by Tracy Borman
‘Go well, my sow.’
The duke’s words rang out across the stable-yard, prompting audible gasps. This latest nickname was the most outrageous yet. Frances had hardly believed it when Thomas had told her. Yet looking at James now, she could see how he delighted in his favourite’s over-familiarity.
‘Ye’re sure ye will not accompany me, Steenie?’
Buckingham shook his head regretfully. ‘Please – do not ask again. It grieves me sorely that I am not yet strong enough, after my recent malady. The hours will be long until you return,’ he added, kissing his master’s hand, then raising it to his cheek.
Frances’s lips curled. If he’d suffered from anything, it was an excess of wine the night before. She watched as James brought his fingers to his lips and raised them to his favourite, then pulled on the reins and gave another grimace of pain as his horse broke into a trot. Thomas smiled briefly at her before following in his wake.
The courtiers were quick to disperse, and Frances heard mutterings against the duke as they passed. He would care little for their disapproval. The only thing that would pain him was if they ceased to talk of him at all. She had no desire to engage in idle gossip and waited until the yard was deserted. As the sun emerged briefly from behind the heavy clouds, Frances saw something shining on the cobbles. Realising it was the discarded stirrup, she stooped to pick it up. Poor Brett. He had learned all too quickly of how fickle the King’s favour could be. Well, he might have some small reward for his pains, she resolved, as she put the beautifully wrought silver into her pocket and made her way towards the palace. She would find an opportunity to give it back to him later.
As she reached the gateway to the outer courtyard, she hesitated. The thought of whiling away the hours in her husband’s apartment was hardly appealing, but it was too cold to meander around the privy gardens. Then an idea struck her. It had been many weeks since she had visited Lord Bacon and he avoided Whitehall, these days. A brisk walk to the Temple would revive her, and she could take him the thistle and feverfew tincture she had prepared against the ague that often afflicted him in winter.
A little over half an hour later, she was standing at the door of his humble lodgings. Her cheeks were flushed and her skin prickled as it cooled in the dank air of the dimly lit corridor. After a few moments, she heard the light tread of footsteps on the other side of the door – too rapid for her friend’s. She had just begun to wonder if he had at last found the means to employ a servant when a weasel-faced man emerged from the chamber beyond. He darted a furtive look at Frances before scurrying down the passage and out of sight. With mounting apprehension, she pushed open the door, which had been left ajar.
Bacon looked up from his writing desk, his quill suspended over the paper. ‘You must truly be a witch, for barely had I written your name than you appear before me.’ Although there was humour in his voice, Frances noted his pallor. She closed the door behind her.
‘Who was that man?’
He gestured for her to sit down. ‘When the King first ordered me to find the late Queen’s jewels, I employed a number of associates to help me in the task. That gentleman was one of them. I had not thought to see him again, but it seems he was more steadfast than I gave him credit for. He has just returned from France.’
Frances’s breathing quickened. ‘He has found the jewels?’ she whispered.
‘Not quite,’ Bacon replied, setting down the quill. ‘But he has discovered the whereabouts of Lady Ruthven.’ He glanced at the door, as if fearing they were overheard. ‘I have had various reports over the years,’ he continued, ‘that the lady has been sighted in Paris, Fontainebleau . . . even Rome. But it seems that all the while she has been living a day’s ride from where she began, in Guînes at the Abbaye du Saint-Benoit.’
Frances was silent, taking this in.
‘If this were all, I would be content to let the lady live out her days in peace,’ he went on, ‘but my agent is not the only one to have discovered her whereabouts. He became aware that someone else was watching the comings and goings of the Abbaye. A few discreet enquiries suggested that the other gentleman was in the pay of the Marquis de Châteauneuf.’
The French envoy. Frances thought back to the various receptions at which she had seen him, always with the Duke of Buckingham in close attendance.
‘There is more.’ Bacon’s words interrupted her racing thoughts. ‘A third gentleman arrived in Guînes, before my agent’s departure. He visited Châteauneuf’s agent at his lodgings and they were in conference for almost an hour. When he departed, my associate followed him to the port at Calais, where he boarded a small vessel bound for England. The crew were dressed in Buckingham’s livery.’
Frances stared. It was as she had suspected. Having been abandoned by the King of Spain, the duke had changed his allegiance to France.
‘What does he stand to gain from this?’ she asked.
Bacon spread his hands. ‘What he has always striven for. Riches and power. You can be sure that if Châteauneuf’s agent seizes the jewels, the duke will demand his share.’
‘In recompense for arranging the prince’s marriage to the French King’s sister?’
Bacon inclined his head. ‘An excellent bargain.’
So that was why Buckingham had declined to join the hunt. He and Châteauneuf had taken the opportunity to conspire in private, now that the jewels were almost within their grasp.
‘But what if His Majesty proves unwilling? Châteauneuf has been at court for almost five months now, yet still negotiations have not begun for an alliance.’
Her friend’s expression darkened. ‘Even before I left his service, I could see that the King was growing frail – in body as well as mind. Buckingham would not flinch from hastening his end, as he has others before him.’
Frances thought of Lord Rutland’s son lying lifeless in his father’s arms. Although she had not seen Dr Lambe since his appearance in the masque, she had little doubt that Buckingham might summon him at a moment’s notice. Or perhaps the duke had learned enough to prepare the poison himself this time.
‘There is still the prince . . .’ Frances began.
‘He is of noble heart but is no match for Buckingham,’ Bacon countered. ‘The duke would find the means to dominate him as he has his father.’
For several minutes, the only sound in the gloomy chamber was the hiss and gutter of the tallow candles in their sconces.
Frances’s voice cut across the silence. ‘Then I must find a way to warn Lady Ruthven before it is too late.’
CHAPTER 58
18 February
The prince sat back in the chair, his face ashen. For several moments, he said nothing. Frances began to fear that she had made the wrong choice in coming to him. Thomas would not return for hours yet and, desperate though she was to confide in her husband, she had not wanted to risk delaying. With mounting apprehension, she studied Charles’s expression. Had she miscalculated? Was the cordiality that seemed to exist between him and Buckingham more than the pretence she had assumed it was – on the prince’s part at least? If so, he might take her words as slander.
‘You are quite sure that the duke plans to murder my father, if this alliance does not come to pass?’ he asked.
Frances nodded. ‘I fear so, Your Grace. He will surely stop at nothing to seize what he considers his share of your mother’s jewels.’
His mouth twisted with distaste. ‘I’ll wager Châteauneuf’s master will not share in the spoils. The marquis is as grasping as my father’s favourite.’
Frances’s silence signalled her agreement.
‘The irony is that I am in accord with this alliance,’ the prince continued. ‘Before she died, I promised my mother that I would marry a princess of the faith. She had in mind the infanta, but the duke destroyed that with his greed and scheming. Young though she is, the French King’s sister is praised for her piety. I have no doubt that my mother would have approved of the match. By God, I will not let that
man destroy this marriage too.’ He banged his fist on the table next to him. ‘I should have acted against him before now – the Lord knows I have not lacked the opportunity. But always I have been drawn to caution – to watch and wait for him to damn himself and save me the trouble. I have been a fool. I—’ He broke off, his face flushed with fury.
‘You must not chastise yourself, Your Grace,’ Frances said. ‘Other men have shown less restraint – less wisdom, too – and all have fallen at his hands. I shared your hope that he would have destroyed himself by now. But the King is as much in his power as ever. Little wonder it is whispered the duke has bewitched him.’
‘Or that devil Lambe,’ Charles muttered. ‘You are too forgiving, Lady Tyringham. What you describe as restraint and wisdom would be deemed by most as indecision and cowardice. The people of this realm look to me as their future king. I must learn to act with greater resolve, as my late brother would have done.’
And plunged us into disaster. Frances tried to hide her disdain at the mention of Prince Henry. The younger brother whom he had teased so mercilessly had already shown more kingly qualities than James’s late heir ever had.
‘Buckingham will only act against my father if he believes the jewels are within his grasp,’ Charles continued. ‘I must find them before Châteauneuf’s agent does. I will send a trusted servant to Lady Ruthven. She knows they are mine by right, that my mother bequeathed them to me. I have never believed she stole the jewels but that she has been protecting them until such time as she judges it safe to return them to me.’
Frances considered this. ‘How can you be sure that your servant will gain admission to the Abbaye?’
‘I will send my mother’s ring as assurance.’ Charles spoke with conviction, but Frances saw the uncertainty in his eyes.
‘Lady Ruthven has evaded capture for more than five years now and has probably spent most of those at the Abbaye – nowhere else could offer her such sanctuary. Even if your mother’s ring is passed to her, it may not provide enough reassurance. Such a thing might easily have fallen into the wrong hands in such treacherous times.’
‘Then what am I to do? I can hardly go there myself. A prince attracts great notice wherever he is.’
Frances took a breath. ‘But I do not.’ Her eyes blazed into Charles’s. ‘Lady Ruthven knows and trusts me. The late Queen summoned me to attend her upon my first arriving at your father’s court many years ago. I helped her through a sickness that might have claimed her life. She was there when I visited Her Grace for the last time at Hampton Court. She knows that I am of the true faith.’
Although the prince’s brow was furrowed, his eyes were alight with hope. ‘You would be putting yourself at great risk, Lady Tyringham. Why would you do so to save the life of a king who has blighted your own?’
‘I would do this to honour the late Queen and Your Grace.’ And to destroy the Duke of Buckingham. The unspoken motive was the strongest, and she prayed that God would forgive her.
The prince clasped her hand. ‘Be assured that such a service will have its reward. I know that you and your husband have suffered ill fortune these past years, with the loss of Sir Thomas’s estates and no doubt more besides. It has pained me that I have been powerless to assist you. I persuaded my father to restore Tyringham Hall to your husband as a mark of his loyal service, but the duke discovered it and altered his mind – as he always does,’ he added bitterly. ‘Thereafter the King would hear no further word on the matter.’
Frances’s desire for revenge against Buckingham was sharpened by this revelation. He had all the petulance of an indulged child who would not rest until he had robbed his companions of their playthings, even though they were of little worth to him.
‘Everything I have is at my father’s hands, and for as long as Buckingham has him in thrall I could not grant Sir Thomas so much as a shilling. But the late Queen bequeathed those jewels to me alone. If you recover them, I will restore your fortune – your husband’s too – and more besides.’
Frances curtsied and kissed the prince’s hand. ‘Thank you, Your Grace. But you must know that I am not undertaking this enterprise for material reward.’
Charles inclined his head. ‘When I am king – which, pray God, may not be for many years yet – I will surround myself with those who have proven their loyalty . . . and their faith.’
Frances’s eyes shone. It was as if God had shown his hand at last. Tom had not died in vain. Neither had everything that she and her husband had suffered been for nothing. This prince, whose heart was as pure as his father’s was corrupted, would restore the kingdom to the Catholic fold.
‘It is imperative that the King is kept safe from Buckingham until you return, lest the duke should grow impatient and put his plan into place before he has the jewels. My father has talked of going to Theobalds when the winter has abated. I will persuade him to make the journey earlier – already he grows restless for fresh hunting ground so it will be easy enough. I will go with him, as will Sir Thomas, of course. Buckingham will be content to remain at Whitehall if he is promised full authority during my father’s absence.’
Frances knew the truth of this. The duke had missed the last few hunting expeditions for the same reason.
‘You will not go to France alone, Lady Tyringham. The man I had in mind for the enterprise will accompany you. He has served in the King’s army for many years. I would trust him with my life – as I trust him with yours.’ He hesitated. ‘This scheme must be known to the three of us alone. The more people who hear of it, the greater the risk that Buckingham or the marquis will discover it. I must ask that you keep it even from your own husband.’
Frances felt uneasy. She longed to tell Thomas of what she had overheard, seek his blessing for the hazardous venture in which she was now embroiled. She had learned to her cost how destructive secrets were between them. But she knew, too, that if she told him of their plan, he would not let her go. After a pause, she nodded.
‘Anyone would think you had never bade me farewell before.’ Thomas grinned as she clung to him again.
Frances did not reply, but pressed her cheek against his chest, breathing in the familiar scent.
‘We will return within a fortnight – three weeks, at most. His Majesty will not want to be parted from the duke for longer.’ Frances caught the bitterness in his last words.
‘I wish I could come with you.’ That at least was true. She had felt her resolve crumble since her meeting with the prince. The enormity of what she was undertaking had tormented her as she had lain awake that night, the prospect of returning to England with the jewels – and her life – intact seeming more distant with every passing hour. She had hardly slept for the two nights since then, and her nerves had been worn to shreds by the long hours of waiting for the King and his entourage to depart for Hertfordshire.
Buckingham had seemed more reluctant to stay behind than the prince had calculated, and his sullenness had wrought tears from his royal master, who was loath to do anything that grieved his favourite. But Frances was convinced that it had all been for show. For as long as the Marquis de Châteauneuf remained at Whitehall, the duke would not wish to be far away.
‘The court will be depleted, it is true, but you rarely seek company here these days,’ her husband reasoned, interrupting her thoughts. ‘I am sure Lord Bacon would be delighted to receive you. It is many weeks since you have seen him.’
Frances said nothing. She did not wish to entangle herself in more lies.
‘You are sure all is well, my love?’ Thomas said, holding her at arm’s-length so that he could study her face. ‘You have been very quiet for the past couple of days. Is it George? His last letter can have given you no cause for anxiety. He seems to have forgotten all about the court . . . the duke too.’
‘No, it is not that – it is not anything,’ she said brightly. ‘I am tired, that is all. Perhaps you will persuade the King to grant you a leave of absence so that we may visit our boys, once
. . .’ Once all this is over. ‘. . . once the spring has come.’ she finished.
‘I should like that very much,’ her husband replied, with a smile. ‘Let us pray that this visit sates his appetite for hunting – for a time at least. Now, I must go and make ready, or there will be no hunting at all.’ He kissed her warmly on the lips.
‘Thomas,’ she said quickly, reaching for his hand as he made for the door. He turned to her, his smile faltering as he saw her expression. ‘I love you.’
‘And I you – more than ever,’ he replied, kissing her once more.
As the door closed behind him, Frances wondered if she would ever set eyes upon her husband again.
CHAPTER 59
25 February
‘Draw on the sail,’ the boatman commanded. ‘The sluice gates are hard by.’
It seemed an age until they had passed through the gates and into the calmer waters of Calais harbour. Frances sucked in a deep breath and felt the nausea recede at last. She stole a glance at the prince’s servant. John Felton was a sullen, taciturn man, and had barely spoken two words to her since their first meeting at Rochester. They had ridden from there to Dover in silence. It was as well, Frances mused. The less he knew of her, the better. But she would have liked to know more about him – to find out how he had earned Charles’s trust. Admirable qualities must lie hidden behind his surly manner, she supposed. He was certainly physically impressive – broad-shouldered and taller than any man she had met. In that respect, at least, she felt reassured by his presence.
They had reached the landing stage now and Frances waited impatiently while the boatman secured the vessel. She was so glad to step onto the solid wooden platform that she almost forgot the heavy apprehension at what lay ahead. Drawing her hood over her face, she took the arm that Felton proffered, wondering vaguely if anyone would question that they were man and wife, and kept her eyes fixed on the ground as he led her away from the harbour.