The King's Witch

by Tracy Borman

  In her eagerness to find out more, Frances had abandoned her customary discretion. Tom crouched down in front of Elizabeth and smiled his reassurance.

  ‘No, my lady princess. Your father would have been safe, even if this had come to pass.’ He looked up at Frances. ‘I am not so sure about Cecil and his friends. They have many enemies in the kingdom.’

  Elizabeth gave a scornful laugh. ‘He is always such a bore – I have never seen him dance, not even once – and look at the horrible gift he gave me!’

  Frances watched as the princess skipped over to her dresser and pulled out a small oblong box wrapped in velvet.

  ‘I was showing my father the dance steps you taught me, Frances, when Cecil came in and gave it to me. He knelt as he did so, as if I was the queen! He said I might both play with it and learn from it,’ the princess prattled on, oblivious to the silence into which her companions had fallen.

  ‘Look!’ She thrust the box at Tom, who slowly unwrapped it. When he saw its contents, he became unnaturally still.

  ‘The Lord Privy Seal gave you this, my lady?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘Yes. Isn’t it ghastly?’ The princess was indignant.

  Tom picked the small doll out of the box and held it so that Frances might see.

  ‘Look how poorly she is dressed!’ Elizabeth said scornfully. ‘Her gown is of rough black cloth, and her hat is all bent at the top.’

  Frances recoiled as if from a snake. She saw that lines had been painted on the small, pinched face, and the nose was so hooked that it almost met the chin. Black leather shoes with small holes pierced into them were forced onto the feet. Around the waist was tied a piece of rope from which were suspended a few tiny sprigs of thyme. Frances tasted the same bile that had filled her mouth at the hanging.

  ‘And what is this?’ The princess reached over and picked something else out of the box.

  Tom took it from her. It was a small twig that had been sliced several times at the end and frayed to resemble a broom.

  ‘It must be for the old lady to clean with,’ he said with a small smile.

  ‘What an ugly thing! It is not at all like my other dolls. They have pretty faces, and are dressed in gowns like my own. Why would he give me such a gift? He must hate me after all.’

  ‘Impossible!’ Tom cried with exaggerated indignation. ‘A man would have to be blind or a simpleton not to worship the very ground that those pretty little shoes walk on,’ he said with a wink. ‘Besides, my Lord Privy Seal is not used to children.’

  ‘But what did he mean by giving me such a horrible thing? I shall never play with it.’

  ‘Perhaps he meant it as a servant to your other dolls,’ Frances soothed. ‘After all, there are so many of them, and they need a good deal of looking after.’

  Elizabeth giggled, casting a glance at the pile of dolls that lay strewn across the far corner of her room, a mass of brightly coloured silk and shiny curls.

  ‘They can be quite unruly!’ she admitted.

  ‘Well, let us put Master Cecil’s kind gift away for now.’ Frances took it deftly from Tom’s hands. She walked briskly over to the mahogany dresser and pushed the box into one of the drawers, slamming it shut.

  The sound of footsteps approaching made them turn. Tom walked towards the door, his body suddenly tense. Frances saw his features soften with relief as he recognised Cecil’s men approaching.

  ‘Here again, Wintour?’ one of them asked. ‘You are becoming quite a fixture in the princess’s apartments.’

  Frances looked across at her companion in surprise. When had he last visited? The princess had not mentioned it, and she herself was almost always in attendance.

  Tom smiled with accustomed ease. ‘I wanted to be sure that no harm had befallen her grace, but as you see, Lady Frances has her in safe keeping,’ he replied smoothly. ‘Are all the conspirators apprehended?’

  The man nodded.

  ‘They are already in the Tower. We do not believe that there are more, but we must remain vigilant. Papists are apt to crawl into all manner of mouse holes.’

  Seeing the princess’s distress at the thought of conspirators still at large in the palace, Frances cut in: ‘Gentlemen, as the danger has passed, I think it is time that the princess returns to her bed.’ Ignoring the beginnings of a protest from her young charge, she added firmly: ‘She is greatly fatigued from the night’s events.’

  ‘I fear Lady Frances is right, sir,’ Tom concurred with a placatory shrug.

  Frances busied herself with smoothing down the sheets and snuffing out the candles. Elizabeth rubbed her eyes.

  ‘I am not in the least bit tired,’ the girl insisted, climbing into bed.

  Tom arranged for one of Cecil’s guards to remain behind and stand watch outside the princess’s door. Frances thanked him, feeling both grateful and a little curious that he should be so solicitous of Elizabeth’s welfare.

  ‘You are quite safe now, Your Grace, so you must take your rest,’ she said to the princess with a smile. ‘I will attend you as usual in the morning.’

  She bobbed a curtsey and left the room, Tom following close behind.

  ‘Permit me to escort you to your chamber, Lady Frances.’

  ‘Thank you, but there is no need,’ she said, a little too abruptly. Tonight had made her painfully aware of how little she knew about him, despite the growing intimacy she was fool enough to believe they shared.

  ‘Then allow me to do it for the pleasure of your company.’

  Frances could think of no objection that would not sound churlish, so she nodded her acquiescence.

  They walked on in a silence for a while, but she was intensely aware of his presence. He unnerved her in a way that she could not explain. Sometimes she thought it was irritation at his easy grace, which seemed to border on impertinence. At others, she felt there was something almost threatening about him. The intensity of his gaze was both disconcerting, and, she had to admit, disarming.

  ‘You claim to desire my company, and yet we have not spoken one word since we left the princess,’ she said at last, when he showed no inclination to speak.

  ‘Do you think, then, that conversation is the essence of good company?’

  ‘It is generally thought so.’

  ‘Well, then, let us converse. There is, after all, a great deal that I wish to know about you.’

  ‘And I about you,’ she countered, a little defensively.

  ‘Oh, I am singularly uninteresting,’ he said airily. ‘I am of good English stock, the son of a gentleman from Worcester. I have two brothers and two sisters of indeterminate talents. I fought for the old queen in the Netherlands, picked up as many languages as I did diseases, and returned to England in time for the new century. I have been working as a modest lawyer ever since.’ He paused. ‘I told you I was dull.’

  Frances studied him for a few moments. His eyes glinted, and he was smiling pleasantly at her, but he seemed to be in earnest.

  ‘Did the military life suit you well?’ she asked eventually.

  ‘Not in the least!’ he replied jovially. ‘We were as despised by our allies, the Dutch, as by our Spanish enemies. It is a wonder that they did not choose to fire upon us as well. Even the queen did not seem to have a high opinion of us – or at least, the tightening of her purse strings suggested so.’

  ‘Her Majesty was ever of a frugal nature.’ Frances smiled at the recollection. Her mother had always marvelled at the queen’s ability to maintain a court worthy of Croesus, while keeping her coffers filled with gold. She had even been slow to pay the sailors who had repelled the mighty Armada. ‘Her grandfather could not have counted his coins more carefully,’ Helena had been fond of saying. And yet the old queen had been capable of acts of the most extraordinary generosity – as Frances and her family knew only too well. Longford had been built from the gold and silver recovered from a stricken Armada ship that the queen had granted to her father.

  ‘And does the law keep you in better state?
’

  ‘You sound like your uncle,’ he chided. ‘He would be proud of the way you interrogate the prospects of potential suitors.’

  Frances flushed. ‘I assure you, my interest is entirely impersonal.’

  ‘Forgive me, Frances. My father is forever chastising me for my impertinent jests. He says they will put an end to any hopes of advancement at court.’

  ‘So long as the king and Master Cecil find you amusing, you need not worry,’ Frances assured him. ‘Although I cannot believe the Lord Privy Seal laughs at anything but other people’s misfortunes.’

  ‘How true,’ Tom agreed. ‘The finest comedy by Master Shakespeare did little more than raise a fleeting smile when it was performed at the old court, so I am told.’

  Cecil’s name seemed to interrupt the flow of conversation, and there was a pause before Tom asked: ‘So how did you come to be here? You are surely too much a woman of reason to thrive in the snakepit of the court.’

  ‘I had little choice in the matter. My uncle is determined that I should enhance my family’s fortunes.’

  ‘By finding a good husband?’ His disconcerting eyes studied her intently.

  ‘In part, yes,’ she admitted. ‘But also by proving a loyal servant.’

  ‘Ah well, you have already succeeded in the latter. You are an excellent companion for the princess, and her mother also seems to be greatly in your debt.’

  Frances stopped walking and looked at him. Had he, like Cecil, learned of her first encounter with the queen? He served her as a lawyer, but was evidently a confidant too. Those eavesdroppers in the Great Hall were right. There could be few secrets at court.

  ‘How are you enjoying Sir Philip Sidney’s worthy tome?’ Tom asked at last.

  Frances relaxed at once, her face lighting up with pleasure as she thought of the book that had been her unfailing companion during her leisure hours.

  ‘It is a source of constant delight,’ she enthused, her eyes sparkling. ‘I am already on my third reading, but discover new enchantments each time. I will be forever in your debt, Mr –Tom.’ The name sounded at once unfamiliar yet welcome on her lips.

  He smiled warmly, as much at her obvious pleasure in his gift as at her use of his first name. But as he looked at her, she saw a shadow flicker across his eyes as a new thought occurred to him.

  ‘If only all gifts were so well received,’ he said gravely. ‘What do you think of the doll?’

  ‘A child’s toy can surely hold little interest to you,’ she replied lightly, resuming her walk.

  ‘You know what it signifies,’ he said, regarding her closely. ‘Cecil does not deal in trifles.’

  Frances held his gaze.

  ‘If it was meant as a warning, then I shall try to heed it,’ she said levelly. ‘Whatever it means.’

  They had reached the door of her apartment.

  ‘Thank you for proving me right, Lady Frances,’ Tom said softly.

  Frances raised an enquiring eyebrow.

  ‘Your company has given me as much pleasure as I anticipated. More, even.’

  She smiled. ‘I am glad you have had some small reward for your kindness.’

  He did not return her smile, but regarded her gravely. He took a step closer. She could smell the woodsmoke from his cloak, and the warm scent of sandalwood on his skin. Again, that intense gaze. She was determined not to look away, though she felt her neck prickle with rising heat. Her smile faded as she struggled to keep her breathing slow.

  Gently, his eyes never leaving hers, he reached for her hand and brought it slowly up to his lips. He held it there, so close to his mouth that she could feel his warm breath. Lowering his head, he planted a soft kiss on her fingertips.

  ‘Frances,’ he murmured, still holding her hand. Then, reluctantly, he released it. ‘I must leave you to your rest.’

  He gave a small bow.

  She watched as he walked away, his slender form gradually merging with the gloom.

  CHAPTER 18

  17 August

  Frances rose early, before the rest of the court began to stir. Even though it would be several hours before the sun reached her chamber, it already felt warm, and there was not a breath of air from the window, which had been opened wide all night. She padded over to it now and looked out across the Thames, which glistened in the early-morning light. The grey-blue sky seemed to hang low across the city, and the houses on the opposite bank appeared hazy. The tempest that had blighted the anniversary procession had given way to more hot and sultry weather, to which there seemed to be no end. Frances had found the court even more oppressive than usual. The very air seemed to entrap her.

  She crossed to the wooden chest and pulled out a pale green cloak. Not troubling to change out of her shift, she wrapped the cloak around her and slipped on her pantofles. Carefully lifting the latch, she opened the door a crack and peered out. The passageway was empty. Her heart pounded as she slowly pushed the door closed, then, with a final glance over her shoulder, made her way along the corridor.

  Padding silently down the narrow stairs that led to the privy garden, she felt a rush of anticipation. Serving the princess filled most of her hours, but she still missed the comforting ritual of preparing her salves and potions, even if she dare not risk putting them to use. Many times since her arrival at court, she had longed to visit the herb garden that lay beneath her window, to feel the velvety sage leaves between her fingertips, and pluck the tiny stems of rosemary. With luck, she could gather some herbs before the rest of the court was awake, and then lock them in the small casket that lay nestled among her books. As she reached the door at the foot of the stairs, she paused, her fingers suspended over the handle. Her mother would be angry if she knew that she was taking this risk. She shook the thought from her head and gently lifted the latch.

  The familiar scent of myrtle reached her first as she entered the courtyard garden. She allowed herself to take a long breath, and closed her eyes as she turned her face up to the hazy sunlight. Then, reaching into the pocket of her cloak, she pulled out the tiny pair of silver shears that her father had given her two summers ago. ‘It will be winter ere you will tame the ivy with these, Frances,’ he had said, smiling, as she had unwrapped the precious gift. ‘But patience was ever the gardener’s friend.’

  She walked over to the furthest quadrant, which was still in shade, and crouched down amongst the flowers and herbs, careful not to crush any underfoot. Working quickly and methodically, she deftly clipped stems of juniper, rosemary, lavender, and hartshorn, placing each one on her lap so that before long the skirt of her shift was filled with a heady mixture of scent and colour. Casting an anxious glance up at the windows overlooking the courtyard, she cut a few more stems, then gathered up her skirts and stole silently back inside.

  ‘The whole court is talking of it,’ Lady Mar announced breathlessly, without preamble, as she came bustling into the princess’s bedchamber.

  Frances and her charge were sitting in the window seat, reading a beautifully illuminated prayer book; Frances traced each line as Elizabeth read the tiny script. Their heads jerked upwards, and Frances shot the older woman a disapproving look.

  ‘The conspirators are apprehended, and there is no cause for further alarm, my lady,’ she told her.

  ‘No, not that,’ Lady Mar said impatiently. ‘There is a witch in our midst!’

  Frances kept very still.

  ‘A witch!’ Elizabeth whispered, with a mixture of fear and wonder. ‘I have read about them in my books. Father wrote one himself,’ she added proudly. ‘He says they almost drowned him and my mother when they were newly married.’

  ‘What proof is there?’ Frances cut in abruptly.

  ‘The Lord Privy Seal himself has declared upon it,’ Lady Mar replied haughtily. ‘He brought the matter before the Privy Council early this morning, as they met to discuss the affair of Lady Stuart.’

  ‘I saw a witch put to the flames once,’ Elizabeth cut in.

  Frances
swung around to look at her.

  Pleased that she had reclaimed her attention, the princess continued: ‘Oh yes, she was such an old woman that her head was almost bald, and she could hardly stand. They had to tie her to the stake. And even though she was all skin and bone, as my father said, she burned so brightly!’

  Frances stared at Elizabeth, whose sparkling eyes looked back steadily at her. She suddenly felt very alone.

  Turning back to Lady Mar, she quietly repeated: ‘What proof?’

  ‘He says that the … indisposition of the queen was the result of a bewitchment. It is well known that witches always try to meddle with the bringing forth of children.’ Lady Mar paused for effect. ‘The king says that witchcraft is rife in his kingdom. His new laws will ensure that they are hunted down as they are in Scotland. Many more will be hanged like that miserable wretch at Tyburn.’

  Frances felt her mouth go dry.

  ‘Mama was bewitched?’ The princess’s eyes were wide with fright. Frances rounded on the older woman.

  ‘Lady Mar, I would thank you not to terrify the princess with such ridiculous tales!’ she scolded, her fear turning to anger.

  The older lady lifted her chin and sniffed.

  ‘The king would wish his daughter to know that the Devil is at work in his court,’ she retorted. ‘We must all be vigilant, Lady Frances.’

  Bobbing a swift curtsey, the older woman swept out of the room. Before the princess could begin any wild speculations about who the witch might be, Frances cut in abruptly: ‘Ma’am, I promised to call on the Lord Chamberlain to discuss the banquet in honour of your birthday.’

  The princess clapped her hands together.

  ‘Oh, we must have sweetmeats! And marchpane! And the master cook must craft an exotic bird or animal out of sugar, like he did for Henry’s feast,’ she said excitedly, her eyes sparkling as she imagined the array of delicious delicacies. She was still calling out suggestions as Frances made her curtsey and backed out of the room.

  Closing the door of the bedchamber behind her, Frances paused for a few moments, catching her breath. Had Cecil or his spies seen her in the courtyard that morning? She was sure she had not been followed, and even if she had, she could reason that she was simply gathering a few sweet-smelling herbs for her chamber. She tried to push away the thought that hundreds of women had gone to the gallows for much less.