‘They say that the old woman took the longest to die.’
Frances tried not to listen as she tore off another piece of bread, but the rest of the chatter died down and all eyes were turned to her uncle, who was clearly relishing the attention.
‘You would have thought her scraggy neck would snap as soon as the rope tightened around it, but it took a full five minutes for her to choke out her last breath.’
Frances repressed a shudder. An image of the woman she had seen hanged at Tyburn came to her. The glazed, bulging eyes had haunted her for many nights since. Thomas reached out to touch her knee. The reassuring warmth of his hand calmed her. Though she had expected news of the Lancashire witch trials to reach the court this week, she had dreaded it, too. Every mealtime passed in the idle chatter of court gossip had been a relief.
‘Were all twelve hanged?’
The question came from the far end of the table.
The earl shook his head as he drank some wine. ‘One was acquitted.’ He wiped his mouth. ‘Another died in gaol – fortunate for her, though she will not escape the fires of Hell so easily.’
‘Why was she acquitted?’ the woman next to Frances asked, sitting forward on the bench.
‘Probably pleaded her belly,’ another said, before the earl could reply. Instinctively Frances’s hand shot to hers. ‘They often use that trick. Did you hear about Old Mother Williams? When the verdict at her trial was pronounced, she claimed she had a child in her womb, even though she was nearly four score.’
There was a loud roar of laughter around the table. Frances wanted to shut her ears. Thomas’s hand twitched on her lap.
‘I doubt that was the reason in this trial,’ her uncle continued, when the hilarity had died down, ‘or she would have been thrown back in gaol to wait out the months while the guards watched for any swelling beneath her stays. Making such a plea buys only time, not life.’
Frances’s vision blurred and she closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them, she saw that Thomas was watching her, his brow knitted with concern. ‘Let us talk of other things,’ he murmured.
Frances smiled. She kept her hand on her belly, as if to protect it from the horror that was being spoken of by their fellow diners. Still she did not know if she was protecting an empty womb, as a blackbird might sit on her nest after her eggs have been stolen by a crow. ‘What time do you leave tomorrow?’ she asked, saddened by the prospect of his absence.
‘Before daylight, I fear,’ Thomas replied. ‘His Majesty has a mind to ride up to The More, some thirty miles north-west of here. He has heard that there is excellent hunting ground thereabouts, though the house itself has fallen into ruins since King’s Henry’s day.’ He paused. ‘I do not like to leave you at such a time.’
‘You worry too much, Thomas,’ she chided gently. ‘I have plenty to occupy me here and will fare a good deal better without a troublesome husband to distract me.’
She was glad to see his eyes crinkle at the corners, and they resumed their meal in companionable silence. Frances felt hungrier than she had in weeks, so took full advantage of the food that was laid out before them. As she reached to spear a piece of beef, she stopped, her fork suspended above the dish. There it was again – a movement so slight that it might be mistaken for the tickle of fabric against her skin. Discreetly, she laid down her fork and placed her hand tentatively on her belly. There was no mistaking it this time. The fluttering was rapid and strong, like the wings of a butterfly trapped against a pane of glass.
Frances felt a surge of joy, as pure and exhilarating as a crisp winter’s day. She turned to her husband, beaming. His confusion cleared as she moved his hand to her stomach. A slow smile crept across his mouth and his eyes sparkled as he gazed at her.
‘So perish all witches!’
Her uncle’s voice dispelled the wonder of the moment, like a pebble hurled into a still pond. Frances swallowed. The elation she felt at knowing their child still lived was tinged with fear. She was hazarding another life now, too. All the more reason to prevail. She must find a way to rid herself of those who circled her, like wolves. As she imagined them now, eyes trained upon her, they dissolved and formed anew into a solitary dark figure.
Prince Henry.
Frances had not tarried in bed after Thomas set out. Leaving her son sleeping peacefully and Mistress Knyvett snoozing by the fireplace, she had left the apartment and padded along the deserted corridors until she reached the riverside gate. There were several boatmen clustered around it, heads bowed as they sucked on their pipes and waited for the court to awaken. Seeing her approach, one broke away and led her to his boat. The tide was in their favour and it took only half an hour to reach the Tower.
As she climbed onto the landing stage, Frances prayed Raleigh would be awake. The sky was lightening but on checking her pocket watch she saw that it was not half past five.
The guards at the outer gateway nodded her through and she made her way along the curtain wall before turning left under the archway that led up to the green. Climbing the steps, she peered across at Raleigh’s lodging and was relieved to see a candle burning at the window.
He opened the door before she had knocked. ‘You keep unsociable hours, Lady Frances,’ he said, as he bent to kiss her hand. ‘It is usually only the cawing of the ravens that stirs me from my bed.’
She struggled to return his smile and took the seat he indicated.
‘News of the Lancashire witches reached court yesterday,’ she began. ‘They were hanged a few days ago.’
Raleigh nodded, grave-faced. ‘So I understand. The walls of the Tower are not so solid that they can keep out the news from Whitehall.’ He sipped from the goblet next to him. ‘They say it has reminded the king of his passion for witch hunting.’
Frances looked at him bleakly. ‘That is true – and the prince now pretends to share his passion. It is one of the few matters upon which they agree,’ she added bitterly.
‘And what of Lady Vaux?’
Frances shrugged. ‘I have heard little from her of late. Though I doubt she has been idle.’
‘So she is not the one about whom you wish to confer?’
Frances admired his ability to get to the heart of the matter straight away, without ever making her feel hurried. She shook her head.
‘Perhaps it is that troublesome brother of yours – ah, I see my aim is true.’ He leaned forward, lowering his voice as he spoke again. ‘Has he been corrupting young George?’
‘Not since that night at St James’s. He has found other ways to torment me.’ She took the cup that Raleigh offered. Holding it beneath her nose, she breathed in the aroma of basil and something sweeter. Honey. As the liquid slipped down her throat, it seemed to warm her entire body. She began to relax.
‘Edward’s favour with the prince increases daily,’ she continued. ‘It seems they are kindred spirits, both intent upon destroying the lives of others to boost their own. He has persuaded Henry to sign an indenture, restoring Longford to him if ever it should be forfeit to the Crown.’
She could see the thoughts playing through Raleigh’s mind as he watched her with steady, knowing eyes. ‘Prince Henry is impatient for his own inheritance,’ he said, ‘if he makes such pledges while his father is still in good health. I wonder what other plans he is quietly putting in place.’
‘I am sure he means to dictate the lives of all those unfortunate enough to fall within his orbit.’ The scorn dripped from her voice. ‘He has certainly resolved to dictate his sister’s choice of husband and ordered me not to speak to her of it, lest I dissuade her from this latest candidate.’
‘Count Frederick? A chit of a lad, by all accounts. I doubt he will be to the princess’s taste.’ He paused. ‘So he knows that you sought to undermine the previous match?’
‘I care little for that. I suspect the princess let it slip, though I know she would not have done so intentionally. In a way, I am grateful to the prince. He was quite clear that I should desist from any future discussion of the princess’s marriage. I am therefore released from my obligation to further the suit of my uncle.’
‘That at least is a blessing,’ Raleigh agreed. ‘I cannot imagine that your efforts in that quarter were thriving. Will you tell Lady Vaux?’
‘It is Longford that concerns me most,’ she replied, with a touch of impatience, eager to draw his attention back to the matter in hand. ‘Edward has threatened to provide proof of my witchcraft. He knows that I treated my husband at Belvoir and has other evidence besides.’
Raleigh raised an eyebrow, but Frances remained tight-lipped. She had no wish to talk of Ellen. The guilt she felt over her death was still too raw, even after all these years.
‘And he has the king’s ear, as well as Henry’s?’
‘I don’t think so. But that hardly matters. If the king hears that the supposed witch who slipped through his fingers years ago can at last be brought to justice, he will not care who stands witness.’
Raleigh fell silent for a few moments. ‘You may be right,’ he said, resting his chin on his interlaced fingers. ‘Though it is the prince with whom we should be most concerned. He has reason to punish you for disrupting his schemes. Edward will be quick to take advantage, we can be sure of that. Both men now share a common aim, Frances. To destroy you.’
He had voiced the thought that had been running through her mind since that encounter with the prince. Hearing it spoken aloud made her shake with fear.
‘Of the two men, your brother can most easily be dealt with,’ Raleigh continued. ‘His ambition has blinded him to the danger that the indenture has placed him in. By making plans for Longford when Henry is king, he has countenanced the death of our present king – which, as I am sure you are aware, is treason.’
‘Then the prince would also be implicated,’ Frances said, ‘if the indenture should come to light.’
Raleigh gave a shrug. ‘Certainly, but it is doubtful that he would face the same consequences. Much as he despises him, even the king would flinch at putting to death his own son and heir.’
‘Whereas Edward …’
‘… has as good as signed his own death warrant,’ Raleigh finished for her.
Frances sank back in her chair. She felt almost giddy with relief, but it was soon supplanted by shame. No matter what Edward had done, he was still her brother, yet she was talking of his death as if it were cause for celebration.
‘Of course we have no proof,’ Raleigh continued. ‘Although Edward was foolish enough to boast of the indenture to you, he will have it safely locked away, until such time as it is needed.’
‘And nobody else will know of it,’ Frances added. ‘I saw only his signature and the prince’s. It is no surprise that they did not risk having it witnessed.’
She thought back to the document. That she had had it in her grasp was galling. Where could Edward have hidden it? She did not even know where his lodgings were at St James’s – not that he would be fool enough, surely, to keep it there. ‘I must find it,’ Frances murmured, almost to herself.
Raleigh patted her hand. ‘It is natural that you should wish to, but you must not allow it to distract you from the real matter in hand,’ he said softly.
She looked up at him. ‘You could spend weeks, months, searching in vain,’ he went on. ‘Meanwhile, Edward and the prince will be building a case against you, choosing their moment to strike.’
‘What would you have me do?’ Frances asked, rubbing her temples.
‘Without the prince, your brother is powerless. Yes,’ he held up a hand to stop her protest, ‘it is possible that Edward will run to the king with his tales, but for as long as the prince draws breath he has no reason to do so.’ He paused. ‘Whereas if Henry’s life were suddenly to be snuffed out …’ He clicked his fingers, the sound echoing in the silence that followed.
Frances eyed him doubtfully, not wanting to believe that she had understood his meaning. ‘There is no reason to suppose that such a thing might happen, though, is there, Sir Walter? The prince is in robust health, after all.’
Raleigh smiled. ‘Of course, of course.’ He took another sip from his goblet. ‘But what if he were to choke upon his own poison?’
Frances pressed her mouth into a thin line.
‘It would be a delicious irony if the woman whom he tries to incriminate for witchcraft escapes the rope by employing the same skills of which she stands accused. Would it not, Frances?’
She stared at him in horror. ‘You mean that I should poison the prince?’
‘God has given you great skill in such matters, Frances,’ Raleigh continued, undaunted. ‘You could stop his breath without leaving any trace of foul play.’
She made to stand up, but Raleigh grasped her wrist, forcing her back onto the chair.
‘The prince stands between you and all you hold dear, Frances,’ he urged, his voice low. ‘He will take Longford from your son, bully his sister into marrying a heretic, and see you hanged as a witch. You stand to lose everything at his hands.’
‘That may be true.’ Frances wrenched herself free. ‘But I have only ever used my skills for good. I will not stoop to murder. Even if I escape vengeance in this world, I will not do so in the next.’
She stood, her chair scraping loudly on the flagstones. Raleigh’s smile did not waver as he watched her stride from the room. By the time she reached the bottom of the stairs, she had broken into a run, ignoring the curious stares of the guards as she passed. Only when she had left the confines of the Tower did she stop, hands on her knees, gasping in air as if it might cleanse her of the horror that had been spoken in that gloomy chamber.