‘On the contrary,’ she interjected now, ‘Lady Katherine is greatly enjoying her time here and has not lacked for company.’
Lady Mary glared at her, but Frances’s smile did not waver. The distant chiming of bells echoed across the garden.
‘Forgive us, Sir Francis, my lady,’ Villiers said, with an affectation of regret, ‘but my lady mother and I are required to attend His Grace at chapel.’ He gave a stiff bow as his mother swept past them, skirts rustling. Frances slowly exhaled.
‘A charming lady,’ her companion observed wryly. ‘It is easy to see from whom her son derives his manners.’
‘Argh!’ Frances cried, as she pricked her finger for the third time in as many minutes. She pushed away the embroidery as she sucked the blood. The shirt was a gift for George’s birthday: he would be ten next month. She had been obliged to guess at the size, which had pained her. It did not seem so very long ago that she had chalked up his height on the stable wall at Tyringham, his back pressed against the bricks and head held as high as he could raise it. She closed her eyes until the familiar ache of longing had subsided, then carefully folded the linen back into the casket.
Glancing at the clock, she saw that it was almost two. She had arranged to call on Kate at half past, but she was sure her friend wouldn’t mind if she was a little early. Besides, she was anxious not to be thwarted by Lady Mary Villiers again. Twice this week she had arrived at the Earl of Rutland’s apartment only to find that his daughter had already been spirited away. The older woman showed the same disregard for prior engagements as she did for most other things – her precious son excepted. Kate had made no complaint, but Frances had seen enough to know that she found Lady Villiers just as irksome as she did herself.
The chapel bell was striking two as Frances reached the lodging. She knocked on the door and waited. Everything was silent within, and she began to fear that Lady Villiers had got there before her once more. She knocked again, louder this time, and was relieved to hear hurried steps on the other side of the door. A moment later, Kate appeared, clearly somewhat flustered.
‘Forgive me – I am before my time,’ Frances said, with a rueful smile. ‘I can come back if—’
‘No, please,’ Kate said hurriedly, pulling her inside. ‘I must attend to something for just a moment. Please – sit down,’ she said, gesturing towards one of several ornate chairs that were arranged around the large mahogany table. The apartment was a good deal larger than Thomas’s, and the light streamed in from the large bay windows overlooking the Thames. As she waited for her friend to return, Frances’s gaze roamed over the rows of books that lined the walls on either side of the fireplace. It did not surprise her that the earl was so well-read, but she wondered why he had not made up for his daughter’s woeful lack of education here, many miles from his wife’s scrutiny.
Her thoughts were distracted by a familiar aroma emanating from Kate’s chamber. Incense. That Rutland still clung to the old religion was well known throughout the court. The King himself was aware of it but his favour towards the earl had always been such that he had been prepared – for once – to turn a blind eye. But Rutland had always insisted his children had been raised in the reformed faith. Frances did not doubt that this was true of his sons – the countess would have made sure of that – but if the same neglect she had shown for her stepdaughter’s education extended to her devotions, then it was possible Kate had grown to cherish the comforts of her father’s faith. Perhaps it was her way of quietly rebelling against the countess’s many cruelties.
Kate came back into the room, taking care to close the chamber door behind her. ‘I’m sorry to take so long,’ she said, still a little flustered. ‘Where shall we go? Father says it will rain, but I see no sign of that. Greenwich, perhaps? Or Hyde Park?’
‘Kate,’ Frances said, reaching for her hand, ‘you do know that you may confide anything to me?’
The girl paled as she fiddled with the cords of her cloak. ‘Of course,’ she muttered.
Frances waited but Kate showed no inclination to say more, so she decided to let the matter rest for now. Though she longed to talk of their shared faith, she must be patient. Such talk was heresy, after all, and theirs was a friendship as brief as it was affectionate.
‘Here – let me help you,’ Frances said, rising to her feet. As she deftly untangled the cords, she noticed the glimmer of a jewel beneath the young woman’s cloak. Discreetly, she pulled back the fabric a little so that she could take a closer look. The large ruby was fashioned into a shell, with a diamond at its base. It was exquisite. ‘A present from your father?’ she asked, with a smile.
Kate flushed. ‘Not my father, no—’ She broke off and chewed her lower lip. Frances watched her with mounting unease. ‘Sir George sent it yesterday, with a note – here,’ she added, drawing a carefully folded parchment from her pocket.
Frances almost recoiled but forced herself to smile as she read its contents.
No jewel could outshine your beauty, but please accept this as a token of my esteem. I hope you might think of your poor servant whenever you look upon it.
GV
His initials were written with such a flourish that they took up more of the page than the message above. Even the gift boasted of the giver: the Villiers coat of arms included a red cross decorated with shells.
‘Don’t you like it?’
Frances became aware that the girl was watching her intently, her brow creased.
‘It is very pretty,’ she replied, taking care to keep her tone light. ‘Sir George is certainly generous to his friends. He is forever giving out such tokens, I hear.’
It was not a lie. Thomas had told her how Villiers bribed his followers with gold and trinkets – though none as fine as this. She saw Kate’s face fall and experienced a mixture of remorse and relief.
‘Well now,’ she continued brightly, ‘I think you are right – the weather is set fair, so let us ride out to Greenwich, as you suggested.’
Kate’s eyes sparkled, all talk of her errant suitor forgotten, for now at least.
CHAPTER 20
12 July
Frances glanced across the aisle to where her husband was seated with the other senior officials of the King’s household. His jaw was tightly clenched and his lips were pressed into a thin line, but when their eyes met he flashed her a smile of such warmth that it melted her heart. She knew how much he had dreaded this day. Looking along the row of his grim-faced companions, she suspected he was not alone.
‘Somerset’s arms have not been taken down,’ she heard someone whisper behind her. Scanning the brightly painted sculptures above the ornate pews where the knights would take their places, Frances saw the distinctive upturned V decorated with three black stars. It gave her cause to hope that the rumours were true and the King intended to pardon his disgraced favourite. She hoped to see Sir Francis Bacon soon so that he could confirm it.
‘The King has granted him full liberty of the Tower,’ remarked another. ‘I hear he has been seen walking the ramparts, the Garter medallion around his neck.’
‘Better that than a rope,’ his companion sneered. The low murmur of laughter that followed was drowned by a sudden blare of trumpets. All heads were bowed as the King made his entrance into the hall, his heels clipping the ancient marble tiles. Stealing a glance at the procession, Frances was surprised to see the Queen following in her husband’s wake. She was resplendent in a gown of silver taffeta with a high collar of stiff white lace. Her hair had been fashioned into an elaborate coif, which was studded with tiny pearls and diamonds. Behind her walked Prince Charles, pale and solemn as usual. He had grown even more slender these past few months, but had gained little in height. The Knights of the Garter came next, the long white plumes of their hats fluttering as they walked.