had told him of his visit, as bemused as she about its cause. She had been hard-pressed to persuade him not to abandon his duties that day so that he could stay with her. He had eventually conceded that this would play into Villiers’s hands. If the man’s hints about Somerset had been true, then being absent from the King’s service at such a time could be twisted into complicity with the disgraced favourite.
She flung back the covers and padded over to the window. It was a beautiful autumn day, the sun reflecting off the gilded weather vane above the gatehouse. She regretted having promised her husband that she would not venture out of their apartment, keeping the door locked against any visitors. The evening walk he had proposed seemed less of a consolation now that she had seen how fine the weather was. The sun would long have disappeared by the time she and Thomas stepped out into the privy gardens.
Resigned, she pushed open the window so that she might at least enjoy the fresh air during her confinement, then went to dress. As she tied the laces of her skirt, her eyes alighted on the slender book that lay on the table next to her bed. She could just make out the gold lettering imprinted on the rich blue binding: The Wisdom of the Ancients. She had been delighted when it had been delivered to her the previous morning by a young page wearing the livery of Gray’s Inn. Bacon had spoken to her of it during their time in St James’s Park, dismissing it as a collection of fables. It was a good deal more: that it had been dedicated to the late Earl of Salisbury was proof. Villiers’s visit had left her too distracted to begin reading, but it would provide the perfect companion now.
She finished dressing, then took it to the hall and settled on the window seat. She had just opened it when there was a loud shout from the courtyard below.
‘The King! I demand to see the King!’
Frances set down the book and knelt up on the seat so that she could peer out of the open casement. She felt as if her heart had stopped. Robert Carr, Earl of Somerset was being marched across the courtyard by two yeomen of the guard, each grasping an arm as he struggled to free himself.
‘Unhand me, churls!’ he yelled, thrashing like a fish caught on a hook.
Frances heard more rapid footsteps approaching. She craned her neck to see, then sprang back in horror as she saw Lady Somerset following in her husband’s wake. She did not fight her guards but walked slowly and with dignity across the cobbles, her hands resting on her distended stomach. Frances fought the urge to look away, to press her hands against her ears and shut out the terrifying spectacle in the courtyard below. She watched the lady’s skirts billow behind her as she made her steady progress, as if she were taking a leisurely morning stroll. Surely the King would not confine a woman so close to her time in the Tower. Even as she thought it, she knew with a creeping certainty that he would.
Another shout drew Frances’s gaze back to Somerset.
‘Villain!’ he yelled, twisting around. His face was puce with rage. Frances followed his gaze. There, standing at the entrance to the courtyard, just below her window, was Sir George Villiers.
‘This is your doing!’ Somerset shrieked. ‘I will see you hang for this!’
As the captive’s frantic scuffling echoed into silence, Frances caught Villiers’s low chuckle. He watched as his vanquished rival was dragged through the gateway that led to the river, his wife following quietly behind. Then, slowly, he raised his hand to his lips and blew a kiss towards their retreating shadows.
1616
CHAPTER 14
6 January
Frances stole a glance at her husband as Sir George Villiers mounted the steps to the dais. The King’s eyes flashed as he watched him walk slowly to the throne. The jewels on Villiers’s scarlet cloak glittered in the candlelight when he swept an elaborate bow. James rose unsteadily to his feet and looked up adoringly at the young man. He was a good deal shorter than Villiers, who towered over most others at court. An attendant stepped forward and handed his master a gold satin sash, from which was suspended a crest bearing the King’s arms. Villiers sank to his knees and lowered his gaze.
‘My most trusty and well-beloved servant, Sir George