by Tracy Borman
Elizabeth beamed.
‘I believe you are right, Lady Frances,’ she said proudly. ‘And I will make sure to keep my gowns in good order so that she might wear them when she is old enough.’
The baby started to writhe, and gave a little cry. The queen nodded to the wet nurse, who stepped forward. Elizabeth looked up at her regretfully.
‘You may accompany Mrs Bedwyn to the nursery, Elizabeth,’ her mother said kindly. ‘You can see that your sister is properly attended to.’
The princess beamed at her mother, then, standing up carefully, carried the mewling baby slowly out of the room. Anne motioned to her attendant, who followed them, closing the door behind her.
‘Please – sit, Lady Frances,’ she said, her face suddenly grave. ‘I am glad you have come.’
Frances inclined her head. ‘It is a great honour to attend the princess’s christening, Your Grace. We had not expected it, being so far from court.’
A shadow crossed Anne’s face, and she seemed to hesitate before replying.
‘The king wished to arrange it as soon as possible, but I begged that we delay it so that the princess could attend.’
‘She was delighted to receive the summons, Your Grace,’ Frances assured her.
‘It was not for her that I willed it,’ Anne said, looking down at her hands. ‘But for you.’
Frances felt her pulse quicken. She waited for her to go on.
‘These are dangerous times, Frances. Every day there is talk of a fresh plot against the king. The people of England have not taken him to their hearts. They despise the Scots even more than those from across the seas,’ she gave a rueful smile, ‘but my husband has intensified their hatred by persecuting those of the old faith. He does not understand the wisdom of the old queen’s moderation, but instead allows himself to be manipulated by those who would see the kingdom torn apart by civil war.’
Her eyes blazed as she looked at Frances, who struggled to maintain her composure.
‘The Earl of Salisbury has drafted a series of laws for the next Parliament, which will further curtail their liberties, making them even more desperate. The king is too obsessed with his hunting and his favourites to see how he is played.’ She smiled bitterly. ‘God knows his head is easily enough turned.’
Frances ran her tongue along her lips, which felt suddenly dry.
‘If he continues in this way, the kingdom will come to ruin. Something must be done to remedy the situation.’ Anne paused. ‘You know, I think, that a means has been found to rid England of the evil in her midst?’
The heat in the room seemed suddenly unbearable. Frances felt her scalp prickle with sweat. ‘I have heard rumours of a plot,’ she replied cautiously.
‘I think you know that they are more than rumours. Do not speak—’ Anne held up her hand. ‘Words have become as dangerous as actions. Only listen. If this plot succeeds, it is imperative that you keep the princess safe. You must not leave her for a single moment of the day – or night. Upon her life rests the future of the kingdom. Of us all.’
Anne’s eyes seemed to bore into her soul. Frances stared back at her. Was she the protector of whom Catesby had spoken? It had long been rumoured that the queen had secretly converted to the Catholic faith. But surely she could not countenance the murder of her husband, of her sons? It was too shocking to bear credence. And yet, as she gazed into Anne’s eyes, so full of bitterness and anger, Frances felt a creeping sense of certainty.
‘You would not betray those whom you love, I think?’ Anne persisted, when it was clear that Frances was not going to answer.
Frances felt a sudden surge of anger. ‘It is I who have been betrayed,’ she retorted, her voice filled with bitterness. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, and the colour had risen to her cheeks, but she pressed her lips together to stop the words tumbling from her mouth.
Anne regarded her steadily for a few moments before speaking again.
‘Things are not always as they appear, Lady Frances,’ she said quietly. ‘Sometimes what we believed to be true proves false, does it not?’
Frances did not reply. An image of Sir Everard flitted before her. Did Anne know that he had betrayed them? She dare not speak of it here – words carried danger, it was true. Then she thought of Tom, the imploring look on his face as the boatman rowed her away from the landing stage at Westminster. Her eyes welled with tears as she held the queen’s gaze. She brushed them away impatiently.
‘But sometimes we find that our instincts were right.’
Frances’s brow creased in confusion as she waited for Anne to explain.
‘You were not mistaken in believing that Tom Wintour loved you,’ she said quietly. ‘It was always my plan that he should win your friendship and trust, so that you could be relied upon to play your part when the time came. What I had not foreseen was the love that would grow between you.’ She looked away, shamefaced. ‘I admit that when I first began to suspect the strength of your feelings for each other, I was glad of it, believing that it would make you even more inclined to do as he asked. But then he begged me to release you from our plans, insisting that he could not hazard your life, even if it meant we would fail.’
She looked back at Frances, her expression bleak.
‘I refused,’ she said quietly. ‘I knew that my daughter loved you above all others, that there was no one else in her household whom she would trust enough to obey when the time came. When Tom persisted, I threatened to have the charges against you resurrected – God knows, Cecil would have been glad enough to oblige.’
Frances stared at her, as if trying to recognise a stranger. Anne looked down at her hands again.
‘I did not intend to carry out my threat,’ she mumbled, almost to herself, ‘but I had to make Tom see reason, to stop everything for which we had striven from crumbling into dust.’ She took a deep breath. ‘At length Tom relented, but only on condition that he could reveal our schemes to you immediately, rather than waiting until the last moment, as we had always planned. Then you would at least have the freedom of choice.’
Frances let out a scornful laugh.
‘Freedom to choose between a traitor and a tyrant?’ she spat. ‘I would sooner choose between the Devil and Hades.’
‘Few of us enjoy any better choices,’ Anne replied, her expression hardening. ‘Do you think that I would hazard the lives of my sons if the alternative were not so abhorrent? You do not know the torments that I have suffered at the hands of my husband. He will bring this kingdom to ruin with his heresy, his depravity. Though he masquerades as God’s anointed king, it is the Devil whom he serves.’
Her eyes were blazing now. Frances felt her own anger begin to recede as she was confronted by the force of Anne’s bile against the man that she, too, had come to despise. She saw the queen’s chest rise and fall in rapid, jerking movements as she struggled to regain her composure. At length, she sighed, her expression softening.
‘Tom’s love for you is true,’ she said earnestly. ‘I know that you may no longer trust my word, but I have proof.’
She stood up and walked over to the finely carved oak cabinet in the far corner of the room. Unlocking it, she drew out the same casket that Frances recognised from her apartments at Hampton Court. She rifled through its contents for a few moments, then drew out a folded parchment. Frances took it from her. It was not sealed, so she opened it straight away, impatient to see what it contained.
The style resembled the deed that the queen had presented to her three months ago. It was written in Latin, and as Frances studied it she realised that it related to the same land that she had been gifted. She looked up at the queen for an explanation.
‘This is the deed that transferred the land in Greenwich that I gave you from the original owner to myself,’ Anne said. ‘They wanted you to believe that it came from me.’
Frances stared at her for a few moments, then looked back at the document. Whoever had signed it was her benefactor. She directed her gaze t
o the bottom of the page. Her hands began to tremble as she gazed at the signature.
Thomas Wintour
‘He invested his inheritance, and everything for which he has laboured in this land,’ Anne said quietly. ‘He gave up his own future so that yours might be assured, whatever happens.’
The letters began to blur as Frances stared at them. A tear weaved its way slowly down her cheek.
‘Why didn’t he tell me?’ she whispered.
‘He wanted to leave nothing behind that would tie your name to his, if our schemes should fail,’ Anne replied, placing her hand lightly on Frances’s shoulder. ‘I should have destroyed this before now,’ she continued.
She reached to take the parchment, but Frances pulled it away from her. After a pause, she raised it to her lips and pressed them to his name, then handed it reluctantly to the queen. Anne placed it gently in the grate. Soon, the flames licked at its edges, and they began to curl up. The two women watched as the fire took hold, its greedy fingers turning the words to blackened soot. Frances kept her eyes fixed on Tom’s signature. A few seconds later, it too was engulfed by flames. She gave a small shudder.
‘Was I right to trust you with this knowledge, Frances?’ the queen asked quietly.
Frances could feel her eyes upon her, but she continued to stare into the grate.
‘I will do my duty, Your Grace,’ she said at last.
CHAPTER 36
5 May
Elizabeth shifted impatiently in her seat as the organist played another long refrain, the notes echoing around the vaulted ceiling. Frances gently laid her hand on the girl’s arm. The ceremony had barely started: she would need greater patience for the many observances to come. The princess sighed heavily and stopped fidgeting.
Frances knew that she, too, would need to learn greater patience. They had been in London for more than a week now, yet she had been denied any opportunity to leave the confines of Greenwich Palace. She was desperate to see Tom, to tell him what she knew, that she would continue to play her part, that she loved him still. Gray’s Inn was six miles away, but it might as well have been a hundred. The princess, overcome with excitement about the impending christening, had demanded her presence every time she had visited her baby sister or gone out riding in the park. Worse still, the shortage of accommodation in the palace, with so many guests gathered in readiness for the event, meant that Frances was obliged to sleep on a pallet bed in her young mistress’s bedchamber. She felt almost as much a prisoner here as she had in the Tower.
All of the guests were now seated. Glancing over to her right, Frances saw a haughty-looking woman dressed in black, with an ostentatious silver collar. Her hair was dark red, and her small, piercing black eyes stared straight ahead. Arbella Stuart. Frances had been surprised at the announcement that she was to be one of the godparents. Perhaps the king wished to keep her close. Whenever a rumour of a new conspiracy began to circulate, her name was whispered in connection with it. Though nothing had ever been proven against her, Frances still found her presence unnerving.
A few rows behind, Frances recognised the familiar figure of her uncle. He must have arrived late, for she had not noticed him among the dignitaries who had assembled outside the chapel to greet Princess Elizabeth. Next to him was the Earl of Northumberland, his tall frame visible among all of the other guests. His long brown beard was flecked with grey, Frances noticed, and his face was grave as he dipped his head to hear what her uncle was saying.
At that moment, the doors of the chapel were flung open, and a flourish of trumpets heralded the arrival of the christening procession. All of the guests got to their feet and bowed low as the king swept past. Glancing up, Frances saw that his limp was more pronounced than before, and his purple silk doublet was pulled tightly across his stomach.
In his wake came the tiny princess, carried by a noblewoman, and flanked by two lines of gentlemen who held a scarlet canopy above the baby’s head. She was swathed in purple velvet, embroidered with gold thread and furred with ermine, and her long train was held aloft by several more ladies. Elizabeth craned her neck so that she might catch a glimpse of her little sister.
Directly behind the canopy was the queen, her hand resting lightly on the arm of her brother, who had travelled from Denmark to stand as godfather to his new niece. His hair was white-blond, like his sister’s, and he had the same high forehead and long nose. Frances wondered if he had made the arduous journey for any other reason. He had not been present for the other christenings, even that of his eldest nephew Henry. She shook her head to dispel the thought. She must not see traitors everywhere.
Last of all came Cecil. He was dressed in the deep scarlet and grey robes of office, a long black velvet cloak covering his hunched back. For all his finery, he seemed to have shrunk into himself somehow, Frances thought. His skin was pallid, and there were dark shadows under his eyes, which caught hers briefly as he walked past. Frances turned to face the altar.
‘The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with you all,’ the archbishop pronounced when the members of the procession were seated.
During the long ceremony that followed, the sound of rustling and sighing could often be heard. The king had no more patience for such matters than his daughter. Frances looked across to Anne, who, by contrast, was as still as a statue, her face a perfect mask of composure.
At last came the moment of baptism. The godparents stood solemnly around the font as the archbishop prepared to anoint the baby. But just as he had gathered a handful of water, a loud crack of cannon fire reverberated around the chapel.
‘Treason!’ James cried as he leaped to his feet in terror. A moment later, his guards rushed forward to shield him, as they had on the night of the masque. But this time, his alarm was shared by the rest of the congregation, all of whom were scrambling for cover. Frances pulled the princess down to the floor and wrapped her arms around her trembling body, her own heart hammering painfully in her chest. A second volley sounded out, prompting cries of alarm among the cowering guests. The baby princess began to wail.
Amidst the cacophony, Frances could make out an insistent voice calling for calm. At length, the cries receded, and the voice could be heard more clearly. It was Cecil’s.
‘Your Majesties, my Lord Archbishop, do not be afraid,’ he said now.
Frances peered above the top of the pew and saw him standing at the altar, his face even whiter than before.
‘It is the cannon of the Tower firing a salute in the princess’s honour. They are before their time, that is all,’ he said soothingly.
There was a pause, then the king pushed his guards aside.
‘God’s wounds! Can ye not even arrange a christening?’ he shouted at Cecil. ‘Little wonder my kingdom is falling into ruins. I am minded to strip you of your titles, you undeserving wretch.’
Cecil bowed his head meekly.
‘I have always served you to the utmost of my abilities, Your Grace,’ he said quietly.
The king gave a scornful bark of laughter.
‘Well those abilities are lacking, Salisbury. Thanks to you, this land is crawling with plotters and papists, all intent upon my destruction. And you stand by like a simpering girl and do nothing – nothing!’ he screamed suddenly, making Cecil jump in fright.
Without warning, he dealt a stinging blow across his minister’s cheek, sending him sprawling to the ground. Frances watched with mounting pity as Cecil fumbled about for the staff that had been knocked from his hands. She glanced across at the other members of the council, hoping that one of them might come to his aid. But they all stared straight ahead, except her uncle, who was watching his rival with barely concealed delight.
Just as Cecil’s fingers were about to close over his staff, the king kicked it away, and it fell clattering down the altar steps.
‘Get up, you miserable dog,’ he sneered. Then, turning to the archbishop, who was regarding him in wide-eyed horror
, the king commanded him to resume the proceedings. The congregation slowly took their seats again, and Frances gently helped the princess to hers. The girl’s face was ghostly white. Frances reached across to still her trembling hands.
As soon as the ceremony was concluded, the king stalked out of the chapel without waiting for the procession to reassemble. His guards followed quickly behind. After the princess had been carried back down the aisle, the rest of the guests filed quietly out into the bright May sunshine.
The banquet that followed was a sombre affair. When the last of the dishes had been cleared, the Lord Chamberlain marched up to the dais and bowed low as he presented the king with a small wooden casket. All eyes turned to the monarch as he swayed uncertainly to his feet.
‘I present these jewels to the queen in return for the one that she has given me,’ he declared, holding the casket aloft.
Frances watched as Anne gave a thin smile and inclined her head in thanks. The king remained standing.
‘England has a new heir,’ he declared loudly. ‘And so God shows His favour to the House of Stuart. He rewards us for our endeavours in driving heretics and dissenters from this land.’ He paused, his eyes scanning the room. ‘But I will not rest until every last papist is discovered and punished with the utmost vigour and severity. Yea, even if their contagion strikes to the heart of our court.’
He turned to look at his wife and children. Frances noticed Prince Henry turn pale, though he held his head aloft. His brother Charles seemed to cower in his seat.
‘Hear me now – if my sons were to become espoused to the cause of heresy, I would disown them and leave my throne to the Princess Elizabeth.’
There was a collective gasp, followed by murmurs of surprise. Frances felt her pulse quicken. She looked across at the queen, whose expression remained inscrutable. Elizabeth’s face, by contrast, had become flushed, and her eyes sparkled with excitement.
The king stared out at his court for a few more moments, then sat down heavily, motioning for a page to fill his glass. Frances looked down at her plate. To either side of her, courtiers were speculating about the reason behind the king’s unexpected outburst. Not wishing to be drawn into their conversations, she reached for one of the wafers that had been set down before them, and broke it into small pieces on her plate. She proceeded to eat each one slowly, though she felt she might choke.
