“Yes, yes,” put in Suffolk, “providing they’ll grant the divorce. You know how the lawyers like to peck and sniff.”
“Nonsense, man. They’ll do what the King expects them to. Robert assures me that James is taking the matter up himself.”
“What bothers me,” said Lady Suffolk, “is this accusation of impotence. Why Essex was demanding that she live with him when they were at Chartley, and she was locking her door against him. He has pleaded with us ever since to exercise out parental rights to make her share his bed. And you call this impotence!”
“Frances does, it seems,” said Northampton with a sly chuckle.
“Essex might have difficulty in proving otherwise when a girl like Frances is ready to swear to it!”
Lady Suffolk burst into coarse laughter. “Surely it wouldn’t be an impossibility for Essex to prove his potency.”
“You fret over details. Let the King show his eagerness for the divorce and if Essex is a wise man he’ll not interfere. After all, his great desire is to get back to the country. Give him a divorce and a new wife who is ready to live the life he wants her to, and he’ll be amenable.”
“I’m not so sure,” said Suffolk.
“Come, come,” interrupted Northampton. “You meet troubles halfway. Carr is the most influential man in this country. James scarcely ever makes an appointment without consulting him. Think what this marriage is going to mean to the Howards. All the important posts in the country can fall into our hands. You have reason to rejoice that you produced your daughter Frances.”
“I am thirsty,” said the Countess. “Let us drink to the marriage of Robert Carr and Frances Howard.”
A messenger from Hammersmith arrived at the Court; he asked to see the Countess of Essex without delay.
Frances, in a state of bemused joy since Carr had suggested the divorce, and her family had taken up the idea with such enthusiasm, took the note to her apartment and read it twice before she realized the urgency behind the words.
It was from Mrs. Turner, who asked that she come to Hammersmith without delay. It was imperative that they meet for Mrs. Turner had discovered something too secret to put to paper.
At the first opportunity Frances accompanied by Jennet rode over to Hammersmith.
Anne Turner was waiting for her, and Frances saw at once that she was distraught.
“I had to see you,” said Anne, and her hands trembled as she embraced Frances. “A terrible thing has happened.”
“Pray tell me quickly.”
“Do you remember Mary Woods … but of course you don’t. She was one of several. You gave her a ring set with diamonds and she promised in return to give you certain powders.”
“I do not need the powders now that I am to divorce Essex. I no longer care what happens to him.”
“But listen, my sweet friend. Mary Woods has been arrested and a diamond ring found on her person. When she was questioned she said it was given her by a great lady in an effort to persuade her to supply poison, that the lady might rid herself of her husband.”
“She mentioned names?”
Anne nodded anxiously.
“But this is terrible. She said that I—”
“She said the ring had been given her by the Countess of Essex.”
“Where did she say this?”
“In a court in the county of Suffolk where she was brought before the justices.”
Frances covered her face with her hands. It could not be—not now that she was going to be divorced from Essex, not now that Robert was eager to marry her and they would settle down together and live happily and openly for the rest of their lives.
“Oh, Anne,” she moaned, “what shall I do? There will be such a scandal.”
Anne took her hands and held them firmly.
“There must not be a scandal,” she said.
“How prevent it.”
“You have influential friends.”
“Robert! Tell Robert that I have met such people! He would be horrified. He wouldn’t love me anymore. There would be no need for a divorce for he would not want to marry me.”
“I was thinking of your great-uncle. He wants the marriage. He is the Lord Privy Seal. I’ll swear that he could put an end to proceedings in a small Suffolk Court if he wished.”
Frances looked at her friend with wide, frightened eyes.
“You should lose no time,” advised Anne. “For if this case went too far, even the Lord Privy Seal might not be able to stop its becoming known throughout the country.”
Northampton looked sternly at his frantic great-niece.
“So you gave the woman the ring?”
“Yes, I gave it to her.”
“In exchange for a powder?”
“No, that she should procure the powder.”
“Did you know the woman was a witch?”
“I know nothing of her except that I was told she could find me this powder.”
Northampton was seeing his kinswoman afresh. Good God, he thought, there is nothing she would stop at. She had been trying to poison Essex!
Well, he knew what it meant to have an ambition and see others in the way of it. It was because she was young, so beautiful a woman that he was shocked.
She would never forget that she was a Howard; she would work for the family when she was married to Carr. And marry Carr she must; for now the project was as important to him as it was delightful to her.
“Leave this to me,” he said. “The case must go no further. Let us hope it has not gone too far.”
He did not wait to say more; he must send orders at once to Suffolk. It was only a matter of time. If the message reached the Court before sentence was pronounced he could rely on everyone concerned carrying out his wishes.
The woman must be freed and sent away. An eye could be kept on her and a witch-finder sent to incriminate her later, for she was undoubtedly a witch. But this ring which she had said was a gift from the Countess of Essex must be forgotten.
That was an anxious time, but eventually Northampton was able to send for his niece and told her that the affair had been hushed up. The woman’s case had been dismissed and she had gone off with the ring.
“Let us hope, niece,” he said grimly, “that you have not committed more acts of folly which will come home to roost.”
Frances was uneasy for a few days; but she could not persist in that state.
She was too happy; all impatience to finish with Essex, all eager desire for marriage with Robert Carr.
Overbury could not believe it. When he had been told the news he had laughed at it.
“Nonsense,” he had said, “Court gossip, nothing more. Essex impotent! Look at him! That young man is as normal as any wife could wish.”
“Not as normal as the Countess of Essex wished, evidently” was the rejoinder.
Overbury went to his apartment which adjoined that of Robert Carr.
If it were indeed true, and he feared it was, there could be one reason for it. The Countess of Essex hoped to marry Robert Carr.
If that should ever come about it would be the end of the friendship between Robert Carr and Tom Overbury, for he, Overbury, would never endure her insolence. He thought of all those occasions when he had criticized her to Robert and how his friend had shrugged aside his insinuations.
Robert was so guileless: he did not see behind that mask of beauty. Overbury was ready to grant the lady her attractions; he was ready to admit that she might well be reckoned the most beautiful woman at Court. But he saw beyond the beauty. He saw wantonness, lust, ambition, selfishness and cruelty.
Robert must be made to understand what sort of woman this was and that if he wished to retain his high position he must not marry her.
In the heat of rage against the Countess and anger at the folly of his friend he waylaid the latter on his way from the King’s apartments and said he must speak to him without delay.
“What has happened to you, Tom?” asked Robert. “You look distraught.”
“I have just heard some disquieting news which I want you to tell me is false.”
“Oh? What is that?”
“That the Countess of Essex is planning to divorce her husband on the grounds of impotence.”
A cautious look had come over Robert’s face. “I believe that to be true.”
“The Countess’s motives are clear.”
“To you?”
“Yes, and to anyone else who knows what has been going on during the last months.”
“You are over-excited, Tom.”
“Of course I’m over-excited. I see you on the brink of ruin. Isn’t that enough to excite me?”
“You’ve been drinking too much.”
“I am quite sober, Robert. Do you realize that that woman is dangerous?”
Robert shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t want to discuss her with you, Tom. I have told you that before.”
“You’re going to discuss her with me, Robert,”
“You forget your position.”
“Nay, I forget nothing. I am the one who wrote the letters, do you remember? I am the one who wrote the poems. I know what has been taking place between you two all the time you have been professing friendship with Essex.”
Robert flushed angrily; it was a point on which he was very vulnerable. He had never been able to dismiss the thought of Essex from his mind even at the peak of satisfaction; and he was so happy now that Frances had explained about the fellow’s impotence because that changed everything. He could not feel the same shame at making love to a man’s wife when that man was incapable of doing so. And when the divorce had gone through and they were married, they would be quite respectable. That was what he was looking forward to and Tom was spoiling it. He wished he had never allowed Tom to write those letters. Tom knew too much.
“Essex is impotent,” began Robert.
“That’s the tale she tells. Why, at Chartley she had to lock her door to keep him out. Ask Wilson.”
“Who is Wilson?”
“Not high and mighty enough for the noble lord’s acquaintance, of course. Wilson is a scholar and a gentleman who serves Essex and is his friend.”
“I am glad he has such a friend.”
“Having robbed him of his wife you wish him to have some small comfort I see. Generous of you, Robert.”
“Don’t let us quarrel about this, Tom.”
“Quarrel. Robert, you are bemused by that woman. You cannot see clearly. You cannot think. I tell you this: if you marry her she will be your ruin. I am as certain of it as I ever was of anything in my life.”
“You have taken a dislike to her. It is not the first time you have sought to turn me against her.”
“It’s not the last time either. Robert, I shall not rest until I have made you see what a noose you are putting your head in. There is something evil about that woman. I do not know what, but it is there. I swear on my solemn oath that I shall work with all my might to stop this marriage. I hope to God the divorce is never granted.”
Robert’s habitual calm broke and he showed his anger.
“You presume too much, Overbury,” he said. “You forget that you would not be in the position you are today, did you not enjoy my favor. You have told me much. Now let me tell you something: if you continue in this way you will no longer enjoy that favor.”
“What? Would you write your own letters? I do not think they would be much admired. And forget not this: You have helped me, but consider how I have helped you. Consider too what I know about you and the lady. I wonder what the King will say when all the Court is laughing at the manner in which Robert Carr, Viscount Rochester, has stolen away from His Majesty’s side whenever possible to satisfy his lust with that wanton who now asks us to believe that the husband, who had been clamoring to live a normal life with her, was impotent all the time. I know too much, Robert Carr. Go and tell the lady that. She’ll understand, perhaps more than you do.”
Robert strode from the room.
He went straight to Frances and told her all that Overbury had said.
She listened, her eyes narrowed, her mind busy. There was so much truth in what the odious creature had said; Robert might not realize it, but there was much he could do to harm them. What if he began to pry into her activities. That affair of Mary Woods had been a great shock to her.
She realized that she would never feel really safe while Thomas Overbury was free to ferret into her past, while he seemed to delight in defaming her character.
There was one weapon which Overbury had used with success all his life: his pen. He now decided to use it. He was certain that it would be the end of the career he had planned for himself if Carr should marry the Countess of Essex. The woman hated him and would seek to destroy him. Moreover, he believed that, since she was an associate of Anne Turner, she was in touch with men such as the late Dr. Forman. He had heard from Wilson, whose acquaintance he had cultivated, of mysterious powders discovered among the clothes of the Countess’s husband. It was possible that the Countess in her ruthless way had made other enemies besides Overbury. There had been a strange allegation from a woman in a Suffolk court. Overbury could see that marriage to the Countess might easily ruin Robert Carr. Perhaps the young simpleton did not realize how easy it was for those who had been at the very peak of success to fall into obscurity—or even worse. In the case of Carr his triumphs did not even rest on his own mental ability. A handsome face, a charming manner and an easy-going nature were the assets which had carried him where he was—with Overbury’s help.
No, thought Overbury, I am not to be thrust aside by Madam Countess. I am far more important in this affair than they seem to realize.
Since he had whispered the secret of his relationship with Robert Carr to his friends at the Mermaid Club, they had treated him with even greater respect than they had given him for his writing talent. He had heard it said again and again in his hearing that he was the real ruler of England.
Was he going to stand aside, therefore, and watch this disaster take place?
Certainly he was not. So he took up his pen. He wrote with fire and venom and the verses he produced were called “The Wife.”
These were aimed at the Countess of Essex, and anyone with a slight knowledge of her background and history would know this.
These verses were circulated, not only at the Mermaid Club but throughout the Court.
When Frances read the verses she was furious. Soon he might be openly talking of her. He was a clever man; he had shown that he had already begun to ferret into her past, and there was too much that was unsavory to be discovered there.
She had little to fear from Essex. While they were at Court he had discovered that his wife was conducting a love affair with Carr, and at last understood that her repulsion to living as his wife had nothing to do with her innocence; it was simply that she wished to be the mistress of another man. He had learned too that the Prince of Wales had been her lover, and it was no innocent virgin whom he had taken to Chartley.
