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

who were studying at Oxford—or pretending to. They needed a servant. This gave Simon his opportunity. While looking after these young men, helping them in their courtship of a certain lady (they were both her suitors, which simplified matters) Simon was able to study at the university—a great asset for future use, even though circumstances prevented his attaining his degree.

He took several small posts at schools after that and, believing that there was more money and prestige to be won by using what he called his miraculous powers than by teaching, he decided to make a career for himself. He studied astrology and medicine and had certain success. It was inevitable though that some should consider him a quack, and he was brought to court to answer a charge of quackery.

When he was bound over on an injunction to cease his practices he went abroad for a while, and on his return set up as a doctor and astrologer in Lambeth. That was in the year 1583. There had been occasions when complaints were made against him, and he was imprisoned for a while; but his reputation was growing; and many wealthy people were coming to him and recommending him to their friends.

Although he was nearly sixty, he was as vital as he had been in his youth; he lived comfortably with several servants to attend to him. The females among them shared his bed whenever he had the fancy to invite them to, which was often—a fact which his wife had found necessary to accept. He was a man who had always been very fond of women—his clientele was largely made up of this sex—and it was a great pleasure to him to hear of their love affairs, their need to attract this lover, or rid themselves of that. He enjoyed a vicarious delight, of which they were not aware, as they sat in this darkened room and allowed him to peer into the secret places of their minds.

It was remembered in some of the poorer districts of London that during times of plague he had come where no other doctor had ventured, and that his remedies had saved many lives. So that he had his followers among the poor as well as the rich.

The authorities might despise him, and from time to time bring him before the justices. They might call him a charlatan and a quack with little knowledge of medicine. Simon would laugh.

“I look to the stars,” he retorted. “They tell me all I want to know about disease.”

He was vain and longed for the approbation of the world, and like most men of his trade he made long and frequent experiments in search of the philosopher’s stone; and because now and then his prophecies came true, like many of his kind and those who followed him, he remembered such occasions and conveniently forgot the many times he failed.

“I came to my present position the hard way,” he often told one of the maids whose young bodies kept him warm at night, “and that is the best way, my dear; for when a man has experienced hardship and opposition on his long climb upward he is ready for any contingency which presents itself.”

Now a rather intriguing contingency was about to present itself. Frances Howard, Countess of Essex, was on her way to see him.

Frances was overawed by the character of the room into which she was ushered. She was even more impressed by the man in his long black robes—decorated with colorful cabalistic signs—which gave a glimpse of blood-red lining as he moved toward her.

“Do not be afraid, my daughter,” he said.

“I am not afraid,” answered Frances.

“Call him ‘Father,’” whispered Anne Turner.

And strangely enough, so impressed was Frances that she did.

Jennet remained standing by the door, her eyes wide with wonderment.

“Be seated,” said Simon Forman.

Frances sat in the chair which was offered her; and Simon placed a crystal ball in her hands. Then with long bony fingers he himself threw back her hood.

Her beauty was startling in this dark room. Even Simon was astonished. His tongue licked his lips. What kind of man is this who needs to be wooed by such a beauty? he asked himself.

His expert eye saw there was more than beauty to this girl. Fire, passion, desire … and all directed toward one who was not eager for it.

He could bless his daughter Anne for bringing her to him.

He rubbed his hands together. Now he was going to uncover a spicy strip of Court scandal. He would have the pleasure of brooding on that—and counting the money it would bring him. This one could be considerably milched, he doubted not, for she was young, inexperienced and very eager in her desires.

“My daughter,” he said, “tell me all as clearly as you can.”

So Frances once more told of the unfairness of her marriage, of her dislike for her husband, of her love of another; and how it was imperative to her happiness that she be rescued from a position which was intolerable to her.

“Can you help me … Father?” she asked.

He laughed lightly. “It does not seem to me to be an impossible task, Daughter. First, there is the young man whose affections are cooling. We can give you a potion to strengthen his ardor. His affections, you say, cooled when your husband returned. Shall we say he is a man who has a horror of being involved in scandal?”

“You could say that.”

“Well then, our first task should be to work on your husband. We must find a means of cooling his ardor. Then if he is less anxious for your company, your lover will be less afraid. That will make it easier for us to work on his feelings.”

Frances clasped her hands. “Oh, I am sure you are right.”

“Then we will first work on the husband. Can you arrange that a powder be slipped into his food without his knowing?”