James stroked a stray hair from the princess’s face.
Frances saw she did not have the pallor of one who lay close to death. ‘Please,’ she repeated.
The King’s shoulders dropped and he gave a nod of assent.
CHAPTER 41
3 February
Frances waited while Elizabeth’s attendants fussed around, smoothing the sheets and plumping up the pillows behind their mistress’s head. When at last they had finished, she stepped forward and began to examine her as they watched. Clearly, the King would not allow a woman he had once had arrested for witchcraft tend his daughter alone.
Elizabeth’s skin felt warm to the touch and, though she still lay unconscious, her heartbeat was strong and regular. Her lips were not parched and there were no blotches on her throat, or any other sign that she had been poisoned. Instead, she appeared in a peaceful slumber. Frances poured a small glass of the fresh water she had asked one of the ladies to bring. Holding it to the young woman’s lips, she tilted it and waited for her to swallow. Elizabeth did so without a murmur, her throat pulsing as the water slipped down. Frances gave her a little more, then continued her examinations, working methodically, as the Reverend Samuels had taught her.
Trust only what you observe, not what you assume or fear, he had counselled her. Frances was glad of the lesson now, the words calming her as she repeated them to herself. She motioned for an attendant to lift the princess’s shift so that she could look for any spots or rashes on her skin. Here and there, she could see the scars left by smallpox. But elsewhere it was as pure and unblemished as a newly ripened peach.
‘Well?’
Frances turned to the lady who had spoken. She was older than the other attendants and had an air of superiority.
‘Her Grace does not appear to be in any danger, but I will continue to watch over her. The other ladies may retire now, if they wish.’
The woman pursed her lips. ‘We are here at His Majesty’s command, Lady Tyringham.’ She signalled for her companions to be seated and went to sit on a chair close to the bed. Frances moved to the fireplace and bent to put another log in the grate. Soon, the flames took hold, filling the room with warmth. She moved to the other side of the bed and sat down, keeping her eyes on Elizabeth. After a while, she stole a glance at the other ladies. As she had hoped, their eyelids were growing heavy – the fire was doing its work. Even the older woman was becoming drowsy. Soon her gentle snores could be heard above the crackle of the flames.
Frances took Elizabeth’s hand. Her eyes opened at once. Darting a look at the ladies, she turned back to Frances and smiled. Then, slowly, she winked.
‘Pray do not worry, Father. I am perfectly recovered.’
The King bent over and kissed his daughter’s forehead again. ‘I praise God for your safe deliverance,’ he replied, his voice cracking.
‘Lady Tyringham had a part in it, too,’ Elizabeth reminded him, shooting Frances a conspiratorial grin.
The King gave a grunt.
‘She is the most faithful servant I have ever had,’ Elizabeth continued, ‘and should be rewarded as such.’
‘Well enough, well enough,’ he muttered.
Frances suppressed a smile. The King had not grown any more gracious since his arrival in England seventeen years before, when he had appeared before his new courtiers grumbling that the rain was wetter than it was in Scotland. She did not look for any reward at his hands. It was enough that Lambe had been taken to the Tower and languished there still. The thought of Buckingham’s fury gave her a stab of triumph, though she knew he would soon be petitioning the King for the old man’s release.
‘I hope that sorcerer will receive due punishment for trying to poison me,’ Elizabeth said, lifting her chin.
‘Hush now, my pet,’ the King soothed, patting her hand. ‘All is well.’
‘You do mean to punish him, Father?’ she persisted, her lips quivering as she spoke. Frances could not but admire her artifice.
‘Dunnee concern yourself with that wretch,’ James replied. ‘I will see that he is dealt with.’
‘He must not be allowed back in your presence, Father,’ Elizabeth protested, her voice rising in panic. ‘I cannot return to my husband’s kingdom until I am assured that you are out of all peril.’
The King gestured dismissively. ‘Ye’ have ne’ cause to worry. He presents ne’ threat to me.’
Frances felt uneasy. It was obvious to her – if not to the princess – that James’s fury towards Lambe had abated, that he no longer thirsted for revenge. The marquess had worked even faster than she had predicted. She shuddered to think how he had persuaded his royal master to a different opinion.
Elizabeth sighed. ‘I understand that the Countess of Buckingham recommended Lambe to attend Lord Rutland’s son.’
The King nodded. Frances waited.
‘Well, that is clearly out of the question now, but I cannot abide the thought of that poor boy suffering when something might be done for his ease.’ She reached out and clasped her father’s hands. ‘If Lady Tyringham will assent to it, there is no one in this court better suited to the task.’
Frances gazed at her hands as the King swung around to look at her. She could feel a flush creeping up her neck but prayed that it was not visible above the collar of her dress.
‘She isne’ a physician, Elizabeth, but a—’
Witch?
‘She has some skill in healing, I admit,’ he continued, ‘but these matters are best left to those who are qualified to deal with them.’
‘Such as the physicians and apothecaries who have attended the boy these past six years and more?’ the princess countered archly.
The King gave an impatient sigh. ‘Very well, my dear. Ye’ know I can deny you nothing,’ he added, with a rueful grin. ‘Lady Tyringham, ye’ may attend him, with my blessing.’
Frances felt a searing rush of joy and relief. Not only had she been given the chance to nurse her friend’s son back to health, but in sanctioning her to attend him, the King had signalled that any lingering suspicions he harboured against her had lifted. She shot her former mistress a grateful look. Thanks to her, the boy’s life might be saved.
‘What is the King like?’
Frances stopped grinding the juniper berries and looked at the boy, who was watching her from the bed, eyes wide. ‘You will meet him soon enough, I’m sure,’ she replied.
‘Is he tall?’ Lord Ros persisted.
‘Not particularly – shorter than your father, certainly. His hair is reddish-brown and he has very dark eyes.’
‘Is he a good king?’
Frances added a little oil and a few more pinches of rue to the mortar while she considered how to respond. ‘He has shown great kindness in allowing me to nurse you. Tell me, has the pain in your head lessened now?’
The boy nodded and pushed away the hand she placed on his forehead. ‘But is he good to everyone?’
‘That is quite enough questions for now, young man. You will distract Lady Tyringham from her duties.’
Rutland was standing in the doorway. ‘How is my boy today?’
‘Better still, my lord.’ Frances smiled. ‘His appetite grows every day, as does his strength. Apart from a little pain in his head, he seems much more comfortable.’