The Devil's Slave. Tracy Borman
‘Well, now,’ Anne said. ‘You must be hungry after your long journey. Lady Drummond.’
A young woman stepped out of the shadows. Frances had not noticed her before. She was of small stature, with jet-black hair that made her skin appear all the paler. Her slate-grey eyes regarded Frances briefly before she turned to her mistress.
‘Will you take Master Tyringham to the privy kitchen and see what delicacies my cooks have prepared? I am sure there will be something to tempt him.’
The woman inclined her head and held out her hand to George, who took it without protest. Frances felt a pang as she watched him being led away.
‘Do not worry, my dear. Jane will keep your precious jewel safe,’ the queen assured Frances. ‘I would trust her with my life. Now, come and sit by me so that we may converse more freely.’
Once she was seated, Anne clasped her hand. ‘I am glad to see you, Frances, truly I am. I have thought of you often since you left court. I know how you must have suffered. Do you miss him still?’
‘With all my heart,’ Frances whispered, looking down at the queen’s hand. The large emerald ring glinted in the sunlight. ‘But George is a great comfort to me, and Sir Thomas is a good husband – better than I deserve. I understand it is you I must thank for that.’
Anne gave her hand a squeeze. ‘I know you wished to hide at Longford, but the world would soon have found you. It is better so.’ She sank back into her chair and gave a heavy sigh. ‘I have had my sorrows too, since we last met.’
‘I heard of your loss and am sorry for it, Your Grace,’ Frances replied. ‘Mary was a sweet child.’
‘Sophia too,’ Anne added. ‘She looked so much like Henry – and cried lustily like him too. Yet she drew breath for just a few hours—’ She broke off and stared out of the window, her shoulders heaving with silent grief.
Frances wished she could offer some comfort, but how could words ease the pain of losing two children in as many years? She could not imagine summoning the will to live if George was taken from her.
‘Do you have need of my skills, Your Grace?’ she asked gently, when Anne had regained her composure. ‘I heard that you have been in poor health since – since your last lying-in.’
The queen sighed again and placed a hand on her stomach. ‘My physicians have taken so much blood from me that I wonder there is any left. They say it is the only way to stop the menses that have flowed since Sophia’s birth.’
Frances held back a scornful remark. ‘I would be glad to assist you in any way I can.’
‘Thank you, Frances. I am sure your remedies would do me more good than their leeches and purges,’ the queen said. ‘But we must have a care – you know that such practices are frowned upon, perhaps more than ever. Only last week there was talk of another witch trial at Southwark. Besides, that is not why I summoned you here.’
Frances felt her heart quicken.
‘I wish you to join my daughter’s household again,’ Anne continued. ‘Elizabeth is a young woman now and her father would have her married. He will use her to forge a powerful alliance – that is what daughters are good for, after all,’ she added bitterly.
‘Does the princess wish to be married?’
‘It hardly matters – to her father, at least,’ the queen replied. ‘But she is even more susceptible to flatterers than she was when you knew her.’
The two women exchanged a knowing look. Frances had seen how easily the princess had been beguiled by Robert Catesby and his fellow plotters. Clearly she had learned little from the experience.
‘She is also headstrong – even more so than when you served her,’ Anne added, catching the look on Frances’s face. ‘She means to have a husband of the new faith, not our own, and will not be gainsaid – at least, not by me. Her brother Henry encourages her in this. She needs someone of greater wisdom to counsel her against making a choice that is as hasty as it is ill-considered.’
She hesitated.
‘A friend has suggested that you can perform this service better than anyone else. The princess loved and trusted you above all others.’
So Lady Vaux had got word to the queen, as Dorothy had promised.
Frances was plagued by doubt. Four years was a long time to have been absent from the princess – almost half the girl’s lifetime. She must have changed a great deal since they had last met, and may still resent Frances’s hasty departure. Could she win back her trust, her affection? She felt far from certain.
‘I ask only that you try, Frances. You know how much rests upon it. There is no other way to bring this kingdom back to the true faith.’ A shadow seemed to flit across Anne’s face. ‘Many vest their hopes in the Lady Arbella. But though she professes herself a Catholic, she would as soon turn to heresy if she thought it would bring her to the throne. No, we must make my daughter realise the advantages of a Catholic match.’ Her eyes blazed with intensity.
Slowly Frances inclined her head. ‘You may trust me, Your Grace. I will do whatever I can to avenge Tom and rid this kingdom of heretics, no matter the cost.’
The queen smiled and extended her hand so that Frances could kiss it. ‘I will have your letter of appointment drafted before you depart for Whitehall,’ she promised. ‘Now, you must go and find that son of yours before Jane Drummond stuffs him full of sweetmeats.’
Frances bowed her head and hastened from the room. Though she knew it was a deadly sin, she thrilled to the notion that the queen still hankered for her husband’s deposition – his murder, even. If she could help to bring the Spanish marriage to pass, she might yet see her once-beloved mistress crowned in her father’s stead. Mingled with the fear that had made her doubt the scheme in which she was now enmeshed, she felt a heady rush of anticipation.
Hundreds of candles blazed in their golden sconces, illuminating the brightly coloured bejewelled swags that were strung across the pillars of the banqueting hall. Frances breathed in the enticing aroma of spiced wine and sweetmeats as she stood on the threshold. Though the king was away on the hunt, the reception was still crowded with courtiers, and as she slowly made her way to the seats in front of the dais, she was constantly jostled and pushed. By the time she reached the back row of chairs, she was hot and out of breath, and gulped down the cup of wine she had taken from a harassed servant on the way.
The excited chatter and squeals of laughter had risen to such a crescendo that the royal musicians, who were performing on the dais, could hardly be heard. She looked around at the ladies in gowns of peacock blue silk, scarlet satin and a riot of other dazzling colours, which caught the light as they swayed and curtsied, lowering their eyes coquettishly as the male courtiers swarmed around them. Frances recognised a handful. She would have felt just as much of an outsider at the court of Henri of France, she reflected.
Eager though she was to play her part, she wished herself back at Longford, strolling in the cool shade of the woods with George at her side. She did not belong there either, though – not any more. Edward had made sure of that. Neither did the rural beauty of her husband’s estate hold any appeal. It seemed she was destined to spend her life like the restless spirits of whom Ellen had spoken, never finding that for which they searched.
A blast of trumpets jolted her from her melancholy thoughts. Immediately, the cacophony died down as the assembled throng looked expectantly towards the large doors to the right of the dais. A moment later, they were flung open by