Looking beyond them, Frances could just make out Villiers and the Earl of Rutland walking side by side. The younger man was clearly revelling in the moment as he held his head high, occasionally touching his black velvet cap in acknowledgement of the cheers and smiles of his supporters. By contrast, the earl was staring straight ahead, his mouth set. Last of all came Lady Mary Villiers, straight-backed, face suffused with triumph, and next to her Kate, her head meekly bowed.
The ceremony that followed was interminable. Frances’s skin prickled in the rising heat from the press of bodies and the hot July sun that streamed in through the stained-glass windows. She could see beads of sweat forming on the brows of the knights. How they must long to cast off their heavy velvet cloaks and caps, she mused. As Villiers knelt before his royal master, she wondered that he could appear as coolly indifferent to the searing heat as if his gown were made of ice.
She diverted her gaze towards the back of the dais, where the Queen was seated next to her son. Just then, Anne looked in her direction and her mouth lifted in the faintest smile of greeting. Frances slowly inclined her head in acknowledgement. The Queen’s expression was as inscrutable as ever as she turned back to watch her husband confer the highest honour in the land upon his favourite. Did she inwardly recoil, as Frances did? Perhaps not, given that she had encouraged the King’s obsession with him.
Unable to bear the sight of Villiers’s triumph any longer, Frances cast her eyes downwards. The child had grown so quickly this past month that there was no longer any hope of concealment. News of her pregnancy had spread rapidly throughout the court but had been the subject of only the most fleeting interest.
Far more diverting was the continuing uncertainty of the Somersets’ fate, or the question of when Sir Walter Raleigh would finally set sail for El Dorado. Frances was no less interested in that than her fellow courtiers, given how much she and her husband had staked upon the enterprise. But even though Raleigh had assembled a considerable fleet and the winds had been favourable for weeks, he had showed no inclination to embark. Frances had begun to suspect he had some other game in hand – that their fortune would be lost. She had confided her fears to Thomas, but he had urged her to keep faith. His own seemed unshakeable. Now, though, she saw in him the same air of desperation that had hung over him ever since Villiers’s rise to favour. She knew that his faith in Raleigh’s enterprise was grounded in the need to do something – anything – to rid himself of this devil.
‘I present to you these knights of the most noble Order of the Garter.’
The King’s voice rang out in St George’s Chapel. Everyone rose to their feet and bowed towards the two men, who had turned to face the crowds. Frances focused her attention on Rutland, who bore himself with the same quiet dignity that distinguished him from most of his peers – none more so than the one standing next to him. Out of the corner of her eye, Frances could see Villiers, proud as a peacock, relishing his moment of glory.
When the applause had died down, the King led the royal party from the dais and they began their slow procession back down the nave, closely followed by the knights. Frances caught the smile Villiers flashed at Kate as she fell into step behind him.
After several long minutes had passed, Frances shuffled along the pew to join the throng of guests making their way along the aisle. The atmosphere in the chapel was now suffocating, and she longed to fill her lungs with fresh air. She placed her hands protectively over her belly as she was jostled along towards the huge west door. Feeling faint, she focused her gaze upon the exquisite gilded ironwork, its curling leaves, flowers and tiny animals picked out against the deep crimson paint on the wood.
When she finally emerged onto the steps the sunlight was so bright that she was dazzled and had to pause, much to the annoyance of the courtiers who were almost treading on her heels in their eagerness to secure a good seat at the feast. She stepped aside to let them pass and, on a sudden impulse, slipped away in the opposite direction. Ahead of her was King Henry’s Gateway. She hastened towards it, hoping that the guards who usually stood sentry there had been diverted to the great hall, where the feast would soon begin. The idea of taking her place among another stifling throng was unbearable. Thomas would soon look for her, but she must first gain the solitude she had craved ever since arriving at Windsor that morning. Soon, she was enveloped in the blissfully cool shade of the gatehouse. It appeared deserted, so she decided to rest there, her back pressed against the cold stone of the archway.
‘You must have patience, Mother.’
Frances froze. She peered into the shadows but could see nothing.
‘Our debts are mounting and you spend more than you receive at the King’s hands.’ A woman’s voice, this time.
Frances felt a draught behind her and turned to see a narrow door. She had not noticed it before. It was slightly ajar. She held her breath and leaned closer.
‘A Knight of the Garter must dress in robes befitting his rank.’
Frances could hear the smile in Villiers’s voice.
‘Money has always passed through your fingers like water, George. You could have the riches of Croesus and still find your pockets empty before you have bought all that you desire.’
‘You fret too much, Mother. This marriage will make us one of the richest families in the kingdom.’
‘Only if that boy should die – and you have not ruined your reputation in the meantime. I have heard people whisper that you prefer the King’s bed to any other, and the earl will not want such a man for his precious daughter. She might be ill-favoured, but if the fragile thread that tethers her young brother to this life should snap’ – Frances heard Lady Mary click her fingers – ‘she will be the most sought-after bride in the kingdom. And you must make sure that you are her first choice.’
There was a long pause and Frances heard a faint rustle. When Villiers spoke again it was so softly that she was obliged to press her ear against the door. ‘How can you doubt my ability to bewitch the fairer sex?’
The silence that followed was so prolonged that Frances wondered if they had become aware of her presence. She thought of running away, but the temptation to find out what was happening in that chamber proved too great. She took a breath, then quietly pushed the door open another inch so that she could peer inside.
What she saw made her clamp her hand over her mouth for fear of crying out. Lady Mary was seated on an ornate chair close to the window, the bright sunlight illuminating the flush that was creeping up her neck as her son trailed his lips over it. Her eyes were closed in ecstasy as his fingers stroked the plump flesh above her bodice before moving slowly down to her thighs.
‘I will do as you have taught me, Mother,’ he murmured, against her neck, as he lifted her skirts. Frances stood, transfixed and appalled, as his hand moved inside them. But when his mother gave a loud gasp, it was as if a spell had been broken, and Frances stole silently away. As soon as the gatehouse was out of view, she broke into a run, desperate to escape the depravity she had seen within.
‘You are sure nothing ails you – or the child?’
Thomas was watching her closely. She knew she should have told him what she had seen the day before, but she hardly knew how to form the words. It sickened her every time she thought of it. She had slept little that night, the image of Villiers’s hand sliding up his mother’s thigh tormenting her until she wanted to scream out her revulsion.