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

INTRIGUE AT CHARTLEY CASTLE

When Robert Devereux, Earl of Essex, traveling from Court with his reluctant bride, was within two or three miles of Chartley Castle he found that the people of the neighborhood had come out to welcome him. He acknowledged their greeting with bows and smiles and felt wretchedly uncomfortable when he saw their astonished looks directed toward the beautiful but sullen girl riding beside him.

Frances stared straight ahead of her as though she did not see these people. She was not going to pretend that she was a happy bride.

Her beauty must attract attention, for although it was a little marred by her thunderous looks it was no less remarkable.

When they entered the old castle and found the servants lined up, waiting to pay homage, she walked past them and did not glance at one of them, so that it was clear to all that there was something very unusual about their master’s marriage.

“The Countess is weary with the long journey,” said Essex. “Let her be shown her apartments without delay so that she may rest.”

“I am not in the least weary,” retorted Frances. “While at Court I have been in the saddle for hours without feeling the slightest exhaustion. But let them show me my apartments.”

A dignified manservant signed to two young women, both of whom hurried forward, curtsied afresh to the Countess and turning, made their way up the wide staircase.

“Come, Jennet,” said Frances; and without another glance at her husband, followed the two serving girls.

“What a draughty place this is,” complained Frances. “One might as well have lodgings in the Tower. They could not be more uncomfortable. Where are you taking me? Is it to the apartments occupied by the Queen of Scots, when she too was a prisoner here?”

“I am not sure, my lady, where the Queen of Scots had her apartments,” said the elder of the servants.

Frances shuddered. “Poor lady. How she must have suffered!”

They had reached a corridor and were confronted by a spiral staircase. When they had mounted this they came to the apartments which had been prepared for the Earl and his Countess.

The rooms were luxuriously furnished, and from the windows was a view of the lovely Staffordshire countryside.

Frances looked at the big bed and her eyes narrowed.

She turned to the serving girls.

“You had better tell me your names.”

The elder, a girl of about twenty, said: “I am Elizabeth Raye, my lady.” She turned to her companion who appeared to be about sixteen. “And this is Catharine Dardenell. We have been selected to wait on you.”

Frances surveyed them intently, trying to assess how loyal they would be to the Earl. It might well be that she would need them to perform special services for her. She decided to try to win their confidence.

“I am sure you will do all you can to help me,” she said; and her face was transformed by the smile she gave them.

They curtsied in a rather embarrassed fashion.

“We shall do our best, my lady,” murmured Elizabeth Raye.

“Go now and bring me food. I am hungry. Bring enough for my maid here, too.”

“Yes, my lady. But a supper is being served in the great hall and the cooks have been planning for days what they would give my lord and lady on this day.”

“I shall not eat in the great hall. Do you understand?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“When you bring the food, knock on the door. It will be opened to you, if the two of you come alone.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Go now, because I am hungry.”

When they had gone, Frances turned to Jennet.

“Take the key from the outside and lock the door from the inside.”

“My lady …”

“Do as I say.” Jennet obeyed.

“Of one thing I am certain. He shall not come into this room.”

“Do you think that you can hold out against him, here in his own castle?”

“I must hold out against him.”

Jennet shook her head.

“You think he will force me? I have a dagger in this sheath. See, I wear it about my waist as some wear as pomander. I will kill him if there is any attempt at force.”

“Have a care, my lady.”

“Jennet, I am going to be very careful indeed.”

The Earl rapped on the door.

Frances went to it and called: “Who is there?”

“It is I, your husband.”

“What do you want?”

“To see you. To ask if you are pleased with the apartment.”

“I am as pleased as a prisoner can be with a prison as long as you do not share it with me.”

“Do you understand, Frances, that there will be a great deal of scandal if you behave like this?”

“Do you think I care for scandal?”

“I care.”

“Care all you wish.”

“Frances, be reasonable. My father lived here before me. It is my family home.”

“What of it?”

“I am asking you not to cause a scandal.”

“I’d be hard put to it to provide a greater scandal than your father did.”

“Frances, let me come in, only to talk to you.”

“I have nothing to say to you.”

“You are my wife.”

“Alas!”

“What have you against me?”

“Everything.”

“What have I done to deserve your contempt?”

“Married me.”

“Frances, be reasonable.”

“I am ready to be. It is you who will not be. Leave me alone. Let me go back to Court. If you are so fond of your draughty castle stay and enjoy it. I would not attempt to tell you where you should be—as long as it is not with me.”

“I shall not endure this state of affairs. You are my wife and my wife you shall be … in every way. Do you understand me?”

“You make yourself coarsely clear.”

“Let me come in and talk.”

“I repeat, there is nothing to be said.”

He was silent. He sighed deeply and then said in a sad voice: “Perhaps by tomorrow you will have come to your senses.”

She did not answer, but leaned against the door listening to his retreating footsteps.

She went back to Jennet. “You talk of his forcing me. He never would. He has no spirit, that man. He’s as mild as milk. Oh, why did they marry me to such a one, when, if I were free …”

Jennet shook her head and turned away.

Frances caught her arm and gripped it so tightly that Jennet cried out.

“What are you thinking, eh? Answer me at once.”

“My lady, you’re hurting my arm.”

“Speak then.”

“I was thinking that you are not free, and my lord Rochester did not seem to be as desolate as you were when you left London.”

Frances lifted her hand to strike the woman, but thought better of it. Her face crumpled suddenly and she said: “Jennet, I’m afraid that if I stay here too long, I shall lose him.”

Jennet nodded.

“You think so, do you?” burst out Frances. “What right have you to think? What do you know about it?”

“I have seen, have I not, my lady? But why do you despair? You saw Dr. Forman and Mrs. Turner before you left Court.”

A worried frown appeared on Frances’s brow. “I wish they were nearer, Jennet. I wish I could talk to them.”

“You have the powders with you?”

“Yes, but how administer them?”

“It would have been easier if you had allowed him to live with you.”

Frances shivered. “Never. If I did I believe that would be the end. My Lord Rochester would have finished with me then.”

“Did he say so?”

“He hinted it. Jennet, we’ve got to find a way. We’ve got to get out of here. I feel shut in … a prisoner. I was meant to be free. I can’t breathe here.”

“We’ll have to see,” said Jennet.

Essex almost wished that he had not returned to Chartley. Here it was much more difficult to keep secret the extraordinary state of his marital affairs. It was embarrassing for all his retainers to know that he was so distasteful to his wife that she refused to live with him as his wife. He was very young, being not much over twenty, and had had very little experience of women. Frances, two years his junior, was knowledgeable in comparison; she understood him while she bewildered him.

Had he been a stronger-willed man he might have forced his way into her apartments, in order to assure her that he was the master, but his nature was too gentle for him to adopt this method and he hoped he could persuade her to act reasonably.

He even made excuses for her; she was innocent; she was unprepared for marriage and viewed it with distaste. She was after all very young; she would grow up in time; then she would be sorry for all the trouble she had caused him.

The entire neighborhood was aware of the strange happenings inside the castle. The Countess was never seen out of doors. She refused to leave her apartments; her doors were always locked; though he believed that in the night, accompanied by Jennet, she walked about the castle and in the grounds.

Jennet was always with her; and the two Chartley maids, Elizabeth Raye and Catharine Dardenell, waited on her. They were regarded with great respect by the rest of the servants whom they told that the Countess was in truth a sweet lady, and so lovely to look at that she must be good. She had shown kindness to both Elizabeth and Catharine; and her own maid, Jennet, whom she had brought with her, was devoted to her. Catharine and Elizabeth were beginning to believe that the fault might lie with the Earl.

Essex spent a great deal of time brooding over the situation; and he liked to escape from the castle and often walked for miles trying to think of some solution.

He could, of course, allow her to return to Court and leave her alone; that was what she wanted; and she was ready to be his good friend if he would agree to it. But he was stubborn on one point; she was his wife. Ever since their marriage he had dreamed of coming home to her, because he had carried with him, all the time he had been abroad, a memory of that lovely young girl to whom he had been married. Having built up an ideal of what their life together would be, he could not accept this situation. He would not give up his dream so easily.

As he walked alone, deep in thought, he heard a cry for help which came from the direction of a swiftly running river. He was sharply brought out of melancholy reverie and, turning toward the direction from which the cry had come, he recognized his steward, Wingfield.

“Wingfield,” he called. “What’s wrong?”

Before Wingfield could answer he saw for himself; a man was wading out of the river supporting a young woman whom he had clearly rescued.

The Earl ran to the scene and helped the two men take the woman—who was one of the servants—back to the castle.

It was an hour or so later when Essex summoned Wingfield, with the man who had rescued the girl, to his apartments.

Wingfield introduced this man as Arthur Wilson, whom he had invited to the castle for a short stay. Arthur Wilson immediately spoke up for himself.

“Having fallen on hard times, my lord, I seized this opportunity to enjoy the hospitality of Mr. Wingfield in exchange for certain services.”

“It is fortunate for that poor girl that you were here,” said the Earl; and noticing that Wilson was a man of education he invited him to drink a glass of wine with him.

When the wine had been brought and they were alone together, Wilson told the Earl something of his history.

“Every since I was taught to read and write, my lord,” said Wilson, “I have never stopped doing either. I was at one time clerk to Sir Henry Spiller in the Exchequer office, but I was dismissed.”

“For some offense?”

“The inability to remain on friendly terms with people in a superior position to my own, my lord.”

Essex laughed. He had taken a great liking to this man and he was particularly pleased to have been diverted from his own unpleasant thoughts.

“I thought,” went on Wilson, “that I could live by writing poetry. That was a fallacy.”

“You must show me some of your work.”

“If your lordship would be interested.”

“Tell me what happened when you left the Exchequer office.”

“I lived in London writing poetry until my money was almost at an end. Then fortunately Wingfield appeared and suggested a short respite here at Chartley.”

“I might offer you a permanent post here. If I did so, would you accept it?”

A faint color came into Wilson’s face. “My lord,” he murmured, “you are generous beyond my hopes.”

Friendship had been born in that moment.

Arthur Wilson quickly slipped into his place at Chartley. He was the Earl’s gentleman-in-waiting, which meant that he accompanied him on his rides round the estate, hunting or any other such expedition; thus he was constantly in the Earl’s company. In a very short time he had become his most confidential servant, and because it so concerned his master, Wilson took a great interest in his relationship with the Countess.

Being such a partisan of the Earl, he was highly critical of Frances. He did not share his master’s view of her innocence, and he determined to watch the situation very carefully, without letting anyone know he did so.

Every night when he retired to his apartment he wrote in his diary an account of the day’s happenings and the affairs of the Earl and his wife inevitably figured largely in this. He found himself writing glowing descriptions of the Earl’s extraordinary patience and goodness to this woman who was behaving so badly toward him. “The mild and courteous Earl is being tried too sorely,” he wrote.

He began to wonder what dark schemes that woman concocted in the apartment from which she rarely stirred. It was unnatural, unhealthy. There she lived with that woman she had brought with her—allowing only Elizabeth Raye and Catharine Dardenell into the apartment. What were they plotting? If it were harm to the Earl, Wilson was going to be there to prevent it.

He was watching.

“Catharine, my child,” said Frances, “what pretty hair you have.”

“You’ll make the creature vain, my lady,” said Elizabeth Raye. “She’s conceited enough since Will Carrick has had his eye on her.”

“So Will Carrick admires you, Catharine. I can understand that well.”

Catharine simpered. She could not understand why some of the servants were so suspicious of the Countess, when she had always been so gracious to her and Elizabeth. She was so interested in them; and she had more or less promised that when Elizabeth’s young man was ready to marry her, she, the Countess would see that she had a good wedding. A generous lady, a good mistress; and if there was anything wrong between the Earl and Countess, she for one—and she knew Elizabeth felt the same—was ready to put the blame on the Earl.

“I have a blue ribbon which will become you well,” said Frances. “Jennet, bring it and show Catharine how to tie it in her hair.”

Jennet obeyed.

“It’s lovely, my lady,” cried Elizabeth, and Catharine was pink with pleasure.

Frances put her head on one side. “Elizabeth should have one too. What color do you think for Elizabeth, Jennet?”

“Pink, I think, my lady.”

“Then get it.”

The girl stood awkwardly while the ribbon was tied.

“How pretty they look!” Frances sighed, and looked sad.

Elizabeth stammered: “Oh, my lady, we are lucky to serve you.”

Many little gifts passed between Frances and her maids. Any little service she asked of them was performed with delight, and they could not do enough for her comfort. Then came the day when Frances considered that the time was ripe.

“And how is Carrick?” she asked Catharine one day when she was alone with the girl.

Catharine flushed and mumbled that he was as he always was.

“And ready to do anything to please you, I’ll warrant.”

Catharine did not answer.

“As page to the Earl it is his duty to attend to his clothes, is it not?”

“Yes, my lady, that is one of his duties.”

“It is a good post to hold and it cannot be long before he asks permission to marry.”

“I know not, my lady.”

Frances patted the girl’s cheek. “You are fortunate. Do you know there are times when I envy you.”

“Oh no, my lady!”

“To have someone to love you, of whom you can be sure.”

“But, my lady—”

“I know that my affairs are talked of in the Castle. But there are matters which are only known to me … and the Earl; things are not always what they seem, my child. I am an unhappy woman. Catharine, would you help me?”

“With all my heart, my lady.”

“I can trust you, Catharine, as I can few others. Would you swear to tell no one of what you do for me?”

“But of course, my lady.”

“I am anxious to change the Earl’s feelings toward me.”

“But, my lady, it is said that the Earl wants nothing so much as to be a good husband to you.”

Frances frowned. “It is said! It is said!” she cried sharply. Then her voice softened. “Catharine, there are things people cannot understand. They cannot look deeply into these matters.”

“No, my lady.”

“When you see Carrick, do you go into the Earl’s apartments?”

Catharine blushed. “Well, my lady, it is only when—”

“Have no fear, my dear. I would always be sympathetic to lovers.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“And Carrick meets you there … say, when the Earl has gone hunting?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“There is nothing to be ashamed of. No harm has been done. The other servants know you go there and are not surprised when you creep in … eh?”

Catharine nodded.

“Listen to me. I have a powder here. It is a magic powder. I want you to go ten minutes earlier to the apartment … before Carrick is due to meet you there. Do you understand? And I want you to sprinkle a powder inside the Earl’s garments. His hose … his shirt … those which he will wear next his skin. Fold them carefully when you have done, so that none will know that they have been tampered with.”

“A powder, my lady?”

“I said a powder. ’Tis for his good. I have the Earl’s welfare deeply at heart. Can I trust you, Catharine, to tell this to no one?”

“Why, yes, my lady.”

“You will have to be quick and careful. If you should be there and find others at hand, you must not do this. It is essential that it should be a secret. You must seize your opportunity, Catharine. I know you are a clever girl and that I can trust you. That is why, when I go to Court, I plan to take you with me.”

“Oh, my lady …”

“I reward those who serve me well.”

“I will do everything you say, my lady.”

“That is good. Wait here a moment.”

Catharine waited, her hands clasped together; she saw herself riding to London with her generous mistress; perhaps she would be given one of the mistress’s cast-off gowns. Who knew? With such a mistress anything might happen.

Frances came back and thrust a packet into her hands.

“Guard it well. You remember what you have to do?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“And you will remember that it is a secret; and that you must await the opportunity.”

Catharine assured her mistress that she would do so.

As gentleman-in-waiting to the Earl, Arthur Wilson took his duties seriously. Essex even confided in him to a certain extent, so that a man of Wilson’s perceptions quickly summed up the true state of affairs.

In spite of the cruel conduct of the woman, the Earl was still enamored of her, and had become obsessed by the need to make her into a loving wife. The woman was possessed of unnatural beauty and Wilson realized that her husband would hear nothing against her, because he wanted to keep his image intact. To the Earl the Countess was a young, innocent girl who had had marriage thrust upon her before she was ready for it. In her extreme purity she could not face the consequences. But that, of course, would pass with maturity.

Well, one must not attempt to enlighten the Earl. Gradually, Wilson believed, he would see the truth.

Meanwhile, Wilson became aware of sinister undercurrents in the situation. That almost besotted devotion of the serving girls? Was it possible that a proud and haughty woman, as the Countess obviously was, would take so much care to ingratiate herself with serving wenches?

Not unless she had some plan to use them.

As gentleman-in-waiting he had access to the Earl’s wardrobe, and one day when he was arranging some garments in a drawer he found his fingers beginning to tingle and itch in an extraordinary manner. Looking at them closely he detected some grains of fine powder on them; and it immediately occurred to him that this had come from the Earl’s clothes.

He took out the neatly folded undergarments and as he shook them, began to sneeze and cough and there was a burning sensation in his throat.

Studying the garments carefully he saw that grains of powder clung to them. He then examined all the Earl’s undergarments and it became clear to him that it was these which had been treated in a certain way.

Alarm seized him. Could it be that this was a poison planned to find its way through the pores of the skin into the blood? He had heard of such things.

His first impulse was to go to the Earl and tell him what he had discovered, but he quickly realized that his master would refuse to suspect the real culprit. Wilson himself had no doubt who that was. This was part of a plot hatched by those diabolical women.

He took the clothes away and washed them himself. He determined that he was going to watch over the Earl’s clothes; he would keep an eye on what he ate also, because it seemed to him certain that an attempt would be made to poison his friend and master in a more usual manner.

Frances was in despair. The situation had not changed since she came to Chartley, and she was still waiting for Essex to decide he was weary of her and let her go.

The powder which had been sprinkled on his garments had had no effect. One or two attempts to put other powders into his food had also failed. That man Wilson had taken upon himself to supervise everything the Earl ate; and he was now in charge of his wardrobe. Reports came to her that he was always sniffing here and there and had his nose into everything; that he would appear suddenly when any of the servants approached their master.

Frances believed that Wilson suspected something of the truth.

Jennet was right when she had said that if Frances had lived with her husband it would have been a comparatively easy matter to administer the powders; as it was it seemed an impossibility. But not even for that reason would she live with him.

Essex had written to her parents complaining of her conduct, and she had received admonishing letters from them. Essex was her husband and she must recognize this fact. They had sent one of her brothers down to reason with her. This had resulted in long arguments which Frances declared would drive her mad.

“My own family are against me,” she cried.

There was no news of Robert Carr. She might have ceased to exist for all he seemed to care.

In desperation she wrote to Mrs. Turner.

“Sweet Turner,

“I am out of hope of any good in this world. My brother Howard has been here and there is no comfort left. My husband is as well as he ever was, so you see in what miserable case I am. Please send the doctor news of this; he told me that all would be well and that the lord I love would love me. As you have taken pains to help me, please do all you can, for I was never so unhappy in my life as I am now. I am not able to endure my misery, for I cannot be happy as long as this man liveth. Therefore pray for me. I have need of your prayers. I should be better if I had your company to ease my mind. Let the doctor know this ill news. If I can get this thing done you shall have as much money as you can demand, for I consider this to be fair play.

Your sister,

Frances Essex.”

Wilson was really alarmed. He was certain that the Countess was planning to poison her husband; he knew that she was sending messages to London and he believed that she was either writing to her lover there or to those who were sending her the powders. He, who had lived in London, knew that many professional poisoners existed as well as dabblers in witchcraft; and he was certain that Frances Essex was in the hands of some of these people.

If it were so, the Earl’s life was in danger, for he, Wilson, could not hope always to be lucky enough to save him.

As a man of the world he believed there was one way of saving the Earl’s life and that was to let the Countess enjoy her lover.

To some extent the Earl confided in Wilson, who had become a close friend as well as a servant, and although Wilson was always careful to show no animosity toward the Countess, at length he persuaded the Earl that Lady Frances might be more amiable if they left Chartley, a place which she declared she hated and regarded as a prison.

The Earl saw the wisdom of this and when he proposed a visit to Frances’s parents’ country house at Awdley-end in Essex, Frances agreed with alacrity.

She was certainly more amiable when they journeyed southward and once or twice deigned to speak to her husband without first being addressed.

The Earl’s spirits rose; but Wilson was as watchful as ever. He did not trust the Countess.

When, at Awdley-end, the members of Frances’s family reproached her for her attitude, she listened meekly and then asked for news of the Court.

She pretended to be upset by the death of the Prince of Wales, but she cared nothing for that. She listened avidly for every bit of information about Robert Carr, and she yearned to go to Court. In London she would be able to visit Dr. Forman and Mrs. Turner, and she believed her salvation lay with them. She would see her beloved Robert again and if he had ceased to think of her during her absence, she was certain that with the aid of the clever doctor and her sweet Turner she could soon win him back again.

She was restless and unhappy but less so than she had been at Chartley.

And at last Essex agreed that they should return to Court.