her Lizzie.’
‘Then the Queen has forgiven Philip?’ Sidney was one of Elizabeth’s favourite courtiers, and she could turn perverse and sulky as a child if he dared move out of her orbit; she had been staunchly set against him going to war, which had only made him more determined.
‘Fortunately for us. She gave the baby the most generous gifts of jewels and coin. And now Philip is made Governor of Flushing, and makes us all proud with his bravery and service.’ I caught it again, that tremble of her lip, a hint of sarcasm in the words. Frances Sidney was afraid; both her protectors, the men she loved, father and husband, courting death in the service of the Queen. ‘Alice, fetch the baby,’ she said, waving at the older maid.
As soon as the latch had clicked shut and we were left alone, Frances drew up a chair beside me and leaned in, her face grave.
‘Now we may talk. Providence has sent you to my door today, I am sure of it.’ I raised an eyebrow; she pressed on, her tone urgent: ‘My dear friend and companion Clara was murdered by papists two days ago, most horribly.’ Here she left a pause and looked at me with an expectant air.
‘Are they arrested?’
‘No.’ She pressed her lips together and in her white face I saw the tremor of emotion, though I was not sure if it was grief or anger. I waited for her to say more but she seemed folded in on herself.
‘But you know who they are?’
‘Yes. Well – not exactly. It’s complicated – my father has …’ She let the thought fall away and examined me again, as if trying to read something in my face. ‘Philip always said you had a talent for sniffing out a murderer.’ I held up a hand to protest but she continued, ‘I remember that business with the Queen’s lady-in-waiting, three years ago, the autumn Philip and I married. My father was called away from the wedding feast because of it. It was you who discovered the truth of all that, was it not? Father said England owed you a great deal.’
Yes, and England has not yet seen fit to settle her debt, I thought of saying, but kept my counsel. ‘Sir Francis spoke to you of that business?’
‘Not to me, exactly.’ She pushed her forefinger under the edge of her hood and scratched at her hair. ‘But he often forgot I was there, and have ears, the way he has done all my life. I probably know more of what goes on than most of the Privy Council. I swear, if I turned traitor, I could sell enough secrets to sink the realm.’ The flicker of a weary smile. ‘I know all about that conspiracy in ’83, and your part in stopping it. I’d wager you could find out what happened to Clara in no time, if my father would allow you.’
If he would allow me? The oddness of the phrase did not escape me, but I merely looked apologetic. ‘My lady, my task is to deliver these letters to Sir Francis and see if he has any further use for me in his service. If not, I must return to my employment in Paris.’ Though I hoped for Walsingham’s patronage, I could not forget what I had been dragged into during that last investigation into the murder of a young woman, and the other deaths that had followed it. I was not in a hurry to involve myself in anything similar.
‘I will make him find use for you,’ she said, fixing me with a fierce glare. ‘I can think of no one better to undertake this matter. Philip would wish you to help me, I am sure of it.’ Her eyes glittered; invoking her husband was a clever tactic, and not one I could easily dismiss. I could see she had already made up her mind; it occurred to me that Frances had inherited all her father’s stubbornness along with his name, and that both he and Sidney might have underestimated her.
Before I could quibble, the maid Alice returned carrying a chubby infant who was indeed a miniature of Sidney, swamped in a white lawn dress, her face rumpled and confused from being woken. The child looked around the company in bewilderment, then pushed her fat little fingers through her sparse hair, making it stick up at the front. I laughed in wonder, seeing an exact mirror of the gesture Sidney always made when tired or frustrated, and in that moment I felt a sharp pang for my absent friend.
Frances took the child from Alice’s arms, smiling at my recognition. ‘You see? The very image of him, is she not? Here.’ She dumped the baby in my lap before I had a chance to object; immediately a small hand shot out and grabbed a fistful of my hair.
‘You must miss him,’ I said, through gritted teeth, wondering how tight I was supposed to hold the squirming bundle.
A shadow passed over Frances’s face. ‘None of this would have happened if he had been at home,’ she said, a dark undertone to her voice. ‘He would not have countenanced it.’
‘None of what?’ I asked, as I sensed I was supposed to.
‘My lady,’ Alice said, with a note of warning. The baby fixed her wide blue eyes on me, her expression uncertain, before opening her mouth and letting forth a furnace of furious noise. I jiggled her fruitlessly, sent a sidelong pleading glance to her mother, who watched me with that wry amusement women save for the spectacle of male incompetence; finally, in the absence of any other solution, I swung the child above my head and held her there. The sudden movement shocked her into silence; I made a face at her, in the air, and after a moment of suspicion she chuckled and squeaked in a manner that seemed to signify approval.
‘You are a natural, Bruno,’ Frances said, as if I had passed a test. ‘Now when you next write to Philip, you can tell him you have held his daughter in your arms. Which is more than he has ever done. But’ – her eyes lit up – ‘next month, God willing, she and I sail for Flushing to join him. The Earl of Leicester himself is making the arrangements.’
‘Your father will let you?’ I lowered the infant, who shrieked immediately to repeat the game, confirming my theory that all children are tyrants, and tyrants merely children who have never been refused.
Frances’s face darkened. ‘He will not dare oppose Sir Philip and the Earl together. Besides, my husband is my master, not my father.’
I nodded quickly. In the ordinary course of events, this would be true. A woman’s duty passed to her husband on her marriage, but theirs was not an ordinary situation; Walsingham had quietly dispatched thousands of pounds of Sidney’s debts on the joining of the two families, and given the young couple this fine house to live in, since Sidney’s youthful extravagance meant he could not afford to provide a home for his wife and daughter. I had always supposed there was little question about who was master in this household. Sidney’s desire to go to war had been partly prompted by the need to escape the weight of being beholden to his father-in-law.
‘But if this business with Clara is not resolved,’ Frances continued, biting at the edge of her thumb, ‘my father may fear further danger and hesitate to let me travel alone.’ She gave me a long look, until she was certain I understood what was at stake, and the part she wanted me to play. This, I supposed, was my cue to ask why the death of her companion should prevent her from travelling to the Low Countries – I guessed it must be to do with the ‘complications’ she had hinted at surrounding the girl’s murder – but before I could form the question, the steward Marston burst through the door carrying a silver jug and a linen towel, his face flushed with his news.
‘My lady, Sir Francis has arrived early, with Thomas Phelippes.’ He glanced at me, exaggerating his surprise at seeing me holding the baby aloft. ‘Should I show this man out while you greet your father? He has the dust of the road on him still.’
‘Certainly not. My father is not squeamish about a bit of sweat, Marston. He will be almost as delighted to see Bruno as he is to see Lizzie.’ She turned to me. ‘He dotes on that child. If the Queen of
