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

“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,