The Devil's Slave

by Tracy Borman

  ‘You must choose your own path.’ Raleigh took her hands in his. ‘Though there may be some who try to persuade you otherwise, in time.’

  Frances gazed at the light that still burned in Seymour’s window. Raleigh’s hands felt warm, comforting. Such physical contact had been rare these past few years and, with a sudden pang, she realised how much she had missed it. She thought of her husband – how he had sometimes placed a tentative hand on hers, the look of hurt in his eyes when she had pulled swiftly away. A single tear rolled down her cheek.

  Raleigh looked away discreetly, but squeezed her hands. ‘I will always be a friend to you, Lady Frances,’ he murmured.

  CHAPTER 24

  13 August

  Frances glanced at her husband, who smiled his reassurance. She was glad that he had returned from the hunt, though part of her wished he had remained longer in Hertfordshire. The controversy surrounding Lady Arbella’s marriage had hardly abated, and she knew that Cecil’s investigations continued. Living in constant dread of a summons was wearing her nerves to shreds.

  ‘Am I to miss my lessons for the whole day?’ George asked hopefully.

  Frances smiled down at him. ‘Just for an hour or so. The princess is paying you a great honour but she has many more people to meet so we must not steal too much of her time.’

  The truth was, she would rather have avoided the meeting altogether, but Elizabeth’s requests to have George presented to her had become increasingly insistent.

  ‘Are we ready?’ Thomas asked, straightening his back so that George would do the same.

  Frances nodded, and he motioned for the yeomen to let them pass.

  ‘At last!’ the princess exclaimed as they entered. ‘I feared that you had changed your mind, Fran.’ She crossed to greet her and smiled her welcome to Thomas, who kissed her hand.

  George shrank behind his mother’s skirts, but Elizabeth spied him and sank to her knees so that she could peer round at him. The boy chuckled, delighted at the game. He soon emerged from his hiding place and, remembering what his mother had taught him, gave a stiff bow. ‘It is an honour to meet you, Your Highness.’

  ‘And to meet you, Master Tyringham.’ Her smile faltered as she studied George’s face. ‘I heard he was very like his father,’ she said thoughtfully, glancing up at Thomas.

  ‘He has his mother’s eyes, Your Grace,’ Thomas said smoothly. ‘And certainly her temperament. He is as stubborn as a mule.’

  The princess laughed, her doubts apparently forgotten.

  ‘I trust you were kept informed about the late controversy, being so far distant from court, Sir Thomas.’

  Blanche had strolled from the princess’s bedchamber. Frances bit back a retort. The young woman had talked of little else these past few weeks. It was as if she could sense her rival’s discomfiture every time the subject was raised.

  ‘Of course, my lady,’ Thomas replied evenly. ‘The Lord Privy Seal was most assiduous with his dispatches.’

  Frances gave a wry smile. She had little doubt of that.

  ‘The king must have been most anxious to return,’ Blanche persisted, ‘especially after the Powder Treason.’

  George stopped fiddling with his shirt cuffs and looked at her with interest.

  ‘That was many years ago now, Blanche,’ Frances said quickly.

  ‘But everyone at court must still remember it as if it happened only yesterday,’ the young woman said archly, with a glance at George. ‘If those traitors had succeeded, the king would have been blown to the heavens.’

  Frances saw her son’s mouth fall open.

  ‘Oh, do be quiet, Blanche,’ Elizabeth said irritably. ‘You will terrify the poor boy. Now, George, some sweetmeats?’

  Frances felt a rush of gratitude to her mistress as she saw her son’s face brighten, all talk of treason forgotten.

  ‘You are leaving again so soon?’ Frances was dismayed.

  ‘I am afraid so,’ Thomas said, with a resigned shrug. ‘Lady Blanche’s remark was ill-judged. The king wishes to be far from court at this time. He lives in constant fear of an assassin.’

  ‘That is nothing new, Thomas.’

  Her husband gave a rueful smile, but it soon faded. ‘I wish you could come with me. I fear for you here, Frances – George too. Every day that we were in Hertfordshire a new message arrived from Cecil, telling the king of someone else whom he suspected of aiding this late marriage.’

  Frances looked at him sharply. ‘And you think I might be one of them?’

  Thomas seemed to hesitate, then crossed to her and took her hands. ‘Of course not. I just hate to think of you alone in this vipers’ nest. Cecil—’ He pressed his lips together.

  Frances’s heart began to thud. ‘Go on,’ she whispered.

  Her husband’s eyes searched hers. Then he sighed and rubbed his hand across his brow. ‘It is probably nothing, and I should not have mentioned it. God knows you have enough to occupy you at present, with the princess and George … The king shared all of Cecil’s dispatches with those of us who attended him on the hunt. But there was one he did not read out. After looking through its contents, he summoned Carr to attend him in private and left the rest of us to wonder what it purported.’

  Frances forced her breathing to slow. ‘What has this to do with me?’

  Thomas stroked the back of her hand with his thumb as he studied her face closely. ‘I saw the king glance at me as he read the letter. From that day, he shared no more with us – or with me, at least. Though others of his companions seemed to know the latest news from court, I was kept in ignorance.’

  Frances fell silent. Her husband was right to be concerned, but she could hardly say as much. ‘This signifies little,’ she said at last. ‘The king favours you, but you have never been one of his intimates.’

  She saw doubt in her husband’s eyes.

  ‘That is true. I must not let myself become as consumed by fear and suspicion as the king I serve.’ He tightened his grip on her hands. ‘But you would tell me if Cecil has any reason to suspect you, Frances?’

  She felt the blood drain from her face but resisted the urge to look away. ‘Of course.’

  She wanted to say more – that Cecil’s suspicions were due to no more than his having been intent upon her destruction since she had evaded the charge of witchcraft six years earlier, that she had stayed true to the agreement they had struck upon their marriage. But the lies died on her lips.

  Thomas studied her for a moment longer before releasing her hands. ‘I must prepare for our departure,’ he said, moving towards the bedchamber. ‘I am glad now that I did not have time to fully unpack my coffer from the last journey.’

  Frances remained standing by the fire, barely aware of the noise of drawers scraping and chest lids thudding in the adjoining chamber. How much did Cecil know?

  ‘I think that is all,’ Thomas said, as he came back into the parlour, dragging his coffer.

  Frances inwardly shook herself. ‘I wish you good hunting,’ she said brightly. ‘I hope it will restore the king’s spirits.’

  ‘As do I,’ her husband replied, with feeling.

  He set down the coffer and came to where she was standing. ‘Take care, Frances,’ he said quietly, then kissed her cheek.

  She felt her body respond to the warmth of his lips and closed her eyes so that she might summon up the familiar image of Tom, his mouth so close to hers that she could feel his breath. But it was her husband who appeared before her, his eyes alight with desire as her lips parted for his kiss.

  Her eyes sprang open and a flush crept over her cheeks as she stepped quickly away from him. Thomas stared at her for a moment, then turned towards the door. As he lifted the latch, she saw his hand tremble and had a sudden impulse to run to him, encircle him in her arms and feel the warmth of his chest against her cheek. But she remained by the fire, as placid as one of the carved statues in the privy garden. Only when the door had closed behind him did she surrender herself to her gr
ief.

  CHAPTER 25

  2 September

  Frances smiled and clapped as another arrow thudded into the target. Elizabeth grinned, then drew back her bow once more.

  It was the first fine day in more than two weeks, so the princess had been determined to make the most of it. They had been riding that morning, much to Frances’s joy. Feeling the wind whipping around her as they galloped through Hyde Park had given her a heady sense of release. She had spent the past fortnight indoors, feeling as if she were being slowly suffocated.

  There had been three more arrests since Thomas’s departure, including a lady of the queen’s bedchamber. She had been released soon afterwards, but it had occasioned great alarm among Anne’s household and had made Frances feel as if the net was closing. She found herself almost wishing that Cecil would make his move.

  ‘Can I trouble you for a moment, Lady Frances?’

  Jane Drummond’s face was ghastly pale and her hair had come loose from its coif. Frances cast a glance at the princess, who had just loosed another arrow and laughed with delight as it hit the target. Beside her, Blanche was clapping enthusiastically, but Frances noticed the young woman stare briefly in her direction.

  ‘What is it?’ she muttered, her gaze fixed on the princess.

  ‘Please – it will only take a moment.’

  Frances caught the urgency in her voice. ‘Very well,’ she said curtly. She walked a few paces from the small gathering of spectators so that they would not be overheard.

  ‘We need your assistance. Lady Arbella lies sick at Parry’s house. If the source of her malady is discovered, the consequences will be grave.’

  ‘And what is the source?’ she asked, fearing she knew the answer already.

  Jane hesitated. Then: ‘She is with child.’

  Frances felt a sudden chill. Many times these past weeks, she had thought of Raleigh’s words during their last meeting, his plan to help Seymour visit his new wife. But she had reasoned that even if such visits took place, the chances of their resulting in a pregnancy were surely remote. Certainly she had hoped so. More and more, she found the idea of this arrogant and headstrong woman on the throne utterly repellent. Queen Anne was right: Arbella served her own interests, not those of the faith. Frances regretted that she had been obliged to assist her.

  ‘At least, she was,’ Jane continued. ‘But last night she began with such pains in her stomach that she could hardly rise from her bed.’

  ‘Has she bled?’ Frances asked.

  Jane shook her head. ‘But the pain frightens her and she is greatly agitated. While she continues like this, it cannot but do harm to the child. Please, Lady Frances. I know of none other who can help her.’

  ‘I told Sir Walter I wanted no part of this,’ Frances murmured.

  ‘I know that,’ Jane countered, ‘and he told me not to involve you. But the fate of every Catholic in the kingdom rests upon the child she carries. As a prince of the houses of Stuart and Seymour, his claim would be uncontested. I cannot risk his life, or that of the lady.’

  Frances thought quickly. It was common for a woman to suffer pains during the first few weeks, as the child took root in her womb. But they should not be as grievous as Jane had described. Perhaps Arbella was making too much of it – she was known to be of a nervous temperament. ‘I can give you something to ease her pains.’

  ‘It is not enough. You must attend her. That is our only hope. I have arranged everything. You will be conveyed there as soon as the princess has finished her game. It is but a short distance from here – you will be back before she needs you again.’

  Her mistress was now engaged in an animated conversation with one of the onlookers. It was she whom Frances devoutly wished to see crowned queen of this kingdom, not the vain and foolish Arbella. Suffering the rule of a heretic king was preferable to that.

  ‘Very well,’ she muttered. ‘I will do as you request. But I will have nothing further to do with you or your schemes. I do not wish to see you or have any correspondence with you hereafter. The service that I perform is as a healer, not an ally. I have no desire to see the lady or her child on the throne.’

  Jane Drummond’s expression hardened, but she gave a curt nod. ‘Thank you, Lady Frances. Be at the water gate by dusk. A barge will be waiting for you there.’ She turned on her heel and strode back across the park, her skirts billowing.

  Sir Thomas Parry’s house was one of a number of handsome mansions that lined the river close to Lambeth Palace, their lush green lawns sweeping down to the water’s edge. As the barge drew level with the small wooden landing stage, Frances noticed the figure of a man at one of the downstairs windows. He disappeared from view as soon as she disembarked. She did not know if it was the same man who opened the door to her a few moments later. He was stooped with age and leaned heavily on a staff as he peered out at her.

  ‘Sir Thomas Parry,’ he said, giving a slight bow. ‘You are come to help my guest?’ The lines at the corners of his eyes deepened as he smiled. He shuffled back a few paces so that she might pass.

  ‘Thank you, Sir Thomas,’ she said, grateful that he had not asked her name. Frances suspected he wanted as little to do with this as she did.

  She climbed the stairs and followed the corridor along to the end, as Parry had directed, and knocked quietly on the door of the furthest chamber. It was opened a moment later by a charwoman. She peered at Frances cautiously before motioning for her to enter. Frances watched until her stooped frame was out of sight along the corridor, then went quickly into the chamber.

  A low keening emanated from the bed, around which heavy drapes were drawn. Frances walked to the head and set her salves and tinctures on the table. She took a breath, then pulled back the curtain. Arbella twisted in the direction of the dim light that glowed from the sconces. Her face had a yellowish hue and her shift was damp with sweat. ‘You are come at last,’ she hissed, teeth gritted.

  Frances did not reply but turned back to the table and began decanting a tincture of willow bark and feverfew into a glass. She mixed it with a little water, then held it to Arbella’s lips.

  Arbella sniffed it. ‘What is it?’ she demanded.

  ‘Something to lessen the pains,’ Frances replied.

  ‘Do not scowl at me so,’ Arbella snapped. ‘There are many who would gladly poison me. Perhaps they have already, intent upon murdering me and my child.’

  She clutched her belly again and brought her knees up to her chest. Frances watched her panting against the pain, like an animal caught in a snare. At length it subsided and she offered her the tincture again. She drank it, shuddering at the taste.

  ‘When my prince is born, England shall be saved from its heretic king,’ Arbella said, once she was calmer. She gazed down at her belly and gently stroked it.

  Frances said nothing. The woman was even more blinded by her arrogance and ambition than she had thought. How could she, a prisoner of the king, still cherish hopes of seizing the throne? As for her child, Frances doubted it would ever draw breath. These were not the pains of early pregnancy.

  ‘I see you doubt me,’ Arbella sneered, ‘but you do not know the friends I have.’

  Jane Drummond was a valuable ally, certainly, but Frances doubted that Arbella had many other supporters at court, despite what Raleigh had hinted. Lady Vaux had also claimed to have a wide network of allies, but Frances had seen little proof of that either. Not for the first time, she wondered if any of the Catholics in this kingdom were willing to stir themselves for rebellion. They had not done so for the Powder Treason, which must surely have inspired them with greater hope than the machinations of this haughty, volatile woman. Frances believed that most would rather live peaceably, keeping their faith in their hearts, as Thomas had urged her to do.

  Arbella gave another cry, jolting Frances from her thoughts. She stepped quickly forward and took the glass from her fingers, then soaked a cloth in the ewer and pressed it to the woman’s forehead. Arbella swiped he
r hand away and flung back the heavy covers of the bed. ‘You must try to be still – for the sake of the child,’ Frances urged.

  Arbella quietened and lay panting for several minutes. As gently as she could, Frances eased her onto her back and placed more pillows under her neck for support. She then moved to examine her.

  Arbella flinched as Frances lifted her shift and held herself taut, legs clamped together as if to stem the steady stream of blood that now seeped between them.

  ‘I am sorry,’ Frances said quietly.

  Arbella’s scream was so piercing that Frances feared it would rouse Sir Thomas and his servants. As it echoed into silence, she listened for the creak of floorboards in the corridor beyond. But the only sound was of pitiful sobs as Arbella watched her child bleed away.

  Frances sensed that she would lash out if she tried to comfort her, so instead she busied herself with fetching fresh linens from the chest and placing a wad underneath Arbella’s shift. She doused others with water and patiently cleaned the blood as it oozed steadily from her womb. It would continue for several hours yet, but already it was starting to diminish. From the remaining linens, she fashioned a pad such as a woman might wear for her monthly courses and tore off a long piece so that she could tie it into place around Arbella’s hips.

  When she had finished, the lady’s sobs had subsided and she had fallen into an exhausted sleep. The herbs would be taking effect now, Frances judged. They would help her sleep until dawn.

  Knowing she could do no more, and anxious to return to court before the princess noted her absence, Frances gathered the phials and pouches of herbs, and padded quietly towards the door.

  ‘You must tell him.’

  She turned back to the bed. Arbella’s eyes were still closed and, for a moment, Frances wondered if she had spoken in a dream.

  ‘Tell him this is an impediment only, that I will carry another child – and soon.’