her eyes. ‘I was seated next to the Countess of Buckingham again,’ she began. ‘She was in an ill humour and I feared that it was because she finds my company irksome – I lack the conversation of her other acquaintance, you see,’ she added, as if repeating something that had been said to her.
Frances stopped herself making a retort, lest it discourage her from sharing whatever it was that troubled her.
‘In order to divert her, I prattled about how harsh the winter had been, how there had been so few carriages arriving at the palace this past week . . . and then . . . then I said I hoped the furs I had sent to Belvoir had arrived in time for my brother’s journey.’
Frances was careful to maintain her composure. The poor girl looked utterly wretched.
‘I realised too late what I had said,’ she went on. ‘I tried to change the subject, but the countess had seized upon my words at once and would not be quietened until I had told her all – though not your part in it, Frances, I swear,’ she added. ‘I said only that my father had decided to bring my brother to London so that he might benefit from the greater range of medicines that are available here. She insisted that her own apothecary attend him, and though I tried to tell her that my father had already made arrangements, she would not be gainsaid. Already her son has secured the King’s support for the idea. Oh, Frances, what have I done? That man is the devil himself.’ She began to sob.
Distractedly, Frances stroked her friend’s back in an attempt to bring her comfort, but in truth she was as stricken as Kate. Lord Rutland had wisely counselled her and his daughter to say nothing of his plan to bring Lord Ros to London, aware of the danger in which it would place Frances if it became known that she had agreed to treat the boy. Frances had been apprehensive that he had brought Kate into the secret, but had respected his decision, knowing how close the bond was between them. Her friend had not uttered a word of it, even during the time they spent alone together, and Frances had begun to feel more confident in her discretion. But now everything lay in tatters.
Frances knew the ‘devil’ to whom Kate referred. John Lambe styled himself ‘Doctor’ but had nothing except the countess’s patronage to recommend him. Certainly, he was not part of any guild. It was whispered that he would have been hanged as a witch long before now, if it were not for Buckingham’s intercession.
‘Calm yourself, Kate,’ Frances said. ‘It is hard enough to keep a secret, let alone one that concerns your own brother.’
‘I do not deserve your kindness, Frances. I should have admitted this sooner, but I was so ashamed of what I had done. Besides,’ she added, swiping at her cheeks, ‘I told myself that perhaps it was for the best – that this way would keep you safe. I hated to think of the danger in which my father’s scheme had placed you. Perhaps . . . perhaps he might reject the countess’s offer, find a more trusted physician to attend my brother.’
Frances said nothing. The Countess of Buckingham was not a woman to be contradicted. Her thoughts ran on. There was no longer any hope of concealing Lord Rutland’s arrival at court, now that the countess was expecting him. She must intercept him before he arrived, then take him and his son somewhere they could stay without fear of discovery, for a few days at least. The plan had been for Frances to treat the boy in Lord Rutland’s apartments at Whitehall, where she was already a regular visitor and so would excite little suspicion. But that was impossible now. The countess would not let the boy out of her sight. His life – or the loss of it – was too valuable to her own son: Kate stood to inherit the entire Rutland fortune if her brother died. Frances shuddered at how easily that fragile life might be snuffed out.
With sudden resolve, she hastened into her bedchamber and pulled on the heavy woollen cloak she usually reserved for long journeys. Her fingers trembled as she fastened the hook and drew up the hood. ‘Go back to your father’s apartment, Kate,’ she told her. The girl was gaping at her with a mixture of