The Murder in the Tower: The Story of Frances, Countess of Essex

by Jean Plaidy

  Anne nodded.

  “If he thought that I—”

  “My sweet lady, you are over-wrought. He shall never know.”

  “How can we be sure?”

  “By keeping Overbury in the Tower until he dies.”

  “Until he dies,” repeated Frances.

  She was staring with wide eyes at her friend. She had made up her mind then. Overbury must not leave the Tower alive.

  MURDER IN THE TOWER

  The Earl of Essex was astonished—not that his wife desired a divorce, but by the reason she gave for wanting it. She accused him of impotence! He was angry. How dared she make such a statement when she had never given him an opportunity of proving whether he was or not!

  If there was any justice in the land she would soon be discovered to be a liar.

  Arthur Wilson, who had become his confidant, was not displeased by the news. He believed that he had, by his vigilance, prevented the Earl’s being poisoned at his wife’s order. If Essex were divorced—no matter by what means—he would escape forever from the evil influence of that woman; he could marry and live a normal life, and that, Wilson believed, would be a very desirable state of affairs.

  “My lord,” he said, “consider this: To be free of the Countess would be the best thing that could happen to you.”

  “You are right.”

  “Well then, if you stand in the way of this divorce, you will be bound to her for the rest of your life; and while this is so, I am convinced that you are in danger.”

  Essex said: “You have heard the complaint against me?”

  Wilson shrugged his shoulders. “When you are free of her, when you marry again, your children will prove the woman a liar. It will be too late then for them to act upon the discovery. You will be free from her.”

  “It would be a great relief to know that I was no longer bound to her.”

  “To us both, my lord. I should not have to keep watch for some evil she might do you.”

  The Earl laid his hand on Wilson’s shoulder. “I owe you much, my friend,” he said.

  “There is no talk of owing, my lord. I give my services for what they are, with all my heart and strength; and in return—but there is no need for returns—I have your friendship. So if there must be talk of payments between friends, we have each given and each taken.”

  “God bless you, Wilson.”

  “And, my lord, you will not stand in the way of this divorce?”

  “I long for my freedom even as you long for me to have it. I shall have to answer questions, doubtless, and must tell the truth; but I shall let all know that I am as eager to sever the bond as she is.”

  “Then, my lord, for the first time I shall hope and pray that the Countess succeeds in what she is endeavoring to do.”

  The King summoned the Archbishop of Canterbury, a man for whom he had a great admiration.

  George Abbot had risen to the highest post in the Church by his great ability, a fact which endeared him to James. He had sprung from humble beginnings, being the son of a cloth worker of Guildford, and had been born in a small cottage. But from the first his brilliance had been apparent although it was commonplace in this family, for George had two brothers, both extremely clever, and destined to make their way in the world; but even in such a family George was able to shine.

  He had gone to Oxford, taken Holy Orders and very quickly displayed his extraordinary gifts; and in spite of his lack of family background, over the years he began steadily to rise in his profession until he attained the Bishopric of London.

  Brought up in a strictly Puritan manner he had always clung firmly to his principles; James appreciated his integrity and it was his ability to discuss theology which had attracted the King’s interest.

  When the Archbishopric of Canterbury had fallen vacant, Abbot was more surprised than any that James should have bestowed it on him, although he had supporters in Salisbury, who was then the Lord High Treasurer, and the Lord Chancellor Ellesmore, as well as a rising statesman named Sir Ralph Winwood. It was natural that he should have his enemies also, and these were those who were the secret friends of Spain, led by the Earl of Northampton.

  As soon as the Archbishop had arrived at Whitehall James explained to him why he had summoned him.

  “My lord Archbishop,” he said, “the Countess of Essex is seeking to divorce her husband.”

  Abbot’s mouth tightened; as a Puritan he did not approve of divorce.

  “It is a special case,” went on James. “It seems the Earl is impotent.”

  “Your Majesty, I feel bound to express my abhorrence of divorce.”

  James waved a hand. “We all share that abhorrence,” he said quickly. “But there are times when it is necessary to undertake unpleasant tasks. I wish you to judge the matter and see that the Countess is freed from a union which can find no favor in the eyes of God who commands us to be fruitful and replenish the Earth.”

  “Your Majesty …”

  “I explained that the Earl is impotent and how can the Countess obey that divine command if her husband is incapable of the act?”

  “Your Majesty is commanding me—”

  “To look into the matter and grant the divorce.”

  “Your Majesty, if I am to be judge of such a matter, I beg that other bishops may be summoned to help me.”

  James considered this.

  It would mean a little delay before Robbie got his wish, but it would be interesting to see the Bishops wrangling together. He would make it understood what their verdict should be, for Robbie must not be disappointed; but it was a fair enough request and one must always be fair.

  “Well, whom do you suggest?”

  Abbot thought quickly. “The Bishops of London, Ely and Lichfield I think, and perhaps others.”

  James nodded. Yes, it would be amusing to hear them arguing together. Abbot would be a stumbling block, for even though the King made his wishes known he would not go against his beliefs. He was that sort of man. James’s ancestor Henry VIII might have had him sent to the Tower, but not James. James had to respect a man’s principles—particularly if he had the powers to express them.

  He chuckled. He was going to look forward to the arguments; but at the same time he was determined that Robbie was not to be cheated of his wish.

  “Go to,” he said. “Form your Commission. And let there be no delay, for I am eager to see this unsavory matter settled.”

  Frances was disturbed by nightmares; but they were not merely dreams; they had their roots in fact and sometimes she would start out of her sleep remembering some dream, only to realize that the evil of her dream could, by ill chance, in fact overtake her.

  One morning she woke, sweating with fear. Overbury was in the Tower but he was a man who had lived by his pen; he would still be able to use it; and she had dreamed that he had done so against her, with dire results.

  Overbury must not be allowed to live; but his death must seem a natural one. He must not suddenly die; his health must be noticed gradually to deteriorate. In the meantime he must be stopped from writing letters to those who could use them against her. She already knew that the Archbishop of Canterbury had been put in charge of the Commission and she was well aware of that old Puritan’s views.

  They could not afford to take chances.

  She went at once to her great-uncle, with whom she was spending more time than she ever had before; over this matter of the divorce they had become fellow conspirators.

  “Uncle,” she said, “we must make sure that any letters Overybury writes shall not reach those for whom they’re intended until they have passed through our hands.”

  Northampton saw the point of this at once. He did not know how far his great-niece had gone in her attempts to rid herself of Essex; and he did not care to probe because he preferred not to know. At the same time he was as anxious as she was that her past adventures should remain secret.

  “How can we make sure the correspondence comes straight to us?” a
sked Frances.

  “Only through the Lieutenant of the Tower.”

  “Can you speak to him?”

  “I must see what can be done, for we must examine any letters Overbury writes. Leave this to me.”

  The Lieutenant of the Tower received the Earl of Northampton in his apartments there.

  Sir William Waad, a man of about sixty, who had traveled widely on diplomatic missions and had been member of Parliament for Thetford, Preston and West Looe was not a man to be intimidated; and he quickly grasped what was behind the Earl of Northampton’s request.

  “My lord,” he said, with a quiet smile, “I should be exceeding my duties if I were to pass over to you the correspondence of my prisoners.”

  “But this is a special case.”

  “Then perhaps the King will give me his orders. I cannot take them from any but His Majesty.”

  Northampton was furious. This fool was going to give trouble. How could he go to James and tell him that he wanted to study the letters of Thomas Overbury before they were allowed to reach their destination? Obviously James would want to hear why. Overbury was not in the Tower as a traitor. He had merely shown contempt of the King’s orders and was in there to cool his heels for a while. James would be astonished that his correspondence should be so important to his Lord Privy Seal and, being of curious nature, would want to know why.

  “I must see the King on this matter then?” asked Northampton, and his smile was steely.

  “That is so, my lord.”

  Very well, you old fool, thought Northampton. This shall be the end of you.

  James could always be moved into action by his fear of plots, and Northampton decided to exploit this in order to secure Overbury’s correspondence.

  He sought a private audience of the King and when they were alone said: “I paid a visit to the Tower this day, Your Majesty, and discovered something which greatly disconcerted me!”

  “What’s this?” asked James.

  “The Lady Arabella has been given a key so that she can leave her apartments there at will. I have to tell Your Majesty that I consider this highly dangerous.”

  “Has there been an attempt to rescue her?”

  “Not so far, Your Majesty, but I shall have to be very watchful. I have not yet uncovered anything, but I am very suspicious of a Lieutenant who gives such a lady a key. Particularly when I remember that he was the man who allowed Lady Arabella’s husband to escape.”

  “I like that not,” murmured James.

  “Nay, Your Majesty, and so much am I in agreement with you that I have been asking myself, since I discovered this alarming fact, whether it is wise to allow a man, who has given the lady the key, to continue to be her jailer.”

  “You suspect Waad of treachery?”

  “I would not go so far as that, Your Majesty. But since she has beguiled him into giving her a key, I do not feel very much at peace while that man is in charge of the Tower.”

  “Nay, nor I.”

  “Would Your Majesty consider it wise to relieve Waad of his post? If so, I know the man who would fill his place admirably.”

  “Who is this?”

  “Sir Gervase Helwys. Your Majesty may remember knighting him some time in 1603, I believe. A lawyer and a good fellow. Some years younger than that old fool Waad, but still of sober years. Would Your Majesty care for me to summon him that you might judge for yourself?”

  James hesitated and Northampton went on: “He is a man of some means and ready to pay fourteen hundred pounds for the office.”

  “Is that so?” said James. “We could do with the money.”

  “I will send Sir Gervase to Your Majesty and when you have given the world I shall have great pleasure in sending that dotard Waad about his business. I shall sleep the happier in my bed of nights to know that he can no longer plot with Lady Arabella.”

  It was thus that Sir William Waad was dismissed from the Tower and his place taken by Sir Gervase Helwys, a man determined to serve his patrons, the Howards, who had helped to advance his fortunes.

  The Archbishop of Canterbury met the Earl of Northampton in one of the ante-rooms of Whitehall Palace.

  “I like not this matter,” the Archbishop said.

  “This matter of the divorce?” replied Northampton. “Why not? It would appear to be a straightforward matter.”

  “The severing of a bond between those whom God hath joined together is never a straightforward matter.”

  “Come, come, the King has expressed a wish that this matter should be speedily dealt with.”

  “I cannot advise my bishops that this should be so. There is a great deal to consider. I have had an opportunity of speaking to my Lord Essex.”

  “And he has denied the charge of impotency? Oh, come, my lord Archbishop, what worldly young man would willingly admit such a handicap?”

  “He has said that although he has no desire to be a husband to Lady Essex, he would make a good husband for some other lady.”

  “What is he implying? That some bewitchment makes him impotent with his wife?”

  “I know not, my lord Earl. But I tell you this: I like not this case. Nor do I think it is one which can be settled in a hurry.”

  Northampton stamped off in a rage. When he saw his niece he told her that the old Archbishop was against the divorce and they could be sure that he would do everything in his power to delay matters.

  Frances was growing anxious. She was terrified of the power of Overbury so she went to see Anne Turner to tell her that something must be done quickly or she would be out of her mind.

  “Who knows,” she cried, “what stories he will tell about me? He came to this house. He will have made inquiries about our friends. How much does that man know about us?”

  “We must get to work on him at once.”

  “Most speedily. What has Gresham been doing?”

  “Alas, my lady, he is very sick. I visited his house in Thames Street but the other day to find him on his death bed. He is certain it is the end and he knows these things.”

  “But what can we do now?”

  “Do not imagine that, discovering this, I did not get to work immediately. Dr. Forman and Dr. Gresham are not the only wise men in London. I summoned Richard Weston who was an assistant to my late husband and something of an apothecary himself. He mentioned Dr. Franklin to me, and I remembered hearing my husband and Dr. Forman talk of him. He is a clever man, and shall I say more inclined to take a little risk than Dr. Forman was.”

  “Then that is good. We have come to that stage when to take a risk is a necessity. I shall not sleep peacefully until Overbury is dead.”

  Anne Turner lowered her eyes. Although murder was in their thoughts, they did not often mention it; and it was an indication of the Countess’s state of mind that she did so now.

  “My dear friend,” said Anne Turner, “I know your feelings and I am with you in everything you do. Already I have spoken to Dr. Franklin and he understands exactly. He will supply us with what we need, but he says it is necessary that his medicine be administered regularly and over a certain period.”

  “That’s true,” agreed Frances. “If Overbury were to die suddenly there would be an outcry and heaven knows where that would lead.”

  “Dr. Franklin suggests that it be arranged for one of our servants to be introduced into the Tower to wait on the creature and so make sure that what is sent in is given to him and none other.”

  “It’s an excellent idea. Who …?”

  “Who but Richard Weston. He is willing, provided you are prepared to pay him well.”

  Frances said quickly: “You know I am. I will pay handsomely for what I want.”

  “Then, my dear friend, we have nothing to fear. The way is clear before us. From the moment Richard Weston is in the Tower, we shall begin the work.”

  Frances left Hammersmith slightly appeased; she always felt better when she was able to take action.

  The next day Frances called on Sir Thoma
s Monson in the Tower of London. Sir Thomas was the Master of the Armory and since he had come to Court had been a minor favorite of the King. This had meant promotion which had culminated in the recent bestowal of a baronetcy and the post he now held at the Tower.

  He was delighted to see the Countess of Essex because he knew that she was trying to obtain a divorce from her husband and that when she did so would marry Viscount Rochester.

  There was one person at Court with whom a man must be on good terms if he hoped for promotion, and that was Viscount Rochester, who was now constantly at the King’s side, and it seemed that any applications for any Court post must have his approbation. Naturally if one would please Rochester, one must please the Countess; and Monson could not help being pleasantly excited by a visit from this beautiful young woman who smiled at him so affably.

  “I am greatly honored to received a visit from my lady,” he murmured, kissing her hand.

  “Well, Sir Thomas, I have heard so much of you from my uncle Northampton and my lord Rochester that I wished to speak with you.”

  Monson’s delight was increased.

  “I hear that you perform your duties with great skill and that Sir Gervase Helwys is delighted with his Master of Armory.”

  “Is that so, Lady Essex? I am delighted.”

  “And so you should be. I often think of the poor prisoners shut up in this place and shiver for them.”

  “You should not distress yourself. Most of them deserved their punishment.”

  “I know. But it must be hard to be a prisoner. You have a man here who once served my lord Rochester. How different life must be for him now!”

  “You refer to Sir Thomas Overbury?”

  “That is the man. My lord Rochester is working for his release.”

  “Then I am sure he will soon be free.”

  She laughed. “Oh, not too soon.” The man must not think that Robert could not bring about Overbury’s release tomorrow if he wished it. It must not even be presumed for a moment that he was losing his influence with the King. “I can see you are a perceptive man, Sir Thomas, and that is why I have come to you. I feel—and my lord Rochester feels—that you will readily understand.”