Fallen Angel

by Tracy Borman

  ‘I thought we might ride over to Greenwich,’ Frances said. ‘The palace boasts some of the best parkland in the country and the hawthorn will be in full bloom by now.’ She did not add that it offered the additional advantage of being far from Westminster, where the Somersets’ trial was being held. Bacon had predicted that the verdict would be swiftly delivered.

  Her husband shot her a disapproving look – she knew that he did not wish her to ride so far – but he said nothing and strode off to fetch Lady Katherine’s horse. He had just dis appeared into the stables when the sound of brisk footsteps echoed around the yard. Frances stiffened as she saw Villiers approaching.

  ‘My dear sir!’ he cried, stepping forward to embrace the earl. Frances thought she saw the older man’s shoulders tense as he returned the greeting. ‘And Lady Katherine.’ He swept an elaborate bow then stooped to kiss the young woman’s hand. ‘I swear you have grown even lovelier since I saw you last.’

  Katherine was now a deep crimson as she jerked her hand awkwardly away. Frances could not tell if she was more pleased or alarmed by his attentions.

  ‘Well now, my lord, I have looked for you every day since our honours were announced. It was remiss of you not to send word of your arrival – or that of your enchanting daughter. I would have welcomed you with a feast or a masque at the very least.’

  ‘You are very kind, Sir George,’ the earl replied, ‘but I did not wish to trouble you.’

  Villiers affected a serious expression. ‘I cannot deny that the King has been greatly preoccupied of late – and therefore I, too,’ he added pompously. ‘This sorry business of Lord and Lady Somerset has shaken us all.’

  ‘I had heard that their trial was under way,’ Rutland remarked.

  Villiers gave a heavy sigh. ‘I am riding over to Westminster now. His Grace is most anxious for news of the proceedings.’ He glanced around the yard. ‘Where is Tyringham?’ he muttered irritably.

  At that moment, Thomas emerged from the stables with a fine dappled grey mare. He gave a tight bow to Villiers but did not quicken his pace.

  ‘Fetch me my horse,’ Villiers barked, as his master of the buckhounds drew level with them.

  Frances was gratified when her husband did not immediately respond but took his time tethering the mare to the mounting block. She knew it was dangerous to antagonise the man but had no wish to see Thomas so demeaned.

  ‘Be quick about it,’ Villiers said, his voice rising with impatience. ‘The King’s business will brook no delay.’

  Thomas gave a small nod, then walked steadily back to the stables.

  Katherine’s face had paled and her fingers were worrying at the seam of her dress.

  ‘Please, let me help you, Lady Katherine,’ Frances said gently, holding out her hand.

  Katherine hesitated and looked up at her father, who smiled his reassurance. The young girl’s hand felt cold and clammy as she placed it lightly on Frances’s, but she mounted the horse with practised ease and leaned forward to pat its neck while she waited for her companion.

  ‘We will be back before dinner, my lord,’ Frances said, as she climbed onto her own saddle. Her husband was leading Villiers’s horse from the stables. Their eyes met and she saw his apprehension, whether for her or his rival, she could not tell.

  She tapped her heels into the horse’s sides and its hoofs clattered on the cobblestones as she and Lady Katherine made their way out of the yard. They had just passed under the Holbein Gate when Villiers thundered past them. He pulled sharply on the reins and his horse reared. A less experienced horseman would have been thrown from the saddle but he appeared completely at ease, flashing them a smile as he leaned back, his head edging closer to the ground. Katherine was gazing at him open-mouthed and Frances, too, was unable to look away, though she despised his arrogant showmanship. After several moments, he loosened his grip on the reins and the horse lowered its front legs, whinnying as if with relief. Villiers doffed his hat to Katherine, then rode off at speed, his laughter echoing along the street.

  Later, looking out beyond the parkland, the sunlight glinting off the river, a bead of sweat trickled between Frances’s shoulder blades as she rested back on her elbows. It had been an exhilarating ride and her companion had proved as excellent a horsewoman as her proud father had boasted. Frances had been hard-pressed to keep pace with her as they had reached the open expanse of Greenwich Park.

  ‘It is a fine view, is it not, Lady Katherine?’ she said, still a little breathless.

  ‘Kate – please,’ her companion said shyly, then followed Frances’s gaze. ‘I did not think that anything could rival the park at Belvoir but this is beautiful. I hope we might come here again.’

  ‘I would like that very much,’ Frances replied. ‘You are well acquainted with Sir George’s family, I understand?’

  The young woman drew in a breath. ‘Yes – that is, their estate borders my father’s. Lady Villiers visits Belvoir often. She and the coun— my lady mother have become close acquaintances. There was talk of her travelling to London with my father when she comes for her son’s ennoblement,’ she added, ‘but my father thought she would not be comfortable in our carriage, with so little room.’

  Frances suppressed a smile. From what she had heard of Villiers’s mother, she did not wonder that the earl had persuaded her to make her own way to London. ‘I will look forward to making her acquaintance . . . Her son clearly esteems you.’

  Kate shifted uncomfortably and turned towards the palace, so that Frances could no longer see her face.

  ‘It is my poor brother, Francis, who most interests him,’ she replied. ‘He visited him often during the early days of his sickness and has written many times to enquire after him since coming to court. My father is very grateful for his attentions, of course.’

  Frances raised an eyebrow. She could not imagine Villiers had acted out of concern for the boy. ‘How kind that he should take such trouble,’ she observed, ‘especially when the King allows him so little leisure.’ She plucked a blackberry from the bush next to them. It was unripe and tasted a little sour, but the ride had sharpened her appetite. ‘He is handsome, is he not?’

  Her companion became very still, as if she was holding herself taut. ‘Of course. But . . . ’ It was barely a whisper. Frances waited. ‘. . . there is something about him that unnerves me. It is sinful of me to say so, for he has shown my family and me nothing but kindness. Yet I cannot shake off the feeling that he means us ill somehow.’

  Frances sat upright and placed her hand lightly on her companion’s arm. The young woman started as if scalded.

  ‘You must not chastise yourself for being honest, Kate,’ she said. ‘I have long since learned to trust my instincts – more than the things I see and hear. Your caution will serve you well at court. I would that I had had as much of it when I first came here.’

  Kate turned to face her now. ‘I do not deserve your kindness, Frances,’ she said. ‘My lady mother is right. I am too much given to foolish fancies. At least I will not vex her while I am here. She has troubles enough to contend with.’

  ‘I will pray for your brother’s recovery,’ Frances said. ‘With God’s blessing, by the time you return to Belvoir he will be out of all danger. But I hope that in the meantime you will permit me to keep you company as often as you desire it.’

  ‘Oh, yes!’ Kate brightened at once. ‘I should like that very much. I feared I might lack for companions, as I do at home.’

  Frances felt another pang of pity for her. She must have led a miserable existence since her father’s marriage. ‘We can ride out every afternoon, if you wish, and when the weather is less clement I have many books to keep you entertained.’

  Kate’s smile faded. ‘Thank you.’

  Frances wondered what she had said to upset her, but kept her counsel. She could not expect her new friend to confide in her so soon.

  When they returned the stable-yard was deserted and light was already blazing in the great
hall.

  As soon as Kate had dismounted too, Frances took the reins of both horses and led them back to the stables, wondering why Thomas had not yet emerged. But there was only a young groom inside, busy raking out the hay. Pushing down her unease, she handed him the reins, then walked briskly back into the yard.

  ‘I will escort you to your father’s lodgings,’ she said, taking Kate’s arm.

  The atmosphere was unusually subdued as they passed through the public rooms, just a few small clusters of courtiers talking in hushed tones. They turned curious stares towards her companion, so she quickened her pace, holding Kate’s arm firmly so that she was obliged to do the same.

  As soon as they reached the earl’s apartment, Frances bade a swift adieu, saying she needed to make shift for dinner. She walked back through the palace towards her own chambers, her anxiety mounting with every step. Thomas never retired from his duties so early. When at last she lifted the latch on the door to their apartment, her husband rushed to greet her. Her relief at seeing him soon faded when she saw his expression.

  ‘What has happened?’ she asked.

  He pulled her inside and closed the door. ‘Somerset has been found guilty – his wife too,’ he said, in a low voice, grasping her hands.

  Frances’s mouth dried. Bacon had been so sure they would be pardoned.

  ‘Lady Somerset confessed to Overbury’s murder before the verdict was given,’ Thomas continued. ‘Her husband maintained his innocence, despite pressure from the King to admit his crimes and receive clemency.’

  ‘What will become of them?’ Frances asked fearfully.

  Her husband looked as stricken as she felt. ‘They have been sentenced to hang.’

  She sat down abruptly, like a puppet whose strings had been cut. An image of the poor wretch she had seen at Tyburn flitted before her, the young woman’s eyes bulging and her tongue lolling from one side of her mouth. She swallowed bile as she stared up at her husband. He laid a hand on her shoulder but could offer no words of comfort.

  ‘Will the King show them mercy?’ Frances asked.

  Thomas’s mouth twisted into a grimace. ‘There seems little prospect of that. He has already offered Villiers their estate at Sherborne.’

  Frances slumped back in the chair. ‘This is his doing, I am sure of it.’

  Thomas sank down next to her, then raised bleak eyes to hers. ‘He has the face of an angel and the heart of a devil.’

  CHAPTER 19

  7 June

  ‘Lonicera periclymenum,’ Bacon murmured, as he bent to breathe in the heady scent of woodbine, then gently rubbed the creamy white and yellow petals between his fingers. ‘I have long preferred the Latin names. They are so much more poetic.’

  Such remarks had earned him a reputation for pomposity. The same intellectual gifts that had been so lauded by the old Queen and her court were viewed with disdain by her successor – and, therefore, all those who sought his favour. Frances was glad that James had been prepared to overlook his natural aversion towards men of letters and appoint Bacon as his principal legal adviser. The Somersets’ fate now rested in his hands.

  ‘Efficacious in the treatment of mouth sores and defluxions of the throat,’ he continued now.

  ‘And a cure for maladies of the stomach, I believe,’ Frances added. Enough trust existed between them for her to have confided her knowledge of such things.

  Her companion chuckled. ‘Little wonder it is grown here at the palace. The servers ought to hand it out at the end of each feast – it would save all manner of griping and groaning during the night . . . If I didn’t know better, I would think you, too, had been indulging in an excess of rich fare.’ He cast a sly glance at her stomach. ‘Congratulations, my dear,’ he added, with genuine warmth.

  Frances opened her mouth to protest. Thomas had agreed to keep her condition a secret until it could no longer be concealed. She could not quite explain why she had willed it so. A desire to protect the growing child from the dangers of court? Or perhaps she wished to avoid the constant reminders that she would soon be obliged to leave her husband and return to Buckinghamshire. Whatever the reason, she could not feel the same joy in this child as she had in the others. It seemed to rest uneasily in her belly, like the restless spirits her old nurse Ellen had often spoken of.

  ‘Forgive me, I should not have shown such presumption.’

  Frances was suddenly aware that Bacon was watching her with concern. She gave a bright smile and reached out to squeeze his hand. ‘You are truly a man of science, Sir Francis,’ she replied, ‘for you observe things that others fail to notice. But, pray, do not share your knowledge just yet. I have a foolish notion to keep it hidden for a while longer.’

  Her companion nodded. ‘Of course – though I think the young knave will soon show himself to the least observant of courtiers.’

  Frances smiled. She had a fancy it was a girl this time.

  They continued to stroll through the privy garden. It was a pleasantly warm day and the cloudless sky seemed to promise many more to come. Frances breathed in the scent of the roses that were in full bloom. Here, enclosed by the neatly clipped hedges on either side of the garden, she could almost believe herself a world away from the court. But even as she thought it, an image of Somerset and his wife, enclosed by the cold stone walls of the Tower, flitted before her. She shivered, despite the rising heat.

  ‘I am indebted to you for meeting me, when you have so much pressing business to attend to,’ she said.

  Bacon inclined his head, but his expression was grave. ‘I have endeavoured to make His Grace see the wisdom of clemency,’ he replied, ‘but as yet he shows little inclination towards it. There are other voices than mine and they ring more loudly in his ears.’

  Villiers. Frances knew that his words had as good as tightened the noose around his rival’s neck. ‘You must keep up your persuasions, my lord,’ she urged. ‘Sir George might enjoy greater favour, but you have greater wit. The King must know how the people mutter against the conviction as founded only upon rumour and hearsay. The Somersets have gained more sympathy in the Tower than they ever did at court.’

  Bacon opened his mouth to reply but closed it and swept a deep bow. In confusion, Frances turned her gaze towards the path ahead and froze. The subject of their whispered conversation was strolling towards them with his usual languor. At his side was an older woman, finely dressed in a gown of jet-black satin studded with pearls. As they drew closer, Frances saw that she had the same dark blue eyes as her son.

  ‘Lady Mary,’ Bacon said, stepping forward to kiss her hand. ‘Permit me to introduce my companion, Lady Frances—’

  ‘Tyringham,’ the woman said sharply, pursing her thin lips as she eyed Frances closely. ‘Your husband works for my son, I believe.’

  Frances dropped a brief curtsy and assumed what she hoped was a polite expression. ‘Sir Thomas is master of the King’s buckhounds, my lady,’ she replied, holding her gaze.

  ‘Quite,’ the older woman observed. ‘Having the command of such men enables Sir George to attend to weightier matters,’ she added, her expression softening as she turned to him.

  ‘I trust your journey was comfortable?’ Bacon asked.

  ‘Not in the least,’ the older woman snapped. ‘The roads south of Leicester are quite shocking – those in London even worse. I wonder His Majesty has not ordered their repair.’

  ‘I will speak to him about it, Mother,’ Villiers told her. ‘Though at present I fear he has more pressing matters to attend to.’ He shot a look at Bacon.

  ‘How long do you mean to stay at court?’ Frances asked.

  Lady Mary Villiers gave a sniff. ‘I have no thought of returning to Brooksby Hall yet – why, I have only just arrived.’ Her voice was laced with disdain. ‘The Garter ceremony will take place next month, and I am sure that I will not lack for diversion here in the meantime.’ The look she exchanged with her son made Frances feel uneasy. Even though she had only just met the woman, s
he suspected she was as black-hearted as he.

  ‘Lady Katherine Manners will be delighted to keep you company whenever I am detained by the King’s business,’ Villiers remarked.

  His mother’s expression lightened at once. ‘Dear Kate – such a sweet child, and so excessively fond of me. I promised the countess I would look out for her. She must be quite at a loss here at court.’

  Frances experienced a jolt of apprehension on her young friend’s behalf. During the two weeks since Kate’s arrival, they had spent many hours together, riding out whenever the weather was fine or conversing over their needlework. Frances had soon understood the reason for her companion’s reticence about books: the poor girl could barely read. That she had been denied the education her status demanded was entirely due to her stepmother – of that Frances had no doubt. It had made her determined to help her. Already, she had begun to read aloud to Kate from some of the books in her library to spark her interest and lessen her fear. Soon, she would encourage her to practise her letters.

  ‘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.