The King's Witch

by Tracy Borman

  ‘I am greatly honoured, ma’am. Although I hope that you might form your own good opinion of me, in time,’ Frances replied quietly. She wondered how the queen’s attendant fared now. The fact that she had not been summoned back to her chambers gave her hope that she was recovered.

  ‘I am sure I will,’ the girl said with a lift of her chin. She fell silent for a few moments, then her face brightened as a thought occurred to her. ‘My father says you are an excellent dancer.’

  Frances laughed, surprised by the compliment. ‘I think His Majesty must have mistaken me for another lady at court. He has only seen me perform in one masque – and very badly, I fear.’

  ‘Oh no,’ the princess insisted. ‘My father knows a lot about dancing. He often watches me when I am practising my steps, and whips my ankles if any are out of place.’

  It was said so guilelessly that it was clear she was not seeking pity. Before Frances could think of a response, Elizabeth begged her to teach her some English dances, and the two spent the next half an hour stepping, skipping, and twirling around the pretty little garden, until they were both quite out of breath. Frances felt more alive than she had for days.

  Collapsing onto an ornate stone bench, they sat in happy, breathless silence for a few moments.

  ‘Your Highness has been as excellently tutored in dancing as in language, etiquette, and no doubt many other accomplishments besides,’ Frances observed with sincerity, as soon as she was more composed.

  The young girl rolled her eyes. ‘My dancing lessons are too short, and the rest too long. But my mother says that words hold more power than actions, so I must polish mine as often as possible.’

  ‘You are blessed to have such a wise mother, ma’am – as is the kingdom,’ Frances replied. She wondered if the queen had felt constrained by her own lack of words, as by so many other things, upon first arriving in her husband’s strange domain.

  She leaned forward and stroked the soft petals of a rose, then inhaled the scent on her fingers. Her new charge copied her, tugging a little too hard so that the petal came away in her hand.

  ‘Oh. I didn’t mean to do that.’

  ‘Do not worry, ma’am,’ Frances said brightly. ‘If we pick a few more, I can make a syrup to revive you.’

  The girl leaped to her feet immediately and began gathering the pink petals, holding up her skirts to catch them. The heady fragrance of the disturbed flowers filled the courtyard, and Frances was loath to follow the princess back inside.

  Lady Mar frowned when she saw Elizabeth’s dress bunched up to hold its precious cargo, her cheeks still flushed and her hair now a mass of escaped curls. Before she could voice her disapproval, however, a shout of ‘Liz!’ rang out from the corridors beyond, and a few seconds later, a young man stood at the doorway, a little older than the princess, but not much taller. He had the same thin face and pointed chin, and his skin was so pale as to be almost other-worldly.

  ‘Harry!’

  Elizabeth ran towards him, forgetting all about the rose petals, which scattered in her wake. She flung herself at him, reaching up to encircle his neck with her slender little arms.

  ‘Where have you been? I have been looking for you for ever.’

  ‘Who is this?’ The young man brushed her question aside.

  Frances paused from carefully gathering the strewn petals, and gave a low curtsey.

  ‘Your Majesty.’

  The boy lifted his chin slightly. Dressed in a long red velvet doublet with a purple cloak that was too large for his slight frame, he had a bejewelled black velvet cap to enhance his height, and wore a pair of white satin shoes so delicate that they would have befitted any lady at court.

  ‘This is my new lady of the bedchamber,’ Elizabeth announced with pride. ‘Lady Frances Gorges.’ She had been taught to pronounce the name perfectly, Frances noticed.

  The prince sniffed. ‘How many royal children have you attended before, Lady Frances?’

  ‘Your sister will be the first, sir.’

  ‘Indeed? Why then have you been appointed to serve the princess?’

  Frances eyed him steadily. ‘My family has served at court for many years. My lady mother and I attended the late queen, and my uncle, the Lord Northampton, is a member of His Majesty’s council.’

  ‘But what do you know of rhetoric? Of languages? And the scriptures?’ he demanded. ‘My sister will expect you to converse with her on all manner of subjects.’

  ‘I was fortunate to receive an excellent education, Your Grace. My father believed that my sex should not be a barrier to learning.’

  The princess glanced anxiously from her brother to her new attendant.

  ‘Lady Frances has promised to make me some rose syrup, Henry. Will you stay for some?’

  Her brother wrinkled his nose in distaste. ‘Regretfully, no. Our father requires my attendance.’ Drawing himself up to his full height, he added: ‘No doubt he has matters of great import to discuss with me.’

  With a stiff little bow to his sister, he walked briskly out of the chamber. The princess turned anxious eyes to Frances.

  ‘Don’t mind Henry.’

  Frances grinned. ‘I thought him the very image of a prince and heir.’

  ‘Isn’t he?’ Elizabeth sighed. ‘I wish I had his grace. I am forever stumbling and tripping about, or so my mother tells me.’ Her face fell. ‘I fear I must sometimes disappoint her.’

  ‘A mother always wishes her daughter to grow in grace and accomplishments. My own mother used to chide me for spending too long out of doors and being late for my lessons.’

  The princess’s face brightened. ‘I can’t imagine you ever vexing your mother as I do. You are too perfect.’

  Frances let out a bark of laughter. ‘I am very far from that, ma’am.’

  After her first audience with the princess, Frances retired to her own apartment. She knew that her leisure hours would be scarce, so she was resolved to treasure them. Sinking down onto the bed, her hand closed on the few rose petals that she had kept back when she and Elizabeth had made the syrup, intending to dry and press them in one of the many books that she had brought with her from home. She smiled at the thought of her young charge, who seemed a charming blend of innocence and curiosity; dutifulness and gaiety. She had warmed to her instantly. Elizabeth’s speech was so polished that Frances looked forward to conversing with her on a whole manner of subjects – certainly more than most other ladies at court were capable of. If she must stay here, then to serve in this delightful young girl’s household was surely one of the most pleasant ways to spend her hours.

  A sharp rap at the door wrested Frances from her thoughts. Sighing heavily, she went to answer it.

  ‘Well? Were you to the princess’s liking?’

  Her uncle was already striding into the room, casting his gaze over its contents. His eyes narrowed as they alighted on the pile of books that were stacked high on the dressing table.

  ‘Why in God’s name did you bring those? You would have been better advised to fill your coffers with clothes fit for a woman who needs a husband.’

  ‘Her Highness seemed pleased with her new attendant,’ Frances replied evenly.

  ‘Good. Make sure she remains so.’

  The earl sank down into the mahogany chair, which creaked in protest. His mouth curled into a sardonic smile. Frances knew that expression all too well.

  ‘It seems you have won favour in other quarters too.’

  ‘Oh?’ Frances’s fingers played distractedly with a solitary rose petal as she looked at her uncle, her face a mask of calm enquiry.

  ‘Sir Thomas Tyringham was at the masque. He wishes to make your acquaintance.’

  ‘I am surprised to have been singled out from that performance,’ Frances remarked. ‘It was hardly to my credit.’

  ‘Well, it was enough to make him enquire after you. He sent a message to me this very afternoon, asking if he might become better acquainted with me and my niece.’ He gave a smug smile.
‘He has caught sight of my bait, it seems.’

  Frances bristled. ‘My lord, you have three nieces.’

  ‘Don’t trifle with me, girl. Sir Thomas was very clear that it was you he wished to meet.’

  ‘Then I shall be delighted,’ she said, with as much grace as she could muster.

  ‘I shall return at five o’clock tomorrow.’ The earl rose. Then, throwing a bundle that he had brought with him onto the bed, commanded: ‘Wear this.’

  CHAPTER 12

  11 July

  Frances looked at the bundle and sighed. It had lain untouched since her uncle had brought it to her the day before, and she had a momentary urge to throw it out of the window. At Longford, she was mistress of her own fate, but here she was to be dressed up like a painted doll and used by her uncle as he saw fit. In annoyance, she roughly pulled away the linen that had been folded carefully around the dress, then stared, momentarily transfixed. The skirt and bodice were crafted from gorgeous peacock blue satin, with silver embroidery around the low square neckline and cuffs. An underskirt of white and silver set off the dress to perfection. As Frances shook it out and held it up against her, a little velvet pouch fell to the ground. She was surprised to see that her uncle’s attention to detail had extended to providing a string of pearls for her neck, and two delicate pearldrop earrings.

  Frances could not help her eagerness to try the outfit on, though she felt angry with herself for it. Peeling off the tawny dress that she had worn to attend the princess – thinking as she did so that it appeared as a sparrow next to a bird of paradise – she gently pulled on the luxurious satin. She laced it up with deft fingers and turned to look at herself in the dressing-table mirror. Too small to capture the full length of the dress, the reflection still showed that the overall effect was stunning. Scooping up her hair and catching it with a delicate silver comb – a gift from the late queen – she carefully looped the pearls twice around her neck and clipped the earrings into place. Finally, she slipped on the grey satin shoes that served as her best, though they did not match the finery of the gown, and with a final glance in the mirror went to greet her uncle, punctual as ever.

  ‘The dress suits you well.’ His eyes roamed appreciatively over her body. ‘My Lady Worcester assured me it would. She is a similar size to you.’

  The earl enjoyed boasting about his various flirtations with the ladies of the court. His riches compensated for his advancing years, so he was never short of admirers.

  ‘Come. We cannot be late.’

  He thrust his arm at her so that she was obliged to place her hand on it and walk with him to the Great Hall. Although she had been at court for two weeks now, she had scarcely found her bearings in this ramshackle palace. As they made their way towards Sir Thomas’s apartments, Frances noticed that the paintings lining the walls became more numerous; the tapestries finer. Rush matting lined the floors, and fresh lavender had been newly strewn along it, releasing its heady perfume as they walked.

  Her uncle came to an abrupt halt outside a large oak door with a gently pitched arch above, into which were carved the intertwined roses of the House of Tudor. Traces of the red and white paint still remained, but old King Henry’s successors had not cared to restore the decoration to its former vibrancy, and there was little hope that the new Stuart king would do so.

  The earl knocked on the door, and as they waited for an answer, he pinched his niece’s arm and hissed: ‘Be sure to make a good impression. There will be no further disobedience in this matter.’

  Frances continued to stare straight ahead.

  ‘Of course, Uncle.’

  A page wearing dark brown livery opened the door and bade them enter. The apartments within were richly but tastefully furnished. A series of anterooms gave way to a large hall with a fine plasterwork ceiling that reminded Frances of Longford. A huge fireplace dominated the left-hand side of the room, and, facing it, three large bay windows provided spectacular views of the river, as well as the mansions and churches on the opposite bank. At the far end of the chamber was a full-length portrait of the king in his coronation robes.

  ‘There is much to admire in our king, is there not?’

  A softly spoken voice cut through the silence. Frances and her uncle turned to see a smartly dressed young man with an expression of faint amusement on his face.

  ‘A great deal,’ the earl responded gravely. ‘We are fortunate indeed.’

  ‘Even more so because we are at last free of a woman’s rule, eh?’

  Sir Thomas seemed to direct the question at Frances, who remained silent. Although her uncle had told her that this latest suitor was of a similar age to herself, there were thin lines at the corners of his grey eyes. His light brown hair was clipped short, and, in contrast to most other men at court, he was clean-shaven. Neither did he favour the gaudy clothes of his peers, who seemed to Frances like so many prancing peacocks competing for the king’s attention. Instead, he wore a dark grey doublet and black hose, which were finely made. But, though he dressed well, Frances knew enough of her uncle’s taste in suitors to hope for anything good of this one.

  ‘Forgive me. Lady Frances?’ Their host smiled openly now, and, stepping forward, lightly kissed her hand.

  ‘Sir Thomas.’

  ‘What do you think of the painting?’

  She considered for a moment. ‘It is a fair likeness – or at least it may have been when it was painted.’

  Sir Thomas laughed.

  ‘You know it is tantamount to treason to note any sign of aging in your sovereign.’

  ‘He is a man first, a king second.’

  Frances heard her uncle’s sharp intake of breath as she made the remark, knowing that decorum prevented his doing anything about it.

  ‘Well, Lord Northampton,’ Sir Thomas was clearly amused, ‘you never told me that you harboured such an opinionated young lady in your family.’ Before her uncle could answer, their host continued: ‘In any case, I had little choice in the matter of decorating these rooms. The painting was already hung when I arrived, and it would hardly be politic to remove your king from his place of honour, would it?’

  Frances could not help smiling – briefly – but had not forgiven his earlier remark.

  ‘Shall we dine?’

  Grateful for the distraction, the earl accepted the invitation at once and sat down opposite his host. Frances could not help but admire the display before them. The dark oak table was covered with a beautiful cream and red damask cloth, embroidered with leopards, unicorns, and bears – part of Sir Thomas’s crest, she assumed. It was already laden with a variety of sweetmeats, breads, cheeses, fruit, and other delicacies, and from the serving room beyond Frances could smell that there were more treats to come.

  As she took her place at the side of her uncle, she noticed that another setting had been laid next to Sir Thomas. Following her gaze, he said: ‘Ah yes, we are expecting one more guest to complete our merry party. I trust you know Thomas Wintour, my lord?’

  The earl grunted. ‘He represented my opponent in a land dispute some years back. Cost me a fortune.’ He took a swig of red wine from the fine glass goblet in front of him. ‘So, he is back at court?’

  ‘He arrived some three weeks ago, at the request of the queen. He is assisting her with a legal matter. You will be gratified to hear that his skills are as sharp as ever,’ Sir Thomas remarked, grinning. ‘I employed him myself to untangle a vexing matter of conveyance in Buckinghamshire. Almost before the ink was dry on his letter of appointment, he had worked the whole affair to my advantage. Not only did I gain in land, but in riches and reputation. I owe him a great deal.’

  ‘I don’t much care for his methods,’ the earl muttered resentfully.

  ‘Come now,’ Sir Thomas cajoled. ‘All’s fair in love and law, eh?’

  Frances saw her uncle’s face grow red, a sure sign of danger. But their host seemed to care little for that, and smiled benignly from across the table.

  ‘Thomas Win
tour, my lord,’ the groom announced, stepping into the room.

  ‘Ah, Tom!’ Sir Thomas exclaimed, leaping to his feet. ‘We are pleased to see you indeed. Come, join us.’

  Frances sighed quietly. Was there to be no variety in this monotonous charade? Even the names were the same. Reluctantly, the earl rose to his feet, obscuring his niece’s view of the new guest.

  ‘My Lord Northampton.’

  Frances raised her eyes in curiosity, but she could see only the newcomer’s arm, as he bowed low to her uncle.

  ‘Wintour,’ her uncle replied brusquely.

  The young man moved forward to greet her.

  ‘Lady Frances.’

  With a jolt, she recognised her rescuer from the masque. She hoped the shock had not registered on her face, which felt suddenly warm. He was dressed very differently now, she noticed, with the same sober refinement as his patron, and his smiling eyes seemed to betray no hint that he knew who she was.

  ‘Mr Wintour,’ she said at last.

  His lips brushed her hand, and he gave a solemn bow, holding her gaze.

  ‘Well, do let us begin our feast,’ Sir Thomas broke in affably.

  ‘How pleasant it is to see you again, my Lord Northampton. I trust your coffers are recovered?’ Wintour enquired pleasantly.

  Frances smiled at her uncle’s obvious irritation. Her prospects of enjoying the evening had greatly improved.

  ‘My friend Tom is full of goodly works,’ Sir Thomas said warmly. ‘He is quite the rising star at Gray’s Inn.’

  ‘You are already a member, Mr Wintour?’

  ‘Yes, my lady. I have been fortunate in my patron,’ he replied, smiling at Sir Thomas. ‘He encouraged me to exchange my sword for a pen, and was kind enough to recommend me to the queen, who is now my foremost client – if I can call Her Grace that. The military life was not conducive to peace and repose, such as I now find in my hours of study.’

  ‘Nonsense, Tom! That sharp mind of yours opened more doors than my meagre recommendations.’