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

When he left the Earl and Countess of Suffolk, Robert Devereux, feeling sick at heart and deeply depressed, wanted to escape from the restrictions of the palace. He came out into the fresh air and walked aimlessly, not seeing the river and the crowds, but Frances, the expression of loathing on her face; he contrasted the reality of his homecoming with what he had hoped for, and his melancholy increased.

He had made up his mind. He was not a man to act impulsively, but once he had decided on a course of action he was determined to take it.

When he had said that he intended to leave Court within a few weeks, he meant it; and when he said that Frances was coming with him, he meant that too.

He found himself close to St. Paul’s and, still not caring which way he went, he wandered into the main walk where all kinds of business was in progress. The noise was deafening but he did not heed it; several sharp eyes were on him, for he was obviously a gentleman of the Court; his clothes betrayed him. Two pick-pockets had their eyes on him and were closely observed by a third.

A marriage broker called to him as he passed: “Are you seeking me, sir?”

A pandar with two brazen girls, one on each arm, shouted: “Would you like a pretty wench to take home with you?”

At one pillar of the aisle a letter-writer was working for a client; a horse-dealer was at another; everywhere the prostitutes lurked.

Foolish of him to have come to Paul’s Walk at such a time. He realized it suddenly. He might as well have gone to the Royal Exchange gallery to be pestered by the stall holders and of course the prostitutes.

He was aware of the crowds pressing about him; the smell of their clothes and bodies was distasteful. A beggar came near to him and laid a hand on his; this beggar’s hand was hot and there were patches of scarlet color in his face.

“Pity the blind beggar, fine gentleman.”

He felt in his pocket for a coin and gave it to the man, and immediately he was besieged on all sides.

He despised himself. He could not manage to take a walk in the streets without trouble, so how could he hope to tame a wayward wife?

He gave more alms and crying, “Enough! Enough!” struggled out of the crowd. It was not until he was some distance from Paul’s Walk that he realized he had been robbed of his purse and the gold ornaments on his doublet.

The walk had done him little good. It had brought home to him his inadequacy. Moreover, there was a stiff feeling in his throat; his skin was prickling and his hands were as hot as those of the blind beggar.

Frances and Jennet were alone. Frances’s eyes were brilliant.

“It has happened, Jennet. This is Dr. Forman’s doing.”

“What, my lady?”

“The Earl of Essex is grievously sick of a fever.”

“Is that so?”

Frances clasped her hands together and raised her eyes to the ceiling ecstatically.

“He is dangerously ill. He has a raging fever. It came upon him suddenly. Oh, don’t you see, Jennet? This is the result of Dr. Forman’s work. I was not able to give Essex the powder, and Dr. Forman knew it. So he has been working his spells to help me.”

“I knew he would help you, my lady.”

“I don’t know how to thank him and dear Turner, and you, Jennet. Because soon I shall be free, and when I am, my Robert will not hesitate. He loves me but he could not risk a scandal. That is understandable. The King would be furious; and we dare not offend the King. Oh, Jennet, this is what I wanted. You see, until now I had thought that if only Essex would go away, cease to pester me, leave me at Court with my beloved, I should be happy.”

“And now my lady wants more.”

“Yes, Jennet, I want more. I no longer want to be married to Essex. And if he were dead, I shouldn’t be. And he is dying, Jennet. Soon I shall be free.”

Frances curtsied before the King.

James smiled at her kindly, though vaguely. That was as well for she could not keep her attention on him because beside him stood his favorite, the Viscount Rochester.

“Well, my dear,” James was saying, “we rejoice with you. A terrible tragedy has been averted. I am told that the worst of the fever is past. You must be a very happy woman.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” murmured Frances, and she thought: Happy! I must be the most unhappy woman at your Court.

Robert Carr’s benign smile, a replica of the King’s, only added to her unhappiness. It seemed as though he too were pleased because Essex was recovering from his fever, and that the good which could come to them through the death of Essex had not occurred to him.

She was in despair.

It would have been better if Essex had never caught the fever. Then she would not have glimpsed that glorious possibility; but that it should have come so near only to be snatched away was intolerable.