‘And I am sorry for yours,’ Rutland said, turning to face Thomas. ‘I heard about Tyringham Hall.’
Her husband nodded his thanks. The animated chatter around them grew steadily louder as their fellow diners enjoyed more of the wine that was served in great quantities at every feast.
‘What has brought you here, my lord?’ Frances asked.
‘The King desired my presence. He has a task for me to perform, but the letter said he would explain it in person. I must admit that I had thought myself quite forgotten.’
Hoped too, no doubt, Frances thought. She glanced around the room but could see neither Kate nor her mother-in-law. The Countess of Buckingham had attended fewer court gatherings during her son’s absence, and her daughter-in-law had been obliged to keep her company most evenings. Frances wondered if Kate knew that her father had returned. ‘Have you seen Lady Katherine yet?’
The earl’s face clouded. ‘I arrived just an hour ago,’ he said abruptly.
‘You must be anxious to meet your granddaughter,’ she persisted, ignoring Thomas’s warning look.
‘I do not intend to tarry,’ he replied. ‘As soon as I have performed whatever service the King intends for me, I shall return to Belvoir.’
Frances felt angry on Kate’s behalf. It was unjust that her father had rejected her for marrying a man who had forced himself upon her in the most brutal way. But she knew that nothing could be gained by pressing the matter now.
The tables were being cleared, and there was a flurry of activity on the stage as it was made ready for the performance. Frances watched as an enormous painted castle was lifted onto the dais by four red-faced pages. They lowered it into place as Lord Cranfield barked directions at them. James had moved to the left, where he was seated next to Arthur Brett, who had changed into his costume, complete with an oversized crown that glittered with fake jewels. Now and then, his royal master whispered into the young man’s ear.
When at last all of the tables had been moved and the guests had taken their places, the masque began. Frances hardly noticed the succession of different actors and props as the tedious narrative played on. She kept her eyes on the King, who sat forward every time Arthur stepped into a scene. His eyes also lingered on the young man who played Guinevere. Only when there was a loud clap of thunder followed by a huge plume of smoke did she focus on the centre of the dais. As the vapour began to clear, a figure dressed as Merlin came slowly into view. Frances stared.
John Lambe.
She had not seen the conjurer for more than three years. He had left court after the death of Rutland’s son and there had been no word of him since. Frances watched, horror-struck, as he made circles with his arms, the long sleeves that covered them whirling around him. She was only vaguely aware that he was speaking his lines as her mind ran over why he might have returned when his patron was far away. Was it a sign that Buckingham would soon return?
As the scene wore on, Frances stole a glance at Rutland. His mouth was pressed into a thin line as he stared, unblinking, at the old man before them. Did he believe, like Frances, that he was looking at his son’s murderer? At last the masque reached its conclusion, the dancers twirling about, their arms stretched out towards the three central figures of Arthur, Guinevere and Merlin. With a final strike of the drum, the dais was plunged into darkness. Frances heard the rustle of satin as a figure swept past the row of benches where she was sitting, and a moment later she caught the pungent, heavily spiced scent that she remembered from her first encounter with Lambe. When the sconces were relit, she was hardly surprised to see that he was not among the actors who were bowing before the King and his court. He had disappeared into the night, like some phantom.
As soon as the applause had died away, there was a crush of bodies and eager courtiers surged forward to make their obeisance before the King. Frances felt a welcome draught of cool night air as the doors to a nearby balcony were opened.
‘I will fetch us some wine,’ Thomas said, as they rose to their feet and moved towards it.
The rain was still falling on the dark streets below, but the balcony was sheltered by a large stone canopy. Neither Frances nor Lord Rutland spoke as they took deep breaths of the cleansing air.
‘I did not expect to see Dr Lambe here again,’ she began, ‘at least, not without his patron. He has not appeared at court since . . .’
The earl did not answer but stared out over the deserted street, clutching the edge of the carved stone balustrade.
‘Was it him?’ he muttered, still gazing straight ahead. ‘Did he poison my son?’
‘I believe so, my lord,’ she whispered. ‘Or he supplied the means, at least,’ she added, thinking of the large-eyed girl who had served the countess. She, too, had disappeared from court after Lord Ros’s death.
This was the first time they had spoken of it. In the days and weeks that had followed his son’s demise, Rutland had kept to his apartments, too grief-stricken to take part in the usual court routines, while Frances had lived under threat of exposure as a witch. She had come to fear that the earl had given credence to the rumours that Buckingham had put about at the time.
‘That devil had my poor boy murdered so that he could seize my daughter and her fortune. I have long suspected it, but pushed it from my thoughts these past three years, lest it drove me to madness. Cecilia was adamant that our sons had been bewitched to death and would hear nothing to contradict it.’ He turned to Frances at last. ‘I will avenge my son – Katherine too. He has blighted both their lives.’
‘I will help you, my lord.’
Thomas was standing at the doors to the balcony. He walked slowly over and gave them each a glass. ‘That villain has ruined our lives too,’ he said, his voice low, ‘and so many more besides. He will not rest until he has the Crown of England in his hands.’
‘This kingdom can have no peace while he draws breath,’ the earl agreed. ‘It is surely God’s will that we send this devil back to the Hell that spawned him.’
Frances looked from one to the other, her heart thudding. She had not told Thomas about her encounter with Salisbury, reasoning that there was nothing to be gained from it. But the concealment had felt like a betrayal. She took a breath.
‘What if he is not a devil but an angel, sent by God to restore this kingdom to the true faith?’
Both men stared at her. She could not go back now.
‘There are those who believe that Buckingham is doing the Lord’s work, not his own, that he is plotting to secure this Spanish marriage so that King Philip will send an army to oust James from his throne and set Charles and the infanta upon it.’
Rutland gave a snort of derision. ‘Preposterous! The man serves himself alone. God is as nothing to him. Besides, he forced my daughter to relinquish the Catholic faith in order to marry him. It is not possible!’
‘Who told you this?’ Thomas asked.
Frances saw the hurt in his eyes, as well as the shock. She swallowed hard. ‘William Cecil, Earl of Salisbury.’
‘Cecil? When did you see him? He has been absent from court for years.’
‘He came to Greenwich during the Christmas festivities,’ she replied, forcing herself not to flinch from her husband’s gaze. ‘We met by chance, but it seems he meant to seek me out. I told him I would have no part in his schemes.’