‘You have been cleaning the wound, as I showed you?’
William nodded. ‘Every day. The swelling is slowly reducing, I think.’
Frances looked closely at the skin, which was puckered around her neat stitches but no longer inflamed. She pressed her fingers lightly around it and heard Cecil suck in a sharp breath.
‘I will bring some more of the fleawort,’ she said, as she continued to examine the wound. ‘If you mix it with a little vinegar and rose water, it will take down the swelling even more.’
‘I may be frail in body, Lady Frances, but my mind is undiminished. You may issue your instructions to me too.’
Cecil was watching her with his usual expression of mild amusement. It was the first time she had felt glad to see it, she realised. Her satisfaction at having brought him back to health was evidently greater than her instinctive fear of him.
‘You may leave us now, Will,’ he said, smiling at his son.
The young man bowed and left the room.
Frances moved to stand by the bed and waited. Cecil listened until his son’s footsteps had faded into silence before addressing her. ‘I owe you a great debt, Lady Frances,’ he began, his expression now serious. ‘I know that without your skills I would not have drawn breath for long.’
She inclined her head. ‘God gave me those skills for a purpose, my lord. I cannot gainsay Him, even if it means helping those who would do me harm.’
Cecil held her gaze for a long moment. ‘You took a risk in attending me,’ he said slowly. ‘I almost had you condemned as a witch with far less proof than you have now provided.’
Frances stared at him. Surely even he would not use this against her, not after she had saved his life. ‘Not as great as the risk you took, my lord.’ Her voice was as hard as flint. ‘I am sure your royal master would be shocked to know that the man he appointed to root out witches from his realm had secretly been attended by one.’
He flinched, but recovered himself. ‘Then it seems we have placed each other in danger, Lady Frances,’ he observed. ‘But only if we choose to act upon it.’ His dark eyes appraised her steadily.
Frances knew that a pact had been made.
‘There are other dangers, though, are there not?’ he continued, after a pause. ‘This troubling matter of the Lady Arbella.’
Frances’s pulse quickened but her eyes never left his.
‘It seems that Parry has neglected his duties, allowing all and sundry to visit the lady.’
Another pause.
‘Even her husband.’
His eyes blazed into Frances’s. She knew that William would have told him where he had found her that evening, that Cecil would have sent someone to question Arbella. They would have discovered the reason for Frances’s visit soon enough.
When it was clear that she was not going to respond, Cecil continued, ‘I will have to inform the king, of course. Pity those who attend him when my message arrives,’ he added, with a rueful smile.
Frances thought of her husband. Pray God Cecil would not mention her in the dispatch.
‘His Majesty will no doubt wish to review the couple’s … accommodation,’ he went on. ‘Parry is an old man and might be forgiven his negligence, but that Seymour was able to pass in and out of his lodgings at the Tower without notice is of greater concern.’
‘It was not so when you had me placed there,’ Frances spat, fury mingling with her fear.
‘Indeed. But you did not have the friends that Seymour has.’ He let the remark fade into silence.
Raleigh.
Did Cecil know she had visited him too? That they had whispered treason while sipping wine in his lodgings?
‘What do you want with me?’ she asked, weary of the unspoken threats, of the web of lies and danger that surrounded her.
Cecil raised his eyebrows as if surprised by her directness. ‘Why should any of this concern you, Lady Frances?’ he asked, with exaggerated innocence.
Frances did not answer but continued to regard him steadily.
Eventually, he sighed. ‘I would have ordered your arrest by now,’ he replied, ‘but William persuaded me to reconsider. My son is a sentimental creature, with greater honour than sense. He told me that the debt I owe you must be repaid with silence.’
Frances’s lips curled with distaste. Even the act of saving his life would not have prevented him from destroying hers. She found herself wishing that her knife had slipped, that he had died from the wound. Thank God that his son had a greater conscience.
‘For William’s sake, I will honour that debt, Lady Frances,’ he continued. ‘But I have set my spies to watch you. If you are foolish enough to conspire with that woman again, I will not be so merciful.’
Frances held his gaze, searching his eyes for sincerity. She had no choice but to take him at his word. But even if he broke it, she would not break hers. Arbella would be as dead to her now as the child that had bled away.