other activities. Surely even James was not so great a hypocrite as to suppose He smiled upon them.
They lapsed into silence as they continued their progress through the park. Looking at the trees on its western edge, Frances noticed that the leaves were already tinged with brown. The woods that surrounded Tyringham Hall were at their most beautiful in autumn, gold, red and rich brown. John had delighted in watching the leaves fall, scampering around the forest to catch them in his plump little fingers. She would miss him doing the same this year, would miss his infant brother’s wonder at the spectacle. Pray God her husband’s affairs here would soon grow more settled so that she could visit their sons before the onset of winter.
‘Tell me, Lady Frances, what do you make of this matter with Somerset’s former acquaintance?’ her companion asked, distracting her from her melancholy thoughts.
‘Sir Thomas Overbury?’ she replied. It was safer not to confide what she knew of the matter. ‘I hardly know. I was not at court when he died.’
‘Hmm. It is a curious business. He was an objectionable sort of fellow and guarded his friendship with Somerset jealously. He despised Lady Somerset – the Countess of Essex, as she was then – on sight and did everything he could to obstruct their marriage. When I heard of his death in the Tower, I assumed he had choked on the gall of envy and spite. But perhaps it was something even more bitter.’
‘Rumours of poison often accompany sudden deaths, particularly those of note,’ Frances said dismissively. An image of Prince Henry flitted before her, his lips parted as she brought the deadly tincture to them.
‘True enough,’ Bacon conceded, ‘but I wonder why there were no such rumours at the time. It is only now, two years later, that there is talk of foul play.’
‘I am sure the court gossips will soon turn to other matters,’ she replied, pretending to focus on a flock of wild geese that had just landed on the large expanse of water to their left.
‘Perhaps.’ A pause. ‘But when such rumours emerge so suddenly, one must always consider whom they serve.’
Frances did not reply. She knew that he was referring to Sir George Villiers. Her suspicion that he had started the rumours had deepened into a firm conviction over the past few weeks. Thomas had also voiced it, though he had been careful to keep his counsel in the public court. He had no desire to sharpen Villiers’s antipathy towards him.
They were nearing the gates at the eastern edge of the park now. Frances was in no hurry to return to Whitehall but knew that her companion would soon be required there. He motioned for her to pass through ahead of him. She had just walked out onto the street when the thundering of hoofs made her step back into the gateway. Bacon stood next to her, shielding his eyes as he gazed towards the carriage. She saw his expression harden as it drew level with them, but it passed so quickly that she caught only a fleeting glance of the white-haired man inside. As the carriage retreated from view, she could just make out an elaborate red and blue crest on the back. She struggled to think where she had seen it before.
‘Do you know him?’ she asked, turning back to her companion.
He nodded, tight-lipped. ‘Yes – though I wish it were otherwise,’ he muttered. ‘Sir Edward Coke.’
Frances’s blood ran cold. He had presided over the trial of the Powder Treason plotters. She could still hear his sonorous voice echoing around the lofty chamber of Westminster Hall, urging the severest penalty be visited upon them, lest their contagion spread until the entire kingdom is in the grip of the devil and his minions. How much greater a devil held the kingdom in thrall now.
‘I wonder what business caused such haste,’ her companion mused.
As she watched the dark outline of the carriage disappear from view, she felt a creeping sense of foreboding.
The apartment was almost in darkness by the time her husband returned later that day. The air had grown chill, too, and Frances had just stood to make up the fire when she heard the click of the latch. She exhaled slowly, relief washing over her. Irrational though it was, during the hours since her return from St James’s Park, she had grown increasingly fearful that whatever had brought the lord chief justice to Whitehall might concern her husband.