Fallen Angel

by Tracy Borman

‘I must beg your forgiveness again for being such a stranger to you these past few weeks. I wish it had been otherwise.’

  ‘Please do not concern yourself, Sir Francis. I know that you have been much preoccupied with business lately.’

  She saw him flick a glance at the boatman. ‘We lawyers usually delight in being busy,’ he said, with a grin, though his eyes were serious. ‘But a man of my years needs his sleep. I hope matters will soon be resolved so that I might enjoy some.’

  They lapsed into companionable silence as the boat headed slowly westwards. Frances turned her face to the sun, feeling its light seep into her skin and warm her bones. Such an unseasonably mild day made the spring seem within tantalising reach, but she knew that the brisk winds of March could soon bring back the chill of winter.

  ‘Please make for that landing stage there,’ Sir Francis instructed the boatman, then turned back to her. ‘I thought we might take a stroll through the gardens of Chelsea, if that would please you?’

  Frances gladly agreed. It had been many years since she had enjoyed the beauty and tranquillity of that village, which lay within easy reach of Westminster but felt like a world away. A few minutes later, they were strolling along the path that bordered the Thames. Frances looked across at the lush green lawns that swept down from the mansions lining the riverbank. Ahead, she could see the white marble gateposts that lay at the edge of Beaufort House. The gardens there were much more formal than those on either side of it and were laid out in a large quadrant with a circular lawn at the centre.

  ‘Sir Thomas More liked things to be regular,’ Bacon observed, following her gaze. ‘Pity for him that he could not order his affairs with King Henry as easily as his gardens.’

  Frances nodded. ‘He must have longed to live out his days here, far from the dangers of court.’

  They had drawn level with the gates now and paused to look towards the house. With its handsome gables, decorative carvings and honey-coloured bricks, it reminded Frances of Longford.

  ‘The old earl keeps it well, though he spends most of his time in Lincolnshire,’ Bacon remarked. ‘Henry Clinton, Earl of Lincoln,’ he explained, noting her confusion.

  ‘His wife was a great favourite of the old Queen,’ Frances remembered.

  ‘Indeed – a great beauty, too,’ her companion agreed warmly. ‘Sadly not all those who found favour in the last reign enjoy the same in this one.’ A pause. ‘I believe you know Sir Walter.’

  She looked at him sharply. Raleigh?

  Many times in the past Frances had wondered at the intricate web of friendships and family ties at court. It seemed impossible to pull at one thread without becoming entangled in a myriad of others. Not for the first time, she found herself wishing she could escape the web altogether. But it was more than friendship that bound her to Raleigh. Together, they had plotted treason.

  ‘A little,’ she replied. ‘Are you well acquainted with him?’ She pretended to study a tiny bud she had plucked from the earl’s neatly clipped hedge as they walked on.

  ‘Indeed – more so than most of my fellow courtiers are aware. I would not wish to enlighten them.’

  The silence that followed was so prolonged that she was sure he would say no more on the subject. During the many hours they had spent together, their conversations had tended towards nature, philosophy or other subjects upon which Bacon had written. To Frances, they had provided a welcome relief from the endless intrigues and gossip of court and she had assumed the same was true for her companion.

  He stopped walking now and gently laid his hand on her arm. When she turned to face him, she saw that his expression was grave.

  ‘Raleigh and I were not always so well acquainted as we are now,’ he began in a low voice. ‘Indeed, we were rivals for the late Queen’s favour and could hardly bear to be in each other’s company. But with the accession of King James, we found our interests became more . . . aligned.’

  Frances’s pulse quickened but she held his gaze steadily.

  ‘You are wise to keep your counsel, Lady Frances,’ he murmured. ‘These are hazardous times for those of the Catholic faith. It is more than ten years since the Powder Treason, but the King still sees traitors everywhere – though he looks in the wrong places. Poor Somerset is no more capable of such devilry than my pretty young wife.’

  Frances felt the chill she had experienced upon first learning that the Somersets had been indicted for murder three weeks before. ‘Are they to be tried for treason, as well as murder?’

  Bacon nodded grimly. ‘It is rumoured that the earl was in league with Spain, that he put Overbury to death because his old friend knew he was plotting to destroy James and make himself king in his stead. Nonsense, of course,’ he went on, noting Frances’s astonishment, ‘but the King loses all sense of reason in such matters. Sir George was able to whip up his fear as easily as a nursemaid might terrify her young charge into obedience with tales of goblins and sprites.’

  Frances had long suspected Villiers was using the Overbury scandal to blacken the name of his rival, but could not have guessed that he would venture so far.

  ‘The King has instructed me to look closely into the matter,’ Bacon continued. ‘I am applying all of my efforts, of course.’

  ‘Have you discovered anything?’ Frances whispered.

  Her companion looked scornful. ‘Of course not. Neither is there any prospect of finding any evidence that would be admissible in court. But that matters little. For as long as His Grace’s attention is focused upon his former favourite, he will be blind to a threat that is at once more real and more deadly.’

  Frances had to remind herself to breathe. She knew even before he spoke the words that he was referring to the plot Raleigh had hinted at.

  ‘You have heard of Sir Walter’s plans, I think?’ His dark eyes never left hers as he waited for her to respond.

  ‘To find El Dorado?’

  His flicker of a smile showed that he was not fooled by her feigned innocence.

  ‘As you wish, my dear,’ he said quietly. ‘I will speak the treason that your discretion keeps hidden. If the King agrees to Sir Walter’s release, then he will assemble as large a fleet as he and his supporters can afford and set sail for Cádiz. The King of Spain will be waiting for him there. Their combined fleet will sail for Guiana, plunder the famed City of Gold, and return with riches enough to invade England. James will be ousted and his son Charles set upon the throne.’

  It was exactly as Raleigh had told her – Thomas too. But despite his support for the scheme, her husband had been unable to persuade his royal master to look favourably upon Raleigh’s petition for release. Villiers had made sure that none of the King’s attendants was afforded more than the most fleeting of moments alone with him. Clearly Raleigh’s plans to secure the support of Villiers himself had amounted to nothing.

  ‘That is an ambitious plan,’ she observed, ‘and it rests entirely upon the King’s willingness to release a prisoner who has been in his custody for thirteen long years. Surely even the dazzle of gold is not enough to blind him to Sir Walter’s alleged treachery.’

  Bacon took a small step closer. ‘You think too highly of our king, my dear,’ he said slowly. ‘He made friends with the woman who had ordered his mother’s head smitten off – and for less gain than Raleigh now offers. Besides, Sir Walter has been an exemplary prisoner, never railing against his confinement or attempting to escape. That has made my task a great deal easier, I can assure you.’

  Frances regarded him closely. ‘You have already petitioned him, then?’

  Her companion inclined his head. ‘For many weeks now – though gently, of course. A hint here, a mention there. Any more and His Grace would have grown suspicious, even though his dear Steenie’ – his voice was laced with disdain – ‘has facilitated my access to the royal presence.’

  ‘Villiers?’ She had been right: her friend had courted him for political rather than personal reasons.

  ‘Do not look at
me so, I beg you,’ he countered. ‘If it were not to serve a greater purpose, I would strive to avoid that devil’s company even more than your good husband does. But a man as vain and ambitious as he is easily won over with the promise of riches. He spends far more than he could ever hope to gain at his master’s hands.’

  ‘He is not aware of the real motive behind Raleigh’s voyage?’ she asked, suddenly doubtful of everything – and everyone – she had thought she knew.

  ‘Of course not,’ Sir Francis said earnestly. ‘Even he would not be fool enough to bite the hand that feeds him – or strike it off altogether.’

  ‘Why are you telling me all of this?’ Frances asked. ‘You have lived at court long enough to know it is as dangerous to speak of treason as to execute it.’

  ‘Indeed it is,’ he replied peaceably. ‘And I would not have uttered a word of it had I not been assured that you already knew – and could be trusted. Sir Walter esteems you highly, for reasons he would not divulge.’

  That at least was a blessing, Frances thought. Despite everything, she had always instinctively trusted Raleigh. Besides, he was as much at risk as she if their plot to poison Prince Henry ever came to light. She waited for her companion to continue.

  ‘I have succeeded in persuading His Grace to look favourably upon Raleigh’s proposal. But while he has agreed to his release – in theory, at least – he refuses to fund the expedition from his own coffers. Only when our friend is able to gather a fleet to match that of King Philip will he give the order for him to be freed. I have already pledged a large sum from mortgaging my estates. It is now beholden upon all faithful subjects to do likewise.’

  Faithful to whom? Frances did not need to speak the words. Her mind ran on. Her father had provided a rich dowry for her marriage, and her husband’s careful management of his estates had further swelled the resources at their disposal. With the income from his position at court, they would have enough eventually for Thomas to retire from James’s service. They had spent many hours discussing it, each taking equal delight in the prospect of living out their days at Tyringham Hall, surrounded by their growing family. The idea of risking it all on a hazardous expedition that had little prospect of success was abhorrent. Thomas would surely never agree to it, even if she were minded to. But then she thought of the excitement in his eyes when they had spoken of Raleigh’s scheme and she suddenly felt far from certain.

  Frances shivered as a breeze blew in from the river. The sun was low on the horizon now and the air had grown chill. She began to walk back towards the landing stage. After a moment, her companion followed.

  ‘I ask only that you think on the matter,’ he said, taking her hand as he drew level with her.

  Frances did not reply but kept her eyes fixed on the path ahead.

  CHAPTER 16

  19 March

  By the time Frances and her husband arrived, the courtyard was crowded with people eager to catch a glimpse of the entourage. Word of Raleigh’s release earlier that day had spread like wildfire. Thomas had known it was coming: he had overheard a conversation between the King and Sir George More, the new lieutenant of the Tower, two days earlier. He had woken Frances with the news when he had returned to their apartment that evening. She still felt the same mixture of anticipation and dread with which she had first received it.

  Thomas had proved even more eager than she had feared to invest their fortune in the enterprise. Our debt will be repaid in more ways than one, he had told her. The King of Spain had promised to enrich all those who supported Raleigh as soon as their invasion had succeeded and James had been toppled from his throne. The small matter of who was to take his place was less certain. Although Philip had vowed to pledge his allegiance to the King’s son and heir, Prince Charles, on condition that he reinstate the Catholic faith, Frances doubted he would hazard so much for so little personal gain. Thomas shared her scepticism but was of the view that even a foreign king was better than the heretic who now sat upon the throne. Frances suspected it was the desire to be rid of Villiers more than James that had driven her husband to hazard their fortune on the scheme.

  A distant cheer could now be heard from the streets outside. At once, the excited chatter died and a hush descended upon the courtyard. All heads were turned towards the gatehouse where a large body of the King’s yeomen stood in readiness to clear a path through the crowds. Frances glanced back towards the windows of the great hall. She knew the King would be seated there under the canopy of state, waiting to greet the man who had been his prisoner for almost as long as he had worn the Crown of England.

  The clatter of hoofs echoed around the courtyard and Frances turned just in time to see Sir Walter emerge from underneath the gatehouse. How typical of him to make his entrance on horseback, rather than in the privacy of a carriage, she thought, with a smile. His white stallion was magnificently caparisoned in rich scarlet cloth edged with gold, and Raleigh was dressed in a satin doublet of black and white – the old Queen’s favourite colours. His once ruddy complexion had grown pale from the long years of incarceration and his grey hair had receded, but as he drew closer Frances saw that his eyes glinted with triumph as he graciously acknowledged the adoration of the crowds. How their cheers must irk the King, she thought, with satisfaction.

  The yeomen who walked in front of Raleigh’s horse shouted for the crowds to make way. Thomas squeezed her hand as they stepped back. Raleigh was so close now that Frances could have reached out and touched his immaculately polished boots. He glanced down at her as he passed and flashed a smile of genuine warmth, then quickly looked away. She was grateful for his discretion.

  Frances and her husband watched his retreating form. They did not surge after him, like most of the onlookers, and soon they were standing with just a few other stragglers. She breathed in a lungful of air, relieved to be free from the crush of bodies.

  ‘God speed his endeavours,’ Thomas said, in a low voice, his eyes still focused upon the archway through which Raleigh had disappeared.

  ‘Amen,’ Frances whispered.

  Her husband turned to her. ‘You don’t still have doubts, my love? We have discussed this many times and I thought you were reconciled to what we have done.’ She caught the edge of impatience in his voice.

  ‘Of course,’ she replied, casting a glance at a small group of courtiers as they ambled slowly past. ‘But I worry for our sons – this child too,’ she added, resting her hand lightly on her belly. ‘We are risking their inheritance upon this scheme. If Raleigh should fail . . .’

  Thomas moved closer and placed his hand over hers. ‘We are doing this to safeguard their future, not to hazard it. If all faithful subjects sit on their hands while their king and his favourites steep themselves in wickedness, then by the time our boys become men, this kingdom will already be damned.’

  Frances gave a tight smile. Not for the first time, she reflected on how much had changed in just a few short years. During the early days of their marriage, it had been Thomas who had urged her to keep their faith only in her heart, that to do otherwise would destroy everything they held dear. She had always known him to be such a peaceable man. The change in him had been wrought not by the King but by his rapacious favourite. Villiers seemed to have a knack of finding out men’s weaknesses and exploiting them ruthlessly.

  ‘Shall we?’ Thomas said, holding out his hand. Frances took it and they followed the handful of courtiers who were still making their way towards the hall.

  The smell of roasted meat hung about the kitchens as Frances crept silently through them. She had lit a taper from the dying embers of the great fire and relied upon its frail, flickering light to guide her to the small courtyard that lay beyond, next to the river. She was glad that Raleigh had not suggested meeting in her apartment. He had not been absent from court for so long that he had forgotten there were eyes and ears everywhere. As she lifted the latch of the outer door, she found herself wondering how many times he had used this place for his clandest
ine business.

  The smell of tobacco smoke filled her nostrils as she stepped into the courtyard. In the gloom, she could just make out the intermittent glow of a pipe as it briefly illuminated Sir Walter’s smiling mouth.

  ‘Lady Frances,’ he said softly, sweeping a deep bow. He held out his hand to guide her towards the bench he had been sitting on. ‘I’ll wager you never thought to converse with me here – and I a free man.’ She heard the smile in his voice. ‘I had almost given up hope myself, but our friend Bacon was most persuasive with His Majesty.’

  ‘He is as skilled an orator as he is a philosopher,’ she agreed. ‘Is everything made ready for your voyage?’

  Raleigh blew smoke. ‘A few ships are assembled at Plymouth, but I will need many more yet. Even the King acknowledges that the fleet is too small for our purpose – though, of course, he does not know what purpose that is.’

  ‘Will he grant funds himself?’

  ‘Perhaps – if Bacon can persuade him. My word is as nothing to him, of course. He still eyes me with the same disdain he harboured before he made me his prisoner. He could hardly abide me in his presence.’

  James had made painfully clear his distaste for the old adventurer at the reception held in his honour. Even Villiers had been unable to lift his royal master’s spirits, and he had spent the entire feast glowering at his untouched plate and gulping even more wine than usual.

  ‘I am deeply grateful to you and Sir Thomas, my lady,’ Sir Walter continued. ‘If every member of our faith proved as generous, I would sail to Spain with an even mightier fleet than the Armada.’

  ‘My husband would gladly have laid out three times as much if he could,’ she said quietly. Then: ‘You are sure this enterprise will succeed? A great deal rests upon it, Sir Walter.’

  ‘Not least my head.’ He chuckled, then fell silent for a few moments. ‘You have hazarded more for our faith than most, Lady Frances,’ he continued, his voice now serious. ‘I know that you have much to lose if I fail. But even if your fortune is destroyed, the reason you invested it will never be known. The King expects his subjects to be as greedy for gold as he is, so does not think to question why each of them risks such vast sums on the enterprise.’