‘There, my sweeting,’ the princess said, as she gave the dog another comfit. Its tongue lapped at her outstretched palm long after it had swallowed the treat.
‘You should not indulge him so,’ Frances chided, with a smile, ‘or he will grow too stout for those tiny legs.’
Elizabeth nuzzled the pup’s nose, causing its little tail to wag furiously. ‘Do not listen to her, Falstaff,’ she said, casting a rueful smile at her attendant. She giggled delightedly as the dog licked her face, then set it on her lap. Within a few minutes, it was dozing contentedly. Elizabeth gave a heavy sigh.
‘How do you like the count, Your Grace?’ Frances asked lightly.
Blanche shot her a look of reproof. ‘I wonder that you have forgotten Prince Henry’s orders so soon, Lady Frances,’ she remarked, with scorn.
‘Forgive me, Your Grace,’ Frances said, ignoring Blanche. ‘I did not mean to pry.’
She was gratified to see her mistress give the other woman a withering look.
‘Frederick is a dear boy. So kind and attentive. But …’ her smile wavered ‘… I cannot think he is only a week younger than me. It seems a year at least – more, even.’
‘He will gain in height yet, ma’am,’ Blanche opined. ‘By the time you are married he will far exceed you in that respect.’
‘If we are married, Blanche,’ Elizabeth retorted petulantly. ‘Nothing is decided yet.’
Frances smothered a smile. She must be careful to show no interest in the matter. God knew she had troubles enough to contend with. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see her rival watching her, but she directed her own gaze towards the window.
A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. The little dog jumped up at once and began yapping frantically.
‘Hush, little one,’ Elizabeth said. ‘It is only a visitor and you must get used to those.’
A moment later, the door was opened by one of the yeomen.
‘Her Grace the Countess of Rutland, Your Highness,’ he announced.
Frances rose to curtsy as Cecily walked in, straight-backed, her head held high.
‘What a pleasure it is to meet you again, Lady Cecily,’ the princess said, when they were all seated. ‘I hope you enjoyed the entertainments the other evening.’
‘Very much, Your Grace.’ The countess simpered. ‘My husband has often told me of the splendours of your father’s court, and I can see now that he was in earnest.’
Falstaff gave a loud yawn as he traced a circle on his mistress’s lap. Cecily’s nose wrinkled in distaste.
‘Pets are such a blessing, are they not, Lady Cecily?’ the princess remarked, gazing down at the dog, who obliged her by licking her finger.
‘Indeed,’ the older woman replied curtly.
They lapsed into silence. Elizabeth seemed oblivious to the absence of conversation as she petted the little creature.
‘I was very glad to meet your brother at last, Lady Frances,’ the countess said at length.
Frances saw interest in Blanche’s eyes. She smiled politely.
‘He was every bit as charming as I had been led to believe,’ Cecily continued, ‘and clearly a doting brother. He wanted to know all about your stay at Belvoir. He must have found your prolonged absence hard to bear.’
‘No harder than I did,’ Frances replied, her smile sweet as marchpane as she swallowed bile. She glanced at the princess, hoping she might change the conversation, but the girl was still too distracted by her dog.
‘Baron Longford is indeed a fine young man,’ Blanche observed smoothly. ‘It is no wonder that the prince shows him such favour.’
The countess beamed at her. ‘I said so to the earl, after our meeting,’ she agreed. ‘We have been invited to dine with them both tomorrow evening.’
At that moment, Falstaff leaped from his mistress’s lap and scurried to the door, pawing at it frantically. The princess rose at once to follow him.
‘Forgive me, Lady Rutland,’ she said, ‘but my dog needs to run about in the gardens for a while. Perhaps we might meet again another time.’
‘Of course,’ Cecily said tightly.
Frances allowed herself to enjoy a brief moment of glee that the countess had been superseded by a puppy. She knew it was a small victory, but it helped relieve some of the tension she felt.
She bobbed the briefest of curtsies as Cecily swept past her. Elizabeth stooped to gather the writhing animal into her arms, then hastened into the corridor.
‘I will accompany you, Your Grace,’ Blanche said quickly, glaring at Frances, then slammed the door behind her.
Frances was glad to be on her own at last. She was exhausted from the strain under which she had laboured these past few days. Thoughts of her conversation with George had churned in her mind, stoking her fury against the prince. She had said nothing of it to Thomas, afraid lest he chastise her son and destroy the fragile trust that the boy had come to place in her once more. But it had been a heavy burden to carry alone.
To stave off the feeling that she was powerless to do anything other than wait for Edward and the prince to destroy her, she had tried to focus upon the task of finding the indenture, considering all of the places where her brother might have lodged it, increasingly convinced that he had it in safe-keeping at St James’s. That was where he spent most of his time, after all, and the prince would be only too happy to supply a discreet place for it. It might even be with one of his officials – someone he could trust not to read its contents.
Frances sank back into her chair and closed her eyes, pressing her fingers to her temples. She imagined herself in the woods at Longford, gazing up at the branches that swayed overhead as she breathed in the sharp tang of wild garlic and pine. Her breathing steadied, bringing a delicious calm, which lulled her to sleep.
She awoke with a start and rubbed her neck as she glanced quickly around the room. The princess and Blanche must still be in the gardens. She had no idea how long she had slept, but she must make haste and prepare her mistress’s attire for the evening.
She stood abruptly, causing the blood to roar in her ears and her vision to cloud. As she moved towards the dressing room, her eye was arrested by one of the paintings on the wall opposite. It showed a hunting scene, which she had always thought at odds with her mistress’s taste. Noticing that it was slightly askew, she reached to straighten it, but her sleeve snagged on the frame and it crashed to the floor. Cursing, she stooped to pick it up, and froze. Tucked into the back of the frame was a neatly folded document. Heart thrumming, she prised it free and turned it over. She gasped as she recognised the prince’s seal. She cast an anxious glance towards the door. Her mistress would return at any moment, Blanche with her. With trembling fingers, she unfolded the document.
Indenture, made this third day of August …
Frances stared, as if fearing the words would disappear before her eyes. Quickly, she scanned the rest of the script, desperate to be sure.
Longford.
Her heart soared. She had found it. The signatures at the foot of the page confirmed that it was the same indenture that Edward had flourished before her at Hampton Court, the memory of which had plagued her ever since. So he had given it to Blanche for safe-keeping. How like him to make her hide it under his sister’s nose. She thought of her mother’s old painting, which she had been so convinced was where he had concealed the indenture. That had always hung in the room belonging to the most important person in the house. The same was true of this hunting scene, which was displayed in the heart of the princess’s chamber. It was so simple, now she thought about it. Yet her brother would have outwitted her, just as he had when they were children, if it had not been for that blessed piece of lace, which now hung ragged from her sleeve.
Just then, Frances heard a distant yelp followed by footsteps along the corridor outside. Quickly, she folded the document and stuffed it inside the pocket of her gown. Her hands still trembling, she lifted the picture and positioned it over the nail in the panelling. The footsteps grew louder and she heard the princess call to her dog. Frantically, her fingers fumbled for the thin cord that was strung across the back of the painting. At last, she felt it snag over the nail. Releasing the frame, she shifted it over the panelling, careful to leave it slightly askew as before.
As the latch was lifted, Frances bolted to the dresser and pulled open the top drawer, riffling idly through its contents as if trying to find a particular accessory.
‘Are you still here, Lady Frances?’
She turned to see Blanche watching her, eyes narrowed.
‘You have had ample time to prepare our mistress’s apparel. I hope you have not been sleeping. Your cheeks are very flushed.’
‘Oh, leave her be, Blanche!’ Elizabeth snapped, before Frances could answer. ‘It is hours yet before the masque begins.’
Frances turned back to the chest, hiding her smile as she forced herself to concentrate on the gorgeous array of satin gloves and ribbons. ‘The peacock blue this evening, I think, ma’am,’ she said, still looking down into the drawer.
‘I agree,’ the princess called from inside her bedchamber.
Frances thought for a moment, then went to join her mistress. She could feel Blanche’s eyes on her back but did not turn for fear of exciting her suspicion.
‘Your Grace,’ she said, as she stood at the threshold.
Elizabeth turned to her, brow creased with concern. ‘What is it, Fran?’ She pulled her into the room. ‘Are you sure you are well? I have been so worried after what happened the other week …’
‘I am quite well, I promise,’ Frances said, with a smile.
The princess studied her face. ‘You look better. The colour has returned to your cheeks at last.’
Frances’s eyes sparkled with affection for her mistress. ‘Will you forgive me if I miss this evening’s entertainments?’ she ventured.
The princess’s smile faded. ‘You are ill. Oh, Frances, I cannot bear to lose you again,’ she cried, her eyes filling with tears.
Frances felt such a rush of love for her that, for a moment, she could not speak. She pressed her lips to Elizabeth’s hands. ‘I will never leave you again – not of my own free will,’ she added quietly. ‘And I assure you that I am in perfect health. But Blanche was right. I was sleeping earlier and I would rest some more this evening, if you will permit it.’
‘Of course,’ Elizabeth said, brushing away her tears. ‘But what has made you so tired?’
Frances made a decision. ‘It is the best of reasons.’ She gestured at her stomach.
The princess gave a small gasp, then clapped a hand over her mouth. ‘You are …’
Frances nodded.
‘Oh, Fran! This is wonderful news. Thomas must be delighted. And I shall have a new playmate.’ She hugged her tightly.
‘Thank you, ma’am,’ Frances murmured, when they parted. ‘But I pray you, let it be our secret for now. Thomas knows, of course, but it is early yet and I would not have others thinking I am too fragile to fulfil my duties.’
She imagined Blanche with her ear pressed to the other side of the door. The princess nodded vigorously and pressed her fingers to her lips. Then she said, in a voice loud enough for Blanche to hear, ‘Now go, Frances, and get some rest. It will look ill if my attendant sleeps her way through this evening’s masque. But you must be here all the earlier tomorrow.’
Frances grinned and mouthed her thanks, then walked towards the door, trying hard to appear downcast. Blanche was sitting close by, her needle suspended over a torn sash in her lap. Her eyes narrowed as Frances passed. It took a supreme effort of will not to glance at the painting as she left the room.