brief bout of sickness and recovered. As she held her husband’s gaze, she saw that he knew it too.
Oswyn had been poisoned.
CHAPTER 5
23 August
‘You are sure that you are well enough for the journey?’
Frances smiled at her husband’s concern. He had asked her the same question a dozen times since they had awoken that morning. ‘Quite sure,’ she replied firmly. ‘Travelling by carriage has always made me nauseous, so I will hardly notice the difference.’ She kissed him. ‘I have more cause to worry about you,’ she said, reaching up to touch his cheek. He held her hand there for a moment before pressing his lips to the palm. ‘I wish you could come home with me. Are you sure you cannot petition the King for a few weeks’ leave? You could attend him again when he returns to court next month.’
Thomas gave a heavy sigh and drew her into his arms, holding her tightly. ‘You know that is my dearest wish,’ he murmured into her hair. ‘But I cannot ask it of His Grace so soon after—’ He stopped abruptly.
Frances felt a jolt of anxiety for him. The King had been in a dark mood since Oswyn’s death and the atmosphere at Apethorpe was strained. Even the Mildmays’ lavish hospitality had failed to raise his spirits, and he had eschewed the feasting and entertainments, retreating to his private apartments with just a few favoured attendants. Thomas had not been among them.
George Villiers had, though. Frances did not know why she was so disturbed by it. He was merely the latest in a long line of young men to bask in the King’s fleeting favour. Somerset had far more cause to feel uneasy than she did. But she had seen how Villiers eyed those he regarded as rivals – her husband among them. She had her suspicions, too, that it was he who had poisoned the King’s favourite buckhound. What better way to sever James’s trust in the man who cared for them? She had not yet voiced her fears to Thomas – her years at court had taught her that matters were not always as they first appeared. She wished that she might go with her husband now so that she could continue to observe the new favourite at close range. At the same time, she could not but feel relieved to be escaping James and his entourage.
‘Promise you will write as soon as you reach Tyringham,’ Thomas urged. ‘And give our boy his father’s blessing – and this kiss.’
Frances nodded, unable to speak. The pain of their parting did not lessen; if anything, it grew worse each time.
‘Sir Thomas!’
Somerset’s voice rang out across the courtyard. He had already mounted his horse and was waiting, his face set in a now familiar scowl, for the master of the buckhounds to take his place in the procession.
Thomas pressed his lips to hers once more, then walked briskly away. He climbed onto his horse, his mouth set in a grim line. A few moments later, Somerset gave the signal and the King’s carriage rumbled over the cobbles and out onto the gravelled path, the long cavalcade following close behind. She remained standing until her husband had disappeared from view, then went slowly towards her own carriage.
‘God keep him safe,’ she whispered, as the coachman cracked his whip and she lurched forward.
1615
CHAPTER 6
2 September
Frances breathed the scent of Michaelmas daisies that was carried on the warm breeze. Looking into the small copse, she could see their delicate purple petals nestled among the tangled stems and ferns. She remembered her father telling her that the tiny flower symbolised a farewell. As if sensing her sadness, her infant son began to snuffle and writhe in her arms. She bent to kiss the downy hair on his head, inhaling deeply. She wished to commit the sweet, milky smell of him to her memory, as much as his light blue eyes and wispy red hair.
Robert was five months old now. He had been born on Easter Day. ‘That child shall never know want, or care, or harm,’ the elderly midwife had pronounced, as she had placed the mewling baby at her breast. Frances knew the old saying about Easter babies was mere superstition – such as those who claimed that a baby born when the moon was rising would be a girl, or that a firstborn child would be protected from witchcraft. But gazing down at him now, she hoped it would prove true.
Thomas had arrived