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

Franklin shook his head. “It would work quickly,” he explained, “and since the plan is that he should appear to be suffering from a wasting sickness, it would be useless.”

“I have heard of white arsenic—” began Frances.

But again Franklin shook his head. “That would have a similar effect to aquafortis. It might be apparent that his sickness was the result of something he had eaten. We must avoid that at all costs. There is powder of diamonds … which is most costly.”

Frances shook herself impatiently. Why would they keep talking of the cost! Had she not told them that money was of little account, as long as they gave her what she wanted.

“Then get some.”

“My lady. I am not exactly a poor man for my practice is a good one, but I have not the capital to make experiments with such materials.”

Frances immediately took out a purse which she had brought with her and gave to him. “Buy the powder of diamonds and see if it can be of use, and above all do it quickly.”

“I am at your ladyship’s service,” Franklin declared.

And Frances left Hammersmith in better spirits.

When Franklin had his concoction ready the problem was how to get it into the Tower to Weston without arousing suspicion. It was Anne Turner who remembered that Weston had a son, Willie, who might be useful to them. Willie was an apprentice to a haberdasher who was patronized by Court ladies and Frances herself bought fans and feathers from him. Willie could pass information to the Countess when she called at the haberdashers; he could also visit his father in the Tower without attracting a great deal of attention, for what was more natural than that a son should visit his father?

So to the haberdashers went Anne Turner, taking with her a small bottle, the contents of which were to be put into Overbury’s food in order to start him on that mysterious illness which in a month or so would prove fatal.

Willie performed his duty with efficiency and reported to Anne that the bottle had been given to his father when they were alone and that his father knew what was expected of him.

Richard Weston felt very honored to have been selected for this post. He was a humble man but good fortune had come his way at last. Since he had been in the Tower he had begun to dream of power and riches. He did not see why, when he had finished this task, he should not have his own establishment. Why should he not be another Dr. Franklin or Forman? To think of the money they had made filled him with a tingling excitement. There was power too in guarding the secrets of the great. And here was he, being of use to the Countess of Essex, a very grand lady, and a member of the Howard family. He had never seen anyone pay so handsomely for a man’s services.

Certainly he was coming on in the world, since he was now involved in a plot which concerned people in high places, people who were ready to pay for what was done for them. What would be riches to him, was nothing to them. His fortune was made because when this man Overbury was out of the way some very influential people were going to be grateful to Richard Weston.

He took the little bottle and looked at it. It seemed harmless enough, and all he had to do was to slip it into the broth when he took in the supper.

He had heard a rumor that the Countess was going to divorce her husband and marry Viscount Rochester. Rochester! There was no end to the good that would come to Richard Weston. What if he were offered a post at Court. Why not? Rochester would be grateful to him.

It was quite dazzling when one considered the important people who were in this plot with him—Rochester, the Countess, and the Lieutenant of the Tower Sir Gervase Helwys.

He went to the kitchens for Overbury’s supper and when he emerged set down the bowl and took the bottle from his pocket.

He was studying it, wondering whether to put it in at once, when he heard a step behind him and saw that Sir Gervase Helwys was coming toward him. For a moment he had been startled but was immediately reassured because it was Sir Gervase who had allowed him to come here and he himself had been given his post by the wish of the Countess and her great-uncle; therefore they were fellow conspirators.

Weston said: “Sir, I was wondering whether to put it straight into the broth now, or to wait until the last minute.”

“What is this?” asked Sir Gervase and took the bottle from Weston.

“Well, sir, it’s the mixture that has to be put into the broth.”

Sir Gervase turned pale. He was horrified at what he had discovered. He had been given the post to intercept Overbury’s letters, not to allow him to be poisoned.

He said: “I will take this bottle. Give Sir Thomas Overbury his supper and then come to my apartments immediately.”

Weston was trembling so violently that the broth was slopping over the sides of the basin. Sir Gervase had turned and walked away, while Weston, in a growing panic, took the prisoner his supper, cursing himself for throwing away the greatest opportunity of his life.

Sir Gervase looked at the wretched man and said: “You had better tell me who gave you this bottle.”

Weston’s shifty eyes were panic-stricken. He was not going to incriminate his son.

“It was sent in to me … with instructions to put it into the broth, sir.”

Sir Gervase looked at the cringing man, but he was not thinking of him. He was remembering his interview with the Earl of Northampton when he had been told what was expected of him.