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

“Jennet,” said Frances, “go out and see his end, and come back and tell me all that happened.”

Jennet rose obediently. As she pushed her way through the crowd to Tyburn, she had convinced herself that she was not to blame. She had done nothing. There was no law against introducing one person to another; and if these people plotted murder together that was no concern of hers.

It was disconcerting to see a man one had known, riding in the cart, and Jennet wished she had not come. The people were all talking about Sir Thomas Overbury.

“I hear he only gave the stuff and was paid well for it.”

“By those that could afford to pay him.”

“Did you hear what he said? It was that he believed the big fish would be allowed to escape from the net while the little ones were brought to justice.”

“Oh, there’s more to this than we have heard. My Lord and Lady Somerset …”

“Somerset!”

“The King won’t have Somerset hurt….”

Jennet was almost swept off her feet, so great was the press.

She looked at the scaffold with the dangling rope. Weston was talking to the priest who rode with him in the cart; the moment had almost come, and the noose was about to be placed round his neck, when a group of galloping horsemen arrived on the scene.

There was a gasp of surprise among the watchers when it was seen that these were led by Sir John Lidcott, who was Sir Thomas Overbury’s brother-in-law.

The hangman paused and Sir John was heard to say: “Did you poison Sir Thomas Overbury?”

“You misjudge me,” answered Weston.

Sir John addressed the crowd. “This man is sheltering some great personages.”

But the hangman continued with his task, saying that he had his orders and Weston had received his sentence.

“The matter shall not rest here,” shouted Sir John. “This is but a beginning.”

The crowd was silent while Richard Weston was hanged.

Jennet made her way back to her mistress. She had little comfort to offer her.

It was indeed a beginning.

A month later Anne Turner was brought out from her prison, after having been found guilty, and condemned to be hanged. She looked very beautiful in her yellow starched ruff, the fashion and color she had always favored and which many had copied, that it was a silent crowd who watched her go to her death and scarcely one voice was raised to revile her.

But every woman who possessed a yellow ruff made up her mind that she would never wear it again; and the fashion Anne Turner had made died with her.

In the early stages of her cross examination she had done her best to shield Frances, but when she realized that the truth was known, when the letters which Frances had written to Forman were produced, when the waxen images were shown to her, she understood that there was no point in attempting to conceal that which had already been discovered.

Then she had cried bitterly: “Woe to the day I met my lady Somerset. My love for her and my respect for her greatness has brought me to this dog’s death.”

She died bravely, making a further confession on the scaffold; and her brother, who held a good post in the service of the Prince of Wales, waited in his coach and then took her body to St. Martins-in-the-Field that he might decently bury it.

The next to die was Sir Gervase Helwys. His crime was that he had known efforts were being made to poison Sir Thomas Overbury but had done nothing to stop the crime; in fact he had made of himself an accessory by allowing the murder to take place under his eyes.

He was followed by Franklin.

There was a little time left to her, Frances knew, because of the child she carried.

They would not bring a pregnant woman into the Court.

“There is only one thing I can do,” she told Jennet; “and that to die. I shall never survive the birth of my child.”

Jennet could not comfort her, she was too fearful for her own safety. Weston had been right when he had said that small mercy was shown to the little fish.

But everyone was waiting for the big fish to be caught in the net; and there was growing indignation throughout the country because four people had been hanged already for the murder of Sir Thomas Overbury and the chief murderers had as yet not been brought to trial.

“What shall I do?” moaned Frances. “What can I do?”

On a dark December day her child was born.

Her women brought the baby to her and laid it in her arms.