Fallen Angel

by Tracy Borman

  ‘This again?’ Frances’s voice dripped with scorn. ‘How many times has a king of Spain promised to rescue those of our faith? We endured sixteen years of false hopes and empty promises from the old King Philip. Why should you believe his namesake is any different?’

  ‘Because I had the promise from his own lips,’ he replied, his eyes bright with fervour. ‘I have travelled a good deal further than Hatfield since I saw you last, Lady Frances. Venice, Lyon, Madrid . . .’ His voice trailed into silence. Frances was suddenly aware of the soft rustle of branches, the cawing of the rooks as they searched for food in the barren woodland. ‘You are right to be distrustful,’ he continued. ‘It was the same doubts that drove me to visit the Spanish court, to hear the pledge from the dying King – and gain this symbol of fidelity from his successor.’

  Frances looked down at the heavy gold ring that was nestled in his palm. She had never seen such a ruby. Even in the gloom of the forest, it seemed to glow like the embers of a fire. ‘A pretty jewel,’ she said, ‘but on its own, it signifies little.’

  A small smile. ‘I agree. If this were all, I would have nothing but a priceless gift from a foreign prince. But there is a good deal more. Prince Charles is a devout Catholic, though he has concealed it from his father, of course. Younger sons are always raised by their mothers – a tradition that the late Queen was careful to uphold.’

  Frances knew this to be true, but scant progress had been made towards achieving Queen Anne’s dying wish that her son would marry a Catholic princess. She pushed down her rising irritation.

  ‘The prince is resolved upon this marriage, but his father wavers too much. We must rely upon others to bring it to pass,’ Salisbury continued. ‘There is only one man in this kingdom with enough power to achieve our ambitions.’

  Buckingham. She knew the name before he spoke it. ‘You are a fool to believe that he serves anyone but himself, my lord.’

  Salisbury moved a step closer. She could feel the warmth of his breath on her face. ‘No, Lady Tyringham,’ he said. ‘Lord Buckingham serves God before all else. He is a truer Catholic than any in this kingdom and would give his life for our cause.’

  ‘I always took you for a shrewd, discerning man, my lord. I can see now that I was wrong. Buckingham is no more a Catholic than the King, whose bed he shares every night.’

  ‘I know the reasons for your low opinion of him,’ Salisbury countered. ‘He can be ruthless and cruel, but never without purpose. Why do you think he was so intent upon securing the King’s favour entirely for himself? Or marrying the richest heiress in the kingdom? It is all for this, not for vain pride or greed.’

  ‘He is a murderer!’ Frances exclaimed. There was a loud flutter of wings as a startled rook took off from one of the branches overhead. ‘A rapist, too,’ she went on, lowering her voice, ‘and many more things besides. Yet you expect me to believe that this devil is really an avenging angel, sent by God to do His work here on earth?’ She wrenched her arm from his grip and began to stride away.

  ‘Wait!’ Salisbury caught up with her. ‘I beg you, listen to me. You might pretend to have turned your back on our faith, but I see its light burning in your eyes still. Deny it if you will – it makes no difference,’ he went on as she opened her mouth to protest. ‘With or without your support, we will restore England to the Catholic fold. Thanks to his marriage, Buckingham has amassed enough funds for a voyage to Spain. He will take the prince with him so that the marriage might be contracted when they reach the Escorial. Everything is in readiness. They will sail as soon as winter has abated.’

  Frances stared in disbelief. ‘Without the King’s knowledge, his sanction?’

  He inclined his head. ‘We cannot afford to wait for either.’

  She fell silent, her mind reeling from what she had heard. The idea that Buckingham was a true Catholic seemed unthinkable. That he had acted out of loyalty to the cause rather than for selfish motives was preposterous. Even if he did cherish that faith in his heart, it was the lure of power and riches that drove him on. Salisbury was as much under his spell as the King.

  But then a thought struck her. The dying Queen had spoken of someone whom she had instructed to bring about her son’s Catholic marriage. I ask only that you do nothing to hinder them – no matter how greatly you might wish it. Frances had puzzled over those words ever since. Why would she, whom Anne knew to be of the true faith, obstruct such a marriage? Now it all became startlingly clear. The man whom Anne had appointed to restore England to the Catholic faith was her mortal enemy.

  Suddenly aware that Salisbury was staring at her expectantly, she tried to still the thoughts that were racing through her mind. But one word came before all the rest. No.

  ‘I cannot forget what you have told me,’ she replied at last, her voice quiet and steady. ‘Neither will I repeat a word of it to another living soul. But I will have no part in this scheme. You will never speak of it to me again. Good day, Lord Salisbury.’

  1623

  CHAPTER 49

  21 February

  A chill wind whipped about the privy garden. Frances leaned closer to her husband. He always felt warm, even on the bitterest of winter days.

  ‘We should go in,’ he said, bending to kiss the top of her head.

  ‘In a few minutes, perhaps. It has been so long since we were last able to enjoy these gardens together, and you will be leaving again tomorrow.’ She felt the usual sorrow at the prospect but knew that the King would not be gainsaid. Glancing up at the leaden sky, she feared there would be more snow before nightfall. Already the roads were barely passable. Yet the only concession that James had made was to change their destination from Nonsuch to Richmond. Even that short distance would be hazardous in this weather.

  ‘I received word from my steward today.’

  Frances grew still.

  ‘Tyringham has been sold.’

  It was the news she had dreaded. So much time had passed since their home had been put up for sale that she had begun to hope a buyer would not be found – even though she knew that they desperately needed the funds.

  ‘Why did you not tell me sooner?’ she asked, raising herself to face him. The expression on his face was all the answer she needed.

  ‘The estate has been in my family for generations, Frances.’ His voice was cracked with sorrow. ‘I have brought shame upon us – upon our sons.’

  ‘No, Thomas,’ she countered. ‘You made this sacrifice for our sakes. I know what it has cost you.’ She kissed him. His lips felt dry and still.

  ‘It did not raise as much as I had hoped,’ he went on, gazing out across the frozen hedges. ‘I wonder if it was even worth it.’

  ‘You had no choice,’ Frances reminded him. ‘We could not have withstood our creditors any longer.’ She drew him to her and they stayed like that for several minutes, her arms encircling him, both lost in their thoughts. She could not help dwelling on that conversation with Salisbury, even though she had recounted it numerous times over the past couple of months. What riches might he have offered her if she had proved a willing accomplice to his plans, rather than rejecting them out of hand? It did not matter, she told herself firmly. There could be no inducement large enough to tempt her back down that perilous path – particularly if Buckingham was involved.

  Frances shivered as a snowflake landed on her neck. Several more floated down around them. Soon there would be a flurry, judging by the dark clouds overhead. ‘Let’s go inside,’ she said, rising.

  Thomas remained seated on the stone bench, hunched against the cold. ‘I think I will stay a while,’ he said, touching her hand. ‘Make up the fire – I will be with you soon.’

  ‘Peace, Steenie,’ the King soothed, as his favourite glowered at his opponent. ‘You cannot always be victorious.’

  Buckingham stood and swept the cards from the table. ‘You are a cheat,’ he snapped at his opponent, his voice dangerously low.

  Frances saw derision cross Lord Cranfield’s fac
e. She had heard rumours that the two men were now bitterly opposed. Even those closest to the King’s favourite were tiring of his arrogance, which grew more overbearing by the day.

  ‘Forgive me, my lord,’ Cranfield replied, spreading his hands. ‘It must have been beginner’s luck.’

  The marquess’s expression showed that he had caught the implied insult. He walked slowly towards his former protégé and brought his face so close to his that Cranfield paled.

  ‘Those who have been made can be unmade,’ he muttered. ‘You would do well to remember that.’

  Frances could see that the lord high treasurer was trying hard to master his emotions. She wondered if fear or fury was the greater.

  ‘Perhaps we should retire, my lords,’ Thomas said, rising from the seat next to her. ‘We will be leaving early for the hunt and His Grace needs to rest.’ Frances caught the gratitude and relief on James’s face at his words.

  Buckingham turned sharply to him. ‘Do you presume to know what the King needs, Tyringham – you, who have command of his dogs?’

  A heavy silence hung over the chamber. Frances dug her nails into her palms as she waited for her husband to reply. She could not see his face but was unnerved by the stillness with which he held himself. Buckingham cocked his head as he continued to stare at him with curiosity, as if he were examining some exotic beast. Frances was overcome by such intense hatred that it took her breath away. If only she were the witch he had accused her of being, she would ill-wish him, blight his life, as he had blighted theirs.

  ‘And you have command of the King himself, my lord?’

  Without warning, Buckingham unsheathed his sword and put the blade to Thomas’s throat. Frances watched, horror-struck, as the two yeomen rushed from the King’s side and seized the marquess before he could strike. Thomas made no move to defend himself. Drawing a sword in the King’s chamber was treason.

  ‘Unhand me, fools!’ Buckingham cried, but the guards tightened their grip as he writhed to be free.

  All eyes turned to James as he rose slowly from the throne. His expression was unreadable. Frances held her breath, fearing he would reprimand the yeomen. But he merely stood and stared at his favourite.

  ‘You will suffer for this,’ Buckingham snarled, then twisted to look at his royal master. ‘Tell them to release me.’ He ceased to struggle as he caught the look in James’s eyes. For the first time ever, Frances saw uncertainty in his own. ‘Your Grace?’

  The King made no answer, but turned and walked from the room.

  News of Buckingham’s arrest spread across the court. It had been the subject of conversation at every mealtime, every masque and other gathering held during the five days since. Although she had not joined in the gossip, Frances had taken a much greater interest in it than usual. Each day brought a fresh rumour: a trial would take place two days’ hence, the King meant to pardon his favourite, the marquess had escaped from the Tower. She had even heard it whispered that he had already been put to death – privately, as a concession by the King for the affection in which he had once held him. Thomas had tried to find out the truth but James had not spoken of the matter to anyone – even his closest attendants.

  Frances slowed her pace as she neared the apartment. She knew it was unwise to come here – Thomas had tried to persuade her against it – but she could not forsake her friend as the rest of the court had. She knocked lightly on the door and waited. There was a high-pitched squeal from the other side, quickly suppressed. When nobody answered, she knocked again, more loudly this time. The door opened a crack.

  ‘Kate – Lady Buckingham, please!’ Frances placed her foot in the gap. ‘I come in friendship, nothing more.’

  Kate’s face was hidden, but Frances sensed her hesitate. Then, slowly, she opened the door so that Frances might enter. The room was lavishly furnished and almost as large as the King’s presence chamber. The walls were lined with rich tapestries and paintings – mostly of Buckingham and his family, Frances noticed – and two huge windows at the far end looked out over the palace tiltyard. Little Mary was sitting on a rug by the fireplace and clutched a handful of brightly coloured ribbons. She beamed when she saw her mother’s visitor. Frances drew a lace kerchief from her pocket and gave it to the little girl. Mary’s smile widened as she traced the outline of the embroidered peacock with her chubby fingers.

  ‘Why are you here, Lady Tyringham?’ Kate’s tone was clipped, her eyes cold.

  ‘I was concerned for you, after your husband’s arrest. It must have been a shock—’

  ‘So you came to crow.’

  ‘No!’ Frances cried in dismay. Then, more softly: ‘My regard for you has not changed, Kate, whatever you think of me. I have only ever wanted to be a friend to you.’

  The young woman looked down at her hands, but said nothing.

  ‘I have done nothing to harm you or your poor brother,’ Frances persisted. She stopped short of saying that the boy had died at other hands than hers. ‘For the sake of everything we once were to each other, you must believe me.’

  ‘It is your husband’s fault – he provoked him,’ Kate retorted, looking up at her in anger now. ‘The marquess would never have drawn his sword in the King’s presence otherwise. He is the subject of great envy and malice.’

  Frances pushed down her anger. ‘Thomas sought only to settle a quarrel that had arisen between the marquess and Lord Cranfield,’ she replied firmly. ‘Your husband’s temper has grown ever shorter of late.’

  Kate opened her mouth to protest but Frances could see that she knew the truth of her words. No doubt she had suffered the effects of Buckingham’s moods herself. ‘Have you received any word from him?’ Frances asked.

  Kate shook her head. All the anger seemed to have left her now and she looked utterly wretched. ‘Mary and I will be ruined if—’ She broke off, tears welling in her eyes. ‘Our fortune will be forfeit to the King, and my father will hardly receive me – not after my disgrace.’

  ‘Your disgrace?’ Frances repeated, incredulous. ‘You cannot think he blames you for what happened that night? I made sure he knew the truth before you were married.’

  ‘He has not spoken to me of it – in fact, he has barely spoken to me of anything. I have not seen or heard from him since Mary’s birth.’

  Frances was saddened but not surprised. Lord Rutland had become a stranger to her too. Her letters to Belvoir had gone unanswered. Perhaps he could not bear to be reminded of the court – of all that his family had suffered there. She moved to sit next to her friend. ‘Your father loves you deeply, Kate. If he knew what you endure —’

  ‘He must never know!’ she cried, so suddenly that Mary dropped the kerchief and stared at her mother, chin quivering. Frances smiled down at her and picked up one of the ribbons. The child watched, mesmerised, as she wound it between her fingers then tied it into a neat bow and held it out to her. Kate shot Frances a grateful look as her daughter took it with a smile and resumed her play. ‘No good could come of it,’ she continued, more quietly this time. ‘He sought to avenge my misfortune once before and might do so again. I could not bear to see him brought low before the marquess – or worse. He is no match for my husband.’

  ‘Once, perhaps. But now?’

  Kate’s eyes were clouded with apprehension – and, Frances thought, hope. She opened her mouth to speak, but the door burst open and they turned to see Buckingham standing before them. Frances saw her own dismay reflected in her friend’s face. Neither moved as the marquess looked from one to the other, his mouth curling into its accustomed smirk.

  ‘Well, this is a fine greeting for a husband whom you had given up for dead.’

  Kate rose quickly to her feet and swept a deep curtsy. ‘My lord.’

  Frances remained seated as he strolled into the room. ‘Lady Tyringham,’ he drawled, coming to stop in front of her. ‘I hope you have not been filling my wife’s head with nonsense. She has been so biddable since she broke off your friendship.’
/>   ‘I should go, my lady,’ Frances said, rising briskly.

  ‘So soon?’ Buckingham’s eyes flashed fire, though his voice was soft as velvet. ‘Will you not stay and entertain me a while? I can hope for little conversation from my wife.’

  ‘Good day, my lady,’ Frances said, ignoring him.

  ‘Ah, well, at least you may save me the trouble of telling your husband myself.’

  She turned to him sharply. Buckingham’s grin widened.

  ‘He is to have a new master while I am away. Lord Cranfield has kindly agreed to oversee His Majesty’s stables, arrange the hunts,’ he continued airily.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Kate asked.

  Her husband continued to stare at Frances, his eyes boring into hers. ‘Spain.’

  Frances thought back to her conversation with Salisbury.

  ‘The prince and I are going to treat for his marriage to the infanta,’ he continued. ‘He proposed the expedition himself, after so graciously persuading the King to order my release. It seems his father will refuse him nothing, these days.’

  Frances reeled. Charles had secured Buckingham’s release? The prince had shown nothing but disdain for his father’s favourite, yet now he had not only saved his life but chosen him as a trusted companion for a voyage to Spain. Frances had heard it whispered lately that the marquess practised witchcraft to bend the King to his desires. Perhaps he had also used it on his son. She had all but disregarded the plan of which Salisbury had told her, convinced that the prince would never be persuaded to travel to Spain with a man he so obviously distrusted.

  ‘When will you leave?’

  Buckingham turned to his wife. ‘I have only just returned to your side, yet you are eager to see me go again?’ he purred, pinching her chin between his fingers. ‘A week – two at most. Now, Lady Tyringham,’ he said, ‘if you will excuse us, I must make up for lost time.’