fright of his father’s arrest at Waltham. Buckingham had been careful not to use that word, of course: he had simply been escorting the earl to court. That Lord Rutland had been heading northwards, away from London, had not been mentioned. As far as the King was concerned, the meeting had been entirely fortuitous. Thomas told her that Buckingham and the earl had been waiting for the royal party at Waltham Abbey when it arrived.
‘Forgive me, Lady Tyringham.’
Frances had not heard Lord Rutland approach. A light rain had begun to fall and his hair already hung limply beneath his hat. ‘How is your son, my lord?’
He gave a shrug. ‘Better, I think – though still very fretful. Kate is with him now. Her presence calms him greatly. She is so gentle, so patient . . .’ His voice trailed off and Frances looked away until he had composed himself.
‘I have brought some more,’ she said quietly, pressing the small glass phial into his hand. ‘Use it as before, mixing it into his broth so that he does not taste it.’ Or mention it, she thought. With Buckingham and his mother paying such regular visits to the boy, she was anxious to ensure that he said nothing that might excite their suspicions.
‘Thank you.’ He grasped her hand as he took the tincture. His fingers felt warm, despite the chill night air. ‘I know what danger you place yourself in by helping my boy. I owe you an even greater debt now.’
‘His recovery is the only reward I seek. Has Dr Lambe attended him yet?’
Her friend shook his head. ‘No. But I fear it cannot be long. The King sent a message this morning, enquiring after my son and recommending the services of Lady Buckingham’s physician.’
‘It is a recommendation only. He cannot force you to comply.’ Even as she spoke the words, she knew them to be false. A refusal would cause offence at a time when Lord Rutland’s favour with the King was already diminishing.
‘I would do anything to protect my poor boy,’ he said. ‘If I cannot ignore His Majesty’s recommendation, then I will at least ensure that I am with him when Lambe presents himself.’
‘If he attempts to administer any remedies, you must accept them gratefully and promise to give them to Lord Ros yourself. Then bring them to me as soon as you are able, and I will replace them with my own.’
‘You truly believe that he means to poison my son?’
Frances knew she must not allow her view of Buckingham and his mother to cloud her judgement. But if Lambe nursed the boy back to health, it would surely destroy their schemes to seize the Rutland fortune. ‘I can see no other reason why they would go to such lengths to have your son brought to Whitehall. You know how much Buckingham stands to gain if he marries Lady Katherine and she becomes your sole heir.’
Lord Rutland nodded grimly. ‘He will stop at nothing in his pursuit of riches and power. But I would rather be damned to hell than see poor Kate married to such a devil.’
Frances placed her hands over his. ‘We must go back now, but send word as soon as Lambe has visited.’
Frances had examined Dr Lambe’s tincture carefully after Kate had slipped it into her hand during a walk in the gardens two days before. She had recognised the smell of rue straight away. It had contained horehound, too, and perhaps a little betony. All as harmless as they were ineffective against the young lord’s malady. She had even placed a tiny drop on her tongue, to make sure. The physician had given Lord Rutland just a small amount of the remedy, so Frances knew he would soon return with more. She would examine that just as carefully.
‘May I join you, my lady?’
Frances had resigned herself to another interminable evening at court, but now she smiled. ‘It is a pleasure to see you, Lord Bacon. I trust you are well?’
‘My knee pains me as much as ever,’ he grumbled, wincing as he sank onto the seat next to her. ‘The poultice I prepared no longer seems to take any effect. But, then, a poor apothecary always blames the herbs with which he works.’
‘A little marjoram should help,’ she said in a low voice, ‘and yarrow, if you can find any at this time of year.’
‘Thank you, my dear . . . If only all of my woes could be so easily resolved.’
Frances