The Poison Bed: 'Gone Girl meets The Miniaturist'

by E C Fremantle

  ‘You never know what lies ahead,’ I said.

  ‘But I thought you could tell the future.’ A young girl I’d never seen before said this. I wondered how she knew, remembering the impossibility of keeping secrets at court.

  ‘I’m no expert,’ I told her. ‘It’s just something my childhood nurse taught me.’ But glad for an excuse to deflect the attention away from my own situation I said I’d read her palm. She tentatively offered me her hand. It was fragile and trembled slightly.

  ‘I wouldn’t do that in public,’ said a po-faced woman, who was known for her sanctimony.

  ‘She’s hardly making spells,’ laughed someone in my defence.

  ‘It’s only a bit of harmless fun,’ added another, and the woman moved away, with a roll of the eyes, while the rest gathered in a tight circle to listen.

  The girl looked at me, credulous, asking, ‘Will I be wed soon?’

  It was then I became aware of Robert Carr standing in the doorway, surveying the room. He had changed in the time I’d been away, seemed instilled with a new confidence. He’d always been beautiful, with his chiselled pout and pale eyes, intense beneath the sullen, knitted brow, which gave him his beguiling anguished air. But there was something different, a kind of feral physicality that threatened to burst out from his clothes, and his gaze had taken on a cryptic edge that, when it alighted on me, made me wonder what sort of thoughts were brewing in him.

  I sensed a ripple run through my companions when they, too, noticed Carr, as if they were sending out invisible shoots to wrap about him and draw him in. He wasn’t interested in the women, though, and strode eventually to the group around the prince. I noticed a tense exchange take place between him and Henry so, once finished with the girl’s palm, I moved towards them, eager to know what it was about.

  A sudden loud clatter caused the room to turn. A page had dropped half a dozen fencing foils on to the stone floor and was on his knees recovering them. Southampton kicked one out of his reach. A few bursts of laughter came from the onlookers. The boy crawled to fetch it. ‘Good dog,’ said Southampton, kicking the foil away again. The laughter escalated and the boy looked mortified.

  ‘Leave him be.’ It was Carr who spoke, crouching to pick up the stray weapon, handing it to the boy with a few words of encouragement. The support in the room shifted and I felt my curiosity swell.

  The air was charged and nobody spoke, waiting to see how Southampton would react. He was huffy and red-faced, stamping about. Prince Henry, sensing trouble, suggested that he and Carr spar in the courtyard, leading the way out, Southampton muttering insults in their wake.

  We crowded on to the steps to watch. I found my sympathies secretly with Carr, whom I’d never so much as spoken to, rather than Henry, who was my friend. Henry was a fine fencer but Carr was by far the stronger and merciless, forcing his opponent into a corner until his dignity was in shreds. I, feeling contrite for not having supported my friend, rushed over to help unbuckle his armour, making light of the situation. But the altercation started up once more between Carr and Southampton.

  ‘He’s trouble, that one,’ said Henry. I didn’t know which of them he meant, until he said, ‘Though my father thinks he can do no wrong.’ He glowered at Carr who, in response to some whispered insult from Southampton, made a lunge. He grabbed the older man by the collar and, pressing his forehead right up close, spat out a threat, then released his grip.

  ‘What did he say?’ asked Henry. I hadn’t heard either, though the comment must have hit its mark as Southampton skulked off, visibly cowed. ‘Whatever it was Southampton won’t let that go.’

  The whole thing made me think of a pack of dogs establishing a new hierarchy. It was plain to see Carr was on the rise and keen to make clear that he wasn’t afraid to assert his power.

  Uncle arrived then to speak to Prince Henry, and Carr sidled up to me in the hiatus. ‘Will you read my fortune?’ He beamed at me and winked, I was sure he winked, pulling me to one side away from my friends. I saw Henry shoot a hostile glare our way but was more concerned with how Uncle might react, as it was he who had encouraged me to cultivate Henry. A prince in our pocket might one day serve our needs, he’d said, when he’d schooled me to befriend the boy.

  I couldn’t help but be a little thrilled by Carr’s audacity and turned away from Uncle, taking Carr’s hand, turning it palm up. ‘Do you see love?’ His slight Scots burr softened the edges of his words.

  ‘That’s what they all ask.’ I still felt Henry’s annoyance bristling at my back. I wanted to break away but Carr’s hand was warm and his eyes bored into me, making me think things I shouldn’t.

  ‘But do you?’

  ‘There’s love in everyone’s future – and death.’ I pulled myself together, refusing to be drawn into his game, adding primly: ‘I’m a married woman.’ Dropping his hand, I marched off to the relative safety of Uncle’s side.

  It crossed my mind, as I traversed the room, that I still wasn’t quite a married woman, though perhaps I soon would be. Essex had begun to impose himself on me at night with a sickening new vigour and I suspected our marriage might soon be sealed. I couldn’t let myself think about what had caused the change in him, that poor dead woman – a wasted life. I should have been pleased, for a pregnancy would mean he’d leave me alone. It would be my success. But it felt like a trap. The price had been too great.

  Soon after I arrived back at Essex House Uncle appeared. I assumed he had come to admonish me for upsetting the prince but he seemed in a surprisingly ebullient mood, dismissing my two maids and striding about the place, taking it all in.

  ‘Rather lovely here!’ he exclaimed.

  It was true. Evening sun poured through the four large, west-facing windows, pooling on the polished boards and casting the vast room in a warm glow. High above, the moulded ceiling was like the sugar work on a celebration cake, and a frieze, depicting a series of mythological scenes, ran all the way round just beneath. We stood for a moment looking out over the courtyard where the grooms were brushing down the horses and a boy was lighting lamps, which cast wavering patterns on the walls. Beyond we could see the Strand, with its constant stream of humanity, people trudging home from their work, and others, more sprightly, venturing out to explore the city at night. Children buzzed about them, begging for coins or touting themselves as guides, hoping to find a stranger foolish enough to trust them.

  Despite the mild weather, a chill set in once the sun was gone, so we moved closer to the fire. Ribbons of flame danced, making the bare-breasted marble dryads on either side of the hearth flicker with life. ‘You must be glad to be away from that gloomy old house. This place is so much more suitable.’ He sat near the fire and pulled me on to his knee. ‘And it’s within spitting distance of court, so all the better.’

  ‘I’m too old for this.’ I got up, wrenching myself out of his reach and almost knocking over the candle that burned on the small table beside him.

  He was running a hand back and forth over the carvings, caressing those marble breasts as if they were flesh. ‘You’ll break an old man’s heart.’ He grabbed my arm pulling me back towards him. I resisted but he held me tight, so my wrist was suspended a hair’s breadth from the candle flame. My skin seared but I kept my gaze steady on his cold eyes. The fine hairs on my forearm fizzled, releasing an acrid smell as the heat intensified. I clamped my inner cheek between my teeth, slowing and deepening my breath. In and out. In and out. He let go first.

  ‘What have you come for?’ I asked, stepping away. Heat still pulsed through my wrist.

  He responded with a question of his own, uttered almost under his breath. ‘Where’s Essex?’

  ‘I’ve no idea.’

  He went to the door, opened it and looked each way before returning to his seat and asking, ‘How are things in the bedroom, Frances?’

  I wondered if he took a prurient pleasure from imagining his favourite great-niece between the sheets and gave him a blunt response: ‘Still nothin
g happening there.’ Expecting his annoyance, I said, ‘But his mistress is no more, so …’ I scrutinized him for signs that he already knew about the fate of the poor woman but his face might as well have been wrought in stone ‘… it seems all of that will be resolved soon.’ I didn’t want to satisfy him by going into details.

  He looked at me strangely then. ‘I’ve had a change of heart –’ He stopped. ‘You’re sure we can’t be overheard?’

  It was I who went to the door then, listening out into the silent corridor for footfall. Forgetting our earlier tussle, I returned to draw in close, eager to know the cause of his furtiveness. ‘The King’s beginning to alienate the Essex crowd. He’s started to suspect they’d like to see him overthrown in favour of Prince Henry. Consequently, your husband and his friends are fast losing their influence.’ He gave me a hard stare. ‘I don’t think your marriage is serving us well any longer.’

  ‘But what do you mean? There’s nothing I can do about it. I’m wed to Essex, “till death us do part”.’ Despite the heat still throbbing through my wrist, I was suddenly chilled to the core. ‘You can’t want …?’ I couldn’t say it but he knew what I meant. My hands had begun to shake. I tucked them into the folds of my skirt and felt pressure on the back of my head, the cold splash into my face knocking the breath out of me. Uncle couldn’t bear a coward.

  ‘No, of course not. Don’t be silly. It may take a little time, but I think we can have your marriage undone – particularly if he hasn’t performed his duty yet.’

  ‘Undone!’ I couldn’t help my raised voice.

  He shushed me. ‘You mustn’t breathe a word of this to anyone, not your mother, not your sisters, your maids, no one, unless I sanction it.’

  A thousand thoughts were circulating my mind, and the idea of being somehow freed from my wretched husband was blowing about me, like a fresh breeze.

  ‘I want you free to wed someone who can be of more use to us.’

  I opened my palm, inspecting the familiar lines, finding, as I well knew, only a single line to indicate a single marriage at the root of my little finger. But I hadn’t noticed before that a fine yet definite crease intersected it, indicating a disruption, filling me with a sense of foreboding. It was as if something had drawn it there without my knowledge.

  ‘Whatever’s the matter?’ asked Uncle.

  ‘Just a paper-cut.’ I hid my hand. ‘Who would you have me wed?’

  ‘Robert Carr.’

  The memory of my encounter with Carr only hours before sent something slinking through me. I tried to keep it at bay, but when I spoke my voice cracked slightly. ‘The King’s favourite?’

  ‘Exactly.’ Uncle seemed very pleased with himself, running a hand over his chin. ‘The King is increasingly giving Carr greater authority. He’s become rather influential, and looks set to become more so. That’s what matters to us.’ He paused, as if considering what else he wanted to say about Robert Carr.

  Uncle always weighed people up in such a manner, calculating their exact worth to him. ‘I suspect he’s loyal – blindly probably. And the King trusts him above all others, even above Lord Salisbury, and anyway, I happen to know that Salisbury is ailing. He’s past his prime. Once he goes everything will shift. And, with the Essex crowd being slowly frozen out, if we can extract you and wed you to Carr it will place us perfectly in the inner circle.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’ I did understand. I understood exactly but the whole idea seemed so far-fetched.

  ‘It came to me this afternoon when I saw Carr with you. It was obvious to me then that he could be convinced. I’ve already started working on it. I got him over to Northampton House, offered him your sister’s hand, just to introduce him to the idea of an alliance with us. This’ll be a long game, Frances, but I’m convinced we can pull it off.’ He simmered with suppressed excitement. ‘Think of it – what it will do for us if we can get our claws on the King’s favourite. The Howards will be untouchable.’

  I wanted to ask him what it was that continued to drive his ambition, for he was surely too old to reap the benefits of it. But I knew what his answer would be: It’s all for you, Frances. When I’m gone you will be my legacy. He’d said it before. He’d said it when he persuaded me to marry a sworn enemy. But I suspected a deeper force at play, born of a desire to right the ancient wrong perpetrated on his executed brother, the fall from which he’d had to claw his way back over decades.

  ‘But how?’ I couldn’t fathom the way in which he believed he could achieve his ends.

  ‘For the present, all you need do is what you do best. Work a little of your magic on pretty Robert Carr.’ He rubbed my cheek with his knuckles. ‘You know what I mean. Make him fall for you – the spark is already lit. But be discreet, keep your distance …’ his hand slid round to my throat, encircling it, squeezing slightly ‘… won’t you?’

  I cannot lie, I was exhilarated by the thought of escaping my grim marriage, and if Uncle wanted me wed to the disturbingly beautiful Robert Carr then I would do as I was told. I often ask myself why I never questioned Uncle and did his bidding no matter what. But I suppose I didn’t dare do otherwise.

  ‘And for goodness’ sake,’ he added, ‘don’t let Essex get you with child. Make sure you don’t lie with him. We’ll have to prove your marriage was never sealed if we are to undo it, and if it is the truth, then all the better.’

  ‘But if he insists?’ I felt weakness invade me.

  He cut me with a razor look. ‘Don’t you want this? Isn’t it what I raised you to want?’

  He waited for my assent, which I gave him with a slow nod.

  ‘I’m sure you can find a way to keep that dull boy at bay.’

  ‘Perhaps he’ll solve the problem of his own accord. With his temper, it’s only a matter of time before he visits trouble on himself.’ I said it to satisfy Uncle, really. Despite everything, I didn’t wish Essex any ill: he was as much a victim of circumstance as I was.

  ‘That’s more like it, Frances.’ He laughed. ‘I’ve always known it. You and I are more alike than anyone could ever imagine.’

  It was an unsettling thought and I would have contradicted him if I’d had the courage.

  ‘They all want you, Frances. I’ve seen the way they look at you. And perhaps, as you say, your inconvenient husband will find someone challenges him to a duel’ – he held an arm out horizontally, two fingers pointed forward to mime the shooting of a pistol – ‘and save us all a good deal of bother.’

  I turned away. ‘And what about Robert Carr? Surely the King –’

  ‘All you have to do is turn his head. I’ll see to the rest. The King seems unable to refuse the boy anything, and it may also be convenient to him if his favourite is wed. It might shut up the gossips.’ He tugged me in for a kiss. His moustache chafed but I didn’t resist. I knew there was little point in resisting Uncle. He was strong as the devil himself.

  When he’d gone, I stared into the fire for some time in a tangle of thoughts. I felt porous, as if something had breached my boundaries. Carr had burrowed his way into my head and wouldn’t be ousted. The bare bones of Uncle’s plan – a simple shift of family allegiance – seemed straightforward. But I felt the prod of danger, not from anything outward but from a weakness in me, of which even Uncle wasn’t aware.

  Voices below drew me to the window and I saw Uncle in the yard, deep in conversation with a woman. She was in the shadows making it impossible to see her features. I watched them, noticing how they broke apart when the groom arrived with his horse. He made to mount, one foot in the stirrup, but stopped a moment, glancing up as if he’d sensed my gaze on him. I ducked to one side, out of sight but still able to watch as she mounted the steps to the door.

  There was something familiar about the way she carried herself but I still couldn’t see her face, so I opened the window to lean out for a better view. A sudden vertiginous sensation came over me, of someone pushing at my back, urging me over the sill. I lurched away from the edge,
leaning for a moment against the wall. My breath was shallow and, despite the reassuring solidity behind me, I felt as if the wall might open and swallow me. Paralysed, I could hear the faint echo of her footsteps beyond the door. She was mounting the stairs, closer and closer.

  Moments later she arrived.

  ‘Good God! Anne Turner! I thought you were dead.’ I hadn’t meant to be so blunt but felt an idiot for my earlier frenzy. It was the furtive exchange in the courtyard that had unsettled me.

  She placed a large bag beside her on the floor and held her arms open, smiling like a siren in a painting, her face a perfect oval, her eyes big and blue and beatific. ‘I was very unwell, you must have heard, but my husband passed away and I recovered.’ She laughed then. ‘You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.’

  I found my voice. ‘The last time I saw you, you were leaving to marry.’ A distant memory flitted through my mind of lying in bed as a child in the grip of a fever, Anne Turner hovering over me, straightening my covers. I’d thought her an angel, truly believed I could see wings sprouting at her back. She said it was the delirium but that angelic image endured. Uncle had employed Anne Turner as my nursemaid, just for me, causing some envy among my siblings, who remained in the care of the family nurse, a harridan with a vicious streak.

  Forgetting formalities, we fell into an embrace. ‘It’s hard to believe,’ she said. ‘Me a widow and you a married woman. It seems only yesterday you were still a child.’

  We sat by the fire, she in the seat Uncle had just vacated. My mind kept returning to their conversation below. ‘I’m sorry for your husband’s death.’

  ‘He went quite suddenly – painlessly. I’m glad of that. Though, to be honest, we were estranged by the time –’ She stopped, looking into the flames and lowering her voice: ‘There’s someone else.’

  In that moment, I understood that I was no longer a child to her and that we were talking woman to woman. ‘Who?’