Daphne du Maurier is a good storyteller. Most people know Jamaica Inn and Rebecca, but the same talent went into her histories. Her book on Branwell Brontë begins with his death. As du Maurier sees the scene, he is still deluded, insisting that he will soon be well: “One day, he told them now, all their books would be published. One day the four of them would be famous. One day men and women would come from all over England and the world to see the place where the Chief Genius lived.” In the event, only three became famous but Branwell is vividly imagined: “Red-haired, quick-tempered, excitable, brimful of mischief as a bog pixie.”

Du Maurier argues persuasively that Branwell’s genius resided mainly in the imagination of his adoring sisters and father. So strong was their need, so convincing their story, that Elizabeth Gaskell was also seduced, and the glamour of Branwell lived on in her influential Life of Charlotte Brontë (1857).

Francis Bacon did achieve greatness. He was Solicitor-General, Attorney-General, Lord Keeper of the Seal, Lord Chancellor, and was created Baron Verulam and, in 1621, Viscount St Albans. Again, du Maurier relishes the tale of his death, telling how he caught a chill by going out in the snow to stuff a freshly killed hen to test the efficacy of freezing as a preservative.

She is just as sensationalist about his marriage. Alice Barnham was not quite 14 when they married in 1606, Bacon was 45. On his death 20 years later, Bacon’s will revoked any previous bequests to Alice “for just and great causes”. Eleven days later, the widowed Viscountess St Albans married John Underhill, her steward.

Du Maurier’s history is good, but much of it has been superseded. Her eye for a scandal, however, remains unequalled.

The Daphne du Maurier Festival of Arts and Literature is at Fowey, Cornwall, until May 20. www.dumaurierfestival.co.uk

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