“What is this?” asked Sir Gervase and took the bottle from Weston.
“Well, sir, it’s the mixture that has to be put into the broth.”
Sir Gervase turned pale. He was horrified at what he had discovered. He had been given the post to intercept Overbury’s letters, not to allow him to be poisoned.
He said: “I will take this bottle. Give Sir Thomas Overbury his supper and then come to my apartments immediately.”
Weston was trembling so violently that the broth was slopping over the sides of the basin. Sir Gervase had turned and walked away, while Weston, in a growing panic, took the prisoner his supper, cursing himself for throwing away the greatest opportunity of his life.
Sir Gervase looked at the wretched man and said: “You had better tell me who gave you this bottle.”
Weston’s shifty eyes were panic-stricken. He was not going to incriminate his son.
“It was sent in to me … with instructions to put it into the broth, sir.”
Sir Gervase looked at the cringing man, but he was not thinking of him. He was remembering his interview with the Earl of Northampton when he had been told what was expected of him.
“This man Overbury,” Northampton had said, “because of his position with my lord Rochester, will be aware of certain state secrets which, should they fall into the hands of our enemies, could harm our country. It is for this reason that I wish you to pass on all his correspondence to me.”
Sir Gervase had agreed to do this; he was grateful to his benefactor; it was not every man who was selected by the important Howards to work for them. He knew that it was because of this particular prisoner in the Tower that Waad had been dismissed and he been given the post. He had congratulated himself that he had been chosen because of the delicate nature of the task. He was there to prevent the leakage of state secrets, but murder was another matter.
It was a terrible realization for an ambitious man to make. Waad had been dismissed through the influence of the Howards; what would their reactions be if they knew that he was refusing to work for them?
They wanted to be rid of Overbury. They wanted him to be murdered in the Tower. Sir Gervase was a man who was ready to do a great deal to rise in the world—but murder was something he had never considered.
And here was this man Weston, the tool of the great, standing shivering before him, caught in the act. Monson had recommended him and had hinted that it was the wish of Rochester that the fellow should become Overbury’s jailer. Rochester wanted to assure himself that his one-time friend was comfortable.
Comfortable seemed a sinister word.
And here was Sir Gervase—that ambitious man—who saw the road to glory laying straight ahead of him confronted by a gate on which was written Murder.
He must have time to consider. But there was no time. What he did in the next few minutes could be of the utmost importance to his career.
He heard himself saying: “You know there was poison in that bottle?”
“Why yes, sir,” stammered Weston.
“And you were prepared to administer it!”
“Well, sir, ’twas orders like …”
Orders! The question came to the Lieutenant’s lips: Whose orders? He stopped himself asking it in time. If the man answered that one, what could Sir Gervase do about it?
He must be subtle; he must act with the utmost caution.
“You were about to commit a great sin.” That was it. Words flowed from him. It was not for ordinary men to take life at a whim. What Weston had contemplated doing was an evil thing…. And so on. For five minutes he talked while Weston threw himself on his knees, scarcely listening, seeing himself carried away to a dungeon—one of the noisome underground dungeons where persons of no consequence were sent. This was the end of the good life he had planned for himself—and all because of one stupid mistake.
But to imprison Weston was something Sir Gervase could not do. Had he not been put in his place by Monson at the request of my lord Rochester? Now, there was only one thing a wise man could do in these circumstances, and that was to turn a blind eye on what was going on in the cell of Sir Thomas Overbury.
He would have no part in the murder; neither to assist it nor to prevent it.
He took the bottle of poison and opening his window, threw out the contents.
He turned to Weston. “I see that you are a simple man,” he said, “and I trust my words have had some effect on you. Have I brought you some understanding of the evil nature of your conduct?”
“Oh sir,” cried Weston, “I wish I had died before I had touched the bottle.”
“You have repented. That is good. Go back to your work and we will say nothing of this matter. But I beg you watch your actions in future.”
Watch them in future! So that I do not see what is going on?
Weston’s face was illuminated by his relief. “Oh sir, you are good to me, sir. I swear—”
“It is enough. Remember what I have said.”
“Oh I will, I will, sir.”
Sir Gervase dismissed him and Weston blundered away, bewildered.
After the man had left him, Sir Gervase was thoughtful and very uneasy; it was alarming for an ambitious man to find himself caught up in a plot of murder.
The Commission which had been set up to arrange the divorce were not in agreement.
That eloquent man, George Abbot, Archbishop of Canterbury, was the main stumbling block. He had interviewed the Earl of Essex who was reserved yet determined not to accept the stigma of impotence, although he did agree that as far as his wife was concerned he had no desire. The Archbishop had come to the conclusion that the Earl was by no means impotent but as eager as his wife to have the marriage ended.
He put his view before the Commission explaining that this was a serious matter and they must not allow themselves to be guided by the fact that noble people beloved of the King were eager to see a certain solution. They had to give the right judgment, no matter whom they offended.
Weston was not such a simple man as Sir Gervase had believed him to be; when he had escaped from the Lieutenant and had had a little time to ponder on what had happened, it occurred to him that he had escaped very lightly for a man who had been caught in an attempt to poison a prisoner.
There could be one solution to this: Sir Gervase was either concerned in a plot against Sir Thomas Overbury or he was anxious not to offend those who were. Therefore there would be no real interference from him.
The more he considered the matter, the less fearful he became, and when a few days later he decided to present himself at Mrs. Anne Turner’s house in Hammersmith, he had made up his mind that Sir Gervase would never dare refer to what had happened, so he told Mrs. Turner that he had administered the contents of the bottle.
“And now,” he finished, “I have earned my reward.”
“Nonsense,” said Mrs. Anne Turner, “there will be no reward until Overbury is dead. You have merely performed one of your duties. There are others to follow.”
“I do not greatly like this task.”
“Of course you do not. Do you think you would be paid so handsomely for doing what you enjoy? You had better let us hear no more complaints from you. Go back to your duties. You will soon be given further tasks, and if you perform them with zeal, it will not be long before the matter is completed and you may claim your reward.”
So Weston returned to the Tower and waited for further instructions.
Frances was strained and nervous. Every day that Overbury lived she was in danger. That old fool Abbot was delaying the divorce, and seeking reasons for not granting it. If Overbury should get a letter through to him, if it were discovered that she had procured powders from people of ill repute, that would give the Archbishop what he was looking for. It must not be.