The Devil's Slave. Tracy Borman

      The amber seemed to glow as Frances held it up to the candle that burned on her dresser. The beads were perfectly smooth and round, yet as the light shone through them, she could see the myriad dark flecks and shadows that made each one unique.

      The rosary had been a gift from Queen Anne, who had slipped it quietly into her hands as Frances had taken her leave from court. ‘Keep faith,’ she had whispered, bending forward to kiss Frances on both cheeks. As she slowly threaded the beads through her fingers now, Frances wondered if Anne, too, would continue to abide by the faith that had bound her to the plotters – had made her countenance the murder of her husband and son. If so, then she would need to employ even greater discretion than usual. She knew that Cecil suspected the queen of involvement in the Powder Treason, as they were calling it, and would not rest until he had secured the proof.

      Frances reached into the small linen purse that was concealed in the folds of her dress and drew out the letter. She had kept it with her ever since it had arrived three days earlier, not daring even to leave it in the locked casket where she kept her most precious herbs and tinctures. Slowly unfolding it, she read it again.

       Lady Frances,

       I know you were a good friend to my late brother Thomas. He spoke of you often, and in terms of great affection. His loss must be as great to you – greater, even – as it is to those of his family who still draw breath. To have lost two brothers as well as my husband John is almost more than I can bear, though I hear that they all died bravely. I thank God that I have my precious boy. I have named him Wintour, to preserve our family name. I wish that you had the same consolation.

      Instinctively, Frances’s hand moved to her belly, which she stroked distractedly as she resumed reading.

       It is beholden upon those of us who remain to honour their memory by continuing to further the cause for which they died. Lady Vaux assures me that you can be trusted as a supporter of the true faith, and that you enjoy great favour with Her Royal Highness Princess Elizabeth. You must return to court as soon as possible. It is there that you can do most good for our cause. No matter how much you love Longford Castle – Tom told me it is dear to your heart – your love for him must surely be greater. I urge you, therefore, to make this sacrifice for his sake. I wish I could do the same, but I am now sole mistress of Norbrook and cannot leave my child at so tender an age. Though you will be returning to a place of danger, you will not be friendless. Lady Vaux tells me that there are many great persons there who conspire to return this kingdom to the Catholic fold. I beg you, make haste.

       Your loving friend,

       Dorothy Wintour

      Frances’s hands shook as she refolded the letter and slid it carefully back into the purse. She had never met Tom’s sister, and he had rarely spoken of her – anxious, no doubt, to avoid implicating her in his plans. How had she known to write to her here? Lady Vaux must have enquired after her upon arriving at court – she was tenacious enough to do so. Or perhaps there were others there, besides the queen, who still watched her movements. The thought made her shudder.

       I urge you to make this sacrifice for his sake.

      The words sounded in her ears, but it was Tom who spoke them. She had heard them many times since the letter had arrived. She knew she should burn it, but somehow this single piece of paper seemed the only trace of him that was left to her. The thought of returning to court filled her with dread, and hers was not the only life to consider now. Surely Tom would not wish it, if he knew of the precious burden she carried. No. She would remain here at Longford, raise their child in the safety and comfort of her beloved home.

       But how much longer would it be her home?

      Frances pushed away the unwelcome thought. For as long as her parents lived, they would never allow Edward to turn his sister out of Longford, even though she threatened to bring shame upon the family. She knew that their father disapproved of his heir’s haughty behaviour – even more so of the Protestant doctrine he had spouted since his arrival at Longford. Frances suspected that her brother cared little for spiritual matters but had an eye to preferment at court. Please God, her parents would leave Richmond and return here themselves soon enough. Even as she mouthed the silent prayer, she knew it was unlikely to be answered. The king, capricious as ever, had made clear that he wished to retain her parents at Richmond, though he could have little need of them there. As Marchioness of Northampton and the old queen’s closest favourite, her mother Helena deserved better – as did her father, Lord Thomas Gorges, who had the blood of the powerful Howard family coursing through his veins.

      With a sigh, Frances stood, walked slowly over to the bed and pulled back the covers. Although her limbs sagged with fatigue, she had little desire to climb into it, knowing it would offer no repose. Instead, she would lie there for hours, as she had every night since Tom’s death, waiting for the dawn.

       CHAPTER 1

       18 April