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

Monson nodded.

“And my lord Rochester feared for him, because he was making enemies.”

Monson again nodded.

“Therefore, for his own good, this seemed a painful necessity. But I do assure you that it is one which troubles my lord Rochester as much as it does his one-time servant.”

“My lord Rochester is known to be of a kind and generous nature.”

“It is true that he has the kindest and most generous nature in the world. That is why he is so concerned for his friend. He wants to assure himself that he is well cared for, and to send him a servant who, we can assure ourselves, will look after his comforts while he is in the doleful prison.”

“An excellent thought.”

“A man of your sensibilities will grasp the fact that my lord Rochester does not wish Overbury to know that it is he who is sending the servant. If he did he would understand that this imprisonment is … not to be taken seriously. You understand me?”

“Yes, Lady Essex.”

“We should be grateful to you if you would write to Sir Gervase Helwys and tell him a man named Richard Weston will come and wait personally on Sir Thomas Overbury. You might mention … not in your letter … but perhaps hint it … that it is the wish of my lord Rochester that this Richard Weston should be allowed to wait on Sir Thomas Overbury. Would you do that … for us?”

Would he? He would do everything in his power for the sake of pleasing the most important man at Court.

He said: “Lady Essex, you may rely on me to serve you with all my heart.”

“I knew it,” she replied, smiling sweetly. “I told my lord Rochester that this matter could safely be left in your hands.”

Now that Richard Weston was established in the Tower as servant to Sir Thomas Overbury, Frances was eager to get to work, and Anne Turner arranged a meeting with Dr. Franklin.

There was no longer any subterfuge, and Frances clearly stated her desires.

“What we need,” she said, “is a poison which will not instantly kill. It must be a slow process so that it seems that the man is dying of some wasting disease. Then no one will be surprised when in a month or so—I think it should be as long as that—he dies.”

“I believe aquafortis to be effective,” said Anne Turner.

Franklin shook his head. “It would work quickly,” he explained, “and since the plan is that he should appear to be suffering from a wasting sickness, it would be useless.”

“I have heard of white arsenic—” began Frances.

But again Franklin shook his head. “That would have a similar effect to aquafortis . It might be apparent that his sickness was the result of something he had eaten. We must avoid that at all costs. There is powder of diamonds … which is most costly.”

Frances shook herself impatiently. Why would they keep talking of the cost! Had she not told them that money was of little account, as long as they gave her what she wanted.

“Then get some.”

“My lady. I am not exactly a poor man for my practice is a good one, but I have not the capital to make experiments with such materials.”

Frances immediately took out a purse which she had brought with her and gave to him. “Buy the powder of diamonds and see if it can be of use, and above all do it quickly.”

“I am at your ladyship’s service,” Franklin declared.

And Frances left Hammersmith in better spirits.

When Franklin had his concoction ready the problem was how to get it into the Tower to Weston without arousing suspicion. It was Anne Turner who remembered that Weston had a son, Willie, who might be useful to them. Willie was an apprentice to a haberdasher who was patronized by Court ladies and Frances herself bought fans and feathers from him. Willie could pass information to the Countess when she called at the haberdashers; he could also visit his father in the Tower without attracting a great deal of attention, for what was more natural than that a son should visit his father?

So to the haberdashers went Anne Turner, taking with her a small bottle, the contents of which were to be put into Overbury’s food in order to start him on that mysterious illness which in a month or so would prove fatal.

Willie performed his duty with efficiency and reported to Anne that the bottle had been given to his father when they were alone and that his father knew what was expected of him.

Richard Weston felt very honored to have been selected for this post. He was a humble man but good fortune had come his way at last. Since he had been in the Tower he had begun to dream of power and riches. He did not see why, when he had finished this task, he should not have his own establishment. Why should he not be another Dr. Franklin or Forman? To think of the money they had made filled him with a tingling excitement. There was power too in guarding the secrets of the great. And here was he, being of use to the Countess of Essex, a very grand lady, and a member of the Howard family. He had never seen anyone pay so handsomely for a man’s services.

Certainly he was coming on in the world, since he was now involved in a plot which concerned people in high places, people who were ready to pay for what was done for them. What would be riches to him, was nothing to them. His fortune was made because when this man Overbury was out of the way some very influential people were going to be grateful to Richard Weston.

He took the little bottle and looked at it. It seemed harmless enough, and all he had to do was to slip it into the broth when he took in the supper.

He had heard a rumor that the Countess was going to divorce her husband and marry Viscount Rochester. Rochester! There was no end to the good that would come to Richard Weston. What if he were offered a post at Court. Why not? Rochester would be grateful to him.

It was quite dazzling when one considered the important people who were in this plot with him—Rochester, the Countess, and the Lieutenant of the Tower Sir Gervase Helwys.

He went to the kitchens for Overbury’s supper and when he emerged set down the bowl and took the bottle from his pocket.

He was studying it, wondering whether to put it in at once, when he heard a step behind him and saw that Sir Gervase Helwys was coming toward him. For a moment he had been startled but was immediately reassured because it was Sir Gervase who had allowed him to come here and he himself had been given his post by the wish of the Countess and her great-uncle; therefore they were fellow conspirators.

Weston said: “Sir, I was wondering whether to put it straight into the broth now, or to wait until the last minute.”

“What is this?” asked Sir Gervase and took the bottle from Weston.

“Well, sir, it’s the mixture that has to be put into the broth.”

Sir Gervase turned pale. He was horrified at what he had discovered. He had been given the post to intercept Overbury’s letters, not to allow him to be poisoned.

He said: “I will take this bottle. Give Sir Thomas Overbury his supper and then come to my apartments immediately.”

Weston was trembling so violently that the broth was slopping over the sides of the basin. Sir Gervase had turned and walked away, while Weston, in a growing panic, took the prisoner his supper, cursing himself for throwing away the greatest opportunity of his life.

Sir Gervase looked at the wretched man and said: “You had better tell me who gave you this bottle.”

Weston’s shifty eyes were panic-stricken. He was not going to incriminate his son.

“It was sent in to me … with instructions to put it into the broth, sir.”

Sir Gervase looked at the cringing man, but he was not thinking of him. He was remembering his interview with the Earl of Northampton when he had been told what was expected of him.

“This man Overbury,” Northampton had said, “because of his position with my lord Rochester, will be aware of certain state secrets which, should they fall into the hands of our enemies, could harm our country. It is for this reason that I wish you to pass on all his correspondence to me.”

Sir Gervase had agreed to do this; he was grateful to his benefactor; it was not every man who was selected by the important Howards to work for them. He knew that it was because of this particular prisoner in the Tower that Waad had been dismissed and he been given the post. He had congratulated himself that he had been chosen because of the delicate nature of the task. He was there to prevent the leakage of state secrets, but murder was another matter.

It was a terrible realization for an ambitious man to make. Waad had been dismissed through the influence of the Howards; what would their reactions be if they knew that he was refusing to work for them?

They wanted to be rid of Overbury. They wanted him to be murdered in the Tower. Sir Gervase was a man who was ready to do a great deal to rise in the world—but murder was something he had never considered.

And here was this man Weston, the tool of the great, standing shivering before him, caught in the act. Monson had recommended him and had hinted that it was the wish of Rochester that the fellow should become Overbury’s jailer. Rochester wanted to assure himself that his one-time friend was comfortable.

Comfortable seemed a sinister word.

And here was Sir Gervase—that ambitious man—who saw the road to glory laying straight ahead of him confronted by a gate on which was written Murder.

He must have time to consider. But there was no time. What he did in the next few minutes could be of the utmost importance to his career.

He heard himself saying: “You know there was poison in that bottle?”

“Why yes, sir,” stammered Weston.

“And you were prepared to administer it!”

“Well, sir, ’twas orders like …”

Orders! The question came to the Lieutenant’s lips: Whose orders? He stopped himself asking it in time. If the man answered that one, what could Sir Gervase do about it?

He must be subtle; he must act with the utmost caution.

“You were about to commit a great sin.” That was it. Words flowed from him. It was not for ordinary men to take life at a whim. What Weston had contemplated doing was an evil thing…. And so on. For five minutes he talked while Weston threw himself on his knees, scarcely listening, seeing himself carried away to a dungeon—one of the noisome underground dungeons where persons of no consequence were sent. This was the end of the good life he had planned for himself—and all because of one stupid mistake.

But to imprison Weston was something Sir Gervase could not do. Had he not been put in his place by Monson at the request of my lord Rochester? Now, there was only one thing a wise man could do in these circumstances, and that was to turn a blind eye on what was going on in the cell of Sir Thomas Overbury.

He would have no part in the murder; neither to assist it nor to prevent it.

He took the bottle of poison and opening his window, threw out the contents.

He turned to Weston. “I see that you are a simple man,” he said, “and I trust my words have had some effect on you. Have I brought you some understanding of the evil nature of your conduct?”