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

Overbury was writing at his table when he heard the tramp of feet outside his door.

He looked up surprised when the door was flung open and he saw the guards there.

“Sir Thomas Overbury,” said the leader. “I come on the King’s command to arrest you.”

Overbury was on his feet spluttering his indignation. “On what charge?”

“Contempt of the King’s royal person” was the answer.

“I protest. You cannot do this. Call Viscount Rochester.”

The answer was to show the warrant for his arrest.

There was nothing to be done. He could only follow them, out of the palace, down to the waiting barge.

Along the river they went to the grim gray fortress.

Overbury’s heart was heavy with foreboding as he entered the precincts of the Tower of London.

“Overbury is in the Tower!”

The news spread through the Court.

And could not Rochester save him? Did this mean that Rochester was losing his place? Who would step into his shoes?

Robert was dismayed. It had happened so quickly. He wished that he could have saved Overbury from that. It seemed strange because it was exactly what Northampton had wanted to happen. But it was disconcerting to think of poor old Tom in a cell.

He would speak to the King. James had surely acted in a moment of anger, for Tom was too arrogant; he did have too high an opinion of his importance; he really should have taken the post in the Low Countries. He could have come home after a reasonable time.

Robert would have spoken to the King but Northampton who made a point of seeing him at once, advised him not to.

“Why, Robert,” he said, “this is the best thing that could have happened. Let him cool his heels against a stout stone wall for a while. It’ll do him good. We’ll go ahead with the divorce and when that little matter is done with, Tom Overbury shall come from prison, a wiser man, I’ll promise you.”

Robert could see the reason in that; so he did not speak to the King of Sir Thomas Overbury.

Frances called on Anne Turner at Hammersmith. She looked radiantly beautiful as she embraced her friend.

“Good news, Anne,” she cried. “Overbury is exactly where we wanted him to be. In the Tower.”

Anne clapped her hands with pleasure. “That’s the best news I’ve heard for a long time.”

“And not before it was necessary,” went on Frances. “The man was becoming a menace, I can tell you.”

“That scum of men!”

“Yes, he was determined to make trouble. He had his spies. He was ready to malign me. Anything to turn Robert from me. And that is something I should not endure.”

“I should think not—after all you have done to win his love and keep it!”

Frances sighed. “I must have more charms, for he is ready to be deterred at the slightest trouble.”

“My poor sweet lady! What trials are yours! Yes, you must continue to hold him.”

“I fear that Robert may visit him there. I fear that he may bring about his release. I also fear what he has discovered. I suspect him of bribing the secrets from people who are willing to sell them. He could stop the divorce. He intends to. Why, if he brought to the King’s notice—”

Anne shivered. “He must be prevented.”

“The King hates and fears witchcraft.”

Anne nodded.

“If he thought that I—”

“My sweet lady, you are over-wrought. He shall never know.”

“How can we be sure?”

“By keeping Overbury in the Tower until he dies.”

“Until he dies,” repeated Frances.

She was staring with wide eyes at her friend. She had made up her mind then. Overbury must not leave the Tower alive.

MURDER IN THE TOWER

T he Earl of Essex was astonished—not that his wife desired a divorce, but by the reason she gave for wanting it. She accused him of impotence! He was angry. How dared she make such a statement when she had never given him an opportunity of proving whether he was or not!

If there was any justice in the land she would soon be discovered to be a liar.

Arthur Wilson, who had become his confidant, was not displeased by the news. He believed that he had, by his vigilance, prevented the Earl’s being poisoned at his wife’s order. If Essex were divorced—no matter by what means—he would escape forever from the evil influence of that woman; he could marry and live a normal life, and that, Wilson believed, would be a very desirable state of affairs.

“My lord,” he said, “consider this: To be free of the Countess would be the best thing that could happen to you.”

“You are right.”

“Well then, if you stand in the way of this divorce, you will be bound to her for the rest of your life; and while this is so, I am convinced that you are in danger.”

Essex said: “You have heard the complaint against me?”

Wilson shrugged his shoulders. “When you are free of her, when you marry again, your children will prove the woman a liar. It will be too late then for them to act upon the discovery. You will be free from her.”

“It would be a great relief to know that I was no longer bound to her.”

“To us both, my lord. I should not have to keep watch for some evil she might do you.”

The Earl laid his hand on Wilson’s shoulder. “I owe you much, my friend,” he said.

“There is no talk of owing, my lord. I give my services for what they are, with all my heart and strength; and in return—but there is no need for returns—I have your friendship. So if there must be talk of payments between friends, we have each given and each taken.”

“God bless you, Wilson.”

“And, my lord, you will not stand in the way of this divorce?”

“I long for my freedom even as you long for me to have it. I shall have to answer questions, doubtless, and must tell the truth; but I shall let all know that I am as eager to sever the bond as she is.”

“Then, my lord, for the first time I shall hope and pray that the Countess succeeds in what she is endeavoring to do.”

The King summoned the Archbishop of Canterbury, a man for whom he had a great admiration.

George Abbot had risen to the highest post in the Church by his great ability, a fact which endeared him to James. He had sprung from humble beginnings, being the son of a cloth worker of Guildford, and had been born in a small cottage. But from the first his brilliance had been apparent although it was commonplace in this family, for George had two brothers, both extremely clever, and destined to make their way in the world; but even in such a family George was able to shine.

He had gone to Oxford, taken Holy Orders and very quickly displayed his extraordinary gifts; and in spite of his lack of family background, over the years he began steadily to rise in his profession until he attained the Bishopric of London.

Brought up in a strictly Puritan manner he had always clung firmly to his principles; James appreciated his integrity and it was his ability to discuss theology which had attracted the King’s interest.

When the Archbishopric of Canterbury had fallen vacant, Abbot was more surprised than any that James should have bestowed it on him, although he had supporters in Salisbury, who was then the Lord High Treasurer, and the Lord Chancellor Ellesmore, as well as a rising statesman named Sir Ralph Winwood. It was natural that he should have his enemies also, and these were those who were the secret friends of Spain, led by the Earl of Northampton.

As soon as the Archbishop had arrived at Whitehall James explained to him why he had summoned him.

“My lord Archbishop,” he said, “the Countess of Essex is seeking to divorce her husband.”

Abbot’s mouth tightened; as a Puritan he did not approve of divorce.

“It is a special case,” went on James. “It seems the Earl is impotent.”

“Your Majesty, I feel bound to express my abhorrence of divorce.”

James waved a hand. “We all share that abhorrence,” he said quickly. “But there are times when it is necessary to undertake unpleasant tasks. I wish you to judge the matter and see that the Countess is freed from a union which can find no favor in the eyes of God who commands us to be fruitful and replenish the Earth.”

“Your Majesty …”

“I explained that the Earl is impotent and how can the Countess obey that divine command if her husband is incapable of the act?”

“Your Majesty is commanding me—”

“To look into the matter and grant the divorce.”

“Your Majesty, if I am to be judge of such a matter, I beg that other bishops may be summoned to help me.”

James considered this.

It would mean a little delay before Robbie got his wish, but it would be interesting to see the Bishops wrangling together. He would make it understood what their verdict should be, for Robbie must not be disappointed; but it was a fair enough request and one must always be fair.

“Well, whom do you suggest?”

Abbot thought quickly. “The Bishops of London, Ely and Lichfield I think, and perhaps others.”

James nodded. Yes, it would be amusing to hear them arguing together. Abbot would be a stumbling block, for even though the King made his wishes known he would not go against his beliefs. He was that sort of man. James’s ancestor Henry VIII might have had him sent to the Tower, but not James. James had to respect a man’s principles—particularly if he had the powers to express them.

He chuckled. He was going to look forward to the arguments; but at the same time he was determined that Robbie was not to be cheated of his wish.

“Go to,” he said. “Form your Commission. And let there be no delay, for I am eager to see this unsavory matter settled.”

Frances was disturbed by nightmares; but they were not merely dreams; they had their roots in fact and sometimes she would start out of her sleep remembering some dream, only to realize that the evil of her dream could, by ill chance, in fact overtake her.

One morning she woke, sweating with fear. Overbury was in the Tower but he was a man who had lived by his pen; he would still be able to use it; and she had dreamed that he had done so against her, with dire results.

Overbury must not be allowed to live; but his death must seem a natural one. He must not suddenly die; his health must be noticed gradually to deteriorate. In the meantime he must be stopped from writing letters to those who could use them against her. She already knew that the Archbishop of Canterbury had been put in charge of the Commission and she was well aware of that old Puritan’s views.

They could not afford to take chances.

She went at once to her great-uncle, with whom she was spending more time than she ever had before; over this matter of the divorce they had become fellow conspirators.

“Uncle,” she said, “we must make sure that any letters Overybury writes shall not reach those for whom they’re intended until they have passed through our hands.”