by Tracy Borman
She thought of Countess Cecily. How disappointed she would be to have her pleasure denied. ‘Neither will you attempt to have me accused of treason,’ she continued. ‘You can have no proof of it, beyond your desire for it to be true. Yet the proof I have of your own treachery is written here.’ She waved the document in front of his face. ‘You must know that it is treason even to think of the king’s death, let alone plan for it. Many men have been condemned for far less.’
Edward’s breath was coming rapidly now. ‘How do I know that you will honour your part, if I do as you ask?’ he demanded, as he edged closer to her.
Frances’s smile was like a splinter of ice. The knowledge of the power she now held over him was exhilarating. ‘You will have to trust me, Edward,’ she said, her eyes never leaving his. ‘But you must act quickly. I know that the Countess of Rutland is due to dine with you and the prince this evening, presumably so that you can secure her as a witness.’
She saw the truth of it in his face.
‘By the time she and her husband arrive, you must have convinced your royal master that your suspicions about me were groundless, that he will show himself a fool if he pursues them. He is vain enough to want to avoid that – as are you.’
Her brother turned away, as if unable to bear the sight of her any longer. Frances watched him carefully. What if he failed? The thought had plagued her since her meeting with Jacob Beecham. Would she still carry out her threat to have him exposed as a traitor? It would be her only chance of saving her life – and Longford. But she was repelled by the idea.
‘Very well,’ Edward muttered, almost to himself, and made as if to leave.
‘That is not all, brother.’
He turned back to her, his face twisted in dismay.
‘Although you must trust me in this, you can hardly expect me to take you at your word. I will want to see proof that you have done everything I asked, before I have the indenture destroyed.’
Edward threw back his head and gave a scornful bark of laughter. ‘What proof can I give, for God’s sake?’
Frances’s mouth lifted into a slow smile. She reached into her pocket once more and drew out another document. Edward’s eyes darted to it. ‘This is another indenture, Edward,’ she explained, as if to a child. ‘It stipulates that Prince Henry shall transfer the barony of Longford from you to me, in recognition of my faithful service to the princess. You may read it if you wish,’ she offered, pushing it towards him.
Her brother stumbled backwards, as if it were a snake. She gave a shrug and continued, ‘You will tell the prince that you have had this drawn up as a penance for the false suspicions you harboured against me. In signing it, he will be declaring his own trust in me before the world. I am sure you appreciate my need to take such a precaution, given how fickle a man’s word can be these days.’
Edward glowered at her, his face now puce with rage. ‘You ask too much, sister,’ he muttered. ‘It is not just on my account that the prince despises you. He will hardly be disposed to show you such favour.’
‘Then you must persuade him, brother, by whatever means you have at your disposal … Your life depends upon it.’
Edward snatched the document from her. ‘After all this is done, you will be dead to me. I want never to see you again.’
‘Then we are in perfect accord, brother.’
CHAPTER 52
28 October
The fifth chime of the clock echoed into silence. Frances tried to concentrate on the princess’s gown, but her hands fumbled with the tiny silk buttons and she gave an exasperated sigh.
‘Is everything all right, Fran?’ Elizabeth asked.
‘Forgive me, ma’am,’ she replied quietly. ‘My fingers are not my own this afternoon. Perhaps I should light some more candles. The light fades so quickly now.’
While Frances searched for the candles, the princess occupied herself with trying on a sequence of necklaces, each piercing the shadows with tiny shards of brilliance.
Frances glanced again at the clock. Edward should have sent word long before now. The elation she had felt after leaving him in the park had quickly been replaced by a gnawing fear. She knew that the success of her plan rested upon his being able to persuade the prince to abandon his suspicions against her. But that prospect seemed to fade with every passing hour.
Frances started at the sound of brisk footsteps approaching. There was a sharp rap on the door and Elizabeth, still admiring her reflection, called distractedly for the visitor to enter.
A groom wearing the king’s livery stepped into the room and swept a quick bow. ‘Pardon the intrusion, Your Grace, but Baron Longford desires a brief conference with his sister. He is waiting in the privy garden.’
Frances glanced across at the princess, fearing she would catch her panic, but the young woman was absorbed in her task. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘But pray do not be long, Frances. My father will not be pleased if I am late to dinner again.’
Frances had almost reached the door when her mistress called: ‘Could you take Falstaff with you? He missed his afternoon walk because of the rain.’
At the mention of his name, the little dog gave a bark and leaped down from the chair where he had been dozing.
‘Of course, ma’am,’ Frances said, with a smile, stooping to pick up the wriggling creature.
The sun was already casting long shadows over the garden as she passed under the archway that had been sculpted in the box hedge. She saw him at once, sitting on a stone bench towards the centre of the garden. As she approached, he seemed agitated, perpetually glancing over his shoulder. He leaped to his feet when he saw her.
‘Well?’ she asked quietly.
Edward did not meet her eye. ‘I have done as you asked,’ he mumbled.
She waited, her anxiety rising. ‘So the prince will take no action against me?’
‘Why don’t you ask me yourself, rather than trusting the word of this miserable wretch?’
Frances swung around. Henry was standing behind her, a smirk playing about his lips. She looked back at her brother, who was staring at the ground.
‘Did you really believe that your brother enjoyed such favour that I would agree to turn a blind eye to a treacherous witch?’
His spittle flew onto her cheek as he said the word. Frances was too shocked to reply.
The prince gave a derisive laugh. ‘I mean, look at him! How could I take any pleasure in the company of such a man? I only ever showed him favour because I knew he would give me the prize I sought. He proved as biddable as that puppy.’ He snorted.
Instinctively, Frances took a step away and set the dog on the ground. She was relieved when he scurried off to explore the garden.
‘And what prize did you seek?’ Frances spoke with an assurance she did not feel as she held his steely gaze.
His mouth twitched. ‘Why, you, of course, Lady Frances.’
She drew in a quiet breath.
‘Even before my sister let slip your confidence, I knew you had been dripping poison into her ear, persuading her against the suitors I had arranged so that she might marry a heretic.’
He took a step closer.
‘I have many eyes and ears, even in my father’s court,’ he continued, ‘but you were clever enough to leave no trace of your meddling, and I knew my sister clings to you, so I had to find some other means of wresting her away from your contaminating influence.’
Frances stared at him, unflinching.
‘When I saw how the baron here thirsted for revenge against you for depriving him of his inheritance, it was all too easy to twist it to my advantage. A suggestion here, a hint there, and he soon believed it was his idea to begin gathering evidence of your witchery. Poor, simple fool.’ He cuffed Edward’s ear.
Frances bit the inside of her lip so hard that she tasted blood. ‘You can have no evidence against me,’ she said, measuring her words carefully. ‘There is only malice and hearsay.’
Henry shook his head sadly.
‘So it is with most witchcraft cases. But it does not stop the accused choking out their breath on the end of a rope.’
‘What of the indenture, Your Grace?’ she asked, her gaze intensifying. ‘You must know it is treason to countenance the king’s death.’
The prince’s laughter echoed around the garden. It was so prolonged that he fell into a paroxysm of coughing. Frances watched as he banged his fist against his chest, trying to catch his breath, even as a fresh bout of mirth overcame him.
‘Forgive me,’ he wheezed, dabbing at his eyes. ‘You shall be the death of me, Lady Frances, with jests such as that. The indenture will certainly spell the end of your brother, should it come to light, but it carries no such danger for me. Do you really think my father would put his own son and heir to death?’ he sneered, echoing Raleigh’s words to her in the Tower. ‘Especially when the alternative is so risible. Poor Charlie.’ He chuckled. ‘No, my lady, the worst I will suffer will be chastisement and banishment from court – though that would be a positive reward.’
At that moment, Falstaff came scampering back and gave several excited yelps as he danced around the prince’s feet.
‘Damned beast,’ he said, giving it a sharp kick.
The dog gave a high-pitched howl and ran to cower under a nearby bush, its little legs trembling.
‘Will you treat your subjects thus when you are king?’ Frances snapped, fury flaring in her breast. ‘You need not answer – it is how you treat them now, and men’s habits harden with time.’
Henry’s eyes glinted dangerously as he stared back at her.
‘Tell me, Your Grace, do you think to win their loyalty in this way?’ she persisted, ‘with childish tantrums and thoughtless cruelty? You may bully them into submission, certainly – for a time, at least. But they will soon grow to despise you.’ She thought of Raleigh, his face twisted with derision whenever she mentioned the prince’s name. ‘Indeed, those who seem to revere you mock you as soon as your back is turned. But you are too blinded by your vanity to notice.’
‘Frances!’ Edward murmured fearfully.
But she was too enraged to stop now. All of the fury and resentment that had been simmering inside her over the past few months now burst out, blistering as molten lava.
‘Do you think the people of this kingdom want a preening, pale-faced boy for their king?’ she went on. ‘Why do you think the Powder Treason sought to place your sister on the throne? The plotters voiced what everyone else believes, that the princess would make a far more powerful monarch, one who would hold her subjects in thrall as the late queen did. I often wonder that you were born of the same mother.’
Without warning, the prince stepped forward and dealt Frances a stinging blow across the face. She stumbled back, sharp thorns digging into her palms as she grasped at the stems of the rose bush to try to stop herself falling. She landed awkwardly, and for several moments was too winded to speak. Her breath came in gasps and she cradled her belly, afraid for the child that grew within.
Edward was staring at her, clearly stricken. You should have seen what he was, she cursed inwardly, instead of allowing envy and spite to blind you. But she also railed against herself. She too had been blinded – by her love for Longford, for her son, for Thomas. She had been a fool to believe that the indenture would save her from the perils that swirled endlessly about her. Raleigh had been right. It was not enough.
Slowly, she got to her feet, wincing as pain lanced her stomach, and fearing a warm trickle of blood between her legs, but the pain soon subsided to a dull ache.
The prince was watching her with interest, as if she were a rare butterfly that he had trapped under a glass. ‘I did not think you would be so easily silenced as that pathetic little dog,’ he said, his voice as soft as silk.
He stepped closer again. She could feel the warmth of his breath on her face. Gently, he trailed his delicate fingers over her collarbone, his eyes following their idling movement. Then his hand snaked around her neck, stroking, caressing. She cringed and made to step back, but his hand suddenly closed around her throat, tightening. Desperately, her fingers clawed at his wrists, but he harboured a strength that shocked her. Her vision began to blur. Behind the prince, Edward was mute with horror. He made no move to help. As she began to faint, the garden disappeared and she was standing on the gallows, the rope chafing hungrily against her neck, its bristles rubbing her skin raw as it sucked the last breath from her lungs.
He released her and she stumbled forward, retching. A vision of the gallows still swam before her eyes and a fresh wave of nausea swept over her. She pushed it down, forcing her breathing to slow. Eventually she stood upright, her head pounding. Her eyes were dark pools of loathing as she stared at the prince.
‘At least you are prepared now,’ he murmured, in a sing-song tone. ‘I have seen many women – men, too – piss themselves in terror as the rope tightens about their neck. But it will hold no such fear for you. You should thank me.’
He leaned forward, his mouth close to her ear. Idly, he traced his finger along the angry red welt around her neck. Her breath hissed through her teeth as she tried to stop herself recoiling. Slowly, he moved his lips to where his finger had been and pressed them against her burning skin.
‘I have always known you were the devil’s slave, Lady Frances.’ His hand coiled around her waist and pulled her to him. ‘Tell me, has he ever taken you as his whore?’
She could feel his arousal as he pressed his hips against hers. He held her there and moved his mouth so close to hers that she caught the stale odour of wine.
He stepped back suddenly, his mouth curling into a sardonic smile. His skin appeared so pale in the fading light that it was almost translucent. ‘It has been a pleasure, Lady Frances, but the hour grows late so I must leave you now.’ He stalked out of the garden, his cloak billowing behind him.
A strange peace crept over her as she watched his retreating form. With a sudden clarity, she saw now what she must do.
CHAPTER 53
31 October
Frances peered into the looking glass, running her fingers along her neck. It was still tender, but the redness had faded. She had made a paste with egg white and alum to conceal the mark and was grateful that the turn in the weather had given her the excuse to wear a high-necked gown. She was grateful, too, that Thomas had not been there to see it. He had left for Hertfordshire on the day of her visit to St James’s. Count Frederick had not joined the hunting party this time. Evidently he had not shown sufficient prowess, and the king had been heard to grumble that he did not wish to be hampered by him again. Frances wondered idly whether it would hinder Frederick’s prospects as a suitor. It hardly seemed to matter now.
Her husband would return this evening. Though she longed to see him, the prospect made her uneasy, too. He had been quiet on the morning of his departure, his eyes searching hers as he bade her goodbye. The lies would soon stop, she told herself. When she had fulfilled this final act and freed herself from the plotting and contagion of court, they could live in peaceful harmony, cherishing each other and their children.
Nothing is hidden that will not be made manifest.
Frances stared at her reflection. She was a fool to think that what she concealed would fade with time. It would remain as a canker, slowly spreading until it choked the love between her and Thomas.
With an impatient sigh, she leaned forward and blew out the candle. She must not lose her resolve now.
The sky had lifted to a leaden grey by the time Frances reached the Tower. She had half an hour at most before she must board a boat back to Whitehall. At sight of the dark outline of the imposing keep, Frances felt a chill run through her. Would she soon return here a prisoner – a traitor? She knew all too well the horrors that Tom and his fellow plotters had suffered. But her crime would be poisoning as well as treason, and the punishment for that was to be boiled alive.
The possibility of discovery had played endlessly on her mind, these pas
t few days, so that now it seemed as real and insurmountable as the solid stone walls of the fortress before her. She had considered her means of escape, should the hue and cry be raised. She could go at once to Whitehall, flee with her husband and son under cover of darkness. They could be far from London by the time their absence was noticed. But where would they go? There were no safe havens in this kingdom, and she could not bear the thought of exile in some foreign country, far from everything they knew and held dear.
Far from Longford.
She could never forsake her beloved home, her son’s inheritance. What she planned carried great risk, but the rewards would be worth it. Longford would be restored to Catholic hands and this kingdom would be saved from another heretic king, even worse than the one who now sat on the throne. She sucked in the cold morning air, then walked briskly towards the outer bastion.
The guards eyed her curiously. She had only been there two days before. Her visits were not usually so frequent. She smiled, exhaling with relief as they nodded her through.
This time Raleigh was expecting her. He stood to greet her with his usual warmth when the guard let her in. ‘Lady Frances, it is a pleasure to see you, as always.’
He seemed unconcerned, though he knew the purpose of her visit all too well.
She did not take the seat he proffered.
‘You have it?’ she asked, without preamble.
Raleigh spread his hands. ‘My dear, you will wear out the flagstones if you continue thus. Pray, sit.’
Frances stopped pacing and sat on the edge of the chair opposite him. ‘I have little time.’
‘I know, I know.’ He patted her knee. ‘I do not wish to detain you but the guard will grow suspicious if you leave after only a few moments. Besides, there are details to discuss.’ He reached into his doublet and drew out a small piece of folded linen. It was tied with a cord at one end. He glanced at the door, then handed it to her. ‘The Arabs call it Satan’s Apple,’ he said, with a slow smile.