make her excuses and leave. ‘King James’s court does not lack for diversion, as I’m sure you are aware, Dr Lambe.’
A flicker of a smile. ‘Indeed. But most pursuits are more fitted for gentlemen, are they not?’
He was goading her, but she merely inclined her head and took a slow sip of water.
‘Hunting, running at the ring . . .’ he went on. ‘Even the professions here are not suited to the fairer sex. The kitchens are filled with male cooks, the King may only be attended by boys and gentlemen . . . and then there is my own profession, of course . . .’ His voice trailed off but his sharp eyes never left her. ‘There are women who pretend to such skills, but rarely to any effect. And most are hanged as witches.’
Frances could no longer hear the clatter of dishes or the low hum of conversation that echoed around the hall. She held the old man’s gaze. ‘It has been a pleasure to see you again, Dr Lambe.’ Her words were like shards of ice. ‘But you must excuse me, or I shall be late to meet an acquaintance.’
She rose to her feet before he could reply and did not wait for him to make his obeisance. She could feel his eyes upon her as she made her way out of the crowded hall, forcing herself to walk slowly when all she wanted to do was run.
CHAPTER 38
28 January
By the time Frances reached her chamber, her fingers were trembling so much with suppressed rage – fear, too – that she fumbled with the lock. John Lambe’s smiling face was before her, his silken words in her ears. The scent of bergamot and violet still clung to her, too. She wished that she could purge herself of it all, as the court physicians would bleed out an evil humour. But it was as if he was at her shoulder now, his thin fingers hovering above her hair.
When at last the latch clicked open, Frances flung open the door and slammed it behind her, with such force that the sound reverberated around the apartment. She started as Thomas stepped out of the bedchamber. He had left for the stables before she had gone to breakfast.
‘It is a wonder that old door has not come off its hinges.’ He was smiling, but his eyes were filled with concern. ‘What has happened, my love?’
Frances’s throat tightened but she would not waste tears on that odious man. Besides, he had said nothing to suggest he knew of Lord Rutland’s escape. He had made only hints and remarks aimed at drawing her out – a soothsayer’s device.
She shook her head, as if to dispel all thoughts of Lambe. ‘It is nothing – a conversation with the Countess of Buckingham’s astrologer at breakfast. I dislike that man intensely.’
‘With good reason,’ her husband remarked. ‘He said nothing of . . .?’
‘No. He was taunting me, that was all.’ She looked down at Thomas’s boots. ‘The King is hunting today?’
‘Yes – though God knows what put the thought into his head. The snow has begun to thaw so the roads will be treacherous and the fields will have turned to mud by the time we arrive. Besides, he has business enough to attend to here, given the late tidings from Bohemia.’
‘Is there no hope that he will rally troops to support the princess and her husband?’
Thomas squeezed her hand but did not reply. Frances’s heart sank as he went back into the bedchamber to continue dressing. ‘Where will you go?’ she called, drawing off her cloak.
‘North-eastwards, towards Waltham Forest.’
The cords fell limp in her fingers.
‘Buckingham advised that the ground would be firmer there, with so much woodland to shelter it,’ her husband went on. ‘He seems to have given little thought to the roads that lie between here and there.’
Frances tried to make herself see reason. It was a coincidence, nothing more. Waltham was known for its fine hunting ground, so it was natural that the earl should recommend it. The forest lay some distance to the north of the abbey. God willing, Lord Rutland would have passed it long before the King’s hunting party arrived.
‘When will you depart?’ she asked, as Thomas emerged from the chamber, fiddling with the ties at his wrists. She stepped forward to help him.
‘As soon as the King’s horse has been saddled. I have prepared the hounds, and my master has ridden ahead to alert the prior.’
Frances’s fingers stilled.