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

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?” asked 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 Thomas 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.”

The man looked so gratified that Frances almost laughed aloud.

“You must realize, Sir Thomas,” she went on, “that Overbury became a little overbearing. I fear he was inclined to think himself more important than he was.”

Monson nodded.

“And my lord Rochester feared for him, because he was making enemies.”

Monson again nodded.

“Therefore, for his own good, this seemed a painful necessity. But I do assure you that it is one which troubles my lord Rochester as much as it does his one-time servant.”

“My lord Rochester is known to be of a kind and generous nature.”

“It is true that he has the kindest and most generous nature in the world. That is why he is so concerned for his friend. He wants to assure himself that he is well cared for, and to send him a servant who, we can assure ourselves, will look after his comforts while he is in the doleful prison.”

“An excellent thought.”

“A man of your sensibilities will grasp the fact that my lord Rochester does not wish Overbury to know that it is he who is sending the servant. If he did he would understand that this imprisonment is … not to be taken seriously. You understand me?”

“Yes, Lady Essex.”

“We should be grateful to you if you would write to Sir Gervase Helwys and tell him a man named Richard Weston will come and wait personally on Sir Thomas Overbury. You might mention … not in your letter … but perhaps hint it … that it is the wish of my lord Rochester that this Richard Weston should be allowed to wait on Sir Thomas Overbury. Would you do that … for us?”

Would he? He would do everything in his power for the sake of pleasing the most important man at Court.

He said: “Lady Essex, you may rely on me to serve you with all my heart.”

“I knew it,” she replied, smiling sweetly. “I told my lord Rochester that this matter could safely be left in your hands.”

Now that Richard Weston was established in the Tower as servant to Sir Thomas Overbury, Frances was eager to get to work, and Anne Turner arranged a meeting with Dr. Franklin.

There was no longer any subterfuge, and Frances clearly stated her desires.

“What we need,” she said, “is a poison which will not instantly kill. It must be a slow process so that it seems that the man is dying of some wasting disease. Then no one will be surprised when in a month or so—I think it should be as long as that—he dies.”

“I believe aquafortis to be effective,” said Anne Turner.

Franklin shook his head. “It would work quickly,” he explained, “and since the plan is that he should appear to be suffering from a wasting sickness, it would be useless.”

“I have heard of white arsenic—” began Frances.

But again Franklin shook his head. “That would have a similar effect to aquafortis. It might be apparent that his sickness was the result of something he had eaten. We must avoid that at all costs. There is powder of diamonds … which is most costly.”

Frances shook herself impatiently. Why would they keep talking of the cost! Had she not told them that money was of little account, as long as they gave her what she wanted.

“Then get some.”

“My lady. I am not exactly a poor man for my practice is a good one, but I have not the capital to make experiments with such materials.”

Frances immediately took out a purse which she had brought with her and gave to him. “Buy the powder of diamonds and see if it can be of use, and above all do it quickly.”

“I am at your ladyship’s service,” Franklin declared.

And Frances left Hammersmith in better spirits.

When Franklin had his concoction ready the problem was how to get it into the Tower to Weston without arousing suspicion. It was Anne Turner who remembered that Weston had a son, Willie, who might be useful to them. Willie was an apprentice to a haberdasher who was patronized by Court ladies and Frances herself bought fans and feathers from him. Willie could pass information to the Countess when she called at the haberdashers; he could also visit his father in the Tower without attracting a great deal of attention, for what was more natural than that a son should visit his father?

So to the haberdashers went Anne Turner, taking with her a small bottle, the contents of which were to be put into Overbury’s food in order to start him on that mysterious illness which in a month or so would prove fatal.

Willie performed his duty with efficiency and reported to Anne that the bottle had been given to his father when they were alone and that his father knew what was expected of him.

Richard Weston felt very honored to have been selected for this post. He was a humble man but good fortune had come his way at last. Since he had been in the Tower he had begun to dream of power and riches. He did not see why, when he had finished this task, he should not have his own establishment. Why should he not be another Dr. Franklin or Forman? To think of the money they had made filled him with a tingling excitement. There was power too in guarding the secrets of the great. And here was he, being of use to the Countess of Essex, a very grand lady, and a member of the Howard family. He had never seen anyone pay so handsomely for a man’s services.

Certainly he was coming on in the world, since he was now involved in a plot which concerned people in high places, people who were ready to pay for what was done for them. What would be riches to him, was nothing to them. His fortune was made because when this man Overbury was out of the way some very influential people were going to be grateful to Richard Weston.

He took the little bottle and looked at it. It seemed harmless enough, and all he had to do was to slip it into the broth when he took in the supper.

He had heard a rumor that the Countess was going to divorce her husband and marry Viscount Rochester. Rochester! There was no end to the good that would come to Richard Weston. What if he were offered a post at Court. Why not? Rochester would be grateful to him.

It was quite dazzling when one considered the important people who were in this plot with him—Rochester, the Countess, and the Lieutenant of the Tower Sir Gervase Helwys.

He went to the kitchens for Overbury’s supper and when he emerged set down the bowl and took the bottle from his pocket.

He was studying it, wondering whether to put it in at once, when he heard a step behind him and saw that Sir Gervase Helwys was coming toward him. For a moment he had been startled but was immediately reassured because it was Sir Gervase who had allowed him to come here and he himself had been given his post by the wish of the Countess and her great-uncle; therefore they were fellow conspirators.

Weston said: “Sir, I was wondering whether to put it straight into the broth now, or to wait until the last minute.”

“What is this?” asked Sir Gervase and took the bottle from Weston.

“Well, sir, it’s the mixture that has to be put into the broth.”

Sir Gervase turned pale. He was horrified at what he had discovered. He had been given the post to intercept Overbury’s letters, not to allow him to be poisoned.

He said: “I will take this bottle. Give Sir Thomas Overbury his supper and then come to my apartments immediately.”

Weston was trembling so violently that the broth was slopping over the sides of the basin. Sir Gervase had turned and walked away, while Weston, in a growing panic, took the prisoner his supper, cursing himself for throwing away the greatest opportunity of his life.

Sir Gervase looked at the wretched man and said: “You had better tell me who gave you this bottle.”

Weston’s shifty eyes were panic-stricken. He was not going to incriminate his son.

“It was sent in to me … with instructions to put it into the broth, sir.”

Sir Gervase looked at the cringing man, but he was not thinking of him. He was remembering his interview with the Earl of Northampton when he had been told what was expected of him.

“This man Overbury,” Northampton had said, “because of his position with my lord Rochester, will be aware of certain state secrets which, should they fall into the hands of our enemies, could harm our country. It is for this reason that I wish you to pass on all his correspondence to me.”

Sir Gervase had agreed to do this; he was grateful to his benefactor; it was not every man who was selected by the important Howards to work for them. He knew that it was because of this particular prisoner in the Tower that Waad had been dismissed and he been given the post. He had congratulated himself that he had been chosen because of the delicate nature of the task. He was there to prevent the leakage of state secrets, but murder was another matter.

It was a terrible realization for an ambitious man to make. Waad had been dismissed through the influence of the Howards; what would their reactions be if they knew that he was refusing to work for them?

They wanted to be rid of Overbury. They wanted him to be murdered in the Tower. Sir Gervase was a man who was ready to do a great deal to rise in the world—but murder was something he had never considered.

And here was this man Weston, the tool of the great, standing shivering before him, caught in the act. Monson had recommended him and had hinted that it was the wish of Rochester that the fellow should become Overbury’s jailer. Rochester wanted to assure himself that his one-time friend was comfortable.

Comfortable seemed a sinister word.

And here was Sir Gervase—that ambitious man—who saw the road to glory laying straight ahead of him confronted by a gate on which was written Murder.

He must have time to consider. But there was no time. What he did in the next few minutes could be of the utmost importance to his career.

He heard himself saying: “You know there was poison in that bottle?”

“Why yes, sir,” stammered Weston.

“And you were prepared to administer it!”

“Well, sir, ’twas orders like …”

Orders! The question came to the Lieutenant’s lips: Whose orders? He stopped himself asking it in time. If the man answered that one, what could Sir Gervase do about it?

He must be subtle; he must act with the utmost caution.

“You were about to commit a great sin.” That was it. Words flowed from him. It was not for ordinary men to take life at a whim. What Weston had contemplated doing was an evil thing…. And so on. For five minutes he talked while Weston threw himself on his knees, scarcely listening, seeing himself carried away to a dungeon—one of the noisome underground dungeons where persons of no consequence were sent. This was the end of the good life he had planned for himself—and all because of one stupid mistake.

But to imprison Weston was something Sir Gervase could not do. Had he not been put in his place by Monson at the request of my lord Rochester? Now, there was only one thing a wise man could do in these circumstances, and that was to turn a blind eye on what was going on in the cell of Sir Thomas Overbury.

He would have no part in the murder; neither to assist it nor to prevent it.

He took the bottle of poison and opening his window, threw out the contents.

He turned to Weston. “I see that you are a simple man,” he said, “and I trust my words have had some effect on you. Have I brought you some understanding of the evil nature of your conduct?”

“Oh sir,” cried Weston, “I wish I had died before I had touched the bottle.”

“You have repented. That is good. Go back to your work and we will say nothing of this matter. But I beg you watch your actions in future.”

Watch them in future! So that I do not see what is going on?

Weston’s face was illuminated by his relief. “Oh sir, you are good to me, sir. I swear—”

“It is enough. Remember what I have said.”

“Oh I will, I will, sir.”

Sir Gervase dismissed him and Weston blundered away, bewildered.

After the man had left him, Sir Gervase was thoughtful and very uneasy; it was alarming for an ambitious man to find himself caught up in a plot of murder.

The Commission which had been set up to arrange the divorce were not in agreement.

That eloquent man, George Abbot, Archbishop of Canterbury, was the main stumbling block. He had interviewed the Earl of Essex who was reserved yet determined not to accept the stigma of impotence, although he did agree that as far as his wife was concerned he had no desire. The Archbishop had come to the conclusion that the Earl was by no means impotent but as eager as his wife to have the marriage ended.

He put his view before the Commission explaining that this was a serious matter and they must not allow themselves to be guided by the fact that noble people beloved of the King were eager to see a certain solution. They had to give the right judgment, no matter whom they offended.

Weston was not such a simple man as Sir Gervase had believed him to be; when he had escaped from the Lieutenant and had had a little time to ponder on what had happened, it occurred to him that he had escaped very lightly for a man who had been caught in an attempt to poison a prisoner.

There could be one solution to this: Sir Gervase was either concerned in a plot against Sir Thomas Overbury or he was anxious not to offend those who were. Therefore there would be no real interference from him.

The more he considered the matter, the less fearful he became, and when a few days later he decided to present himself at Mrs. Anne Turner’s house in Hammersmith, he had made up his mind that Sir Gervase would never dare refer to what had happened, so he told Mrs. Turner that he had administered the contents of the bottle.

“And now,” he finished, “I have earned my reward.”

“Nonsense,” said Mrs. Anne Turner, “there will be no reward until Overbury is dead. You have merely performed one of your duties. There are others to follow.”

“I do not greatly like this task.”

“Of course you do not. Do you think you would be paid so handsomely for doing what you enjoy? You had better let us hear no more complaints from you. Go back to your duties. You will soon be given further tasks, and if you perform them with zeal, it will not be long before the matter is completed and you may claim your reward.”

So Weston returned to the Tower and waited for further instructions.

Frances was strained and nervous. Every day that Overbury lived she was in danger. That old fool Abbot was delaying the divorce, and seeking reasons for not granting it. If Overbury should get a letter through to him, if it were discovered that she had procured powders from people of ill repute, that would give the Archbishop what he was looking for. It must not be.

She must stir up Franklin. He was planning a lingering death. That would not do. It must be expedited.

She ordered Franklin to appear at Mrs. Turner’s house and went there to meet him. Anne Turner joined them and the Countess spoke vehemently of the delay which was causing her so much anxiety.

“That which Weston put into the broth produced no result,” she complained. “He is as well as he was when he was taken to the Tower. I have no intention of paying you if you are not going to do the job.”

“I told my lady that it would be necessary to make certain experiments.”

“Then speed them up, speed them up. I hear the prisoner spends much time writing. What if one of the letters he writes should manage to get through. Then all our work could be in vain. We must make him too ill to be able to use his pen.”

“I think, my lady, we should try white arsenic.”

“It could be put into his salt,” suggested Anne Turner.

“I heard from Weston that he took no salt.”

“Then sprinkled on his food, my lady. It could be used in some way.”

“That should be done. What other poisons could you employ.”

“Aquafortis, my lady; and mercury. I have experimented with powder of diamonds and we should use that too. Also lapis costitus and cantharides.”

“Use the lot,” cried Frances; “but let me hear soon that Overbury’s health is declining rapidly. And follow that up with his death.”

If you wished for something you must try to achieve it yourself, thought Frances. It was no use trusting to others.

She called on Sir Gervase Helwys at his apartments in the Tower of London where she was received with great courtesy. As a women of a noble house, and an extremely beautiful one, she had grown to accept such homage as her right; but lately she had been even more courteously received than before; and she was exultant because she knew this additional respect was due to the fact that she was soon to marry Robert Carr.

“I have come to see you because of my lord Rochester’s anxiety on account of one who used to be his friend,” she explained.

Sir Gervase turned a little pale, but Frances did not notice this.

“My lord Rochester has a kind heart I well know,” he murmured.

“So kind that, although this servant has behaved ill, he would not have him suffer. My lord Rochester has asked me to bring him little treats while he is in prison. He knows the poor man to have a sweet tooth and for that reason I want to bring him some of the tarts which he especially likes.”

Sir Gervase shivered imperceptibly. “You must do as you wish, Lady Essex,” he managed to say.

“Thank you.” Her smile was so bewitching that he could only believe her innocent of any design on the prisoner’s life. Rochester and Northampton, the two most important men in the country, were planning the disposal of Overbury, and it was easy to guess that he held some secret, important to them both. And they had decided to use this lovely creature as their unconscious agent!

But what could a man do who was hoping to rise at Court. Only one thing: Refuse to think what this could mean.

“Sir Gervase,” went on Lady Essex, “the tarts I shall bring are for Sir Thomas Overbury alone. I shall send them to you so that you may see they are given to him and no other. It would be a pity to deprive him of that which will do so much to comfort him.”

“No one else shall touch them,” he assured her. “I myself will see to that.”

That satisfied her and she went away.

The next day the tarts arrived for Sir Gervase Helwys and because he was not there to receive them, his servant took them in. Thus they remained for several hours in his apartment before he found them. By that time they were already turning black and were touched with a strange phosphorescence.

No one would eat such tarts. Sir Gervase would not only be doing Overbury a good turn by throwing them away but those who had sent them, for had any but himself looked at the things that person would have suspected at a glance that some very foul substance had been used in preparing them.

The Archbishop of Canterbury was in despair. When he had put his case before the Commission he had a big following. He was certain then that right would prevail and that there should be no concessions because of the nobility and position at Court of the people concerned.

The King was impatient with the Archbishop. James did not like the case; he wished that Robert had chosen an unmarried girl for his wife; however, since Robert wanted this woman, he must have her. But in spite of James’s having made it clear to his Archbishop that he wanted the divorce, still Abbot was arguing against it—and carrying the majority of the Commission with him.

But James had taken one or two of the Commissioners aside and made known his wishes to them; and at the next meeting they no longer supported the Archbishop.

Frances was called before seven chosen ladies who had been instructed to consult her on the intimate details of her married life. Her mother was among them, and being a very forceful woman, and having decided how she intended the inquiry must go, she soon made herself leader of the group. Frances was grateful to her mother and herself gave a touching performance as she explained how her husband had been unable to consummate the marriage.

Essex, questioned by the Commission, was becoming eager to see an end to the proceedings and freedom from a marriage which was growing more and more distasteful as the case progressed; he now seemed ready to accept the slur of impotence for the sake of that freedom.

He was not in truth impotent, he told them, but he had no desire for his wife. He had loved her when he left France and came to England, but he no longer did so, and never could again.

It was suggested that a certain bewitchment might have been put upon him, which would explain why he was able to be a good husband to some woman but not to his wife.

Still the case was not settled and James was annoyed, for now it was being talked of in the streets and it was said that if a woman wanted to rid herself of a husband all she had to do was declare him impotent.

He summoned the Commissioners to Windsor where he was at that time and with them came Frances’s father, the Earl of Suffolk, who during the journey had talked with several of the members of the Commission and told them that he and lords Northampton and Rochester were growing impatient. They asked for a simple matter to be settled and these lords deliberately thwarted them. He hinted at rewards which would be given to the acquiescent; punishments which would befall the dissenters.

By the time the Commission appeared before James, several of its members had changed their minds and were opposing the Archbishop of Canterbury. But old George Abbot was not going against his principles whatever the advantages … or disadvantages.

James was not displeased that there should be this difference of opinion, because it gave him an opportunity of debating, an occupation from which he derived much pleasure, particularly if the subject was a theological one. He prided himself on being more learned in the scriptures than any priest and he could always back up his arguments with quotations.

He summoned George Abbot and engaged him in discussion. The Archbishop was tired and James was alert. Every point which the priest brought forward James quashed with a quotation from the Bible and his own subtle argument. He would have found arguments and quotations to oppose himself had it been necessary; but that was one of the joys of debate. James could have made a brilliant case for either side. He was not called the British Solomon for nothing.

It was said in the Bible that a man should take one wife and cleave to her until death parted them. Ah, but it may well have been that when that had been written the hideous cult of witchcraft had not appeared to sully the Earth. What had happened was that Essex had been bewitched. He was made impotent as far as his own wife was concerned. When they had wiped out witchcraft, cases such as this would never arise.

James was off on his favorite hobby horse. Ever since he believed he had proved that witches had tried to drown the Queen and prevent her reaching Scotland, he had become incensed by the very word witchcraft. On account of his hatred of this, witch-finders were flourishing throughout the kingdom and every day some old woman would be dragged before the judges and put to the tests.

It seemed to James that witchcraft was behind every evil scheme that was ever brought to light; and he believed it possible that witchcraft had made a normal married life impossible now and for ever between the Earl and Countess of Essex, and therefore the best thing that could happen would be to dissolve their marriage and let them both find partners elsewhere.

He reminded the Archbishop of events which had taken place when he was but a lad in Scotland. One concerned a woman who had been forced into marriage and ran away from her husband to whom her father insisted that she return.

“And the result, man. She poisoned him and was burned for it. Ye canna jerk a woman back to a husband and he to her when evil witches have juggled with them. Remember this, and disband the Commission. It shall meet again when you have had time to brood on it. It may be necessary to have a bigger Commission. The more heads to ponder on this the better.”

So there was to be a pause before the new Commission sat; and it gradually became known that the King was ready to reward those who gave the verdict he wished. Honors were given to some who pledged their support; Court wits referred to blessings bestowed as Nullity Honors; and when the Bishop of Winchester—who had shown himself zealous in the cause of Rochester and the Countess of Essex—brought his son to Court to receive an accolade, the young man was jokingly called: “Sir Nullity.”

It was comforting for Frances and Rochester to know that the King was so fervently on their side.

But they were still waiting for the divorce.

In his prison Sir Thomas Overbury was aware of changes. A lassitude had overtaken him; he suffered from sickness and griping pains.

“I shall die of melancholy,” he said, “if I remain here much longer. Prison sickness is already beginning to overtake me.”

His weight had rapidly decreased and his face had lost its once healthy glow; his skin was pallid and damp and there were days when he was too ill to rise from his bed.

He wrote to his parents and told them that his health had deteriorated in the last weeks and that if something was not done to bring him out of his prison he feared he would die.

Sir Nicholas Overbury and his wife were alarmed when they read this letter.

“I cannot understand it,” said Lady Overbury. “Why have they sent him to the Tower? He appears to have done nothing but refuse an appointment. Is this justice?”

Sir Nicholas shook his head and said that they could only guess at the strange behavior of people in high places.

“But Viscount Rochester was so fond of him. Our Thomas was one of the most important men at Court.”

“It is the important men at Court who are the most vulnerable.”

“I don’t intend to let matters rest as they are. We must go to London and see what can be done.”

Sir Nicholas could see that his wife was determined and as he too was growing anxious on his son’s account he agreed that to London they must go.

“I should like to see the King and ask his help,” said Lady Overbury.

That was an absurd suggestion, her husband knew, for humble people such as they were could not call on the King.

“We might send a petition,” he suggested.

“Explaining,” added his wife, “how anxious we are.”

They did so, begging the King to allow some physician to attend their son.

James read the petition and understood the parental concern behind it. He wrote kindly to the Overburys personally, telling them that he was sending one of his own physicians to see their son.

Sir Nicholas felt that he and his wife had already done some good, and when he heard that his son was suffering from some unspecified disease natural in the circumstances, he was very anxious to see him; he wrote to Viscount Rochester begging him to seek the necessary permission for the parents to visit their son.

Rochester, moved by the letter, was about to say he would arrange at once for the parents to see Sir Thomas, but before making a decision he consulted with Northampton.

Northampton knew far more than Rochester; and he was very suspicious of the prisoner’s illness. It could not be long before Overbury began to suspect that the sudden sickness which had overtaken him was not due to natural causes; and then there might be serious trouble. What, wondered Northampton, was Frances up to now? He was certain that she would never let matters take a natural course and she had far more reason to fear Overbury than she had allowed even him to understand.

On no account must Overbury’s parents be allowed to see him.

“My sweet lord,” he said, “Overbury is sick; he has been a prisoner for some weeks; you can be assured that he is angry with you. How can we know what lies he will tell against you? I have heard it whispered that he is in the Tower because he is in possession of a dark secret which involves you, and that it concerns the death of the Prince of Wales. By God and all his angels, Robert, if such a tale were bruited abroad—false as you and I know it to be—it could be the ruin of you. Even James would not be able to save you.”

“I cannot believe that Overbury would so lie about me.”

“Nor would he, when he was your friend. Now he is your enemy and never was an enemy so bitter who was one time a close and loving friend. Overbury is a dangerous man. Nay, Robert, let us get the divorce done with and then we will come to terms with him. We will give him his freedom in exchange for his promise never to utter a word against you.”

“But what of his parents? What can I tell them?”

Northampton considered. “That very shortly he is to be released, and that if you are to bring this about it is better for him to be quiet and say nothing that might jeopardize your plan. At the moment he is in prison and resentful. You do not wish to tell him how near his release is, just in case it should take a little longer than you hope to bring it about. Therefore, let matters rest as they are.”

“Very well, if you think it is necessary.”

“Necessary, my dear fellow. It is essential to your future—yours and Frances’s. Believe me, my greatest desire is to see you two happy together.”

“Then I will write to Sir Nicholas and Lady Overbury.”

“Do so. They will be delighted.”

“Others have asked permission to see him. Some of his kinsmen.”

“Tell them the same. It is the best way. And it is true. For as soon as the divorce has been granted, Overbury shall have his freedom.”

So Robert wrote as directed; and that was all the satisfaction the Overburys and their anxious relations received.

A terrible realization had come to Thomas Overbury.

He would never escape from the Tower.

There were days when he was too ill to think clearly; but these were sometimes followed by periods when, although his body was weak, his mind was active.

Why should he have been imprisoned merely because he refused to take an appointment overseas? It was unreasonable—and it had happened just at that time when he had quarreled with Robert about that evil woman of his.

What was the real truth behind his imprisonment?

His pen had always been a comfort to him and he used it now. He was going to write down everything that had happened since the day he met Robert Carr in Edinburgh; and he was going to send copies of this to his friends and ask them to read it and see if they could discover what had led to his imprisonment in the Tower.

The idea made him feel alive again, and he felt his strength coming back.

He wrote a letter to Robert—a long bitter letter of reproach and recrimination in which he accused him of throwing away their friendship for the sake of an evil woman. He told him that he had written an account of their relationship, his fears and suspicions, and was making eight copies of this which would be sent to eight of his friends. He did not believe Rochester could deny one word of what he had written; and he wanted people to know that he suspected he had been put into the Tower because of what he knew concerning Rochester and that evil woman who had been his mistress, and whom he now desired to make his wife.

When Northampton saw the letter which Robert showed him, he ordered Helwys to be more vigilant than ever. Eight letters which Overbury was writing must be brought to him and by no means allowed to reach the people to whom they were addressed.

Northampton was very uneasy. The divorce, thanks to the Archbishop of Canterbury, was being delayed. Overbury was becoming suspicious and truculent, although Helwys reported that he was growing more feeble every day.

There was a time of great anxiety when two physicians recommended by the King examined Overbury, and great relief when they reported that the prisoner was suffering from consumption aggravated by melancholy.

James’s sense of justice was disturbed when he received this report. Overbury had been put into the Tower for a flimsy reason. He had angered the King by a curt refusal to take a post abroad and James knew that if he had been another man his anger would have been shortlived. He had seen something of the friendship between Robert and Overbury and he knew Overbury to be a clever man; the truth was he was a little jealous of Robert’s affection for the man; and that was why he had, at Northampton’s instigation, treated him more harshly than the offense warranted.

He sent for the eminent physician Dr. Mayerne and asked him to do what he could for Overbury.

Dr. Mayerne attended Overbury once, saw no reason to doubt that he was suffering from consumption intensified by melancholy, and since he did not intend to spend much time on a patient who was after all in disgrace, appointed his apothecary Paul de Lobel to attend Overbury.

Each morning Frances would wake from disturbing dreams. She was so near achieving her heart’s desire, yet it could so easily be snatched from her.

She could not endure the waiting; it was unnerving her.

There was a meeting in the house at Hammersmith when she opened her heart to Mrs. Turner.

“I begin to wonder whether Dr. Franklin is as skillful as we thought,” complained Frances. “All this time and the man still lives!”

“He is loth to administer stronger doses for fear of discovery.”

“Afraid! These men are always afraid. My dear Turner, if they cannot give us what we want we must do without them.”

Anne Turner was thoughtful; then she said: “I heard that Paul de Lobel is attending him.”

“Well?”

“I sometimes visit his establishment in Lime Street and I have noticed a boy there who is very willing to do little services for me … for a consideration.”

Frances was alert.

“Yes, dear Turner?”

“Overbury has had several clysters since he has been in prison and de Lobel administers these. They would be prepared in Lime Street before taken to the Tower. If I could speak to this boy … offer him a large enough sum …”

“Offer him twenty pounds. He would surely not refuse that.”

“It would be a fortune to him.”

“Then tell him that he will receive the money when Sir Thomas Overbury is dead.”

“Three months and seventeen days I have been in this cell,” said Overbury. “How much longer shall I remain?”

Dr. de Lobel looked at his patient and thought: Not much longer, by the look of you. For if the King does not release you, death will.

He said: “Any day, sir, you will get your release. That’s how it is with prisoners. I come some days to a prisoner to find that he is no longer here. ‘Oh,’ they tell me, ‘he was released last week.’”

“One day you will come here, doctor, and find that I am gone.”

“I hope so, sir, I hope so.”

“Oh, God, let it be soon,” said Overbury fervently

“And how are you feeling today?”

“Sick unto death. Such pains I have endured! But let me be free of this place and I’ll recover.”

“You have been writing too many letters. You have tired yourself.”

“In a good cause,” Overbury smiled. They would be reading his letters now. They would learn the nature of the man for whom he had done so much and who now left him miserable in his prison. They would know something about the evil woman who had changed one of the best of men into a fiend.

“This clyster should do you much good.”

“Another clyster?”

“Sir, it is my pleasure and duty to make you well again. Come, prepare yourself.”

It was shortly after the clyster was administered that Sir Thomas Overbury was overtaken by such sickness as he had never known before.

He no longer wished for liberty and revenge; he only wished for death.

The next day the sickness continued and he lay panting for his breath.

What has come over me? he asked in his lucid moments. What has happened to make me thus?

No one could answer him. They could only shake their heads and tell each other that the wasting sickness of Sir Thomas Overbury had taken a more virulent turn.

For seven days he lay groaning in his cell; and on the eighth day when his jailers came to him, he did not answer them when they spoke to him.

They looked closer and saw that he was dead.