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. ‘Lord Rutland travelled that way.’
‘But that was many hours ago,’ he reminded her. ‘Buckingham rides like the wind, but he would require the speed of the devil to overtake the earl’s carriage.’ Frances saw a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. ‘I must make haste,’ he said. ‘The King will be impatient to set out.’
She nodded, mute, and watched as he strode towards the door.
‘God protect you.’ The words she always said to him when he set out for the hunt held even greater meaning now. She listened until his rapid footsteps had faded into silence.
‘You have bested me again.’ Frances laid down her cards.
Kate smiled ruefully. ‘You are letting me win today, I am sure of it. I do not usually possess such skill.’
Frances looked out of the window while her friend gathered up the cards and began to shuffle them. The gallery overlooked the northernmost courtyard of the palace, which was why she had suggested they meet there, rather than in either of their chambers as was their custom. It was approaching four o’clock and the light was fading rapidly. Thomas had left several hours before, and with each one that passed Frances’s nerves had been pulled tighter.
‘The hunting party will soon return, will it not?’ Kate asked, echoing her thoughts.
She nodded distractedly.
‘You must not fear for Thomas,’ Kate went on. ‘He is an accomplished rider and you yourself said that he takes greater care since the accident at my father’s estate. It is strange to think you were living at Belvoir for so many weeks yet I did not see you.’
Or were prevented from doing so, Frances thought. Kate had been little more than a child at the time, and entirely subject to her stepmother’s will. Countess Cecilia would not have wanted her to be introduced to the King, when she had sons of her own to parade before him. She turned away from the window, but her smile faded as she saw the Countess of Buckingham making her stately progress along the gallery, flanked by her usual entourage of attendants. She has more ladies than the late Queen.
‘What a pleasant surprise to see you here, Lady Katherine!’
Frances saw the girl blanch as she rose to curtsy.
‘Lady Tyringham.’ The older woman eyed Frances coldly. ‘You ladies keep to your chamber so much that I have come to despair of enjoying your company.’ Without waiting to be invited, she lowered herself onto an empty chair between them. ‘What are you playing there?’
‘Primero.’ Kate began to shuffle the cards again, but Frances saw that her hands trembled.
The countess tutted. ‘Imperial is far better – here, give them to me.’ She took the cards from her. ‘I will teach you.’
‘Lady Katherine and I have played it many times, madam,’ Frances said brightly. ‘In fact, we have rather tired of it.’ She was gratified to see the countess’s eyes flash with anger before she regained her superior expression.
‘Nonsense.’ She flicked the cards into three neat piles as the younger women watched. With a sinking heart, Frances picked up her hand. They played in silence for a few moments.
‘You seem distracted, Lady Tyringham. That is the third time you have looked out of the window in as many minutes. I warn you – you need to be on your guard with me. I am a much more accomplished player than Lady Katherine – am I not, my dear?’ She patted Kate’s hand.
‘A prime, I believe?’ Frances said, turning over her cards.
The countess pursed her lips. ‘Well played,’ she replied tightly. ‘The best of three?’ She did not wait for them to reply before she dealt the cards again, humming as she did so. Frances found her cheerfulness unnerving. It was only the previous evening that John Lambe had remarked upon his mistress’s ill humour. She wondered what had changed.
‘I hope the King has had good hunting today,’ she continued, as they each studied their cards. ‘My son too.’ Her eyes flicked up to Frances. ‘He always catches his prey, in the end.’
Frances looked steadily back at her. Which prey did she mean – Lord Rutland’s son or his daughter? Both, perhaps. She glanced at her friend, fearful in case she had picked up on the implication. She had decided against telling Kate of her father’s flight to Belvoir until she received word that he and her little brother had arrived safely. The poor girl’s nerves were worn to shreds as it was. Studying her discreetly now, she could not tell whether her downturned mouth was due to her having picked up on the countess’s goading or simply to her natural aversion towards her.
‘I wonder that they thought to hunt at all today.’ Frances was arranging the cards in her hand. ‘It is hardly the weather for it, and there will only have been light enough for a few hours’ riding at most.’