‘I should have heeded the signs He sent, Frances,’ Anne persisted. ‘None of the plots to restore this country to the Catholic faith have succeeded. The Powder Treason, Arbella, Raleigh . . . So many lives blighted – yours more than most, my dear. Can you forgive me, even if God cannot?’
A solitary tear weaved its way down her cheek as she stared towards Frances, her unseeing eyes imploring. Frances tried to answer but her throat constricted, so instead she bent to kiss the Queen’s fingers. Anne exhaled deeply and closed her eyes. After a few moments, her breath became slower, more rhythmical. Frances released her hand and rose from the bed. She made to step quietly away, but jumped as the Queen’s cold fingers suddenly gripped her own again.
‘I beg of you, stay a little longer,’ Anne rasped.
Frances held her breath as she gazed down at her.
‘I have lost all my children, save one,’ the Queen began. ‘God saw fit to claim Henry as His own, Mary and Sophia, too. Elizabeth sailed from these shores to marry a heretic, so her soul was lost to me, as well as her body.’ Her eyes were wide with grief and she clasped Frances’s hand even more tightly. ‘I have only my precious little servant now.’
Frances smiled that the Queen still referred to Prince Charles in this way, even though he was now eighteen.
‘I know that I should see this as God’s will – His punishment of my manifold sins. But I cannot. I will not.’ Her dark eyes were alight with a fervour that Frances had not seen for many years. ‘My husband will soon choke out his breath from lechery and excess. Our son Charles must marry a Catholic princess. Only then will this kingdom be saved.’
Frances stared at the dying Queen in alarm. Surely she was not asking her to involve herself in a fresh plot, after everything she had just said.
‘Do not be afraid, my dear,’ Anne said, her expression softening. ‘I know I cannot beg your forgiveness with one breath and ask that you plunge yourself into danger again with another. There are those who have already agreed to do my bidding in this. I ask only that you do nothing to hinder them – no matter how greatly you may wish it.’
Frances looked at her in confusion. She had ceased to involve herself in the plots that swirled endlessly about the throne, but she would always cherish her faith in her heart. How could Anne think that she would defy it altogether?
‘I ask more of you than you think, my dear.’ The Queen’s voice was so faint now that Frances had to lean forward to catch her words. ‘Please do not forsake me, after I am gone.’
‘I do not understand, Your Grace,’ Frances replied, her eyes searching Anne’s. ‘Why would I betray you – betray our faith?’
But the queen had closed her eyes once more, as if to signal an end to their conference. Frances waited for a few heartbeats, then slowly straightened and padded silently towards the door, her mind racing. Lady Beatrice raised her eyes from her needlework as she approached.
‘God go with you, Lady Frances.’
CHAPTER 31
9 March
The cortège was so close now that Frances could see the late Queen’s coat of arms picked out in gold thread on the black velvet cloth draped over the coffin. The cart was pulled by four horses, all richly caparisoned, and six of Anne’s ladies walked behind. Although their faces were obscured by heavy black veils, Frances recognised Lady Ruthven at the front of the sombre procession. That she had been selected as chief mourner was perhaps a final act of defiance by the late Queen against her husband.
Behind the ladies rode Prince Charles, ashen-faced, eyes fixed firmly ahead. A few cries of ‘God save Your Grace’ echoed across the Strand, but he did not turn to acknowledge them. Frances felt a surge of pity for him. He had adored his mother but could look for no comfort from his father.
As the coffin passed, Frances bowed her head and discreetly made the sign of the cross over her breast. Raising her head, she watched as the cortège continued its slow progress towards Denmark House, where the Queen’s body was to lie in state until arrangements were made for the funeral.
The King had given no indication of when or where this might take place; neither had he made any pronouncement about his wife’s passing. Upon hearing the news, he had retreated at once to his privy chamber, giving out that he was too grief-stricken to appear in public. Frances no more believed this than the rest of the court did. She suspected James was using it as an excuse to indulge in several days of uninterrupted privacy with his favourite. The thought sickened her.
As the procession rounded the corner and disappeared from view, Frances uttered a silent prayer that Anne would find the peace in death that had been denied her in life.
‘Only a lady so enamoured of nature would be found in these gardens on such a day.’ Lord Bacon was dressed as immaculately as ever, in a light blue satin doublet with fine white lace around the collar and cuffs. His exquisitely pointed shoes were made from the same material and Frances noticed that, as usual, the heels were even higher than was the fashion. He was conscious of his diminutive stature.
‘Please,’ she said, motioning for him to join her on the seat. He shuddered as he lowered himself onto the cold stone. They sat in silence for a while, looking out across the muted greens and browns of the garden. Frances found it hard to believe that in just a few short weeks the barren branches and damp soil would burst forth with life and colour.
‘God Almighty first planted a garden,’ her companion said. ‘And indeed it is the first of human pleasures – even in winter.’
He was right, Frances reflected: there was a melancholy beauty to the garden, as if Nature had lulled it into a deep slumber.
‘I am glad to see you,’ she told him. ‘It is so long since we last met that I had begun to fear you had forsaken me for the marquess.’
Bacon gave a rueful smile. ‘Buckingham is as excessively fond of flattery as ever – mine in particular, it seems.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘But while he might offer riches and preferment to those who serve him, for his intellectual gifts he is as poor as a kitchen boy.’
‘Most men would set the first of those prizes at a higher price.’ She could hardly blame her friend for courting Buckingham’s good graces since the reception for the Count de Gondomar. It disguised his true allegiances. Besides, there was little to be gained by making an enemy of the King’s favourite.
He spread his hands in a gesture of submission. ‘I have seen little more of the marquess than I have of my dear friend lately,’ he said. ‘Our Spanish visitor has required his presence a great deal since the Christmas revels. In fact, Buckingham has spent so much time with Gondomar that it has excited the jealousy of his royal master.’
Frances raised an eyebrow. ‘I wonder that the count has had time. My husband tells me that he has spent so many hours with the King that he should be assigned lodgings in the privy chamber.’
‘Sir Thomas is right,’ Bacon concurred. ‘They have become known as the two Diegos.’
The King must have been delighted to discover that when translated into Spanish his first name was the same as the ambassador’s, Frances thought. ‘Perhaps that is why His Majesty has not yet advanced the plans for the late Queen’s funeral.’