by Anna Castle
Clara's fears about losing her livelihood had proved groundless. Far from ruining her reputation, the talent displayed in her sketch and her intimate role in so thrilling a tale made her the most sought-after ornament of the season. After a hissing scuffle in the Banqueting Hall, the queen's friend Catherine Carey, Countess of Nottingham, had borne away the prize. Clara would spend the next month on her estate in Surrey painting miniature portraits of everyone within half a day's ride. She'd earn enough in that month to keep her for a year.
Trumpet sniffed. "By now she's found six new things to worry about. Will they despise her? Will they make fun of her accent? Will they drum her into the forest to be devoured by wolves?"
Ben chuckled. "She did seem rather inclined toward melancholic distress."
"She's a pick-fault," Trumpet said. "A blister. A harpy. Admit it."
"She's beautiful," Tom answered. "I love her madly." He winced as he heard the hollowness in his words.
Trumpet and Ben grinned at each other. "Such conviction," Trumpet said.
"Such devotion," Ben added.
"All right." Tom surrendered. "But she really is beautiful."
"That point was never in dispute." Ben took Trumpet's pistol and started cleaning it. He cast a sidelong glance at Tom. "How did your meeting go? With Frank and his lord uncle?" His brow was creased with worry. Time to let him off the hook.
Francis Bacon had netted Tom right and proper. He suspected Ben had helped him weave that net. Tom had been surprised by the proposal and a bit disgruntled by the conspiring behind his back, but all in all, he wasn't unhappy about the new arrangement.
Lord Burghley had received disturbing news from Cambridge that zealous Presbyterians were planning to hold a secret synod under the cover of commencement in July. His informant warned of plans for overt and possibly violent rebellion against the established Church. His Lordship needed a spy to worm his way into their confidence and identify the chief conspirators. Bacon had recommended Tom for the job. His payment would be continuance at Gray's Inn, guaranteed by a letter from Lord Burghley himself. Not even Stephen's father could undermine that support. He would finish the requirements for his bachelor's degree while he was at it, further bolstering his position.
"Frank was persuasive." Tom shot Trumpet a wry grin. "As per usual."
Ben blew out a sigh of relief. Tom clapped him on the shoulder and looked him square in the eye. "I'm happy. Honestly. It'll be fun, spying on the godly."
Ben scoffed. "I hardly —"
"Relax, camerade. I like investigating. It's lively and you meet all sorts of people. I've decided to become a barrister intelligencer, in special service to the queen. Someday. And this deal solves my main worry: that Stephen would get me expelled from Gray's out of spite."
"How was Frank?" Trumpet asked. "Whenever he mentions his uncle, he looks like a man with his breeches caught in a crack."
"I think he's on probation for something. He doesn't seem to be getting nearly as much out of this arrangement as I am. But you can't say no to the Lord Treasurer." Tom winked at Trumpet. "Think of the fun I'm going to have: weekly letters from dear old Frank, telling me what to think and where to shit and how to put my stockings on." They both laughed.
Ben shuddered. "Stop, stop!" He beetled his dark brows at them. "Call him Mr. Bacon, I beg you, even in your own minds. He wouldn't be happy knowing that you know that we — that he — that I've spoken to you about him in such familiar terms."
"We promise," Tom and Trumpet chorused with fingers crossed behind their backs. Ben groaned in frustration. It was his own fault. His every utterance had begun with Frank says for the past week. Even Tom had never been so besotted.
He was going to miss his friends badly, but he'd be twice damned if he would say it out loud. He took the second pistol from Trumpet, reloaded it, and extended his right arm. He sighted down the barrel and fired. The ball struck an inch to the right of the bull's eye.
Trumpet smirked at him. "See?"
"Huh." Tom squatted by the blanket and started a more thorough cleaning. There must be a bit of gunk stuck in the barrel. He glanced up at Trumpet. "What are you going to do, Lady Alice? With your uncle in hiding, you can't very well stay here."
"Can't I?" Trumpet grinned at Ben, who grinned broadly back. "With you running off to Cambridge, Mr. Whitt finds himself in need of a new chambermate."
"What! When was this little plot hatched?"
"This morning, while you were meeting with Mr. Bacon and Lord Burghley. I went up to your rooms to show you what Uncle Nat sent me and found Ben pacing back and forth like a caged bear. He told me about your meeting. He thought you'd accept the bargain, which would leave him without a chum to help him pay his rent. We decided to team up and solve both our problems at once.
"I don't approve of this arrangement," Tom said. "In fact, I forbid it."
"Excuse me?" Trumpet held a hand to her ear. "Did I hear a pig fart?"
Tom bristled, shaking his pistol at the obstreperous trollop. The said trollop stuck her tongue out at him.
"Children, please," Ben said. "You know she has nothing to fear from me."
"She's not the one I'm worried about. I warn you, Ben: she looks completely different wearing only a shirt with her hair hanging down to her waist."
"She's still the wrong shape," he said equably.
"You won't like our chambers," Tom said to Trumpet. "They're drafty and the floors squeak. And there's this smell —"
"We're not moving into your wretched old rooms," she said. "Uncle Nat feels sorry for leaving me in the lurch. I kept my end of the bargain after all. He sent me the lease to his chambers listing me as sub-tenant. Under the name of Allen Trumpington, of course. Ben's going to move in with me."
"Nice, big hearth," Ben said. "And the kitchen fire is always lit. I'll save a fortune on fuel."
"Hm." Tom frowned, pretending not to like it. "I suppose I'll have to allow it." Their solution was brilliant. It would keep Trumpet in London until he came back.
He reloaded the pistol and passed it to Trumpet. "Speaking of fortunes, are you going to be all right? Money-wise, I mean? You can't very well write to your father for an allowance."
"I'll be fine." She flicked him a grateful smile. "Uncle Nat sent me a purse too — of real coins, not false. And I have a necklace of my mother's I can sell if I'm pressed." She tried a new stance, right foot forward, and took aim at the butt. "I'm very resourceful."
Tom heard a world of loneliness under that simple remark. He caught Ben's eye; he'd heard it too. They nodded at each other. She was theirs now, and they would look out for her.
"Without me around, you'll do nothing but study," he scolded. "You'll grow fat and pale and weak from lack of exercise."
"We'll be formidable lawyers, though," Ben said.
"You won't last through Hilary Term," Tom said. "She's the most vexing, nerve-shredding, wit-rattling minx in all of Christendom."
"Why, thank you, kind sir." Trumpet's voice thrummed with that musical quality that got right up into Tom's midsection and played glissandos on his spine.
He growled deep in his throat.
She pursed her pink lips and blew him a kiss. She was playing him like a big, fat fish and loving every minute of it.
Tom was going to be vastly better off in Cambridge. A world of men dedicated to the life of the mind. A bracing challenge for his wits and a restorative vacation for his tangled feelings. No women; therefore, no trouble. He could hardly wait to leave. "Will you still be here when I come back?" He hated the plaintive note that crept in underneath.
"Don't worry." Trumpet adjusted her stance, facing the butt and balancing her weight on both feet. She supported her right hand with her left and sighted down the barrel. She tucked her tongue into the corner of her mouth and shifted the barrel slightly to the left, then held her breath and fired. The bullet flew straight into the bull's eye. She flashed a grin at Tom that made him feel happy from head to toe. "I will always know w
here to find you."
Historical notes
Bacon wasn't really banned from court, at least not this early in his life. He did annoy the queen & Lord Burleigh with some importunate request around this time. The consensus was that he was too young to be granted the said request. He did make proposals to revise the common law, later in his life. He published a set of legal maxims in 1597 which were still being used by law students well into the nineteenth century. He worked on things for years before publishing, so it's not improbable that he was thinking about these things in 1586. The Queen's fury and his banishment from court are entirely my invention.
Sticklers will observe that I got the Reading schedule backwards. Lent was only for double readers — established benchers reading a second time. First-timers read in August. I made the switch to get Francis's reading closer to the season of Misrule. He really did give his first reading at Lent in 1588, however. Why this exception was made for him isn't known. Strings were pulled, but we don't know whose or why.
I like to use actual historical people whenever I can. Some are unavoidable, like the queen, her chief courtiers, and members of Francis Bacon's family. Others are minor figures, mere footnotes, now, in some book, but once the stars of their own lives.
Here's this book's roster of real persons:
Francis Bacon
Queen Elizabeth I
William Cecil, Lord Burghley
Captain Sir Walter Raleigh
Robert Devereux, Earl of Essex
Penelope Rich, née Devereux, Lady Rich
William Danby, the Queen's Coroner. He makes a cameo appearance in chapter 2.
Elizabeth Moulthorne, surgeon. I found her in Liza Picard's delightful Elizabeth's London. Tracing the footnotes yielded nothing more than her name, origin, and profession. I like her, though; maybe I'll try harder for a later book.
Sir Christopher Yelverton. Member of an important legal dynasty. Heard walking up the stairs in chapter 9.
William Philippes. Francis's close friend and assistant. He was the son of a Customs House official, also a friend of Francis's who probably lent him money in exchange for helping his son into higher social circles. Son's real first name isn't known, so I named him after his father. He was the brother of Sir Francis Walsingham's cryptographer, Thomas Phelippes, who spelled his name differently for reasons known only to himself.
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Acknowledgements
A warm and hearty thank you goes out to everyone who supported me through the writing of this book, especially through the seemingly endless editing process. The book is the better for the wise counsel of my fellow Capitol Crime Writers: Russell Ashworth, Jerry Cavin, Will Chandler, Donna Daniel, K.P. Gresham, David Hansard, and Julie Rinaldi. It was further improved by the sharp eyes and excellent taste of my editor, Jennifer Quinlan of Historical Editorial.
I also wholeheartedly thank the Sisters in Crime Guppies, especially the members of PressQuest, for giving me the courage and support to venture forth into publication. Extra thanks are due to my role models Kaye George, Diane Vallere, and Susan Schreyer. Without you, this book might never have started its climb up the winding stair.
About the Author
Anna Castle holds an eclectic set of degrees: BA in the Classics, MS in Computer Science, and a Ph.D. in Linguistics. She has had a correspondingly eclectic series of careers: waitressing, software engineering, grammar-writing, a short stint as an associate professor, and managing a digital archive. Historical fiction combines her lifelong love of stories and learning. She physically resides in Austin, Texas, but mentally counts herself a queen of infinite space.
Where to find me
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Email: [email protected]
Blog: www.annacastle.com/blog/
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Twitter: @annacastl
Books by Anna Castle
Keep up with all my books and short stories with my newsletter: www.annacastle.com
The Lost Hat, Texas Series
Book 1, Black & White & Dead All Over
What happens when the Internet service provider in a small town spies on his clients' cyber-lives and blackmails them for gifts and services?
Murder; that's what happens.
Penelope Trigg moves to Lost Hat, Texas to open a photography studio and find herself as an artist. Things are going great. She's got a few clients, some friends, even a hot new high-tech boyfriend. But when Penny submits some nude figure studies of him to a contest, she gets hit with a blackmail letter in her inbox. "Do what I want or your lover's nudie pix get splattered across the Internet." The timing couldn't be worse, so Penny is forced to submit to the blackmailer’s demands. Then people start dying and all the clues point to her. She has to rattle every skeleton in every closet in Lost Hat to keep herself out of jail and find the real killer.
Book 2, Flash Memory
Nature photographer Penelope Trigg has landed the job of her dreams: documenting the transformation of over-grazed rangeland into an eco-dude ranch and spa, owned by her boyfriend Tyler Hawkins. Then a body is found on the ranch and Ty is arrested. The victim was an aggressive real estate developer with his greedy eyes on Ty’s land and Ty’s sister Diana, who is almost engaged to the senior deputy sheriff. Clues put her at the center of the puzzle.
Determined to prove Ty’s innocence, Penny stirs up Diana’s old flames, trying to shed enough light to develop an alternative suspect. She mainly learns how to lose friends and annoy people, until she realizes someone has been manipulating the evidence. But is Ty the framer or the framee? Penny uses her eye for detail and her camera's memory to put the picture together and reveal the killer.
The Francis Bacon Series
Book 1, Murder by Misrule
Francis Bacon is charged with investigating the murder of a fellow barrister at Gray's Inn. He recruits his unwanted protégé Thomas Clarady to do the tiresome legwork. The son of a privateer, Clarady will do anything to climb the Elizabethan social ladder. Bacon's powerful uncle Lord Burghley suspects Catholic conspirators of the crime, but other motives quickly emerge. Rival barristers contend for the murdered man's legal honors and wealthy clients. Highly-placed courtiers are implicated as the investigation reaches from Whitehall to the London streets. Bacon does the thinking; Clarady does the fencing. Everyone has something up his pinked and padded sleeve. Even the brilliant Francis Bacon is at a loss — and in danger — until he sees through the disguises of the season of Misrule.
Book 2, Death by Disputation
Thomas Clarady is recruited to spy on the increasingly rebellious Puritans at Cambridge University. Francis Bacon is his spymaster; his tutor in both tradecraft and religious politics. Their commission gets off to a deadly start when Tom finds his chief informant hanging from the roof beams. Now he must catch a murderer as well as a seditioner. His first suspect is volatile poet Christopher Marlowe, who keeps turning up in the wrong places.
Dogged by unreliable assistants, chased by three lusty women, and harangued daily by the exacting Bacon, Tom risks his very soul to catch the villains and win his reward.
Book 3, The Widows Guild
In the summer of 1588, Europe waits with bated breath for King Philip of Spain to launch his mighty armada against England. Everyone except Lady Alice Trumpington, whose father wants her wed to the highest bidder. She doesn't want to be a wife, she wants to be widow; a rich one, and the
sooner, the better. So she marries an elderly viscount, gives him a sleeping draught, and spends her wedding night with Thomas Clarady, her best friend and Francis Bacon's assistant. The next morning, they find the viscount murdered in his bed and they're both locked into the Tower.
Lady Alice appeals to the Andromache Society, the widows’ guild led by Francis Bacon's formidable aunt, Lady Russell. They charge Bacon with getting the new widow out of prison and identifying the real murderer. He soon learns the viscount wasn’t an isolated case. Someone is murdering Catholics in London and taking advantage of armada fever to mask the crimes. The killer seems to have privy information — from someone close to the Privy Council?
The investigation takes Francis from the mansions along the Strand to the rack room under the Tower. Pulled and pecked by a coven of demanding widows, Francis struggles to maintain his reason and his courage to see through the fog of war and catch the killer.
Murder by Misrule
A Francis Bacon Mystery
Kindle Edition | June 2014
Also available in print
Discover more works by Anna Castle at www.annacastle.com
Copyright © 2014 by Anna Castle
Cover design by Jennifer Quinlan
Editorial services by Jennifer Quinlan, Historical Editorial
All rights reserved. No parts of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, including Internet usage, without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
