CHAPTER 36

27 January

Frances gazed at the small hand that lay in hers. The skin was so pale as to be almost translucent, and the spidery blue veins showed clearly beneath it. A large fire roared in the grate, but the warmth did not seem to permeate the boy’s frail body, which was almost as cold to the touch now as when his father had carried him in from the carriage the evening before.

‘You should get some sleep, my dear.’

Frances smiled at Lord Rutland, who was seated on the opposite side of his son’s bed. The dark shadows under his eyes told of a restless night for him, too, though Frances had made her mother’s lodgings as comfortable as she could.

‘I will warm some more broth first,’ she said, turning back to the boy. ‘He may take a little more, now that he is settled.’

She was careful to keep her tone light, but she knew that Lord Rutland also feared a recurrence of what had happened before. At first his son had seemed to swallow the thin stew easily, but after a few spoonfuls he had begun to splutter and choke, then vomited. Frances had been concerned to see black bile but had said nothing. His father would have noticed it too.

A light tapping on the door made them both jump. Frances waited, straining her ears. Three more knocks, then silence. That was the signal. Exhaling with relief, she padded out of the chamber, taking care to close the door, just in case.

It was all she could do not to throw herself into Thomas’s arms when she saw him on the threshold. He smiled down at her with the easy humour she had grown to love so dearly. But as he embraced her she saw his eyes were alight with apprehension.

‘I have brought everything you asked for,’ he said. Frances took the small casket from him and smiled her thanks. ‘How does his young lordship fare?’

‘He is very weak,’ she whispered, ‘and has been unable to stomach anything but water since we arrived. But, God willing, these herbs will do their work.’

‘You look tired,’ her husband said, stroking her cheek.

She kissed his palm. ‘Were you able to speak to Kate, as I asked?’

‘I called upon her last night. She was greatly agitated and full of remorse for her mistake. But it was a comfort that you had reached her father and brother in time. She wanted to write to you, but I told her we must not commit anything more to paper. You took a great enough risk in sending that note with Lord Rutland’s coachman. He is a surly fellow,’ he added, with a rueful grin.

‘But a trustworthy one. What of the countess and her son?’

‘She was full of scowls at last night’s feast and retired early. My master’ – he placed a sardonic emphasis on the word – ‘appeared entirely unconcerned.’

‘One may smile and smile, and be a villain,’ Frances quoted.

Her husband nodded grimly. ‘His countenance rarely changes. He may be planning some new revels or plotting treason, for all anyone can tell.’

‘Likely both. This delay to his schemes must frustrate him as much as it does his mother, but there is little he can do about it. Even if he were so minded, he could hardly set out to fetch Lord Rutland from Belvoir himself.’

‘That is true, my love,’ Thomas replied, lowering his voice, ‘but you must not tarry here for more than a few days. Should your absence be noted . . .’

‘You are right.’ She clutched his hands, which were still icy cold. ‘I will work as quickly as I can and leave God to perform the rest.’

Frances felt her heart surge with joy. It had been five days since their arrival at Whitefriars, and for the past three she had been able to administer progressively larger doses of the tincture. The boy had kept down more and more of the broth, too, and she had observed that his breathing was steadier.

Lord Rutland turned towards her, his face alight. ‘You have restored my son to me, Lady Frances. I can never repay you, no matter . . .’ His voice broke and he sobbed into his hands while the boy looked on, bemused.

She beamed at them. ‘Your son’s recovery is reward enough, my lord. But we must let him rest now,’ she added, seeing the boy’s eyes grow heavy again. ‘Sleep will bring him back to strength, if we have patience.’

‘Of course,’ the earl said, rising from the bed. He stooped to plant one more kiss on his son’s forehead before turning to follow Frances from the room.

‘He is not clear of danger yet, my lord,’ Frances said, as soon as the bedchamber door was closed. ‘The contagion in his lungs will be slow to clear, and he is still very frail. It is no wonder that his skin is cold to the touch when there is so little flesh beneath it.’

The earl nodded gravely. ‘But he will recover?’

‘In time, yes – God willing,’ she assured him. ‘You must make sure that he does not exert himself too much. He will be eager to run about and play like other boys his age as his strength begins to return, but you must teach him to be patient.’

‘Of course,’ he agreed. ‘When will we be able to return to Belvoir? There has been no more snow for two days now so the roads will be easier than they were on our journey here.’

Frances knew that the turn in the weather was not the real reason why he was so anxious to leave this place. His nerves were as worn to shreds as hers from the constant, nagging fear of discovery.

‘Two days, perhaps – three at most. I will return to court this evening and remain there. I have prepared enough of the tincture to last another week, and you already know how and when to administer it. Make sure your son takes as much broth as he can manage – water too. By the time you return to Belvoir, he will be able to stomach some richer food. Give him whatever he has a fancy for.’

Lord Rutland clasped her hands in his. ‘I know you do not ask for my gratitude, but you have it. I shall be for ever in your debt.’

Darkness had fallen by the time Frances passed under the Holbein Gate. As had become her custom, she had taken a circuitous route back to the palace, casting frequent glances over her shoulder to make sure she was not followed. The outer courtyard was a hive of activity as pages, kitchen boys and attendants scurried this way and that in preparation for the evening’s revels. For once, Frances was glad of the hustle and bustle as it made her far less conspicuous than when she had first stolen out of the palace almost a week before. As she passed between the liveried servants and carts laden with provisions, her thoughts turned back to the dimly lit bedchamber at Whitefriars. She wished she could have stayed longer, assured herself of the young lord’s recovery, but the danger was too great. No, she must have faith – in her own skills, as well as in God. She would offer up her prayers in the chapel tomorrow.

As she neared the archway that led into the next courtyard, Frances glanced up at the ornate clock above it. A little before six. She hesitated then turned her steps in the direction of Lord Rutland’s apartment, unable to resist the temptation to tell Kate how her brother fared.

All of the sconces along the corridors had been lit and Frances was glad of their warmth as she walked briskly along. She had just entered the passage when she saw a man walking towards her. He had a pronounced limp and was hunched over a staff. Frances noticed that it had an ornately carved piece of marble at the top, but the shape was obscured by the man’s hand. She kept her eyes firmly fixed on the floor and quickened her pace.

‘Beg pardon, my lady.’

His voice echoed along the empty corridor. Frances stopped and turned. His features were in shadow, but she could see that his sharply pointed beard was as white as the snow that covered the courtyard.

‘Forgive me – I did not mean to startle you. I have been wandering these passages for an hour or more, looking for the banqueting hall. Whoever thought to build such a maze?’

Frances smiled and felt herself begin to relax. ‘Pass through three more courtyards and you will see it ahead of you – and hear the noise from it, too. The feast will begin at seven.’

‘Thankee, thankee,’ he muttered, shuffling forward a little so that his face was illuminated by the sconce above.

Frances was struck by his eyes, which were so piercing that they appeared to see into her very soul. Looking more closely, she noticed that one was green and the other blue. When he smiled at her, his lips became so thin that they were almost invisible. She glanced down at his garish attire. If she had not known better, she would have taken him to be a jester, but the King’s dislike of such entertainment was well known to all. His doublet and breeches were covered with bright blue and red stripes, and slung over one shoulder was a cloak of green satin edged with silver. Most extraordinary of all was the red and gold hat perched on his head. Frances could not decide whether it looked more like a mitre or a crown.

‘Will it suffice, do you think?’ he said with a grin, giving a slow twirl.

Frances stopped staring and inclined her head, then made to continue on her way.

‘Of course, I of all people should not have lost my way.’

‘Oh?’ she asked, a little impatiently.

‘Why, yes!’ the old man exclaimed, clearly enjoying the moment. ‘We cunning folk can find our way out of the most tangled of labyrinths. We can find hidden treasure too . . . or whatever else may have been lost.’

His words trailed into silence as he fixed Frances with a stare. She felt herself grow cold as realisation dawned. Dr John Lambe – the Buckinghams’ notorious astrologer and physician.

‘The late Queen’s jewels are not the only things to have been lost lately,’ he went on, emphasising each word with care, as if to measure its impact. Another pause. ‘There are lost souls, too. That poor boy. He should have been here long ere now.’

Frances’s neck felt warm. ‘Forgive me, I do not know—’

He gave a low chuckle. ‘It is easier to navigate the corridors of this palace than the words spoken by those within it.’ He gave a dramatic sigh, as if defeated. ‘Well, well, I must be on my way. The countess does not take kindly to latecomers, and her patience has been even shorter than usual since . . . But enough of such trifles.’ He ran his tongue over his upper lip. ‘A pretty lady such as yourself does not wish to waste time with a foolish old man when she clearly has more pressing matters to attend to. I hope you will find Lady Katherine in better spirits than I did earlier.’

He let his gaze rest upon her for just a moment too long, then gave another exaggerated sigh and made to leave. As he did so, his fingers slipped briefly from the top of his staff and Frances glimpsed the carving. It was a skull.