Fallen Angel

by Tracy Borman

  ‘Yes – though God knows what put the thought into his head. The snow has begun to thaw so the roads will be treacherous and the fields will have turned to mud by the time we arrive. Besides, he has business enough to attend to here, given the late tidings from Bohemia.’

  ‘Is there no hope that he will rally troops to support the princess and her husband?’

  Thomas squeezed her hand but did not reply. Frances’s heart sank as he went back into the bedchamber to continue dressing. ‘Where will you go?’ she called, drawing off her cloak.

  ‘North-eastwards, towards Waltham Forest.’

  The cords fell limp in her fingers.

  ‘Buckingham advised that the ground would be firmer there, with so much woodland to shelter it,’ her husband went on. ‘He seems to have given little thought to the roads that lie between here and there.’

  Frances tried to make herself see reason. It was a coincidence, nothing more. Waltham was known for its fine hunting ground, so it was natural that the earl should recommend it. The forest lay some distance to the north of the abbey. God willing, Lord Rutland would have passed it long before the King’s hunting party arrived.

  ‘When will you depart?’ she asked, as Thomas emerged from the chamber, fiddling with the ties at his wrists. She stepped forward to help him.

  ‘As soon as the King’s horse has been saddled. I have prepared the hounds, and my master has ridden ahead to alert the prior.’

  Frances’s fingers stilled. ‘Lord Rutland travelled that way.’

  ‘But that was many hours ago,’ he reminded her. ‘Buckingham rides like the wind, but he would require the speed of the devil to overtake the earl’s carriage.’ Frances saw a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. ‘I must make haste,’ he said. ‘The King will be impatient to set out.’

  She nodded, mute, and watched as he strode towards the door.

  ‘God protect you.’ The words she always said to him when he set out for the hunt held even greater meaning now. She listened until his rapid footsteps had faded into silence.

  ‘You have bested me again.’ Frances laid down her cards.

  Kate smiled ruefully. ‘You are letting me win today, I am sure of it. I do not usually possess such skill.’

  Frances looked out of the window while her friend gathered up the cards and began to shuffle them. The gallery overlooked the northernmost courtyard of the palace, which was why she had suggested they meet there, rather than in either of their chambers as was their custom. It was approaching four o’clock and the light was fading rapidly. Thomas had left several hours before, and with each one that passed Frances’s nerves had been pulled tighter.

  ‘The hunting party will soon return, will it not?’ Kate asked, echoing her thoughts.

  She nodded distractedly.

  ‘You must not fear for Thomas,’ Kate went on. ‘He is an accomplished rider and you yourself said that he takes greater care since the accident at my father’s estate. It is strange to think you were living at Belvoir for so many weeks yet I did not see you.’

  Or were prevented from doing so, Frances thought. Kate had been little more than a child at the time, and entirely subject to her stepmother’s will. Countess Cecilia would not have wanted her to be introduced to the King, when she had sons of her own to parade before him. She turned away from the window, but her smile faded as she saw the Countess of Buckingham making her stately progress along the gallery, flanked by her usual entourage of attendants. She has more ladies than the late Queen.

  ‘What a pleasant surprise to see you here, Lady Katherine!’

  Frances saw the girl blanch as she rose to curtsy.

  ‘Lady Tyringham.’ The older woman eyed Frances coldly. ‘You ladies keep to your chamber so much that I have come to despair of enjoying your company.’ Without waiting to be invited, she lowered herself onto an empty chair between them. ‘What are you playing there?’

  ‘Primero.’ Kate began to shuffle the cards again, but Frances saw that her hands trembled.

  The countess tutted. ‘Imperial is far better – here, give them to me.’ She took the cards from her. ‘I will teach you.’

  ‘Lady Katherine and I have played it many times, madam,’ Frances said brightly. ‘In fact, we have rather tired of it.’ She was gratified to see the countess’s eyes flash with anger before she regained her superior expression.

  ‘Nonsense.’ She flicked the cards into three neat piles as the younger women watched. With a sinking heart, Frances picked up her hand. They played in silence for a few moments.

  ‘You seem distracted, Lady Tyringham. That is the third time you have looked out of the window in as many minutes. I warn you – you need to be on your guard with me. I am a much more accomplished player than Lady Katherine – am I not, my dear?’ She patted Kate’s hand.

  ‘A prime, I believe?’ Frances said, turning over her cards.

  The countess pursed her lips. ‘Well played,’ she replied tightly. ‘The best of three?’ She did not wait for them to reply before she dealt the cards again, humming as she did so. Frances found her cheerfulness unnerving. It was only the previous evening that John Lambe had remarked upon his mistress’s ill humour. She wondered what had changed.

  ‘I hope the King has had good hunting today,’ she continued, as they each studied their cards. ‘My son too.’ Her eyes flicked up to Frances. ‘He always catches his prey, in the end.’

  Frances looked steadily back at her. Which prey did she mean – Lord Rutland’s son or his daughter? Both, perhaps. She glanced at her friend, fearful in case she had picked up on the implication. She had decided against telling Kate of her father’s flight to Belvoir until she received word that he and her little brother had arrived safely. The poor girl’s nerves were worn to shreds as it was. Studying her discreetly now, she could not tell whether her downturned mouth was due to her having picked up on the countess’s goading or simply to her natural aversion towards her.

  ‘I wonder that they thought to hunt at all today.’ Frances was arranging the cards in her hand. ‘It is hardly the weather for it, and there will only have been light enough for a few hours’ riding at most.’

  ‘That is all they will have needed,’ the countess said, with a smirk.

  Frances tried hard to focus on her cards. She must not read meaning into Lady Buckingham’s words where none existed.

  ‘Tell me, how are your sons, Lady Tyringham?’ she continued. ‘Boys are such a comfort to their mother, are they not? Certainly my George is to me.’

  More than people realise. ‘And Lord Purbeck, of course. You must be looking forward to a first grandchild.’ She was pleased to see the countess’s lips purse again. That her eldest son was living apart from his new wife was one of the worst kept secrets at court.

  ‘Of course,’ Lady Buckingham replied briskly. ‘Though I feel sure that George will steal a march on him.’ She directed a sly look at Kate, who stared intently at her cards, a flush creeping up her neck. ‘I wonder that you do not spend more time at Tyringham Hall,’ she persisted, staring at Frances. ‘I am sure His Majesty would be only too glad to grant you leave – and my son could arrange it if there is any difficulty.’

  ‘You are most kind, madam,’ Frances said, ‘but I am not minded to go there at present. When the spring comes, perhaps. I have too much to occupy me here for now.’

  ‘Oh?’ The countess arched an eyebrow. ‘I cannot think what might entice you to remain here at Whitehall. You have so little company.’

  Frances smiled at Kate. ‘Ah, but that which I have is worth keeping. I am blessed in my friends – my husband, too.’ She was glad to see Kate smile shyly back.

  This silenced the countess for a time, and all three women appeared to turn their attention to the game. Frances resisted the temptation to steal another look into the courtyard. It was so dark now that she would not be able to see much anyway. Instead, she allowed her gaze to wander over to the group of young ladies who had accompanied their mistress. Most
seemed rather bored and were picking at their dresses or slowly fanning themselves – though the meagre heat from the fire hardly warranted it. Then her eyes alighted upon one who was sitting slightly apart from the rest. She was a good deal younger and appeared ill at ease. When the girl raised her eyes, Frances felt sure she had seen her somewhere before.

  The clatter of hoofs in the courtyard distracted her. The countess was first to the window, pushing past Frances in her eagerness. ‘My son has returned!’ she exclaimed joyfully. ‘Excuse me, Lady Katherine, but I must go and greet him. Perhaps you would like to come with me.’

  Kate sent Frances a panicked look.

  ‘I promised Lady Katherine that I would help her dress for dinner,’ Frances said, with a smile. ‘I had not realised it had grown so late.’

  ‘There is plenty of time,’ the countess retorted, craning her neck for a better view of the courtyard. ‘Besides,’ she turned to face them now, with a sly smile, ‘I am sure you must be anxious to see your father.’

  Frances closed her eyes.

  ‘My father?’ Kate whispered, growing pale.

  ‘Why, yes,’ Lady Buckingham replied scornfully. ‘I wonder that you look so amazed. You have expected him for long enough – as have we all.’ She looked from Kate to Frances, as if to make sure that her words had hit their mark, then swept past them and strode along the gallery.

  Frances saw her own horror reflected in Kate’s eyes as they stared at each other, then hastened in her wake.

  CHAPTER 39

  2 February

  Frances shivered, cowering against the thick yew hedge, as if it might warm as well as conceal her. The chapel bell had long since struck the hour. Her fear that something had happened to prevent Lord Rutland from coming increased with every passing minute.

  She knew they were taking a risk in meeting. Buckingham’s attendants had kept constant watch on them since Lord Rutland’s return to court. The marquess and his mother would not let him escape their clutches a second time – or his precious son. Kate had told her that her little brother was beginning to settle after the fright of his father’s arrest at Waltham. Buckingham had been careful not to use that word, of course: he had simply been escorting the earl to court. That Lord Rutland had been heading northwards, away from London, had not been mentioned. As far as the King was concerned, the meeting had been entirely fortuitous. Thomas told her that Buckingham and the earl had been waiting for the royal party at Waltham Abbey when it arrived.

  ‘Forgive me, Lady Tyringham.’

  Frances had not heard Lord Rutland approach. A light rain had begun to fall and his hair already hung limply beneath his hat. ‘How is your son, my lord?’

  He gave a shrug. ‘Better, I think – though still very fretful. Kate is with him now. Her presence calms him greatly. She is so gentle, so patient . . .’ His voice trailed off and Frances looked away until he had composed himself.

  ‘I have brought some more,’ she said quietly, pressing the small glass phial into his hand. ‘Use it as before, mixing it into his broth so that he does not taste it.’ Or mention it, she thought. With Buckingham and his mother paying such regular visits to the boy, she was anxious to ensure that he said nothing that might excite their suspicions.

  ‘Thank you.’ He grasped her hand as he took the tincture. His fingers felt warm, despite the chill night air. ‘I know what danger you place yourself in by helping my boy. I owe you an even greater debt now.’

  ‘His recovery is the only reward I seek. Has Dr Lambe attended him yet?’

  Her friend shook his head. ‘No. But I fear it cannot be long. The King sent a message this morning, enquiring after my son and recommending the services of Lady Buckingham’s physician.’

  ‘It is a recommendation only. He cannot force you to comply.’ Even as she spoke the words, she knew them to be false. A refusal would cause offence at a time when Lord Rutland’s favour with the King was already diminishing.

  ‘I would do anything to protect my poor boy,’ he said. ‘If I cannot ignore His Majesty’s recommendation, then I will at least ensure that I am with him when Lambe presents himself.’

  ‘If he attempts to administer any remedies, you must accept them gratefully and promise to give them to Lord Ros yourself. Then bring them to me as soon as you are able, and I will replace them with my own.’

  ‘You truly believe that he means to poison my son?’

  Frances knew she must not allow her view of Buckingham and his mother to cloud her judgement. But if Lambe nursed the boy back to health, it would surely destroy their schemes to seize the Rutland fortune. ‘I can see no other reason why they would go to such lengths to have your son brought to Whitehall. You know how much Buckingham stands to gain if he marries Lady Katherine and she becomes your sole heir.’

  Lord Rutland nodded grimly. ‘He will stop at nothing in his pursuit of riches and power. But I would rather be damned to hell than see poor Kate married to such a devil.’

  Frances placed her hands over his. ‘We must go back now, but send word as soon as Lambe has visited.’

  Frances had examined Dr Lambe’s tincture carefully after Kate had slipped it into her hand during a walk in the gardens two days before. She had recognised the smell of rue straight away. It had contained horehound, too, and perhaps a little betony. All as harmless as they were ineffective against the young lord’s malady. She had even placed a tiny drop on her tongue, to make sure. The physician had given Lord Rutland just a small amount of the remedy, so Frances knew he would soon return with more. She would examine that just as carefully.

  ‘May I join you, my lady?’

  Frances had resigned herself to another interminable evening at court, but now she smiled. ‘It is a pleasure to see you, Lord Bacon. I trust you are well?’

  ‘My knee pains me as much as ever,’ he grumbled, wincing as he sank onto the seat next to her. ‘The poultice I prepared no longer seems to take any effect. But, then, a poor apothecary always blames the herbs with which he works.’

  ‘A little marjoram should help,’ she said in a low voice, ‘and yarrow, if you can find any at this time of year.’

  ‘Thank you, my dear . . . If only all of my woes could be so easily resolved.’

  Frances stole a glance at him. She had heard nothing of the late Queen’s jewels since they had last spoken of the matter. The more time that passed, the greater her hope that Lady Ruthven would evade capture. ‘The lady has still not been found, then?’ she whispered, her eyes upon the groom, who was now smoothing down the heavy scarlet drapes that hung behind the thrones on the dais.

  Bacon inclined his head as the Earl of Worcester took his place on the row in front of them. ‘She has vanished as if by that conjurer’s tricks,’ he murmured.

  Frances followed his gaze to the far corner of the room, where John Lambe was leaning against a pillar, his eyes roaming over the growing crowd of courtiers assembling for the evening’s revels. When he saw her, his mouth lifted and he swept a bow.

  ‘His Majesty means to recall his servants from Saint-Omer,’ Bacon continued. ‘Though he will not let the matter rest there, I am sure. Well now,’ he said, brightening, ‘this is quite a gathering. I wonder what has prompted it?’

  Frances was about to answer when a loud fanfare of trumpets rang out. Everyone rose to their feet and made a deep obeisance as the King strode onto the dais, closely followed by his son. Behind them came Buckingham. Frances was surprised to see that the Spanish ambassador was not with him.

  ‘My lords.’ James addressed the hall from the front of the dais. Frances noticed that his eyes were alight with excitement. By contrast, his favourite appeared unusually subdued. Surely they had not quarrelled. ‘This evening’s revels are staged in honour of a distinguished visitor to my court,’ he went on, his voice rising. ‘I present to ye’ my daughter, the Queen of Bohemia.’

  Frances’s heart was beating so fast she feared she might faint. She closed her eyes, willing this to be a dream, but w
hen she opened them, Princess Elizabeth was standing before her, resplendent in a gown of silver and white, studded with pearls. A high collar of stiff lace framed her face, which had grown even more beautiful than when Frances had last seen her almost seven years before. Her hair was darker and her figure was a little fuller. It reminded Frances that her former mistress was now the mother of three fine boys – a daughter, too. She had rejoiced at the news of each safe delivery.

  Frances realised she had not made her obeisance. Hastily, she dipped into a deep curtsy. When she raised her eyes, she saw the princess flash her a smile before she turned to kneel before her father and kiss his outstretched hand. He motioned for her to stand, then led her to the throne next to his. Frances saw Charles beam at his sister as she sat down. Their father returned to address his court.

  ‘We rejoice at our daughter’s return, brief though it will be. It reminds us of the amity that exists between this kingdom and the Palatine – an amity that will soon be proven with men and arms.’ He gazed out at his courtiers, as if measuring the impact of his words. Behind him, Frances saw Buckingham scowl at his boots. ‘The Emperor Ferdinand has seen fit to challenge my son-in-law’s crown and has enlisted the help of Spain in preventing him and my daughter from returning to the Palatine. Such a challenge cannee go unpunished. An English army shall march in my daughter’s wake to restore her and King Frederick to their rightful domain.’

  Frances peered at her former mistress, who was smiling uncertainly as she surveyed the crowded hall. So that was why Gondomar was absent – and Buckingham appeared so aggrieved. His royal master had abandoned the Spanish alliance in favour of his daughter. The marquess had risen so high that he had forgotten how blood always flowed more thickly than water. She felt hope swell inside her for the first time in many weeks.

  James concluded his speech and moved to take his seat between his son and daughter. Frances saw Buckingham raise his eyes briefly, but his royal master passed him as if he were invisible.