The Widows Guild: A Francis Bacon Mystery (The Francis Bacon Mystery Series Book 3)

by Anna Castle

  Essex frowned. “An act of treason. Could our thieving murderer be a patriot?”

  “If so, my lord, would we be able to convict him given the temper of the times?”

  The coach stopped. Essex tilted his head toward the door. “Here we are.”

  “Oh!” Francis opened the door and climbed out. He held the door while the earl descended, then closed it behind him.

  “I found this discussion most stimulating. I trust you’ll keep me abreast of developments.”

  “I would be honored to do so, my lord.” Francis bowed deeply. When he righted himself, he saw the earl moving toward a crowd gathered in front of a tall building. He blinked at the sunlight as he looked around, trying to orient himself. The tall building was the Curtain Theater. He was standing in Shoreditch, outside the northern wall of the city.

  Francis sighed and began the long walk west, back to Gray’s Inn.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The din of women’s voices shrilled in Trumpet’s ears. She’d been longing to become a member of the Andromache Society ever since she’d first learned about it. She’d looked forward to the monthly meetings in the stately dining room at the Antelope Inn, sitting alongside influential women like Lady Russell, listening to learned men of the law present illuminating cases for them to discuss. She hadn’t expected it to come about so soon or in so brutal a fashion, and she had not anticipated this chaotic clamor.

  This was her introduction to the guild and her first outing since she’d regained her freedom. Once Mr. Bacon had learned about the theft of the chapel goods, he’d persuaded the Privy Council of the absurdity of her stealing her own possessions. Arguing that the murder and burglary must be connected, he’d convinced them to release her into the care of her maternal aunt, Lady Chadwick, who had a house in Bishopsgate.

  Tom had been shifted to Newgate, still under suspicion for murder. The chapel burglary added another motive for him. The injustice grated, but Ben had persuaded Trumpet to hold her peace. All she could achieve by pleading for Tom would be to confirm the rumors about their alleged affair. She’d have to find a way to make it up to him later.

  A burst of high-pitched laughter pierced right through her skull. She winced, but she’d have to get used to it. She’d spent most of the past year at Orford Castle on the coast of Suffolk with only Catalina for company. She’d joined the court late in May, but those three months had not been enough to accustom her to the company of women. She preferred the tenor rumble of men during dinner at Gray’s Inn, where she could argue with Tom about fencing or with Ben about forms of action.

  At least the food at the Antelope Inn was always good. Mrs. Sprye had an exceptional cook. Once Mr. Bacon sorted out the current crisis and she obtained her jointure from the Surdeval estate, Trumpet could establish her own household in London with her own exceptional cook and fill her table with interesting men.

  One step at a time, as long as each step moved her forward.

  She spooned up the last of her compote and eyed the remainder in the serving dish. “Would you care for more raspberries?” she asked her tablemate courteously. As expected, the woman smiled and passed the dish to Trumpet. She scooped it all onto her own plate, along with the last piece of cobnut cake.

  The gentlewomen of the Andromache Society ate next to nothing. But now that Trumpet was at large in her aunt’s unfettered household, she could hire a dancing master and ride as much as she pleased. She needed the nourishment.

  “It’s good to see you have a healthy appetite,” her tablemate said, “considering the ordeal you’ve been through. The Tower must have been horrifying.”

  “Mmm,” Trumpet said through a mouthful of cake. She swallowed and added, “Not at all. They treated me with every kindness.”

  “Even so.” The woman glanced toward the top of the table where the senior widows sat and lowered her voice. “You wouldn’t have been able to practice your own religion.”

  “I don’t have my own religion. What an odd notion! I attend my parish church or my aunt’s. And I assure you, the Lieutenant of the Tower requires his household to pray together every morning and every night. I’ve practiced enough religion in the past few days to last me a month.”

  The woman frowned, a puzzled look on her pretty face. She made a portrait in pink with her pale red hair and a rosy blush on her white cheeks. “Aren’t you a Catholic?”

  “What? Me? Of course not. Why would you think such a thing?”

  “But your husband, the late Lord Surdeval . . .”

  “Oh, him!” Trumpet flapped her hand. “I suppose Surdeval may have done something a trifle Catholic once or twice, but he was hardly devout. Which never had anything to do with me.”

  “You astonish me.”

  So easily as that? Trumpet shrugged and returned to polishing off the compote, surreptitiously licking the bottom of her spoon, wishing for more. She settled for a gulp of wine and returned her attention to her tablemate. “We were introduced when we sat down, but there were so many names . . .”

  “Too many at once,” the woman said. “I’m Mrs. Palmer. Sarah. My late husband was a merchant in the Spanish Company. The Spanish took him prisoner two years ago. This spring, I learned that he died in their tender care.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Trumpet wished she had something less conventional to offer in sympathy. The widows introduced themselves in terms of their late husbands’ deaths, so one was obliged to murmur the same nothings over and over. “Were you married long?”

  “Six wonderful years,” Mrs. Palmer said. “Thanks be to God, I have a son, five years old, named Arthur for his father.”

  “He must be a comfort to you.”

  “Such comfort as can be.” Mrs. Palmer smiled sadly at the tablecloth. Her sad smile was even more appealing than her friendly one. Her blue eyes held a hint of green, accented by the translucent blue stones strung across her linen partlet.

  Young, pretty, and rich, with an assortment of attractive smiles. Trumpet vowed to make sure Tom never met her. “That’s an unusual necklace. What are those stones, if I may ask?”

  Mrs. Palmer touched the piece with shapely fingers. “They’re opals from Peru, a region in the New World. My husband bought them in Spain.”

  A little bell rang, wielded by Lady Russell at the head of the table. The clamor of voices fell by half. She rang it again and got full silence. “Ladies and gentlewomen, it is time for the meeting to begin.”

  Servants cleared the table of dishes, withdrawing the soiled cloth and refilling cups on request. Trumpet was among the requesters.

  Lady Russell waited until the servants left. She bent her commanding gaze left and right, gathering the attention of the dozen or so women seated around the long table. “I would like to start by welcoming our newest member, Alice Gumery, Lady Surdeval. She comes to us by recommendation of her aunt.”

  Trumpet blinked at the new surname. She hadn’t thought about how dreadful it would sound. She should have added a pleasing name to her list of desiderata.

  A round of excited murmurs arose, forcing Lady Russell to ring her bell again. “Ladies and gentlewomen, desist!” When they quieted, she said, “We will have no discussion of the unfounded rumors concerning Lady Surdeval’s putative involvement in the mysterious death of Lord Surdeval. None whatsoever. The position of the Andromache Society shall be that her Ladyship is unqualifiedly innocent. We have engaged my nephew, Francis Bacon, to pursue the murderer and have every confidence in his abilities. Meanwhile, Her Ladyship now faces a battle for her property on two fronts. First, Lord Surdeval’s cousin, Sir William Gumery, is suing to have the marriage annulled.”

  Trumpet hadn’t heard that. “How dare he? How can a third party sue to annul a lawfully executed marriage?”

  “That is one of the questions that must be answered,” Lady Russell said. “While the suit is a disagreeable inconvenience for you, it will afford our society an opportunity to study a rarely tested aspect of marriage law.”

&nbs
p; “I’m honored to be of service,” Trumpet said, earning a wry glance from her tablemate. Mrs. Palmer had a sense of humor — and sharp ears.

  “We will support you at every turn,” Lady Russell said. “We cannot allow our marriages to be challenged in order to gain control of our estates. This is an extreme case — Lord Surdeval was murdered on his wedding night — but the precedent must not be set. How many nights must transpire for a marriage to be considered valid? We must draw the line here, and we must draw it now. I recommend you obtain the best possible legal counsel, Lady Surdeval.”

  “I have a counselor, Benjamin Whitt, a gentleman of Gray’s Inn and a close friend of your nephew.” She herself would act as his unofficial clerk. Where should they start searching for supporting cases? Marriage law was a matter for the church courts . . .

  Lady Russell said, “The annulment suit strikes at the heart; the second attack pecks at your flank. Since your late husband was a recusant Catholic, the Privy Council may legally confiscate two-thirds of your jointure on the assumption that the wife shares her husband’s religious views and would spend her wealth to promote those proscribed beliefs.”

  Two-thirds! That would leave her with next to nothing. The jointure, also known as the widow’s third, consisted of properties meant to maintain the widow in a comfortable style after her husband’s death, even if another heir should claim the bulk of the estate. Ben had helped her ensure that her jointure consisted of profitable farms and manors.

  One-third of the Surdeval estate seemed little enough to ask. Reduce that by two further thirds and she’d have barely enough to pay her dressmaker. Her paltry leavings would never include the house on the Strand with river access, so convenient to Gray’s Inn. Her dream of establishing herself as a leading patroness of the arts would wither before it formed a single bud.

  Did Ben know about this perverse law? He must. But then, they hadn’t expected her to be made a widow so soon. They’d assumed there would be time to secure her properties and even expand them while Surdeval was still alive to provide a legal shield.

  Lady Russell rang her bell. “The Council may choose not to take such action in this case, but it is a risk. Surdeval’s first wives were ardent in their practice of the old religion. Everyone knows religion passes from mother to child. I understand some members of Lady Surdeval’s maternal family skate close to the edge of recusancy. That leaves her exposed to criticism, which gives the Council greater license.”

  Mrs. Palmer leaned toward Trumpet to whisper, “Twice tainted. You should have married a Protestant to purge your mother’s stain, like I did.”

  Trumpet bristled at the slur to her mother. Before she could respond, her aunt spoke up in ringing tones. “Only my younger brother has ever been so considered and only by ill-wishers. The rest of the family is blameless. My late sister, Lady Surdeval’s mother, faithfully attended her parish church at her husband’s side throughout her marriage.”

  A few of the senior women cleared their throats or reached for their cups at that small untruth. Lord Orford attended church at his convenience, not his wife’s — or the queen’s.

  Someone asked, “Yet is it not true that Lady Surdeval’s grandmother was a Catholic?”

  Trumpet sputtered. “Everyone’s grandmother was a Catholic!”

  Even Lady Russell smiled at that. She took a sip from her cup, then rang her bell. “Let us restrict our concerns to the present generation. Isn’t Lady Surdeval’s uncle the same Nathaniel Welbeck implicated in a wrongful death at Gray’s Inn two years ago?”

  “A conjunction of occurrences that led to no charges,” Lady Chadwick said. “He remains a member of Gray’s in good standing, although he now resides in Exeter.”

  “Nevertheless, the rumor of old scandal could rise like a specter to haunt Lady Surdeval’s proceedings.” Lady Russell rested her gaze on Trumpet. “We stand beside you, Madame. The protection of widows’ rights is the foundation of the Andromache Society. Do you have any questions for us?”

  “I do, my lady,” Trumpet said. “My first concern is for my counselor’s assistant, Mr. Clarady. He remains imprisoned merely for having been present in the house on the morning in question. He is blameless in every respect. I protest this injustice and beg you to use whatever influence you may have to obtain his immediate release.”

  Lady Russell frowned. “The criminal case is beyond our scope. We concern ourselves with questions of equity, wills, and other instruments for the conveyance of property before, during, and after a marriage. If he is innocent, I’m sure Mr. Bacon will secure his release in due course.”

  Trumpet recognized a brick wall when she ran into one. She’d have to find another way to help Tom. Perhaps her aunt knew someone who knew someone . . .

  Lady Russell regarded her with a cool smile. “Your behavior must be beyond reproach, Lady Surdeval. I advise you to leave the criminal matters in my nephew’s hands. Now. Recognizing that the state of widowhood has its complexities, we have established a tradition of appointing each new member a mentor, always the next-to-last widow admitted into our society.”

  “Thank you, my lady.” Trumpet looked around the table and added, “Thank you, all. I am proud to be a member of so learned and gracious a society.”

  Lady Russell nodded. “Your guide is Mrs. Sarah Palmer, who should be especially helpful since she is presently pursuing a case through Chancery concerning her late husband’s estate.”

  Mrs. Palmer said, “I am happy to offer Lady Surdeval whatever assistance I can.”

  Lady Russell turned to answer some question from the woman on her left. Mrs. Palmer whispered to Trumpet, “I believe I know your uncle. Mr. Welbeck advised me on the sale of my mother’s house in Exeter last spring.”

  “Did he?” Trumpet’s uncle was a clever man, sometimes too clever for his own good. He loved intrigue and had enjoyed helping her deceive the men at Gray’s. He preferred tricky cases with dramatic histories, but wills and widows were meat and drink for any lawyer.

  “He’s very handsome, isn’t he?” Mrs. Palmer’s whisper held a certain tremor that made Trumpet turn to face her with full interest.

  “Some women think so.” A rich wife could help curtail her uncle’s taste for risky adventures. Trumpet hadn’t seen him since he’d slunk out of Gray’s in the dead of night two years ago, but he wrote to her from Devonshire now and then. Another benefit — if Uncle Nat married Mrs. Palmer, the pretty widow would be out of Tom’s reach.

  Then Trumpet could befriend her without strife. She would need respectable female friends in her new life as an independent widow in her own London house, especially ones whose respectability was flexible enough to include Nathaniel Welbeck in their circle.

  Lady Russell cleared her throat, drawing Trumpet’s attention back to the group. “Did you have any other questions, Lady Surdeval?”

  “Just one,” Trumpet said. “What grounds can Sir William put forward for annulling my marriage? I must prepare my defense.”

  “There is nothing to prepare. Since the queen approved the match and you are past the age of consent, the most probable grounds would be a failure to consummate the marriage. The court will order your condition to be examined by eight matrons of good repute.”

  “Eight?” Trumpet’s mind boggled. Eight women were going to lay her on a table, hoist up her skirts, and discover whether or not she remained virgo intacta?

  If she wanted that house on the Strand, she needed to get rid of that pesky maidenhead before another fortnight passed.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “How long do you plan to keep me in here?” Tom folded his arms across his chest, his glare as stony as the wall behind his back. He and Ben stood waiting for his cell to be made somewhat more habitable.

  Ben hung his head like a scolded hound. “We’re doing everything we can. At least we kept you out of the basement and got you into a cell up here, where there’s a breath of air.”

  “Foul Newgate air.” Tom spat into the filthy str
aw. “They brought me here in a cart, Ben! In broad daylight, right down the middle of Cheapside. People stood and shouted. They threw things at me, the idle varlets.”

  “I am sorry.”

  “You could have told me what Trumpet was up to.” Tom knew he was being unfair, but his real targets — Trumpet and Mr. Bacon — weren’t here. “A warning would have been helpful.”

  Now Ben had the guilty look of a hound caught with your gloves in its mouth. “She made me promise not to say anything.”

  “And heaven forbid that Lady Surdeval’s wishes not be respected in every detail.”

  “That’s not fair. Frankly, Tom, I expected you to turn her down and come straight home. You should never have spent the night in her room.”

  “I felt sorry for her, all alone on her wedding night, waiting for that old man to stagger up the stairs. I couldn’t leave her.” Especially not after he’d tied her to a chair. He shot Ben a rueful glance. “She doesn’t know anything about . . . about anything.”

  “She’s not supposed to. She’s a lady. You must reconcile yourself to that simple fact.” His focus snapped away. “You! Don’t leave that there!” He went to argue with the guard supervising the prisoners doing the cleaning. One of them had swept the soiled straw into a heap at the foot of Tom’s cot. Ben had that removed and new straw brought in, along with a clean sheet and a better blanket.

  The cell was as comfortable as it could ever be. A man came up with a lumpy sack, which he unloaded onto one of the cots. Five bottles of wine, a round of cheese, two large round loaves of bread, a bundle of dried meat, and some pears. Tom fingered his earring as he contemplated his supplies. “How long do you expect me to be in here?”

  “We’re doing everything we can. At least the chapel burglary gives us a trail to follow.”

  Tom blew out a lip fart. “Oh, yes, that’s encouraging. You and Mr. Bacon making the rounds of the dockside pawnshops in your legal robes, inquiring delicately about stolen goods. You’ll have me out in no time.”