Somerset.
His face was deathly white and his eyes were filled with panic. Before she could address him, he pushed past her and strode purposefully in the direction of the King’s apartments, a crumpled piece of paper in his hand. Frances watched his retreating back, then continued on her way. Another spat with Villiers, no doubt. But he had looked more afraid than angry.
At the far end of the passage, she could see a shaft of light from one of the apartments. As she drew closer, she caught muffled sobs. The door was ajar and she stood close to it, straining her ears for any other sound. She did not know who lived in the apartment, but its proximity to James’s privy lodgings suggested it belonged to one of the higher-ranking members of his court. She hesitated. Decorum required her to continue past as if oblivious to the distress of the person within. Besides, she had no desire to involve herself in Somerset’s affairs if this related to them, as she was sure it must. But neither could she ignore the suffering of a fellow courtier.
Frances knocked lightly on the door. She heard a stifled sob, then silence. She waited for several moments, unsure whether to knock again. Then she heard the light tread of footsteps and the rustle of skirts from within. The door was pulled slowly back and Lady Somerset stood before her. Her chin was lifted high and her mouth was set in a firm line, but her beautiful eyes were swollen with tears.
‘Forgive me, my lady,’ Frances said, lowering her gaze so that the young woman could compose herself further. ‘I did not mean to intrude upon your privacy, but I wanted to make sure that all was well.’
Lady Somerset remained silent for so long that Frances wondered if she would close the door on her. She glanced up and saw that her eyes had filled with tears again.
‘I am quite well, thank you, Lady Tyringham,’ she replied. ‘It is just an imbalance of humours – caused by the child, no doubt.’ She stroked her stomach distractedly.
Frances gave a sympathetic smile. ‘You must be eager to set out for Sherborne.’
A shadow crossed the younger woman’s face. ‘My departure is in some doubt just now. I do not know—’ She broke off, her voice cracking.
‘Please, my lady,’ Frances said, as she took her arm and steered her back into the apartment, closing the door behind her. Once the young woman was comfortably seated, she busied herself with plumping the cushion at her back and pouring her a glass of water. Then she took a seat opposite and waited.
‘I am not used to such kindness,’ Lady Somerset said quietly. On the few occasions they had talked in the past, Frances had never warmed to her. She was typical of so many other members of James’s court, whose true thoughts and motives were concealed behind a veneer of charm and flattery. But it was clear that she was not dissembling now.
‘You may have known my husband’s former friend, Sir Thomas Overbury?’
The name was familiar to Frances. She remembered some gossip about the nature of their friendship, but that had been swiftly silenced by Somerset as he had risen in the King’s favour. Not long after she had left court two years earlier, Thomas had told her that Overbury had been committed to the Tower, charged with contempt for refusing the King’s offer of an embassy abroad. James had long been jealous of the intimacy that had existed between the two men. Overbury had died before the King could take any further action against him.
‘I do not think I ever met him,’ she replied.
‘Then you are fortunate indeed, Lady Tyringham,’ she retorted, her voice edged with bitterness. ‘He was a dark-hearted villain, intent upon destroying anyone who threatened his hold over my husband.’
Including you, Frances thought, but kept her counsel. She had heard it said that Overbury had violently objected to Somerset’s plan to marry the beautiful Lady Essex.
‘He even defied the King, though he would have found Moscow a good deal more temperate than the Tower. Well, God saw fit to punish his defiance. You know that he died after only a few months of imprisonment?’
Frances nodded. She saw the other woman’s hand tremble as she sipped the water.
‘No doubt he choked on his own bile,’ she went on. ‘I confess that I rejoiced at the news, for I would no longer be plagued by him – and neither would my husband.’ Her chest heaved as she struggled to control her emotion. ‘But it seems that he is resolved to torment me from the grave.’
Her face was now deathly white and Frances saw the same fear in her eyes that she had in Somerset’s. She wished she had ignored the impulse to help and continued walking back to her own chambers. She knew all too well that words could carry as much danger as deeds in this court.
‘The King has received a letter from Sir Gervase Helwys containing such calumny that I hardly know how to respond.’
‘The lieutenant of the Tower?’ It had been with some satisfaction that Frances had heard of Sir William Wade’s dismissal from that post. He must have expected to live out his days in his comfortable lodgings there: just reward for having hounded Tom and the other Powder Treason plotters to their deaths.
Lady Somerset nodded miserably. ‘He alleges that Overbury was poisoned at my orders.’
Frances felt suddenly cold.
‘My husband has denied it, of course, but he suspects me still,’ she continued, twisting the russet silk of her skirt between her fingers. ‘How could he believe that I, his own wife, would stoop to murder?’ She clamped her hand over her mouth as if to suppress another onslaught of sobbing.
‘Did Sir Gervase provide any proof, my lady?’ she asked.
Her companion looked utterly wretched. ‘He claims to have the written testimony of an apothecary from Yorkshire. Yorkshire!’ she cried, her voice rising in agitation. ‘I have no connection with that part of the kingdom and have never travelled further north than Oxford.’
Frances regarded the young woman closely. She seemed in earnest, and her panic-stricken eyes reminded Frances of a rabbit caught in a trap, the jagged spikes cutting ever deeper into its flesh as it struggled to free itself. ‘How did His Majesty respond to the claims?’ she asked.
Lady Somerset gave a heavy sigh and pressed her delicate white fingers to her brow. ‘Robert says he has persuaded him that it is nothing but slander and the King seems inclined to let the matter rest. But already there is gossip. I wish I was far from here. I cannot bear to hear the lies that they will whisper against me – against my husband, too.’
‘There is always gossip, my lady,’ Frances soothed, ‘most of it based upon half-truths and hearsay. The court will soon have fresh matter to occupy their conversations at dinner.’ She hoped her smile conveyed greater certainty than she felt. Somerset’s enemies would be quick to seize upon this – Villiers more than anyone.
The young woman’s face hardened and she stood abruptly. ‘I have detained you for too long, Lady Tyringham,’ she said, her voice clipped.
Frances remained seated as she held the cold stare. Lady Somerset had taken a risk in confiding in her. Her own husband was one of the King’s favourites and, for all that this young woman knew, he might twist the controversy to his advantage. ‘You may rely upon my discretion, my lady,’ Frances said, rising to her feet. ‘I hope that the matter will soon be forgotten and you can journey to Sherborne as planned. The welfare of your child is of far greater importance than the fleeting scandals of this place.’