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

he was anxious not to offend those who were. Therefore there would be no real interference from him.

The more he considered the matter, the less fearful he became, and when a few days later he decided to present himself at Mrs. Anne Turner’s house in Hammersmith, he had made up his mind that Sir Gervase would never dare refer to what had happened, so he told Mrs. Turner that he had administered the contents of the bottle.

“And now,” he finished, “I have earned my reward.”

“Nonsense,” said Mrs. Anne Turner, “there will be no reward until Overbury is dead. You have merely performed one of your duties. There are others to follow.”

“I do not greatly like this task.”

“Of course you do not. Do you think you would be paid so handsomely for doing what you enjoy? You had better let us hear no more complaints from you. Go back to your duties. You will soon be given further tasks, and if you perform them with zeal, it will not be long before the matter is completed and you may claim your reward.”

So Weston returned to the Tower and waited for further instructions.

Frances was strained and nervous. Every day that Overbury lived she was in danger. That old fool Abbot was delaying the divorce, and seeking reasons for not granting it. If Overbury should get a letter through to him, if it were discovered that she had procured powders from people of ill repute, that would give the Archbishop what he was looking for. It must not be.

She must stir up Franklin. He was planning a lingering death. That would not do. It must be expedited.

She ordered Franklin to appear at Mrs. Turner’s house and went there to meet him. Anne Turner joined them and the Countess spoke vehemently of the delay which was causing her so much anxiety.

“That which Weston put into the broth produced no result,” she complained. “He is as well as he was when he was taken to the Tower. I have no intention of paying you if you are not going to do the job.”

“I told my lady that it would be necessary to make certain experiments.”

“Then speed them up, speed them up. I hear the prisoner spends much time writing. What if one of the letters he writes should manage to get through. Then all our work could be in vain. We must make him too ill to be able to use his pen.”

“I think, my lady, we should try white arsenic.”

“It could be put into his salt,” suggested Anne Turner.

“I heard from Weston that he took no salt.”

“Then sprinkled on his food, my lady. It could be used in some way.”

“That should be done. What other poisons could you employ.”

“Aquafortis, my lady; and mercury. I have experimented with powder of diamonds and we should use that too. Also lapis costitus and cantharides.”

“Use the lot,” cried Frances; “but let me hear soon that Overbury’s health is declining rapidly. And follow that up with his death.”

If you wished for something you must try to achieve it yourself, thought Frances. It was no use trusting to others.

She called on Sir Gervase Helwys at his apartments in the Tower of London where she was received with great courtesy. As a women of a noble house, and an extremely beautiful one, she had grown to accept such homage as her right; but lately she had been even more courteously received than before; and she was exultant because she knew this additional respect was due to the fact that she was soon to marry Robert Carr.

“I have come to see you because of my lord Rochester’s anxiety on account of one who used to be his friend,” she explained.

Sir Gervase turned a little pale, but Frances did not notice this.

“My lord Rochester has a kind heart I well know,” he murmured.

“So kind that, although this servant has behaved ill, he would not have him suffer. My lord Rochester has asked me to bring him little treats while he is in prison. He knows the poor man to have a sweet tooth and for that reason I want to bring him some of the tarts which he especially likes.”

Sir Gervase shivered imperceptibly. “You must do as you wish, Lady Essex,” he managed to say.

“Thank you.” Her smile was so bewitching that he could only believe her innocent of any design on the prisoner’s life. Rochester and Northampton, the two most important men in the country, were planning the disposal of Overbury, and it was easy to guess that he held some secret, important to them both. And they had decided to use this lovely creature as their unconscious agent!

But what could a man do who was hoping to rise at Court. Only one thing: Refuse to think what this could mean.

“Sir Gervase,” went on Lady Essex, “the tarts I shall bring are for Sir Thomas Overbury alone. I shall send them to you so that you may see they are given to him and no other. It would be a pity to deprive him of that which will do so much to comfort him.”

“No one else shall touch them,” he assured her. “I myself will see to that.”

That satisfied her and she went away.

The next day the tarts arrived for Sir Gervase Helwys and because he was not there to receive them, his servant took them in. Thus they remained for several hours in his apartment before he found them. By that time they were already turning black and were touched with a strange phosphorescence.