Fallen Angel

by Tracy Borman

  ‘Henrietta Maria? A slip of a girl, by all accounts. But at thirteen, she is of marriageable age.’

  ‘I wonder that she has not already been betrothed to some foreign prince. Perhaps there is some impediment.’

  ‘What – apart from her being as stubborn a papist as her brother? I wonder His Majesty entertains the idea at all.’

  ‘He would have the Pope himself to dinner if it pleased his Steenie.’

  The two men’s sniggers sounded in Frances’s ears as she steered her son away from the dais. ‘Would you fetch me a glass of wine, George? My throat is quite parched.’

  She saw him cast a glance towards the royal party before obeying her request.

  ‘The duke seems very pleased with the new arrival,’ she murmured to Thomas, who nodded grimly.

  ‘Whatever fresh scheme this is, we can be sure it will bring him some advantage. French gold is as good as Spanish, after all.’

  ‘And King Louis’s sister is as devout a Catholic as the infanta – for that at least we should be grateful. Oh, thank you, George,’ she said quickly, hoping her son had not heard any of their conversation. He was looking at the dais now.

  ‘His Majesty is fortunate to have such a servant as the duke, is he not?’ George did not seem to notice their silence as he stared at Buckingham in open admiration. ‘So full of grace and accomplishments, and nothing escapes his notice – even a lowly subject such as myself.’

  Frances turned sharply to him.

  ‘To think that he should invite me to dine with him tomorrow, when he might have kings, princes and ambassadors for company,’ her son continued, his eyes alight with joy.

  Frances stared at her husband in alarm. She had told him of Lady Vaux’s visit. He knew as well as she the danger it might carry.

  ‘It is an honour indeed,’ Thomas agreed, ‘but you are leaving for Cambridge in the morning.’

  ‘It is worth delaying my departure for, Papa – God knows I would sacrifice a great deal more for such an invitation.’

  ‘But everything has been arranged and there is no time to send word to your master now.’

  ‘He will hardly object, when he knows the reason, Mother.’ The excitement faded from his eyes as he looked from one to the other. ‘It is as if you are anxious to be rid of me.’

  Frances forced a bright smile. ‘You know that isn’t true, George. I would keep you by my side for ever if I could. But you are a man now and must make your own way in the world. Once in Cambridge . . .’

  Her son’s face brightened at once. ‘I knew you would understand. If I win favour with the duke, he might recommend me for the King’s service when my studies are completed.’ He bent to kiss his mother’s hand, then gave Thomas’s arm an affectionate squeeze. ‘Who knows where else this meeting might lead?’

  Frances shielded her eyes against the sinking sun as she gazed across Hyde Park. Buckingham would have to come this way – there was only one gate on the south side and it led directly to the road he would take back to Whitehall. She had heard of the duke’s excursion from Thomas, who had been glad of an afternoon to undertake his duties in the stables unimpeded. He did not know she had left the palace to find Buckingham. He would hardly approve of the idea. The duke had taken great delight in rebuffing his own attempts to persuade him to revoke his invitation to George. Frances could hope for little more success, but she had at least to try.

  A distant rumble carried on the wind. Frances peered at the horizon again and saw the outline of a rider. The ground at her feet vibrated as he thundered towards her. He must have seen her by now, but he dug his heels into the horse’s sides, urging it on. She forced herself to stand perfectly still, though she might be trampled underfoot. Only at the last did Buckingham pull back sharply on the reins, causing his horse to snort loudly, its front legs rearing so high that Frances was sure the duke would fall.

  ‘Lady Tyringham,’ he said, when his horse had lowered its hoofs. ‘Do you always happen upon gentlemen in such a fashion?’

  She did not reply but waited for him to dismount. He did so slowly, then tethered the beast to a nearby tree and patted its glistening neck.

  ‘How may I serve you, my lady?’ His breath felt hot on her hand as he bent to kiss it.

  ‘I wish to speak to you about my son,’ she said, knowing it was pointless to dissemble. ‘Your invitation for him to dine with you was an honour as great as it was unlooked for. But I regret that he will not be able to attend. He leaves for Cambridge tomorrow.’

  The duke’s mouth twitched. ‘What trouble you have taken to tell me of something so inconsequential. Surely your son could have sent word himself, if that was his intention. I wonder he made no mention of his impending journey when I first extended the invitation.’ A pause. ‘I must say, Lady Tyringham, such a trifling matter seems to have caused you and your husband a great deal of vexation. Tell me, why are you both so determined to prevent it? Fathers are supposed to be ambitious for their sons – the eldest above all. But then . . .’

  His eyes blazed into hers as he left the words hanging in the air. Frances could hear her pulse thrumming in her ears. ‘But then?’ she repeated. Say it. Even though it was the thing she feared, she needed to know for certain that Lady Vaux had betrayed her secret.

  The duke took a step towards her and cocked his head to one side. As he slowly exhaled, she caught the bitter aroma of stale wine on his breath. There were dark shadows under his eyes and his soft skin appeared pallid and drawn. Even though he had feigned his illness earlier that month, he was not the image of youthful vigour he had once been, Frances reflected, momentarily distracted from the fear that was coursing through her.

  He brought his mouth so close to her ear that his lips almost brushed against it. ‘George is not his son, is he, my lady?’ he whispered.

  Frances jumped back as if scalded, her heel jabbing painfully on the bark of a tree. Swift as a cat, Buckingham pinioned her arms and pushed her against the gnarled trunk.

  ‘Who would have believed that such a pious woman would have played the whore?’ he drawled. She could feel the heat of his arousal as he pressed his hips against hers. ‘And with a notorious traitor. Did the danger of the forbidden excite you, Lady Tyringham?’ He trailed his lips along her neck. ‘Does it still?’

  ‘No!’ she cried, wrenching her arms free and striking him a stinging blow across the face. His eyes bored into hers as he touched the welt with his fingers, then tightened them into a fist. Frances flinched, waiting for him to strike. But he gave a low chuckle and stepped away from her.

  ‘Your virtue is safe, my lady. Such borrowed flesh is hardly enough to tempt me.’ He gave a sniff and brushed the remnants of bark from his palms. ‘Besides, it is your son who interests me, not you.’

  Frances clenched her hands into fists as she stared at him. ‘If any harm should befall him— ‘

  ‘Then it will be entirely of your making. What a torment that must be for you, knowing your treachery has blighted his life. If ever the King should learn that Master George is not his beloved Thomas’s son, but the bastard of one of the Powder Treason plotters, he would have your head and the boy’s too.’

  ‘He would not believe it,’ she spat back. ‘What proof could you offer? His Majesty would hardly accept the word of your friend Lady Vaux.’

  She caught the momentary shock on his face before he recovered himself.

  ‘I would not need that when there are plenty of men to attest to how greatly your son resembles Tom Wintour.’ He moved towards her again. ‘The King has long had you marked as a witch and a traitor. Were it not for the love he bears your husband, he would have had that pretty neck snapped long before now. If I should tell him what I have learned, it would merely confirm his suspicions.’

  Frances’s gaze did not waver, though fury and fear surged through her. ‘Then tell him, Your Grace.’ Her voice was as sharp as flint. ‘But do not think to threaten me. I have no fear of death.’

  Buckingham gave a sa
d smile. ‘For yourself, perhaps not. But for your precious boy? Ah, I see that is a different matter. What would a mother not do for her firstborn son?’ Another step closer. ‘I intend to find out, Lady Tyringham.’

  Frances held her breath as he traced his index finger slowly down her neck to the swell of her breasts. ‘What would you have me do?’ she rasped, swallowing her terror and revulsion.

  His eyes flashed with desire as his lips curled into another slow smile. ‘I am sure there are many services you might perform for me. My only difficulty will be in deciding which should come first.’ His fingers still hovered above the line of her bodice.

  Frances could feel the knot in the tree bark press into her back as she shrank away from him. Then she watched as he gave an exaggerated sigh and strolled languidly to his horse, which was grazing contentedly in the lush grass of the park. He climbed into the saddle with practised ease and touched the brim of his hat towards her.

  ‘I do hope we will meet again soon, Lady Tyringham,’ he called, over his shoulder, as he ducked under the gateway and out of sight.

  CHAPTER 56

  12 October

  The twelfth chime echoed into silence. Frances pulled her shawl more tightly around her shoulders. There was only a faint glow from the embers now and what little heat they emitted was hardly enough to take the chill from the gloomy parlour.

  ‘Will you not come to bed, my love?’

  Her husband was silhouetted against the pale moonlight that showed through the window of their apartment.

  ‘I cannot rest until he has returned.’

  ‘Nor I,’ he admitted. ‘But you will be warmer under the covers.’

  Frances smiled as he held out his hand. She had not told him of what had passed with Buckingham that afternoon. He would be angry with her for taking such a risk – angrier still if he heard what the duke had done. Her arms felt bruised where he had gripped them, and every time she closed her eyes she could feel the warmth of his mouth on her neck. Mingled with her revulsion was a deep unease, as much for what she had felt as for what he had threatened.

  ‘What if he has told him?’

  Her words hung heavy in the darkened chamber. Slowly, Thomas lowered his hand. ‘I am almost more afraid of that than of anything else,’ he said. ‘George is as much my son as our other boys.’

  ‘He loves you no less in return, Thomas,’ she replied, rising to embrace him. His arms felt stiff as they encircled her.

  ‘I pray God it will be enough, if he should find out the truth.’

  Frances pressed her face against his chest. She was just as terrified as he that George would be lost to them if he were to discover that they had concealed the truth all these years.

  ‘Do you think we should warn him about Buckingham, discourage him from spending any more time with him?’ she asked. ‘He is old enough to form his own judgement of such a man, after all.’

  ‘No,’ Thomas replied. ‘George may be mature in years, but he knows little of the world. Even men of greater experience have fallen under the duke’s spell.’

  ‘He is hardly an innocent,’ Frances countered. ‘He spent much of his childhood at court and has been managing the Longford estate for three years and more.’

  Her husband held her apart from him then, his eyes blazing with sincerity. ‘That may be true, my love, but George can have encountered no one as duplicitous as the duke. Besides, if we try to deter him from seeing Buckingham again, he will hardly agree to it without an explanation – and that is something we cannot provide.’

  The click of the latch made them both start. George stumbled into the apartment, uttering a curse as he tripped over one of the flagstones. ‘You scared me half to death!’ he exclaimed, as Thomas moved to help. ‘Mama? Why are you not in bed too?’

  ‘We are not so old and dull as you suppose, my boy,’ her husband said, before she could reply. ‘How was the duke?’ Although he kept his tone light, Frances heard its edge.

  ‘The very best of men!’ her son exclaimed.

  She exhaled as the soft light illuminated his face, which was flushed with excitement. He did not know. But her relief soon turned to disquiet as George proceeded to regale them with every detail of his evening – the delights of Buckingham’s table, the sumptuousness of his chambers and, above all, the many and varied virtues of his new acquaintance.

  ‘I am pleased it was worth delaying your journey for,’ Thomas said, when at last George had paused to draw breath.

  ‘Oh, yes!’ he exclaimed. ‘The memory of it will stay with me always – though I hope it will soon be superseded by others.’

  Frances bristled. ‘Others?’

  ‘Many others, I hope,’ her son replied. ‘The duke made me promise to return to court whenever I have leisure to do so – which will be often, I’m sure. He even talked of visiting me in Cambridge. He has estates close by, apparently.’

  ‘He has estates in every part of the kingdom,’ Thomas muttered.

  ‘I can well believe it,’ George continued, oblivious to the scorn in Thomas’s voice. ‘There are no limits to his authority, or to his favour with the King. If I can only remain in his good graces while I am away . . . God’s wounds!’ he cried, with sudden passion. ‘I wish that I was not bound for Cambridge. I would flourish far more by staying here and serving the duke.’

  ‘No, George,’ Frances said. ‘You are committed to study law, and that will stand you in far better stead than the uncertain promise of favour here. Your grandmother must have told you many times how fickle the court can be.’

  In the candlelight, she saw her son’s frown crease into a scowl. ‘Of course I shall go to Cambridge, Mother,’ he replied petulantly. ‘But you should be glad that I have ambitions beyond resolving petty disputes over land or inheritance. Here at court is where the greatest prizes are to be had.’

  And the greatest dangers. She opened her mouth to reply, but Thomas was there before her.

  ‘They are indeed, and we are proud that they seem already to be within your grasp, George,’ he said, giving him a placatory pat on the shoulder. ‘Now, get some rest. You have a long journey tomorrow.’

  Frances saw that her son’s eyes were already heavy. Judging from his breath, he had drunk enough wine to sleep like the dead. She rose and kissed his cheek, then folded down the coverlet on his pallet bed and watched as Thomas led him towards it.

  ‘God give you good rest, my boy,’ her husband said softly, bending to stroke his hair.

  ‘And God keep you from evil,’ she whispered, as her son’s deep, rhythmic breathing echoed in the darkness.

  1625

  CHAPTER 57

  18 February

  Frances watched as her husband helped the King into his saddle. James’s face was flushed even from this small exertion, and he shifted uncomfortably, wincing with every movement. Above the line of his boots, she could see that his legs were swollen. The gout had become so acute in recent weeks that he had been obliged to cancel several hunts, which had made his temper all the more uncertain. Little wonder that a crowd had gathered in the stables to watch what would happen this time.

  A hound gave a high-pitched yelp as another sank its teeth into its flank. Thomas tapped the troublesome beast on its snout and it skulked away, whimpering. They were growing as restless as the courtiers – Frances included. She had been anxious since George’s departure, even though it was now more than four months ago. He had soon written of his safe arrival in Cambridge, but the memory of their conversation that night had turned over and over in her mind. She imagined her son boasting to his new companions of his powerful patron and knew that he would be itching to return to Whitehall so that he could renew their acquaintance. She was just as eager that he stayed away, though she missed him keenly.

  She looked across at Buckingham, who was regaling his royal master with some amusing tale. Now and again, James’s laughter echoed across the crowded courtyard, his breath misting in the cold morning air. Frances had been careful t
o avoid the duke since their encounter in Hyde Park and had kept to her apartments as much as she could. But while they had not been alone together, the sly looks he sent her at court gatherings served as a constant reminder.

  His threat seemed to hang ever more heavily over her – Thomas, too. The thought of how he might use his knowledge of her son’s father against them had continued to plague her. She and her husband had spent so much of the past ten years in his power. Now that he knew about Tom Wintour, there seemed no prospect of their enslavement ending.

  At least Buckingham had not made good his threat to visit her son at Cambridge. George had written to her and Thomas several times, begging to know when he might come to Whitehall again. They had always found an excuse – the threat of plague, Thomas being away on the hunt, his royal master laid low with sickness. The latter was true more often than not, Frances consoled herself – she hated lying to her son. She was relieved that his letters had grown less frequent of late, as his studies and companions drew his attention away from the court . . . and the duke.

  ‘Make way!’

  Frances turned to see Arthur Brett pushing through the crowds, clutching something. A flash of silver caught the light as he held it aloft.

  ‘I have found the new stirrup, Your Grace,’ he announced breathlessly, sweeping a deep bow.

  James scowled down at the young man who had been his most intimate attendant until Buckingham’s return to favour. ‘Give it to Steenie.’

  Buckingham held out his hand, but his rival pretended not to notice him and began to fasten the stirrup into place.

  His royal master glanced down, his face suffused with fury. ‘How dare you defy me, boy?’ he cried, kicking at the fumbling fingers. The stirrup fell clattering to the ground and Arthur stared at it, mumbling an apology. Pity for the young man mingled with loathing as Frances saw Buckingham’s eyes flash with triumph. Thomas was right: Master Brett’s allure had been extinguished.