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

THE PRINCE OF WALES TAKES A MISTRESS

The King was alarmed and no one but Robert Carr could pacify him. James paced up and down the apartment while Robert sat helplessly watching him. At every sound James started: he could never get out of his mind the treachery of the Gowrie and Gunpowder plots.

“You see, Robbie,” he said, “I have enemies. They’re all over the Court; and I know not where to look for them. When I think of how the Ruthvens laid their snare for me … and how I walked into it, I marvel that I came out alive.”

“There is some Providence watching over Your Majesty.”

“Providence is fickle, Robbie. Guarding you one day and turning its back the next. I’d liefer rely on my head than my luck. And Providence is another name for the last.”

“Your Majesty is unduly alarmed. You acted with your usual shrewd sense; Arabella Stuart can no longer be a threat.”

“Can she not, Robbie? Can she not? There’s many a man in this city that would like to see me back across the Border … or under the sod. There’s many looking for a Queen to put on the throne. They like to be ruled by a woman. Have ye never heard them talk of my predecessor? Ye’d think she was God Almighty to hear some of them. These English like to be ruled by a woman; the Scots would have none of my mother, but the English worshipped their Queen. How should I know that they’re not drinking their secret toasts to Queen Arabella?”

“Your Majesty is the true King of Scotland and England, and Prince Henry the true heir.”

“Aye, lad. That’s true. And Henry will have many to support him. Have you noticed how they flock to his Court and desert the King’s? I wonder they don’t shout for King Henry in the streets. That boy will bury me alive if I don’t take care.”

“They acclaim him as the Prince of Wales.”

“And they look to the time when he’ll be King. Dinna seek to draw the mask over my eyes, Robbie. I know.”

“But that is not to want Arabella.”

“The people like to plot. To the young, life is more worthwhile when they’re risking it. Arabella is as good an excuse for a rebellion as any other. And now she has disobeyed me. In spite of my forbidding her, she has married William Seymour—himself not without some claim.”

“And Your Majesty has acted with promptitude, by committing her to the care of Parry, and her husband to the Tower.”

“Yes, yes, boy, but I like it not. The lady has become a martyr. And a romantic one at that. Before this marriage she was a woman not young enough to arouse the chivalric zeal of other young people. The Lady Arabella Stuart at Court was welcome. I like not this marriage. What if there should be issue?”

“Your Majesty has sought to make that impossible by separating the pair.”

“You try to comfort your old gossip. And you do, Robbie. Now let me look at that letter to the Prince which you’ve drafted. I fear he is not going to like my suggestions, but we must find a wife for him soon; and I do not see why we should not, in Spain or in France.”

“It would be an excellent step, Your Majesty, for how much easier it is to make peace between countries when they are joined by royal marriages.”

“That’s true enough, Robbie. The letter, boy.”

James read the letter and a smile of pleasure crossed his face.

“Neatly put, Robbie, neatly put. Why, bless you, boy, if there’s not something of the scribe in you after all. Poet, I’d say. That’s succinct and to the point. I can see you’ve learned your lessons. Ye’re going to be useful to me, Robbie.”

James did not ask the obvious question, because he would have already known the answer; and Robert would have given it because he was not a liar.

The boy had found the solution at last. James did not want to know who had drafted the letter. It was enough that it was perfectly done. Robert had found the one to work in the shadows.

The Prince of Wales was holding Court at the Palace of Oatlands. He liked to stay at this palace with his sister, Elizabeth, and together they entertained a Court which was different from that of their parents.

Henry had the reputation of being a sober young man; he could not endure the practical jokes which were a feature of his father’s Court. Not that James cared for them; but his favorites played them with such gusto, and because he liked to see them enjoying themselves he joined in the fun. Henry’s ideal was to have a Court where serious matters were discussed and there was no practical joking. He wanted very much to bring Sir Walter Raleigh from prison; he was sometimes a little angry with his friend who often gave the impression that he did not regret his captivity; how otherwise, he asked, could he devote the necessary time to his history of the world which he wanted to dedicate to the Prince of Wales?

There was so much that was wrong with the King’s Court, Henry told himself and Elizabeth.

“And now they want to make a Catholic marriage for me,” he complained. “I’ll not endure it. Did you know that our father has taken Carr for his secretary and I receive letters from the fellow?”

“I did not think he was literate enough to write a letter.”

“He is. And flowery epistles they are.”

“There are qualities we did not suspect in the fellow then.”

“I dislike him and all his breed.”

Elizabeth smiled. “I couldn’t stop myself laughing when you hit him on the back with your tennis racquet.”

Henry laughed with her. “I was overcome by a desire to murder him.”

“Yet he seemed to bear no malice.”

“Who can say what goes on behind that handsome face of his?”

“Well, let us forget him, Henry, and think of the ball we are giving tonight. Young Lady Essex pleaded so earnestly for an invitation that I gave her one.”

Henry turned away to look out of the window; he did not want his sister to see that he had flushed. “She is very young … too young,” he mumbled.

“Oh no, Henry. She is sixteen.”

“And married,” went on Henry. “Where is her husband?”

“It was one of those child marriages. They have not yet set up house together,” Elizabeth smiled. “And by the look of the girl I should say that it was time they did.”

“And what experience have you of such matters?”

“Dear Henry, there are some things that are so obvious that it is not necessary to have experience to recognize them.” Elizabeth went on to talk of Arabella. She was sorry for her kinswoman; so was Henry. If he were King, he thought, he would not allow himself to be disturbed by other claims to the throne. His father’s claim was so much more sound and he was sure the people had no intention of setting up Arabella. It was his father’s terror of plots that made him so nervous.

He said so to Elizabeth; but he was not really thinking of his father and Arabella. He was wondering whether he would dance with Lady Essex that day.

The royal pleasure house of Oatlands was not far from the banks of the Thames. It was built round two quadrangles and three enclosures and its gardens were magnificent. When Frances had passed the machicolated gatehouse and looked at the angle turrets and huge bay windows she had made up her mind that in this mansion the Prince of Wales should become her lover.

Jennet was with her; she had selected this girl for her most intimate maid. She might have found others more servile, but Jennet’s insolence—which was always veiled, and only rarely shown even then—appealed to Frances. That girl had a knowledge of matters which Frances felt might be useful to her some time. There was a bond between them. To Jennet she talked more freely than to anyone else. She was certain that Jennet would keep her secrets. Frances often had a feeling that if Jennet had been born in her stratum of society she would have been very like her, and had she been born in Jennet’s she would have been another such as she.

The maid knew for instance of Frances’s hopes concerning the Prince of Wales. She was not in the least shocked that a young girl, married to one man who had never been her husband, should seek to become the mistress of another. Jennet gave the impression that she was there to administer to her mistress’s pleasure and that whatever Frances desired was reasonable and natural.

While the maid helped her dress for the ball, Frances glanced critically at her own reflection in the mirror. Jennet, her eyes lowered, assured her mistress that never had she looked so well.

“How old do I look, Jennet?”

“All of eighteen, my lady.”

Jennet would not have said so had it not been true. Frances had matured early.

“And my gown?”

“Most becoming. There’ll not be another lady to compare with you.”

“How I wish that they had never married me to Essex.”

“You would not have been a Countess then, my lady.”

“No, but that would not have mattered. I should still be my father’s daughter and of a rank to be welcomed at the Prince’s Court.”

“You are older than he is, my lady.”

“Oh no.”

“I did not mean in years.”

“I understand you.”

“And, being older, should lead the way.”

“He is not like the others, Jennet. He is a very good young man. He is anxious not to do anything of which he could be ashamed.”

Jennet gave a short laugh. “When the good fall into temptation they fall more deeply.”

“Sometimes I feel he will never fall into temptation.”

“There are ways, my lady.”

“What ways?”

“I know how to procure a love potion which is certain to work.”

Frances’s heart began to beat a little faster.

Then she looked at her own radiant image. She was so certain of her charms that she could not believe they would fail.

If they did, she would begin to think seriously of Jennet’s philtres.

There was less ceremony at Oatlands than at St. James’s or Hampton Court, and almost everyone there soon learned that the Prince, who had never before been interested in women, was attracted by the young Countess of Essex; so when she lured him from the dance into the gardens, no one followed them, believing that it was the Prince’s wish that they should be alone.

Frances, who knew instinctively when and how to act in such matters, was certain that if she was to become the Prince’s mistress she must induce him to overcome his scruples before he became fully aware of the potency of her allure. Once he realized how eager she was he would set up such a barrier between them that his seduction would be impossible.

Although they were both virgins, Frances was ready to lead the way; moreover, she was determined to do so.

Walking between the flower beds made mysterious by summer moonlight, she pressed closer to him. He hesitated and would have returned to the palace but she put her arm through his and told him how happy she was to be at Court, and particularly to be a member of the Prince’s Court.

It was only polite to say that he was happy to have her; and when he did so she raised his hand to her lips and kissed it.

He withdrew it sharply.

“I have offended you?” she asked, her lovely eyes wide with horror.

“No … no. But it is best not to….”

“Not to?”

“To … to kiss my hand.”

“Would you prefer me to kiss your cheek, your lips?” she cried passionately.

Henry was startled and astonished by the tremendous excitement which was taking possession of him. He tried to analyze his feelings. “If you were not married …”

“But I have never known my husband.”

“You must keep yourself a virgin for him.”

“Is that Your Highness’s wish?”

Henry was silent. Then she threw herself against him and cried triumphantly. “It is not so. It is not so.” Then she took his hand and began to run with him; and as they ran such an excitement gripped him that he seemed like a different person from the sober young Prince who deplored the loose morals of his father’s Court.

She withdrew her hand and went on running; now he was pursuing her. She allowed him to catch her in a summer house; and she waited expectantly while he embraced her, listening to the sounds of music which came from the palace.

He was uncertain; but she was not.

Frances Howard had always known what she wanted, and she had wanted the Prince of Wales from the moment she had seen him on the day she had married Robert Devereux.

Jennet knew as soon as she was in the privacy of her own chamber.

Frances stood, her eyes brilliant, while Jennet relieved her of her gown and jewels.

“So, my lady,” said Jennet slyly, “we shall not have to ask my good friend Mrs. Turner to provide us with a love philtre?”

And soon certain knowledgeable members of the Court were telling themselves that the Prince was behaving like a normal young man.

He had a mistress—Frances, Countess of Essex.

Frances knew that she was meant to have a lover. She blossomed and became even more beautiful than before. She enjoyed intrigue and secret meetings. Moreover, it delighted her to be loved by the most important man at Court.

Henry had changed; he was gay and lighthearted, although there were occasional fits of remorse. But, he assured himself, why should he not indulge in a love affair, when this was considered natural conduct by almost everyone at Court? In any case, as soon as he saw Frances, any good resolutions he had made quickly disappeared and he gave himself up to pleasure.

He wished that he could have married Frances. Then he would have been completely happy. He confessed his dilemma to Sir Walter Raleigh who shrugged it aside as unimportant. No one would think the worse of him for having a love affair, he assured the Prince; and Henry at length forgot his qualms.

Those were exciting months. Never had Henry been so immersed in pleasure. To his Court flocked all the most brilliant of the courtiers, and James, watching, feigned a chagrin he did not feel. He was glad to see his son so popular, and if the boy was showing himself to be less of a puritan than before, that was all to the good. In the parks about Nonesuch Palace Henry rode and walked with Frances; they made love in the arbors; and the columns and pyramids, with their stone birds from whose bills streams of water flowed, made a perfect setting for their idyl. In the more stately St. James’s Palace they were together; and Richmond, where the Prince loved to hold Court, was yet another background for the lovers.

Those who watched them wondered how long this romance would last. Many of the young women planned to take Frances’s place in the Prince’s affections, for they were certain that soon he must tire of his young mistress, when he had all the Court to choose from.

But Henry remained faithful, and Frances was very sure of him.

She had taken the lead in their love affair and kept it. Often it seemed to her that Henry was a little young. Why, she asked herself, should I have to teach him everything?

He was a Prince—the Prince of Wales at that—yet he was really nothing but a boy.

How different it would be to have a man for a lover—someone mature, someone who did not follow everywhere she led but sought to dominate her. Henry never would of course, because Frances was determined to dominate; but it would be exciting if he tried.

Jennet, watching, knew before Frances did herself that her mistress was tiring of the Prince of Wales.

When Frances received a summons to sup with her great-uncle, the powerful Earl of Northampton, she was not very pleased. This meant that she would be obliged to absent herself from the Prince’s Court and, although she was less eager for his company than she had once been, she had no wish to sit down to supper with the friends of her great-uncle whom she suspected would be of his age, or at least that of her parents.

But she knew she dared not refuse such an invitation, for Northampton was accepted as the head of the family, and if she offended him he could prevail upon her parents to send her back to the country.

She was scowling as Jennet dressed her.

“My lady is black as thunder today,” remarked Jennet with a smirk.

“I am wondering whether my great-uncle has been hearing rumors.”

“Nay, my lady. My lord Northampton would not be displeased because the Prince of Wales is your friend.”

“It seems strange that he should want me at table with his dreary old men and women.”

“You’ll seem all the more beautiful in such a setting—providing you take that black scowl from your lovely face.”

Frances bared her teeth at the reflection in the mirror. “Shall I smile like this? Shall I mince and look coy?”

“My lady will suit her manners to the company, I doubt not.”

And Frances, wearing her simplest gown and scarcely any jewels, waited on her great-uncle; and when she was seated at the supper table she greatly wished that she had chosen something more becoming, because she found herself next to a man whom she had previously seen only at a distance, never having been considered of sufficient importance to have been brought to his notice.

She was instantly aware of her great-uncle’s deference to this man; how the company paused when he spoke; how his simplest jokes were loudly applauded; and how everyone at that table was trying to catch his eye.

How handsome he was! Frances could scarcely stop herself staring at him. Never had she seen such a profile; he wore his golden hair somewhat long; and his fair skin was becomingly bronzed; his expression was extremely pleasant but remote, and that remoteness was like a challenge to Frances. He sparkled as he moved, for costly gems decorated his jacket; and diamonds and rubies were set off to perfection on his beautiful white hands.

“My Lord Rochester, pray give us your opinion….”

“My Lord Rochester, you’ll be the death of me. I have rarely laughed so much….”

His kindly smile was bestowed right and left; on the sycophantic gentleman opposite; on the fawning lady on his left; on the wondering Frances on his right; and yet, thought Frances, he cares nothing for any of us.

And why should he, when he is, in some respects, the ruler of us all? For the King himself wishes to please him in every way, and if he puts a petition before James, it is granted; a word of advice from Robert Carr, my lord Rochester, and the King is ready to act.

There never was such a man! thought Frances. How irksome, how maddening that to him she was merely a young woman of the Court, of no more interest than any other.

But it shall not be so, she promised herself.

She plucked at his sleeve. He turned his smile on her, that facile smile which meant so little.

“My lord, I am afraid I am a dull neighbor. You must forgive me. I have not been long at Court.”

“I can see that you are very young.”

“Perhaps I am older than I seem. I have lived long in the country.”

“Is that so?” He was smiling at the man across the table who was doing his best to attract his attention. He did not care how old she was or whether she had lived in town or country. She meant nothing to him. He was unmoved by the beauty which had been irresistible to the Prince of Wales, and as soon as he left this supper table he would have forgotten her.

He shall notice me, she vowed.

The violence of her feelings often amazed her. With an impulsive gesture she knocked over a goblet of wine. His puffed, slashed breeches were marked by the wine, and for a moment she had his full attention as she caught the goblet and lifted eyes, wide and frightened, to his. Surely he must now notice how beautiful those eyes were; who else at Court had such long lashes? He must notice. He must.

He did for a moment. He flicked his breeches with a careless hand.

“It is of no moment,” he said gently. “You must not distress yourself.”

“But I fear I have made you angry.”

“Do I seem so?”

“No, but I understand you to be kind. My great-uncle is glaring at me. He will take me to task for this.”

Robert Carr smiled. “I will be your advocate,” he said.

“Oh, thank you.” She touched his hand and lowered those magnificent eyes so that now he could see their fringed lids. “But I have ruined your clothes.” A pretty white hand touched his thigh.

He patted the hand and for a second kept his over hers.

In that moment, she told herself afterward, the importance of this occasion became known to her, for Frances Howard, Countess of Essex, had fallen irrevocably in love with Robert Carr, Viscount Rochester, and first favorite of the King.

Frances was in despair.

She had seen him on several occasions since, and on all these he had smiled at her somewhat vaguely as though he were trying to remember where he had seen her before.

What could she do? It was not easy to meet Viscount Rochester. Every day men and women waited outside his apartments in the hope of seeing him. He was often with the King, and unapproachable.

She felt listless when she was with the Prince of Wales, and constantly she compared him with Robert Carr. The Prince was a boy, a boy who always seemed a little ashamed when they made love. That was not the way to be a good lover. How different Robert Carr would be if he were in love with her.

If he were in love! But he was not very interested in women. Perhaps he dared not be, for fear of offending the King. At times she knew she was foolish to have set her heart on such a man; but because he was unattainable he seemed all the more desirable.

Jennet quickly learned the state of affairs.

“My lady could try a love potion,” she suggested.

“How could I give him a love potion?”

“There are potions a lady can drink which will make her irresistible to any man.”

“Is it indeed true?”

“We could put it to the test, my lady. Give me leave to visit a friend of mine. I will tell her what is wanted and we will see what happens.”

“Do you really know such a woman?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Where is she?”

“She lives at Hammersmith. Give me leave to visit her and I will put your case before her, without mentioning names of course.”

“There can be no harm in it.”

“Only good, if my friend can make my lady irresistible to a certain gentleman.”

“Go then and try.”

“It will cost money.”

“How much?”

“I must ask. But I think it will cost much money, as you would expect it to, my lady, if it does its work.”

Frances clasped her hands. “I would be willing to pay … a great deal … for my lord Rochester.”

It seemed to Robert Carr that everywhere he went he saw the young Countess of Essex. He was not so indifferent to her as he had appeared to be. She was without doubt the prettiest young girl at Court and he liked her persistence. There was no doubt that she admired him, and was inviting him to be her lover.

He had made inquiries. She was, even at this time, the mistress of the Prince of Wales. How amusing to humiliate that young man. Robert did not forget that blow on the back with a racquet. If it had been anyone but the Prince of Wales he would not have let the incident pass. But he was shrewd enough to know that he must not have an open quarrel with the heir to the throne.

Yet quietly to snatch his mistress was another matter.

Why not? James did not object to his young men’s marrying or taking an occasional mistress. This girl was already married to Robert Devereux, the young Earl of Essex. There could be no harm in a little dalliance. And how furious the Prince would be!

Next time he met her—he would not go out of his way—he would pause and talk to her; he would convey to her that he was not indifferent. It would be amusing to see how far she would go. He had no doubt that she was ripe for immediate seduction.

Frances was jubilant. Everything she wanted would be hers, she was sure of it, because the potion had worked. She had paid highly for it, but it was worth every penny. She had drunk the rather unappetizing brew, and the next time she had seen Robert Carr he had stopped to talk to her. His voice had been caressing; his eyes even more so.

So there could be no doubt that she had become irresistible to this cool young man. She went to her own chamber and embraced Jennet.

“It works!” she cried. “He has spoken to me. His looks tell me all I want to know. It will not be long now.”

Nor was it.

Robert Carr chose an occasion when the King was resting and the Prince was honoring his father’s Court with his presence.

He found himself near Frances in the dance and when their hands touched they clung.

She was ready and eager. He did not need to persuade. It was not difficult to slip away because worldly courtiers had a gift for knowing when two people wanted to be alone, and with such as Carr it was necessary always to forestall his wishes.

They were left uninterrupted for an hour in one of the ante-rooms.

That was an ecstatic hour for Frances; a very pleasant one for Carr.

And from then on Frances knew that this was the man with whom she wished to spend the rest of her life. She was alternately wild with joy, desperate with sorrow.

Why had they married her so young to Essex when she might have married Robert Carr? She knew that he had no mistress; and could have had but few. Yet to him—because of a love potion, she believed—she had become irresistible.

He was the most important man at Court. Why had she thought the Prince was? The Prince was a simple boy, unaware of true passion. She was awakened now, and afire with desire, and no one but Carr could satisfy her.

All the honors that he asked for would be his. He could have any post, any title. As his wife she would be the most powerful woman in the Court.

“Oh, God,” she cried to Jennet, “how I want to marry Robert Carr.”

There was dancing at St. James’s. Robert Carr was not there, and therefore Frances was bored and indifferent; she was longing for the evening to be over and wished that she had not come.

Henry had not sought her out, although his manner had not changed toward her. She supposed that he was going through one of his prim periods. Let him. She had no desire for him. From now on there would be one man and one man only in her life.

As she danced she dropped her glove and, seeing this, one of the courtiers picked it up.

Knowing nothing of the new state of affairs and believing that the Prince would be glad to possess his lady’s glove, and, after the prevailing custom, count it an honor to wear it, this man carried the glove to the Prince and, bowing low, offered it to him.

The dance had come to an end; the music had stopped suddenly; and all were watching this pretty little scene.

Henry looked at the glove and when he did not reach for it, there was complete silence, so that many heard the words which were spoken.

“Your Highness, my lady Essex dropped her glove.”

The Prince looked at it disdainfully and then said in a clear high voice: “I would not touch that which has been stretched by another.”

The whole Court knew then that the Prince of Wales had discovered his mistress’s infidelity; and that the love affair between them was at an end.

“I don’t care!” Frances declared blithely to Jennet. “I’m glad. I did not want him pestering me. The silly boy with his ‘I durst not.’ ‘I’d liefer not.’ And ‘This is sin.’”

What a lover! Oh, how different is my Robert.

She frowned a little. “Yet he is cool, deliberate. He is never impetuous. I always have the feeling when he fails to keep an assignation that he has forgotten we made one.”

“Perhaps,” suggested Jennet, “there is need of another potion. Perhaps now that you are on visiting terms you could ask him to sup with you. I feel sure, my lady, that a potion drunk by him would be more effective that one drunk by you.”

Frances clasped her hands together. “I wonder if that would work.”

“My lady saw the first one work.”

“Hush,” said Frances. “Someone is coming.” She took Jennet’s arm and held it so tightly that the maid winced. “Not a word of this to any … understand.”

“Of course, my lady. You know you may trust me.”

“Come in,” called Frances; and one of her women entered.

“My lady, the Earl, your father, asks that you go to him without delay. He has news for you.”

“I will come,” said Frances, dismissing the woman with a wave of her hand. Then she turned to Jennet and her face was a few shades paler as she said: “Do you think they have discovered that Robert and I—”

“They could not command my lord Rochester, my lady. It is for him to command them.”

“The King …”

“My lady, the best way to find out is to go to your father.”

The Earl and Lady Suffolk surveyed their daughter intently. It was clear to her mother that Frances was no longer a child. There had been rumors which had amused her; and although she had never bestirred herself to discover whether they were true or not, she was sure they were.

Frances was her daughter; therefore she would know how to amuse herself, and it was almost certain in what direction.

The Earl said: “My daughter, good news for you.”

“Yes, father?”

“Your position has been a difficult one. A wife yet not a wife. It has been difficult for Robert too.”

“Robert,” she said blankly, for to her there was only one Robert.

“Robert Devereux, your husband, of course, child. I have news of him which will please you. He is on his way back to London, and expects to be with you within the next few weeks. I have a letter here from him for you. He tells me that he is longing to take you home to Chartley, for now that you are both grown up he wants his wife.”

Frances felt bewildered. Horror, frustration and anger swept over her.

Helplessly she looked from her father to her mother; but she knew there was nothing they could do for her.

Now that she had discovered the one man who could satisfy her deep sensual needs, now that he was ready to be hers, this stranger was coming back from the past, to claim her as his wife, to take her away from the exciting Court to the dull country mansion, there to bury her alive.

“No!” she whispered.

But even as she spoke she knew that she was trapped.