sweeping view of the river. In contrast to the cobbled courtyards of the other palaces, two huge, beautifully manicured lawns covered the quadrant. The one to Frances’s right was lined with neatly trimmed yews – Anne’s favourite. She hoped the Queen’s health had improved enough for her to stroll among them when the weather was more clement.
The porter had directed her to the large door of a building on the western wall. It was higher than the rest and fronted by an elegant Palladian façade that contrasted with the Tudor style of the other apartments. Frances made her way towards it now.
She had been glad to receive the Queen’s invitation earlier that day. Thomas’s departure had left her bereft, as usual – but uneasy too. She hated to think of him so far away, with little except James’s fickle favour to protect him from Villiers and his schemes. An audience with Anne not only provided some much-needed diversion, but also offered Frances the prospect of being able to do something to help her husband. Even though the Queen seldom attended her husband’s court, she had always been well informed of everything that passed there. She was sure to know all about this loathsome new favourite. Frances was determined to find out everything she could. She remembered a remark that her old enemy Robert Cecil had once made: It is often those details that seem of the smallest consequence that hold the greatest import. The more knowledge she was able to gather about Villiers, the more likely she was to discover a weakness.
When she reached the door to Anne’s apartments, the yeomen of the guard nodded her through. The presence chamber was deserted, but the sound of retreating footsteps indicated that an attendant had been sent to announce her arrival. The large windows flooded the room with light, even on a day such as this. Frances admired the tasteful furnishings, which were far less extravagant than Anne’s status demanded. The delicate scent of rose oil filled the chamber, rendering it much sweeter than those at Whitehall or St James’s, where the air was made foetid by the constant crush of bodies.
Frances heard footsteps again – slower this time – and a few moments later Anne entered the chamber. As she rose from her curtsy, Frances was surprised to see that she was unattended. Anne had aged considerably since she had last seen her at the princess’s wedding two and a half years before. Her hair had turned from light blond to white and her figure had grown even stouter. She leaned heavily on an ivory staff as she shuffled to the ornate chair underneath the canopy, then bade Frances to sit close by.
‘How good it is to see you again, Lady Frances – and looking so well,’ she said, reaching over to pat her hand. ‘Marriage agrees with you.’
Frances smiled. ‘I am blessed in my husband, Your Majesty – and for that, I shall ever be in your debt.’
She had been a good deal less grateful when she had first learned that Anne had prompted Thomas’s proposal all those years ago. The Queen had confided to him that Frances had left court because she was carrying Tom Wintour’s child. She would not have betrayed her confidence unless she had been sure that Thomas would come to her assistance. Frances knew that now, but at the time she had been furious. She would never have predicted that her prospective husband would become the love of her life.
Anne returned her smile. ‘I am glad of it. You deserve such happiness, after all you have suffered.’
‘And how does Your Grace fare?’ Frances asked.
‘Oh, my joints pain me more than ever,’ the Queen replied, ‘and I am tormented by an ulcer on my leg. I can quite see why old King Henry became such a tyrant in his later years,’ she added, with a wry smile. ‘But I take the waters at Greenwich often – Bath too, when I am strong enough for the journey – and my physicians have become my constant companions.’
Frances felt a wave of pity. Even though Anne was making light of it, she knew how much she must suffer. ‘I would be glad to attend you myself, if you would permit me, Your Grace,’ she offered.
‘Thank you, my dear – though we would need to employ discretion, of course. Sir Thomas might be a favourite with the King, but my husband would not hesitate to have you arrested for witchcraft