about to address them when Buckingham stepped in front of her.
‘My lord,’ he swept an elaborate bow, ‘Lady Katherine.’
Frances saw Rutland stiffen.
‘Permit me to escort you back to the palace,’ Buckingham said, gesturing towards his carriage.
‘Thank you, but my daughter and I will walk. It is a fine evening.’ He took Kate’s hand, placed it on his arm, then made to move away.
‘Then I will accompany you. My mother can take the carriage alone – unless of course you wish to join her, Lady Tyringham.’
Frances opened her mouth to reply, but Rutland’s voice cut across her. ‘I do not need you to accompany us. Nor do I wish it.’
A flicker of a smile. ‘Very well. I will bid you good evening, my lord, Lady Katherine.’ He bent to kiss her hand but she drew it quickly away.
‘God curse that devil,’ the earl muttered, under his breath, as they watched Buckingham stroll nonchalantly towards his mother’s carriage. ‘He murdered my poor boy, I am sure of it.’
‘Father—’
‘Peace, Katherine. I do not fear him, and I will be avenged for this.’
Thomas took a step forward. ‘My lord, your suspicions may be justified, but you would be wise not to voice them – at least, not until you have found something to base them upon.’
Rutland stared at him grimly. ‘Then I shall find it.’
‘There,’ Frances murmured, patting the horse’s neck. It dipped its head to drink from the trough in the stable-yard. It was the first time she had ridden out this year and, though the ground was still marshy in places, she had spurred the horse on to a breakneck speed, gasping in lungfuls of the chill morning air as her hair whipped about her. She still felt the rush of exhilaration.
Frances had longed to ride further, beyond the northern reaches of Hyde Park. She would have ridden all the way to Tyringham Hall if she could. The desire to see her sons was so overwhelming that it smote her like a blow. But to return there now would place them in danger. Accusations of witchcraft blighted the lives of families, too.
The horse had finished drinking, so she began to lead him back to the deserted stables. The King had ordered another hunt and Thomas had left before daybreak. The warmth of his embrace had lingered long after he had left their apartment. She knew that he would be anxious to return to her.
Frances had almost reached the stables when she heard brisk footsteps approaching.
‘You have returned at last – I have been pacing this yard for an hour or more,’ Lord Bacon complained.
Frances was used to him exaggerating but her smile vanished when she saw his grim expression.
‘What is it?’ Her eyes flicked to the leather pouch that was tucked under his arm.
‘Come,’ he said, ‘we cannot talk here.’
He took the reins from her. Sensing his discomfiture, the horse whinnied as he led it to the stables.
Frances’s agitation grew as they walked in silence to Bacon’s apartment. As soon as they were inside, her friend poured them both a glass of wine, then sank heavily into a chair opposite Frances. Still saying nothing, he drew a neatly bound set of papers from the pouch and handed them to her. The pages were covered with a small, neat script, and upon one was written a title in larger letters.
The Wonderful Discovery of the Witchcrafts of Margaret and Philippa Flower . . .
Frances froze, her hand suspended over it. ‘What is this?’
‘My lord Buckingham commissioned it. I wanted to tell you – to warn you – but he ordered me to take it to the printer without delay.’ He did not meet her eye.
Frances had seen such pamphlets before. They routinely appeared after a notable witchcraft trial, giving salacious details of the case, the heinous crimes of the accused. Always, there was a pact with the devil, the casting of spells, lives blighted by sorcery and wickedness. The narrative was so similar in each case that Frances had often wondered how her fellow courtiers could seize upon them with such eager anticipation, devouring their contents as if they had never read the like before. She had taken to avoiding the dining hall at such times, knowing it would be filled with animated chatter about the horrors that had been revealed.
‘Most of it had been written some time ago, but the rest was left unfinished,’ Bacon continued. ‘He told me he had set the scribe to work as soon as the young lord breathed