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

feared that if it were not done it would cost the Earl his life.

He will soon be well, Frances soothed herself. Then he will tell me what I must do.

It was said that when Felton cut open the wen in the Earl’s thigh such poison burst forth that Felton himself was likely to die from the very contamination.

As for the Earl he lay on his bed and knew that the end had come.

“There is now no need,” he said, “for me to keep my religion a secret. Send for a priest that I may have Extreme Unction.”

When the priest had gone Frances went to his bedside and knelt there. But the eyes which looked at her were glazed and almost unrecognizing.

She wanted to say: You cannot go like this. You are involved even as I am. You must stay and help me.

But there were others about the bed and how could she talk of such secrets in front of them?

“This is the end,” said Northampton. “Who would have thought I should die of a poisonous wen? Bury me in the Castle Chapel at Dover forgetting not that I died Warden of the Cinque Ports. A long procession will leave London and make its way across Kent to the coast, and that will be the last journey of Northampton.”

“Great-uncle,” whispered Frances, “do not say that. You will recover. You must.”

He peered at her. “Who is that then? Frances … ah, the wayward one! But Robert will care for her. Care for each other, Frances.”

“You must not die … yet,” she cried.

But his breathing was becoming rapid and his eyes were glazed.

Now he did not see her at all. He was preparing to make his last journey to Dover.

They had covered his body with a pall of velvet on which lay a white cross and by the light of candles, his gentlemen took turns to watch over him through the night.

They talked of him in whispers while they watched. It was awe inspiring that one who such a short time ago had been a power in the land was now no more.

In her apartments Frances wept and Robert tried to comfort her.

“You must not weep so, my love,” he said. “He was a great man, but old; and death is something we must all come to.”

But what could Robert know? He believed she wept for love of the old man; he could not guess that fear of facing the future without his help terrified her.

Frances was angry with herself. What had happened to her? She had always been bold, going after what she wanted and caring nothing for the consequences. Why should she be so afraid because a man had died in the Tower?

She was feeling stronger and her old vitality was returning to her. She would continue to pay these people but she would let them know that if they attempted to get more than what she considered their dues she would find some means of making them sorry.

Robert was too meek. He did not seize his opportunities. James was so devoted to him that he could have anything he wanted; he was foolish not to take advantage of that. The Queen was insolent to him and to her. There was no reason why they should submit to that. Robert really had no notion of his power. It was up to her to guide him.

At night when they lay together after lovemaking she would talk to him of all he might do, all she expected him to do.

“James may be the King but you could command him, Robert. You are the uncrowned King of England and I am the uncrowned Queen.”

Robert was so delighted to see her coming out of her depression that he was ready to agree. She was continually urging him to act this way and that. Sometimes she would insist that he did not keep an appointment with the King. What did it matter? She asked. James would forgive him.

James always did—although he was a little reproachful.

“It’s not like ye, Robbie,” was all he said sadly.

And Robert began to realize that Frances was right. He was the real ruler of England because James would always do what he wanted.

“Now that my uncle is dead,” said Frances, “you should be the Warden of the Cinque Ports.”

“The wardenship has not been offered to me.”

“Then ask for it.”

He did and it was his.

“What of the Privy Seal?”

“I already hold high posts.”

“The Seal should be yours. Ask for it.”

So he asked and it was his.