Court, and that she wanted to be rid of her husband, the Earl of Essex. Jane knew only one way of getting rid of husbands; also that Simon did not care to sell poisons. He had been in trouble too many times to want more; and supplying poisons could bring him real trouble.
Ah, she thought, one of these days he’ll land up on a gibbet.
And that would not be so good for her, for life here in Lambeth was comfortable, even luxurious, and Jane liked her comforts.
She looked at him steadily, and as the light fell on his face she thought he had aged lately; that his pallor was more pronounced and he looked tired.
He had eaten well and was half dozing at the table; she had no idea therefore that he was aware of her scrutiny.
“Well, wife,” he said suddenly, “what are you thinking of?”
She sometimes believed that he could read her thoughts so she did not lie to him.
“Death,” she said simply.
“What of death?” he asked.
“I was wondering whether you or I would die first. Do you know? But of course you do. You have pre- knowledge of these things.”
“I shall die first,” he said quietly.
She leaned toward him and said quickly: “When?”
“Next Thursday,” he answered.
Jane leaped to her feet. “Thursday!” she cried. “The Thursday that is coming!”
He looked as startled as she did. “Eh?” he cried. “What did I say?”
“You said you would die on Thursday.”
He looked aghast, for he was shaken. He had spoken thoughtlessly, and the words had slipped out almost involuntarily. He was alarmed because on the rare occasions when he had foreseen the future it had happened in this way.
“Forget it,” he said.
But neither of them could.
He already looks older, thought Jane. A little more tired. A little closer to death. A little closer to Thursday.
He laughed with her and she was relieved. He had been joking of course.
On Thursday he said he had business to do at Puddle Dock and took boat there. He was rowing steadily when the oars slipped from his hands and he fell forward.
When they brought his body home Jane could not believe it; although she had on occasions known him to prophesy events which had come true, other prophecies he had made had not, so she could never be sure; this she had not believed, so she was stunned and bewildered.
But when she had recovered a little from the shock she went into that room where he had received his clients. Evidently he himself had not believed the prophecy for he had made no effort to put his affairs in order.
I must destroy these things, said Jane as she took out the wax images, the powders and phials of liquid.
She set them out on the bench and went through the drawers of his private cabinet. There she found his diary and turning the pages read here and there.
It was fascinating, for there was an account of many an intrigue and love affair, and Simon had not hesitated to mention the names of the ladies and gentlemen concerned.
What a story this book could tell!
Jane looked at the more recent entries and read an account of the love affair between Lady Essex and Viscount Rochester with quotations of what Lady Essex had said and done in this room.
She shut the book and then discovered the letters. He had kept every one.
“Sweet Father,” she called him, and signed herself his loving daughter.
Jane made a big fire in the room and sorted out the letters and papers. Among them were spells, incantations and recipes for making certain potions.
Perhaps it was wrong to destroy these things; they might be useful.
So she turned her back on the fire and found a large box in which she placed the images, the recipes, the letters and the diary which gave such lurid accounts of Court intrigues and especially of the most recent involving Lady Essex and the King’s favorite.
At the earliest opportunity Frances went to Hammersmith and the two wept together.
