The Poison Bed: 'Gone Girl meets The Miniaturist'

by E C Fremantle

  ‘I’m not – not in the slightest.’ It was true, as long she didn’t allow herself to ponder on it.

  ‘You were never afraid of anything,’ he went on. ‘Except water. Do you remember what Uncle –’

  ‘Don’t bring that up now, Harry.’ She didn’t want to be reminded of the cold shock, her lungs threatening to explode: Teaching you a lesson, my girl. ‘Just tell me what was said at Weston’s trial.’

  ‘Coke called you a rotten and corrupt branch of our family. I could have throttled him.’

  She snorted derisively. ‘He’d better not underestimate me.’

  ‘At his peril.’ Harry tried to sound composed but he was biting his bottom lip and jigging his leg nervously as he recounted the evidence that had been presented. ‘An apothecary, name of Franklin, took the stand – good God, he’s a grisly-looking beast.’

  ‘He’s a friend of Anne Turner’s. Heaven knows where she came across someone like that.’ An image of Franklin loomed in her mind. He was a grisly beast, a grisly beast whom she believed was wrapped tightly enough around her finger not to cause any trouble.

  ‘He said he hoped they’d not make a net to catch the little birds and let the great ones go.’

  ‘I suppose by “great ones” he meant Robert and me. If he intends to drag us down with him, he won’t get very far.’ She hoped Franklin wouldn’t become a problem. Her shoulders felt tight so she stretched her arms out and back until her joints clicked but the discomfort wasn’t relieved.

  ‘And Weston testified that he carried messages and arranged secret meetings between you and Robert before you were married.’

  ‘Well, that much is true. But no one hangs for being a lovers’ go-between.’ The baby was kicking, distracting her. ‘What was said of the poisoning?’

  ‘It all came spilling out. He told of a phial of liquid, which was confiscated by Lieutenant Elwes. Then mentioned some tarts he thought were contaminated but claimed they never got to Overbury anyway. Then an enema – mercury, if I remember rightly, or perhaps it was arsenic. It was supposedly the enema that did for him in the end.’

  ‘Someone really wanted rid of Overbury.’ She met her brother’s look directly and had the fleeting impression of gazing at herself in the glass.

  ‘There was confusion about the tarts. More than a single batch. And some that went bad apparently, so Elwes ordered his cook to make fresh.’

  ‘Uncle sometimes sent letters in with the tarts I made.’

  ‘You made tarts?’ She saw alarm flit across her brother’s face.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ Frances gave the impression of being aghast. ‘You said yourself there was more than one batch. Robert sent him some too.’

  ‘Robert?’

  ‘We were all trying to make sure the poor man was fed properly and had a few comforts – I sent him my own featherbed as well. Nothing wrong with that.’

  They sat in silence for some moments. Frances allowed her thoughts to drift. Her brother watched her intently as she pulled the pins from her hair, each one making a little chink as she dropped it into a bowl. Then she unravelled her plaits and separated the tresses with her fingers. ‘I wonder if things would have been different if Uncle hadn’t died.’ She gave the impression of thinking aloud. ‘Do you think he would be under arrest too?’

  ‘I doubt it. Nothing ever stuck to Uncle. He was too clever for everyone.’ She noticed a flash of hate in Harry’s eyes as he spoke of their great-uncle. Not too clever for me, she was thinking.

  ‘Do you miss him?’

  He looked surprised by her question. ‘Not really. He had his favourites and I was never one of them. But, somehow, we Howards seemed a greater force with him at the helm. Father’s different – weaker, more impetuous.’

  They fell back to silence. Frances liked Harry’s company, liked the way he didn’t need to fill the quiet with words. The baby’s foot was wedged painfully against the base of her ribcage. She stood, walking up and down in the hope it would shift. ‘Have you seen Robert?’

  ‘No, it’s impossible to get to him. They’re being much more lax with you.’

  ‘That’s because they know I’m innocent.’ She smiled, tilting her head. ‘This is just for show.’ She swept her arm in an arc, indicating the four walls.

  ‘Let’s hope so.’

  She laughed at his grave expression. ‘Don’t worry, you won’t lose your favourite sister.’ Touching her belly, she added, ‘Unless this thing kills me on its way out.’

  ‘Stop it!’

  She shrugged. ‘Is it true that Lieutenant Elwes has been arrested? I overheard something.’

  Harry nodded.

  ‘So, they all come tumbling down.’

  All of a sudden Harry looked like a hound with a whiff of its prey. ‘Did Robert have a hand in it?’

  ‘The only thing I can be sure of is that I didn’t do it.’

  Harry looked at her with an intensity that suggested he was putting things together in his head.

  Him

  The journey downriver to the Tower reminded me of that earlier journey I’d made, choked with grief, but this time Thomas was with me, a shadow in the corner of my eye. There was a grim symmetry to it all. It was not dawn but a sunless midday, overhung by a glowering blanket of cloud. An army had come to stare, pasty October faces gazing in silent reproach as I was marched through the palace to the river steps. I lacked the courage to look at those who had come out to witness my humiliation but thought I saw Pembroke and Southampton lurking near the back entrance. I supposed them jubilant. It was ever their wish to see me fall.

  As I was about to embark, Harry Howard came running down, pushing past the guards. ‘How is she?’ I cried.

  ‘Bearing up.’ He came close enough to speak in my ear. ‘She sends you word to remember not to make an admission under any circumstances, whatever they offer –’ He was hustled away before he had a chance to finish.

  At the Tower I was greeted not by Elwes – he had been arrested, too, and lost his post, I was to learn – but by the new lieutenant, a diminutive man with pointed features named Sir George More. He seemed to believe we had met before. I didn’t remember. It was entirely possible that he was one of those to whom I’d promised preferment and carelessly forgotten – goodness knows there were so many of them, and all baying for my blood, I didn’t doubt.

  I was led to a round chamber, with small, curved windows and a door leading to a crenellated walkway where I was told I would have permission to take the air under supervision, twice a day. One of my windows offered a view of Tower Hill. I realized, with a jolt, that it would likely be the site of my demise. I was allowed my own servant, Copinger, a comfort that did little to assuage my churning dread.

  More’s obsequious courtesy seemed too pedantic, with his tight little smile, to be genuine. He informed me that he regretted I would not be permitted ink or quills, and that the sending and receiving of correspondence was strictly prohibited, but I would be allowed books to read and my Bible. I was glad when he left, so Copinger could unpack my things and make the room at least a little comfortable. My furniture was delivered including, somewhat absurdly, my marquetry desk and carved chairs, which looked utterly forlorn in that grim setting.

  Copinger set to making the bed and hanging my tapestries, though they were too long for the room and dragged in the dust on the floor. It occurred to me that if I was to be executed my effects would fall into More’s possession – that was the rule – and I supposed he must have been rubbing his small hands as he watched my priceless furnishings being unloaded from the cart.

  Despite Copinger’s protestations I helped him with his work, afraid that without anything to keep me busy I would fall to pieces. ‘What must you think of me?’ I said.

  ‘Others might, but I don’t judge you,’ was his answer. It brought me a splinter of comfort.

  Her

  Lizzie crept in. Frances was lying on the bed, feigning sleep. She felt in a permanent state of exhausted t
orpor, as if the baby had sucked all the life out of her. Every time she tried to rest it would start its vindictive kicking, making her resent its possession of her body.

  ‘Frances,’ she was whispering.

  ‘I’m awake, just thinking.’ She stretched herself but nothing would relieve her discomfort.

  ‘The chief justice is here to talk to you.’ Lizzie’s face was taut with worry. ‘But there is something I must tell you before you see him.’

  ‘Coke can wait.’ Frances heaved herself up to sitting. She was wondering if Coke had questioned Robert yet and whether he’d begun to dig his own grave a spoonful at a time. ‘What do you need to tell me?’

  ‘It’s about Anne Turner. She’s been …’ Lizzie seemed unable to say anything more, just handed her sister a small package. It contained her diamond ring, returned again, like a bad penny. ‘They didn’t understand how it came to be on her person. They assumed she had connections to the woman who stole it from you.’

  ‘Mary Woods – how strange,’ Frances said, holding the ring up to the light. She felt invested with power, like Athena in the Trojan War, controlling events invisibly. ‘Have they hanged Anne?’

  Lizzie looked at her sister, nodding slowly, seeming unable to comprehend how Frances could appear so unaffected by the news.

  ‘It was bound to happen. She was up to her neck in this business. Did she make a good death? Were you there?’

  ‘Of course not.’ Lizzie had the appalled look that her sister should have worn. ‘You know I can’t bear hangings.’

  ‘A sensitive soul, aren’t you?’ Frances took her hand; it was cold and damp.

  ‘Harry went. He was at her trial, too, and there are things he wanted me to make you aware of before the chief justice talks to you. He’s worried Coke will try to make it seem as if you had something to do with it.’

  Frances was thinking that she was more than a match for Chief Justice Coke but didn’t say so. ‘What did Harry want me to know?’

  ‘He said Anne Turner was made to remove her yellow lace in court. Coke thought it inappropriate apparently.’ Frances had that feeling, again, of invisible power at her fingertips. ‘At her hanging, she wore all black up to her chin and begged forgiveness. She prayed for you on the scaffold, Frances.’ A big wobbling tear hung in the corner of her sister’s eye.

  ‘For me?’ Frances was surprised to feel a stab of something like sorrow but it was short-lived.

  ‘They made terrible accusations at her trial. She was too distressed to speak for herself. It’s hard to believe she really was as wicked as they said.’ Lizzie seemed not to want to continue but Frances gave her a nod of encouragement. ‘They said she embodied the seven deadly sins.’ She began to count them off on her fingers, as if it were a memory test. ‘A whore, a bawd, a sorcerer, a witch.’ She hesitated, repeating the list to jog her memory. ‘Oh, yes, a papist. Was she really a papist?’

  ‘Probably. I don’t know,’ said Frances, with a shrug. ‘We never really talked of those things.’

  ‘A papist, a felon and a murderer.’

  ‘Oh dear, poor Anne. What else?’

  ‘Oh, all sorts about witchcraft. Apparently, she used to make spells at Northampton House – imagine that, right under Uncle’s nose.’

  ‘Imagine!’ Frances suppressed a smile.

  ‘A wax doll was produced, as well as a picture of a man and a woman …’ Lizzie blushed beetroot.

  ‘A picture of what? A man and a woman coupling? They must have raided Dr Forman’s house.’

  Lizzie nodded. ‘They made a good deal about the connection with Forman, apparently. There was parchment, too, with human skin attached, which bore the names of devils. And when these things were brought out, the scaffold where the crowd stood cracked and half collapsed.’ Lizzie looked petrified. ‘Do you suppose she really was a witch, Frances?’

  ‘Anything’s possible. Don’t you remember those stories she used to terrify us with when we were children?’ Frances continued to hold that smile at bay. It was all unfolding beautifully.

  ‘Coke kept saying that poison and adultery go together. They produced the doctor’s list of all the adulterous ladies at court and the men they loved. Harry said Coke took one look and confiscated it. Everyone was saying he must have seen his own wife’s name there.’

  Frances snorted. ‘The old fool.’

  ‘Anne eventually confessed in private to procuring poisons from Franklin and sending them to the Tower. I don’t know how Harry found out what she said but she condemned Uncle – said she acted on his orders.’

  ‘Well, he’s not able to defend himself now, is he?’

  ‘But there’s worse.’ Lizzie had grabbed hold of her arm. ‘She said that her love of you brought her to a dog’s death. I don’t like what she implied with that. Do you think that’s why Coke’s here?’

  ‘Don’t look so worried. Anne could have meant anything by it. Coke’s here because he wants to build a picture of what happened, that’s all.’ Lizzie looked on the brink of falling apart. ‘I suppose I’d better not keep him waiting any longer.’

  As she entered the hall Coke began to heave his bulk out of the chair but she told him not to trouble himself, so he sank down again with a grunt. He had brought a clerk with him. He was young with limpid brown eyes and ink spots on his hands.

  ‘Are you not going to introduce your clerk?’

  ‘Oh, him, he’s nobody.’

  ‘He doesn’t have a name?’ She gave the boy a little smile and rolled her eyes, nudging her head towards Coke. He was tall and slender and embarrassed, if the flush on his throat and cheeks was anything to go by. ‘What do they call you?’

  ‘I’m Henry. Henry Crowther.’

  ‘My favourite brother’s a Henry. We call him Harry, though.’ Frances could sense Coke’s irritation at the attention she was paying the boy. ‘Do your friends call you Harry?’ He nodded. His eyes were rather beautiful, she decided. ‘Why don’t you sit at the table?’ He did so, unpacking his ink and pens, lining them up carefully.

  Finally, she returned her attention to Coke, who swiftly wiped away his disgruntled expression, asking if she would also sit, but she explained that in her condition sitting was extremely uncomfortable. Her aim was to have the advantage that standing over him offered. She placed a hand on her abdomen. ‘This infant may well surprise us and arrive early.’ He looked somewhat distressed at the thought, which had been her intention.

  ‘Another beautiful bud on the tree of the Howards. An infant is truly a great blessing –’

  She put up a hand to stop him. ‘Really, Chief Justice, surely you are aware that I know what you think. What was it exactly? A rotten and corrupt branch of my family. Isn’t that what you said of me?’ He looked chastened. He was revolting with his swollen red nose and the redundant yellowing tuft on his chin. ‘I see you like the arboreal metaphor. I find it a little overused.’ She glanced towards the clerk, who was stifling a smirk.

  She waited for Coke’s response but he seemed lost for words.

  ‘Are you here to accuse me of something specific?’

  ‘Just a talk.’ He smothered his face with a disingenuous smile. ‘To clarify a few things.’

  ‘I doubt I’ll be able to clarify very much for you. I seem to have been in the dark about everything. But ask what you will and I shall attempt to answer.’

  ‘Am I right in thinking you made visits to Dr Forman?’ He wrung his hands, which she noticed only then were disproportionately small for his size.

  Frances could see what he was doing by phrasing it in such a way but she knew that there was no hard evidence attaching her to Forman. Their correspondence had been destroyed after his death; Anne had seen to it. ‘Most of the women at court were seeing that charlatan,’ she said. ‘The fools. I wouldn’t have dreamed of wasting my money on his quackery. He had no right to call himself a doctor.’ She imagined Coke was an insect and she was pulling its limbs off one by one.

  ‘I see.’ He regard
ed her with gluey, old man’s eyes. ‘Did you send any foodstuffs to Overbury while he was in the Tower?’

  ‘I don’t know why you insist on asking when everyone knows that I sent tarts and other dishes to him.’ She held her hands palms up, as if to indicate she had nothing to hide. ‘Scores of them. I made them myself. If you must know, I felt sorry for the fellow, shut away like that. It seemed so unfair on him. I thought some nice things to eat would make him feel better. He was such a dear friend to my husband, you see.’

  ‘With respect, might it be that some of your tarts were less than wholesome?’

  ‘That wouldn’t be for me to judge. I am not accustomed to making tarts, so I doubt they were as good as any my cook might have made. But it’s the thought, isn’t it?’ She knew what he was intimating and could see the frustration in his quivering mouth.

  ‘It is generally believed that you disliked Overbury.’

  ‘We had our differences. He was in love with my husband, you see.’ She waited for that to sink in. ‘He made some very public insults regarding me, much like some of the insults you yourself have made, Chief Justice, but it doesn’t mean I wish you ill.’ He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. ‘Doesn’t the Lord ask us to turn the other cheek?’ In the quiet she could hear the clerk’s breath stutter and thought he might be trying to keep himself from laughing.

  Coke seemed undeterred, meeting her gaze directly. ‘Is it not the case that you offered to pay Sir David Forest to pick a quarrel with Overbury in the hope that he would be killed in the ensuing fight?’

  Frances laughed, tossing her head back. ‘For goodness’ sake, where’s your sense of humour? It was said in jest. That man Forest loathed Overbury. He wouldn’t have needed my encouragement to pick a fight with him.’ How like Forest to come crawling out of the woodwork, she thought. In truth, he’d been horrified by her suggestion. ‘If I’d truly wanted rid of the fellow, I hardly think I’d have gone about it in such a way.’