by Tracy Borman
Frances jumped to hear Arbella whisper his name, as if she could read her thoughts.
‘Help him,’ she rasped, her breath rattling in her throat.
Frances watched as the woman’s gaze became fixed and her chest fell still. Several moments passed, but all was silent.
‘My lady?’ the attendant whispered, moving slowly towards her mistress.
Frances rose to her feet and discreetly traced the sign of the cross over her chest. As she moved past the young woman, she saw that her eyes glistened with tears. She said nothing, but walked quietly from the room.
As soon as she was outside, she drew in a deep lungful of the cool morning air. The first tendrils of light were showing on the horizon and the faint shrill of birdsong echoed around the walls. With sudden resolve, Frances quickened her pace in the direction of Raleigh’s apartment.
CHAPTER 11
25 September
‘Lady Frances,’ Raleigh said, with genuine warmth, as he turned from the window to greet her. She knew that he would have seen her approaching, but he had always welcomed her as if she were the only person in the world he wished to see. She returned his smile and caught a glimmer of uncertainty in his eyes. Did he fear she would rail against him for concealing the part he had played in William Cecil’s plot? If so, then he soon recovered himself. As she drew close to him, he took her hand and pressed it to his lips. ‘It does my soul good to see you again.’
Frances gave a small smile, then reached in her pocket and drew out his signet ring. ‘I believe this is yours.’
Raleigh looked contrite. ‘Forgive me for disturbing your slumbers, my lady. I had heard that you had returned to court and could think of no one more suited to help that poor lady.’ He turned and looked out across the green.
‘I’m afraid I could do nothing, Sir Walter,’ Frances replied quietly. ‘She is with God now.’
A long breath escaped Raleigh’s lips. ‘Then I pray He grants her greater peace than she enjoyed in this world.’
‘Arbella spoke of you,’ Frances said. ‘With her last breath, she urged me to help you.’
Raleigh turned back to her. ‘Oh?’ he remarked, raising an eyebrow. ‘That was most kind of her but I have everything I require.’
Frances no longer had the patience for the hints and riddles that her companion had always indulged in. ‘Are you involved in the plot she spoke of? She said her husband stands ready to invade as soon as the King of Spain joins forces with him.’
Raleigh’s eyes widened and the smile faded from his lips. ‘Come, let us sit by the fire. I will have my servant fetch some wine.’
‘I cannot stay,’ Frances said abruptly. ‘I must return to Whitehall before my absence is noted.’ It was not entirely a lie. Even though her formal duties there had ceased, she had often caught the curious stares of her fellow courtiers as she walked through the public rooms or took her place at dinner. No doubt the story of her arrest for witchcraft had been repeated – and embellished – by those who had been there to witness it. It made her yearn for the simple domesticity of her life at Tyringham Hall, with her precious children and woodlands for company.
‘Then let us move from the window, at least.’ Raleigh cupped her elbow and steered her towards the middle of the room. He picked up his pipe from the small table nearby and lit it with a taper he dipped into the embers of the fire. He sucked on it deeply, then blew out a long plume of smoke. Frances had loved the earthy smell ever since she had been a girl and had watched, mesmerised, as her father had prepared the tobacco, rubbing it between his fingers before pressing it down into his pipe. Five years had passed since his death but she missed him keenly. She knew she always would.
‘I have petitioned His Majesty to release me from this place so that I might undertake an expedition in his name,’ Sir Walter began. ‘For several years now he has been obsessed with the idea of finding El Dorado.’
‘The City of Gold?’ Frances could not keep the scorn from her voice. She had heard many outlandish tales about the mythical kingdom from returning adventurers, eager to entice their patrons into funding a fresh voyage. Raleigh himself had undertaken one during the closing years of Elizabeth’s reign, journeying to the furthermost edge of Africa with the promise of bountiful riches echoing in his ears. His fleet had returned laden with nothing more than some brightly coloured silks and caskets of exotic spices. Her mother had told of the Queen’s fury. But it had not deterred Raleigh from launching another expedition the following year, with no more success.
‘Surely you do not still believe that it exists,’ Frances said, incredulous.
Sir Walter’s mouth twitched. ‘The beliefs of a humble subject are of no consequence next to those of a king. If His Grace desires it, then I shall set sail as soon as a fleet can be assembled.’
Frances regarded him closely. ‘You plan to escape by this means?’
Raleigh clicked his tongue and affected a wounded expression. ‘You think me so faithless a subject, my lady? No, I will be true to my word. King James is plagued by fear that his rival the King of Spain will reach the city first. I have therefore pledged to intercept Philip’s fleet before it leaves the port at Cádiz.’
‘Intercept . . . or join it, perhaps,’ Frances wondered.
Raleigh did not answer at first, but his eyes glistened with triumph. ‘Your mind is as sharp as ever, my dear,’ he said eventually. ‘The expedition to El Dorado will indeed be a joint venture between King Philip and me. The gold that we find there will enable us to assemble the mightiest fleet in history. King James’s navy will be as child’s boats fashioned from parchment. We will blow it away – thus,’ he said, puffing out one of the candles on the fireplace.
‘Nobody has yet succeeded in finding the City of Gold,’ Frances pointed out. ‘You yourself failed more than twenty years ago.’
Sir Walter’s smile did not waver. ‘Ah, but I discovered enough to convince me of its existence. I will not fail a third time. And with its riches, King Philip and I will set James’s son Charles upon the throne.’
Frances thought of the pale-faced young man whom she had seen at the feast three weeks before. Though he was his father’s heir, she could not imagine him ever growing in strength enough to wield power over the kingdom. But perhaps therein lay his appeal for Philip: the boy would be little more than a puppet, just as his elder sister Elizabeth would have been if the Powder Treason had succeeded. ‘What has this to do with me?’ she persisted, her voice edged with impatience.
‘At present, the King’s mistrust of me is proving stronger than his desire for riches. I require those who wield influence to speak on my behalf.’
Frances looked doubtful. ‘You cannot think that I enjoy such influence. Even when I served his daughter, I was powerless to sway his opinions.’
Sir Walter sucked at his pipe. ‘Ah, but the same is not true of your husband, I think.’
‘I will not involve Thomas in this,’ she snapped. ‘I returned to court to help him, not plunge him into even greater danger.’ She stopped, angry with herself for having said that much.
Raleigh’s eyes searched hers, but he did not press her to explain. ‘Any man would rejoice to have such a faithful wife,’ he said, without a trace of irony. ‘But Sir Thomas is not the only man who has the King’s ear. I have heard much of young Villiers.’
Frances sniffed. ‘You cannot hope for assistance from that quarter. Sir George serves only himself.’
Raleigh blew out another long plume of smoke. ‘Then I must find a way to persuade him that he stands to gain from the expedition,’ he mused, almost to himself. ‘The dazzle of gold has blinded many a man to the darkness that lies at its core, Lady Frances.’
‘I am so glad to see you,’ Frances said as she buried her face in her husband’s chest. She felt his lips against her scalp as he wound her hair around his fingers.
Thomas had been waiting for her when she had returned from her customary afternoon walk in the palace gardens. She had felt
almost giddy with relief and joy to see him standing there, arms outstretched.
‘I had not dared to hope it would be so soon,’ he replied. ‘We had only three days’ hunting, once the rains had abated, and there was the promise of many more. But the King seemed suddenly anxious to return to London.’
‘Was it the news of Arbella’s death?’ she asked, trailing her fingers idly down his back.
‘I did not expect it to have reached the court so soon,’ Thomas remarked. ‘The King plans to announce it at this evening’s feast.’
Frances drew away so that she could look at him as she spoke. She had thought of keeping it from him, but she knew from bitter experience how secrets gnawed at the intimacy between them. ‘I only know of it because I was summoned to attend her.’
Thomas grew pale at her words. ‘Frances, no!’
‘Please,’ she said, clasping his hands in hers. ‘I did not know whom I was going to see. Her servant came here in the middle of the night and begged me to accompany her. You know that I cannot forsake the skills that God gave me.’
Her husband still looked aghast, but she continued before he could interrupt, telling him of Arbella’s wasted limbs, of the words she had spoken before she died, of her visit to Raleigh. When at last she had finished, he remained silent for so long that she wished she had kept her counsel. But something in his expression told her that he did not share the shock she had experienced upon first hearing the revelations.
At length, he went to the table and poured two glasses of wine. He held one out to her, then sank onto a chair next to the fire. She moved to join him, trying to push down her mounting unease.
‘I am glad that you chose to confide in me this time,’ he began, ‘but it brings shame on me too.’ He sipped his wine. Frances brought her glass to her lips, though her throat felt too tight to swallow. ‘I knew something of this voyage Raleigh is planning. I overheard the King speak of it to Villiers and made some discreet enquiries. It is many years since I was in Flanders, but I have acquaintances there still.’
Frances felt as if she was looking at a stranger. She knew that her husband had spent time in Flanders, quietly garnering support for Tom and his fellow plotters. But the pledge he had made her take on their marriage had been enough to convince her that he, too, would sever all contact with that part of his life.
‘Do not think I have deceived you all these years,’ he went on. ‘It was the first time that I have revived such contact. What I learned was enough to make me think I had cause to doubt Raleigh’s professed purpose in making this voyage – and you have confirmed it.’
‘He surely has no hope of success,’ Frances said. ‘Even if the King could be persuaded to release him, there is little reason to suppose that the Spanish will stir themselves for an invasion – or that Seymour has gathered the army he boasts about.’
‘I have proof of that, at least,’ her husband replied. ‘Arbella’s husband has put his time in exile to profitable use, it seems.’ He took another sip. ‘And Philip has already amassed a huge fleet at Cádiz.’
Frances fell back in her chair. This was the moment for which all of England’s Catholic subjects had been poised since the heretical King had taken the throne. Once she had counted herself among them. But that part of her had died with Prince Henry. Ever since she had been content to keep her faith only in her heart – as Thomas had urged her. She looked at him now. Although his brow was creased with concern, she saw that his eyes were alight with a fervour that made her blood run cold.
CHAPTER 12
3 October
It was an unseasonably warm day and the late summer flowers that had been wilting on their stems seemed to open their blooms to the sun. Frances inhaled their heady fragrance as she strolled alongside the neatly kept borders. She had been delighted at Sir Francis Bacon’s invitation to join him on an excursion to St James’s Park. They had seen each other often since their first meeting a month before. Her new friend had been so kind and attentive, showing such genuine interest in her thoughts and opinions, that her initial shyness had soon faded.
If Thomas was jealous, he did not show it. Frances knew he had no reason to be. Although Bacon clearly enjoyed the company of women – herself in particular – she had never once seen the flicker of desire in his eyes. Perhaps his passions lay elsewhere. Besides, her husband could hardly complain if she sought diversion. Even when he was not away on the hunt, his duties occupied him for most of the day because he needed to ensure that the buckhounds had sufficient exercise.
‘Myrtus communis,’ Bacon muttered, as he stooped to pluck one of the dark green stems. ‘It will bring down a fever more quickly than anything else I have tried.’
And numb even the most severe pain, Frances thought, but merely nodded politely. Friendly though they had become, she knew better than to confide her knowledge of healing to so new an acquaintance.
‘I will gather a few more sprigs now, to add to my collection,’ he said, drawing out a pair of exquisite silver scissors from his pocket.
Frances experienced a jolt of envy. Bacon was respected as a man of science, and his interest in the natural world was therefore accepted and encouraged. If she spoke so openly of such matters, or was seen to be gathering herbs and plants with which to make remedies, she would be hanged as a witch.
‘If you have every species of which you have written then it must be extensive indeed,’ Frances observed, as her companion snipped at the myrtle.
Bacon gave a theatrical sigh. ‘Alice quite despairs of it. She complains that York House is so full of my treasures there is no room for hers.’
Frances had known that Bacon was married, but the better acquainted they had become, the more it had surprised her.
‘Cardinal Wolsey’s former palace? There must be room enough for a whole woodland of species.’ She had passed the mansion on her visit to the Queen two weeks before. It occupied a vast tract of land on the south side of the Strand and was second only to Denmark House in splendour.
Her companion chuckled. ‘Ah, it is the same with plants as with books: one always needs space for more.’
Frances smiled. ‘That is true. My husband has already extended the library at Tyringham twice since our marriage. Does your wife share your interests?’
His expression clouded. ‘Sadly not, Lady Frances. She is much younger than I – we were betrothed when she was just eleven. Her time is spent counting her jewels and ordering new gowns. It is my own fault. I spoiled her during our courtship.’
‘I do not think I have seen her at Whitehall,’ Frances said.
Bacon shook his head. ‘She prefers the company of her gems to that of the King and his courtiers.’
Frances resisted the temptation to say that in this, at least, she was in accord with her – though it was the company of her books she preferred, not her modest collection of jewels.
‘You cannot have much leisure to pursue your studies, now that you are attorney general.’ She moved the conversation away from his marriage.
‘The burden of office does indeed weigh heavily upon my shoulders at present. I hope, in time, to use my proximity to the King to further the cause of scientific discovery.’
They exchanged a look.
‘It will be akin to the labours of Hercules, I admit,’ he added, rolling his eyes. Frances grinned. Her new friend’s irreverence was one of the qualities she admired most in him. ‘But perhaps the strength of his piety will bring him to understand their importance. “All knowledge appeareth to be a plant of God’s own planting,” the prophet Daniel tells us. It is beholden of all His people to help it spread and flourish.’
James never tired of reminding his subjects that he was God’s representative on earth. He had justified all manner of acts on the basis that he was carrying out God’s work, hunting down witches principal among them. She had wondered many times how God must view His servant’s other activities. Surely even James was not so great a hypocrite as to suppose He smiled upon them.
They lapsed into silence as they continued their progress through the park. Looking at the trees on its western edge, Frances noticed that the leaves were already tinged with brown. The woods that surrounded Tyringham Hall were at their most beautiful in autumn, gold, red and rich brown. John had delighted in watching the leaves fall, scampering around the forest to catch them in his plump little fingers. She would miss him doing the same this year, would miss his infant brother’s wonder at the spectacle. Pray God her husband’s affairs here would soon grow more settled so that she could visit their sons before the onset of winter.
‘Tell me, Lady Frances, what do you make of this matter with Somerset’s former acquaintance?’ her companion asked, distracting her from her melancholy thoughts.
‘Sir Thomas Overbury?’ she replied. It was safer not to confide what she knew of the matter. ‘I hardly know. I was not at court when he died.’
‘Hmm. It is a curious business. He was an objectionable sort of fellow and guarded his friendship with Somerset jealously. He despised Lady Somerset – the Countess of Essex, as she was then – on sight and did everything he could to obstruct their marriage. When I heard of his death in the Tower, I assumed he had choked on the gall of envy and spite. But perhaps it was something even more bitter.’
‘Rumours of poison often accompany sudden deaths, particularly those of note,’ Frances said dismissively. An image of Prince Henry flitted before her, his lips parted as she brought the deadly tincture to them.
‘True enough,’ Bacon conceded, ‘but I wonder why there were no such rumours at the time. It is only now, two years later, that there is talk of foul play.’
‘I am sure the court gossips will soon turn to other matters,’ she replied, pretending to focus on a flock of wild geese that had just landed on the large expanse of water to their left.
‘Perhaps.’ A pause. ‘But when such rumours emerge so suddenly, one must always consider whom they serve.’