warm quiet of Caritas House.

  Anne was waiting in the chamber at the top. The one Robert and I had used before, a small square room made smaller by a vast bed, which was dressed with fresh linen and plump pillows. She told me Robert was on his way: Weston had been sent to fetch him.