Jean Plaidy - The Murder in the Tower: The Story of Frances, Countess of Essex Страница 10

But it shall not be so, she promised herself.

She plucked at his sleeve. He turned his smile on her, that facile smile which meant so little.

“My lord, I am afraid I am a dull neighbor. You must forgive me. I have not been long at Court.”

“I can see that you are very young.”

“Perhaps I am older than I seem. I have lived long in the country.”

“Is that so?” He was smiling at the man across the table who was doing his best to attract his attention. He did not care how old she was or whether she had lived in town or country. She meant nothing to him. He was unmoved by the beauty which had been irresistible to the Prince of Wales, and as soon as he left this supper table he would have forgotten her.

He shall notice me, she vowed.

The violence of her feelings often amazed her. With an impulsive gesture she knocked over a goblet of wine. His puffed, slashed breeches were marked by the wine, and for a moment she had his full attention as she caught the goblet and lifted eyes, wide and frightened, to his. Surely he must now notice how beautiful those eyes were; who else at Court had such long lashes? He must notice. He must.

He did for a moment. He flicked his breeches with a careless hand.

“It is of no moment,” he said gently. “You must not distress yourself.”

“But I fear I have made you angry.”

“Do I seem so?”

“No, but I understand you to be kind. My great-uncle is glaring at me. He will take me to task for this.”

Robert Carr smiled. “I will be your advocate,” he said.

“Oh, thank you.” She touched his hand and lowered those magnificent eyes so that now he could see their fringed lids. “But I have ruined your clothes.” A pretty white hand touched his thigh.

He patted the hand and for a second kept his over hers.

In that moment, she told herself afterward, the importance of this occasion became known to her, for Frances Howard, Countess of Essex, had fallen irrevocably in love with Robert Carr, Viscount Rochester, and first favorite of the King.

Frances was in despair.

She had seen him on several occasions since, and on all these he had smiled at her somewhat vaguely as though he were trying to remember where he had seen her before.

What could she do? It was not easy to meet Viscount Rochester. Every day men and women waited outside his apartments in the hope of seeing him. He was often with the King, and unapproachable.

She felt listless when she was with the Prince of Wales, and constantly she compared him with Robert Carr. The Prince was a boy, a boy who always seemed a little ashamed when they made love. That was not the way to be a good lover. How different Robert Carr would be if he were in love with her.

If he were in love! But he was not very interested in women. Perhaps he dared not be, for fear of offending the King. At times she knew she was foolish to have set her heart on such a man; but because he was unattainable he seemed all the more desirable.

Jennet quickly learned the state of affairs.

“My lady could try a love potion,” she suggested.

“How could I give him a love potion?”

“There are potions a lady can drink which will make her irresistible to any man.”

“Is it indeed true?”

“We could put it to the test, my lady. Give me leave to visit a friend of mine. I will tell her what is wanted and we will see what happens.”

“Do you really know such a woman?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Where is she?”

“She lives at Hammersmith. Give me leave to visit her and I will put your case before her, without mentioning names of course.”

“There can be no harm in it.”

“Only good, if my friend can make my lady irresistible to a certain gentleman.”

“Go then and try.”

“It will cost money.”

“How much?”

“I must ask. But I think it will cost much money, as you would expect it to, my lady, if it does its work.”

Frances clasped her hands. “I would be willing to pay … a great deal … for my lord Rochester.”

It seemed to Robert Carr that everywhere he went he saw the young Countess of Essex. He was not so indifferent to her as he had appeared to be. She was without doubt the prettiest young girl at Court and he liked her persistence. There was no doubt that she admired him, and was inviting him to be her lover.

He had made inquiries. She was, even at this time, the mistress of the Prince of Wales. How amusing to humiliate that young man. Robert did not forget that blow on the back with a racquet. If it had been anyone but the Prince of Wales he would not have let the incident pass. But he was shrewd enough to know that he must not have an open quarrel with the heir to the throne.

Yet quietly to snatch his mistress was another matter.

Why not? James did not object to his young men’s marrying or taking an occasional mistress. This girl was already married to Robert Devereux, the young Earl of Essex. There could be no harm in a little dalliance. And how furious the Prince would be!

Next time he met her—he would not go out of his way—he would pause and talk to her; he would convey to her that he was not indifferent. It would be amusing to see how far she would go. He had no doubt that she was ripe for immediate seduction.

Frances was jubilant. Everything she wanted would be hers, she was sure of it, because the potion had worked. She had paid highly for it, but it was worth every penny. She had drunk the rather unappetizing brew, and the next time she had seen Robert Carr he had stopped to talk to her. His voice had been caressing; his eyes even more so.

So there could be no doubt that she had become irresistible to this cool young man. She went to her own chamber and embraced Jennet.

“It works!” she cried. “He has spoken to me. His looks tell me all I want to know. It will not be long now.”

Nor was it.

Robert Carr chose an occasion when the King was resting and the Prince was honoring his father’s Court with his presence.

He found himself near Frances in the dance and when their hands touched they clung.

She was ready and eager. He did not need to persuade. It was not difficult to slip away because worldly courtiers had a gift for knowing when two people wanted to be alone, and with such as Carr it was necessary always to forestall his wishes.

They were left uninterrupted for an hour in one of the ante-rooms.

That was an ecstatic hour for Frances; a very pleasant one for Carr.

And from then on Frances knew that this was the man with whom she wished to spend the rest of her life. She was alternately wild with joy, desperate with sorrow.

Why had they married her so young to Essex when she might have married Robert Carr? She knew that he had no mistress; and could have had but few. Yet to him—because of a love potion, she believed—she had become irresistible.

He was the most important man at Court. Why had she thought the Prince was? The Prince was a simple boy, unaware of true passion. She was awakened now, and afire with desire, and no one but Carr could satisfy her.

All the honors that he asked for would be his. He could have any post, any title. As his wife she would be the most powerful woman in the Court.

“Oh, God,” she cried to Jennet, “how I want to marry Robert Carr.”

There was dancing at St. James’s. Robert Carr was not there, and therefore Frances was bored and indifferent; she was longing for the evening to be over and wished that she had not come.

Henry had not sought her out, although his manner had not changed toward her. She supposed that he was going through one of his prim periods. Let him. She had no desire for him. From now on there would be one man and one man only in her life.

As she danced she dropped her glove and, seeing this, one of the courtiers picked it up.

Knowing nothing of the new state of affairs and believing that the Prince would be glad to possess his lady’s glove, and, after the prevailing custom, count it an honor to wear it, this man carried the glove to the Prince and, bowing low, offered it to him.

The dance had come to an end; the music had stopped suddenly; and all were watching this pretty little scene.

Henry looked at the glove and when he did not reach for it, there was complete silence, so that many heard the words which were spoken.

“Your Highness, my lady Essex dropped her glove.”

The Prince looked at it disdainfully and then said in a clear high voice: “I would not touch that which has been stretched by another.”

The whole Court knew then that the Prince of Wales had discovered his mistress’s infidelity; and that the love affair between them was at an end.

“I don’t care!” Frances declared blithely to Jennet. “I’m glad. I did not want him pestering me. The silly boy with his ‘I durst not.’ ‘I’d liefer not.’ And ‘This is sin.’”

What a lover! Oh, how different is my Robert.

She frowned a little. “Yet he is cool, deliberate. He is never impetuous. I always have the feeling when he fails to keep an assignation that he has forgotten we made one.”

“Perhaps,” suggested Jennet, “there is need of another potion. Perhaps now that you are on visiting terms you could ask him to sup with you. I feel sure, my lady, that a potion drunk by him would be more effective that one drunk by you.”

Frances clasped her hands together. “I wonder if that would work.”

“My lady saw the first one work.”

“Hush,” said Frances. “Someone is coming.” She took Jennet’s arm and held it so tightly that the maid winced. “Not a word of this to any … understand.”

“Of course, my lady. You know you may trust me.”

“Come in,” called Frances; and one of her women entered.

“My lady, the Earl, your father, asks that you go to him without delay. He has news for you.”

“I will come,” said Frances, dismissing the woman with a wave of her hand. Then she turned to Jennet and her face was a few shades paler as she said: “Do you think they have discovered that Robert and I—”

“They could not command my lord Rochester, my lady. It is for him to command them.”

“The King …”

“My lady, the best way to find out is to go to your father.”

The Earl and Lady Suffolk surveyed their daughter intently. It was clear to her mother that Frances was no longer a child. There had been rumors which had amused her; and although she had never bestirred herself to discover whether they were true or not, she was sure they were.

Frances was her daughter; therefore she would know how to amuse herself, and it was almost certain in what direction.

The Earl said: “My daughter, good news for you.”

“Yes, father?”

“Your position has been a difficult one. A wife yet not a wife. It has been difficult for Robert too.”

“Robert,” she said blankly, for to her there was only one Robert.

“Robert Devereux, your husband, of course, child. I have news of him which will please you. He is on his way back to London, and expects to be with you within the next few weeks. I have a letter here from him for you. He tells me that he is longing to take you home to Chartley, for now that you are both grown up he wants his wife.”

Frances felt bewildered. Horror, frustration and anger swept over her.

Helplessly she looked from her father to her mother; but she knew there was nothing they could do for her.

Now that she had discovered the one man who could satisfy her deep sensual needs, now that he was ready to be hers, this stranger was coming back from the past, to claim her as his wife, to take her away from the exciting Court to the dull country mansion, there to bury her alive.

“No!” she whispered.

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

DR. FORMAN

Riding 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.