it echoed into silence, Frances heard the slow shuffle of footsteps.
‘His Majesty the King!’
There was a rustle of skirts as the assembled company made a deep obeisance. Frances was aware of holding her breath and had to remind herself that she had no reason to feel uneasy. Her husband had become one of the King’s most regular companions since she had last been in his presence. But her apprehension came of years spent under his suspicious gaze, the threat of arrest for witchcraft or treason always present. She thought back to her ordeal in the Tower and shuddered. Time had not lessened the terror. It was as if she were being tortured anew whenever she allowed her thoughts to stray to that terrible night, the witch-pricker’s blade piercing her flesh as the King looked on, impervious to her screams.
Now there was a scraping of chairs and a heavy sigh as James sat down. Frances was shocked to see the change in him. His hair was almost entirely white, which made his jowly face appear all the ruddier. Only his thin beard and moustache showed the red hair that had been his most distinguishing feature. As he reached for his glass she saw that his knuckles were swollen and his fingers misshapen, like the gnarled old branches of an oak tree. He took a long swig, then set the vessel roughly on the table.
‘Play on!’ he shouted.
The musicians took up their instruments at once and the murmur of chatter in the hall soon grew louder. A line of guests eager to be presented to the King had already formed in front of the dais. Frances glanced at her husband, who smiled his reassurance. It seemed an age until they, too, were standing before James – though Frances wished it had been longer. She swept a deep curtsy.
‘Ah, Sir Thomas!’ James cried, with genuine warmth. ‘Y’are back at last and I am glad of it. My hounds have grown restless wi’out ye.’
‘Forgive my having stayed at Tyringham for longer than I planned, Your Majesty.’ Frances kept her gaze downcast as her husband spoke. ‘I had much business to attend to there.’
James gave a derisive snort.
‘I have nae doubt. Are two bairns not enough for ye, Lady Frances?’
She raised her eyes to his and gave a tight smile.
‘I’ll wager there’ll soon be another in that small belly of yours – if there isn’t already,’ he persisted, oblivious to the discomfort of those around him. ‘I await news that my daughter has been brought abed again too. She was barely out of her wedding gown before her belly was swelling with the first.’
Frances hid her disgust that he should speak so of the princess.
‘I hear Prince Henry is thriving, Your Grace,’ Thomas cut in.
Frances had thrilled at the news that her former mistress had been safely delivered of a son at the beginning of the year. She hoped the count would be kind to her, given that she had fulfilled her duty as a royal wife so soon. Perhaps their marriage was happier than Frances had dared hope it would be when she had bade the princess farewell. She still remembered the young woman’s tear-stained face as she had clung to her.
James grunted. ‘So my ambassador tells me. Let’s hope he dunnae choke out his breath like his namesake.’
A shocked hush descended. It was known to all that the King had despised his late son and heir, but he had refrained from speaking ill of him since his demise – in public, at least.
There was a small cough. Glancing along the dais, Frances saw Robert Carr. She wondered that she had not noticed him before. He was never more than a few feet away from his master. Even his marriage to Lady Frances Howard at the end of the previous year had not interrupted the frequency – or, it was rumoured, the intimacy – of his attendance upon the King. His recent promotion to Earl of Somerset was testament to that.
‘Sir Anthony is desirous to know whether you are ready for the banquet to be served, Your Grace,’ he said, in the simpering tone she remembered.
‘Aye, tell him to get on wi’ it,’ James barked, with a dismissive wave.
Frances was grateful to take her place at one of the long tables that lined the walls. Soon, the attendants began to file in from the far end of the hall, laden with platters of sweetmeats, candied fruits and marchpane.