Читать книгу The Devil's Slave - Tracy Borman - Страница 17

‘Be careful, George,’ Frances called, as her son reached over the side of the boat to dip his fingers into the icy waters of the Thames. He sat back on the wooden plank that served as a seat and gazed in wonder at the huge expanse of water that stretched out on all sides. Though she had taken him sailing on the Great Ouse many times, he had never seen a river such as this, crowded with barges carrying courtiers, officials and goods back and forth between the palaces, small wherries bobbing in their wake.

They were nearing London Bridge now, with numerous buildings balanced precariously on top. George stared up, open-mouthed, as they passed under one of the archways that was surmounted by what looked like a fortress, seven storeys high and with a turret at each corner that rose to a sharp point. Frances smiled to see her son crouch, as if expecting the building to crash down upon them. Indeed, it seemed a wonder that the bridge had not yet collapsed under all the weight it carried.

She shielded her eyes against the sun as they rounded another bend in the river. The day had dawned bright and clear, the first such since their arrival at court. Seeing the city through her son’s eyes made her almost glad to be there, for all her anxiety about the task that lay ahead.

‘Look, Mama!’ George cried.

Frances turned in the direction that he was pointing. Her breath caught in her throat.

The Tower.

It was the first time she had set eyes upon it since the night she had visited Tom. She shivered at the memory of his cold, damp cell, the smell of decay clinging to its walls. She had thought to stop his breath with her tincture, to spare him the horrors of a traitor’s death. But he had refused, knowing that it would be discovered and she would be condemned as a witch.

‘Mama?’

‘That is the Tower, George. It was built by the first King William more than five hundred years ago.’

‘Where are the windows? It must be very dark in there.’

Frances nodded. ‘It was built for defence more than comfort. King William knew that his people wanted him to go back to Normandy and never return. See that great house there, on the other bank?’ she said, drawing her son’s gaze away. ‘That was built from the stones of Bermondsey Abbey, which was pulled down in King Henry’s time.’

To her relief, George was easily distracted and soon they were beyond sight of the Tower. It would not be long before they reached Greenwich. The queen’s letter had arrived the previous day. It had said little, beyond inviting Frances to attend her. She wondered if Anne herself had thought to write, or if she had been persuaded to it by one of Lady Vaux’s associates. Frances had heard nothing from the latter since arriving at court, though she had expected it daily.

The red-brick turrets of the gatehouse came into view as the river twisted eastwards again. Frances was obliged to hold onto the back of her son’s coat as he leaped from his seat. The oarsman grumbled as he tried to steady the boat, which swayed wildly from side to side. When he was able to row again, he did so with renewed vigour, eager no doubt to return to Whitehall, where there was a good deal more business to be had.

At length, they drew level with the landing stage and Frances stepped out, then turned to help her son from the boat. She pressed some coins into the oarsman’s hand and watched as he manoeuvred the boat back towards the city. George tugged on her hand.

‘Can we meet the queen now?’

Frances smiled and nodded, and they walked towards the two yeomen who were guarding the entrance to the first courtyard. A groom soon arrived to escort them through the deserted public rooms to Anne’s apartments.

‘Why doesn’t the queen live with the king, Mama?’ George asked, as they walked.

Frances saw the groom flinch at her son’s words, and lowered her voice to answer. ‘Her Majesty prefers the peace of Greenwich to the noise of Whitehall. Besides, the royal family is not like others. Even the children are sent to live in a palace of their own, away from their parents.’

George was clearly shocked. ‘Shall I be sent away?’ he asked, eyes wide.

Frances grinned. ‘Of course not. I would not allow it – and neither would your papa. But we must soon find a tutor for you here, or you will quite forget your letters.’

George scowled. Though he had only lately begun his studies, Frances judged that he was not a natural scholar. He preferred to be outdoors, running about the gardens or lunging at imaginary foes with the wooden sword her husband had given him for his last birthday.

The corridors grew gradually darker as they neared the queen’s privy lodgings. Frances breathed in the scent of lavender, which was strewn over the rush matting. The walls on either side were lined with thick tapestries, keeping out the draughts that whipped around the larger public rooms.

When they reached the door to the antechamber, a page bade them wait while he announced their arrival. Frances smoothed her skirts and brushed the dust from George’s sleeve. She had been surprised that the invitation had extended to her son, but was glad of it. She had no desire to leave him at Whitehall, now that Thomas was away at Oatlands.

The page reappeared and motioned for them to enter. George tugged back on his mother’s hand, but she gave him a reassuring smile and led him gently forward. The queen raised her head from her needlework. She was sitting at the window, silhouetted by the bright sunlight. ‘You are most welcome, Lady Frances,’ she said, in her clipped tones. ‘I have but few visitors here at Greenwich. Come – let me see you.’

Frances took a few steps forward. As she drew level with the queen, Anne’s features were no longer obscured by the sun. Frances drew in a breath when she saw the change that had been wrought in her. Her high cheekbones seemed to have melted into the folds of her face, and her skin was now sallow rather than pale. Looking down, Frances noticed that the queen’s stays had been loosened, though not for the usual reason. She had heard it whispered that there would be no more children, though she was only midway through her thirties.

‘I am not as you remember me,’ Anne said softly.

Frances flushed. ‘Forgive me, Your Majesty. I am a little overcome. It has been so long since I was last in your presence.’

The queen gave a wry smile. ‘You were ever of a gentle nature. But there is no need to hide your dismay. I hear it often enough from the king’s lips. Little wonder he chooses to leave me for the hunt so often. I am sorry that, in so doing, he deprives you of your husband for many weeks together.’

‘Sir Thomas is happy to do his duty, Your Grace,’ Frances replied.

There was a brief silence, during which Anne eyed her. ‘I trust he does his duty by you too?’

Frances forced herself not to look away. ‘I am blessed to have such an attentive husband, Your Grace.’

There was a scuffing noise as George shifted impatiently behind his mother’s skirts. Anne smiled. ‘How rude of me! I should have introduced myself to your young master. Please, come forward.’

George bit his lip and stared down at his feet as if they demanded all of his attention. Gently, Frances coaxed him forward and laid her hands on his shoulders. He gave a stiff little bow, as she had taught him. Anne’s smile never faltered as she gave him a long, appraising stare. ‘How like your father you are,’ she said, casting a glance at Frances.

‘Papa?’ George beamed with pleasure. ‘Thank you, Your Majesty,’ he added quickly, when Frances squeezed his shoulder.

‘He must be very proud of you,’ Anne replied. ‘It is plain to see that your mother is. But we mothers are always proud of our sons. My own are a little older than you. I hope you will meet them soon – Henry, in particular. He will make a fine king one day.’

George looked thoughtful. ‘Does he ride as well as me?’

The queen let out a bark of laughter. ‘Of that I am not sure, though he is an excellent horseman. Perhaps you should challenge him to a race. The parkland around here extends for miles. You would tire out many horses, I am sure.’

The boy’s eyes widened with excitement. ‘I should like that very much, Your Grace.’

‘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.