confusion and dismay. ‘I will come to you later.’ She flashed a smile of reassurance that did not reach her eyes.
*
An icy wind whipped around the courtyard. The snow lay so thick that it obscured the cobbles, making it impossible to pick out the paths that lay between them. By the time Frances reached the large archway at the entrance to the courtyard, her soft leather soles were sodden and her toes numb with cold. The exposed cobbles were slippery with ice and she was obliged to clutch at the cold stone wall to stop herself falling.
As she rounded the corner, she saw a slender figure huddled under the Holbein Gate. She stopped, but he had already seen her. Slowing her pace, she proceeded towards him. As she drew closer, she recognised the embroidered swan in chains on his doublet. Buckingham’s livery. His face was pinched with cold and he kept moving from one foot to the other. No doubt he had been waiting here for some time, Frances thought. He eyed her uncertainly, then gave a short bow and turned back to face the road ahead.
Frances did not think he knew her – certainly she had not noticed him before – but she took the precaution of walking in the opposite direction of her destination, up a small side street. As soon as she was out of view, she turned left into another narrow street and quickly weaved her way along it until she came to the Strand.
Most of the snow had been cleared from the footpath that ran alongside the road, so Frances could quicken her pace. By the time she reached the westernmost end of the street, she had broken into a run. Ahead, the skeletal trees of St James’s Park were silhouetted against the grey sky. To her right, the spire of St Martin’s rose above the rooftops. Turning towards it, she hastened along the road that snaked northwards. The tolling of the bell sounded as she passed. Three o’clock. Pray God I am not too late.
She ran on, panting, her linen shift clinging to her back despite the cold, until she saw the squat tower of St Giles-in-the-Fields up ahead. Almost there. Her legs ached and she longed to cast off the woollen cloak that had shrouded her from the cold but now weighed heavily upon her. Lord Rutland’s carriage would likely turn down this road after it had reached St Giles’s Cross, but she could not be certain so she knew she must reach the crossroads. Keeping her eyes fixed upon the tower, she surged onwards.
A few moments later she was standing, breathless, at the crossroads. She gazed along the wide road that was the main thoroughfare for travellers from the north and west. She had come this way many times before – first from Longford and then Tyringham. Usually the road was crowded with carriages, wagons and stalls, a riot of noise, people and horses. But today just a handful of carriages rumbled slowly along, the horses’ hoofs slipping on the compacted snow. Frances prayed that Lord Rutland’s would soon be among them.
As her breathing slowed, the cold seeped into her bones and she drew her cloak around her, glad of its warmth once more. Her thoughts returned to the countess: she would not rest until her son had won the glittering prize that they saw as his by right. Buckingham’s lavish spending had always outstripped the generous gifts and salaries that the King had bestowed upon him. He would settle for nothing less than the richest estate in the kingdom. That Belvoir lay close to his mother’s made it ideal. He would not lack for excuses to visit her, Frances thought, with distaste. She could not help thinking that, for his mother, a large part of Kate’s appeal lay not so much in her riches as in her plainness and mild nature. Here was not a woman to rival her own hold over her son.
Frances was so lost in thought that at first she did not notice the sleek black carriage coming into view. Only when a gust of wind sent the white plumes at each corner fluttering did it catch her eye. She ran towards it. The carriage was travelling much faster than the others and before long she could hear the snorts of the horses and see the steam that rose from their flanks.
‘Stop! Please!’ she called, stepping out into the road.
The coachman muttered a curse and glowered at her,