I have fretted about you endlessly, my lady,’ the old woman replied, her forehead furrowed with deep lines. ‘The court is a good deal more dangerous since King James took our old queen’s throne. There are many who would rejoice to see him murdered.’
‘Hush, Ellen,’ Frances remonstrated, her voice low. ‘You know it is treason to speak of such things.’
Her old nurse gave an indignant sniff. ‘I hated to think of you in that place, friendless and alone, while plots gathered about the king. When news reached us of the Powder Treason last November, I begged your brother to bring you home. But he would have none of it.’
Frances gave a sardonic smile. ‘I am sure he did not wish to upset the king by taking away his daughter’s favourite attendant,’ she said quietly. ‘Besides, Ellen, I was neither alone nor friendless. The princess was a kind and loving mistress and, though still a child, an excellent companion. There were others, too.’
She fell silent, then took the old woman’s hand and smoothed her thumb over the swollen joints. A little marjoram and a few sprigs of rosemary ground with the willow bark Ellen had gathered would make enough paste to ease the discomfort.
With a sigh, Frances lifted her feet out of the stream and dried them on the grass. ‘I must make shift,’ she said regretfully. ‘The viscount is strict in his hours of dining.’ She could not quite keep the scorn out of her voice as she spoke the title her brother insisted upon using. As the son of the Marchioness of Northampton and heir to Longford Castle, it was his right, she supposed, but to ensure that it was upheld here, in the quiet domesticity of their home, was absurd.
Edward was already seated at the head of the table – her father’s chair, she noted – when she entered the dining room. She gave a brief curtsy and waited.
‘Sister,’ he said, gesturing towards a place halfway along the table. Frances walked slowly to the chair and sat down.
A selection of dishes was laid out in front of them. Frances breathed in the aroma of capon with orange sauce, baked venison and fried whiting. Each was presented on the silver plates that their parents reserved for distinguished guests. Frances took a sip of the red wine that had been poured into her glass and recognised the fine Burgundy vintage her father usually reserved for their Christmas feast.
‘The wine is not to your taste?’ Edward asked, noting his sister’s look of disapproval.
She forced a smile. ‘On the contrary, brother. It is excellent – surely one of the best in our father’s cellar.’
Frances saw annoyance in his face as she turned to the dishes in front of her and helped herself to some capon.
‘It is not often that a prodigal daughter returns,’ he replied smoothly. ‘I wish only to extend my hospitality, to make you feel welcome.’
In my own home? Frances bit back the remark and took another sip of wine.
‘I understand that you had Ellen foraging in the woods this afternoon, like some peasant girl,’ her brother said. ‘Really, Frances, you should have more consideration for her age and infirmity. She will not live to see many more summers, so please try not to ruin this one by troubling her with such needless tasks.’
Frances knew he was taunting her, but she was determined not to lose her temper. He would derive too much satisfaction from it. ‘Hardly needless, brother,’ she said pleasantly. ‘Ellen suffers with the pain in her bones. The herbs I asked her to gather will ease it greatly. Besides, I would gladly have gone myself but—’
‘And heap yet more shame upon your family?’ Edward retorted.
Frances saw that his neck had flushed, as it had in his childhood whenever he was angered. She smiled. He might strut like a peacock now he fancied himself lord of the estate, but to her he would always be her foolish little brother.
‘I wonder that you find it so amusing, sister,’ he continued, his voice now dangerously low. ‘You, who have destroyed our parents’ standing with the king, threatened us with ruin – all to satisfy your selfish desires.’
Frances stared at him, colour rising to her cheeks.
‘Now it seems that you would ruin Longford too. I begged our parents to send you well away from here, to a place where our family is unknown, so that you might birth your bastard in secret. They could have paid a local wet nurse to take it away so that you might return to your duties at court. God knows enough ladies did the same in the old queen’s time.’
He took a gulp of wine and Frances noticed that his hand shook as he set down the glass.
‘But they would not hear of it,’ he continued, so loudly that Frances feared the servants would hear. ‘They insisted upon abiding by their precious daughter’s wish that she might bear her bastard here at Longford.’ He drank more wine. ‘This is our father’s doing. You were always his favourite.’
Frances forced herself to take a deep breath. ‘Longford is my home, Edward,’ she said quietly.
His mouth curled into a slow smile. ‘For now, sister,’ he replied. ‘For now.’
The smell of freshly baked bread wafted up the stairs, reaching as far as the library, where Frances was in her favourite window seat reading a collection of psalms translated by Sir Philip Sidney. She had loved his writings ever since Tom had bought her the cherished copy of Arcadia that now took pride of place among her father’s volumes. Her stomach rumbled, even though she had breakfasted just an hour ago. The child must be growing fast, she thought.
She closed the book and swung her feet to the floor. Even this small movement obliged her to rest and catch her breath before standing. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw her brother riding along the drive, away from the house.
Good.
Her relief that she would be spared his company for the rest of the day was tempered by envy that he could ride about so freely while she was cooped up here, like one of the old queen’s canaries. With a sigh, she set off for the kitchens.
Many times, as a child, she had stolen down there to watch the cooks at work, their nimble fingers plucking the tiny sprigs of thyme, marjoram or rosemary with which to flavour the meat or sauces. She had begged to be allowed to help, and eventually the housekeeper had agreed that she could gather the herbs from the woods that lay between Longford and the village. Soon, Frances had learned the many varieties by sight and smell, and would return with an overflowing, fragrant basket.
‘They say she sickened last week, after returning from the market at Salisbury.’
Frances recognised the lilting voice of Mrs Lamport, the housekeeper. She paused at the foot of the stairs and listened.
‘Is it the sweat?’ Frances heard terror in Ellen’s voice. ‘Bridges said that two cases had been reported in the town just last week.’
‘She
