ever not?’ he demanded, incredulous. ‘Do you expect to receive a host of other suitors, to have the same luxury of choice as your former charge?’
‘Princess Elizabeth is not yet of an age to marry, brother,’ Frances replied smoothly.
‘Do not toy with me, Frances,’ he spat. ‘You were always obstinate, but even you must see that Sir Thomas’s offer is better than any other you may receive – better, certainly, than you deserve. How could you refuse him?’
‘I did not refuse him, Edward,’ she said.
‘But you said—’
‘I said only that I did not accept. Sir Thomas has given me two days to consider. It seems he has the qualities of a true gentleman, unlike those who merely pretend to be so.’
She swept from the room, slamming the door behind her.
Frances rose early the following morning. She had slept only fitfully, troubled by fears for Ellen. An image of the old woman lying injured and unable to move in the woods flitted before her. She cursed her brother for refusing to let her look for her – and for making no move to do so himself. Well, she would no longer be gainsaid. She glanced at the clock in the parlour. Half past six. Edward would not be up for another two hours at least. With sudden resolve, she dressed and walked purposefully from the room.
The stable boy was already at work forking out the soiled straw. He jumped in surprise when he saw her, and bowed his head respectfully.
‘I am sorry I startled you, Robert,’ Frances said kindly. ‘Ellen has not yet returned from the village, so I would be obliged if you would ride there to enquire after her.’
The boy flicked a nervous glance towards the house and seemed to hesitate. ‘The master—’
‘Do not concern yourself. You will be back before my brother has risen. Take Hartshorn,’ she said, patting her horse’s neck. ‘He is the surest-footed through the woods.’
Robert hastened to fetch the tack. Frances helped him saddle the horse, then watched as the boy nimbly mounted. ‘Please – take care to look about you,’ she urged. ‘Ellen may have fallen and be lying hurt. Take this blanket with you so that you might keep her warm if you need to go for help.’
The boy reached for it, then tapped his heels into Hartshorn’s flanks and rode briskly away. Frances watched until he was out of sight, drawing her cloak against the chill morning air. With luck, he would return within the hour, Ellen in the saddle behind him. Her old nurse would be glad not to suffer the long walk home, Frances reflected, forcing herself to believe Edward’s theory that the old woman had lost track of time and decided to stay with a friend in the village.
She glanced back at the house but had no desire to go inside just yet. Turning, she strolled in the direction of the wilderness. The hem of her dress soon grew damp where it brushed against the dewy grass, and the cool moisture seeped through the soft leather of her shoes. It was no matter. They would dry in front of the fire while she ate her breakfast.
Her agitation began to subside. She felt a little better for having done something to find Ellen, and the tranquillity of the garden worked as a balm upon her soul. But soon the memory of Sir Thomas’s visit intruded upon her thoughts. How would she answer when he returned tomorrow? She had no desire to marry any man, let alone one she hardly knew. It felt like a betrayal of Tom, even though his friend had pledged to protect her. Sir Thomas must be a man of great honour to sacrifice his own happiness for the sake of such a promise. Would he really expect nothing from her? She could hardly believe it, though he had seemed in earnest. There would be no heirs of his own body if he stayed true to his word. He would surely then resent Tom’s child as a daily reminder of what he had sacrificed.
She had reached the edge of the wilderness now. The grass underfoot was longer, the path less defined. She breathed in deeply, catching the scent of the woods that lay tantalisingly close. She took another step. Edward was probably still sleeping. He would never know if she defied his orders. With a few more paces, she could be among the ancient oaks, gathering the sweet violets and soft yellow primroses that would be opening their delicate petals to the early-morning sunshine.
Just then, she caught the distant chimes of St Peter’s. Six, seven, eight. How could it be so late already? She had lost track of time as she had wandered, consumed by her thoughts. Reluctantly, she went slowly back towards the house.
She was surprised to see Edward already sitting at the breakfast table when she entered the parlour. ‘Good morning, sister,’ he said coldly. ‘I trust you have not been wandering far – though the state of your dress suggests otherwise.’
‘I went only to the edge of the wilderness,’ Frances replied. ‘I rose early and sent Robert to look for Ellen.’ She had judged he would find out soon enough anyway.
‘You had no right to do so,’ he said irritably. ‘I alone direct the servants in this house.’
Frances opened her mouth to object, but the sound of a horse’s hoofs fast approaching reverberated around the room. She rushed to the window, but her brother was there before her.
‘Robert has returned. No,’ he said, pushing her back. ‘You will stay here while I go and talk to him. You have meddled enough already.’
Soon Frances heard his footsteps crunching on the stones of the path as he strode to meet the stable boy. She felt the panic rise in her chest as she waited, straining for any echo of their conversation. But she could hear only the chattering of the birds as they flitted between the branches of the trees that bordered the estate.
She started at the slam of the front door. A moment later, her brother appeared, flushed and agitated. He closed the door behind him and guided Frances roughly to the far side of the room.
‘Did he find Ellen?’ she asked urgently. ‘Is she safe?’
‘She is in safe-keeping, that is certain.’ Edward snorted.
Her relief drained away as she looked at her brother, a muscle in his jaw pulsing.
‘The Reverend Pritchard has detained her on suspicion of witchcraft.’
‘No!’
The tincture. The priest had condemned such practices from the moment he had arrived in the parish, eager to win favour with his sovereign. Frances herself had come under his suspicious gaze on more than one occasion. Only her father’s intervention had saved her from any reprisals when she had last lived here. But her beloved Ellen had not been so fortunate. Frances chastised herself for placing her in such danger.
Edward was regarding her closely now. ‘She was tending some sick woman in the village. A potion was found on her person, though she tried to conceal it when the priest came to minister to the woman.’ His eyes bored into Frances’s and she forced herself not to look away. ‘I wonder that Ellen would have taken such a risk,’ he added.
‘He has no right to detain her against her will,’ Frances murmured, her teeth clenched.
‘He has every right!’ Edward shouted, then glanced quickly back towards the door. ‘He has every right,’ he repeated, more quietly this time. ‘The king has pronounced that witchcraft in all its forms is heresy, punishable by death, and has charged every priest in the kingdom to be vigilant. If they discover anyone practising such foul arts, they have full powers to arrest them and have
