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

“No!” she whispered.

But even as she spoke she knew that she was trapped.

DR. FORMAN

R iding from Dover to London the thoughts of Robert Devereux were pleasant. It was good to be home after so long an absence and he was very much looking forward to seeing his wife who was now at Court; but, he promised himself, they would not remain long there. He and Frances would soon be riding northward. He was certain that she would be as delighted with Chartley Castle as he had always been.

He had never craved for the Court life. No doubt this was because he could never really escape from the ghost of his father. The first Earl of Essex—Robert Devereux like himself—had been too famous a man, beloved of the Queen, as great a favorite with her as this man Robert Carr was with her successor; and then, still young, he had lost his head. It was too colorful a life to be forgotten; and to be the son of such a man meant that wherever he went people recalled his father.

No, it would be Chartley for him and his young wife. He would teach her to love the place as he did. She would enjoy being the first lady of the district; and how the people would love her!

He had thought of her steadily during his absence; he remembered how she had smiled at their wedding; how they had danced together; how her eyes had sparkled. Dear little Frances! It was not his proud prejudice which had assured him that she was the loveliest girl at Court.

They were very different, he knew. Perhaps that was why she attracted him so much. He was too serious for his age. Being some ten years old when his father had gone to the scaffold had left a mark on him. He still remembered those years which followed his father’s death when poverty loomed over himself and his family. His two brothers had died when they were young; but he and his little sisters, Frances and Dorothy, had often wondered what would become of them.

Then fortune had changed. The King saw fit to restore his estates; and, more than that, took a special interest in one whose father he believed had been treated badly by Queen Elizabeth. Not only had his estates been restored to him, but he was given a wife—a young lady of rank and outstanding charm.

He could not wait to see her again, and as he drew nearer to London he gave himself up to pleasant imaginings of their reunion.

In an ante-room in the Palace of Whitehall Robert Devereux waited.

He had seen Frances’s father, the Earl of Suffolk, who had sent for her.

“I’ll swear,” said the Earl, “that you would prefer to be alone together.”

Robert admitted that this was so, and at any moment now she would appear.

Then she was there—framed in the doorway—certainly the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, dressed in becoming blue, her golden curls loose about her shoulders.

“Frances!” he cried and went to her so quickly that he had not time to notice the sullen set of her lips.

He took her hands in his; then he dropped them that he might cup her face in his hands; he kissed her lips. Hers were very unresponsive.

Dear pure child, he thought, momentarily exultant, but almost immediately he asked himself whether she was as glad to see him as he was to see her.

“I am home at last.”

“So it seems, my lord.”

“Oh, Frances, how you have grown! Why, when I went away you were only a child. Are you pleased to see me? I have been longing for this day. Do not think that, although I have been away from you, I have not thought of you constantly. Have you thought of me?”

“I have thought of you,” said Frances; and it was true; she had thought of him with growing regret and repugnance; and his presence did nothing to diminish these emotions.

“I see,” he went on, “that you are shy of me. Dear little wife, there is nothing to fear.”

She turned away from him and, with sick disappointment in his heart, he sought to cajole her.

“Why, Frances, you are young as yet and—”

She shook herself free of the arm which he had placed about her.

“Please let me alone,” she said quietly but with determination. “I don’t want you to touch me.”

“Have your parents not talked to you …?”

“I do not want to listen to my parents. I only want to be left alone.”

He stared at her blankly; then he smiled tenderly.

“Of course, this is a shock to you. You are so young. I forget how young. You did not want to leave your parents, your family … but you will grow accustomed to the idea. After all, we are married, Frances.”

The words were like the strokes of doom in her ears.

She was married; and there was no escape.

But hope came with his next words. “The last thing I want is to make you unhappy, Frances. You need time to get used to me … and the idea of marriage. Have no fear. I do not want to hurry. We have all our lives before us.”

“Thank you.” Her voice was quiet and grateful.

Time. If she had time she might think of something she could do to escape this cruel fate.

She was truly frightened; so much so that she gave way to tears.

Jennet tried to calm her; her mistress’s tears alarmed her.

“He wants me to go to the country, Jennet. The country! I shall die of melancholy. You know how I hate the country. It is better to be dead than live there. I won’t go to the country. What can I do? What can I do?”

Jennet was thoughtful; then she said quietly: “There are ways.”

“What ways? What?”

“You remember how I procured a powder for you which made you irresistible to my Lord Rochester?”

“Yes, Jennet.”

“Well, mayhap I could procure a powder which would make my Lord Essex so loathe you that he would wish to be rid of you.”

“Do it, Jennet. Do it without delay.”

“It is not as easy as that.”

“You mean it would cost money. You know I can find money. I have my jewels. I will give anything to escape from Essex.”

“You are married to him and escape will be difficult. It may well be that even if he loathes you he will still make you live as his wife. If he took you to Chartley, loathing you, you would be very little less unhappy than if he loved you.”

Frances paced up and down the apartment. Then she cried suddenly: “I will see my Robert. I will tell him of my predicament. He is the most powerful man at Court. He will know what to do.”

Robert Carr embraced her with tenderness. His emotions were more engaged than he had believed possible. Frances’s vitality was incomparable; she was a passionate mistress; and he would be really sorry to lose her.

On this day she was clearly disturbed.

“Oh, Robert,” she cried, “you must know what has happened to me. I am desolate. But I know that you will save me. You are all powerful. No one would dare disobey you.”

“Do be calm,” he implored, “and tell me all about it.”

“My husband is home and he wants to take me away from Court … to the country.”

“But it is natural that he should.”

“Natural!” she stormed. “Why should he not stay at Court? Why should he want to bury me in the country … even if he does himself?”

“It is usual for wives to live with their husbands.”

“Robert, you can stand there so calmly … !”

“My dear Frances, ours has been a charming friendship.”

“A charming friendship! Is that all it is to you?”

“How I wish it could be more. But you are not free.”

She threw herself against him; she gripped his arms and stared into his face. “Robert, if I were free, would you marry me?”

“My dearest Frances, you are not free.”

She stamped her foot. “If I were, I said. If I were.”

“Ah, if they had not married you to Essex, how different everything would be.”

“Then you would marry me?”

Marry a daughter of the Howard family, one of the first in the country—rich, influential? Certainly he would. He had hesitated over Anne Clifford; but he would not over Frances Howard.

“Of course I would marry you,” he said truthfully.

“My dearest. My love!” she cried in ecstasy.

“You have forgotten something, my dear. You are not free to marry, having already a husband.”

“I shall never forget what you have just said, Robert. Never.”

“I shall always remember you.”

“You talk as though we are saying goodbye.”

A look of pained surprise crossed his handsome face. “Alas, but we are,” he said.

“Robert, I shall never say goodbye to you. I shall never give up hope. You can prevent my going to the country. You can ask the King to command that we stay here.”

He raised his eyebrows. “That would be most unwise.”

“Unwise! What has wisdom to do with love like ours.”

“Ah,” he sighed. “You are right. We have been unwise. And I fear the consequences if you remained at Court. What when your husband discovered that we were lovers?”

“Let him discover.”

Robert moved away from her. She was being rather ridiculous. While James had no objection to a love affair he would not be pleased by scandal. James disliked the sort of scandal that could easily arise if Essex discovered he had been forestalled. It could do endless harm. No, the affair was over. He was regretful, but he knew he would grow less so as the days passed. She had been a charming mistress and he had been far from indifferent. In fact, he could sincerely say that he had never cared for a woman as he had cared for her; but that did not imply that he was the victim of a grand passion.

Frances was staring at him in horror. She had sensed the shallowness of his feelings compared with her own, and she was desolate.

He was ready to say goodbye. Perhaps he was eager to do so. He did not want trouble with Essex.

It was early next morning when two soberly dressed women, both wearing hoods pulled well over their faces, rode along the river bank toward the village of Hammersmith.

Jennet had said: “It will be well for us to avoid the crowded streets which can be noisy.”

“I would not wish to be recognized,” her mistress agreed.

“My lady, are you sure—”

“That I want to come? Of course I want to come, you fool. Did we not decide that it was the only way?”

“Very well, my lady, but if we should be caught …”

“Oh, have done! I will take the blame. I will say that I forced you to take me. Indeed, how could it be otherwise? You could not force me to come, could you?”

Jennet appeared to be satisfied with that.

Her mistress would know how to take care of them both; perhaps she need not have worried about any evil that might have befallen them in the streets of London. Yet she had shivered to think of Lady Frances riding through the streets of the City, which were used by pick-pockets and prostitutes, or lewd men out for adventure. She saw that a curl had escaped from her mistress’s hood, and in any case a quick glance would give some idea of the beauty which there had been an attempt to hide.