The King's Witch

by Tracy Borman

  Frances looked across at her. She was younger than her sister, and plainer in appearance and dress, but had a pleasant expression that made her more appealing.

  ‘Not at all, my dear. I have heard you play many times, and always to perfection,’ Father Garnet said softly. His kind eyes wrinkled at the corners when he smiled, reminding Frances of her father. His grey hair was thinning at the temples, and he had a small, neatly clipped beard at his chin. The simple black robes that he wore contrasted with the rich and vivid colours that surrounded him.

  ‘Have you visited many places on your journey, Father?’ Frances enquired.

  ‘We have been fortunate to receive some excellent hospitality – not least at Richmond,’ he said with a smile.

  Frances felt her stomach tighten.

  ‘I trust my parents were in good health?’ she asked lightly.

  ‘Excellent health – your sisters too. They had but lately returned, so I feared our visit would be an inconvenience, but we were made most welcome.’

  ‘More welcome than at Rushton, certainly,’ Lady Vaux cut in.

  Father Garnet looked uncomfortable.

  ‘Ah yes, our timing was unfortunate. You will have heard the news of Sir Thomas Tresham’s death? Most regrettable – he was a fine man. His son was in London, for the parliament which has been postponed again so was not able to receive us, but we managed well enough.’

  ‘I fancy this rain will soon clear,’ Sir Everard announced, taking another bite of an apple. He was standing at the large window that overlooked the park. ‘We could go hunting after all.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, it will be far too wet underfoot,’ Lady Vaux chided. ‘And we must not tire the horses before we make the journey to Harrowden.’

  Sir Everard threw the apple core into the grate with such force that it sent a shower of sparks across the rug.

  ‘Very well, Lady Vaux. But I have promised the princess that we shall hunt – and I never forget a promise,’ he said, with a rakish grin. ‘Your Highness, I shall send word when I have taken up residence at Coughton Court. The parkland there is without equal in these parts. We will make a merry hunting party.’

  Frances felt a jolt of unease, but Elizabeth was beaming with delight.

  ‘I should be pleased to join you, Sir Everard.’

  ‘Then it is settled,’ he said firmly. ‘Well now, should we take a walk? You mentioned that the abbey ruins lie in a beautiful spot. I should very much like you to show me them, Your Grace.’

  The princess sprang to her feet at once and threaded her arm through his. The rest of the company followed as they walked briskly out of the room.

  Frances looked out at the sky, which was still dark grey, and went to fetch Elizabeth’s cloak and boots. But by the time she came down the stairs into the entrance hall, only Father Garnet was there.

  ‘I fear I am not so quick on my feet as the rest of the company,’ he said, with a rueful smile. ‘But if you are content to walk with me, I should be delighted.’

  Frances returned his smile and drew on her cloak. As they emerged into the courtyard, a few spots of rain still fell, and the air was chilly. She peered anxiously into the distance, but the princess was too far ahead to hear, so she folded the girl’s cloak over her arm and hoped that she would not catch a chill before she was able to give it to her. Father Garnet looked out appreciatively at the gardens, and occasionally paused to remark upon a flower or shrub. When they reached the bridge, Frances peered into the distance, hoping to see the princess, but she was out of sight.

  ‘Lady Vaux and her sister will keep her safe, Lady Frances,’ Father Garnet said quietly, as if reading her thoughts. ‘They know that there are matters I would speak to you about.’

  She said nothing, but waited.

  ‘Your father is a man of great integrity, Lady Frances,’ he continued quietly. ‘He has been a friend to many of the true faith, myself included. Richmond has become a haven for our cause.’

  ‘My father has always been a loyal subject,’ she replied carefully.

  ‘He is most loyal to those he loves,’ Father Garnet agreed.

  He stopped walking and took her hands in his. They felt warm, comforting.

  ‘His thoughts are always with you, Lady Frances. He asked that I would tell you to be of good courage for what lies ahead.’

  Frances drew in a quiet breath, but continued to stare straight ahead.

  ‘Already, you have proved a great support to this undertaking. If you had not discovered Sir Everard’s treachery, their plans would already have ended in disaster, and Cecil would have secured ample proof to have them put to death.’ He paused. ‘When I first heard of this plot, I could not but think it a most horrible thing – the like of which was never heard. Surely no regime can flourish that is built upon the murder of an anointed sovereign, and hundreds more besides. And if it fails, Catholics will face even greater persecution than they do today.’

  Frances felt a pang at his words. In these endless weeks of waiting, the same thoughts had begun to creep in, robbing her of sleep in the hours before dawn. Only the love that she bore Tom and her father had kept her to her course.

  ‘But the evil that has flourished in the realm since this king came to the throne is now so great that it can only be destroyed by a blaze more intense than the fires of hell. He proclaims himself to be the instrument of God, yet he spreads fear and hatred across the kingdom, deepening the divisions between those of the old faith and those who promote the cause of reform.’

  Frances stole a glance at her companion, whose placid features were now flushed with fervour. Suddenly, he turned and gripped her shoulders.

  ‘Lady Frances, you must hold firm,’ he urged, his eyes blazing. ‘The time is fast approaching when you will play your part. As soon as he heard of Sir Everard’s betrayal, Catesby set me to watch him. I have been his constant companion ever since – though he has made no secret that he tires of my company,’ he added with a smile. ‘He does not know what role I play, or that he has been discovered.’

  ‘So he still keeps Cecil informed of everything that passes?’ Frances asked, casting a glance in the direction that Sir Everard had walked with his companions.

  ‘Yes – or at least, of those things that Catesby wishes him to know. But Sir Everard lacks the patience of his master, and grows careless with these long days of waiting. I have intercepted some of the messages that have passed between them. Cecil instructed Sir Everard to come to Coughton Court at this time so that he is poised to seize the princess as soon as he gives the signal. He knows that the success of the plot rests upon crowning your young charge as queen. She is popular throughout the kingdom, and can win support for their cause, even amongst the reformers. Without her, they are nothing. Cecil means to snatch their prize from under their noses.’

  Frances fell silent for a few moments, considering.

  ‘But if the princess is taken too soon, before the plot has been put into action, then Cecil will lack the evidence with which to convict Catesby and the rest,’ she said at length.

  ‘Precisely so,’ the old priest agreed. ‘Which is why Cecil intends to wait until the plotters are assembled beneath the chambers of Westminster Hall, with all of the gunpowder in place, before sending word to Sir Everard. It will not be long now. Parliament has been delayed again, but will meet on the fifth of next month.’

  He tightened his grip on her shoulders so that she winced with pain. The old man immediately looked repentant.

  ‘Forgive me, Lady Frances,’ he said in a softer voice, his fingers relaxing slightly. ‘But the part you are to play is vital now. Whereas before you were to deliver the princess into Sir Everard’s care as soon as Catesby gave the signal, now you are to keep her from him at all costs – even if it puts your own life at peril. I will send word as soon as I hear that the enterprise has been set in motion. You must then keep the princess at Coombe, ready for Catesby and his men to ride north and claim her when they have destroyed the k
ing and his Parliament.’

  ‘But if Cecil knows of the plot, how can they be sure of success?’ Frances demanded.

  ‘Catesby has given Sir Everard false details about the chambers in Westminster. God willing, by the time that Cecil’s men discover their location, it will be too late.’

  Frances stared at Father Garnet. Though his mouth was set in a determined line, his eyes betrayed the same fear that was coursing through her own body.

  ‘I will give my life to protect the princess, to help restore freedom to the people of this kingdom,’ she vowed. ‘But am I to face Sir Everard alone? I do not believe that Lord Harington can be trusted to support us.’

  ‘Lord Harington will turn with the wind,’ the priest replied with a grimace. ‘If he is assured of Catesby’s success, then he will do everything in his power to keep the princess at Coombe and claim some of the glory when she is crowned.’

  ‘And if he is not?’ The words came out as barely a whisper.

  ‘Then you must take courage, as your father says.’

  He reached inside the folds of his gown and pulled out a narrow object sheathed in cloth.

  ‘You will not be entirely defenceless,’ he said, handing it to her.

  Slowly, Frances pulled back the material and gave a small gasp as the sun reflected off the blade in her hands. Though small enough to conceal in her pocket, the dagger looked deadly sharp, and the cloth was frayed where it had been wrapped around the point. In the hilt, a red jewel glittered.

  ‘It was my father’s,’ the priest said softly. ‘He had the stone set into it as a symbol of our name. I have been fortunate never to have used it, though its presence has given me comfort these past months. I hope it will do the same for you.’

  Frances kept her eyes fixed upon the jewel.

  ‘Thank you, Father Garnet,’ she whispered at last. Slowly, she wrapped the cloth around the blade again, and carefully slid it into the pocket of her dress. Turning, she began to follow in Sir Everard’s wake. With every step she took, the dagger nudged against her thigh. Even through the layers of material, she felt it cold and hard as a tomb.

  CHAPTER 39

  29 October

  Frances slowed her horse to a trot as she glimpsed the red sandstone turrets of Kenilworth Castle ahead. The imposing fortress reminded her of a vast eagle, sitting, wings outstretched, atop its eyrie, looking down on its prey. As the wind whipped about her, stinging her face and blowing a loose strand of hair across her eyes, she felt a shiver of foreboding.

  The princess had ridden ahead, but drew up her horse now.

  ‘Isn’t it magnificent, Frances?’ she called over her shoulder. ‘I wonder that she could have refused him!’

  Her cheeks were flushed, and Frances could see her little chest rise and fall as she caught her breath. Thanks to their frequent afternoon excursions, she had become an accomplished horsewoman.

  As Frances drew level with her, she looked back at the castle. The weathervane on top of Leicester’s magnificent gatehouse glittered briefly as the sun emerged from the clouds. The earl had lavished great expense on the place in one final effort to persuade Queen Elizabeth to marry him. Frances’s mother had been there, and had often described the splendid banquets, masques, and fireworks. But it had all come to nothing. The queen had given only smiles and promises, and her favourite had been left disappointed, as well as near-bankrupt.

  This morning’s excursion had been the princess’s idea. Sir Everard and his company had left for Coughton the day after their arrival at Coombe, much to the girl’s disappointment. She had done little to conceal her boredom ever since, and even Lord Harington had grown impatient with her heavy sighs and petulant outbursts. Though Frances had had some misgivings about straying so far from Coombe, she felt a certain relief at being no longer confined to its gloomy chambers. The constant waiting and watching made the hours pass by so slowly, and at times she fancied that the walls were gradually closing in on them.

  Lord Harington had enquired closely into every aspect of their ride. He had even suggested joining them, but to Frances’s relief the princess had insisted that he stay behind. ‘He would slow us down terribly,’ she had whispered to Frances as soon as he had left the room. ‘He blames the pain in his leg for riding so badly, but I fancy he has never been a good horseman.’

  Though Catesby had assured her that Harington was a true Catholic and could be relied upon to support the plot when the time came, Frances had her doubts. For all she knew, in this world of endlessly shifting allegiances, he could just as easily be in Cecil’s pay too. They had never spoken of the plot, though she had been in his household for seven months now. The more time passed, the less inclined she felt to test Catesby’s assurance.

  A sudden thundering of hooves behind them made Frances start. Instinctively, her hand flew to the dagger concealed in the folds of her gown, while with the other she reached across to grab the reins of the princess’s horse. Turning around, they saw Carter approaching over the hill. The wind must have whipped the sound of his approach away until now, because within a few moments he had drawn level with them. There was a sheen of sweat on his brow, and his hair was matted at his temples.

  Briskly, he raised his cap, then addressed the princess.

  ‘Your Grace, Lord Harington commanded me to bring you back to the abbey without delay. He has received grave news from the court.’

  Elizabeth grew pale.

  ‘Is it my mother?’ she asked in a small voice. ‘My little sister?’

  Carter paused before replying, clearly enjoying his moment of power, however fleeting. Frances felt a stab of loathing.

  ‘No, Your Grace. But I am not at liberty to reveal anything further. Lord Harington wishes to tell you himself.’

  ‘Well, whatever it is, I am sure that it can wait until we have returned from our ride, Mr Carter,’ Frances interrupted curtly. ‘The princess was greatly looking forward to it, and I am sure you have no wish to displease her.’

  ‘Of course not, my lady,’ Carter cut in quickly. ‘But my orders were to convey you to the abbey at once.’ He drew himself up before adding: ‘Lord Harington is acting upon orders from the Earl of Salisbury, who represents the king in this matter.’

  Cecil. The mention of his name sent a jolt of fear through Frances. Was this a trick? Were they being lured back to Coombe so that Sir Everard could seize his prey?

  ‘You are quite sure my family are all well?’ Elizabeth persisted.

  ‘I have heard nothing to the contrary, Your Grace,’ he replied.

  The girl’s shoulders dropped, and she sighed deeply. She glanced up at Frances with a look of resignation.

  ‘Very well. Then we will come with you. But it had better be worth the trouble,’ she added with a glare, then pushed her horse forward at a good pace. Frances had no time to protest, but spurred her own horse on, and followed close behind.

  Lord Harington was standing at the door as they rode up the drive. His face was grave. After a cursory greeting, he asked the princess and Frances to accompany him to the library. Carter made to follow, but was swiftly dismissed. Frances could not help feeling a prick of satisfaction as she watched him strut resentfully away.

  A fire was roaring in the grate, but the room was dimly lit. A solitary candle burned on Lord Harington’s desk, illuminating a folded letter. Frances noticed that it bore a large seal, which had been broken. The old man gestured for them both to sit. Frances flashed a quick smile of reassurance to the princess, who had not regained her colour, even after the rapid ride back to the abbey.

  ‘Your Highness, the Earl of Salisbury has discovered a most horrible conspiracy against your father the king.’ Lord Harington remained standing as he spoke, his voice low. ‘He has ordered me to keep you under close guard here at Coombe.’

  Frances felt her throat constricting.

  ‘Do they mean to murder me too?’ Elizabeth whispered, her eyes wide.

  The old man regarded her kindly. ‘No, ma’
am, but the earl wishes to take no chances.’

  ‘There is always talk of conspiracies, my lord,’ Frances observed quietly. ‘What proof can Salisbury have that this one is cause for alarm?’

  She saw Lord Harington’s eyes flick across to his writing desk.

  ‘Lord Monteagle received a letter from one of the conspirators,’ he replied.

  Frances knew the name at once, though she had never met him. He was the brother-in-law of Francis Tresham, and, despite his Catholic sympathies, a member of the House of Lords. Tom had spoken of him warmly.

  ‘It seems that their plans centred around Parliament, which will meet on the fifth.’ Lord Harington continued. ‘Whoever wrote the letter warned Monteagle not to attend. Fortunately he did not hesitate to take it straight to Cecil.’

  Elizabeth started. ‘Henry is to attend that too,’ she whispered, almost to herself. Frances reached forward and stroked her hand, which was icy cold.

  ‘Do not concern yourself, Your Highness. He can come to no harm, now that the plot has been uncovered.’ She turned to Lord Harington, her mouth suddenly dry. ‘Does Salisbury know who the conspirators are?’

  ‘He did not say so, Lady Frances.’ He held up his hand when he saw that she was about to speak again. ‘I know of no further details. The purpose of his letter was to instruct me to safeguard the princess.’ He returned her gaze unflinchingly, but she did not know if he spoke the truth.

  ‘So I am to be kept prisoner here?’ Elizabeth’s voice cut through the silence. It was laced with indignation.

  ‘Only until the danger has passed, Your Grace,’ Lord Harington replied soothingly.

  The princess looked appealingly at Frances, but her attendant was lost in thought. With a heavy sigh, the girl stood up abruptly and gave a curt nod of farewell to their host, then swept from the room.

  ‘Lady Frances?’ Lord Harington’s voice made her start.

  ‘Forgive me,’ she said hastily, getting to her feet. ‘I must attend the princess.’

  She made to follow Elizabeth, but the old man caught her arm. His grip was surprisingly strong.