The Devil's Slave

by Tracy Borman

  ‘No, no – or not a foreign one, at least,’ Cecil replied. ‘The King of Poland was the last of those. No, I am told that Lady Arbella plans to marry someone closer to James’s throne. I only hope that I can discover who it is before she is foolish enough to act.’

  Frances tried to swallow but her throat felt as if it was being squeezed. ‘Do you have any notion of who it might be?’ she whispered.

  A pause.

  ‘Certain names have been suggested, of course,’ he said eventually. ‘I hope that whoever it is does not greatly value their life. Marrying a person of royal blood without the sovereign’s consent is treason – for all involved.’

  Frances made herself turn to him before she spoke. ‘Then God speed your endeavours, my lord.’

  CHAPTER 22

  9 July

  Frances sat bolt upright in bed and listened. There it was again: a volley of thuds that echoed along the corridor outside her apartment. Beside her, George gave a small moan. It was pitch black, but as she scrambled out of bed she caught the flare of a torch outside her window.

  Feeling her way to the door, she opened it as quietly as she could and came face to face with Mistress Knyvett. The light from the old woman’s candle illuminated her panic-stricken eyes and deathly pallor, making her appear like some ghoul that was stalking the palace. Steering her back into the parlour and closing the door behind her, Frances strained to listen.

  Another thunderous volley sounded in the distance.

  ‘Open this door, in the name of the king!’

  The voice was muffled. Too far away to be at her door, Frances realised with relief. She felt Mistress Knyvett tremble and gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze, then padded quietly to the door and pressed her ear to it.

  ‘What is the meaning of this?’

  Another man’s voice this time. Even at a distance, Frances could hear the terror in it. A moment later, there was scuffling and a door slammed. The man’s protests could be heard above the swift clipping of heels on the flagstones. Frances listened as they faded into silence. Then, with sudden resolve, she reached for her cloak. ‘Stay here with George, Mistress Knyvett,’ she said, with greater determination than she felt. ‘I must go to the princess.’

  The old woman nodded, mute.

  Frances slid back the bolt and lifted the latch. She took a breath before opening the door, her ears straining for any sound. All was silent. She let herself out quietly and stood blinking in the gloom. A dim light glowed from the stairs at the end of the cloister and she hastened towards it.

  Quickening her pace, Frances was breathless by the time she reached the top of the stairs but broke into a run when she saw that several lights blazed outside the princess’s apartments at the end of the corridor. Two guards were stationed outside and watched her closely as she entered.

  The room was empty. She had not known what to expect, but it was not this. Looking around, she saw that the door to her mistress’s bedchamber was ajar. She strode towards it and pushed it open, her heart in her mouth. The covers of Elizabeth’s bed had been flung back, as had those of the pallet at its foot.

  ‘The princess has been removed from here for her safety.’

  Frances swung around to face the guard. ‘To where?’

  Without replying, he walked back to his post. After a few moments, Frances followed briskly in his wake. Why wouldn’t he tell her? She was known to be one of Elizabeth’s favourite attendants. Even if her life was in danger, surely Frances should be trusted to accompany her.

  Unless she herself was under suspicion.

  She broke into a run again, but as she fled down the stairs, she lost her footing and fell heavily down the last few, her face slapping against the cold stone floor. She lay there for a few seconds, then carefully raised herself. Her face felt bruised and pain shot through her left ankle as she put her weight on it. Reaching down, she could feel that it was already swelling.

  Frances hesitated. She knew she should return to bed and get what little sleep she could before whatever awaited her in the morning. She should also rest her ankle so that the swelling receded. But the urge to find out what was going on proved stronger. She would go to the queen’s privy chamber.

  Hobbling painfully, Frances was obliged to keep stopping to rest her ankle. By the time she arrived, she was drenched with sweat and every bone in her body ached.

  The guards eyed her closely before raising their halberds so that she could enter. Frances was relieved to hear voices within. The queen turned sharply as she crossed the threshold. ‘Great God! What has happened to you?’ she cried, gesturing urgently to one of her ladies to help Frances to one of the chairs close to where she was sitting.

  ‘It is nothing, Your Majesty. I had a fall. I should have carried a lantern.’

  As she spoke, the same lady brought her a damp linen cloth to wipe her face. Frances dreaded to think what she must look like. The hem of her nightgown was torn and covered with dust. Anne regarded her steadily.

  ‘Where is the princess?’ Frances asked, when she made no move to speak.

  The queen hesitated. ‘Cecil has arranged for her to be taken to St James’s, to be with her brother. He considers it safer there,’ she added, with a touch of impatience.

  ‘So she is in danger here?’ Frances persisted.

  Anne gave a heavy sigh. ‘It is all nonsense, of course. He would have had me go there too, but I refused. There is little wonder that my husband jumps at shadows, with such a man as Cecil to advise him.’

  Frances waited for her to continue.

  ‘A secret marriage has been discovered,’ she said at last. Frances’s heart lurched. ‘That foolish lady, Arbella Stuart, has wed another blood claimant – a Seymour, no less. It has been many years since one of their number has worn a crown,’ she scoffed.

  Behind the queen, Frances noticed Lady Drummond shift uncomfortably and heard the soft rustle of her skirts. Their eyes met for a moment.

  ‘They were married here, according to Cecil,’ Anne continued. ‘To think that such a thing was happening under my very roof as I languished here, whiling away the hours with my ladies,’ she added.

  Frances chose her words carefully. ‘They surely did not mean to seize the throne. Lady Arbella has few friends here at court, and fewer still beyond. She is well known to be a haughty, troublesome woman.’

  She darted a glance at Jane Drummond and saw her expression harden.

  Anne nodded. ‘I agree with you, Frances, and if she had attempted it alone she would have presented no danger. She is a Stuart, after all. But the English are a sentimental race and still hark back to the glories of the Tudors. William Seymour is one of the last scions of that dynasty.’

  Frances tried to slow her breathing as she held the queen’s gaze. ‘Have they been arrested?’ she asked quietly.

  ‘Yes – and various others besides,’ Anne replied. ‘Cecil is certain they had accomplices here in the palace.’

  Frances hoped that the flush she could feel creeping up her neck would not show on her face. As she tried to compose herself, she heard Jane’s skirts rustle again and looked towards her, glad of the distraction.

  The young woman was staring steadily at her. Her eyes were grey and beautiful and her hair was as silky black as a raven’s feathers. No wonder Thomas had been drawn to her. She thought of the awkward encounter between the three of them, the night when Seymour had first accosted her. Thomas had looked so stricken.

  Her breath caught in her throat as another thought occurred to her. It had been Jane Drummond who had summoned her to attend the princess that night. She had been so distracted by her husband’s reaction to the young woman that she had not thought of it before. The realisation must have shown on her face because she saw Jane’s eyes widen briefly, as if in panic. So this was Seymour’s associate.

  ‘One can never be too cautious in such matters.’

  They all turned at the soft voice. The Lord Privy Seal was standing in the doorway of the qu
een’s lodgings, his emaciated frame stooped over a black staff. He smiled pleasantly as he surveyed the room.

  ‘My lord – what news?’ Anne was the first to compose herself. She gestured for him to sit. He did so agonisingly slowly – whether through genuine frailty or a desire to increase the already palpable tension, Frances could not tell.

  ‘Seymour is safely in his lodgings at the Tower, Your Majesty,’ he said, after a long pause. ‘I have entrusted the care of his new wife’ – he emphasised the word – ‘to Sir Thomas Parry at his house in Lambeth. He is eager to retain his place on the council so can be relied upon to watch her closely.’

  ‘Good, good,’ the queen said distractedly. ‘But what of the others? The guards have woken half the palace tonight. I am sure they were not dragging people from their beds to enquire after their health.’

  Cecil gave a little chuckle. ‘Indeed not, Your Grace. We have apprehended several others who, we believe, were involved.’ His eyes flicked across to Frances. ‘There may be more arrests before the night is over.’

  The queen gave him a long, appraising stare. ‘You were always most thorough, my lord.’ Her voice was as cold as ice. ‘Now, if you will excuse me, I will return to my bed for what little is left of the night. Jane.’

  She held out her hand. Lady Drummond hastened to take it, then gently helped her mistress to stand and guided her slowly to the door of the bedchamber.

  Frances and Cecil rose, heads bowed. As soon as she heard the door click shut, Frances dropped a hasty curtsy and walked as quickly as she could from the room, gritting her teeth against the pain. She could feel Cecil’s eyes upon her with every step she took.

  CHAPTER 23

  18 July

  ‘You performed a great service that night, Frances.’

  She did not turn to look at the woman but continued staring out of the window. Though it was early, the sun was already glittering off the river and the bank on the opposite side appeared hazy. It would be another sultry day. The walls of the palace seemed to soak up the heat, like those of the ovens in the kitchens below. It made the atmosphere at court even more oppressive.

  ‘I had little choice in the matter,’ she replied.

  Jane Drummond came to stand next to her. Frances had to fight the urge to move away. ‘I know what you must think of me, but everything I have done has been for the sake of the Catholic cause.’

  Frances rounded on her. ‘Even bedding my husband? Your dedication is commendable.’

  She was gratified to see the other woman flush.

  ‘Even that,’ she replied quietly.

  Frances’s eyes blazed as she stared at her, waiting for her to continue.

  ‘I needed to ensure your compliance. If it had been necessary to threaten you with exposing your husband as an … accomplice to our plans, I would have done so.’

  Frances experienced such a surge of fury that she clasped her hands together to stop herself striking the woman. ‘My husband has nothing to do with this. He is a loyal subject to the king.’

  ‘That may be so, Frances, but his moment of weakness has placed him in danger.’ She eyed Frances thoughtfully. ‘Of course, I did not know that your marriage is a pretence, that you feel nothing for him. That is why we had to threaten your son instead.’

  ‘That is not true!’ Frances cried.

  Her companion flicked an anxious glance towards the queen’s bedroom door.

  ‘I greatly esteem my husband,’ she continued. ‘Ours is a truer marriage than most others here at court.’

  The young woman gave a small smile. ‘Esteem?’ she remarked quietly. ‘That is admirable, Frances, but the success of my plan rested upon something stronger. You would not have been willing to hazard the life of one you loved.’

  Frances tried to steady her breathing. Tears filled her eyes but she blinked them angrily away. ‘I wonder that you can play with people’s lives with as little thought as you might give to a game of quadrille,’ she said, as soon as she could trust herself to speak. ‘You know nothing of my feelings for my husband, or of his for me. Things are not always as they appear to be.’

  ‘Perhaps not,’ Jane replied. ‘It matters little now anyway. You performed your part without the need for any further incentive.’

  Frances regarded her coldly. ‘I risked a great deal – and to no effect.’

  ‘On the contrary. Our plans have suffered a setback. That is all.’

  ‘Arbella and Seymour are in the king’s custody,’ Frances replied scornfully. ‘That is more than a mere setback. Surely you must abandon all hope of success now.’

  At that moment, the door to the queen’s chamber opened. Both women turned and fell into a deep curtsy as Anne walked slowly into the room. She looked from one to the other, an eyebrow raised, but said nothing.

  ‘Forgive me, Your Majesty,’ Frances said quickly. ‘I must attend your daughter.’

  By the time Frances reached the Tower, the sun had sunk low on the horizon, casting streaks of deep pink and orange across the sky. The searing heat had begun to abate and she relished the cooling breeze that blew from the Thames.

  It was foolhardy to come here, but she could no longer abide the endless waiting and watching at court. Cecil had as yet made no move against her, though she sensed he was merely biding his time. The conversation with Jane Drummond had gnawed at her constantly. She did not know what troubled her most: the unexpected feelings it had unleashed for her husband, or the hint that the Arbella plot was far from over. It was the latter that had driven her here, desperate for answers she hoped Raleigh would provide.

  The yeomen showed little surprise when she told them whom she had come to visit. The former royal favourite was by far the most popular of the Tower’s prisoners. As she mounted the steps to Raleigh’s lodgings, she had a sudden urge to turn back. It was madness to consort with a suspected traitor when her own loyalties were in doubt. But her need to find out more about the plot into which she had been drawn drove her on.

  ‘Lady Frances!’ Raleigh rose to greet her like an old friend. He did not seem at all surprised by her coming. She gave a small curtsy and moved to sit in the chair he held out for her.

  ‘What a pleasure it is to see you again,’ he said, with genuine warmth. ‘I had begun to think I had forfeited your good opinion when we last met. It was ever a fault of mine to speak too passionately to a lady – though the old queen did not object,’ he added, with a grin. ‘Please.’

  He held out a glass of wine. Frances accepted it and took a long sip. It was delicious. Little wonder that Sir Walter seemed so accepting of his situation. She wondered how many other privileges he was afforded.

  ‘What do you know of the plot to put Arbella Stuart on the throne?’ she asked, deciding to set aside the usual pleasantries.

  Raleigh’s smile faltered for just a second. ‘Why, you sound very like my host,’ he replied smoothly. ‘Sir William asked me that very question not two weeks ago.’

  Frances remained silent, waiting.

  ‘I hear many things in the Tower,’ he continued. ‘That the lady was secretly married to one of the Seymours, that they were discovered and are now in the king’s custody …’ A pause. ‘That you yourself stood witness to the marriage.’

  Frances’s heart skipped a beat. She had been right to seek her answers here. ‘Theirs was the marriage you hinted at when we last met,’ she said quietly.

  Raleigh studied her briefly, then slowly inclined his head. ‘You have proved a true friend to our cause, Lady Frances.’ He leaned forward and kissed her hand.

  ‘I did not do so willingly, but to protect my son,’ she retorted.

  Raleigh was watching her intently now. ‘And your husband?’

  Frances felt herself redden. She pressed her lips together, determined not to show the same weakness that she had with Jane Drummond.

  ‘You must forgive his transgression. The queen’s favourite attendant can be most persuasive. And even a man as noble as Sir Thomas can suf
fer a momentary weakness.’

  ‘Lady Drummond implied that the scheme is not yet over,’ Frances cut in, eager to divert the conversation from the subject of her marriage.

  Raleigh stood up and walked to the window, gazing towards the White Tower. ‘Seymour is still awake, I see,’ he murmured, almost to himself. ‘His lodgings are even finer than these. But, then, he has royal blood.’

  Frances rose and walked over to where he was standing. Following his gaze, she saw a light in a window of the royal apartments. ‘Such blood has often proved more a curse than a blessing,’ she observed.

  ‘Indeed it has,’ Raleigh replied. ‘But we must not lose hope. God has seen fit to unite these two people and even His representative on earth cannot separate them for long.’

  Frances turned to him. ‘But Arbella is at Lambeth, in Sir Thomas Parry’s keeping.’

  Raleigh nodded slowly. ‘For now, perhaps. But the Tower’s walls are not so thick that they can keep out love’s winged chariot.’

  ‘Seymour plans to escape, then?’ she demanded, her voice barely a whisper.

  ‘He has no need,’ her companion replied. ‘We have friends enough here to help him visit his wife now and again, and Parry can be trusted to keep his counsel. He treats her more like a guest than a prisoner.’

  Frances’s mind was reeling. The tendrils of this plot stretched even further than she had thought.

  ‘And who knows what might result from such visits?’ Raleigh continued. ‘A would-be queen is one matter. But one who carries a son in her belly is another entirely. A prince born of two royal houses, and on English soil, would be a tantalising prospect.’

  Frances felt as if the world had suddenly shifted, that nothing was as she had believed it to be. If what Raleigh said was true, then it was little wonder that Jane Drummond had seemed so assured. The discovery of Arbella and Seymour’s marriage did not spell an end to their hopes, merely an impediment.

  She thought of the proud, haughty woman, of her vain and feckless young husband. Were they really more appealing than the man who now sat on the throne? ‘I will have no further part in this,’ she said quietly.