LITMIR.BIZ

      Frances tried to concentrate on the intricate pattern that her stitches were slowly bringing to life, but her fingers did not seem to belong to her today and the thread kept snagging on the stiff linen. Her son had been fretful when she had left him that morning, clinging to her skirts as he used to on the rare occasions that she had been obliged to leave him for a few hours when they had lived at Tyringham Hall.

      Although George had gone eagerly to the prince’s household on the first day, filled with excitement at the prospect of meeting the king’s son, he had been unusually sullen that evening. Frances had eventually coaxed the reason from him. Charles had not been a kind companion, it seemed, but had seized the opportunity to flaunt the superiority of his years and status over the latest boy to share his lessons. The other young men of his household had been quick to join in the teasing, glad that that their royal master had a new focus for his jests. Their tutor had shown little interest when Frances had questioned him: his sole concern was to ensure that he remained in the good graces of the prince and his father. She would speak to the queen when she next had the opportunity, she resolved, as she jabbed her finger for the third time in as many minutes.

      ‘Perhaps you would like me to help you, Lady Frances.’ The silken voice broke the silence of the princess’s antechamber. ‘Our mistress praised your skill with the needle, but it seems she was excessively kind, as she is in so many things.’

      ‘Thank you, Lady Blanche, I can manage.’ Frances did not look up from the fabric as she spoke. ‘My eyes are a little tired today.’ With a sigh, she set the embroidery on her lap and gazed down into the herb garden below. Even on a beautifully clear day such as this, it appeared as dull and neglected as when she had crept unseen to visit it a little over two weeks before. If anything, it looked worse, the bright sunlight illuminating the withered plants and weeds that were enclosed by the overgrown hedges.

      ‘You show a particular fascination for the Witch’s Garden,’ Blanche observed slyly. ‘I wonder that nobody has pulled up all those dying plants by now and laid out a new lawn in their place. Perhaps the gardeners are afraid they will unleash some dreadful curse if they touch it.’

      Frances stared at her companion. ‘The Witch’s Garden?’

      Blanche bent her head to her needlework again. ‘Why, yes. Has it not always been called so, Lady Frances?’ she asked guilelessly. ‘Certainly that is how the princess referred to it upon my first entering her service two years ago. I had thought it an old name, but perhaps it dates to more recent times.’

      She raised her grey eyes to meet Frances’s, her face a mask of innocence. Frances fought back the urge to slap it. Though she had been in Blanche’s company for only three days, she already harboured an intense dislike for her simpering flattery of the princess, and her barbed asides to anyone she judged to be a rival – Frances in particular. She forced her attention back to her own embroidery.

      ‘I knew it only as a simple herb garden,’ she replied, as nonchalantly as she could. ‘But, then, many things have changed since I was last here. I must learn to keep pace with them. Life passes more slowly in Buckinghamshire.’

      Blanche gave a snort of derision. ‘I wonder it passes at all! You must be so relieved that your husband finally chose to bring you to court.’

      ‘Sir Thomas is a kind and attentive husband. He would have brought me here long before now, if he had fancied I had any inclination to leave the tranquillity of our estate.’

      ‘I am surprised you did not. You were all but raised at court, I hear, and your mother was a great favourite of the old queen. Yet you gave it up so abruptly, the princess said, without a thought for those you left behind.’

      Frances knew that Blanche was goading her, but refused to show her rising irritation. ‘I was needed at my father’s estate, so had little choice in the matter. But I did think of the princess often – and some other cherished acquaintances to whom I bade farewell,’ she added, almost to herself.

      ‘Then why did you not visit, or even write?’

      The princess’s voice made both women turn in surprise. Frances wondered how long Elizabeth had been standing in the doorway that led into her bedchamber. She and Blanche bobbed a hurried curtsy.

      ‘Well?’ The princess raised an eyebrow.

      Her mistress’s eyes were glinting with anger, her lips pressed tightly together. Frances saw she had underestimated the hurt that her sudden departure had caused. ‘Forgive me, Your Highness,’ she

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