The King's Witch

by Tracy Borman

  ‘We are glad you are here, Frances,’ her mother said. ‘We have been so worried …’ Her voice trailed off as she stroked her daughter’s cheek. Frances felt her own eyes begin to fill with tears, but she blinked them away. She had no wish to talk about the Tower, though she knew that occupied their thoughts. The events of today had made that seem of little consequence.

  ‘Well now, we are poor hosts, Elin,’ Sir Thomas cut in. ‘Our daughter must be in need of refreshment after her long journey. We had just sat down to dinner. Please – come and join us. You will make our feast a good deal merrier.’

  Frances smiled gratefully, and followed her parents as they made their way towards the dining room.

  The winter sun was already shining brightly by the time that Frances awoke the next day. She had slept more soundly than she could remember since leaving Longford. Her eyelids had begun to grow heavy soon after dinner, and when her mother had urged her towards bed, she had put up little resistance. A fire had been made ready in her bedchamber, and she could still feel the warmth from the dying embers as she lay blinking the sleep from her eyes.

  The knowledge that she could only stay at Richmond until the following day made her resolve to relish every moment of the visit. If she had not been so tired, she would have stayed up long into the night talking with her parents, or simply enjoying the comfort of their presence. They must have long since breakfasted, she realised, as she crossed over to the dresser and splashed water onto her face. She noticed that the clothes that she had left discarded on the oak chest had been taken away, and fresh ones left in their place. Perhaps they belonged to her sister Elizabeth. She could not help feeling relieved that both she and Bridget were staying with friends of their mother in Hertfordshire. She had no wish to answer a barrage of questions about her life at court, or suffer the snide remarks that she knew Elizabeth could never resist levelling at anyone who made her jealous – though God knew she had little enough to envy.

  After dressing, she went downstairs to find her parents. The dining room was empty, but in the place where she had sat last night there was a plate covered over with muslin. She lifted it to find a generous portion of smoked herrings, eggs, and bread. A little dish of butter had been placed next to it, along with a jug of wine. Just the sight of the food made Frances hungry, and she sat down to eat.

  The sunlight streamed in, filling the room with warmth. As she looked out, Frances saw the familiar figure of her father strolling through the gardens. He paused every now and then, as if contemplating a new scheme for planting, once the frosts had receded and the soil was more yielding.

  Tearing off another piece of bread, Frances rose from the table and made her way through to the hall, where she found her cloak hanging in a tall cupboard, next to those of her parents. It was almost as if she had been living here for as long as they had. With a pang, she thought of the following day, when she must once more bid farewell, not knowing when – or if – she would return. Quickening her step, she pulled on her cloak and went out into the gardens. As the heavy door closed behind her, she saw her father turn and smile.

  ‘Good morning, my love,’ he said, then added, with a hint of his accustomed mischief, ‘at least, I think it is still just morning.’

  Frances grinned.

  ‘Forgive me, Father. I had not thought to stay abed as late as this.’

  He squeezed her hand. ‘You must have needed your rest,’ he said.

  She was aware that he was watching her intently. His smile faded, and he fell silent for a few moments.

  ‘Why are you here, Frances?’ he asked gently.

  She sighed and looked at the ground. Her eyes pricked with tears, but she waited until she was more composed before answering.

  ‘I am sorry, Father. I should not have brought my troubles upon you, but I knew of nowhere else to go. The thought of returning to my duties so soon after—’ She raised her eyes to her father’s, searching them for permission to go on. He remained as calm as ever, but she knew that he was waiting for the truth. She hesitated. If she told him what had passed at Westminster, she would be placing him in as great a danger as she was herself. But she could think of no other way to explain why she had not returned at once to court.

  ‘These are troubled times, Frances,’ he said, as if reading her thoughts. ‘The king does not enjoy the love of all his subjects. Those of the Catholic faith had hoped for more freedom, but they have suffered even greater persecution than in the last reign. And they are not alone.’

  He studied Frances closely, and she saw that his eyes were filled with anguish.

  ‘Did you suffer greatly, Fran?’ he asked softly, clasping her hands in his. They felt warm and comforting, and for a moment she was unable to speak.

  ‘Not so much as other women, I fear,’ she said at last. ‘They did not find what they were looking for, but if it had not been for the princess falling ill, they might have continued their search.’

  Sir Thomas gripped her hands more tightly, and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, they blazed with fury.

  ‘Your mother and I came to the Tower as soon as we heard of your arrest. But Lord Berkeley would allow no one to attend you. He was under strict orders from Cecil, though he appeared to regret them. The lieutenant is a good man,’ he added, when he saw the look of scorn on his daughter’s face. ‘We petitioned him daily, but it was no use. Then, on our last visit, we were told that you had left for court.’

  ‘The king was glad enough to recall me when he thought I could be of use to him – or rather, his daughter,’ Frances replied bitterly.

  ‘I wish that he and the contagion that surrounds him might be swept away,’ Sir Thomas retorted, his voice tight with fury. Frances started at his words, which struck her as being so like those she had heard in Westminster the day before. She had never seen her father like this. He had always remained so calm and accepting, even when provoked.

  ‘There are those in this kingdom who work to that end,’ he continued in a low voice. ‘Godspeed their endeavours, for it is His will that they might succeed.’

  Frances’s heart was pounding as she returned his gaze.

  ‘Of whom do you speak, Father?’

  ‘I think you know, Frances.’

  She had to remind herself to breathe. Everything around her seemed to fade so that she could see only her father, his eyes blazing into hers as if they sought her very soul. She had that same feeling of having stepped out of the world she knew and into a terrible vision, where nothing was as it should be.

  ‘Then you are part of this too?’ she whispered at last. ‘And a Catholic?’

  Her eyes searched his as she stared, willing him to deny it. But after what seemed like an endless pause, he slowly inclined his head. Frances felt as if her breath had been stopped.

  ‘But you raised us in the reformed faith,’ she said, her voice faltering. ‘We attended St Peter’s, denied the miracle of the sacrament, repeated the words set down in the new prayer book. Was it all a lie?’

  ‘We were fortunate in our priest,’ her father replied quietly. ‘The Reverend Samuels respected the traditions of the old faith, while upholding the new. Your mother and I could not have borne to see our children raised without any of the comforts of our religion, even though for your safety we had to be seen to conform.’

  Frances continued to stare at him.

  ‘Then my mother, too, is a papist?’

  She was gratified to see her father flinch at the word.

  ‘Our faith was one of the many things that bound your mother and me together, Frances. As a favourite of the queen, she had to practise discretion at court, as well as at Longford, but in the privacy of our chapel, we could worship as our consciences dictated.’

  Frances had a sudden recollection of the chapel in her father’s apartments at Longford, the exquisitely carved altarpiece lit by the candles that blazed in the golden sconces on either side. Before he had left Longford almost two years before, he had ordered t
hat it be stripped of its treasures, a copy of the authorised Bible placed on the altar. She had been too blind to realise the significance.

  ‘We Catholics are used to finding ways to express our beliefs,’ her father continued. ‘Even through bricks and mortar.’

  Frances gave him a quizzical look, curiosity making her temporarily forget the shock that coursed through her.

  ‘You have often wondered why Longford was built to such an unusual design, around a triangular courtyard rather than the square variety favoured by most. It is because those three walls represent the Holy Trinity. Whenever we look upon them, we are reminded of our faith,’ her father explained with a small smile.

  Frances fell silent. Though she felt foolish at being so easily duped all these years, even by the bricks that surrounded her, she could not help but admire her parents’ ingenuity.

  ‘I would never have spoken to you of such things if I had not been certain that you were party to them already,’ he continued. ‘Tell me I am not wrong, Frances?’

  Slowly, she shook her head, and lowered her gaze to the ground.

  ‘No, Father,’ she whispered. ‘But I have only just discovered them – even though I have known one of those involved since coming to court. I grew to trust him, to—’

  Tears were streaming down her face now. Sir Thomas drew her to him. She resisted at first, but the familiar comfort of his embrace soon overcame her. She sank against him, and he wrapped his cloak around her so that it covered them both. For several minutes, neither spoke as Frances gave vent to the grief that had been welling inside her ever since she had learned of Tom’s betrayal.

  ‘One of your earliest letters mentioned Tom Wintour,’ her father said at last. She could feel his warm breath on her hair. ‘He is a man of great courage, as well as faith, and would venture his life in this cause.’

  Frances drew away from him.

  ‘Would that he had as much honesty.’ She saw her father’s eyes widen at the bitterness in her voice. ‘He has played me false for many months,’ she continued. ‘I had thought him a dear friend, when in truth I hardly knew him.’

  ‘The truth carries great danger, Frances,’ her father replied quietly. ‘He was trying to protect you – as I have been. I wanted you to remain at Longford, safe from all harm.’ A shadow crossed his face. ‘But your uncle would not veer from his course. He will stop at nothing to restore the family’s position – though God knows we seek no favour at this king’s hands.’

  ‘But why put me in danger now, when I suspected nothing of this plot?’

  ‘Because the time is drawing near when we must act, Frances. As soon as the plague has receded, Parliament will be convened. But before that, the princess must be taken from London, to ensure her safety – and those who attend her,’ he added, looking at Frances closely.

  She nodded.

  ‘I am to accompany Her Highness to Coombe Abbey before the week is out. We will be guests of Lord Harington.’

  ‘Good, good,’ Sir Thomas remarked. ‘Sir John will ensure that you are comfortably housed. I believe he can be trusted to play his part.’

  ‘And what of my part, Father?’ Frances demanded. ‘Though I have as much cause as any to revile the king and his court, I did not choose to become involved in this conspiracy. Am I to be as great a puppet as the princess?’

  ‘You must only continue to do your duty and attend her.’ He held her face in his hands and looked at her imploringly. ‘Mind me, Frances. Speak of this to nobody. Commit nothing to paper. If this plot should fail, you must be free from suspicion.’

  ‘And you, Father?’ she asked softly, her brow creased with concern.

  Sir Thomas smiled.

  ‘Nobody will think to come looking in this backwater. I am quite safe – your mother too.’ His face clouded over again. ‘She knows nothing of this, Frances. Neither must she.’

  Frances nodded, but continued to look at him uncertainly. ‘Richmond is not so very far from court, Father. And our family is already marked out for being of the old faith. You are in as great a danger as I – if not more so.’

  He held her gaze as he reached out to take her hands in his. ‘I have weathered greater storms than this, Frances. Although we enjoyed the late queen’s favour, there were those about her who were bent on destroying every Catholic in the kingdom. I have learned the art of discretion. If any of Cecil’s men paid us a visit here, they would not find so much as an Agnus Dei to support their suspicions.’ He squeezed her hands. ‘You must have no fear for me, or your mother. I will keep us both safe, Frances.’

  He paused, his gaze intensifying.

  ‘Will you do your part, Fran? Without the princess, our cause is surely lost.’

  She closed her eyes as she tried to make sense of everything she had heard in the last few minutes, the last day. Though she was still reeling from her father’s revelations, she felt a sudden surge of bitterness that this weak and perverted king should dictate the consciences of his subjects, deprive them of the comforts of their faith. It would have been better for England if he had never come to the throne.

  Or that he might be removed from it.

  Her eyes snapped open. Was this plot really so wicked? Her heart quickened in time with her thoughts. God could surely not approve of such a cruel and twisted ruler, one who persecuted his subjects at every turn. A vivid image of the witch pricker’s blade suddenly filled her mind, the sharp point piercing her skin, a thick droplet of blood weaving its way down her chest. Wincing, she turned her thoughts to the tempest that had been visited upon the anniversary procession, the failed harvests that had followed in its wake, the thousands of pour souls who had perished in the plague. God had surely shown His displeasure already.

  ‘I will, Father,’ she said at last.

  Her voice sounded different to her ears, as if a stranger had spoken those words. She saw her father’s shoulders sag, and his eyes glistened as he looked back at her.

  Raising her gaze to the leaden sky, Frances shivered, suddenly aware of the cold. Her leather soles offered little protection against the frosty ground, and her borrowed clothes, though fine, were not made to keep out the winter chill.

  ‘Come, my love,’ her father said. ‘Your mother will be angry with me for keeping you from her, and even more so if you have caught a chill.’

  He held out his arm, and Frances threaded hers through it. As they walked slowly back towards the house, she hardly noticed as the first flakes of snow began to fall.

  CHAPTER 32

  5 February

  Frances watched as the last of the wagons was loaded with the princess’s belongings. Though nothing could eclipse the scale and splendour of the late queen’s removes, she was still surprised by the quantity of furniture, hangings, clothes, and other accoutrements deemed necessary for her mistress’s comfort during her stay at Coombe Abbey. The preparations had already been underway by the time that Frances had returned to Hampton Court, and her absence had been barely remarked upon in the frenzy of packing Elizabeth’s belongings, and planning the journey ahead.

  ‘We are to stay first at Windsor, and then Oxford,’ the princess told her excitedly as they sat in the carriage, swathed in furs. It was for good reason that most removes were made in summer, although the frosts had made the ground so hard that the roads might be more passable. ‘We will also visit Chastleton and Stratford before we get to Coombe. Sir Everard says that the people will flock to see me, and that our way will be lit by beacons and bonfires.’

  Elizabeth’s face was aglow as she imagined the adoration with which she would be greeted.

  ‘I hope he is right, Your Grace,’ Frances replied. ‘Though you must not think badly of those who choose to stay in the warmth of their homes. This winter is the coldest we have had in many years.’

  The princess seemed too distracted to pay attention to her words. She was fumbling about for her satin purse, which lay buried beneath the furs.

  ‘There it is!’ she cried in triump
h, and took out a small folded note. ‘I was going to send this to Sir Everard when we arrive in Warwickshire, but I have a mind to give it to him straight away, lest he thinks me ungrateful for all the care he has shown during these preparations for our journey. Frances – will you take it to him?’

  ‘Now, Your Highness?’ she asked in surprise. ‘But we are almost ready to leave.’

  ‘It will only take a moment, Frances. He was so distressed at our parting that I would like to offer him some cheer.’

  She was already peeling the furs back from Frances’s lap as she spoke. With a sigh, Frances took the note and disembarked from the carriage. She walked briskly along the path that led back to the gatehouse, and asked the porter to direct her to Sir Everard’s lodgings. To her relief, they were a short distance away in Base Court. Frances wondered briefly how Sir Everard had been able to secure accommodation in the quarter that was usually reserved for the most highly favoured of the king’s guests, especially when he had arrived so long after the rest of the court.

  Frances passed under an archway in the middle of the west range of lodgings, and walked along to the end of the corridor, as directed by the porter. A soft light spilled under the door of Sir Everard’s rooms, and, as she drew closer, she could hear low voices. She slowed her step and padded quietly towards the sound, heart thumping.

  ‘Everything is made ready, my lord.’ Sir Everard’s voice, though soft, was clearly discernible.

  ‘Good.’

  There was something familiar about the second, though it was so quiet that Frances had to strain to hear.

  ‘And in Westminster?’ Sir Everard asked.

  There was a long pause. Frances could not be sure if she had missed the reply. She leaned closer so that her face was pressed against the door. The movement caused a floorboard to creak. She stepped backwards and held her breath. She could hear the sound of a chair scraping across the floor, followed by a scuffle of footsteps. Quickly, she knocked on the door before those within could accuse her of loitering there. It was opened a crack. Sir Everard peered out into the gloom.