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

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.