Elizabeth gave a sad smile and sank into her chair. ‘Quite well. He is a dear little thing – very like my brother Charles. Already he gazes at me with the same solemn expression.’ She sighed. ‘I hated to leave him so soon – little Elisa too. She clung to my skirts as I climbed into the carriage. I could still hear her howls as we passed the palace gates.’ Her shoulders heaved.
‘The pain of parting will make the reunion all the sweeter,’ Frances said gently, thinking of how William had sobbed when she had last taken her leave of him at Tyringham Hall. His lady mistress had written only last week to say that he was thriving, but it grieved Frances to think of how she had missed his first faltering steps.
‘You always knew how to comfort me, Fran.’ Elizabeth squeezed her hand. ‘I wish I could have you with me again. Frederick has been so kind. He saw how I pined for you, so he arranged for some English ladies to attend me – he would do anything for my ease,’ she added, with an affectionate smile. ‘But no one could fill your place. And now . . . now everything lies in ruins. Even with my father’s help, there is little prospect of reclaiming our lost kingdom.’
‘Many here were shocked that the King of Spain should act against your husband, given his alliance with your father.’
‘Inconstant wretch!’ Elizabeth cried scornfully. ‘He changes his coat as often as his breeches.’
They smiled.
‘I wonder that my father made peace with him at all,’ she continued, ‘with Philip as committed a Catholic as ever.’
Frances took a breath. ‘The Marquess of Buckingham has been a staunch advocate for the alliance,’ she replied, choosing her words carefully. ‘He dominates the council.’ She did not add that he dominated the King, too.
The princess eyed her closely. ‘My brother has spoken of him to me. What is your opinion?’
Although she knew the prince was as distrustful of his father’s favourite as she was, loyalties changed with deadly swiftness in this place. ‘He enjoys greater favour with His Majesty than any who went before him – even Lord Somerset,’ she began. ‘Your father has rewarded his . . . service with numerous promotions for himself and his family. Yet still he wants more and is ruthless to any who cross him.’
Elizabeth considered this. ‘You have been among them, I think?’
‘My husband has suffered most,’ Frances replied quietly. ‘As master of the horse, Buckingham is his superior.’
‘Then I pity him, if what I have heard is true,’ she observed. ‘I understand that my father named him for St Stephen, yet he has the heart of a devil.’
Frances’s silence signalled her assent.
‘Well, I have crossed him now too,’ Elizabeth went on. ‘In securing my father’s support for our war against the emperor, I have ruined the alliance with Spain.’
‘And proved the limits of Buckingham’s power,’ Frances added. ‘His pride is so insufferable that he will seek to avenge himself.’
Elizabeth waved her hand dismissively. ‘I care little for his threats and sulks. He reminds me of poor Henry when he was in one of his tempers.’
Frances stared at her, surprised. After Prince Henry’s death, Elizabeth had been so full of remorse for defying him over her marriage that she had taken Frederick as her husband at once, even though it had been against the wishes of her heart. She had spoken of her late brother with the utmost reverence ever since. But, then, she had hardly mentioned him in her correspondence, Frances realised. The intervening years had evidently brought her to a more measured opinion of him.
‘I am glad of it,’ she replied, ‘though I would urge Your Grace to use caution. The marquess is at his most deadly when he is under threat.’ She paused. ‘With your permission, I would tell you of a scheme in which I believe he is currently embroiled.’
‘Please – go on.’
Frances did not wish to endanger her, but neither could she let this opportunity pass. ‘Although Buckingham has received more riches at the King’s hand than any servant before him, still he is not satisfied. He means to seize one of the most valuable estates in the kingdom.’ She lowered her voice. ‘The Earl of Rutland has a daughter, Katherine, of marriageable age. She is his eldest child, but he had two sons by his second wife. A few years ago, they both sickened suddenly – it was said they had been bewitched – and the elder died. His brother survived but his health continued to falter. None of his father’s physicians could bring any improvement in him. Lord Rutland became so desperate that he decided to bring the boy here, so that I might attend him.’ Elizabeth knew of her former attendant’s skills: Frances had nursed her when she had been stricken by smallpox. But she also knew that such things were forbidden in her father’s court.
‘Please – go on.’ Her face was impassive.
Frances told her how their plan had been discovered, how Lord Rutland had fled from Whitefriars with his son, intent upon returning to Belvoir, but had been overtaken by Buckingham and brought back to court.
‘Who is Dr Lambe?’ Elizabeth asked. ‘There has been no mention of him in my father’s letters.’
‘He is newly arrived at court but has been in the countess’s service for some time,’ Frances replied, trying to keep her voice even. ‘He pretends to be a physician but relies on tricks and conjurations. He claims all manner of powers – from soothsaying to recovering lost treasure.’
‘I wonder my father should allow such a man at his court!’ the princess exclaimed.
‘If Lambe had had a different patron, he would have been hunted down long ago. But he enjoys the countess’s protection – and that of her son.’
‘And you believe he means to poison Lord Rutland’s boy on their behalf?’ Elizabeth’s gaze did not waver as she waited for Frances to respond.
‘If Lord Rutland’s son should die, Katherine will inherit the entire Belvoir fortune,’ she whispered. ‘Buckingham has been courting her for some time. For all her virtues, she has nothing but her riches to tempt a man like him. If he loved her for her own sake, he would have asked for her hand long before now.’
The princess fell silent. Frances knew she had taken a risk: in accusing her father’s favourite of plotting murder, she had called the King’s own judgement into question.
‘I will do what I can to help the poor boy – his sister too,’ Elizabeth said eventually. ‘I cannot hope to persuade my father to think ill of his favourite. From what you have told me, it is clear that he is utterly in thrall to him. But Dr Lambe . . .’
‘Please, Your Grace, have a care. I do not wish to add to your troubles, or to see you risk your father’s anger at such a time. You and your husband need the support he has pledged.’
Elizabeth smiled. ‘Do not worry, Fran. The King may be blind to his favourite’s true nature, but he is still an indulgent father to his daughter.’
The banqueting hall was lit by a thousand sconces and Frances breathed in the warm scent of beeswax mingled with spiced wine. This promised to be the most lavish of the receptions that the King had staged in honour of his daughter. He had not always been such an attentive father, she reflected. Perhaps her long absence had softened his heart.