The Poison Bed: 'Gone Girl meets The Miniaturist'

by E C Fremantle

  He hustled Robert out with a whispered conversation. I wanted to ask what secrets they were sharing, but as soon as the door was shut he turned the full force of his disdain on me: ‘What in Hell’s name do you think you were doing?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I kept my voice steady. I had no intention of showing Uncle the alarm that fermented beneath my surface.

  ‘Don’t play the innocent with me.’ He slapped his fisted right hand into the palm of his left. ‘I’ve just been informed that a woman has been to the authorities saying,’ he prodded a finger at me repeatedly as he spoke, ‘you gave her your ring as payment for the murder of your husband. A slow-acting poison is what she says you requested, “that will kill a man in a matter of days rather than instantly”.’ He was seething. ‘You’d better explain yourself.’

  ‘Uncle, what do you take me for? How could you think – of course the woman is lying.’ I was horrified – horrified that he might think me capable of such a thing. If I’d dared, I would have reminded him that I wasn’t like him. His life’s project had been to form me in his image.

  ‘So, tell me how she comes to have your ring?’

  ‘I went to Mary Woods – Anne took me there.’ I was stumbling over my words, racking my brains for a plausible story to explain the visit. I knew he wouldn’t believe the truth – that I’d been duped. It would only exacerbate his anger. ‘It – it must be at least four months …’ I counted back in my head ‘… no, five months ago.’

  ‘God knows, Frances, if you’ve jeopardized by your stupidity all we have carefully worked for just as the hearing is beginning …’ A threat hung unspoken.

  ‘No, of course I haven’t,’ I blathered. ‘The woman’s a laundress. Anne wanted to see her about an improved formula for yellow starch. One that would hold its colour better, not rub off on things as the other does.’ Uncle looked exasperated, rolling his eyes. ‘I gave her the ring for safekeeping, as I was going straight to the festivities for the princess’s wedding and I feared I would lose it while dancing. Young men will try to slip your rings off.’ I was tying myself in knots, barely drawing breath. I knew that a lie must be credible to be believed and the story I was telling had become increasingly far-fetched.

  ‘Do you expect me to believe that?’

  I don’t know why I didn’t come clean then but I was enmeshed in my lie. ‘It was loose. The ring was too big. I’ve become thin with worry lately.’ I held out my arms to show him how loose my cuffs were, and made a silent prayer for forgiveness of my lie.

  His brows were raised in doubt. ‘Well, the matter is being investigated and we will have to explain how your ring came to be in the possession of that woman, so you’d better get your story straight. Is that what you want me to tell them – that you gave her the ring for safekeeping?’ His tone was scathing, and I had the sudden dread that, if things went wrong, he would abandon me in an instant.

  I nodded. ‘No one will take her word over mine, will they?’ The gravity of what Mary Woods was saying only fully dawned on me then – that I’d sought to murder my husband. ‘They won’t believe her, surely.’

  I was flailing inside. I wanted him to take me in his arms and tell me that he would make everything all right, but he didn’t. He looked at me without a shred of sympathy and said, ‘You’d better hope they don’t.’

  ∞

  ‘It was a terrible time, Nelly. We’d all expected the annulment hearing would be over in a few days but it dragged on and on all summer. The bishops couldn’t come to an agreement. Robert’s poor friend was festering in the Tower and he was eaten away with guilt at having put him there. On top of that the accursed business with Mary Woods simmered on. I truly thought I’d lose my mind with worry.’

  Nelly is feeding the baby again. It is growing fast and is out of its swaddling, more than four months old already.

  Frances crosses the room, stretching, beginning to pace up and down like her father. Her hair is too tightly pinned, giving her a headache, so she undoes it, imagining the relief of hacking it all off. Still restless, she looks out of the window into the night, but there is nothing to see, only the vague outlines of the buildings and the occasional flit of a shadow. She imagines Robert looking simultaneously on the same barren scene from wherever he is kept in this Godforsaken place.

  She won’t look out on the other side where the river runs, tries to forget it is there, but its sliding, watery presence makes itself felt. She shivers. She can just make out the guards in the gatehouse, passing a pipe back and forth, its glow a hovering firefly.

  She finds herself awash with hopelessness that it has all come to this, her life steeped in uncertainty and disgrace. She momentarily considers flinging herself out. But she can picture, with pitiless clarity, her sordid broken corpse on the cobbles, and cannot contemplate that it should all have been for nothing.

  ‘That Mary Woods – I’ve come across her sort,’ says Nelly.

  ‘They saw through my lie about her. Discovered she was no laundress. But it didn’t matter because she discredited herself by changing her story.’ Frances turns to watch the baby feed, eyes shut, fat cheeks pumping like bellows. ‘Silly woman. If you’re going to lie there’s no point in having a change of heart and not seeing it through.’

  ‘How do you mean, changed her story?’ Nelly can’t hide her curiosity.

  ‘She said I’d not wanted to have my husband murdered after all. Claimed I’d only gone to her to have my future read, which was the truth. It turned out she’d tried the same trick before, cast similar aspersions over other women. One day Uncle came to me and tossed the ring into my lap, saying, “It’s been dealt with.” That was the last we heard of Mary Woods.’

  ‘It’s clear to me what he meant.’ The girl is appalled.

  Frances shrugs. There’s nothing she can say to that.

  Going to her chest in the corner, she rummages, finding the small casket where she keeps her jewels. ‘Look, this is it – the ring that caused all the trouble.’

  ‘Can I try it on?’ Nelly holds out her hand.

  Frances slips it on to her finger. ‘Keep it.’

  ‘I couldn’t. Things like this aren’t for people like me.’ She pulls it off and begins to roll it back and forth over her knuckles, so fast it seems liquid. Then it is gone. Nelly snickers with laughter as it reappears on the finger of her other hand. She removes it, placing it on the table. ‘I couldn’t.’

  ‘You’d be surprised, Nelly. Scratch the surface and all those well-born women at court are not so unlike you, only you have more integrity than the lot of them.’

  ‘Integrity?’

  Frances sometimes forgets Nelly’s lack of education. ‘It means you’re a better person, more honest. More loyal.’

  She presses the ring into the girl’s palm and strokes the tip of her finger over the little cross in her lifeline.

  ‘Betrayal or loyalty,’ whispers Nelly.

  Frances kisses her head, as she might a child’s. She smells slightly of nutmeg, reminding Frances of the hot milk Anne Turner used to bring her at bedtime when she was a girl. ‘Please keep it. You’ve been good to me when there was nothing to be gained from it. I want to repay your kindness. It could be a nest egg for you, and I’m sure it will bring you more luck than it has me.’

  Nelly holds the ring up to the candle. The diamond flares in the light.

  ‘I wouldn’t wear it, though,’ Frances adds. ‘Put it somewhere safe or people will assume you’ve stolen it.’

  Nelly puts the baby back in the cradle and tucks the ring away in her pocket. ‘You’re a good person.’

  ‘Not everyone would agree.’ Frances meets the girl’s eye. ‘It is likely those investigating the murder will want to ask you about me. You mustn’t be afraid to tell them whatever you want. Don’t worry about it, or refuse to speak or anything like that, because they will think you have something to hide and make it difficult for you.’

  ‘I understand.’ Nelly nods. She must know that ‘mak
ing it difficult’ is a great understatement. Frances cannot tell if the girl is afraid or not.

  All the candles in the room have burned down to their nubs and are sputtering. The two women replace them. Nelly fits them into the lamps and Frances sets the taper to their wicks, deriving a simple satisfaction from the task.

  ‘I won’t say you lay with your husband before you were wed, though. That is a promise.’

  Frances laughs. ‘I don’t suppose it really matters if you do. Everyone suspected I’d been with him anyway. There was so much gossip, I had to stay away from court and the hearing was taking an age. Towards the end of the summer it had to be adjourned because the bishops couldn’t arrive at a decision, and then my brother got himself into trouble with Essex. Harry accused him of not being a real man – well, he was a little more vulgar than that – and Essex challenged him to a duel.’ Nelly smirks. ‘That had to be dealt with. It was extremely hot that August and tempers were running very high.

  ‘The pair of them had got halfway to France, away from English soil, and had to be brought back. Uncle was furious, of course. And all the time Anne and I were trying to make poor Thomas Overbury as comfortable as possible. I felt many conflicting things, Nelly.

  ‘If I’m completely honest, part of me wished him ill. I suppose it was guilt for my bad thoughts that drove me to do all that – to send in all the luxuries. I sent him a featherbed and a set of velvet cushions from my own chamber. Given he’d been locked up on my account, it was the very least I could do. Would you believe Anne and I even made the jellies and tarts ourselves?’

  ∞

  ‘You two look like butchers,’ said Uncle. Our aprons were stained with raspberry juice and Anne’s lips were red from all the berries she’d eaten. Every surface was cluttered with dirty pans and utensils, making the potboy sullen with all the extra work. He muttered under his breath that he didn’t know why we couldn’t tell the cooks to do the work for us.

  We’d been dealing with a laundry maid who was beside herself. She’d found the mouser with her six kittens stone dead in the courtyard that morning and was in a seemingly endless crying jag. We’d barely managed to get one of the lads to remove the carcasses, calm the poor girl down and get back to our cooking when Uncle arrived.

  He’d been with Robert, he said. The two of them were hand in glove all through that summer, constantly exchanging letters and having little meetings. I must confess to being jealous of their closeness, of feeling rather left out, as I was kept away from Robert until the hearing was over.

  We were making a batch of tarts to send to the Tower and the big kettle was on the heat with a mixture of berries and sugar. We’d gathered the fruit in the kitchen garden the previous day.

  The bushes were taller than I and heavy with their bright harvest. I took particular pleasure in the simple act of picking the raspberries. Enjoyed the fragile touch of the flesh beneath my fingers, the way if I pinched them gently on either side they would slip away from their stems without protest.

  There were several gardeners employed at that time of year and the comings and goings were frequent. But I was surprised to see, in a shady corner close to the orchard gate, that Anne was talking to the strange crook-backed Master Franklin, the one she’d lied to me about. Curious, I approached them. Anne had her back to me and jumped when I put my hand on her shoulder. ‘I didn’t hear you coming.’

  He greeted me, removing his cap. Close up I saw how horribly ravaged his face was, his nose all but eaten away, poor fellow, and I tried not to stare.

  ‘What brings you to Northampton House?’ I asked.

  ‘I had a gift for Mistress Turner. At Caritas House they told me I’d find her here.’

  ‘A gift?’ I was becoming increasingly puzzled.

  ‘A birthday gift,’ he said, as if stating the obvious.

  ‘I didn’t know it was your birthday, Anne. You should have reminded me.’ I’d thought her birthday was in the autumn.

  Anne seemed embarrassed, saying she didn’t want any fuss and that, at her age, being a year older was hardly something to celebrate.

  ‘I’d best be going,’ he announced. ‘Business to attend to.’

  ‘What is it you do for a living?’ I tried to make it sound like casual politeness, but I truly wanted to know how a man who looked as he did might find employment.

  ‘I am set up as an apothecary,’ he said, then added, ‘more or less.’

  We said goodbye and made our way back to the house. ‘I wasn’t aware that you were quite so friendly with him.’

  ‘I feel sorry for him, that’s all,’ said Anne.

  ‘He must frighten everyone. I suppose it’s a lonely existence if you look like that.’ We walked on in silence until I asked, ‘What did he give you?’

  ‘Give me?’ She seemed confused.

  ‘Your birthday gift.’

  ‘Oh.’ She laughed. ‘I’d quite forgotten.’ She began to fumble in her sleeve and pulled out a square of lace, handing it to me. It was creased and looked to me as if it had been in her sleeve for some time, making me wonder why they would lie to me.

  ‘I thought your birthday was later in the year,’ I said.

  She hesitated. ‘He was mistaken and I didn’t have the heart to put him right.’

  ‘Surely he didn’t give you that creased old thing.’

  She stuffed the handkerchief away, out of sight. ‘Sad, isn’t it?’

  I still felt something wasn’t quite right.

  When Uncle appeared in the kitchens, I was rolling pastry, up to my elbows in flour. He stood watching me. ‘You shouldn’t be wearing that,’ he said under his breath, pointing at my diamond ring. ‘For pity’s sake, put it away.’ I asked why, and he said, ‘Don’t play the fool with me.’ But I truly didn’t know.

  Once he was satisfied that the ring was out of sight, he wandered about as if he’d never set foot in the kitchens before, picking up utensils and putting them down again, inspecting them as if they were rare artefacts. He peered into the large pan where the fruits were simmering, giving its contents a stir. He asked whether it was for Overbury, and told us to let him know when we were finished, as he wanted to conceal some private correspondence in the parcel going to the Tower.

  ‘He is being properly looked after in there?’ I asked.

  ‘Absolutely! The last thing we want is any harm to befall him. If the bishops would give us our annulment he could be released.’ He continued stirring the jam. ‘Elwes is making sure he’s comfortable. When you send these tarts in, Frances, write a note to Elwes warning him they have letters concealed in them. We wouldn’t want them going to the wrong inmate by mistake, would we? We certainly wouldn’t want some heinous felon profiting from the fruits of your labours.’

  He dropped the wooden spoon he’d been stirring with and a little of the hot liquid spattered his white stocking. He made a great bother about it, insisting it was doused with water and thoroughly blotted, though the mark was almost too small to see.

  Once the fuss was over I noticed him catch Anne’s eye, saying quietly, ‘A word outside,’ nodding towards the door.

  She gave me a shrug of bewilderment as she left. On her return she seemed shifty, hovering silently over the pan, giving it an occasional stir. I began to cut the pastry to make the tarts. ‘What did he want?’

  ‘He wanted to offer me a paid position in your household, once you are married.’ She was stirring slowly, not looking at me. ‘As your companion.’

  ‘I don’t know what business it is of his.’ I was annoyed that Uncle felt it his right to employ my servants without consulting me, and more so, as when I married I’d hoped to distance Anne and all the trouble that followed her.

  ‘Do you not want me?’ She was clearly upset but trying to hide it.

  ‘Don’t be silly.’ I smiled but she was on the brink of tears, turning back to the pan.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ I could see her shoulders heaving. ‘What’s going on, Anne?’ I asked. ‘Is th
ere something you’re not telling me?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’ She lifted her head and threw me a dimpled smile. She was flushed and her fair hair was plastered to the edges of her face. ‘I think this is ready to cool.’ She heaved the pan off the heat, thumping it on to the table.

  The potboy peered in at it. ‘Looks like a bucket of blood,’ he said, with a murderous leer.

  ‘Go away,’ said Anne. ‘Haven’t you work to do?’ He scuttled off into the yard.

  I lowered a finger towards the crimson liquid. ‘Stop!’ she cried, slapping me sharply over the knuckles. I looked up, shocked. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘I was afraid you’d scald yourself.’

  ‘There was no need to strike me.’ I showed her the red mark on my smarting hand.

  ‘I don’t know what came over me. I’m so sorry.’

  I had rarely seen her so flustered over something so small. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said again, as she covered the pan with a length of muslin, tying it tightly, and began to help me with the pastry.

  I saw a droplet run down her cheek. ‘You’re crying,’ I said.

  ‘Just perspiration – it’s hot in here.’ She wiped her face with her apron, smearing herself red, which made her look as if she’d been in a fight.

  ‘Has Uncle threatened you in some way?’ She recoiled, vehemently denying that anything was amiss.

  ‘You need to tell me what’s going on. Is it to do with that man Franklin – or with Mary Woods?’

  She hid her face in her hands, shaking her head. ‘I can’t.’

  I knew it was futile to try to tease anything out of her, not if Uncle had demanded her silence. The risk was too great.

  ∞

  ‘We were all at sixes and sevens that summer, Nelly. There was so much to worry about, but had we known then that our troubles had barely started, I don’t know if we’d have coped at all.’

  Him

  A loud thudding penetrated my sleep. It was an airless night and I woke bathed in sweat. Someone was at the door. The banging stopped. The bolts shot back. I could hear my servant protesting that I was asleep and that whoever it was should come back in the morning. But the visitor sounded insistent.