Fallen Angel

by Tracy Borman

  PART 2

  1618

  CHAPTER 21

  28 June

  Frances gazed down at the baby cradled in her arms. He was his father in miniature, with the same clear eyes and light brown hair. It had been an easy birth. He entered this world as quietly as the old Queen left it, her mother had said. Helena had insisted that she come to Longford for her confinement, where she could care for her. It had taken little to persuade her. The pull of her childhood home was as strong as ever, and she had rejoiced at the prospect of seeing George again – her mother, too. John and Robert had come with her, and it gladdened her heart to see how they worshipped their elder brother already. She wished she might stay long enough for William to know him too.

  George would be twelve next month. His indulgent grandmother had not exaggerated: he had grown into as fine a young man as Helena had described in her many letters. He was as slender as a young colt and almost as tall as Frances, and had grown even more like Tom since the last time she had seen him. His initial shyness upon seeing her had soon dissipated, and Frances knew that she had her mother to thank for that. Helena had made sure that the boy had grown up to feel his mother’s presence almost as if she had been at Longford every day of the past four years.

  William’s eyes began to close. Frances knew that she should put him into his cradle, but she could not bear to be parted from him quite yet. She felt the familiar ache as she thought of the other child she had cradled in her arms two years before. Anne. They had named her for the Queen. She could remember little of the birth – she had drifted, waking only when Thomas had laid the tiny form on her breast. Her daughter had been wrenched from her womb too soon – born sleeping, as her husband had said. But she had been perfect, her features as delicate as porcelain and downy red hair covering her scalp.

  ‘You should rest, my dear.’

  Her mother was standing on the threshold of the chamber. Frances wondered how long she had been there. ‘I have done little else this past week,’ she replied, quickly brushing away tears.

  Helena walked over and bent to kiss her forehead. Frances breathed in the familiar scent of rose and chamomile. It was like a balm to her soul. She did not protest as her mother took the sleeping boy from her arms and laid him in the crib at the end of the bed, then came to sit next to her.

  ‘What news did Thomas have?’

  Frances glanced at the letter on the table.

  ‘Very little,’ she lied. ‘His duties permit him scant leisure to write, as usual. The marquess makes sure of that.’ She failed to keep the bitterness from her voice. The title had been bestowed upon Villiers at the beginning of the year. He had been formally admitted to the privy council the following month, so he now held sway in his royal master’s public domain, as well as his private life. The only saving grace was that her friend Sir Francis Bacon had enjoyed similar good fortune. As well as becoming a privy councillor, the King had also seen fit to bestow upon him the lord keepership. She knew he had coveted his father’s former position for many years, and for good reason: it carried considerable powers – more even than the new Marquess of Buckingham enjoyed. She hoped Lord Bacon would use it to his advantage.

  Helena was gazing at her intently, as if waiting for the truth. She had always had an uncanny ability to tell when her daughter was keeping something from her. ‘My servants carried talk from Salisbury that Raleigh has set sail for England. Perhaps they were mistaken.’

  Frances drew a breath. She had hated to conceal their involvement in his scheme but had not wished to cause her mother as much anxiety as she felt herself. It was more than a year since Sir Walter had embarked for Cádiz, and with each passing month the prospect that the fortune she and Thomas had staked on his enterprise would be returned faded. Even her husband seemed to have lost faith and had begun to mortgage some of their estates to settle their mounting debts. What would her mother think of her if she knew how much they stood to lose? Most of the land surrounding Tyringham had now been leased, and Frances feared it would not be long before they were obliged to do the same with George’s inheritance at Longford.

  ‘No – Thomas did mention that,’ she replied. ‘But, then, Sir Walter has been away for so long and the court’s attention is notoriously fickle, as you know from your years there.’

  Her mother’s gaze didn’t waver. ‘Well, there is a good deal less news to occupy the people in these parts, so they feast upon what little they receive,’ she said. ‘Sir Walter was always loyal at heart to the old Queen. I will pray for his safe return.’

  ‘And I too.’ Frances reached for her mother’s hand. ‘It does my soul good to see you, Mother.’

  Helena smiled. ‘I wish you could stay here longer – the boys as well. Longford will seem so empty when you are gone.’

  Frances recognised the sadness in her mother’s eyes. Time had dulled the pain of losing her beloved husband, but Frances knew that she still yearned for him. Theirs had been a love that few other noble marriages were blessed with. ‘I miss Father too,’ she said quietly, squeezing her mother’s hand. ‘You must be so lonely without him.’

  ‘George provides me with all the entertainment I could desire,’ Helena replied. ‘He is such a credit to you, my dear. Your father would have been so proud of him – and our other grandsons. Just as proud as he was of you.’

  The sound of rapid footsteps in the corridor beyond broke the silence, and a second later George burst into the room, closely followed by John, his cheeks flushed and his eyes alight with excitement.

  ‘I caught you!’ he cried, triumphant, flinging himself at his elder brother, who twirled him around, almost knocking a vase off the dresser.

  ‘Careful, George!’ Frances cried, but could not keep the smile from her voice.

  ‘No, little brother,’ her eldest son said, wagging his finger. ‘The rules state that Mother’s chamber is neutral territory.’

  John looked up at him quizzically. ‘What rules? And what’s neu— that thing you said?’

  Helena gave an indulgent chuckle. ‘You should not tease your brother so, George. He is only five.’

  Her younger grandson drew himself up to his full height. ‘I will be six next year, so I’m almost a man,’ he averred, jutting out his chin.

  ‘Is that so? Then you must forgive an old woman, my dear. I had quite miscalculated,’ Helena said gravely.

  Frances saw George’s lips twitch and struggled to maintain her own composure. Only when John giggled did they all collapse into laughter, stopping when a thin wail rose from the cradle. Helena was there before her daughter and scooped her infant grandson into her arms, rocking him until he quietened. Frances sank back against her pillows, her eyelids heavy. Catching the movement, her mother placed William back in his cradle and led her other two grandsons out of the room. Their voices faded as Frances surrendered herself to sleep.

  CHAPTER 22

  4 August

  ‘It is a good likeness.’

  Thomas stared down at the sketch and smiled. Helena had made it the day before her daughter’s departure from Longford. She had already completed one for herself, telling Frances she needed something to remember William by. When the letter had arrived from Thomas with the unwelcome news that he would be unable to come to Tyringham for their return, Helena had made another copy to give to him. He will meet his new son soon enough, my dear. Her mother’s words rang in her ears now. She wished she could believe them.

  ‘He is very like you,’ Frances continued, her voice filled with pride and longing. The pain of bidding her little boy and his brothers farewell had been unbearable. Many times on the journey to London, she had almost ordered the coachman to stop and turn back to Tyringham. But the thought of seeing Thomas again had stopped the words in her throat.

  Her husband traced his finger around the plump outline of William’s face. ‘Forgive me,’ he whispered, his shoulders heaving with silent grief. Frances was not sure if he was speaking to her or his absent son. At length, he s
et down the drawing and pulled his wife into a tight embrace. ‘I was desperate to come to you, my love.’ His breath was warm in her hair. ‘I would have travelled to Longford as soon as your mother’s letter arrived, telling me of the birth. But Buckingham would not hear of my being so long absent and made sure that the King was of the same mind,’ he said bitterly. ‘Yet he assured me I would be spared for the journey to Tyringham. When permission for that was withdrawn too, I almost resigned my position. Only the thought of what would ensue prevented me.’

  ‘You were right,’ Frances murmured. ‘Courting the King’s anger at such a time would have spelled danger for us all. We must be patient. God willing, Raleigh will soon return triumphant.’

  She felt her husband’s body sag, as if in defeat. He stepped away from her and went to pour them a drink. Frances noticed that his hand shook slightly as he took a sip.

  ‘What has happened?’ she asked, when they were both seated.

  Thomas sighed and rubbed his brow. ‘The expedition was dogged by ill luck from the beginning. Many took it for a bad omen that Raleigh’s fleet was battered by storms almost as soon as it set sail from Plymouth, and I am inclined to agree with them. Soon after, Sir Walter fell prey to a fever so grievous that his life was despaired of. He is recovered now,’ he said quickly, clearly noting his wife’s stricken face, ‘but there has been a fresh disaster.’

  Frances took a small sip from her glass and waited. Her mouth still felt dry.

  ‘Raleigh’s fleet succeeded in joining with that of King Philip at Cádiz and they sailed for Guiana as planned. But when they reached the Spanish settlement of San Thomé, the garrison recognised Sir Walter’s standard and began to fire upon his ships, assuming they had come for war. Before word could be sent to the commander of the town, a furious battle had ensued. A number of Raleigh’s men were slaughtered – including his son.’

  Frances’s hand flew to her mouth and she stared at Thomas, horror-struck. Raleigh had spoken of young Walter with such pride and affection. He would be devastated by his loss.

  ‘When Raleigh heard the news, he ordered that the city be razed to the ground. King Philip took it as a declaration of war and abandoned the expedition. He and his fleet have returned to Cádiz. He has written to James protesting that Raleigh has shattered the peace between our two countries and must be punished as a traitor. He says nothing of his own part in this, of course.’

  Frances tried to swallow but her throat felt as if it was in a vice. ‘Where is Raleigh now?’ she whispered, fearing the answer.

  ‘He continued along the coast of Guiana, intent upon finding El Dorado so that he could plunder its gold and fund an invasion of England without Spain’s help. But his men were falling away, either through sickness or mutiny, soon leaving Raleigh virtually alone on board the Destiny. He was forced to abandon the expedition and turn his sails northwards again. The King received word that he has been spied off the coast of Ireland. It will not be long before he is arrested and brought back to London.’

  ‘And the Tower,’ Frances added. Thomas looked as wretched as she felt. ‘Then we are ruined,’ she said.

  His face sank into his hands. ‘I am sorry, Frances. This is all my doing. I have been so blinded by my hatred of that – that creature’ – his voice was as bitter as bile – ‘that I have failed to see how great was the risk I took to be rid of him.’

  ‘It was more than that,’ she replied softly. ‘If he had succeeded, Raleigh would have rid us of this heretic king and restored the country to the Catholic fold.’ Her words sounded insincere, even to her ears. She knew her husband had spoken the truth, that his desperation to be rid of Buckingham had lain at the root of this. They had sacrificed so much to that devil already, but Frances had a creeping suspicion that he would take more from them yet.

  ‘How much have we lost?’ she asked.

  Thomas raised his eyes to hers. ‘Everything we pledged for the voyage. The lands I have mortgaged too – I will not be able to buy them back now. We have only Tyringham Hall and the income from my position here at court.’

  Frances bit back a scornful remark. She knew that her husband’s salary, like most others here, did not reflect his status. Even the grandest of titles rarely brought riches. If it did, then Buckingham would not have cast a second glance at a woman such as Lady Katherine Manners.

  ‘I will write to my mother,’ she said. ‘George does not come into his inheritance for a few years yet, but I will ask that we borrow a portion of it now. It will be repaid – with interest – long before he reaches maturity.’

  ‘No, Frances,’ Thomas replied firmly. ‘It is enough that I have ruined my own estate – your fortune too – without hazarding Longford. I will find another way. The King himself might advance me the money. He has been in an excellent humour since our return from the hunt.’

  Frances eyed him doubtfully but said nothing. She knew that he had only made the suggestion to allay her worry, that he had as little faith as she in his royal master’s generosity.

  ‘I will find a way,’ he repeated.

  ‘I am so glad to see you!’ Kate Manners cried, embracing Frances warmly. ‘I have missed you so much since you left. You are quite recovered?’ she enquired anxiously, holding her at arm’s-length. ‘I know it is more than two years now since . . . since that terrible accident, but I was so afraid for you. I sent for word every day, but my father would not let me see you. He said it would distress me too much and that you needed to rest,’ she rattled on, hardly pausing to draw breath. ‘And when at last I heard that my prayers had been answered and you would live, you were already on your way to Buckinghamshire. I wasn’t even able to say goodbye . . .’ Her voice cracked.

  The girl was as pure in heart as when Frances had last seen her, and she could not but rejoice at the fact. She had feared that in her own absence from court her friend would have been corrupted by its vices, especially with such a man as Buckingham to pay her attention. Perhaps the marquess has found another focus for his acquisitive gaze. Even as she thought it, she knew how unlikely it was. There were ladies of greater beauty at court, but none of greater riches than Lady Katherine.

  ‘I am sorry,’ Frances said. ‘I tried to send word of my departure but it was all conducted with such haste. My husband was anxious for me to return to Tyringham as soon as I was able to travel.’

  Kate clasped her hands. ‘I know, and he was right to be so after all you had suffered here. He is a good man and loves you truly.’ She bit her lip. ‘I pray that I may be blessed with such a husband one day.’

  ‘I am sure you have had many suitors here since I saw you last,’ Frances replied, watching her closely.

  ‘You have too high an opinion of me,’ Kate said. ‘I know I am not well favoured – the countess has often reminded me of that.’

  Anger surged in Frances. ‘It is your stepmother who is ill-favoured – in everything that matters. Your goodness and virtue far exceed hers.’

  ‘Oh, I did not mean Countess Cecilia,’ Kate responded, ‘though she is of the same mind, certainly. No, it was the Countess of Buckingham I referred to.’

  Frances stared, mute.

  ‘The Marquess of Buckingham’s mother,’ Kate explained, seeing her confusion. ‘She is very proud of the title that the King has bestowed upon her – rightly so, of course,’ she added quickly.

  Frances tried to hide her dismay. The title was as much a compliment to Buckingham as it was to his mother, who had clearly succeeded in ingratiating herself with the King during the time she had spent at court. Thomas had told her that Lady Mary had shown no inclination to return to her estates. What was worse, she and her son had succeeded in installing other members of the family in James’s service. Buckingham’s younger brother Christopher was now a gentleman of the bedchamber, and the King had entailed Buckingham’s title on his elder brother John, should his favourite die without heirs. Frances suspected that James hoped he would.

  ‘It is indeed a great honour for
her,’ she replied quietly. ‘Her son the marquess showed you great courtesy when I was last at court,’ she went on after a pause. ‘Has that continued during my absence?’

  The flush on her friend’s cheeks told her it had, but she appeared more perturbed than pleased.

  ‘Yes – even more so,’ Kate replied quietly, her fingers working at a stray thread on the seam of her gown. ‘I was flattered at first, of course – he could have his pick of the ladies at court. But there is still something about him that makes me uneasy.’

  Frances tried to hide her satisfaction. She was glad that Kate was less naive than she had thought. Perhaps it would not be so difficult to save her from Buckingham’s clutches after all.

  ‘What is your father’s opinion of him?’ she asked.

  Kate’s frown deepened. ‘He hardly speaks of him, but I have noticed he falls quiet whenever we meet, though the marquess takes great pains to win his good graces.’

  Frances had no doubt of that. Buckingham was always at his most obsequious when he had something to gain. ‘I thought your two families were well acquainted?’ she ventured.

  ‘As you know, our estates lie close to each other, but that is all. Father has never shown much interest in strengthening our connection, though my lady mother has encouraged him many times. She and the Countess of Buckingham are on very affectionate terms.’

  Frances fell silent, as if considering the matter. ‘I have always known your father to be a man of discernment,’ she observed carefully. ‘If he harbours the same distrust as you for the marquess, then it must be for good reason. It seems your instincts may be right, so you are wise to behave with caution. I have long since learned that not everything at court is as it appears. Buckingham is high in the King’s favour and has many men to do his bidding, but I do not trust him.’