A Net for Small Fishes

by Lucy Jago

  On the second day of my confession, Dr Whiting began in his usual censorious manner, but I was distraught and lay on my truckle, looking at him only because there was nothing else at which to look. He moved to the window, staring out to the most distant point for so long I wondered if he was one of those who could fall asleep standing. It was so cold, I was sure he would freeze if he did not move. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer, perhaps more his own.

  ‘It is not a simple matter, to separate good from evil,’ he said, as if making a confession of his own. ‘God knows the difference, of course, but His voice is sometimes very quiet. When I look at the multitude of souls afloat on the river, some straining against the tide, some speeding with it, it strikes me how hard it is to follow the hand that guides. And truth? When I was young, I thought it was much the same as experience; now I know we take different truths from the same experience.’ He seemed to have waged some internal battle with himself and come out with the word of God in his ear, not that of Lord Coke; his voice remained gentle, even sceptical, as he continued his questioning, although he did not shy from searching enquiries or blunt assertions. He still looked for a slip from me with which to convict Frankie or Robert Carr or Lord Northampton, but with less enthusiasm.

  ‘How did you hear of Sir Thomas Overbury’s death?’

  ‘Richard Weston sent his son William with the news. Frankie was as shocked as I.’ We had, by then, decided that he was immune to poison.

  ‘The Countess of Essex must have been thankful that Sir Thomas could no longer disrupt the annulment process?’

  ‘You still think of me as the witch Lord Coke conjured? Two painted Papist whores, bored with our lapdogs, murdering a man out of spite and lust? The relief Frankie felt at release from her violent and impotent husband was much lessened by Robert Carr’s grief.’

  ‘His grief was not so great that he refused the earldom the King offered him six weeks after his best friend’s death. Not so great as to make him reject the woman Sir Thomas hated above all others. Did Robert Carr help you to kill Sir Thomas?’

  Frankie had been more afraid of Robin finding out than of anything else.

  ‘Between ourselves, Mistress Turner, I see little justice in haranguing a woman denied a lawyer, who has not even a feather to record the accusations against her nor a stool on which to sit. To speak in public was case enough against you at the trial. But the Lord Northampton? The Lord Carr? Why do you suffer in their place now?’

  I do not think Dr Whiting understood that the friendship between Frankie and me was powerful enough to determine the course of our actions; perhaps he had no friend like that or, I suspect, thought women too doltish to experience profound sentiment for any creatures other than their own children. But over the three days of confession, so intimate in their sadness, he came to know me and, I think, to like me. He brought me a Bible, in English, the first that I had read. We had one at home but it was in Latin and only George could read it. When I still attended secret mass the priest read to us, but again in Latin.

  ‘As bestower of life, it is a mother’s responsibility to guide her children and lead them to God,’ said Dr Whiting, ‘and how can she acquit herself of this task without the aid of His word? I have marked out certain passages for you. Spiritual comfort is greater than that bought with money and power.’

  Alderman Smith visited the cell often, to be sure that Dr Whiting did not pressure me unduly; he brought coals or warm caudles for which he did not ask payment. Twice he brought me notes from Mr Palmer, in defiance of Lord Coke’s orders. The short letters offered me encouragement, detailed his efforts to procure my release as he was convinced of my innocence, and expressed his love. He told me that he wanted me for his wife, if I would have him. If I would have him! He must have heard Lord Coke’s denunciation of me as everything most evil in this world, and still he would marry me. His words did much to calm me but still I remembered Baron Sanquhar, looking in vain to the steps of the scaffold, waiting for a pardon from the King. I tried not to hope, but of course it was impossible, for there was so much love still in me for my children, for Frankie and her child to come, for the good Mr Palmer, for the grandchildren I might hold, for every little detail of the world that had become so precious in the short time left to me.

  On the fourth day Dr Whiting arrived looking very tired. ‘Mistress Turner, it is my heavy duty to inform you that your execution is set for the morning.’ My body jerked in violent spasms, as if shoved from all sides by unseen hands. It lasted only a few moments, an involuntary expression of my shame and terror at so humiliating and painful an end.

  I was both overwhelmed by the sure knowledge of my death and relieved to know when it would be. I thought of the only other hanging I had witnessed. The speed of Baron Sanquhar’s drop, his weight straining the silk noose, the twitching of his body. Hanging for the wealthy is quick and almost painless, for the long drop breaks the neck immediately and ends all sensation. Even the burning of the rope is lessened by its being silk. At Tyburn there is no drop, only a slow strangulation as the cart on which stand the condemned moves away. I would need a friend to pull my legs and break my neck, and the rough hemp rope would burn my skin before the bones popped apart. I wondered who would take on this dread burden and whether it was amongst the confessor’s tasks to arrange.

  ‘Will my children be forced to witness it?’ I asked, my voice a whisper.

  ‘No.’

  Dr Whiting knocked on the door and asked for a caudle to be brought. When it arrived, he put the steaming cup in my hands but I could not drink. My eyes were inward-looking and unaware of my surroundings.

  ‘Where does your brother lodge?’ he asked, several times.

  ‘My brother Eustace?’ I eventually replied. ‘He is not in London but Westminster, in service to Prince Charles. He lodges in a small court off Scotland Yard, at the sign of the Brown Bear.’ Dr Whiting addressed a note and knocked on the door. A servant entered and after some negotiation as to price, agreed not to return until he had delivered the note into the hand of Eustace Norton himself.

  ‘I thank God, sir, that Lord Coke is not my confessor. You are kinder,’ I said. ‘If I ask the alderman to give you the cross and chain Frankie sent me, would you pass them to Eustace? They will affray, in small part, the cost of caring for my children.’

  ‘Will he take on their care?’

  ‘No, but I trust him to make a wise decision as to who should raise them and to keep an eye over them until they are grown. Perhaps my sister Mary will. She will need money as her husband is not charitable. Barbara loves them, she will help.’

  ‘Shall I also give your brother the ring?’

  I was unable to say more so the confessor waved me forward to sit close to the fire and took away my tepid drink. I did not hold my cold hands to the flames but looked at them, resting in my lap. It was too late to seek comfort.

  ‘If you come into His fold and repent of your sins, then you will know the joy of His love and salvation. God loves all His flock, even those who stray.’ Just as I loved Thomas, even though he had been an undutiful child. ‘To know God’s forgiveness will give you courage to face tomorrow,’ said Dr Whiting. ‘If you appear reformed and chastened, the crowd will wish you well and ensure the good treatment of your children hereafter.’

  ‘Since the trial I have become the greatest exemplar of evil from one end of the world to the other.’

  ‘You can alter that,’ he said. He wanted me to convert as much for his own reputation as my salvation, but I saw his reasoning.

  ‘Dr Whiting, would you do me the honour of calling me Anne? I am tired of this formality between us.’ He was surprised but agreed without asking the same of me.

  ‘Did the Countess of Somerset press you to silence?’ he said into the growing darkness. ‘She has failed in her promise to protect you, yet still you do not condemn her.’

  ‘Of what can I condemn her? She brought me joy, she loved my children and saved us from starvati
on. When those with obligations towards me faltered, she remained loyal. Her spirit and high ideals inspired me, and she allowed me to display the fruits of that inspiration upon her body; in her company, I was seen and heard.’

  ‘She asked much of you in return.’

  ‘Frankie and I are different faces and ages of the same spirit. That is why I was drawn to her … but I should have counselled her better. I am the elder, I should have led her more faithfully and been a truer friend. After George’s death I stumbled towards what I thought was a future, but it has proved to be an illusion with no substance. I thought there would be time to become virtuous, once I had reached a place of safety.’

  Dr Whiting was looking at me, mystified, but the bells rang six o’clock and he moved to the window, looking down at the wharves.

  ‘Will you join me?’ he said. The slats of the truckle creaked as I pushed myself up. I looked through the narrow opening that punctured the thick wall. Down on the nearest wharf a man was carrying a torch. I recognised his familiar outline. My brother Eustace was bringing my children to me! John, my fledgling gentleman, lit the way for Barbara, the two younger girls and Henry. Only Thomas had not come. I cried out and crammed myself as far through the window slit as I could.

  Amongst the group there was much pointing, turning and cupping of hands over eyes.

  ‘They cannot see me!’ I began to shout but Dr Whiting begged me to stop for fear of discovery. Instead, he took up the candle and gave it to me. I held it close to my face and heard him light two more and hold them aloft, so that our window was the brightest in the building. He passed me my handkerchief with which to wipe my eyes but instead I waved it about.

  The wind was brisk and the candles burnt down quickly. Dr Whiting brought more but after they too sputtered and died, I dared not request more for fear of getting him into trouble.

  After that I stood in darkness, knowing that we were as close as possible even if they could not see me. Dr Whiting left me alone at the window, only moving to put the blanket around my shoulders and then his coat on top of it, for I was shaking violently.

  The seven o’clock bells made me jump. On the wharf I could make out the children being steered away by Eustace. The three youngest dragged their feet and ran back. I heard them crying, ‘Mama! Mama!’ I did not flinch or turn away. Although I had no hope of being seen, I held out my arms to them. They were pulled away by their siblings and within minutes a torch appeared, carried by a guard. I looked at Dr Whiting, frightened.

  ‘Have they been arrested?’

  ‘No, no, they are safe. The alderman told me he would keep the guards until after seven. He intercepted my note to your brother.’

  ‘Was he angry with you?’

  ‘I think it was the first time he was pleased with me in all the years we have known each other.’

  I was clutching his arm very tightly. He led me to the truckle and I sank on to it. I was speaking, but my words came out as a curious monotone, as if talking in my sleep, and I could not bring life to them.

  ‘Mary did not cough, even in this cold and wind. She is still well … They are not thin, someone is feeding them … Eustace is kind … Barbara will help him … She can be mother to them and … John will give whatever money he has … Henry, who could not love him? He will win hearts despite his mother’s infamy.’

  He let me prate, sensing perhaps that not to do so might cause my heart to burst. After I know not how long, I took a long, shuddering breath. ‘That was an act of true kindness and I thank you,’ I said.

  He took from his jerkin a small packet. ‘This arrived some time ago, at least two weeks, I think. The alderman gave it to me this afternoon.’

  I could not untie the ribbon with my trembling fingers so the confessor cut it with his knife. The linen fell open to reveal a nest of fine pearls.

  Gently, I pushed a finger into the pearls and saw that they formed a long strand. I wound them round my hand and rubbed them against my cheek. There was a note.

  My dearest Anne,

  Every day since your arrest I have written, sometimes many times a day, I have sent money and jewels, and even a boy in a wherry to shout up to your window. Now I am arrested and kept close prisoner. No one will give me news of you; this note I have got out with one who cares for you, at great risk to himself.

  I thought that must be Weston before remembering, with a sharp pain, that he was dead. Perhaps Mr Palmer? It would not be Arthur, and Frankie would not let my son take such risks.

  The baby remains quick within me. I wonder how he survives the anguish and torment I feel, not only for myself but for you, the most loving and loyal friend I will ever have. I never meant for matters to take this course. I know you believe me.

  I long to hear from you. You are more to me than any friend has ever been. I send with this note my most precious possessions. They hold my love within them. Keep cheerful, for my family and Lord Carr work tirelessly for our release. All will be well and we shall soon be reunited.

  Until that day,

  Your loving sister

  Frankie

  P.S. Mr Palmer came today to ask what should be done with the paintings yet to be paid for.

  By that final line I knew that it was he who cared enough to risk bringing me the parcel. I would have liked to know him better and longer; we could have been happy.

  ‘Lady Somerset is held at the house of Lord d’Aubigny, half a mile from here. She begs daily to see you.’

  ‘Does she know of my sentence?’

  ‘She does. It was after she was told that she attempted to take her own life. She is watched day and night as she remains in grievous low spirits.’

  ‘I know how to comfort her in those moods. No one else relieves them like me, not even her husband. Who helps her?’

  ‘It is to your comfort we should look.’

  That she had not abandoned me meant that my death was not wasted. I prayed that her babe be safely delivered and that she would discover the love and happiness in him that I enjoyed in mine.

  ‘I have told you all I can,’ I said.

  ‘You have related nothing to help Lord Coke build his case,’ the confessor said.

  ‘Then I ask pardon, Dr Whiting, for Lord Coke will not smile about it as you do.’

  ‘I am not sure Lord Coke has ever been seen to smile.’

  ‘Please tell me how I should make a good death,’ I said then, very quietly.

  28

  Today is the fourteenth day of November, 1615.

  I have known Frankie for nearly seven years.

  She is twenty-five years old and eight months pregnant.

  I am thirty-nine years old and about to die or be pardoned.

  Before dawn a young woman is shown into my bitterly cold cell. By the light of two candles I note that she is not much older than Barbara.

  ‘What is your name?’ I ask, as if the day is ordinary, which it is not. The girl remains mute, a reminder to me that I have no authority, even over a low servant. I try to smile so as not to frighten the girl. I could not bear to frighten her. She is life.

  She pours water into a bowl and it steams in the icy air. I dip a cloth into it, enjoying the warmth on my cold hands. Every sense in me is greedy for what little there is left to experience. I stare into the small mirror the girl has brought and am shocked by how sad and tired I look. My hair, dirty grey strands amongst the gold, is pulled back from a face hollowed out by fear and regret.

  I put the mirror down.

  ‘Do you know how to dress me?’

  ‘Yes, mistress.’

  The girl unpins the black silk I have been wearing since the trial. The feel and smell of it is sickening and reminds me of the stench of the silk farm. Layers are peeled off until I am naked. The maid casts furtive and anxious glances at my shivering body, perhaps looking for signs of witchcraft: a birthmark shaped like a goat, a wart that bleeds, freckles in the shape of the Pope’s mitre, as had the confessor. There are mainly goosebumps. For
the last time, I also look at my body, shaped by life. My breasts are sinewy from the suckling of six infants; my belly and hips scarred by the reversals of fortune that led them one year to be round, the next flat; my toes are slightly crossed from the long wearing of pointed shoes with heels. Yet my body has more good years left in it; years in which I could have cradled children and grandchildren. It grieves me that this good, strong body will go to waste.

  The maid has brought a pile of clothes that I recognise as my own, and I take up a white undershirt. From the care with which it has been pressed, I can tell that Barbara has prepared it. That my daughter has had to perform such an onerous task is so dreadful I bury my face in the scented linen and weep. It is these unexpected moments of unbearable pain that bring death closer than all Dr Whiting’s talk of the hereafter.

  The maid indicates that we must continue and I let myself be dressed. I repeat to myself the confessor’s words of encouragement. In the end, it was no great wrench to leave the Church of Rome and join that of England. God is above rivalry; He sees into my heart and knows that I am truly repentant. I was glad to do something in return for Dr Whiting’s kindness.

  Barbara has sensibly chosen one of my cheapest outfits, of thin black baize, with loose sleeves; if I see my children, I will be able to hold them. I have always known how to dress for any occasion, a hanging included, and my daughter has learnt well from me. The yellow collar and cuffs in which I have taken such pride I leave off.

  The girl brushes and ties back my hair, pinning a black veil to it which she folds back, like a young groom about to kiss his bride. How far from that am I. I pick up the handkerchief embroidered by Mistress Bowdlery, now filthy and misshapen. I feared having her life above everything, but at this moment I would give my last farthing to be sitting on the doorstep in Paternoster Row with my children around me.