castle. Poor Joan had not survived the journey – but, then, perhaps that was a mercy, with what surely lay ahead for them in Lincoln.
Kate’s young brother Francis still lingered, impervious to the attentions of the earl’s physicians. Countess Cecilia’s disappointment that her son had not recovered upon Joan’s death must have been bitter indeed, Frances reflected.
‘We are almost there,’ she said now, as Kate turned to her. The young woman looked frozen, though she had made no word of complaint during the long boat ride. She had readily agreed to accompany her to Hampton Court, eager to see the magnificent Tudor palace for the first time.
‘Shall we stay for long?’ she had asked, when Frances had proposed the visit. She had offered only a vague response. In truth, she did not know if their time there would be brief or prolonged. Lady Ruthven had written only that the Queen, her mistress, had asked for Frances to attend her. Her Grace had spent the past few winters at Hampton Court, enjoying the peace and repose it offered. Frances feared that this latest stay had not been for pleasure but to hide from the prying eyes of the court. Since Buckingham had taken up residence on the Strand, Denmark House had no longer provided the tranquillity the Queen craved. She had retreated to Hampton Court as soon as the Twelfth Night celebrations had ended.
The boatman tethered the barge to the landing stage and helped Frances and her companion to alight. It was a short distance along the covered walkway that led to the royal apartments. As they neared the Queen’s presence chamber, Frances summoned one of the pages who were stationed outside.
‘Please – show Lady Manners to her chambers.’
‘Am I not to attend the Queen with you?’
Frances squeezed her hand. ‘Her Grace has asked to see me alone this time,’ she replied with greater reassurance than she felt, ‘but I am sure she will soon be well enough to receive more visitors, and she cannot but be eager to make your acquaintance. I have told her all about you,’ she added quickly, seeing her friend’s crestfallen face.
‘I hope so,’ Kate replied. ‘Pray send Her Grace my greetings.’
‘The Queen will receive you now,’ the groom said, leaving the door ajar.
Frances rose to her feet. On the threshold, she listened for any sound within. All was silence. The shutters were closed against the meagre light that still lingered outside, and only a solitary candle burned beside the Queen’s bed. The curtains were drawn around it. There was a rustle of skirts and a sombre lady rose from the seat she had occupied by the fireplace. Frances had not seen her there, but quickly swept a curtsy. She was of about Anne’s age, Frances judged, and very finely dressed in a gown of dark grey satin, the bodice and sleeves edged with white lace.
‘Thank you for coming so quickly, Lady Tyringham.’
The lilt in her voice made Frances’s scalp prickle. She wondered that she had not recognised her. Anne had defied her husband by bringing Lady Beatrice Ruthven with her to England soon after he had inherited the throne. James had always despised her – perversely jealous of the affection his wife cherished towards her – so Anne had kept her hidden. But her secret had been discovered when Lady Ruthven had fallen dangerously ill. The memory of being summoned to treat her upon first arriving at James’s court was still vivid in Frances’s mind. It had helped to damn her for witchcraft, as well as to expose Lady Ruthven’s presence. Frances wondered when her favourite attendant had returned to her service – or whether, indeed, she had ever left it. She said nothing, but inclined her head in acknowledgement.
The older woman led her towards the bedside. Frances saw that the curtains were pulled back a little at the end. Her heart thudded as she drew near. She suppressed a gasp. Anne’s face, illuminated by the candle, appeared ghostly. Her cheeks were sunken and her breath rasped between her lips, which were slightly parted. A thin sheen of sweat glowed on her brow.
‘Your Grace.’ Frances made a deep obeisance, though the Queen seemed to be sleeping.
‘Frances?’
Her voice was so faint that Frances wondered if she had imagined it. Anne’s eyes fluttered open and flicked quickly from side to side, as if searching for her.
‘I am here, Your Grace.’ Frances knelt to kiss her hand. The skin felt cold and clammy.
‘I am sorry you find me