Frances took a sip of wine but struggled to swallow.
‘It seems she used her influence to have Sir William Wade replaced as lieutenant of the Tower by Sir Gervase Helwys.’ His dark eyes appraised her carefully.
‘And you think Sir Gervase played a part in Overbury’s death?’ Frances asked.
‘Perhaps – even if it was only to turn a blind eye to events.’
Lady Somerset’s distress had seemed genuine when she had confided in her that day. Was she really such an arch dissembler? ‘Is there other evidence?’
Bacon sighed. ‘Trifles – an overheard conversation here, an apothecary’s visit there. Not enough on their own, but when taken together . . .’
Frances knew too well how such details could be presented as conclusive proof. She herself had been arrested for far less.
‘Coke is determined that they be made an example of, naturally,’ he continued, with a sneer. ‘Pity for him that his own enquiries did not turn up anything of use.’
‘It must pain him that the King appointed you to succeed where he had failed,’ she observed.
Bacon smiled. ‘I cannot deny that it gave me some satisfaction – though my prospects of success are far from certain. And, to be plain, I would rather have nothing to do with the business.’ He drank some wine and they turned to survey the throng. A volta was in full swing, and the hall was a riot of swirling silks and red-faced courtiers, all trying to keep pace with the music. The heat in the room was growing even more oppressive and Frances wished she had accompanied her husband outside. He was still nowhere to be seen.
‘You do not care to dance, my dear?’ her companion asked, when the musicians began the more sedate chords of the pavane.
‘A lady of my age can be forgiven for preferring to observe,’ she said, with a grin. Thomas never tired of telling her that she was at the height of her beauty, but at thirty-five she knew it would soon fade. Looking around at the other ladies now, their faces flushed from the dance and their eyes bright with excitement, they seemed so much younger than she. Most were, she admitted: her mother had introduced her to court when she was just fourteen. Had she ever been so fresh-faced, so hopeful? The court soon stripped young women of their innocence, turned naivety into cunning and ambition. She did not envy the nubile ladies their youth: the wisdom she had gained since first coming to this place – though hard-won – was a far greater prize.
‘Here you are!’ Thomas’s voice, edged with irritation, interrupted her reverie. He nodded briefly to Bacon, who had stood to bow. ‘I have been searching everywhere for you.’
‘Forgive me, Sir Thomas – the fault was mine,’ Bacon put in smoothly. ‘Your wife’s company is far too diverting. I have detained her much longer than I ought.’
Thomas smiled tightly as the older man made another bow before bending to kiss Frances’s hand. She watched as he made his way from the hall, then turned to her husband. ‘Must you be so discourteous?’
Thomas looked momentarily ashamed. ‘I was worried about you,’ he said defensively. Studying his expression, Frances realised her assumption that he was not jealous of her friendship with Bacon might have been misplaced. His eyes flicked to the dais. ‘Come – I have no stomach for tonight’s revelries.’ He held out his hand. Frances searched his face, hoping to see some of his usual good humour, but he was too agitated. She rose to follow.
The shock of the chill night air hit her as they stepped outside. But she was glad of it after the stifling heat of the hall and took a deep, cleansing breath. They walked on in silence, their footsteps echoing in the deserted courtyard. Frances’s hand twitched to hold her husband’s, but fell back to her side.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said quietly at last. ‘I should not have taken out my ill humour on you – or Sir Francis. I must learn greater tolerance if I am to remain in this place.’
Frances felt the tension begin to abate and reached over to him. His hand felt warm as he clasped hers. ‘You have much to bear,’ she soothed, thinking of Villiers’s smirk as he looked out from the dais, the emblem of his promotion glinting in the candlelight.
‘I will have a good deal more yet,’ he said grimly.
Frances brought his hand to her lips. ‘We have borne much worse. The King’s fancy will soon pass to another. And when it does, the best that Sir George can hope for will be to live out his days in peaceful retirement.’
They fell silent and Frances knew that her husband, too, was thinking of Somerset. She drew her cloak more tightly around her. They were close to their apartment now and she looked forward to the warmth of her husband’s embrace as they lay cocooned in their bed. Those precious hours always acted as a balm to their troubles at court.
‘I do hope you are not thinking of retiring already, Sir Thomas?’
She and her husband jumped at the silken voice as Villiers stepped out of the shadows. In the gloom of the corridor, she sensed, rather than saw, the smile that was playing about his lips.
Thomas moved in front of her and made a stiff bow. He did not return to her side but kept her hand tightly clasped in his. ‘Sir George.’
The young man folded his arms and leaned against the wall. ‘The King always speaks so highly of you. I have often heard him say that you are the most assiduous of all his servants for the care you show towards his beloved hounds.’ A pause. ‘I do hope he has not laboured under a misapprehension all these years.’
Her husband bristled, but when he replied his voice was calm. ‘I have always sought to serve His Grace to the utmost of my ability – as my lord of Worcester would attest.’
Villiers chuckled. ‘That preening old fool? I wonder he could find the stables, let alone ensure their efficient management.’
Thomas did not reply.
‘Well, it is no matter. I mean to order things to my satisfaction. Hunting is the King’s greatest solace – one of them anyway – so it is imperative that everything is made ready that we may depart as soon as His Grace gives the order. He was waiting a full fifteen minutes for his hounds when we set out for Hampton Court last week.’
Frances was glad that the darkness masked her dismay. It had been Villiers who had delayed their departure, insisting on changing his attire just as the King was about to mount his horse. Thomas had told her of it when he had returned that evening. She willed him to defend himself now but he remained silent.
‘You may send word when you are done,’ Villiers said, his tone suddenly brisk.
‘Done?’
‘Why, yes, preparing His Grace’s buckhounds, of course. Surely you have not enjoyed so much of the King’s hospitality this evening that you have forgotten your duties.’
Frances felt her husband’s fingers twitch.
‘A night’s rest is the only preparation they require, Sir George,’ he replied quietly. ‘If I disturb them now, they will be tired and intractable by the time we depart for Ashridge.’
Villiers took a step closer but Thomas did not flinch. ‘I am fully aware of that, Sir Thomas,’ he snapped. ‘But what of their accoutrements? The harnesses were still spattered with mud from the previous hunt when we rode out at Hampton Court. It is fortunate for you that the King did not notice them. Such slovenliness disgraces his honour.’