CHAPTER 52

9 October

The whole of London seemed ablaze. As soon as word had arrived that the prince and his entourage had landed safely at Plymouth, bonfires had been lit in celebration. The King had received the news while hunting at Theobalds Palace and had immediately ordered Thomas to make the long ride back to escort them.

A distant cheer could be heard along the Strand. Frances craned her neck to see above the crowds that thronged the streets, waiting to greet the King’s son and favourite. Anyone would think they were conquering heroes, she thought scornfully. As it was, their expedition had ended in ignominious failure and relations between England and Spain were worse than they had been before. Frances was eager to see her husband and hoped that Lord Rutland had endured the arduous journey without weakening his already fragile health.

‘There they are!’

The shout was soon echoed by a chorus of others. Frances saw a flash of scarlet and gold as Buckingham held his plumed hat aloft in acknowledgement of the cheers. He was riding ahead of the prince, she saw, with dismay. The failure of his expedition had done nothing to curb his overweening pride.

‘God save Your Grace!’

Charles, who was dressed more soberly, nodded his thanks. His pale skin was burnished by the Spanish sun, but his eyes were sunken and his shoulders hunched. As he drew closer, he looked to where Frances was standing. She thought she saw the faintest smile of recognition before a shout from the other side of the street drew his attention.

Rutland rode directly behind the prince. He seemed oblivious to the cheers of the crowds but kept his eyes fixed upon the horizon. Frances was shocked by how emaciated he had become. Her heart swelled as she saw her husband at the back of the cavalcade. It was almost a month since he had left for Theobalds and she had received only hurried messages from him since. He did not see her, but she kept her eyes on his retreating form as he gradually disappeared from view.

The people around her surged after the procession, hoping to catch another glimpse of the prince and the duke before they rode into the palace. Frances followed in their wake. She had no desire to see the King greet his favourite, showering him with the gifts he had bought to mark his return. When she reached the end of the wide street that led to Whitehall, a huge crowd was still gathered around Holbein Gate, even though the prince and his entourage had already passed under it and into the first courtyard. She turned instead towards the stables, hoping to see Thomas as he led the horses there while Buckingham basked in the attentions of his adoring royal master.

‘God’s teeth! What are you about, man?’

The cry rang out from the stable-yard as Frances approached. She stopped as she rounded the corner and saw the duke glowering at her husband, who was helping him untangle his boot from the stirrup. All of the smiles and graciousness with which he had received his hero’s welcome were gone. She wondered what could have put him in such a foul temper already.

‘Leave it!’ he commanded, kicking out at Thomas’s fingers. Frances saw her husband’s flicker of a smile as he turned to unsaddle the horse. She watched as Buckingham struggled to free his boot then, muttering another curse, took it off altogether and stamped his stockinged foot on the gravel. ‘Do not think I am blind to what you have done, Tyringham,’ he spat, grabbing Thomas roughly by the shoulders.

Her husband looked calmly at him. ‘Your Grace?’

The duke took a step towards him. Frances moved closer, taking care to remain hidden from view. Her eyes flitted to the sword at Buckingham’s belt.

‘Do not toy with me, churl. You have dripped poison into the King’s ear while I have been away, making him doubt my loyalty and question my motives for going to Spain. Why else would he give me such a greeting just now?’

Frances willed her husband to say nothing that might provoke him.

‘What other motives could you have had, my lord duke, than to secure a great alliance for this kingdom?’ he asked, in mock-innocence.

Buckingham moved so close to Thomas that their foreheads almost touched. Slowly, he reached around to caress the hair at the back of his neck. Nausea rose in her, as Frances watched her husband struggle to stop himself lashing out, knowing that this was exactly what the duke wanted. Suddenly, Buckingham grasped a handful of hair and yanked Thomas’s head backwards. ‘You may think you enjoy His Majesty’s favour now, but it is an illusion. I will see you ruined – you and that pretty wife of yours. I would have rid myself of you both years ago, if it was not so diverting to see you suffer. Losing your family seat must have been enough to unman you,’ he purred.

Frances saw her husband’s hand move to his sword.

‘But do not grieve, Thomas, for you and your wife must visit us there, as soon as we have ordered the place to our satisfaction. I wonder that you can have put up with somewhere that lacked so many modern comforts – not to mention fashions. Why, it is quite the relic!’

‘You purchased it? But . . .’

Buckingham inclined his head. ‘Through a second party, of course – I know how touchy men can be about selling to their superiors. Now I have returned, I will have much more leisure to set it to rights. Katherine will manage it for me. It will do her good to spend some time away from court. Goodness knows what company she has been keeping during my absence.’

Frances stared at him. He had released his grip on her husband and was smiling at him.

‘Now, please – fetch my boot. I must go and dress for dinner.’

Frances gazed at the long tables lined on each side with courtiers, all looking in her direction. It was strange to see the hall from this vantage point, and although it was a great honour to have been invited to join the King’s table, she could not help feeling rather exposed. She was glad that Thomas had been seated next to her, the Earl of Rutland on her other side. She was glad, too, that Buckingham was at the opposite end of the table, several seats away from James and the prince.

‘My lords.’ The King had risen to his feet. ‘We have ordered this feast to celebrate the return of our son and heir, the Prince of Wales.’ A cheer rose up around the room. ‘And of His Grace the Duke of Buckingham.’ Frances was gratified that the cheers petered out. She saw that the duke’s smile had become fixed. ‘But it is also our pleasure to reward the great service performed by two other gentlemen here this evening. My lord Rutland, Sir Thomas – Tom,’ he added, with a grin, ‘please accept these small tokens of our gratitude and esteem.’

Frances exulted to see the earl and her husband kneel to receive their gifts. She could not resist flashing Buckingham a smile. Her triumph faded as she saw Kate next to him, staring miserably at her plate. As she reached for her glass, Frances saw an angry red welt at her wrist.

‘Congratulations, my love,’ she said, as Thomas sat down and showed her the gold medallion studded with rubies with which the King had presented him. She found herself wondering how much it was worth – though she knew they could not risk His Majesty’s offence by selling it.

During the feast that followed, Frances drank more than was her custom – partly to celebrate her husband’s safe return and his obvious favour with the King, but also to blur the memory of what had happened in the stable-yard. Thomas had refused to speak of it when she had told him she had seen and heard everything. Losing Tyringham Hall had grieved him enough, but the knowledge that it was to Buckingham was too much to bear. Even after several glasses of wine, Frances was aware that the King had drunk much more than she had. His face was flushed and his voice had become progressively louder so that now most of the hall could hear whenever he made a remark.

‘Father,’ the prince said quietly, as James gulped the contents of his glass, dribbling most of it down his chin.

‘Peace, boy!’ he retorted. ‘I dunnae know what has got into that pretty head of yours. Ye were always so biddable – better disposed than any son in Christendom. But since returning from Spain, ye have been carried away with rash and foolish counsels.’

‘Please,’ Charles begged, placing a hand on his father’s arm in a vain attempt to stop him taking another long draught of claret.

‘Silence!’ At the King’s shout, all eyes turned to the dais. James went on, oblivious: ‘Yer head has been turned by our duke there,’ he said, wine spilling over the rim of his glass as he gestured towards Buckingham. ‘God knows how many devils are within him since that journey.’

The King’s favourite took a sip from his own glass, but his knuckles were white as he grasped it.

‘Ye have used such cruel words towards your dear dad and sovereign,’ he continued, addressing Buckingham directly now. Frances had heard that the duke referred to James in that way but had dismissed it as unfounded gossip. ‘I cannae forget nor forgive them.’

Buckingham was gripping his glass so tightly now that Frances feared it would shatter. ‘A man might utter any number of foolish words when overcome with excitement to see his king and master,’ he replied smoothly.

Arthur Brett, who was seated next to James, suppressed a titter. The duke flashed him a look of such fury that the young man blanched.

‘I saw no such excitement,’ James slurred, ‘only pride and insolence.’

The silence in the crowded hall was absolute, the tension almost palpable, as all eyes were trained on the disgraced favourite. The yeomen standing behind the throne grasped their halberds. For several moments, Buckingham stared back at James, his expression unreadable. Frances found herself willing him to strike out, raise his sword against the King. Such an act could never be pardoned. Instead he set down his glass, rose to his feet and, bowing low before his royal master, walked slowly from the dais.

‘Frances.’

The voice was so quiet that for a moment she thought she had imagined it. She stopped and looked around the deserted garden. The sun had not yet risen and she had not expected to see anyone else there. A cold hand gripped her wrist and she swung around. Before she could speak, Kate pulled her towards the entrance to the maze where she had been hiding.

‘I could not leave without seeing you,’ her friend whispered. There were dark circles under her eyes. ‘It grieves me to think what opinion you must have of me – your husband, too. He is an honourable man and does not deserve such treatment.’

‘You have done nothing against either of us,’ Frances said, clasping her hands.

‘Oh, but I have!’ Kate whispered, tears in her eyes. ‘I am to be mistress of Tyringham Hall, to look on as your husband’s beloved home is dismantled, brick by brick, and a new mansion built in its place. And all in my name!’ She bent her head and began to sob.

Frances stepped forward to embrace her. ‘This is not your doing, Kate – Thomas knows that as well as I. You are as powerless to oppose your husband as we are – more so, perhaps,’ she added, looking down at the darkening bruise on the young woman’s wrist. ‘You must not grieve on our part. God will avenge his sins.’

Kate raised a tear-stained face. ‘I wish I could believe that, Frances. I have prayed for it – yes, though I am his wife and should look for nothing but blessings for him. But God seems not to heed my prayers.’

‘He will. Such sins as he has committed cannot go unpunished, in this world or the next.’ She kissed her friend’s cheek. ‘Now, go to Tyringham with our blessing – little Mary too. Make sure to take her to the woods that lie just beyond the privy garden. The pansies will be in full bloom by now.’

Kate’s face lifted into a smile of such warmth that Frances’s heart swelled. ‘God go with you, Frances,’ she whispered, and hurried back towards the palace.

It was a long time before Frances followed. The day had dawned fine and clear, and the sun’s rays carried the promise of warmth. Thomas would have left for the hunt by now, so she was in no hurry to return. She resolved to pay a visit to Lord Bacon at his lodgings near to Temple Church. He always welcomed her warmly, though his circumstances had been pitifully reduced.

She had almost reached the gate in the high brick wall that surrounded the garden when she heard the latch click open.

‘Your Grace,’ she said, dropping into a deep curtsy.

The prince did not seem surprised to see her. Evidently, Kate was not the only one who knew it was her habit to walk about the gardens early each morning.

‘I’m sorry if I startled you, Lady Tyringham. Would you walk with me?’

They made their way in silence along the path that led towards the sequence of small knot gardens. As Frances waited for Charles to speak, she pretended to look at the neatly arranged plants on either side of them, wondering why he had sought her out.

‘I have not forgotten the service you performed for my father some years ago, though I have never spoken of it,’ he began.

‘Neither have I changed my allegiance,’ he went on, ‘though you would be forgiven for thinking so . . . I promised my late mother I would marry a princess of the faith, so when Buckingham began to promote the Spanish match so vigorously, I decided to fall in with his plans.’ His face darkened. ‘But I might as well have made a pact with the devil.’

Frances held her breath.

‘The duke claims to be of our faith, Lady Tyringham, but I have seen enough to convince me that he uses it to justify a plot that is driven only by greed and ambition. As soon as we reached the Escorial, it was clear that he had struck a private bargain with the King of Spain, whereby my marriage to the infanta would be bought at a terrible price – wresting the throne from my father and placing me on it to rule jointly with my new wife as Catholic sovereigns.’

Still Frances said nothing. It was all as Salisbury had told her.

‘Buckingham had been promised coffers filled with Spanish gold if he brought all this to pass,’ the prince continued. ‘But he overreached himself, demanding more power than Philip was prepared to cede to him. He insisted, too, that his daughter Mary be married to the King’s brother, Don Carlos. He means to make himself king one day, I am sure of it.’

He turned to face Frances.

‘He must be stopped, before he destroys not just my father but the entire kingdom. Our failure in Spain has left him undaunted. He will find another means to seize power.’

Frances’s eyes blazed with intensity. ‘You are right to fear this, Your Grace. I have heard and seen enough of his plans – his character – to believe him capable of the evil you describe. If he is truly a Catholic, he will do more harm to our cause than those who seek our persecution.’

Charles nodded grimly. ‘My father’s present anger towards him will soon dissolve – as it always does. Although Lord Cranfield and others have taken advantage of his absence, he will find means to crush them.’

‘He is always at his most dangerous when under attack,’ Frances agreed. ‘I will support Your Grace in whatever way I can – my husband too. You have many allies in this court, if you would use them.’

‘Thank you, Lady Frances,’ he replied quietly. ‘I hope that God will be my ally too.’