Fallen Angel

by Tracy Borman

  ‘I will return to court as soon as I am able,’ she repeated, her gaze steady. Thomas had learned not to try to persuade her when her mind was set. ‘Now, pray give Samuel to me before he wakes the entire household.’

  Frances had not expected to stay on at Tyringham for so long after her husband’s departure several months before. She had received only a handful of letters from him since, and although they had conveyed little news, she was under no illusion that this was for any lack of it. Until recently, Lord Bacon had kept her abreast of court affairs – of Buckingham in particular, whose hold over the King had grown ever stronger since his marriage. But even Bacon’s letters had become less frequent over the past few weeks. She supposed he was preoccupied with the onset of Parliament.

  The thought of what might be happening at court during her absence made her even more anxious to join her husband, but securing a wet-nurse for Samuel had proved difficult. Mistress Penstone had served her well with John, Robert and William, but she was beyond childbearing years now, and none of Frances’s enquiries had borne fruit. It seemed that news of their financial difficulties had spread across the county. In the end, Frances had resigned herself to continuing to suckle her baby, until such time as he could be weaned.

  Although she had been plagued by misgivings about being away from Thomas for so long, she could not but admit that spending all of this extra time with her sons had been a blessing. They had each grown so much during her prolonged absences at court that it had taken a while to become reacquainted with their new habits and mannerisms, their opinions and pleasures. She pushed away the thought that they would soon become strangers to her once more.

  ‘Mama, look!’

  William was peering down at her from the uppermost branches, which swayed perilously as he waved. He had somehow managed to steal a march on his two brothers. A moment later, Robert scrambled up to join him, red-faced and scowling.

  ‘Come down now, boys – it is almost time to dine.’

  Only John heeded her. He seemed almost grateful to have an excuse not to climb to the top of the tree. He had inherited his father’s caution, as well as his looks. The only time she had known Thomas to act rashly was in his support of Raleigh’s expedition. It seemed unfair that they had been punished so severely for it.

  ‘Must you leave, Mother?’ John’s dark eyes were solemn as he gazed up at her.

  Frances stroked his hair, then took his hand in hers. He would never have allowed her to do such a thing if his brothers had been looking on, but he grasped her fingers tightly now. ‘Your father needs me with him,’ she told him.

  ‘Has Papa written again?’

  ‘The King will be keeping him busy, I’m sure.’ That, at least, was the truth. She had heard that James’s absences from court had become ever more prolonged. His passion for the hunt made him as oblivious to affairs of state as he was to the weather. The snow had come soon after Thomas’s departure for court, but he had still been obliged to prepare the buckhounds for their royal master’s sport.

  ‘You must supply your father’s place now, John.’ Frances saw a mixture of anticipation and fear in his eyes. ‘Your younger brothers need a firm hand – even if they seem to be masters of their destiny.’

  At that moment, there was a shrill cry as William lost his footing and crashed through several branches, sending a shower of golden leaves cascading down. John was there before his mother and, in a deft move, caught his brother just before he hit the ground.

  Frances’s relief was soon supplanted by anger. ‘You should have heeded my warning, William,’ she chided. He cast his eyes to the ground and she could tell from the set of his mouth that he was close to tears. ‘Come now,’ she said more softly, drawing him to her. ‘What will your father say if you have fewer limbs when he next sees you?’

  William gave a loud sniff. ‘I’m sorry, Mama,’ he mumbled. Then: ‘Thank you, John.’

  The sun was already sinking behind the turrets of the hall by the time they passed under the gatehouse. As she gazed towards it, Frances could not help wondering whether she would ever spend another night under its old roof. Tyringham Hall had become almost as beloved to her as Longford, she realised. Four of her sons had been born there, and the memories of the times they had spent together as a family were as precious as they were brief. Pray God I will find a way to keep it.

  Mrs Garston came bustling forward as soon as they stepped through the door. ‘A visitor arrived for you soon after you and the young masters had left for the woods, ma’am. She is waiting in the parlour.’

  Frances looked at the old woman in surprise. Their circle of acquaintance had diminished markedly in the past few years, in line with their shrinking funds. ‘Who is she?’

  The housekeeper looked a little flustered. ‘The lady would not give her name, ma’am, though I asked for it more than once. She insisted that she is an old friend of your ladyship.’

  Frances’s curiosity was mingled with foreboding. ‘Thank you, Mrs Garston. Boys, you may play in your rooms for a while – but make sure you are clean and dressed for dinner,’ she called after them, as they scampered upstairs.

  The parlour was only dimly lit when Frances entered. The few servants who remained at Tyringham would be preoccupied with turning down the beds, preparing for dinner, and the myriad other tasks that left them exhausted and – Frances thought – more than a little resentful at the end of each day. Her visitor was sitting in a high-backed chair by the window, facing away from her. Frances could see only the top of her head, which was covered with a starched white cap. The woman turned at the sound of her footsteps, but remained seated.

  Frances paled. ‘Lady Vaux.’

  Her guest rose to her feet at last. ‘You look astonished, Lady Tyringham. Pray – sit down.’ She gestured to the chair opposite her own, as if this was her parlour.

  Frances pushed down her irritation. Lady Vaux’s arrogance had not diminished during the ten years since she had last seen her.

  ‘This is a pleasant house – though more modest than I would have expected for the King’s hunting master. My sister lives but two days’ ride from here. If I had known you were so close by, I would have visited you earlier.’

  Thank God you did not. ‘How is Eleanor?’ Frances asked instead. She had always found the elder of the Vaux sisters a good deal more pleasant.

  ‘Oh, well enough,’ Lady Vaux replied airily. ‘Though, having no children, she fills her time with embroidery and gardening and other such domestic pursuits. Little wonder that she has been so eager for me to visit her.’

  Frances gave a polite smile. She doubted poor Eleanor had been given much choice in the matter. She sat down in a different chair from the one her guest had indicated. It was a petty act of rebellion but she had spent too many of her years at court subject to this woman’s will. Lady Vaux had schemed relentlessly to finish the work that the Powder Treason plotters had begun and return England to the Catholic fold. Back then, the desire to avenge Tom’s death had compelled Frances to do her bidding – as had the unspoken threat that Lady Vaux would reveal he was George’s father. But none of her schemes had come to anything, and Frances had learned that the networks of which she had boasted were more imagined than real.

  Frances eyed her coldly. ‘Why are you here?’

  A flicker of a smile. ‘That is a fine way to greet an old acquaintance. Well, since you are clearly not inclined to engage in pleasantries, I will oblige you. You and your husband are greatly in debt, I understand – pray, do not deny it,’ she said, casting a disapproving glance around the room. ‘I can see it for myself. The dust on that fireplace must be an inch thick, and apart from the woman who showed me in, I have seen no servants. Besides, I hear things . . . even in Leicestershire. Such a pity that Raleigh’s voyage not only failed to usher in a new dawn but ruined scores of good men in the attempt.’

  ‘What concern is this of yours?’ Frances demanded, bristling.

  ‘I am in a position to help you,
Lady Tyringham,’ she replied. ‘My father bequeathed my sister and me a number of estates in and around London. The income I receive from rents alone is enough to purchase Tyringham Hall – and several other houses besides. You have always proved such a friend to our cause – Prince Henry’s death proved that. Such endeavours should not go unrewarded.’

  ‘I had nothing to do with that,’ Frances remonstrated. ‘He died of a sickness.’

  The smile returned. ‘As you wish, my dear. We shall not quarrel over details.’ Her gaze intensified. ‘Besides, it is not what you have – or haven’t – done, but what you may yet do that matters. I will not toy with your patience any longer, Lady Tyringham – we are too old for such games.’

  Frances stopped herself pointing out that Lady Vaux was almost twenty years her senior.

  ‘My proposition is simple. I will help to settle your debts if you agree to embrace our cause once more.’

  Frances did not try to hide her disdain. ‘What cause, Lady Vaux? The Catholic – or your own?’ She saw that her words had hit their mark.

  ‘They have always been one and the same.’

  ‘And they have always come to nothing,’ Frances countered. ‘You embroiled me in your schemes once before, and I found to my cost that they were as insubstantial as air. I have a good deal more to lose now than I did then.’

  Lady Vaux gave a snort of derision. ‘I would have thought you had a good deal less. Why, your financial ruin is the talk of the county!’

  ‘I do not speak of material possession, Lady Vaux,’ Frances replied, her voice low, ‘though, as a spinster, it is perhaps natural that you should misunderstand. My loyalty lies entirely with my husband and sons. I would not hazard their reputation – their lives, even – by involving myself in a cause that was lost many years ago.’

  ‘You are too hasty, Lady Tyringham. You have not asked what our plans are – what role you would play in them.’

  ‘I do not care!’ Frances’s cry echoed into silence. ‘It does not matter,’ she continued, once her breathing had calmed. ‘How many times has a Spanish invasion been mooted? A huge army of Catholics to oust the King from his throne? It is nothing but words, Lady Vaux – Raleigh and numerous others besides paid the price for believing them. Even if the Powder Treason had succeeded, the King and his government blown to the heavens, what then? Nothing but chaos and division. This kingdom would have been plunged into civil war. No. I will keep my faith in my heart and urge you to do the same.’

  ‘I see that sixteen years of marriage have not diminished your stubborn nature,’ the older woman observed. ‘But neither has it enhanced your wisdom – or your courage.’ She held up her hand to silence Frances’s protests. ‘Your pride has blinded you, Lady Tyringham. You cannot see that by accepting my offer, you will be protecting that which you hold so dear.’

  Frances stood abruptly. ‘Our conference is over, Lady Vaux. I will ask that your carriage be brought from the stables.’

  Her guest showed no inclination to move, though Frances glared down at her.

  ‘Very well.’ Lady Vaux rose to her feet. ‘But you are a fool.’ With that, she began to walk slowly from the room. When she reached the doorway, she stopped. ‘Of course, if you should change your mind . . .’

  CHAPTER 47

  4 November

  ‘God’s wounds, have a care, man!’

  Frances watched as Lord Bacon limped after a thickset young man, who was dragging a fine writing desk over the threshold. He took a silk kerchief from his pocket and rubbed at a scratch on the gilding. ‘I am no longer so rich that I can replace such treasures . . . unlike your master,’ he muttered, under his breath, as the man quickened his pace. As he walked back into the room, a loud bang echoed along the corridor beyond. He winced.

  ‘This will be the death of me, Frances,’ he grumbled, sinking down next to her on one of the few pieces of furniture that remained in his once magnificent hall.

  It occurred to her that he was not the first owner of York Place to find himself thrown out of office. Almost a hundred years earlier, King Henry VIII’s once-powerful cardinal, Thomas Wolsey, had been stripped of all his great titles and forced to hand the keys to his rival, Anne Boleyn. She had not enjoyed her triumph for long. Frances hoped the same would be true of Buckingham, whose residence this now was.

  ‘Perhaps the place is cursed,’ Bacon remarked, echoing her thoughts. ‘It was always too grand for a poor philosopher like me anyway, so I will not mourn its loss too greatly. It is far more suited to my former patron.’

  Frances forced a smile. ‘Where shall you go?’

  ‘I have some rooms close to the Temple Church. They will suffice for now – though Alice does not agree. She has gone to stay with relatives in Suffolk. Perhaps it is for the best.’

  Frances regarded him sadly. ‘Is there no hope of a pardon?’

  Bacon gave a bark of laughter. ‘His Majesty is more likely to give up hunting than restore me to the privy council – his precious angel has made sure of that.’

  Although Frances had lived at court for long enough to expect such sudden twists of Fate, Lord Bacon’s had been more sudden than most. His last letter – admittedly written many weeks before – had given no hint of any troubles, but by the time she had arrived at court he had been impeached for corruption. She had heard enough of the charges to know they were groundless. Of all the King’s councillors, he was the least likely to accept bribes. But such details mattered little to his royal master when his favourite had persuaded him otherwise.

  ‘Perhaps you might petition His Grace again, once he has had time to reflect,’ she ventured.

  Bacon shook his head. ‘You know as well as I that it would be in vain. I have already assured the King that when hearts are opened mine shall not be found corrupt. I may be frail in body, but in morals I am as Saint Peter himself.’

  Frances kissed his cheek. His eyes brimmed with tears.

  ‘Well, it is no matter,’ he went on, brushing them away. ‘The experience has given me yet another thing in common with my dear friend. Now we are not only fellow herbalists and intellectuals, but victims of His Majesty’s summary justice.’

  Frances knew that though Bacon was making light of it, his impeachment must have shaken him to the core. He had enjoyed a seemingly inexorable rise since becoming lord keeper. But this had only served to increase his enemies’ desire to bring him down – Buckingham in particular. The marquess had been content as his patron until he judged that Bacon was threatening his own pre-eminence in the council.

  ‘I am sorry I was not here when it happened,’ Frances said. ‘If I had left Buckinghamshire a couple of weeks earlier, I could have attended your trial.’

  ‘I am glad you were spared the experience, my dear. That wretch Coke presided over it,’ he added bitterly. ‘He could not resist such an opportunity to triumph over me, of course. How he must have delighted in announcing that ridiculous fine. I will never be able to pay it, of course – even after selling the lease to this place and several other properties besides.’

  ‘Then you may console yourself with the knowledge that we have one more thing in common,’ Frances observed.

  ‘Forgive me, my dear. I have wallowed in my own misery so much that I have failed to ask how your own affairs prosper. Did the harvest bring no respite?’

  ‘The rains blighted the crops, as they have every year since Raleigh’s death. It seems God is punishing us for supporting his voyage.’

  ‘They fall on other lands than yours, my dear,’ Bacon reminded her. ‘If God is showing His hand, then it is surely against the King, who presides over them all.’ He paused. ‘I should have helped you when I had the means. Is there no hope of saving Tyringham Hall?’

  ‘Thomas has already instructed his agent to advertise it for sale,’ she replied, her voice flat. ‘Our sons will go to live with my mother and George at Longford.’

  ‘That at least must be a comfort.’

  ‘It would be more so if
I could join them.’ Since returning to court, she had seen little of her husband. The King no longer troubled to return there after each hunt, but travelled from one country estate to the next, often staying for weeks at a time. Frances had begun to question the wisdom of her decision to come here. Her time would surely be better served with her sons. Then she thought of Thomas, how wan he had looked when she had arrived here three weeks earlier, and felt ashamed. She would not desert him.

  Footsteps echoed along the corridor. Frances and Bacon turned to see two men enter the hall, straining under the weight of an enormous painting. As they set it on its side, the linen cover fell away. Frances stared. The portrait was of a man and a woman in a woodland clearing. They were naked but for two pieces of silk covering their modesty. The man had one hand on his heart and the other around the lady as he gazed adoringly at her. Her expression was uncertain, as if she was ashamed of her nakedness. She did not look at her companion but stared straight ahead. Her breasts were bare and she seemed to cringe away from the man’s embrace.

  Frances drew in a breath. The resemblance was quite remarkable. She had heard that Buckingham had commissioned a marriage portrait from the celebrated court painter, Van Dyck, but had not expected this.

  ‘Venus and Adonis,’ Bacon said. ‘The Flemish master has excelled himself, has he not? My former patron has never looked so striking.’

  Or so predatory, Frances thought. She felt sick with disgust. Had Buckingham not ruined his young wife enough already? Now poor Kate would be forced to suffer the humiliation of a thousand eyes gazing upon her nakedness as their guests supped wine and devoured sweetmeats.

  ‘Should we take a stroll in the gardens?’ she asked, turning her back on the monstrous picture. ‘The light will soon begin to dim and I would like to see them once more. I doubt I will do so again after this evening.’

  ‘Of course,’ her friend agreed. ‘But, first, I have something for you.’ He went to the fine walnut writing desk by the window. Taking a key from his belt, he unlocked the central drawer and drew out a large book. ‘You may think this a poor gift, given how it has been received in certain exalted circles.’