We walked past lumpen sacks of vegetables and hanging poultry into the depths of the shop, where a boy was plucking a goose in a corner, feathers floating everywhere, like snow. We mounted in single file, up and up the creaking staircase, six flights, then along a corridor and up a further flight, to the very top of the building. There were two doors. One hung open and a young man was leaning against the jamb, smoking a pipe. A woman was calling to him from inside for help with something, but he ignored her as he eyed us silently. Weston knocked on the other door.
A female voice answered, ‘Who is it?’ Weston mentioned a name she must have known, for a series of bolts shot back, the door opened and we were hustled inside.
Mary Woods was younger than I’d expected, in her middle twenties, neatly put together with a crisp white apron over a blue dress, and lazy-lidded, bovine eyes. Her very ordinariness seemed all wrong. She didn’t ask who we were, just said, with an efficient smile, that there was no need for names.
The lodgings were small, lit only by a single mean square of window and the few flames flickering in a diminutive hearth. There was a box bed in the corner, a shelf holding a few jars, and a small table with two chairs and a three-legged stool. Despite the crudeness of the place, everything was impeccably tidy and well swept. A cat was perched on the shelf, watching us, which put me on edge. I wasn’t fond of cats.
I took off my cloak, provoking a whistling intake of breath from Mary Woods. ‘That’s the finest satin these walls have ever seen, I wouldn’t doubt.’
I thought it a lie: Weston had told me on the way there that Mary Woods had read the future for several courtiers that he knew of. It didn’t surprise me – people resorted to women like her all the time in the hope of resolving their romantic worries. I’d always thought them foolish, but there I was.
‘And look at this.’ She had my ruff between her thumb and forefinger. ‘Have you ever seen the like?’
Anne began to explain about her special starch. Mary Woods still had hold of my lace, saying, ‘I’d love to wear a confection like this.’ She let go, smiling strangely, as if she knew something we didn’t. ‘But in my line of work it’s best to be inconspicuous.’
‘Why so?’ I asked. ‘There’s no law against prophesying.’
She didn’t answer, just made a strange little snort, and unease crawled over me.
‘What can I do for you, then?’ She offered the two chairs to Anne and me while she remained on her feet. Weston stood at the door like a sentry. He seemed too big for the space, his head almost touching the ceiling.
Anne began to speak. ‘My mistress needs to ensure a man’s love is kept alive. He must love her so deeply he’ll do anything to have her.’
‘What are you saying, Anne?’ I shot a frown her way. ‘We’re here to know what the future holds for me.’
But Mary Woods responded directly to Anne, as if I hadn’t spoken: ‘Anything?’ Her long-lashed gaze turned to me then, curiously beguiling. ‘I can get her in the family way.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘This is not –’
Anne interrupted: ‘They’re not sharing a bed, you see.’
Weston shuffled from one foot to the other. The cat began to wind about my ankles. I shoved it away, provoking a sharp glare from Mary Woods.
‘I could make a spell, but it’ll cost you.’
‘Absolutely not!’ I stood, angry now, and grabbed my cloak from the hook. ‘I’m not having this. We’re going.’ I found myself standing in front of the great immobile bulk of Weston. ‘Come on!’ Anne didn’t move.
‘Will this do?’ Anne produced something from her pocket: a ring. It was mine – a diamond that Essex had given me.
‘What are you doing with that?’ I grabbed her wrist but Mary Woods, quick as a flash, had plucked up the ring and was scrutinizing it by the window.
‘You hate that ring,’ said Anne. ‘Didn’t you once say you thought it brought you bad luck? I’m only trying to help.’
‘If you wanted to help you wouldn’t have hoodwinked me into coming!’ I was shouting in rage, and it was all I could do to stop myself slapping Anne.
‘I wouldn’t make a scene,’ said Mary Woods, firmly. ‘My neighbours can’t be trusted not to gossip.’
I knew I was trapped. ‘I wanted only to help.’ Anne sounded tearful.
‘The road to Hell is paved with good intentions,’ I barked. ‘Give me the ring.’ I held out my hand. It was quaking.
‘I only mean to use it to make your prophecy. A diamond can work as a conduit and one you’ve worn makes the vision so much clearer.’ With her cow’s eyes, Mary Woods was inspecting the shank where it was engraved with Essex’s and my entwined initials. ‘That’s what you came for, isn’t it, a prophecy?’ I felt, suddenly, that I’d made a fool of myself, misinterpreting the situation, and sat, handing a handkerchief to Anne. The cat began to rub itself against my skirts, purring, like a mill. We sat in a moment’s heavy silence.
Mary Woods was the next to speak: ‘This is not a gift from the man in question, is it?’
Anne nudged me. ‘See? She knows.’
‘That’s no matter of your concern, Mistress Woods,’ I said.
‘But I’m right.’ She bored through me with a look. ‘I only say so to prove to you that I have the gift. It’s clear you think me dishonest.’
I assumed that she’d seen the initials and put two and two together. Though the combination of letters could have belonged to a hundred couples and, really, I could have been any lady from court. I hadn’t even given her my name.
‘So, this is a gift from the husband. Not the man in question.’ She held up the ring.
Her accuracy disturbed me. I had not mentioned a husband but she could have surmised that any woman of my rank and age must have a husband, or at least be a widow.
‘I can get rid of him, if you so wish it.’ She let out a small riff of laughter.
I was appalled by her suggestion, couldn’t tell if she meant it or not. Anne looked alarmed.
‘But you don’t wish it, do you?’
I spoke bluntly: ‘As I said before, what I require, Mistress Woods, is to know what future awaits me. That is all.’
‘All?’ She looked as if she didn’t believe me.
‘Yes, all.’
‘He loves you but a strong force prevents him being yours.’ I began to wonder if she was reading my mind. But Uncle was in my head, saying, Don’t believe that gibberish, Frances. I didn’t raise you to be a dupe. ‘There’s a rat in your grain,’ she added.
I wondered momentarily if Weston had spilled my secrets and was getting a cut of the woman’s takings.
She smoothed her apron and I noticed for the first time that she had very fine hands, smooth like ivory. ‘I won’t normally cast black spells, for they can produce unforeseen consequences, but this will need a strong force.’
‘I’m not having any part of it.’ I made to stand. ‘I’m sorry to have wasted your time, Mistress Woods. If you’d just return my ring …’
‘Wait,’ she said, putting one of those beautiful hands on my shoulder. She was stronger than she looked. ‘I didn’t mean to frighten you.’
I met her eye directly. ‘I’m not frightened.’
Her mouth curled at one corner. Something happened then. She began to shake as if she’d been taken in a seizure and her eyes popped open wide. ‘He’s dead. The prince is dead.’ We all stared at her, aghast, and could hear then the slow chime of the Whitehall bell ringing to announce a royal death. I was trying to remember if the bell had begun to toll before her fit or after, when she said, ‘Poisoned!’
At once I recalled the Queen accusing Thomas Overbury of such a crime. I’d thought her hysterical at the time.
‘You can’t scare me, Mistress Woods. I’m made of sterner stuff than you think.’ I stepped towards her to take back the ring but she folded it tightly into her fist. ‘Weston!’ I expected him to intervene but he continued to stand motionless in the doorway.
My only thought was escape – damn the ring. ‘Get out of my way!’ Weston refused to budge. ‘I’ll have you punished for this.’ I would have shouted for help but I remembered the inquisitive neighbour and knew it would be reckless to draw attention to my situation, as it would surely be misconstrued.
When I turned back hopelessly to the room Mary Woods was standing over the fire where a pan hung, stirring and muttering something unintelligible.
‘Do something! Help me stop her!’ I cried.
Anne wore a wan expression, seemed paralysed, rooted to her chair. Weston, unperturbed, was cleaning his nails with the tip of his penknife, watching me.
A foul smell surged through the space. I felt light-headed, yet my body was heavy and immobile as I tried to cross the room to stop the woman. The more I tried to move towards her, the more distant I felt and was only able to look on in revulsion, as she took a fold of paper, opened it, then plucked something up between her fingers. It looked like the carcass of a large, iridescent beetle. She dropped it into the mixture and suddenly, as if doused by an invisible splash of water, the fire died, causing Anne to scream.
‘It will take effect within the week. You shall have the man’s desire returned to you a thousand-fold.’ Mary Woods paused. ‘So I hope it is really what you want.’ She had begun to tidy away her paraphernalia nonchalantly, as if clearing a dinner table.
‘It’s not what I want. I want no part of this.’ My nails bit into my skin where my fists were gripped. She merely raised her eyebrows as if to say she didn’t believe a word I’d said. ‘Now give me my ring.’
‘With pleasure.’ She smiled. ‘Once you’ve paid me ten shillings for my services.’
‘I have no intention of giving you payment for something I didn’t request.’ I was so angry I might have hit her.
‘I’m more than happy to hold on to this,’ she held up the wretched trinket, ‘until you send back your servant with the money.’
‘That man is nothing to do with me,’ I snapped, waving my hand towards Weston.
‘That’s none of my business.’ She smiled again, slowly opening and closing her bovine eyes, head tilted, as if flames wouldn’t burn her.
I knew there was nothing to do but leave.
She bade us a good day. Weston and Anne filed out – Anne couldn’t look at me, aware, no doubt, that she would meet the full force of my anger for having compromised me so. I was following them when Mary Woods held me back by the arm, saying, ‘Why are you afraid of water?’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’ I tried to keep steady but was barely able to breathe. Cold liquid lapped at my neck, rising, filling my mouth, my nose.
She still had my wrist. ‘Beware. Danger runs close to you. Very close.’
I shook myself out of her grip and ran towards the stairs.
Him
James’s eyes were hollow and rheumy, like open oysters. Our footsteps echoed through the hush as we approached the chapel. The prince looked as if he might be asleep, though up close I could see that the warm colour in his cheeks was painted on. A fine dark down on his upper lip made me want to weep – they say even when the body dies the hair goes on growing for a time. I had a sudden memory of Frances reading his palm, her expression of horror and the way she had dropped his hand as if it had burned her. Had she seen his death there?
Princess Elizabeth peeled away to kneel beside her dead sibling. She sobbed silently, thin shoulders heaving. Prince Charles looked at a loss. His older brother had had all the natural allure, and obstinate little Charles would be compared and found lacking. James was stiff as a guardsman with only those raw eyes revealing something of his state of mind. He’d always professed, in confidence, to dislike his elder son. But I knew his feeling was born of fear – fear that his boy would grow strong enough to topple him and that he would be powerless to prevent it. He hadn’t wanted to talk of his loss, not even privately, with me.
I pressed Frances’s pearl hard into the flesh of my palm until it hurt. Our separation had created empty inner places in me, where a new intense loathing for Thomas welled. I was ashamed that thoughts of her drew me away from fully mourning the prince. Inappropriate erotic thoughts swilled through my mind without warning, mingling with the agonized longing that had tortured me for days, a force so strong I knew I would never resist it.
Perhaps the astringent presence of death was having its effect on me. The sudden demise of a man so young and full of promise concentrated my thoughts on the shortness of life. The chance of true love is so small that when it is offered it is surely too precious to refuse, whatever the price.
I still believe that. I still roll that pearl between my fingers and long for her.
Out in the anteroom I lingered while condolences were made to the royal family. A group of the prince’s closest companions had gathered there, at a loss with their champion gone. But that negates their grief unfairly, for they were devastated, all dressed in black, like a parliament of jackdaws.
Essex caught my eye with a venomous glare. He seemed so callow and inconsequential, yet I couldn’t help thinking of the terrible temper Frances had described. He whispered in a huddle with Southampton. Pembroke turned and cast a frown over me through a cloud of pipe smoke, like the devil in a play. I held his gaze for a long moment. I had the trump card, and he knew it.
The prince’s collection of bronzes, displayed on a table nearby, offered an excuse to turn my back. There was the little shepherd on his plinth. I picked it up and was struck once more by the thought that it would make an effective weapon; its weight and the sharpness of the shepherd’s staff could do damage. Feeling a pang of shame to have such a thought, given the solemnity of the occasion, I looked to the door, glad to see our party was making to leave.
And there she was, as if I’d cast her with my own thoughts – but love is a spell, isn’t it, the greatest spell? She was with Northampton, her parents and a collection of Howard siblings and cousins. The sober jackdaws couldn’t hide their disapproval as that glittering tribe entered.
They had worn their best in respect to the prince, and presented a sea of colour. She, in crimson, her slipped halo leaking gold on to her skin, stood beside the surprised-looking sister who was once proposed for me. Her sad eyes flicked my way for the smallest moment. I felt my legs weaken and imagined collapsing on to the black and white marble floor, my head cracking open to spill my deepest, most secret, shameful thoughts.
I felt a touch on my arm, firm. It was James. I looked back. Northampton was holding her hand and she brought two fingers to her lips, kissing, blowing, with such subtlety that no onlooker would have thought she was doing more than biting off a hangnail. Northampton nodded to me, a single slow movement, and I decided in that moment that I would seek him out later. Between us we would find a solution, for I might as well be dead without the hope of Frances.
I made my way through the crowds of mourners towards Northampton House, a maelstrom of grim thoughts twisting through me. I knew I would have to divulge the facts about Thomas holding me to ransom and the political secrets he threatened to reveal. My greatest fear was Northampton’s response, that he might suggest silencing my friend permanently. His enemies said he’d stop at nothing to achieve his aims.
I hoped I might find Frances with him but he was alone in his book-lined study and rose as I entered. ‘I’m glad you’ve come, dear boy. I was hoping you would.’
The endearment made me feel drawn into the great Howard family, embraced as one of theirs. It was true, I was the King’s creature, but for my entire childhood I’d been passed round, like a parcel, never quite belonging anywhere – that is the fate of orphans. I suppose it had marked me with a weakness for those who offered a permanent place in their affections.
He sat me down and said he hoped I had come for the reason he thought I had. I told him of Thomas’s threat and he surprised me, saying he knew of it already, had seen my letter to Frances.
I felt exposed, a step behind. ‘I’ve been a
fool,’ I said. ‘A fool to involve Overbury in so much state business.’
‘The fault doesn’t lie with you.’ His sympathetic tone reassured me. ‘You can’t have expected to take on so many responsibilities without help. Salisbury had an army of secretaries and clerks. This is a lesson in misplaced trust.’ He paused. ‘And with Overbury being such a dear friend, well, you must feel doubly betrayed. What exactly did he threaten to reveal?’
‘Sometimes I sent papers to him without opening them myself. I trusted him implicitly.’ I didn’t mention what Thomas had seen at Royston. I wasn’t so foolish as to lay open that secret. But I told him of the covert dealings with Spain. Then Northampton’s demeanour seemed to change: he became distant, his eyes hard as gemstones, and thoughts of hired assassins circled my head.
‘I don’t want him hurt but I must have this marriage.’ I tried to sound measured and unsentimental, as if this was not about love and death, but about politics and protecting the King.
His tone was softer than his expression as he said, ‘There will be a way, there always is. You care for her deeply, don’t you?’
I nodded. I’d clearly failed to hide my feelings effectively and I had the sense that my love was visible to all, as if I’d ingested one of the poisons that makes blood seep out through your skin.
He was looking at me. I felt stripped bare under his inspection, with those terrible thoughts still teeming. ‘I know Frances wants this marriage too. I can’t think of a better match for her. And, well …’ he exhaled slowly, seeming in that moment very, very old and exhausted ‘… I find I can’t refuse her. I’m like clay in her fingers. You know she’s more to me than a daughter?’
I nodded again, unsure how to respond. I would have liked to ask what he meant by that, but didn’t.
The Poison Bed: 'Gone Girl meets The Miniaturist' Page 15
