The Devil's Slave

by Tracy Borman

  Thomas kissed her hair, breathing in her scent. ‘So do I,’ he murmured. ‘But the beasts of the forest would be as nothing to the wrath of Lady Cecily if we failed to show ourselves at dinner.’

  With a sigh, he withdrew his arms and tugged at the shirt that lay crumpled underneath them, then gathered up the other discarded clothes. Frances watched him, reluctant to move, despite the cold that was now seeping into her limbs.

  ‘Will you not stir yourself, Lady Tyringham?’ He grinned as his eyes roamed across her naked body. Slowly, deliberately, she uncurled herself, her arms stretching above her head, her back arching like a cat’s. His eyes glinted with desire as he gazed down at her. He seemed to hesitate and glanced over his shoulder at the distant castle, which was now silhouetted against the darkening sky. Then his shoulders dropped and he groaned, lowering himself onto her.

  ‘Will you not have more of the beef, Lady Frances?’ the countess asked, with a tight smile, gesturing towards the dish that lay between them. ‘It is not quite cold.’

  Frances smiled pleasantly. ‘Thank you, my lady, but I have had more than enough. Your hospitality has been as generous as ever.’

  She stole a glance at Thomas, who winked.

  ‘Indeed, Lady Rutland,’ he agreed, setting down his glass. ‘My wife and I will miss the delights of your table when we return to Whitehall. I fear we have imposed upon your kindness for too long.’

  Cecily sniffed. ‘Not at all, Sir Thomas. It has been an honour to have you and Lady Frances as our guests,’ she said, without a trace of sincerity.

  ‘You are sure that you are strong enough for the journey?’ the earl asked.

  ‘Quite sure, I thank your lordship. I am fortunate to have had such an attentive nurse,’ Thomas replied, smiling across at Frances.

  ‘It is a wonder that your wife was able to restore you to health, when even His Majesty’s own physicians had despaired of you.’

  Lady Cecily’s voice rang out across the dining hall. Frances’s shoulders tensed. Though their hostess had pretended to share the relief expressed by the rest of the household at Thomas’s recovery, her enquiries into his continuing health had been more insistent than those of the rest. Many times these past weeks Frances had caught the countess staring at her with something like suspicion. Had she found out that Joan Flower had supplied her with herbs and salves to aid her husband’s recovery? The earl had gone to great lengths to ensure that they were delivered into his hands, but many eyes and ears at Belvoir might have betrayed him. Frances suspected, too, that Cecily knew she had once been imprisoned for witchcraft. The scandal had long since been forgotten at court, but it might linger here, where life moved more slowly.

  ‘I am thankful that God saw fit to spare me, Lady Rutland,’ Thomas observed. ‘It is proof, as if we needed it, that He alone has mastery over our lives.’

  The countess opened her mouth to reply, but a look from her husband silenced her. Frances exhaled deeply, then took a long sip of wine. Though she would always cherish this place for the happiness it had brought her, she was glad they would leave tomorrow.

  The meal was swiftly concluded, the earl declaring that Frances and her husband must be in need of rest before their journey. She rose to curtsy to their hosts, and was turning towards the door when Cecily addressed her again. ‘You must give my congratulations to your brother, when you see him next.’

  ‘I have four brothers, my lady,’ she replied. ‘To which of them do you refer?’

  ‘Baron Longford, of course,’ Cecily said, with a sly smile. ‘Surely you have heard of his ennoblement. The earl received news of it from court. It is a great honour for your family.’

  Frances stared at her. ‘Edward?’

  ‘Why, yes, of course. He is the eldest, is he not? And heir to your father’s estate?’

  Frances had heard nothing from Edward since their father’s funeral and had assumed that he was living a quiet – if profligate – life at Longford. He could not have secured such a title unless … Edward must be at court. There could be no other explanation. She imagined him jostling for favour alongside all of the other ambitious place-seekers. How long had he been there? She had been absent for months now and the king had returned to London weeks ago – long enough, certainly, for a young man of Edward’s guile and looks to come to his notice. Was her brother there still? She prayed that he was not.

  ‘Edward is the eldest, yes.’ She tried hard to keep her voice light. ‘But he is not my father’s heir. Longford will pass to my son, when he comes of age.’

  Even as she spoke, she feared it was no longer true, that Edward had somehow secured Longford for himself, as well as his new title. But the terms of her father’s will were indissoluble – unless she or her son committed an act of treason and their property became forfeit to the Crown. An image of Arbella flitted before her and she swallowed her rising panic. If her part in that had been discovered, the king’s officials would have been at Belvoir long before now, she reasoned. She darted a look at her husband, who was watching her with concern.

  ‘How odd,’ Cecily persisted. ‘A man has four sons to inherit his estate, yet leaves it to his grandson.’

  ‘My late father-in-law was very fond of our son, Lady Rutland,’ Thomas cut in. ‘Though his bequest was unlooked for, we will make sure that it is honoured.’

  ‘Well, my dear,’ the earl said, ‘we must not keep our guests from their beds any longer. Goodnight, Sir Thomas, Lady Frances.’

  Thomas bowed and, taking Frances’s hand, led her from the room before the countess could voice any objection.

  CHAPTER 36

  23 September

  Frances rubbed the sleep from her eyes as she peered out of the carriage window. She had slept only fitfully after hearing that Edward had been at court, that he was now a baron. What else had he been occupied with during his time at court? Idle hands are the devil’s instrument. The words from scripture had tormented her, robbing her of sleep until long after the third chime of the clock in the hallway had faded.

  ‘We will soon be there, my love,’ her husband said, as he closed his hand over hers.

  She had been glad to break their journey at Tyringham Hall, wishing they might remain there, that she had never taken George from its relative safety to the snakepit of court. Now Edward was among the vipers that awaited her there.

  As the coach passed under the Holbein Gate and into the courtyard, Frances’s fear was subsumed in excitement at seeing George. It seemed a lifetime since she had been with him and her arms ached to hold him. His letters had become less frequent, but she supposed that, with the unseasonably warm weather, he was spending more time out of doors with Jack.

  Thomas helped her down from the carriage and they walked towards his apartments. The courtyard was strangely quiet and the last of the sun’s rays cast long shadows over the cobbles. The evenings had grown chill this past week and soon would shorten, too. She quickened her pace as they reached the final corridor, though her fall months before had made her cautious and she kept hold of her husband’s arm.

  ‘Do not fret, Frances,’ he said. ‘I sent word to Mistress Knyvett that we would be arriving this evening so she will have kept him up to see us – not that she could have done otherwise, I’m sure,’ he added.

  When at last they reached the door of their apartment, Frances flung it open, her face alight with anticipation. Startled, Mrs Knyvett jumped up from her chair by the fireplace, dismay on her face. Brushing past her, Frances went into the bedroom, expecting to see her son fast asleep. But the pallet was empty. ‘Where is he?’ she demanded, striding back into the parlour.

  ‘Forgive me, my lady,’ the woman said, wringing her hands. ‘Sir Thomas’s message only arrived this morning and Master George had already left for St James’s. I sent word for him to return but have heard nothing since.’

  ‘St James’s? But the king is in residence here.’

  ‘His son is not, though,’ Thomas reminded her. ‘Prince Henry sp
ends all of his time at the palace now and is seldom seen at Whitehall, even – or perhaps especially – when his father is here.’

  Frances fell silent for a moment. Why was George at Prince Henry’s court when he was a member of Charles’s household? The younger prince still resided at Whitehall, and George’s letters had been written from there.

  ‘The invitation arrived early this morning, my lady, and your son was most eager to go.’

  ‘You should not have allowed it without our permission,’ Frances snapped.

  The older woman looked stricken. ‘I would not have agreed, were it not for the fact that the boy’s uncle delivered the invitation and offered to accompany George himself.’

  Edward.

  Frances saw her alarm reflected in Thomas’s eyes. ‘We must go there at once.’ She was already making for the door.

  ‘But, my love, it is late.’ Thomas grabbed her arm as she passed. ‘George will already have retired by the time we get there. You are tired from the journey and should rest here tonight. We can fetch him at first light.’

  Frances wrested her arm free. ‘I will go alone if you do not wish to accompany me.’

  She was halfway down the corridor when she heard his footsteps behind her. ‘Frances, wait,’ he said, as he caught up with her. ‘You know I will not let you go there unaccompanied.’

  The warmth of his hand on hers eased her agitation, and they hurried together towards the outer courtyard.

  The sound of drums striking a lively tune was almost drowned in the shouts of revellers as the carriage came to a halt outside the great hall. Frances glanced up at the brightly lit windows, as if expecting to see George’s face peering down, but she could make out only the silhouettes of ladies as they flitted past in the dance.

  As she and Thomas mounted the sweeping staircase, lined on either side with vast paintings of biblical scenes, the noise from within the hall grew louder. One of the doors was flung open and a man staggered out. He took a few swaying paces before collapsing against a wall and sliding down it, his head lolling forward, like a marionette whose strings had been cut.

  Frances steeled herself as she and her husband walked through the open doorway. The hall within was crowded with brightly dressed young courtiers, some dancing a galliard, others watching while they sipped wine and stuffed sweetmeats into their mouths. Frances’s gaze swept the room. She was in search of an official who could tell her where George was sleeping, but everywhere was a riot of russet silks and chinking glasses. Clasping Thomas’s hand, she pushed through the crowds, looking this way and that as they made their slow progress.

  A tall man dressed in an elaborate masque costume came hurtling towards them, almost knocking Frances off her feet. Only the crush of bodies prevented her from crashing to the ground. But as she thrust out her arms to steady herself, she let go of Thomas’s hand. A fresh wave of revellers closed around her, concealing her husband from view.

  She was almost at the far side of the hall now and could see a small recess behind a pillar that was mercifully empty. With fresh resolve, she was soon inside it, her back pressed against the cool marble of the pillar.

  ‘Will you not join the dance, sister?’

  She froze.

  ‘I wonder that you did not take part in the masque,’ Edward continued. ‘I hear that you were quite the performer in your youth. But, then, you are a respectable wife now. Tell me, how is Sir Thomas? He has been so long absent that the king has quite forgotten him.’

  Frances ignored the barb. ‘He is fully recovered and will resume his duties now that we are back at court.’ She glanced over her shoulder hoping to see her husband, but her eyes alighted only upon the red faces and dishevelled hair of strangers.

  ‘It was reported here that his life was despaired of. Yet you nursed him back to health.’

  ‘I thank God that He saw fit to spare him,’ she replied.

  ‘You should not be so modest, sister. Everyone here knows how skilled you are in such matters.’

  You will have made sure of that. ‘Where is my son? You had no right to bring him here without my sanction.’

  ‘Or that of his father?’ He smiled, teeth flashing like a wolf’s. ‘But that would have been impossible, would it not, sister?’

  She swallowed her rage. ‘Where is he?’ she repeated.

  Edward gestured to the raised dais at the end of the hall, and Frances saw George standing next to Prince Henry, who was seated on an elaborate throne beneath a vast canopy of state. As she watched, the prince leaned forward and whispered something in his ear, then laughed uproariously. George laughed too, but as if he did not understand the joke. He was holding a bottle, which he raised to his lips. He took a swig, some of the wine spilling down his shirt, which was already marked with red blotches. Horrified, Frances surged forward, her brother following in her wake.

  ‘George!’ she called, as she came within a few feet of the dais.

  Her son did not turn at her voice but continued to stare adoringly at the prince, who was regaling him and his other companions with some story. As she climbed the steps, the prince’s eyes flicked to her, showing irritation at being interrupted, then triumph when he realised who she was.

  ‘Lady Frances. What an unexpected pleasure.’ His words were as smooth as silk.

  George whipped around and gazed up at his mother with a mixture of joy and alarm. He took a step towards her, then stopped, his cheeks reddening.

  ‘I have come to take my son home,’ Frances said, without preamble.

  Henry stared at her as if waiting for her obeisance. When it became clear that she had no intention of making one, his expression hardened. ‘George is my guest, Lady Frances.’ A pause. ‘Unlike you.’

  ‘He is too young for such entertainment,’ she hissed, looking down at her son, whose face was now pale. She reached out and put an arm around his shoulders, but he shook it off.

  ‘Nonsense!’ the prince declared, smiling at the boy’s gesture of defiance. ‘I was only five when I attended my first masque. You cannot keep him hidden from society for ever, Lady Frances. He will grow to lack refinement, as well as learning. He expressed some curious ideas about the scriptures when he first arrived at St James’s. I have made him see reason, of course. Young minds drink in knowledge as a dried riverbed absorbs a sudden rainstorm. Don’t you agree, Lord Longford?’

  Frances’s fingers itched to deliver a slap to his smiling face. She could not bear to look at her brother, who now stood by her side. ‘That is the very reason I brought my nephew here, Your Grace,’ Edward replied, with a deep bow. ‘I rejoice to see how he has flourished under your care.’

  George was now swaying and clutching his stomach. She was about to step forward and take him from the dais before the prince could make any further remarks when she felt the warmth of a hand on her back. Thomas. He bowed before the prince.

  ‘My wife and I are indebted to you for your kindness to our son, Your Highness,’ he said, laying a hand firmly on the boy’s shoulder. ‘But it is late and we must return to Whitehall. His Majesty requires my attendance tomorrow.’

  The prince opened his mouth to speak, but Thomas was already guiding George from the platform. Without troubling to bid farewell, either to the prince or her brother, she followed.

  The courtyard was deserted when they emerged from the palace. Frances breathed in a lungful of the cool night air, willing it to cleanse her of the foetid stench of sweat and wine that had pervaded the hall. Her son was between her and Thomas, holding a hand of each. His eyelids had kept drooping as they had descended the stairs, but the shock of the cold jolted him awake. He made a small groan, bent over and vomited onto the cobbles.

  CHAPTER 37

  24 September

  Frances sighed and pushed her plate away, untouched. Her temples pulsed with a dull ache, which she knew would be as nothing to the pain in her son’s head when he woke. They had walked back from St James’s last night, her husband judging that the fresh air an
d exercise would help purge George’s body of the wine more quickly than if they travelled by carriage. Though at first they had been obliged to stop every few paces so that George might retch, by the time they had reached Whitehall the colour had returned to his cheeks and he no longer shivered as violently. Ignoring his protests, Frances had administered a few sips of water before he collapsed into a deep slumber, illuminated by the moonlight that streamed through the window.

  This morning she felt fury against the prince and her brother. She had fallen asleep with their smirking faces before her. She had woken later, gasping for air, and Thomas had drawn her into a tight embrace, smoothing the damp hair from her forehead, his lips touching her ear as he whispered soothing words.

  She looked at him now and love for him overwhelmed her. The dark shadows under his eyes told of a restless night for him, too, but he smiled with his accustomed warmth. ‘You should eat something, Frances. You have had nothing since we arrived,’ he said.

  She sank down on the window seat and gazed out across the river, which despite the hour was already filled with barges carrying passengers, victuals and myriad other cargo. After a few moments, he came to sit with her.

  ‘Will you attend the king today?’ Frances asked.

  Her husband shrugged. ‘I must await my instructions from the Lord Privy Seal. I wonder he has not already issued them – we have been back for almost twelve hours.’ He grinned.

  Frances’s smile soon faded as she thought of Cecil. When she had been summoned to attend him the previous year, he had looked so frail that she had not expected him to survive. That he had rallied was as much thanks to his doggedness as to her ministrations – of that she had no doubt. He could not abide the thought of his rivals taking advantage of his absence so he had returned to court sooner than she had advised. A wounded beast knows its strength better than those who think themselves safe from its claws, Raleigh had remarked when she had told him of the service she had performed for her old adversary. ‘It seems this kingdom is truly cursed,’ she mused now, ‘for our heretic king will be succeeded by a prince who will drag us even deeper into wickedness and depravity.’