The Devil's Slave. Tracy Borman
bound to marry according to her father’s faith? The king will hardly countenance a Catholic husband.’
‘The king hankers after earthly rather than heavenly treasures,’ Dorothy replied, with a sneer. ‘The King of Spain has a nephew of about the same age as the princess. If Elizabeth proves amenable, her father will overlook his religion in the interest of securing a powerful ally – and several coffers of Spanish gold. He does not know that Philip intends to use this match as a means of restoring England to the papal fold – and as a premise for invasion.’
‘What has this to do with me?’ Frances asked, pushing down the excitement that flared in her breast. ‘I have been a stranger to the princess since leaving court. You cannot hope that I still have any influence over her.’
‘You were as dear to her as a sister, and will be again,’ Dorothy told her. ‘No other attendant has come close to replacing you in her affections, and the queen is only seldom at court, preferring the solitude of Greenwich. The princess longs for a confidante once more.’
‘I no longer have a position at court,’ Frances countered, ‘and my uncle is hardly likely to petition for one on my behalf. He and I have been estranged these four years.’
‘You have no need of his assistance. The queen can arrange everything. Though she has taken care to distance herself from the Catholics at court, there can be no doubt that she remains true to the faith. And she always held you in the highest esteem. If she were to offer you a place in her daughter’s household, you could hardly refuse – neither could your husband.’
‘And, once there, I will regain the princess’s trust and persuade her towards a Catholic marriage?’ Frances said doubtfully.
Dorothy nodded encouragingly, her eyes bright with fervour.
‘What of my son?’ Frances asked, after a long pause. ‘I could not bear to leave him behind, but neither would I place him in danger by bringing him to court.’
‘My nephew cannot remain hidden from the world for ever,’ Dorothy said firmly. ‘Besides, there is as much danger in Buckinghamshire as at Whitehall.’
Frances thought of the man who had followed her to Tyringham Hall and lurked there still, watching and waiting. She shuddered. Quite apart from the dangers that surrounded her at Sir Thomas’s estates, she had never felt welcome there. The household staff had always viewed her with suspicion, their conversations often ceasing abruptly when she entered a room. She knew they had not believed their master when he had told them he and Frances had been married several months before their arrival. Even though he had taken care to be seen visiting her bedchamber regularly, it was as if they knew that their master and his wife did nothing more than converse or play cards.
‘You will arrange it all?’ she asked.
Her companion nodded. ‘I will write at once to Lady Vaux. She has a great patron at court who can petition the queen on your behalf. Sir Thomas already has lodgings there, so it will not appear strange that his wife and son should wish to join him. George has reached an age when it is expected that he will be sent to court to further his education.’
Frances was terrified at the thought of her young son in that vipers’ nest. She wanted to keep him cocooned at Tyringham Hall, well away from the evil and corruption of the court. But Dorothy had spoken the truth. Perhaps the best protection she could offer George was to return and fight for his father’s cause. Only when this heretic king was dead could England’s Catholics and all others who had suffered at his hands truly live in peace.
Her mind was drawn back to her old nurse. She had tried hard to shut out the painful memory, afraid that the grief would overwhelm her. But an image of Ellen as she had last seen her flitted before her now: her back had been hunched and her limp pronounced as she set out on the agonisingly slow walk to Britford, Frances’s tincture clasped tightly in her hand.
Many times, Frances had imagined the Reverend Pritchard’s satisfaction as he had given Ellen into the sheriff’s custody. After a miserable few weeks in Salisbury gaol, she had been acquitted by the assizes, thanks in no small part to the intercession of Frances’s father. Though the king had forbidden him to attend, he had worked tirelessly to secure Ellen’s release, fulfilling the role that his son Edward should have taken. He had expended a great deal on lawyers and other agents whom he could trust to act on his behalf. Thomas had lent his assistance too, dispatching his own lawyer to advise upon the matter. It had proved decisive. But the ordeal had taken its toll upon the old woman’s health and she had died a few weeks later. Thomas had brought Frances the letter as she had sat cradling her newborn son in the warmth of the July sunshine.
The memory sparked a fresh wave of remorse, closely followed by an intense fury against the king, who had decried all forms of healing as witchcraft, punishable by death. He had as good as tightened a noose around Ellen’s neck, choking the breath from her frail old body.
A sudden gust of wind brought in its wake the distant chimes of a church bell. It was late. Frances knew she must return to her lodgings before they were locked for the night. ‘For love of Tom and his son, I will do as you ask,’ she said. ‘But my husband must never hear of it. If my part in this is discovered, he must remain entirely without blame. I will not reward his kindness by hazarding his life, as well as my own.’
Dorothy bent to kiss her hands, but Frances wrenched them away and strode purposefully down the hill. She did not pause to look back.
A high-pitched squeal pierced the stillness as Frances dismounted and led her horse towards the stables. Rounding the corner, she smiled as she saw her young son sitting astride a pony, his small hands gripping the reins as if his life depended upon it.
‘Remember to keep your back straight,’ Thomas called, as he led the pony around the yard. He smiled indulgently as the boy lifted his chin and assumed a superior expression, every inch the young gentleman. But as his mount broke into a canter, George forgot any pretence at decorum and whooped with delight.
Neither he nor Thomas was aware of Frances as she watched from the shadows of the archway. Many times she had observed them thus, hidden from view as they walked together in the park, or practised archery and swordplay. Thomas had even had a hawking glove made for the boy so that he could hold one of the great falcons from the aviary and launch it into flight.
From the moment of her son’s birth, Thomas had loved him like his own. Frances could not have wished for a better father for George, who adored him in turn and always missed him sorely whenever his court duties took him away from Buckinghamshire. Though she loved to see the bond between them growing stronger, it pained her too. It should have been Tom who had experienced the joy at seeing his son take his first tottering steps, who had helped shape the boy into the man he would become.
How like him George was, she reflected again as she watched him now, his dark brown eyes sparkling, cheeks flushed with excitement. Anyone who had known Tom would see the resemblance at once. She had often felt thankful that none of the household at Tyringham Hall had travelled further south than Bletchley. Certainly they had not been to court, Thomas preferring to keep a separate staff there. But if she did as Dorothy had asked, many people who had known Tom would see his son – Princess Elizabeth included. She experienced fresh anxiety at the thought. How could she expose George to such danger? And her husband? Looking at them now, she was consumed by remorse. Her son was happy here with his adored papa, free from the dangers and conspiracies of the court.
But for how long?
The same thought had plagued her many times since their arrival. Cecil had sent his spy not only to report on her movements but to convey a clear message that she had not been forgotten. She knew from bitter experience that he was