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

stolen away from His Majesty’s side whenever possible to satisfy his lust with that wanton who now asks us to believe that the husband, who had been clamoring to live a normal life with her, was impotent all the time. I know too much, Robert Carr. Go and tell the lady that. She’ll understand, perhaps more than you do.”

Robert strode from the room.

He went straight to Frances and told her all that Overbury had said.

She listened, her eyes narrowed, her mind busy. There was so much truth in what the odious creature had said; Robert might not realize it, but there was much he could do to harm them. What if he began to pry into her activities. That affair of Mary Woods had been a great shock to her.

She realized that she would never feel really safe while Thomas Overbury was free to ferret into her past, while he seemed to delight in defaming her character.

There was one weapon which Overbury had used with success all his life: his pen. He now decided to use it. He was certain that it would be the end of the career he had planned for himself if Carr should marry the Countess of Essex. The woman hated him and would seek to destroy him. Moreover, he believed that, since she was an associate of Anne Turner, she was in touch with men such as the late Dr. Forman. He had heard from Wilson, whose acquaintance he had cultivated, of mysterious powders discovered among the clothes of the Countess’s husband. It was possible that the Countess in her ruthless way had made other enemies besides Overbury. There had been a strange allegation from a woman in a Suffolk court. Overbury could see that marriage to the Countess might easily ruin Robert Carr. Perhaps the young simpleton did not realize how easy it was for those who had been at the very peak of success to fall into obscurity—or even worse. In the case of Carr his triumphs did not even rest on his own mental ability. A handsome face, a charming manner and an easy-going nature were the assets which had carried him where he was—with Overbury’s help.

No, thought Overbury, I am not to be thrust aside by Madam Countess. I am far more important in this affair than they seem to realize.

Since he had whispered the secret of his relationship with Robert Carr to his friends at the Mermaid Club, they had treated him with even greater respect than they had given him for his writing talent. He had heard it said again and again in his hearing that he was the real ruler of England.

Was he going to stand aside, therefore, and watch this disaster take place?

Certainly he was not. So he took up his pen. He wrote with fire and venom and the verses he produced were called “The Wife.”

These were aimed at the Countess of Essex, and anyone with a slight knowledge of her background and history would know this.

These verses were circulated, not only at the Mermaid Club but throughout the Court.

When Frances read the verses she was furious. Soon he might be openly talking of her. He was a clever man; he had shown that he had already begun to ferret into her past, and there was too much that was unsavory to be discovered there.

She had little to fear from Essex. While they were at Court he had discovered that his wife was conducting a love affair with Carr, and at last understood that her repulsion to living as his wife had nothing to do with her innocence; it was simply that she wished to be the mistress of another man. He had learned too that the Prince of Wales had been her lover, and it was no innocent virgin whom he had taken to Chartley.

Disillusioned, feeling he had been rather foolish, having listened to vague warnings from Wilson whose judgment he trusted, he had come to believe that he would be well rid of such a woman. He had found comfort in hunting and other outdoor sports with friends of his own sex, and when he heard that Frances was desirous of divorcing him, he shrugged his shoulders and thought that it might be good to be free of her and in time find a wife who was ready to lead a normal life with him.

They had scarcely seen each other for some little time, and now that she believed she would soon be free of him, Frances rarely thought of him.

But another ogre had risen in his place: Sir Thomas Overbury.

She could not tell her lover of her fears because he would laugh at them, not understanding what harm Overbury might do if he discovered too much. Robert would not know how much there was to be discovered. But there was one she knew who would not be shocked by her villainies, providing they could be suppressed and did not cause open scandal; and now that he was working with her, would be ready to use his great power to suppress them. This was her great-uncle, the Earl of Northampton. So to him she went.

He read through “The Wife” and regarded his great-niece severely.

“Yes,” he said, “this man could make trouble—great trouble.”

“It is for us to see that he does not,” answered Frances.

“You have been very indiscreet.”

“Perhaps. But I am where I am, and it is not for you to reproach me, for you are glad that I am there.”

What a wild creature she was! thought Northampton. Young and inexperienced as she was, and old and experienced as he was, he would not care to have her for an enemy.

“H’m,” he said after a pause. “We must put an end to this man’s activities.”

“I have already tried to do this.”

Northampton’s eyebrows shot up. “What?” he cried.

“I offered a certain man a thousand pounds to engage him in a duel and kill him.”

“My dear niece, you are too impulsive. What man?”

“Sir David Woods, who I knew hated him because he was sure that it was due to Overbury that Robert refused him a post he coveted.”