The Poison Bed: 'Gone Girl meets The Miniaturist'

by E C Fremantle

  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?’

  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.

  We all sat, except Father, who paced. He was formidable enough but always seemed diminished beside Uncle, and I wondered if he remained on his feet to feel superior. He took charge of the conversation, probably for the same reason. ‘You spoke to Essex, then?’

  Uncle, who was leaning back in his chair, appraising us all as if we were actors in his play, nodded at me to respond.

  ‘He’s as keen as I to find a way out of his vows. Though I don’t think he’ll –’

  ‘Don’t think he’ll what?’ Father rapped his knuckles against the back of my chair. ‘He’s not going to be stubborn about testifying, is he? You’ll have to make him, Frances.’ Father was defined by his impatience and rarely let anyone else finish a sentence.

  ‘Can’t you sit down?’ snapped Uncle, who sounded as irritated as I by Father’s pacing. ‘What exactly did Essex say?’ He looked at me.

  ‘He’s concerned about public ridicule. Said one of us would have to die before –’

  ‘What utter nonsense,’ Father interjected.

  In contrast Uncle’s tone was measured. ‘The sooner we get you out of that marriage the better. And if the boy’s unable to do his duty it’s not a marriage at all. I’ve already touched on it with the King.’

  ‘What did he say?’ This was the first time Mother had spoken all afternoon. She was being painted, too, and was in her best jewel-laden gown. She was still a handsome woman, with the kind of sharp bone structure that gave definition to her features, and pale colouring that disguised the grey in her hair. I didn’t take after her.

  I was darker, like Harry and like Uncle. Seeing our portraits side by side brought our similarity home to me, made sense of the hushed speculation that my brother and I were the result of one of the misdemeanours Mother thought no one knew about. It wasn’t impossible. The Howards were tangled in secrets, kept even from each other.

  ‘The King didn’t say anything we don’t already know,’ replied Uncle. ‘He insists that Essex swear to his impotence at a hearing. And, given what Frances says, I don’t know yet how we’ll achieve this. It might help if we arranged to bring him and his people here so we can discuss it face to face.’ He put his hand over mine on the table. It was large and mottled, like a piece of dead wood. ‘In the meantime, I need you to keep working on the favourite.’

  ‘I think Carr’s hooked.’ I smiled at him. He’d always told me that nothing alive could resist my smile. ‘Mind you, I haven’t seen him in months.’ I had only encountered him in public since my return but I knew he was captivated – it was scribbled all over him, in the furtive glances and his unexpected appearance wherever I was. I neglected to mention that I was as much caught on Robert Carr’s hook as he was on mine.

  ‘Have you given yourself to him yet?’ Father was to the point.

  ‘For goodness’ sake.’ Mother clearly thought he had probed too far, but I waved her aside, saying there was no point in being coy about it and that of course I hadn’t.

  Uncle said, ‘Well, don’t. Not yet, anyway.’

  I wanted to shout: I’m in love with him. But I imagined Uncle’s horror, Father snorting with laughter and Mother saying: You, in love? I doubt that.

  ‘You’re a good girl, Frances.’ Father oozed insincerity. ‘Your mother and I are very proud of you.’

  ‘I thought you couldn’t stand Carr,’ I said. ‘You used to call him “that ill-bred Scots cur”.’

  ‘Things have changed – he’s become useful.’ Father didn’t like being challenged, particularly by his least favourite daughter.

  ‘We certainly are proud of you,’ said Uncle, always the peacekeeper. ‘Between us we’ll bring more power to the Howards than they have ever had.’ He leaned in close, murmuring, ‘I knew you were up to the task.’ He gripped my waist tightly, as if I were a glove puppet. ‘Even when you were an infant I knew you had something the others didn’t.’

  I soaked up his praise. My great-uncle’s approval had been all I’d sought for as long as I could remember. And if his approval could be gained by repudiating a husband who loathed me and winning a man I thought I loved already, then being Uncle’s creature was a blessing. Or so I believed.

  He took my chin and turned my face to his, speaking as if we were alone in the room. ‘But you need to prepare yourself. There will be a good deal of mud-slinging and most of it will be directed at you. They will attack you and you must not retaliate.’

  ‘Attack me how?’

  ‘They will say you bewitched the prince, then set your eye on the favourite, and most likely that you have seduced every other man who has ever cast his eye over you. You know how people are. You must hold your head high and ignore it all.’

  ‘People can think what they like.’ I knew well enough that the plan had more chance of success if I was as cold-hearted as they all believed.

  ‘That’s my girl.’ He looked over at the clock. ‘Carr should be here soon.’

  ‘He’s coming?’ My nerves jostled. Uncle knew me too well and I wasn’t sure if I would be able to hide what I truly felt if Robert Carr was in the room.

  ‘This must be him now,’ said Father, in response to some noise outside.

  And there he was, in the doorway. I noticed him glance at the row of paintings, then at me. I was embarrassed by his beauty, or by the effect it was having on me. He seemed amused, pointing to his j
acket, and I saw that it was made from the identical deep red damask of my dress.

  Uncle said brightly, ‘If you two were in a play you’d be assumed to be husband and wife in those matching outfits.’

  Quick as a whip, Carr said, ‘If we were in a play, she’d be a boy,’ making us all laugh, even Father.

  Mother was simpering and I knew that the favourite’s charm had worked on her too. But all at once her amusement dropped away and she cried out my name, her face contorting. The room fell silent, everyone staring at me.

  Something warm trickled over my upper lip and, touching my fingers to it, I found them bloody. A splash had fallen on my dress turning the deep red deeper still. Carr held out his handkerchief, which Mother snatched, pressing it over my face, and I was hustled to a chair to sit with my head tipped back. Someone was sent for ice. Only then did I remember the violent knock I’d suffered earlier.

  Uncle took Carr to one side and I could hear them discussing poetry. Carr was quoting a few lines of something, his soft voice lingering like music. Father continued to march impatiently, as if I’d deliberately inconvenienced him with my nosebleed. I was enjoying the obvious camaraderie between Uncle and Carr. Essex had always been sullen and ungracious with him, and when I heard those two chatting easily like old friends, I seemed to glimpse a better future.

  Once the bleeding had stopped, Mother suggested I go and lie down. I refused, not wanting to seem weak, and sat stalwart, using all my will-power to resist turning my gaze on Carr. I felt soft and warm and tender, and wanted to fold myself into his red damask arms. I imagined myself invisible against him, in my matching dress, disappearing, like a magician’s illusion.

  Eventually Uncle said, ‘I gathered us all here with an ulterior motive.’

  He looked at Father, who cleared his throat before saying directly to Carr, ‘We want to offer you our daughter’s hand.’

  Carr looked puzzled, asking if he had heard correctly, and adding, ‘But Lady Essex is already wed.’

  ‘Lady Frances,’ Mother corrected. ‘We call her Lady Frances.’

  ‘I’m not properly married, you see.’ He stared at me then in silent scrutiny. ‘My marriage has never been fully sealed.’

  ‘It’s true, then.’ His look of euphoria set my nape tingling. I wondered what he’d heard and from whom.

  ‘The pair of you seem well matched,’ said Uncle, ‘and I want to see Frances settled happily. She’s the closest thing to a daughter I have.’ He took my hand in ownership and went on, talking about his regret at never having known the married life and what a lonely fate it made for an old man. ‘The annulment may take some time to achieve. There are one or two obstacles – nothing insurmountable.’ Uncle gave Carr an avuncular pat on the arm. ‘I’m sure you can impress upon the King the benefits of such a match – benefits to him. He doesn’t refuse you much.’

  I could see the machinations of Uncle’s mind. He had thought of everything. He knew that the King would see the advantage of his favourite marrying and that this would also make the Essex crowd think they were getting what they wanted: the son of their dead hero freed from a bad marriage. It would lull them into a false sense of security.

  The plan, seen in its entirety, was impressive. But there was a single lurking defect: Essex. I suspected it would take more than ordinary persuasion to make him testify, but Uncle’s conviction was contagious. We were all blithely buoyed up by it while the details of my dowry were discussed. Our eyes met for an instant and I had the sense Robert Carr would have taken me in my petticoats without a penny.

  ‘I think it goes without saying that the pair of you must proceed with the utmost discretion,’ said Uncle. ‘And what we have discussed today must not leave this room.’ Carr swore agreement. Then Uncle added, with a lascivious grin, ‘I think you two might seal your promise with a kiss.’

  I could hear Uncle’s breath, rasping slightly, close at my shoulder as Carr and I leaned across the table towards each other.

  He was perfect, like one of the prince’s bronzes, formed by the hand of a master craftsman, and I wanted him then, wanted to possess him, to distil his essence and wear him on me always. The swell of his mouth, slightly open, and his golden-lashed eyes drew me closer but Uncle’s doggish gaze was adulterating the moment so I lifted my hand to disrupt his view. Our lips touched, flesh pressing firmly on flesh. I could have eaten him alive. We broke apart eventually. He seemed intoxicated, eyes half-mast, mouth turned up.

  But, suddenly, his blissful expression fell away as he said under his breath, almost as if talking to himself, ‘Thomas won’t be happy.’

  ‘Thomas?’ Father jumped on it. ‘Thomas who?’

  ‘It’s nothing.’ Carr waved a hand, as if to erase his words.

  ‘You don’t mean your friend Sir Thomas Overbearing, do you?’ Father gave a scathing laugh. ‘I shouldn’t worry about him. He’s nobody.’

  I noticed Carr’s dark look. ‘Don’t speak of him like that.’ He was staunch. ‘Overbury’s like family to me.’ I was impressed.

  I wanted to ask why he thought his friend would object and why it even mattered. There was something Carr wasn’t saying, something that didn’t quite fit.

  ‘If you want my advice you should cast Overbury aside.’ Father was brim-full of disdain. ‘Don’t know why you’d want base friends like him.’

  Uncle, who had been observing the scene, spoke up then. ‘If he objects, come to me. I’ll talk him round. There’s nothing that can’t be dealt with.’ His tone was reasonable, but the knowing look he flashed briefly my way made me shrivel.

  At the time, I didn’t know that person, the thought of whom had provoked such unfathomable doubt in Carr.

  Him

  A ribbon of river looped almost back on itself, as if to shrug off Greenwich, clinging to its outer edge. The weather was cold and brisk and clear – the best kind of autumn day, rendering vivid the redbrick palace and its straggle of outbuildings far below. Once magnificent, it seemed neglected and cowed, as if weighed down by all the history it had witnessed: the birth of three Tudor monarchs, royal weddings, the arrest of a queen, dark secrets whispered into its walls.

  We had crunched up to the high point through drifts of fallen leaves, the dogs singing as they flushed pheasants from the undergrowth. A bonfire below sent up a blue billow, and traces of wood smoke drifted to us, mingling with the dank smell of autumn undergrowth.

  I felt restored to be out in nature and glad to see that James, too, seemed renewed. He was sparked up with life, more like the man I had known before – all those tics and twitches stilled. I was reminded of the tenderness I had once felt for him. During the previous five months without an official secretary of state, the constant press of work had worn him down, diminished him.

  Artemis, my kestrel, sat on my arm, quiet beneath her hood, while James’s goshawk strained at his jesses. Hannibal was a great grey beauty the size of a small dog, with long speckled breeches. James adored that bird, liked to hold a morsel of meat between his teeth so the hawk could pluck it directly from his mouth. Whenever he did so the falconers winced, imagining, I suppose, the royal lips shredded and themselves blamed.

  In comparison Artemis was small and tame. Hannibal’s restlessness began to disturb her and she gripped my glove, sinews tight, instinct telling her that under other circumstances she might well be prey for a goshawk. She had flickering jet-black eyes, rimmed in yellow, the colour of Frances’s ruffs. Everything reminded me of Frances. I spilled over with thoughts of her. All those empty months of waiting were forgotten, replaced with a new, more tangible, desire.

  With James’s cheerful mood it seemed the perfect moment to broach the subject of my marriage. He had talked of finding a match for me, more than once, but had never followed it up and I was unsure of how he might respond. I sidled around the topic, talking of a recent wedding at court and turning the conversation to parenthood, asking him how he had felt on becoming a father.

  I hoped he might take t
he bait and raise the subject himself but he didn’t and, in the end, I said, ‘I, too, would like to enjoy the experience of fatherhood.’

  ‘It would be a crime for you not to reproduce, with your looks.’ He nudged me, and seemed to be half joking. Hannibal batted his wings with impatience.

  ‘I would need to be wed to do that.’

  ‘Not necessarily,’ he teased, making me feel I was getting nowhere with my tactful approach. He was distracted, stroking and cooing to his hawk in a bid to settle him. But then his tone sharpened: ‘Seeking to replace me?’

  ‘Don’t be silly.’ I slapped a jovial hand to his shoulder but felt disheartened as the conversation had effectively been closed. Inside my glove, I could feel the familiar small, hard sphere of Frances’s pearl. And tucked inside my shirt, next to my skin, was my newest relic: a bloodstained handkerchief, her blood.

  He flicked a wry look at me and we fell to silence as he untied the hawk and slipped off its hood. The creature leaped up, unfolding the vast span of his wings, soaring into the crisp air. James watched him rise with a look of wonder, as if he were up there too, unencumbered by the responsibilities of his position.

  I waited until Hannibal was almost out of sight before sending Artemis up. The unfinished conversation prodded at me as I followed her path with my gaze, until I had to speak. ‘It would stop the wagging tongues if I married and it would make the Queen happy. She’ll assume you’ve cooled towards me.’ Artemis was wheeling above. ‘Make your life easier.’

  He was silent for some time. ‘Salisbury suggested it to me before he died. “Find the boy a wife, Your Majesty.” ’ He was doing a passable impression of his old chief minister. ‘Salisbury always had a knack for burying a scandal. Whenever I’ve gone against his word I’ve regretted it – seems he controls me from the grave now.’

  Artemis was making low circles on outstretched wings, tips spread like fingers. Hannibal was further afield, a speck floating in blue, but then turned and began to skim back towards us. Artemis hung oblivious, her eye fast on the ground. I whistled to warn her but she ignored me.