The Mammoth Book of Best British Mysteries Page 9

  “My dear Overbury,” he said.

  But once the bowing servant was out of the way, Robert hurried over and embraced the newcomer warmly, kissing him on both cheeks, then on the mouth.

  Thomas disentangled himself. “You’re pleased to see me, I take it.”

  “I always am. You know that.”

  His friend allowed a small smile to light his features, a fact which made him appear more attractive. Older than Carr, he was not so blatantly good looking yet it was a more intelligent face, though spoiled by an expression of arrogance. Now, though, he was anxious to please.

  “Have you persuaded the King to like me any better?” he asked eagerly.

  Robert pulled down his mouth. “No, I’m afraid not.”

  “You know why it is, don’t you?”

  “I think I can hazard a guess.”

  “Because he’s jealous of me. He knows damn well that you love me better than him – and that is something the lecherous old beast cannot stomach.”

  Robert simpered and for a moment looked utterly feminine. “I think what you say is true. He cannot take his eyes off me, even at court.”

  Thomas Overbury scowled. “Besotted old fool.”

  “Shush. Someone might hear you.”

  “Let them.” He turned to Robert. “Now, what is this surprise you have to show me?”

  “Come upstairs. Come and see my new toy.”

  Somewhat mystified, Thomas followed him up the staircase to the master bedroom, Robert firmly closing the door behind him. A few minutes later came the sound of muted laughter as the two men sampled the new bed’s delights.

  “I am in despair,” said Frances, Countess of Essex, bursting into a spectacular torrent of tears. “Oh, my dear, what am I to do?”

  The dear in question was a small, comely widow with a pleasing face and hair like golden thread. But at present her expression was one of deep sympathy which did not totally become her.

  “Think of it,” Frances continued, not waiting for a reply. “Think of being wedded to a lanky brute who at first would not consummate the marriage and now expects me to lie with him, which I do not wish to do. And, sweet Anne, just at this stage I have received a love letter from another man.”

  Anne’s expression changed rapidly to one of acute attention. “Really, my pet? Who?”

  “You’ll not believe it – the King’s favourite! Robert Carr himself.”

  “Robert Carr? But surely he has other interests.”

  “So I always thought, but the letter was most ardent.”

  “What did it say?”

  “How much he admires me and how much he would like to converse with me.”

  Anne shook her head. “I am surprised indeed.”

  Frances, who was one of the most beautiful women at court, looked very slightly annoyed. “Oh?”

  “I’m just surprised that he had the courage to write,” Anne answered swiftly.

  “I see,” answered the Countess, slightly mollified.

  “I hold your heart close to mine as I hope you do to me,” said Sir Thomas Overbury, dictating.

  “Is that grammatically correct?” asked Robert Carr, pausing in his writing.

  “Oh, to hell with grammar. It will certainly attract the attention of the silly bitch.”

  Robert laughed carelessly. “I don’t know why I’m bothering with this.”

  “Oh, yes, you do. It’s because you can’t resist a challenge and the fact that the lady is in a loveless marriage appeals to you.”

  “What shall I do if she says yes?”

  Overbury gave a careless shrug. “That, my dear, will be entirely up to you.”

  At that moment both men looked up as there was a noise in the corridor outside. They were in the royal palace at Greenwich, in Carr’s apartments, but this did not guarantee them privacy.

  “Hide the letter,” hissed Overbury and Robert thrust it beneath a book as the door opened without ceremony and they saw, standing in the entrance, his royal majesty James.

  He glanced at Thomas unsmilingly. Ever since the affair last year when both he and Carr had been caught laughing at the Queen, any affection the King might have felt for Robert’s friend had been totally banished. However, his feelings for Carr remained undiminished.

  Now he said, “There you are, my lad. I would ask you to walk with me a little.”

  Straightening himself from his reverential bow, Carr smiled flirtatiously. “Of course, your Majesty.”

  Advancing on him, James lolled an arm round his favourite’s neck and kissed him on the lips. Carr turned towards him as sweetly as any woman. “If I can do anything to please your Majesty.”

  The King’s rheumy eyes had an inner fire. “We’ll walk a little way first, eh, Carr?”

  “As your Majesty pleases.”

  Ignoring Overbury the pair left the room, weak-legged James hanging round Robert’s neck as though his very life depended on it. Thomas could not help but notice that the fingers of the King’s other hand were fiddling round his codpiece as he shuffled out.

  They met privately and for the first time in Carr’s apartments in Hampton Court, he full of charm and prattling nonsense, she virtually tongue-tied. Looking at her, intending to use her as a plaything and then discard her, Robert was struck by how very good-looking she was at close quarters. Her hair, reddish-gold in colour, was frizzed out in the latest fashion with an aquamarine and pearl headdress, while her eyes – matching the stone – flashed shy but definite messages in his direction. As for her figure, he could see from her exceedingly low-cut gown that her breasts were truly beautiful. It was rumoured throughout the court that she was a virgin, a fact which stimulated Robert’s wicked side with thoughts of deflowering her.

  “Well, Lady Frances, how good of you to come.”

  “I come in response to your letters, Sir.”

  He had not written one of them; Thomas Overbury was responsible for them all. Thinking of the ribaldry as they had been composed, Robert felt himself flush and turned away.

  “Would my Lady like some wine?”

  “Yes, please, I would.”

  Carr poured two glasses and having handed her one, sat down in a chair opposite hers.

  “You truly are bewitching,” he said, speaking his thoughts aloud.

  Frances pulled a face. “Much good it has done me.”

  “You are not happy?” asked Robert, hoping that this would start off the story of her marriage.

  “No, Sir, I am not.”

  And that indeed released the floodgates. She spoke of her wedding to the Earl of Essex when she had been fifteen and he a few months younger, how her father had at first kept them apart but, following that, when her husband had returned from his trip abroad, he had failed dismally in the bed chamber. So much so that after a year of trying he had given up completely.

  “And now?” Carr enquired.

  “Now I would hate sexual connection. I dislike the Earl, may God forgive me.”

  “Why Madam?”

  “Because he is not pleasing to look at, he cannot talk to me, and he is only happy in the company of other men.” Tears filled the lovely bright eyes. “All in all, he is not a pretty fellow.”

  There was silence in the room and then Robert put down his glass and held out his hand. After a moment’s hesitation, the Countess of Essex slowly put out hers and twined her fingers round his. They said nothing but sat quietly, simply looking at one another.

  That evening Overbury, calling on his friend as usual, found him strangely withdrawn.

  “Well, Robert, how did it go? Did you woo the hussy?”

  “Don’t call her that, I beg you.”

  Thomas was so shaken that he sat down abruptly. “God’s life! Do I hear aright? Don’t tell me that you have fallen under her spell.”

  Robert, looking at Thomas Overbury, noticed for the first time that the man had a spot with a head forming on his right cheek.

  “Of course not,” he said abruptly.

&nb
sp; Thomas raised an eyebrow. “If I didn’t know you a great deal better I would say that you are extremely interested in the girl. Well, don’t be so I beg of you. The Howards are a poisonous bunch and you know perfectly well that her father loathes you.”

  “That is hardly her fault.”

  “Agreed. But I assure you that you will place yourself in great danger if you pursue this.”

  “Perhaps,” Robert answered. He changed the subject. “Now, dear friend, would you care for some wine?”

  “I’ll have some Alicante.”

  “A favourite of his Majesty.”

  “Yes,” said Thomas with much meaning. “Let us hope that he does not lose interest in it.”

  After he had gone, rather abruptly Robert thought – though he had been thankful, for once, to see the back of him – Carr lay on his bed. Over and over in his mind came the vision of the beautiful Countess, so young and so unhappy. A strange feeling came over him, one that he was quite unaccustomed to, and he wondered what could possibly be causing such an unusual sensation. Yet, despite it, he knew that she was indeed dangerous to him. And he also knew for certain that his original plan to use her as a plaything might well have to be abandoned.

  Thomas Overbury was in a state of high alarm. There had been a definite change in his friend’s attitude, all stemming from the time he had seen that wretched Howard girl on his own. It was a known fact that Thomas detested all the Howards – nobody, himself included, quite knowing why. Possibly, he often thought, he had been born hating them. But the fact remained, he had an obsessive private malice towards the entire family.

  He had helped Robert write those silly letters to the Countess of Essex, born Lady Frances Howard, for one reason and one reason alone; to ruin her reputation and thus bring dishonour to her clan. But now it looked as if the entire scheme had blown up in his face. Could it even be possible that Robert Carr, Viscount Rochford, was falling in love with the woman? Alone in his room, Thomas seethed with silent rage.

  Yet his position was assured. Robert, frankly, had neither the brains nor the will to wade through interminable papers, and having been raised to the role of Privy Councillor now sent various secret documents to Overbury for him to look over first. Yet this very power was making Thomas unpopular in certain quarters. And one quarter was extremely dangerous. The King himself had conceived a violent dislike of his favourite’s best friend, a dislike which he barely bothered to conceal.

  “I am deep in love,” said the Countess of Essex, sighing.

  “I am sure you are, my dear,” replied Mrs Turner, wishing she were being paid a guinea for every time she had heard that remark.

  “Yet I fear the situation,” Frances continued. “If my husband should discover my association he would wreak havoc.”

  “But he is not a husband in the true sense of the word. Is he?” she added, a trifle uncertainly.

  “Most certainly not,” Frances replied roundly. “You know I hate the sight of him. And now I love Robert I could not bear to sleep with another man.”

  “But surely you and Carr have not . . .”

  Anne Turner paused delicately and the Countess blushed. “No, not yet. But I fear – what am I saying? – I mean I hope that it won’t be too long. That is why, my dear, I want you to take me to your Cunning Man. He has a fearsome reputation in dealing with matrimonial matters.”

  Mrs Turner nodded her blonde head. “He certainly has. He also has a reputation for taking his clients to bed.” She laughed, a little nervously.

  “Well, he won’t get anywhere with me,” Frances answered with asperity. And in that moment Anne saw her determination, her ruthlessness in achieving what she wanted regardless of the cost.

  In this way Frances was introduced to Simon Forman, a man who combined the art of medicine with that of magic. An astrologer, a clairvoyant, and most of all a sympathetic listener, she begged him to make Robert Carr love her passionately and at the same time render her husband totally incapable in the bed-chamber. She also asked, though this in the greatest secrecy, that the Earl of Essex should die, thus leaving her free to marry again should she so desire.

  Then, in the following spring, while still married to the lugubrious Earl, she and Robert met in secret at his house in London. She arrived by coach, heavily veiled, and was immediately shown into the salon. Awaiting her, in a frenzy of love, was the young nobleman, gorgeously attired as was customary but today not caring how he looked, determined, as he was, to get her upstairs to see his wonderful bed.

  As soon as the servants had left the room he started to kiss her, wildly and voluptuously, knowing that she would weaken under such a barrage.

  “Sweetheart,” he said, close to her ear. “Oh, my darling, I want you so badly.”

  “But . . .” Frances protested half-heartedly.

  “But what?”

  “I am still married.”

  “To that miserable fool. To hell with him.”

  Robert was more aroused than he had ever been before. All his life he had found men more attractive than women but now he was in the throes of a desire so strong that it was barely containable. Turning Frances round he headed purposefully for the door.

  “Where are you going?” she asked him

  “There’s only one place for us to go. To the bedroom.”

  “Oh, Robert, I’m afraid.”

  “So am I,” he answered truthfully, making her laugh.

  But once inside his bedchamber, the door locked safely behind them, she stared in wonderment at his beautiful bed.

  “Oh, God’s truth,” she exclaimed. “I have never seen anything so glorious.”

  “Do you refer to me or my bed?” he asked, half seriously.

  She moved round to face him. “Both,” she said.

  Afterwards, when they lay entwined, naked as on the day of their birth, she shuddered a little.

  “What’s the matter? Did I hurt you?”

  “A bit. But it was worth every second.”

  “You belong to me now, Frances Essex.”

  “Don’t call me by that name. I hate it. Call me Howard.”

  “But the Howards hate me,” said Robert ruefully.

  “One day they won’t.”

  “It will take a magic spell to make them change their minds.”

  “Well, who knows, that might even happen.”

  Overbury was beside himself with anger. He was positive that his friend was deeply besotted with the wretched Howard woman, despite all his warnings of dire peril if Robert continued to associate with her.

  “Abandon the bitch now,” had become his war cry.

  But he misinterpreted the situation. Robert had for the first time in his life fallen deeply in love – physically, mentally, and every other way. He now had one goal and that was to marry Frances as soon as she could obtain a divorce.

  Things came to a head between the two men in the following March. Returning to his rooms in Whitehall in the small hours, having spent the evening in the embrace of Frances, Robert was horrified to find Overbury pacing up and down in the Privy Gallery through which he had to pass.

  “Are you still here?” he asked angrily.

  “Am I here? Where have you been?”

  Brushing him aside, Carr went on his way only to have Overbury shout at him, “Will you never leave the company of that base woman?”

  “I haven’t seen her,” muttered Robert.

  “It is too manifest,” Thomas screamed at him.

  Carr wheeled about, his face livid, but Overbury was in full spate. “The King has bestowed great honours and gifts upon you and you overthrow yourself and all your fortunes in the company of that base woman. As you clearly intend to ruinate yourself I think it best if I have nothing further to do with you.”

  “So be it,” growled Robert.

  But Thomas was not done yet. “If you would kindly pay me the £1,500 you owe me then our obligations to one another are at an end. You must stand as you can, and I shall shift for myself.
Good night to you.” And he stormed off in a towering rage.

  “Prick,” yelled Robert at his departing back.

  “The man is dangerous,” said Frances when told of the incident next day.

  “No, darling. Difficult perhaps, but not actually menacing.”

  “He might try and stop my suit for nullity going through.”

  “On what grounds?”

  “On the grounds that you and I committed adultery, a fact which he knows well.”

  “It would be his word against ours.”

  “He would dig up other witnesses from somewhere.”

  Furthermore, thought Robert, Thomas Overbury has been thwarted in his love for me and will never forgive Frances as long as he lives. While Frances, unaware of what her lover was thinking, considered the fact that Thomas might yet reassert his power over Robert and send her packing.

  “It would be better for all of us if the man could be spirited away,” said Carr quietly.

  “I could try and get someone to murder him,” Frances remarked brightly.

  Robert Carr, Viscount Rochford, merely laughed, thinking that she spoke in jest. But actually the Countess of Essex was in earnest, even going so far as to approach Sir David Wood – a Scotsman with a grudge against Overbury. Unfortunately he refused point blank, saying, “I might be accounted a great fool, Madam, if upon a woman’s word I should go to Tyburn.”

  In the end it was the King himself who provided the solution. He decided that Overbury was to be offered an ambassadorship abroad, thus removing him and his potential for making trouble, yet at the same time treating him very fairly, for to be created ambassador was considered a good promotion.

  Strangely, Overbury decided to be defiant. He believed that if he went overseas he would fade into obscurity. His prospects in England were far better, he argued. In view of the King’s dislike of him and the fact that Carr had fallen out with him, this was very odd reasoning, to say the least. Yet Thomas would not budge, probably thinking that Carr was behind it all and wanted him out of the way. The possibility of blackmailing Robert – a difficult thing to do from a distance – had also crossed his mind.