Читать книгу The Devil's Slave - Tracy Borman - Страница 14

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 a patient man. Was it really better to stay here, living this half-life and waiting for him to pounce, than to grasp the chance to help destroy him and his heretical master?

Her horse gave a whinny of impatience. She had almost forgotten him behind her as she gazed at her son and husband, lost in thought. They turned towards her now.

‘Mama!’ George exclaimed, letting go of the reins in his excitement.

With a deft move, Thomas stepped forward and caught him before he slipped from the saddle. As soon as he had been set safely upon the ground, he ran towards Frances and she swept him into her arms, planted several kisses on his warm cheek, then swung him around as he giggled with glee.

‘How I have missed you,’ she said, as she stroked his hair.

‘Papa says I can soon ride in the park!’ George exclaimed. ‘I have been practising all day.’

‘You are a fine horseman,’ Thomas said, with a smile, ‘though you must be patient. Duke will not take kindly to being made to gallop before he is ready.’

At the mention of his beloved pony, George squirmed to be free of his mother’s embrace and ran over to pet the animal.

‘We did not expect you back so soon, Frances,’ her husband said, stepping forward to embrace her. ‘I trust all was well with your cousin.’

‘I arrived to find her quite recovered,’ she replied, keeping her gaze fixed upon George, who was now feeding Duke some hay. ‘Thank you for giving me leave to go.’

‘Think nothing of it. It would be a cold-hearted husband who kept his wife from visiting a sick relative.’

Frances could feel his eyes upon her, but she continued to look towards her son. ‘You have always been kind to us, Thomas,’ she said.

‘Your cousin must have been glad to have you as a guest.’

Frances hesitated. ‘I did not wish to impose, so I found lodgings nearby.’ She took care to keep her voice light.

‘I am sure they would have been only too happy to accommodate you. They asked you to come, after all,’ Thomas persisted.

‘Be careful, George!’ Frances called, as she saw her son climb the mounting block. Unheeding, he leaped down from it and landed safely on the cobbles, then raced around to do the same again.

‘I am sorry if my absence caused you any inconvenience,’ she said tersely, turning to face him at last. ‘It is the first time I have been away from this place since you brought us here.’

‘You make it sound like a prison, Frances.’

Though he spoke gently, she caught the hurt in his voice and was instantly abashed. ‘Forgive me – I am tired from the journey and slept little last night. I will rest now, before dinner, if you will excuse me?’

He looked at her closely, his eyes filled with doubt – and, she thought, some sadness. ‘Of course,’ he replied. ‘George and I will continue our lesson a little longer. With luck, it will tire him out before bedtime,’ he added, with a rueful smile.

Frances nodded her thanks. Then, casting a final glance at her son, she walked briskly towards the house.

As she opened the door into the dining room, Frances breathed in the aroma of roasted meats and spices. A rich array of dishes was spread on the table before her – venison studded with cloves, sweet chicken pâté and baked trout. Though she had little appetite, she knew that her husband had arranged this to welcome her home so she must not appear ungrateful.

He rose as she entered and smiled pleasantly, all trace of the earlier tension gone. ‘Good evening, Frances. I hope you are rested?’

‘Yes, thank you,’ she replied, taking a seat close to him. ‘And, as you predicted, George needed little persuasion to take to his bed.’

Thomas smiled. ‘He is a credit to you, Frances.’

‘And to you,’ she replied warmly.

‘His father would have been very proud of him,’ he said quietly.

Frances was unable to reply. She took a long sip of wine as silence descended. The only sound was the ticking of the clock above the fireplace. It seemed to grow louder as the moments passed.

The opening of the door that led to the entrance hall made them both start. A second later, the steward appeared, flanked by two serving boys bearing more dishes. He bowed deeply to Thomas, then motioned for the boys to set down the steaming plates in the centre of the table.

‘Thank you, Taylor,’ Thomas said.

The serving boys retreated, but their superior remained standing by the fireplace. Frances looked at her husband, waiting for him to dismiss the man, but he made no move to do so. ‘That will be all,’ she said.

Taylor bestowed on her a look of disapproval and sniffed. She should not have infringed upon her husband’s authority, but she could not bear to have the man present while they ate. Usually, he stayed only for the formal dinners when they entertained guests. At least then there was other company to distract her from his cold stares and curt remarks. Ever since her arrival at Tyringham Hall, he had made clear that she was not welcome.

The man turned his gaze to his master. ‘Sir Thomas?’

‘You may leave us.’

Taylor bowed stiffly and walked from the room, closing the door a little too firmly behind him. Frances waited until his footsteps had faded into silence, then addressed her husband. ‘He still despises me.’

Thomas sighed. ‘Taylor has served my family since I was a boy. He is loyal and able in his duties, though perhaps a little too officious at times. I am sorry that he is not more courteous towards you, but his discretion can be relied upon – as can that of the other servants.’

Frances fell silent. In her situation, discretion was of far greater value than friendliness, yet still she longed for the closeness she had enjoyed with Ellen. With her husband away so often, and precious few acquaintances of her own close by, she lacked company. It was a far cry from her years at court, when she had been hard-pressed to win a moment to herself.

The court.

For all its dangers, it offered her a purpose. God willing, she would serve it well this time. Tom had died for his faith; she would no longer keep her own secreted, like a long-faded jewel. She hoped that the queen’s summons would be swift to arrive.

‘Well, now,’ Thomas said, interrupting her reverie. ‘It seems we are to be parted again. The king has declared his intention to return to the hunt. I will leave for Whitehall tomorrow so that I can make ready.’

Frances thought quickly. Dorothy had told her to wait for word from the queen, but this was surely too good an opportunity to miss. ‘Might I accompany you this time?’ she asked, as casually as she could.

Thomas looked at her in surprise. ‘I did not think you would ever wish to return to that place.’

Frances was aware of the flush that was creeping up her neck, threatening to betray her, but she persisted. ’For myself, I would gladly stay away. But George should soon be introduced at court. No matter how much I might loathe the place, I wouldn’t want to hinder his prospects – and neither would you.’

Her husband’s expression darkened as he stared at her. She had aroused his suspicions, but she forced herself to hold his gaze.

‘George is flourishing here and hardly lacks diversion,’ Thomas said. ‘Many a young gentleman has made his way in the world without recourse to the dangers and temptations of the court. By the time he comes of age, he will be as accomplished as any courtier and will know enough about this estate to take over its management. It is my intention to bequeath it to him.’

‘I know it, and owe you a greater debt than I will ever be able to repay – for this and many other things besides,’ Frances replied softly, reaching out to touch his hand. ‘But you must recognise the truth of what I say. You are beyond compare as a father to George, and I would not wish to see him grow to resent you for denying him the opportunities that the court can offer. Besides,’ she added, ‘there must be gossip about why you keep me here, when most other gentlemen bring their wives to court. Surely the king himself has remarked upon it.’

The look on Thomas’s face told her that her words had hit their mark. He opened his mouth to reply, then sighed as if resigned. ‘Where would you live? My lodgings at court are by no means as spacious as we are used to here. There is only one bedchamber. It would be harder to maintain the pretence that we live as husband and wife.’ He looked down at her hand, which still rested upon his, and shifted uncomfortably.

Sensing her advantage, Frances forged ahead. ‘That is of little matter. There will be room enough for the three of us.’ She did not add that, if George was obliged to share a bedchamber with them, there would be even less opportunity for intimacy than there was now, with their separate sleeping quarters.

Thomas rubbed his brow, as if trying to smooth out the creases. ‘You know the risks that this would carry, Frances. The last time you were at court, Cecil almost had you arrested for involvement in the Powder Treason. He suspects you still.’

Frances held his gaze. ‘But if what you have told me is true, he has been eclipsed by other favourites, and the king is too preoccupied with hunting and hounds to trouble himself with affairs of state.’

‘Has your sudden desire for court anything to do with your visit to Northampton?’

The abruptness of his question startled Frances, and it took her a few moments to recover her composure. ‘I do not understand your meaning, Thomas,’ she replied.

His gaze sharpened. ‘I will take you at your word, Frances,’ he said, his voice low. ‘But you must promise me that you will not become embroiled in the plots that still swirl about the Crown. Tom would not have wished you to place yourself and your son in such danger. It will spell death for all of us if you disobey me.’

Frances nodded, mute. She took a sip from her glass and her hand shook as she set it down. With an effort, she swallowed the wine, which burned her throat.

‘Then it is settled,’ her husband said, after a long pause. ‘I will send my steward ahead to make arrangements. We will leave as soon as it is light.’