The Devil's Slave

by Tracy Borman

  ‘So perish all witches!’

  Her uncle’s voice dispelled the wonder of the moment, like a pebble hurled into a still pond. Frances swallowed. The elation she felt at knowing their child still lived was tinged with fear. She was hazarding another life now, too. All the more reason to prevail. She must find a way to rid herself of those who circled her, like wolves. As she imagined them now, eyes trained upon her, they dissolved and formed anew into a solitary dark figure.

  Prince Henry.

  Frances had not tarried in bed after Thomas set out. Leaving her son sleeping peacefully and Mistress Knyvett snoozing by the fireplace, she had left the apartment and padded along the deserted corridors until she reached the riverside gate. There were several boatmen clustered around it, heads bowed as they sucked on their pipes and waited for the court to awaken. Seeing her approach, one broke away and led her to his boat. The tide was in their favour and it took only half an hour to reach the Tower.

  As she climbed onto the landing stage, Frances prayed Raleigh would be awake. The sky was lightening but on checking her pocket watch she saw that it was not half past five.

  The guards at the outer gateway nodded her through and she made her way along the curtain wall before turning left under the archway that led up to the green. Climbing the steps, she peered across at Raleigh’s lodging and was relieved to see a candle burning at the window.

  He opened the door before she had knocked. ‘You keep unsociable hours, Lady Frances,’ he said, as he bent to kiss her hand. ‘It is usually only the cawing of the ravens that stirs me from my bed.’

  She struggled to return his smile and took the seat he indicated.

  ‘News of the Lancashire witches reached court yesterday,’ she began. ‘They were hanged a few days ago.’

  Raleigh nodded, grave-faced. ‘So I understand. The walls of the Tower are not so solid that they can keep out the news from Whitehall.’ He sipped from the goblet next to him. ‘They say it has reminded the king of his passion for witch hunting.’

  Frances looked at him bleakly. ‘That is true – and the prince now pretends to share his passion. It is one of the few matters upon which they agree,’ she added bitterly.

  ‘And what of Lady Vaux?’

  Frances shrugged. ‘I have heard little from her of late. Though I doubt she has been idle.’

  ‘So she is not the one about whom you wish to confer?’

  Frances admired his ability to get to the heart of the matter straight away, without ever making her feel hurried. She shook her head.

  ‘Perhaps it is that troublesome brother of yours – ah, I see my aim is true.’ He leaned forward, lowering his voice as he spoke again. ‘Has he been corrupting young George?’

  ‘Not since that night at St James’s. He has found other ways to torment me.’ She took the cup that Raleigh offered. Holding it beneath her nose, she breathed in the aroma of basil and something sweeter. Honey. As the liquid slipped down her throat, it seemed to warm her entire body. She began to relax.

  ‘Edward’s favour with the prince increases daily,’ she continued. ‘It seems they are kindred spirits, both intent upon destroying the lives of others to boost their own. He has persuaded Henry to sign an indenture, restoring Longford to him if ever it should be forfeit to the Crown.’

  She could see the thoughts playing through Raleigh’s mind as he watched her with steady, knowing eyes. ‘Prince Henry is impatient for his own inheritance,’ he said, ‘if he makes such pledges while his father is still in good health. I wonder what other plans he is quietly putting in place.’

  ‘I am sure he means to dictate the lives of all those unfortunate enough to fall within his orbit.’ The scorn dripped from her voice. ‘He has certainly resolved to dictate his sister’s choice of husband and ordered me not to speak to her of it, lest I dissuade her from this latest candidate.’

  ‘Count Frederick? A chit of a lad, by all accounts. I doubt he will be to the princess’s taste.’ He paused. ‘So he knows that you sought to undermine the previous match?’

  ‘I care little for that. I suspect the princess let it slip, though I know she would not have done so intentionally. In a way, I am grateful to the prince. He was quite clear that I should desist from any future discussion of the princess’s marriage. I am therefore released from my obligation to further the suit of my uncle.’

  ‘That at least is a blessing,’ Raleigh agreed. ‘I cannot imagine that your efforts in that quarter were thriving. Will you tell Lady Vaux?’

  ‘It is Longford that concerns me most,’ she replied, with a touch of impatience, eager to draw his attention back to the matter in hand. ‘Edward has threatened to provide proof of my witchcraft. He knows that I treated my husband at Belvoir and has other evidence besides.’

  Raleigh raised an eyebrow, but Frances remained tight-lipped. She had no wish to talk of Ellen. The guilt she felt over her death was still too raw, even after all these years.

  ‘And he has the king’s ear, as well as Henry’s?’

  ‘I don’t think so. But that hardly matters. If the king hears that the supposed witch who slipped through his fingers years ago can at last be brought to justice, he will not care who stands witness.’

  Raleigh fell silent for a few moments. ‘You may be right,’ he said, resting his chin on his interlaced fingers. ‘Though it is the prince with whom we should be most concerned. He has reason to punish you for disrupting his schemes. Edward will be quick to take advantage, we can be sure of that. Both men now share a common aim, Frances. To destroy you.’

  He had voiced the thought that had been running through her mind since that encounter with the prince. Hearing it spoken aloud made her shake with fear.

  ‘Of the two men, your brother can most easily be dealt with,’ Raleigh continued. ‘His ambition has blinded him to the danger that the indenture has placed him in. By making plans for Longford when Henry is king, he has countenanced the death of our present king – which, as I am sure you are aware, is treason.’

  ‘Then the prince would also be implicated,’ Frances said, ‘if the indenture should come to light.’

  Raleigh gave a shrug. ‘Certainly, but it is doubtful that he would face the same consequences. Much as he despises him, even the king would flinch at putting to death his own son and heir.’

  ‘Whereas Edward …’

  ‘… has as good as signed his own death warrant,’ Raleigh finished for her.

  Frances sank back in her chair. She felt almost giddy with relief, but it was soon supplanted by shame. No matter what Edward had done, he was still her brother, yet she was talking of his death as if it were cause for celebration.

  ‘Of course we have no proof,’ Raleigh continued. ‘Although Edward was foolish enough to boast of the indenture to you, he will have it safely locked away, until such time as it is needed.’

  ‘And nobody else will know of it,’ Frances added. ‘I saw only his signature and the prince’s. It is no surprise that they did not risk having it witnessed.’

  She thought back to the document. That she had had it in her grasp was galling. Where could Edward have hidden it? She did not even know where his lodgings were at St James’s – not that he would be fool enough, surely, to keep it there. ‘I must find it,’ Frances murmured, almost to herself.

  Raleigh patted her hand. ‘It is natural that you should wish to, but you must not allow it to distract you from the real matter in hand,’ he said softly.

  She looked up at him. ‘You could spend weeks, months, searching in vain,’ he went on. ‘Meanwhile, Edward and the prince will be building a case against you, choosing their moment to strike.’

  ‘What would you have me do?’ Frances asked, rubbing her temples.

  ‘Without the prince, your brother is powerless. Yes,’ he held up a hand to stop her protest, ‘it is possible that Edward will run to the king with his tales, but for as long as the prince draws breath he has no reason to do so.’ He paused. ‘Whereas if Henry’s
life were suddenly to be snuffed out …’ He clicked his fingers, the sound echoing in the silence that followed.

  Frances eyed him doubtfully, not wanting to believe that she had understood his meaning. ‘There is no reason to suppose that such a thing might happen, though, is there, Sir Walter? The prince is in robust health, after all.’

  Raleigh smiled. ‘Of course, of course.’ He took another sip from his goblet. ‘But what if he were to choke upon his own poison?’

  Frances pressed her mouth into a thin line.

  ‘It would be a delicious irony if the woman whom he tries to incriminate for witchcraft escapes the rope by employing the same skills of which she stands accused. Would it not, Frances?’

  She stared at him in horror. ‘You mean that I should poison the prince?’

  ‘God has given you great skill in such matters, Frances,’ Raleigh continued, undaunted. ‘You could stop his breath without leaving any trace of foul play.’

  She made to stand up, but Raleigh grasped her wrist, forcing her back onto the chair.

  ‘The prince stands between you and all you hold dear, Frances,’ he urged, his voice low. ‘He will take Longford from your son, bully his sister into marrying a heretic, and see you hanged as a witch. You stand to lose everything at his hands.’

  ‘That may be true.’ Frances wrenched herself free. ‘But I have only ever used my skills for good. I will not stoop to murder. Even if I escape vengeance in this world, I will not do so in the next.’

  She stood, her chair scraping loudly on the flagstones. Raleigh’s smile did not waver as he watched her stride from the room. By the time she reached the bottom of the stairs, she had broken into a run, ignoring the curious stares of the guards as she passed. Only when she had left the confines of the Tower did she stop, hands on her knees, gasping in air as if it might cleanse her of the horror that had been spoken in that gloomy chamber.

  CHAPTER 46

  25 September

  Elizabeth gave a shiver and drew her cloak around her shoulders. ‘Autumn comes early this year, I think,’ she said, looking at the trees that rose above the wall of the orchard.

  Frances followed her gaze. ‘It seems to have arrived with the endless rain this past week,’ she agreed.

  It pained her that their conversation was now limited to such matters. They had not enjoyed even an hour alone together for more than a month now. Blanche had proved all too assiduous in keeping watch on them, as the prince had instructed. Frances was grateful that she was absent now, at least. Even Blanche would not relinquish the day of leisure that each of the princess’s attendants was awarded every few weeks. But she had made sure to arrange for another to take her place.

  They lapsed into silence as they continued their circuitous route around the privy garden. When Elizabeth peeped over her shoulder, her attendant was still there, walking a few paces behind. ‘Lady Anne,’ she called, ‘pray, fetch me my sable. This cloak is not warm enough and I do not wish to return indoors just yet.’

  The young woman hesitated, then hastened away towards the palace. As soon as she was out of sight, the princess clasped Frances’s hand. ‘Forgive me, Frances,’ she said, her eyes imploring. ‘I have been wretched since that day when my brother spoke to you. I cannot bear to think that I have brought his wrath upon you, that this horrid distance between us is my fault.’

  ‘Your Grace, please—’

  ‘No, Frances, you must hear me. I cannot rest until I have told you what happened.’

  She glanced towards the palace before she continued.

  ‘I was in an ill humour when Henry came to speak to me about Count Frederick. I had slept badly and did not show as much obedience as he is accustomed to during our conferences.’

  Frances felt a flash of annoyance at the arrogant young man, who had always used his sister’s adoration to cajole and manipulate her.

  ‘He kept repeating that I must not ruin this latest match as I had the Swedish one, that Count Frederick might not be as pleasing as Gustavus but I must show myself a willing bride.’ She slowed her pace. ‘It was then that I lost my temper and started ranting about all of Gustavus’s shortcomings. I don’t know what possessed me – Henry is such a good brother to me and I have always sought to please him.’

  Frances waited for her to continue.

  ‘He brushed aside my protests, insisted that I alone had failed to appreciate the prince’s many virtues.’ She chewed her lip. ‘It was then that I said you shared my view – indeed, that you had helped me to see myriad other reasons why I should not marry him.’

  She stopped walking and turned to Frances, reaching for her hands. ‘The words were out before I could stop them, and the look on my brother’s face told me how great an error I had committed,’ she said miserably. ‘Can you ever forgive me?’

  Frances bent to kiss her fingers. ‘There is nothing to forgive.’ She smiled, her heart swelling with affection for the young woman who had come to seem as a younger sister to her. ‘You must not blame yourself for becoming vexed with the prince. He should not seek to direct your thoughts and opinions. You have intelligence and judgement at least equal to his – greater, even.’

  She saw her mistress’s eyes cloud with doubt and told herself that she must resist the urge to say anything more against Henry.

  ‘Besides,’ she continued, ‘I should not have been so outspoken in my own opinions. If there is any forgiveness to be pleaded, then it is on my part only. I promise that I will never speak to you of such matters again,’ she added, thinking not of Count Frederick but of her uncle. How glad she was to be relieved of that burden.

  Elizabeth’s shoulders sagged and her eyes filled with tears. ‘Oh, Fran,’ she sighed, ‘though I know it must be like this, I will miss our confidences more than I can say. You are the only one to whom I can open my heart.’

  She inhaled sharply, as if to suppress a sob. Frances ached to see her so utterly wretched. ‘All will be well, Your Grace,’ she said. ‘You do not need my counsel, but must listen only to your heart.’

  The princess nodded, then resumed her walk, Frances half a pace behind. God give the girl strength to follow her heart, she prayed silently.

  Frances had waited until she was sure the princess was sleeping before stealing out of her bedchamber. Having unburdened herself, the young woman had been overcome with exhaustion and had retired to her bed for the afternoon, insisting that her attendant do the same, given her recent indisposition. Though Frances had acceded, she knew she must not let this opportunity slip through her fingers.

  A few discreet enquiries had told her that Edward did not have an apartment at St James’s but was staying at Whitefriars. It had been many years since she had visited their parents’ lodgings in the old Carmelite monastery that lay between Fleet Street and the Thames. The sprawling priory was ranged around two large courtyards, and Frances remembered that the Gorges’ apartment lay on the northernmost quadrant. She could just see the chimneys now, above the ramshackle houses that lined Fleet Street.

  Though she knew it might be a fool’s errand, she had to begin her search for the indenture somewhere. The document now seemed her only hope of saving Longford – and herself. She thanked God that the memory had come to her the previous night as she had lain awake, turning over the possibilities of where Edward might be hiding it. An image of the painting came before her again, causing her steps to quicken.

  The question of what she would do with the document if she was right about Edward’s hiding place ran through her mind again as she raced along the crowded streets. The surest means of achieving her aim would be to take it straight to the king. Her brother would be arrested and the prince would be in disgrace, leaving their plans to have her accused of witchcraft in tatters. But she had not been able to silence her conscience, which had reminded her constantly that this would almost certainly lead to Edward’s death. Although it held greater risk for herself, she had therefore resolved upon another plan.

  Her pace s
lowed as she turned down the narrow passageway that led to the priory. The bustle of Fleet Street faded as she advanced, her steps echoing off the ancient walls that had once formed part of an outer cloister. She had not allowed herself to think of what Raleigh had proposed. It was too monstrous. She had been wrong to confide in him and must sever all contact with him now, she told herself.

  The gloom of the cloister was lifting and soon the passageway opened out into a vast quadrant, lined on every side with apartments, four storeys high. Frances looked along the rows of large windows, hoping she might see something to prompt a recollection of where her parents’ lodgings were situated.

  At that moment, the sun appeared from behind a cloud, casting a shadow over the side of the building that she was facing. It was then she noticed the small crest above one of the window frames, a simple design that bore the three stars of the Carmelite order. Of course. She wondered that she had not thought of it earlier. Her father had always joked that he had had the crest installed above their apartment so that he would not go blundering into a neighbour’s by mistake. Young as she was, Frances had believed him. It had been years later that she had learned the real meaning of the design.

  She hastened towards the archway at the centre of the façade. As she mounted the stairs to the top floor, she felt again for the key, mouthing a silent prayer of thanks to her father for giving it to her when she had first come to court all those years ago. She had doubted that she would ever need it and had all but forgotten about it after putting it safely in her casket. When she had found it last night, she had slept with it under her pillow, afraid lest it be snatched away.

  She had taken care to count the windows before coming inside. There were three to each apartment, so the lodging must be four doors along the corridor. As she passed the third, she paused. She knew that the prince was on a hunting expedition today and prayed that Edward had accompanied him. Glancing behind her, she edged forward, wincing as a floorboard creaked under her foot.