‘I wonder what business caused such haste,’ her companion mused.
As she watched the dark outline of the carriage disappear from view, she felt a creeping sense of foreboding.
The apartment was almost in darkness by the time her husband returned later that day. The air had grown chill, too, and Frances had just stood to make up the fire when she heard the click of the latch. She exhaled slowly, relief washing over her. Irrational though it was, during the hours since her return from St James’s Park, she had grown increasingly fearful that whatever had brought the lord chief justice to Whitehall might concern her husband. It made little sense, but in the febrile atmosphere of court it was all too easy to become gripped by the same paranoia that made the King see traitors everywhere.
Thomas smiled weakly at her as he pushed the door closed, then bent to kiss her.
‘You are behind your usual time.’ She tried to keep her tone light.
‘Forgive me – I should have sent word,’ he replied, crossing to the fireplace. ‘The King called a conference with his attendants,’ he explained, as he took some logs from the basket and placed them in the grate. When the flames had taken hold, he sat in front of it and Frances joined him.
‘His Majesty has appointed Sir Edward Coke to investigate Overbury’s death,’ he said at length. ‘He is concerned by all this talk of poison.’
‘But surely that is nothing more than rumour and hearsay.’
Thomas nodded. ‘That may be so, but the matter has excited enough attention to make the King anxious that justice is seen to be done.’
‘No doubt he has been encouraged in this.’
‘No doubt,’ he agreed. ‘But it seems that fresh intelligence has reached the King’s ears, prompting him to look closely at the matter. Overbury’s keeper, Richard Weston, has attested that his charge was murdered with a poisoned enema.’
Frances stared at her husband in dismay. No such claim had been made in the two years since Overbury’s death. That it had been levelled now was surely a blatant slur on Somerset’s relationship with his former confidant. Frances had heard of other sodomites being put to death by such means. If Villiers had bribed Weston to make the claim, then he was guilty of hypocrisy as well as slander.
‘What did Somerset say to this?’ she asked, after a long pause.
‘I have never seen a man so enraged.’ Thomas paled at the memory. ‘He used such words against the King that I feared he would be taken straight to the Tower. He ranted against Villiers, too, accusing him of calumny and lies. Ralph Winwood and I were obliged to restrain him, lest he ran Villiers through with his sword.’
Pity he did not, Frances thought. It would have rid the court of that serpent.
‘As soon as we released our grasp, he stormed out of the privy chamber, uttering curses against the King’s lapdog, as he called him.’
‘Where is he now?’ she asked.
Thomas gave a shrug. ‘With his wife in their apartment, I suppose. He begged leave to accompany her to Sherborne two days ago, but the King refused. Now it is obvious why.’
‘So she must travel alone?’ Frances asked, imagining the young woman being jolted along the rough tracks that lay between London and Wiltshire. She knew them all too well, having made numerous journeys from Whitehall to Longford. Somerset’s estate lay forty miles further west so his wife faced a journey of some four or five days when at last she was given leave to depart.
Thomas looked at her, grave-faced. ‘Lady Somerset is under suspicion too – perhaps even more so than her husband. Several of her associates have now been implicated in the scandal.’
Frances could not but feel pity for the young woman. Although she was certainly guilty of the sins of vanity and pride, she could not believe her capable of murder. ‘She will be birthing that poor child here if Sir Edward’s investigations are not swiftly concluded.’
‘And if they are not concluded in her favour.’
Villiers must be congratulating himself at having come within tantalising reach of his rival’s destruction. She wondered whom he would set his sights upon next.
CHAPTER 13
16 October
Frances held the letter close to her face and breathed in the achingly familiar scent of rose oil – her mother’s favourite. She placed it back on her lap and began to read the elegant script.
You would rejoice to see how your son thrives here, Frances. He has grown so tall that he will soon outstrip me in inches, as well as energy. He loves Longford as if he has never known any other home. It would gladden your dear father’s heart to know that he left our estate to one so worthy.
Frances had to look away. How she wished that he had lived to see his grandson mature into such an admirable young man.
I have appointed a private chaplain to attend us. He was a friend of the Reverend Samuels, so I know he can be trusted. George is glad that he no longer has to attend St Mary’s. I was never able to stop his fidgeting during Pritchard’s sermons.
Frances smiled as she read that part. She could hardly blame her son for not paying attention to the priest’s moralising addresses. She had suffered many of them since his arrival in the parish soon after the old Queen’s death. Eager to curry favour with the new King, he had made it his business to root out any remnants of the old religion that still lingered in those parts – as they did in many other parishes far distant from court. He had also proved as rapacious a witch hunter as the King himself.
I hope that my other grandsons are thriving and that Thomas’s affairs prosper. He must be glad of your presence. Sending you every blessing, my daughter.
Frances read the note several more times, then kissed it and placed it carefully in the casket with the others. Although she always rejoiced to hear from her mother, it sharpened her longing to see her – George too. It would surely be many months yet before she was able to make the journey to Wiltshire. She hated living so far from her mother and sons, but tried to comfort herself with the knowledge that they were safest in the tranquillity of the country, well away from the perils of court.
It was almost two weeks since the lord chief justice had begun his enquiries and the brittle atmosphere within the King’s privy chamber and throughout the court was almost palpable. Even the walls of the palace seemed to emit tension. Sir Edward Coke had summoned numerous courtiers and attendants for questioning – Thomas included. Her husband told her that he had been most thorough, demanding the details of any conversations he had had with Somerset or his wife, any visits to the Tower. She prayed that Coke would not extend his enquiries to her. Although her own visit there had had nothing to do with his investigation, she had no wish for her treatment of Lady Arbella to come to his ears – or her conversation with Lady Somerset, for that matter. A number of the Somersets’ associates had been taken into the King’s custody for far less.
Frances tried to shake the thought from her mind as she dipped the quill into the ink and began to write. She would not confide her fears to her mother: Helena already worried about her, now that she was back in the vipers’ nest of court.
My dearest Mother