A Net for Small Fishes

by Lucy Jago

  Being more friendly with servants than Frankie, I doubted her assessment; they could not publicly condemn their masters, but gossip caused its own harm. There was no persuading Frankie, however, and so I showed Franklin into the room and moved away from the high-smelling man, indicating that he should stay put.

  ‘This is Mr James Franklin of the Parish of Paul’s Undercroft,’ I announced.

  Frankie stared, fascinated and horrified, as if he was a great toad discovered in her piss-pot. He crouched over in a bow and shuffled forward. From Frankie’s lap came a low snarl as Brutus bared his tiny teeth but, to my astonishment, Frankie placed her hand in the apothecary’s stained fingers and allowed him to kiss it.

  ‘My lady, you are even more beauteous than is said on the streets of London, where you are known as the most beauteous of all the beauteous ladies at Court.’

  ‘I don’t know how you can tell, all crouched over like that. Do stand up,’ said Frankie.

  ‘I humbly lay my credentials before you,’ he continued as he rose upright, ‘for I can treat all manner of maladies of the body and mind and …’ As James Franklin rattled off his fields of expertise, which I knew to be exaggerated, I whispered in Frankie’s ear.

  ‘He poisoned his first wife … and has killed George’s cat.’

  Frankie’s eyes grew wide as she looked up at me. ‘Innocents?’

  I pictured my poor cat, with Overbury’s face, turning in circles, mewling in pain. What had been an idea, a possibility of freedom, had taken ugly form. In Larkin’s studio, where all was heroic and nothing real, the thought of murder had been as in a play or a painting. But when George’s cat bled from the ears and suffered agonies, the plan had become as hideous to me as the man who would abet us in it. Having spent many hours trying and failing to think of an alternative, I sat abruptly on a stool at Frankie’s feet.

  The corrupt apothecary’s voice faltered and he looked uncertainly between us.

  ‘I can raise spirits and converse with angels,’ he finished.

  ‘I do not doubt it,’ said Frankie, taking one hand off the dog and rubbing my shoulders, ‘but what we need is a poison that works in a manner that is delayed yet effective with one dose.’

  Franklin rubbed the side of his nose and smirked as if he were suddenly a co-conspirator.

  ‘There is only money in this for you,’ snapped Frankie, handing me her glass, ‘not friendship nor obligation.’

  He dropped his grin. ‘There is cantharides or mercury sublimate. Both will act as you require.’

  ‘What of powder of diamonds?’ asked Frankie. If I was surprised by her knowledge, the poisoner’s eyebrows shot up as if to fly off his face.

  ‘It will do the same but is more expensive,’ he replied. He lifted the flap of his waistcoat and dug about underneath to retrieve a leather pouch. From it he pulled a glass phial, the size of his thumb, and held it up.

  ‘This is water of white arsenic. It can be put in drink or food without risk of being tasted. Husband murder is become common,’ he added. I noticed that Frankie did not correct his assumption. She was learning discretion, at long last. ‘There’s a play about it, full every day, after the true story of a Bedfordshire goodwife what poisoned her husband. But they could have choosed from any number of such stories. The newsmongers say it is the fault of men for not disciplining wives in their gossiping about the marriage bed. If a husband cannot give pleasure, it leads to discontent sufficient to commit murder,’ sniggered Franklin, looking boldly at the Countess, but the giggle caught in his throat and turned to coughing. He wiped his mouth on a putrid rag then used it to dab the sweat from his brow. I looked away. As neither of us took the phial, Franklin placed it on a table. ‘What of payment?’ he asked.

  ‘You will be paid when we know the bottle holds more than ditch water,’ said Frankie. ‘You may show yourself out.’

  Franklin looked ready to argue but I got to my feet and stood between them. He stuck out his chin but did not persist. Grumbling quietly, he rocked on his weak legs to the door. Brutus leapt from Frankie’s lap but she pulled the leash and scooped him up, rubbing her cheek against his downy head.

  ‘I shall go behind to be sure he steals nothing,’ I said.

  ‘He hopes to make more out of us than that,’ said Frankie. She picked up the phial in two fingers, examining it before a candle. ‘What company we keep these days,’ she said.

  ‘We will join that company for all eternity.’

  I thought she would argue with me but she looked up and nodded. ‘I have searched for a different way. I visited my great-uncle to hear his response to Overbury’s letter, to be rebuked ferociously and at great length for allowing such gossip to arise. He thinks it is more important than ever to bring Robin into our family, to constrain my ever-more-belligerent husband, but is at a loss about Overbury. Robin saw me briefly; he is overwhelmed by the King’s business. He wants Overbury released to keep him close. I told him it was too late for that, but Robin would not listen. I was sure it was right to take matters into our own hands, but now that I have met Franklin and see you so pale and unsure …’

  The candles had burnt down and we were in darkness but for the embers of the fire.

  ‘I am no Judith,’ Frankie said, very quietly. ‘I am not saving my people. I save only myself and those who depend on me.’

  ‘Can you persuade one of your brothers to fight him?’

  ‘Overbury is too ill and too low in rank for my brothers to fight. If we wait any longer, the King may release Overbury. We must decide tonight.’

  In the early hours, in an apartment that was silent save for a parrot’s chatter and a tiny dog sniffing the air that blew in under the door, she held the phial towards me. I could have refused it, and for a long moment thought to do so. If used, we could both die.

  With the greatest reluctance, I took the phial and wrapped it carefully in my handkerchief before putting it in my pocket. Neither of us smiled. It was not an occasion for smiling.

  ‘I will send word when it is done,’ I said. ‘We will need to pay Richard Weston to administer it.’

  ‘With what?’

  ‘Give him a position in your household. Pursuivant? How much is that worth a year?’

  ‘Two hundred pounds; it is a good post. Is he not too old?’

  ‘Frankie, we want him to risk his neck for us. That is surely worth your accommodating a pursuivant who is not so nimble on his legs.’

  ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Offer him the position and another two hundred besides. I will find it somehow. And take these for the children,’ she said, handing me a cone of sugared almonds. I stuffed them into my pocket then, remembering what else was in there, quickly removed them. Frankie dropped the gold chain from her neck into my free hand. It was the one Robert Carr had given her and she had worn every day since.

  ‘We can never tell Robin about this.’

  That was evident, but she said it for her own reassurance; if Carr discovered that we had poisoned his closest friend, we would have risked everything for nothing.

  I left without a candle – I could find my way from Frankie’s rooms blindfolded – and closed the door on the dog’s whines.

  At dawn, I trod the narrow streets. Every time someone opened a window or a child yelled for its morning slops, my skin prickled as if a ghost stood by my bed. I had barely slept, could not eat and was exhausted. When I reached the haberdasher’s where Weston’s son William worked, my throat was so dry that my voice came out as a croak.

  ‘This is physick. Take it directly to your father at the Tower.’

  ‘Is he sick?’ William’s face creased with worry.

  ‘He is the fittest of us all. The physick is for someone else.’ I watched as he was swallowed by the dark interior of the shop. The phial was on its way.

  Poison is a blunt instrument compared to a skilfully wielded blade. Where a head rolls or a body drops, with poison results are hard to predict. A person can die of another illness in the time
it takes poison to work. Then a person can be accused of murder who has not, in fact, been the instrument of death. And what if someone else takes the poison by mistake? Or the cup in which it is administered is not properly washed? Or the empty phial is retrieved from some midden by a dust-picker, a little child Henry’s age, who puts it to his lips not knowing the danger … I scrabbled in my pocket for another flask from which I took a large sip of juice of dried lettuce mixed with camomile, to calm my nerves and my bleeding, scabbed skin.

  As I stoppered the flask, I talked quietly to myself, as if to a child awoken by nightmares. There is nothing to fear, no one is out there, no one is watching, no one wants to steal me away.

  I tied a mask carefully around my face and left the City through Ludgate as the sun rose and the air turned to gold. I looked intently at the world around me, to chase away the images that cluttered my mind. Soon all would be muffled in morning smoke but for that brief, clear moment the city was beautiful. Perhaps all would be well? Frankie would marry the man she loved and enjoy a long and happy life with many children, and I would live under their protection until, perhaps, I could consider marriage myself. Mr Palmer was not indifferent to me. In fact, it was clear that he admired me by the way he looked in my direction even when far greater persons were present. I smiled and the muscles behind my ears ached from underuse. As I passed my old home on Fetter Lane, I decided to visit Thomas on my return. A mother can forgive anything in her child and too many people in my life were fleeing from me.

  The watch at Temple Bar let me into the Strand. Here the stone and brick mansions of Frankie’s relatives were jostled by wooden slums. As I walked by the Love’s Nest a girl, no more than ten years old, glared at me from under her red wig. I pulled up my hood, the brief moment of hope erased by the sight of that pitted face, the still-unformed body eaten from within by disease and misuse until no thickness of paint could disguise the corruption of her young flesh. She would be dead before she was fifteen. Mistress Bowdlery’s daughter was somewhere walking these streets. The speed with which the family had sunk made me feel nauseous. I quickened my pace. I would do anything to protect my girls from whoring.

  ‘Would the Countess of Essex accept six gold sovereigns and a redemption price of fourteen in twelve months?’ said Sir Richard Ingram, minutely examining the chain I had brought to him. He had plans to give it to his wife or mistress, I could tell, given the interest he was showing in it.

  ‘The chain is worth far more than the first price and far less than the second,’ I replied. Sir Richard’s hanging eyebrows drew together and half obscured his small eyes.

  ‘It is the need of the customer that sets the value,’ he said, leaning forward and smiling. I leant back.

  ‘The Countess of Essex would be greatly surprised to hear that you thought her desperate and had offered such a low price because of it.’

  I did not flatter myself that I could better Sir Richard in argument, only that I could remind him of where his interests lay.

  ‘The Countess is lucky in you, at least,’ he finally replied. ‘Eight sovereigns and a redemption price of ten in a twelvemonth. You will not take issue with that?’

  ‘I take issue only on behalf of my friend and also accept your offer on her behalf,’ I said, inclining my head.

  I watched Sir Richard count out eight gold sovereigns from a heavy bag. My heart ached as he returned the bag and locked the strongbox. I would have many uses for those coins shut up in darkness, doing nothing but gathering more to themselves. He stood, walked around the end of the table and held out the bag to me like a morsel to summon a dog. My neck stiffened and the hairs on my arms prickled a warning. He was not tall, perhaps a head taller than me, but he was strong. With extreme wariness, I stood and took a few paces towards the door before extending my arm. As my fingers closed around the purse he pulled it back into his chest and his other hand shot out and grabbed my breast. I cried out and tried to jump back but his grip was too tight. He yanked at my skirt and spoke low and fast into my neck.

  ‘You can have more. Show me kindness and I will help you. You are in want. We can help each other.’ He was pressing his groin against me, pushing me to the wall, his fingers digging excruciatingly into my bosom.

  My mind slowed. Hands, pain, breath.

  ‘I am spoken for!’ I shouted suddenly. Sir Richard hesitated at the thought that there might be a man to answer to. In that brief respite, I ripped free and fell towards the door, scrabbling at the latch and stumbling downstairs, shouting for my cloak.

  I staggered from the house, shouldering aside any person who came too close, not stopping to visit Thomas, buy what I needed or tarry in any way until I turned into the familiar bustle of Paternoster Row. Here I leant against the wall of our house and wiped sweat from my face. I could hear the children’s voices inside but not what they said. I was not quite recovered by the time I opened the door, but people were beginning to notice me standing motionless in the street.

  Henry cannoned into my skirts.

  I swung him up, although at seven he did not always allow it, and buried my nose in his hair to rid me of the memory of Sir Ingram’s meaty breath. The boy squirmed his way down to the floor, his body taking less time to fill with love than did mine. He held a wooden spoon in his hand, on the shallow bowl of which someone had drawn a face in charcoal, the features smeared. Around the stem of the spoon was a knitted frill.

  ‘It’s you!’ said Henry, waving the spoon in my face. I leant heavily against the wall, seeing in my mind’s eye the shattered spoon lying beside George’s dead cat.

  ‘We had almonds with sugar. I ate mine,’ he said. Katherine ran up and tried to push a sticky sugared almond between my lips.

  ‘I saved it for you,’ she said.

  ‘I saved one too!’ shouted Henry.

  ‘You ate it,’ said Katherine.

  ‘I saved it first!’ said Henry. Barbara arrived with worried eyes that I found hard to look at.

  ‘Have they been good?’ I asked.

  ‘They are all good children,’ she said. ‘Mary has drunk something but not eaten.’

  I fished in my purse for a golden sovereign. Barbara stared at it suspiciously and I was grateful that the money was not compensation for Ingram’s satisfaction.

  ‘This is from the Countess,’ I said, looking my daughter squarely in the face. ‘You are to go straight to the Blue Feather and talk only to Mr Price, not any other serving there. Tell him of Mary’s fever, the smell of her water, the loss of flesh … anything he wants to know. After this payment he may extend us credit again, so say nothing to make him doubt our worth. Be sure to question him about each simple and how it is to be administered. No purges. Be sure no false coin is mixed in the change.’ I handed Barbara our shared cloak, wondering how long it would be before I could buy my daughter her own. ‘If you are hungry, buy a pie while Mr Price makes up the physick. Do not pay a vendor with that coin, change it with the apothecary first.’

  Barbara curtsied and as she slipped through the door I wondered if I had, after all, made a fearful mistake. Had I missed a chance? Should I have let Ingram do what he wanted? With the money he offered I could have kept my household afloat, bought Barbara a cloak, paid old Maggie who had worked for nothing the past six months because she had nowhere else to go. Had I sent a phial of poison on its way when I could have lifted my skirts instead? I stood staring at the door, feeling Ingram’s fingers digging into my breast. Was it not worse to kill Overbury than to become a pawn merchant’s whore?

  ‘Take the children out with you to buy provisions,’ I said to old Maggie, pulling another of Ingram’s coins from my purse. ‘I need not warn you of the dangers of such a coin. Bring back the change from which I shall pay you what you are due. There may be no more for many weeks so have a care what you buy.’

  I helped old Maggie get the children out then sat on the stairs, letting my head drop into my hands as thoughts of Ingram’s veined nose forced themselves into my mind.
I would have caught the pox from him; his cheeks were scarred, there was no doubt he carried it. He might not have been generous after he had fornicated with me, valuing me as low as he had tried to value Frankie’s necklace. As low as did Arthur. The little flame of anger always within me since he had left suddenly leapt into a great torch of indignation. What power would I have had over Ingram once he had taken me? None at all.

  I stomped upstairs. What man would marry me if I caught the pox? Not a one. I reached the top of the stairs and for the first time in weeks relief warmed my stomach. Fighting off Ingram had been the right choice. If only all my unthinking actions were worthy.

  Mary’s eyes opened as I peered around the door to the bed chamber.

  ‘You were not long in bed last night, Mother, or did I dream that?’ she whispered as I sat beside her and lit a candle.

  ‘Open wide,’ I said. I held the candle as close as I dared. Mary’s throat was deep crimson, pustulated and swollen.

  ‘You did not dream it, sweetling,’ I said quietly, blowing out the candle for the light hurt Mary’s eyes. I placed a hand on my daughter’s burning forehead. ‘I was with our Countess.’

  As Mary smiled a little split opened in her bottom lip. I wrung out the cloth that sat in a bowl beside the bed and wiped her hot face and the blood from her lip. I gently patted a balsam on to it. Since Mary had fallen ill, I would wake up every morning beside her and straightaway feel her forehead. Every day, my heart sank along with any hope that the fever had broken. I would encourage Mary to drink, despite the pain, and kiss her all over her face. Sometimes it was an hour before I could leave the room.

  My daughter slipped into a restless doze and I sat stroking her small hand. I was proud of the little girl’s fighting spirit and, in that moment, proud of my own too.

  PART THREE