The King's Witch

by Tracy Borman

  As soon as the banquet was over, she slipped out of the hall and made her way to the gardens. The princess would not require her attendance until later that afternoon. More than anything, Frances craved solitude.

  But to her dismay, when she emerged from the palace, she saw that a small crowd had gathered at the gates, hoping to catch a glimpse of the king and his new daughter. Frances could feel their eyes upon her as she walked briskly along the drive. To reach the gardens, she had no choice but to push her way through them. The only other way was to go back through the palace and out of the north gate, but she did not want to risk being accosted by her uncle.

  With a deep breath, she motioned for the yeoman who stood guard by the gate to let her pass. The people at the front eyed her curiously, but bowed their heads and stepped aside so as not to hinder her progress. She smiled her thanks, and walked on, her head bowed.

  When she was almost clear of the crowds, she felt a hand brush against hers. Looking up, her breath caught in her throat.

  ‘Tom.’

  He smiled, but said nothing. Falling into step by her side, he gently steered her towards the path that ran alongside the river. They walked on in silence until the crowds had receded. Frances stared resolutely ahead, though her mind was racing.

  ‘Forgive me. I had to see you,’ he said, as he slowed his pace.

  She reached for his hand and pressed it to her lips. He stopped and turned to look at her, his eyes filled with confusion and hope.

  ‘I know now that you spoke the truth, that you did not deceive me – in your love, at least,’ she said, the words tumbling from her mouth.

  She glanced around quickly to be sure they were not overheard.

  ‘The queen told me everything,’ she continued in a whisper. ‘Do not be angry – she was right to do so. I am sorry I doubted you. I thought the love you professed was part of the deceit, but now I know the lengths to which you went to protect me. I will never again forsake you – or your cause.’

  She bent her head to kiss his hands again. He gave a deep, shuddering sigh, then gently tilted her chin up and kissed her. His lips felt dry, but Frances pressed her own against them, savouring their warmth. When at last they drew back, Tom cradled her head against his chest. She felt the rapid beat of his heart as he held her so tightly that she thought her breath would be squeezed from her body. She longed to stay like this, forever in his embrace, but all too soon her thoughts invaded.

  ‘Did you receive my note?’ she asked, drawing away so that she could look at him.

  ‘Yes.’ He hesitated. ‘But I could not come to you. I have placed you in too much danger already, Frances. Cecil’s spies are everywhere. My coming to Coombe without an invitation from the princess would have prompted fresh suspicion.’

  ‘It is you who is in danger,’ she said quietly. ‘Cecil knows of the plot already. Sir Everard is conspiring with him. I overheard them in his chambers, before we left Hampton Court.’

  She saw his eyes widen briefly.

  ‘You are sure it was Cecil?’ he asked, after a pause.

  Frances nodded. ‘I have no doubt.’

  ‘But Sir Everard is a man of the court, he might have been conversing on other matters.’

  She did not reply, but continued to hold his gaze. Distractedly, he ran his hand through his hair and bit his lip.

  ‘If this is true, then we are undone,’ he said at last.

  ‘Not if you act quickly, and only with those who you know can be trusted. Catesby was with Sir Everard in Warwickshire. Is he in league with Cecil too?’

  Tom shook his head firmly. ‘Robin is truer to our cause than any of us. He would rather die than betray us. He despises the king for persecuting those of our faith, and will not rest until he has rid this diseased country of the canker in its breast.’

  Frances studied him carefully. Did he speak the truth, or was he so blinded by love for his cousin that he had been deceived?

  ‘If that is so, you must proceed with your plans before Cecil reveals them,’ she said, after a pause.

  ‘That is beyond our power,’ he said grimly. ‘Parliament is prorogued until October. Nobody – not even Cecil – could persuade the king to abandon his plans for the summer so that it might meet earlier. He will be visiting some of the best hunting grounds in the kingdom. The queen says that he has talked of little else for months.’

  Frances looked at him bleakly. ‘Then you have no choice but to set aside your schemes – for now at least. There can be no proof of what you intended.’

  Tom shook his head again, more slowly this time.

  ‘There are many who would testify – under torture. Robin has been gathering more supporters to our cause, my own brother included.’

  He fell silent and stared down at the ground. Frances felt her heart lurch with pity. He looked stricken. There were dark shadows under his eyes, and his linen shirt, which hung from his wasted torso, was smeared with dirt.

  ‘Already, we were in a state of confusion,’ he continued, after a long silence. ‘This birth has led some to question whether we should abandon Princess Elizabeth in favour of her new sister, born on English soil. And now this. It seems that God has utterly forsaken us.’

  Frances reached for his hand.

  ‘You must leave England – you and your companions,’ she said quietly. ‘You have friends abroad. They will shelter you until all of this is forgotten – which will be soon enough,’ she added quickly, seeing his doubtful expression. ‘The king’s obsessions burn brightly, but are soon extinguished. Even now he is preparing to leave court for the hunt.’

  ‘And what of you?’ he asked, his eyes scanning hers. ‘Will you come with me?’

  She looked steadily back at him.

  ‘I cannot leave the princess,’ she replied at last. ‘The love that I bear for her is the only truth I know at this court. I will not relinquish it.’ Though she kept her voice steady, she felt as if her heart was breaking. Every instinct told her to go with Tom, to leave this court – leave England – far behind. But she knew that she would never find peace if she abandoned her young mistress now, her own father too, amidst so much danger and uncertainty. She also knew that Tom’s chances of escape would be much greater if he were not accompanied by a woman whose recent notoriety made her so recognisable. There was no choice but to sacrifice her desires and remain at court.

  Tom was staring at her intently, conflicting emotions flitting across his face. At length, he raised her hand to his lips and held it there for a few moments, his eyes closing as he breathed in her scent.

  ‘Then I too shall remain,’ he said solemnly.

  Frances opened her mouth to protest, but he continued. ‘Robin must know of Sir Everard’s betrayal. We will let him believe that he is still part of our plans, but we will share the truth with those closest to us. If God wills it, we might yet prevail.’

  Though he spoke with conviction, his eyes were filled with uncertainty as he gazed at her. She wanted to believe that God was on their side, that He would see justice carried out, but at that moment He had never felt more distant.

  ‘I will pray for you – for us,’ she whispered at last.

  Tom dipped his head to kiss her again, then, with an obvious effort, stepped away from her.

  ‘I wish with all my heart that I had not brought you to this,’ he said, his face ashen. ‘Goodbye Frances.’

  With that, he turned, and began to walk away from her, towards Westminster. Frances reached out to pull him back, but then let her arm fall limply by her side. She watched his retreating form until long after he was out of sight. Eventually, she looked back towards the place where he had waited for her, as if expecting to see some trace of their presence. It was deserted. Their encounter suddenly seemed as insubstantial as a dream.

  CHAPTER 37

  2 October

  Frances grasped the letter that the groom held out to her and dismissed him with a brief nod of thanks. Closing the door behind her, she crossed over t
o the bed, her breath catching in her throat. She had not seen Tom since their meeting in Greenwich five months before, and it had been many weeks since he had written. For all she knew, he and his companions had fled to the Continent, though Tom’s last letter had made it clear that they were still intent upon their course. The terrible anxiety that had plagued her after their last meeting had gradually receded into a constant hum of apprehension that made her fretful and short-tempered. She had forgotten what it felt like to live free from fear.

  Cecil had made no move to uncover their plot, though he must have known of it for at least nine months, if not longer. Even a cat would have tired of playing with its prey by now, and devoured it long ago. The more time passed, the more Frances wondered if she had imagined the whispered conversation in Sir Everard’s chambers, or confused the scent of ambergris for something else. Musk, perhaps. Or beeswax. But her instinct told her that it had been Cecil.

  At last daring to look down at the handwriting, her heart sank. With a sigh, she sat down on the bed and broke the seal. Her uncle’s script was as indecipherable as ever, and she had to read it over several times before she could get the sense of it.

  The letter began without preamble:

  The king has been in a foul temper since his return from the progress. Cecil has angered him again, and Northumberland holds sway in council now.

  Frances’s heart lurched as she read on.

  The sickness has finally abated, so it is expected that Parliament will any day now meet. It is like to prove Cecil’s undoing.

  ‘And that of many others besides,’ Frances whispered, crossing herself.

  She stood abruptly, and the letter wafted silently to the floor as she walked over to the window. She would light a fire and burn it later, as she did all her letters, save those from her mother. It had barely grown light all day, and the clouds hung so low that they seemed to touch the hedgerows that bordered Lord Harington’s estate. That morning, she had witnessed a strange phenomenon: the sun, which had been bright in the sky, had suddenly been thrown into half shadow, as if a dark cloak had been cast over it. Though the Reverend Samuels had railed against the superstitious nature of his flock, knowing that it made them distrustful of his remedies, she could not help feeling a creeping sense of dread. Her late mistress had taught her to respect the world that lay beyond sight and reason, to listen for the warnings that it whispered. She knew that she would not be alone in this. The atmosphere at court must be even more oppressive than usual, as rumours of the latest treason echoed along its corridors.

  Was Tom even now hiding in those lodgings close to St Stephen’s, ready with his companions to strike as soon as the king entered Parliament? A shiver ran through her. It all seemed so far away, here in Warwickshire, where the only thing likely to disturb the peace was a sudden clap of thunder. But if their plan succeeded, this slumbering countryside would soon be overrun with Catesby’s supporters. Frances imagined them now, bearing down on the abbey with flaming torches and swords at their belts. She felt a pulse of excitement.

  Perhaps Cecil is too preoccupied with securing his place on the council to pay close attention to Catesby and his plot, she reasoned. Although her uncle was given to exaggeration where his rival was concerned, she had heard enough to convince her that the Lord Privy Seal was clinging to power by his fingertips. And who knows how many other plots he and his spies had been distracted by? Thinking of Cecil in this light, embattled and overburdened, gave her fresh hope. For so long he had seemed a constant, menacing presence. But had she given him more power than he actually possessed?

  Turning away from the window, she began pacing the room, her steps keeping time with her thoughts. The pale glimmer of silver from the carriage clock on the shelf caught her eye, and she stopped to peer at it in the gathering gloom. It was almost six. Lord Harington was always prompt with his hours of dining. Hastily, she crossed to the ewer and splashed some water onto her face, then quickly changed her gown and swept out of the room.

  ‘How pale you are, Frances,’ Elizabeth exclaimed as soon as she entered the parlour. Frances forced herself to give a smile of reassurance and bobbed a curtsey to her mistress and host, both of whom were already seated.

  ‘I had a slight headache and am still a little fatigued ma’am,’ she replied. ‘But I am sure that Lord Harington’s excellent table will soon restore me.’

  A few moments later, two grooms entered, each carrying a large silver tray bearing a selection of dishes. Though she had little appetite, Frances helped herself to some venison pottage and roasted capon, then took a sip of the Burgundy wine that their host always kept in plentiful supply.

  Lord Harington broke the silence. ‘I am particularly glad to hear such praise, since we are soon to receive some distinguished guests.’

  The princess sat up in her chair and looked at their host with barely concealed anticipation. Though Frances had done her best to entertain her since their return from Greenwich several months before, she knew that Elizabeth found life here very dull and longed for the company and diversions that were always on offer at court. There were only so many rides into the country and games of cards to be played, and Lord Harington’s library had already been exhausted of anything but the most turgid volumes.

  ‘I received word from Sir Everard Digby today that he will soon be taking possession of Coughton Court, which is less than a day’s ride from here. I invited him to visit us, of course,’ he said airily.

  Elizabeth clapped her hands with delight.

  ‘How wonderful! I have longed for some new company.’ She flushed. ‘That is – somebody from whom we might learn news of court.’

  ‘Quite,’ Lord Harington said with a grin.

  ‘You implied that Sir Everard would not be travelling alone?’ Frances asked quietly.

  ‘Indeed. He will be accompanied by Lady Anne Vaux and her sister Eleanor.’ He paused and took a sip from his glass, but did not take his eyes off her. ‘And a priest, I understand.’

  ‘A priest?’ the princess asked in dismay. ‘Why would he wish to bring him? It will not help make our party very merry to have a stern old Puritan in attendance.’

  Lord Harington smiled.

  ‘Ah, then you need not concern yourself, Your Grace, for Father Garnet is a Catholic priest. I am sure he will be content to make as merry as you please.’

  Frances shot him a look.

  ‘You surely do not propose to receive a Catholic priest in your household, especially when the princess is in residence?’

  ‘Please do not trouble yourself, Lady Frances,’ he said soothingly. ‘Sir Everard sought permission from the Earl of Salisbury, who was most obliging. We must promise not to hear mass, though, of course,’ he added, with a sly smile.

  The princess giggled. Frances set down her fork and slowly dabbed at her mouth.

  ‘Forgive me, Your Grace, Lord Harington, but the headache has returned. I think I must take my rest.’

  Lord Harington looked at her closely.

  ‘I do hope it was not all this talk of parties and papists, Lady Frances.’

  He stood and offered her his arm as she made to leave. She nodded her thanks and gave a brief curtsey to the princess, who was busy devouring an almond tart and hardly seemed to notice her departure. As she closed the door behind her, she leaned against it for a moment and looked around the empty hallway.

  Why would Cecil so readily give his permission for the princess to receive a known Catholic into her household? If, as her uncle claimed, he was already out of the king’s favour, then this would surely make things worse? A new thought occurred to her: perhaps Sir Everard was no longer so well acquainted with the plot as she had supposed? Tom would have told Catesby of his betrayal at the earliest opportunity, so they may have spun a web of lies to divert him and Cecil from their course? Father Garnet’s arrival at Coombe just days before the convening of Parliament would certainly draw attention away from events in Westminster. The more she reflected on this, the m
ore credible it seemed. Again, she felt hope surge through her. Clasping her hands together, she uttered a silent prayer – for the princess, for herself, and for Tom.

  CHAPTER 38

  20 October

  The princess watched, transfixed, as Lady Vaux’s delicate white fingers plucked expertly at the strings of the lute. The haunting tune filled the gallery, disguising the sound of the rain as it dripped from the windows. It was a cold autumnal day, and the wind was already whipping some of the leaves from the trees. Their plans for a picnic had soon been abandoned, but at the princess’s request Lord Harington had arranged for their luncheon to be served up here in the gallery. A fine linen tablecloth had been laid out, and large velvet cushions scattered around it for the guests to sit upon. Frances ran her fingers along the beading of her cushion as she listened to the music.

  When the last note faded into silence, everyone applauded – the princess most enthusiastically of all. Lady Vaux inclined her head. She was seated on a high-backed chair, and the ivy green satin of her skirt was spread elegantly around her.

  ‘You play beautifully, Lady Vaux,’ Lord Harington remarked. ‘It is a pity you are not more often at court. I am sure the queen would delight in your skill.’

  ‘Thank you, my lord, but we have enough company in Enfield Chase to keep us amused. Besides, I am sure there are plenty of musicians to delight Their Majesties.’

  ‘Does your sister play as well as you?’ the princess asked eagerly.

  Eleanor blushed and shook her head.

  ‘By no means, Your Grace. I am equipped only to listen.’