by Anna Castle
“My mother!” Sarah shrieked. “She was one of them, with her so-called music masters and the silver crosses dangling between her breasts. Feeding them, hiding them, those slithering, sneaking, viperous priests, conspiring with her friends to hold their secret Masses. That’s all they ever thought about, plotting and scheming for the masters in Rome. So clever they thought they were!”
“Why murder the husbands?” Trumpet asked. “If it’s the women you hate, why didn’t you kill them?” Bacon frowned, but she shrugged. “I want to know if I was right.”
Sarah flicked her finger at Trumpet’s costume, as if picking out effective details. “You should know, better than they do. You’ve been through it. What happens when a Catholic dies? His widow loses most of her property. I didn’t want these traitors to die; I wanted them to suffer. I wanted them to live in poverty, gnawing their knuckles over the ruins of their devilish machinations, watching their precious priests desert them when the soft beds were carted away and the barrels of sweet wine ran dry.”
“Then why kill my husband?” Trumpet asked. “I’ve never even met a Catholic priest, much less kept one hidden in my house.”
Mrs. Palmer shrugged. “I assumed you’d be like his other wives. And the chapel was so rich and the house so conveniently situated.”
Trumpet’s eyes narrowed wrathfully. Tom understood. She’d suffered — not as much as the others of course — but with no justification whatsoever.
“Where did you get the curare?” Bacon asked.
“My husband brought it back from Galicia. I don’t know why; he seldom hunted. He liked to collect curiosities from the New World. I have the loveliest necklace of blue opals.” She stroked her hair, looking at Welbeck but talking to someone else as she listed the odds and ends her husband had collected with the knowledgeable details of a merchant’s wife.
Tom watched her with sickened fascination, unable to reconcile her pale beauty with the ugly deeds she’d done. By their harrowed expressions, the others were experiencing the same conflict of emotions.
Except for Trumpet. She put a hand on her hip and clucked her tongue sharply, then she strode across the room and drove her fist into Sarah Palmer’s finely boned jaw, knocking her right down to the floor. “That’s for ruining my chance to be a widow, you raving, frenetical, moon-mad bitch!”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
One week later, Francis Bacon stood at his study chamber window, watching the hurly-burly in the yard below. Michaelmas term would begin at the end of the week, and the men of Gray’s were returning to the legal fray. He scowled as Nathaniel Welbeck waved at a friend and trotted up the steps to the hall. At least Francis was no longer obliged to share a table with him.
The compromise they’d reached still rankled. He wished he could have found a way to convict both Welbeck and poor, distempered Sarah Palmer, but without the barrister’s cooperation, Baron Strachleigh would have surely died.
She was due to hang on Saturday. The field at Tyburn Tree would be crowded. Broadsides had been flying off the presses with the most exciting story since the Spanish had been driven out of the British Sea. Everyone liked to watch a murderer hang, especially a woman.
Francis would not be there. The whole affair had left him sick, in body, mind, and spirit. He meant to go to Twickenham for a few weeks of recuperation after this morning’s interview. He also preferred to skip the speech-making and hearty hand-shaking that inevitably marked the start of the autumn term.
The expected knock came on the door. “Intro!”
Tom came in, hesitating after closing the door. “Sit, sit,” Francis said, moving to the chair behind his desk.
“Has he decided?” Tom asked without preamble. None was needed. He’d asked the same question every time they’d met for the past week.
“He has. My Lord Burghley has granted your wardship to my aunt, Lady Russell.”
“Your aunt?” Tom slid into the chair. “When you said ‘a courtier,’ I assumed you meant a lord, not a lady.” He fingered the pearl in his ear, frowning, then recovered his characteristic buoyancy with characteristic speed. He grinned broadly at Francis. “There isn’t an aunt in England I can’t charm.”
Francis gave him a cautionary look. “I’ve heard stories at court from men who knew my lady aunt when she was your age. From what they’ve said — always with that wry little smile — I suspect she must have been very much like your friend Lady Alice.”
That deflated him a little. Francis didn’t mean to be unkind, but only a reckless fool would confront his redoubtable aunt with a dimple as his only shield.
Tom, however, was unsinkable. “Then I’ve had plenty of practice. Besides, she’s better than the Earl of Essex, isn’t she?”
“I can neither affirm nor deny that assertion.”
Tom chuckled. “Understood.”
“My aunt will not sell your lands to buy ships, which is partly why she was the first person I told on the day we received the sorrowful news. She is strict, but reasonable in the main. Thrifty, on her own account, but litigious.”
Lady Elizabeth Russell was one of the most strong-minded, combative, stubborn, and haughty women Francis had ever known, and he been attending upon Queen Elizabeth and her cronies since his earliest childhood.
“Litigious doesn’t sound good,” Tom said.
“It isn’t. She has far more experience in court than you and I combined. But she liked the look of you.”
Tom grinned.
Francis tilted his head to acknowledge the obviousness of that result. “She has a son your age, also named Thomas. She was favorably impressed by your experience in Cambridge, both the intelligencing and the exposure to Puritan teachings. She will insist on taking a hand in your further education.”
“No more Bible study groups.” Tom held up a flat palm. “I draw the line at that.”
“Your legal studies will keep you too busy in any event. She wants me to continue as your tutor and expects you to serve as my secretary for part of each week in partial compensation.”
“I can live with that.”
“Good.” Francis had not expected him to agree so easily. “Your allowance will be reduced by some as yet undetermined amount. It can’t be helped, I’m afraid. No guardian would be as generous as your father was, especially not when the monies are spent on trinkets and ah, light-skirted companions.”
Tom scowled, then tossed it off with a shrug. “I’ll manage. It’s only for a few months anyway. I turn twenty-one on December second and then my properties come under my control.”
Francis said nothing.
“Won’t they?”
Francis grimaced.
“All right, maybe not that very day. But soon after Hilary term starts in January, don’t you think? Or a month or two after that.” Tom waited, brow creasing. “A year?”
Francis fingered the embroidery on his flat cuff and summoned a crooked smile. “Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it, shall we?”
THE END
Historical Notes
First, I must mention one change in the Bacon series universe and apologize for an error in an earlier book.
In Murder by Misrule, Nathaniel Welbeck hails from Derbyshire. I chose it because the northern counties were strongholds of Catholicism, being far from the capital and thus both culturally conservative and hard to control. Also, my fictional characters must come from Areas of Outstanding Natural Beauty, in case I ever decide to follow them home for some future tale.
But as I was writing The Widows Guild, I changed my mind. I needed Uncle Nat to have smuggling connections, more plausible for a West Country man. Then it occurred to me that although I don’t write dialect, it wouldn’t hurt for me to know that Trumpet is natively attuned to Tom’s West Country burr. So I moved the Welbeck family seat to Devonshire, a place I would love to have an excuse to ramble in once more.
Again in Murder by Misrule, my lads try to visit Essex House. It isn’t Essex House yet: my mistake. It’
s known as Leicester House before the Earl of Leicester’s death in 1588. Sorry about that!
On to the real historical persons who appear in this book. I include the regular cast for completeness.
Francis Bacon.
Lady Anne Bacon, Bacon’s mother.
Lady Elizabeth Russell, Bacon’s aunt and true friend of the queen.
Robert Devereux, 2nd Earl of Essex.
Sir Richard Topcliffe, diligent servant of the queen, really assigned to the recusancy commission. That fact was the wellspring for this story, as it happens.
Sir William Waad (brief mention), statesman and diplomat, also really assigned to the recusancy commission.
Sheriff Thomas Skinner, one of the two sheriffs in 1588. The other was John Catcher, whose name was too apt for fiction.
As far as I can remember, I didn’t alter the past for this story. Dates and places that touch reality are as they were. My characters moved around the greater London area quite a bit in this book. For that, I rely on the magnificent and indispensable book, The A to Z of Elizabethan London, complied by Adrian Prockter and Robert Taylor.
If you're interested in reading more about these people and places, come visit my blog at www.annacastle.com/blog. I review history books and write posts about the many fascinating things I learn that can't be put in the books, where Story is King. If you have questions or complaints, please feel free to let me know at [email protected].
Thank you for reading my book.
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About the Author
Anna Castle holds an eclectic set of degrees: BA in the Classics, MS in Computer Science, and a Ph.D. in Linguistics. She has had a correspondingly eclectic series of careers: waitressing, software engineering, grammar-writing, a short stint as an associate professor, and managing a digital archive. Historical fiction combines her lifelong love of stories and learning. She physically resides in Austin, Texas, but mentally counts herself a queen of infinite space.
Where to find me:
Website & newsletter signup: www.annacastle.com
Email: [email protected]
Blog: www.annacastle.com/blog/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/anna.castle.104
Twitter: @annacastl
Acknowledgements
As always, I must thank my critique group, the Capitol Crime Writers, whose comments always make my books better and whose conversation has made me a better writer: Russell Ashworth, Will Chandler,K.P. Gresham, Connie Norton, and Dan Roessler. This book was further improved by the sharp eyes and excellent taste of my editor, Jennifer Quinlan of Historical Editorial.
Books by Anna Castle
Keep up with all my books and short stories with my newsletter: www.annacastle.com
The Lost Hat, Texas Series
Book 1, Black & White & Dead All Over
What happens when the Internet service provider in a small town spies on his clients' cyber-lives and blackmails them for gifts and services?
Murder; that's what happens.
Penelope Trigg moves to Lost Hat, Texas to open a photography studio and find herself as an artist. Things are going great. She's got a few clients, some friends, even a hot new high-tech boyfriend. But when Penny submits some nude figure studies of him to a contest, she gets hit with a blackmail letter in her inbox. "Do what I want or your lover's nudie pix get splattered across the Internet." The timing couldn't be worse, so Penny is forced to submit to the blackmailer’s demands. Then people start dying and all the clues point to her. She has to rattle every skeleton in every closet in Lost Hat to keep herself out of jail and find the real killer.
Book 2, Flash Memory
Nature photographer Penelope Trigg has landed the job of her dreams: documenting the transformation of over-grazed rangeland into an eco-dude ranch and spa, owned by her boyfriend Tyler Hawkins. Then a body is found on the ranch and Ty is arrested. The victim was fooling around with Ty’s baby sister Diana, but so was the senior deputy sheriff. Determined to prove Ty’s innocence, Penny stirs up Diana’s old flames, trying to shed enough light on the mystery to develop an alternative suspect. She mainly learns how to lose friends and annoy people, until she realizes someone has been manipulating the evidence. But is Ty the framer or the framee? Penny uses her eye for detail and her camera's memory to put the picture together and reveal the killer.
The Francis Bacon Series
Book 1, Murder by Misrule
Francis Bacon is charged with investigating the murder of a fellow barrister at Gray's Inn. He recruits his unwanted protégé Thomas Clarady to do the tiresome legwork. The son of a privateer, Clarady will do anything to climb the Elizabethan social ladder. Bacon's powerful uncle Lord Burghley suspects Catholic conspirators of the crime, but other motives quickly emerge. Rival barristers contend for the murdered man's legal honors and wealthy clients. Highly-placed courtiers are implicated as the investigation reaches from Whitehall to the London streets. Bacon does the thinking; Clarady does the fencing. Everyone has something up his pinked and padded sleeve. Even the brilliant Francis Bacon is at a loss — and in danger — until he sees through the disguises of the season of Misrule.
Book 2, Death by Disputation
Thomas Clarady is recruited to spy on the increasingly rebellious Puritans at Cambridge University. Francis Bacon is his spymaster; his tutor in both tradecraft and religious politics. Their commission gets off to a deadly start when Tom finds his chief informant hanging from the roof beams. Now he must catch a murderer as well as a seditioner. His first suspect is volatile poet Christopher Marlowe, who keeps turning up in the wrong places.
Dogged by unreliable assistants, chased by three lusty women, and harangued daily by the exacting Bacon, Tom risks his very soul to catch the villains and win his reward.
Book 3, The Widows Guild
In the summer of 1588, Europe waits with bated breath for King Philip of Spain to launch his mighty armada against England. Everyone except Lady Alice Trumpington, whose father wants her wed to the highest bidder. She doesn't want to be a wife, she wants to be widow; a rich one, and the sooner, the better. So she marries an elderly viscount, gives him a sleeping draught, and spends her wedding night with Thomas Clarady, her best friend and Francis Bacon's assistant. The next morning, they find the viscount murdered in his bed and they're both locked into the Tower.
Lady Alice appeals to the Andromache Society, the widows’ guild led by Francis Bacon's formidable aunt, Lady Russell. They charge Bacon with getting the new widow out of prison and identifying the real murderer. He soon learns the viscount wasn’t an isolated case. Someone is murdering Catholics in London and taking advantage of armada fever to mask the crimes. The killer seems to have privy information — from someone close to the Privy Council?
The investigation takes Francis from the mansions along the Strand to the rack room under the Tower. Pulled and pecked by a coven of demanding widows, Francis struggles to maintain his reason and his courage to see through the fog of war and catch the killer.
Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
&nbs
p; CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Historical Notes
About the Author
Acknowledgements
Books by Anna Castle
Table of Contents