Frances smiled and clapped as another arrow thudded into the target. Elizabeth grinned, then drew back her bow once more.
It was the first fine day in more than two weeks, so the princess had been determined to make the most of it. They had been riding that morning, much to Frances’s joy. Feeling the wind whipping around her as they galloped through Hyde Park had given her a heady sense of release. She had spent the past fortnight indoors, feeling as if she were being slowly suffocated.
There had been three more arrests since Thomas’s departure, including a lady of the queen’s bedchamber. She had been released soon afterwards, but it had occasioned great alarm among Anne’s household and had made Frances feel as if the net was closing. She found herself almost wishing that Cecil would make his move.
‘Can I trouble you for a moment, Lady Frances?’
Jane Drummond’s face was ghastly pale and her hair had come loose from its coif. Frances cast a glance at the princess, who had just loosed another arrow and laughed with delight as it hit the target. Beside her, Blanche was clapping enthusiastically, but Frances noticed the young woman stare briefly in her direction.
‘What is it?’ she muttered, her gaze fixed on the princess.
‘Please – it will only take a moment.’
Frances caught the urgency in her voice. ‘Very well,’ she said curtly. She walked a few paces from the small gathering of spectators so that they would not be overheard.
‘We need your assistance. Lady Arbella lies sick at Parry’s house. If the source of her malady is discovered, the consequences will be grave.’
‘And what is the source?’ she asked, fearing she knew the answer already.
Jane hesitated. Then: ‘She is with child.’
Frances felt a sudden chill. Many times these past weeks, she had thought of Raleigh’s words during their last meeting, his plan to help Seymour visit his new wife. But she had reasoned that even if such visits took place, the chances of their resulting in a pregnancy were surely remote. Certainly she had hoped so. More and more, she found the idea of this arrogant and headstrong woman on the throne utterly repellent. Queen Anne was right: Arbella served her own interests, not those of the faith. Frances regretted that she had been obliged to assist her.
‘At least, she was,’ Jane continued. ‘But last night she began with such pains in her stomach that she could hardly rise from her bed.’
‘Has she bled?’ Frances asked.
Jane shook her head. ‘But the pain frightens her and she is greatly agitated. While she continues like this, it cannot but do harm to the child. Please, Lady Frances. I know of none other who can help her.’
‘I told Sir Walter I wanted no part of this,’ Frances murmured.
‘I know that,’ Jane countered, ‘and he told me not to involve you. But the fate of every Catholic in the kingdom rests upon the child she carries. As a prince of the houses of Stuart and Seymour, his claim would be uncontested. I cannot risk his life, or that of the lady.’
Frances thought quickly. It was common for a woman to suffer pains during the first few weeks, as the child took root in her womb. But they should not be as grievous as Jane had described. Perhaps Arbella was making too much of it – she was known to be of a nervous temperament. ‘I can give you something to ease her pains.’
‘It is not enough. You must attend her. That is our only hope. I have arranged everything. You will be conveyed there as soon as the princess has finished her game. It is but a short distance from here – you will be back before she needs you again.’
Her mistress was now engaged in an animated conversation with one of the onlookers. It was she whom Frances devoutly wished to see crowned queen of this kingdom, not the vain and foolish Arbella. Suffering the rule of a heretic king was preferable to that.
‘Very well,’ she muttered. ‘I will do as you request. But I will have nothing further to do with you or your schemes. I do not wish to see you or have any correspondence with you hereafter. The service that I perform is as a healer, not an ally. I have no desire to see the lady or her child on the throne.’
Jane Drummond’s expression hardened, but she gave a curt nod. ‘Thank you, Lady Frances. Be at the water gate by dusk. A barge will be waiting for you there.’ She turned on her heel and strode back across the park, her skirts billowing.
Sir Thomas Parry’s house was one of a number of handsome mansions that lined the river close to Lambeth Palace, their lush green lawns sweeping down to the water’s edge. As the barge drew level with the small wooden landing stage, Frances noticed the figure of a man at one of the downstairs windows. He disappeared from view as soon as she disembarked. She did not know if it was the same man who opened the door to her a few moments later. He was stooped with age and leaned heavily on a staff as he peered out at her.
‘Sir Thomas Parry,’ he said, giving a slight bow. ‘You are come to help my guest?’ The lines at the corners of his eyes deepened as he smiled. He shuffled back a few paces so that she might pass.
‘Thank you, Sir Thomas,’ she said, grateful that he had not asked her name. Frances suspected he wanted as little to do with this as she did.
She climbed the stairs and followed the corridor along to the end, as Parry had directed, and knocked quietly on the door of the furthest chamber. It was opened a moment later by a charwoman. She peered at Frances cautiously before motioning for her to enter. Frances watched until her stooped frame was out of sight along the corridor, then went quickly into the chamber.
A low keening emanated from the bed, around which heavy drapes were drawn. Frances walked to the head and set her salves and tinctures on the table. She took a breath, then pulled back the curtain. Arbella twisted in the direction of the dim light that glowed from the sconces. Her face had a yellowish hue and her shift was damp with sweat. ‘You are come at last,’ she hissed, teeth gritted.
Frances did not reply but turned back to the table and began decanting a tincture of willow bark and feverfew into a glass. She mixed it with a little water, then held it to Arbella’s lips.
Arbella sniffed it. ‘What is it?’ she demanded.
‘Something to lessen the pains,’ Frances replied.
‘Do not scowl at me so,’ Arbella snapped. ‘There are many who would gladly poison me. Perhaps they have already, intent upon murdering me and my child.’
She clutched her belly again and brought her knees up to her chest. Frances watched her panting against the pain, like an animal caught in a snare. At length it subsided and she offered her the tincture again. She drank it, shuddering at the taste.
‘When my prince is born, England shall be saved from its heretic king,’ Arbella said, once she was calmer. She gazed down at her belly and gently stroked it.
Frances said nothing. The woman was even more blinded by her arrogance and ambition than she had thought. How could she, a prisoner of the king, still cherish hopes of seizing the throne? As for her child, Frances doubted it would ever draw breath. These were not the pains of early pregnancy.
‘I see you doubt me,’ Arbella sneered, ‘but you do not know the friends I have.’
Jane Drummond was a valuable ally, certainly, but Frances doubted that Arbella had many other supporters at court, despite what Raleigh had hinted. Lady Vaux had also claimed to have a wide network of allies, but Frances had seen little proof of that either. Not for the first time, she wondered if any of the Catholics in this kingdom were willing to stir themselves for rebellion. They had not done so for the Powder Treason, which must surely have inspired them with greater hope than the machinations of this haughty, volatile woman. Frances believed that most would rather live peaceably, keeping their faith in their hearts, as Thomas had urged her to do.
Arbella gave another cry, jolting Frances from her thoughts. She stepped quickly forward and took the glass from her fingers, then soaked a cloth in the ewer and pressed it to the woman’s forehead. Arbella swiped her hand away and flung back the heavy covers of the bed. ‘You must try to be still – for the sake of the child,’ Frances urged.
Arbella quietened and lay panting for several minutes. As gently as she could, Frances eased her onto her back and placed more pillows under her neck for support. She then moved to examine her.
Arbella flinched as Frances lifted her shift and held herself taut, legs clamped together as if to stem the steady stream of blood that now seeped between them.
‘I am sorry,’ Frances said quietly.
Arbella’s scream was so piercing that Frances feared it would rouse Sir Thomas and his servants. As it echoed into silence, she listened for the creak of floorboards in the corridor beyond. But the only sound was of pitiful sobs as Arbella watched her child bleed away.
Frances sensed that she would lash out if she tried to comfort her, so instead she busied herself with fetching fresh linens from the chest and placing a wad underneath Arbella’s shift. She doused others with water and patiently cleaned the blood as it oozed steadily from her womb. It would continue for several hours yet, but already it was starting to diminish. From the remaining linens, she fashioned a pad such as a woman might wear for her monthly courses and tore off a long piece so that she could tie it into place around Arbella’s hips.
When she had finished, the lady’s sobs had subsided and she had fallen into an exhausted sleep. The herbs would be taking effect now, Frances judged. They would help her sleep until dawn.
Knowing she could do no more, and anxious to return to court before the princess noted her absence, Frances gathered the phials and pouches of herbs, and padded quietly towards the door.
‘You must tell him.’
She turned back to the bed. Arbella’s eyes were still closed and, for a moment, Frances wondered if she had spoken in a dream.
‘Tell him this is an impediment only, that I will carry another child – and soon.’
‘Seymour?’
‘No, no – not him.’
Her voice was agitated now, but as Frances waited for her to continue there was a sharp creak from the corridor.
‘I must go,’ she said, without pausing to hear who Arbella’s message was for.
The old serving woman was standing outside when she opened the door. Frances gave a curt nod, then brushed past her. As she hastened along the corridor, she heard Arbella cry out again.
‘Tell him!’
Sir Thomas was nowhere to be seen when Frances reached the entrance hall. She did not trouble to make her farewells, but left the house and ran down the path to the river. The boat was still tethered to the post and Frances could just make out the figure of a man waiting on the landing stage. She whispered a prayer of thanks that the boatman had proved patient, but it died on her lips as he turned to face her.
William Cecil.
‘My father has summoned you to attend him,’ he said, his mouth set in a grim line. ‘You will come with me at once.’