own ends and convince the new King that he shared his obsession. The ordeal that had followed had intensified her hatred of James and his adviser, inspiring her to commit treason by supporting the Catholic plot to blow up Parliament. Only after his death had it been discovered that Cecil had secretly shared the same faith as those he had condemned.
‘How does Lord Salisbury fare?’ she asked, deciding to steer the conversation away from his father.
‘Very well, I believe,’ Bacon replied, toying with a piece of manchet loaf, ‘though his duties as Lord Lieutenant of Hertfordshire are proving more burdensome than he expected. I fear it will be a long time before he is at leisure to return to court.’
Good. Frances had come to help her husband, not to be drawn back into the dangerous web of Catholic conspiracies. She glanced at Thomas, who was engaged in conversation with Lionel Cranfield, Earl of Middlesex, a wealthy merchant who yearned for a political career. Although her husband appeared to be listening attentively, she recognised the polite smile of interest and knew that he would be willing the evening to draw to a close.
At that moment, James stood abruptly, causing all of his courtiers to scramble to their feet.
‘I propose a toast to Sir George,’ he slurred, as he gestured towards his favourite, spilling wine from his glass. Frances saw Somerset swipe irritably at his doublet, the stain already showing on the pale grey satin. Further along the table, Prince Charles was watching his father with a mixture of dismay and embarrassment.
‘To Steenie!’
The King’s cry was echoed, half-heartedly, by the assembled throng.
‘May he be long to reign over us,’ Frances heard her companion whisper. She did not know if he was referring to the King or to his favourite.
CHAPTER 8
16 September
The cloister was damp and chill after the mellow sunshine that had warmed her in the privy garden. It was gloomy, too, and Frances slowed her pace so that her eyes could grow used to it. As she rounded the corner, she collided with a gentleman. He made an impatient noise as she stumbled against the wall and pulled her roughly to her feet. She looked up at him in surprise.
Somerset.
His face was deathly white and his eyes were filled with panic. Before she could address him, he pushed past her and strode purposefully in the direction of the King’s apartments, a crumpled piece of paper in his hand. Frances watched his retreating back, then continued on her way. Another spat with Villiers, no doubt. But he had looked more afraid than angry.
At the far end of the passage, she could see a shaft of light from one of the apartments. As she drew closer, she caught muffled sobs. The door was ajar and she stood close to it, straining her ears for any other sound. She did not know who lived in the apartment, but its proximity to James’s privy lodgings suggested it belonged to one of the higher-ranking members of his court. She hesitated. Decorum required her to continue past as if oblivious to the distress of the person within. Besides, she had no desire to involve herself in Somerset’s affairs if this related to them, as she was sure it must. But neither could she ignore the suffering of a fellow courtier.
Frances knocked lightly on the door. She heard a stifled sob, then silence. She waited for several moments, unsure whether to knock again. Then she heard the light tread of footsteps and the rustle of skirts from within. The door was pulled slowly back and Lady Somerset stood before her. Her chin was lifted high and her mouth was set in a firm line, but her beautiful eyes were swollen with tears.
‘Forgive me, my lady,’ Frances said, lowering her gaze so that the young woman could compose herself further. ‘I did not mean to intrude upon your privacy, but I wanted to make sure that all was well.’
Lady Somerset remained silent for so long that Frances wondered if she would close the door on her. She glanced up and saw that her eyes had filled with tears again.
‘I am quite well, thank you, Lady Tyringham,’ she replied. ‘It is just an imbalance of humours – caused by the child, no doubt.’ She stroked her stomach distractedly.
Frances gave a sympathetic smile. ‘You must be eager to set out for Sherborne.’
A shadow crossed the younger woman’s face. ‘My departure is in some doubt just now. I do not know—’ She