Suddenly aware that Salisbury was staring at her expectantly, she tried to still the thoughts that were racing through her mind. But one word came before all the rest. No.
‘I cannot forget what you have told me,’ she replied at last, her voice quiet and steady. ‘Neither will I repeat a word of it to another living soul. But I will have no part in this scheme. You will never speak of it to me again. Good day, Lord Salisbury.’
1623
CHAPTER 49
21 February
A chill wind whipped about the privy garden. Frances leaned closer to her husband. He always felt warm, even on the bitterest of winter days.
‘We should go in,’ he said, bending to kiss the top of her head.
‘In a few minutes, perhaps. It has been so long since we were last able to enjoy these gardens together, and you will be leaving again tomorrow.’ She felt the usual sorrow at the prospect but knew that the King would not be gainsaid. Glancing up at the leaden sky, she feared there would be more snow before nightfall. Already the roads were barely passable. Yet the only concession that James had made was to change their destination from Nonsuch to Richmond. Even that short distance would be hazardous in this weather.
‘I received word from my steward today.’
Frances grew still.
‘Tyringham has been sold.’
It was the news she had dreaded. So much time had passed since their home had been put up for sale that she had begun to hope a buyer would not be found – even though she knew that they desperately needed the funds.
‘Why did you not tell me sooner?’ she asked, raising herself to face him. The expression on his face was all the answer she needed.
‘The estate has been in my family for generations, Frances.’ His voice was cracked with sorrow. ‘I have brought shame upon us – upon our sons.’
‘No, Thomas,’ she countered. ‘You made this sacrifice for our sakes. I know what it has cost you.’ She kissed him. His lips felt dry and still.
‘It did not raise as much as I had hoped,’ he went on, gazing out across the frozen hedges. ‘I wonder if it was even worth it.’
‘You had no choice,’ Frances reminded him. ‘We could not have withstood our creditors any longer.’ She drew him to her and they stayed like that for several minutes, her arms encircling him, both lost in their thoughts. She could not help dwelling on that conversation with Salisbury, even though she had recounted it numerous times over the past couple of months. What riches might he have offered her if she had proved a willing accomplice to his plans, rather than rejecting them out of hand? It did not matter, she told herself firmly. There could be no inducement large enough to tempt her back down that perilous path – particularly if Buckingham was involved.
Frances shivered as a snowflake landed on her neck. Several more floated down around them. Soon there would be a flurry, judging by the dark clouds overhead. ‘Let’s go inside,’ she said, rising.
Thomas remained seated on the stone bench, hunched against the cold. ‘I think I will stay a while,’ he said, touching her hand. ‘Make up the fire – I will be with you soon.’
‘Peace, Steenie,’ the King soothed, as his favourite glowered at his opponent. ‘You cannot always be victorious.’
Buckingham stood and swept the cards from the table. ‘You are a cheat,’ he snapped at his opponent, his voice dangerously low.
Frances saw derision cross Lord Cranfield’s face. She had heard rumours that the two men were now bitterly opposed. Even those closest to the King’s favourite were tiring of his arrogance, which grew more overbearing by the day.
‘Forgive me, my lord,’ Cranfield replied, spreading his hands. ‘It must have been beginner’s luck.’
The marquess’s expression showed that he had caught the implied insult. He walked slowly towards his former protégé and brought his face so close to his that Cranfield paled.
‘Those who have been made can be unmade,’ he muttered. ‘You would do well to remember that.’
Frances could see that the lord high treasurer was trying hard to master his emotions. She wondered if fear or fury was the greater.
‘Perhaps we should retire, my lords,’ Thomas said, rising from the seat next to her. ‘We will be leaving early for the hunt and His Grace needs to rest.’ Frances caught the gratitude and relief on James’s face at his words.
Buckingham turned sharply to him. ‘Do you presume to know what the King needs, Tyringham – you, who have command of his dogs?’
A heavy silence hung over the chamber. Frances dug her nails into her palms as she waited for her husband to reply. She could not see his face but was unnerved by the stillness with which he held himself. Buckingham cocked his head as he continued to stare at him with curiosity, as if he were examining some exotic beast. Frances was overcome by such intense hatred that it took her breath away. If only she were the witch he had accused her of being, she would ill-wish him, blight his life, as he had blighted theirs.
‘And you have command of the King himself, my lord?’
Without warning, Buckingham unsheathed his sword and put the blade to Thomas’s throat. Frances watched, horror-struck, as the two yeomen rushed from the King’s side and seized the marquess before he could strike. Thomas made no move to defend himself. Drawing a sword in the King’s chamber was treason.
‘Unhand me, fools!’ Buckingham cried, but the guards tightened their grip as he writhed to be free.
All eyes turned to James as he rose slowly from the throne. His expression was unreadable. Frances held her breath, fearing he would reprimand the yeomen. But he merely stood and stared at his favourite.
‘You will suffer for this,’ Buckingham snarled, then twisted to look at his royal master. ‘Tell them to release me.’ He ceased to struggle as he caught the look in James’s eyes. For the first time ever, Frances saw uncertainty in his own. ‘Your Grace?’
The King made no answer, but turned and walked from the room.
News of Buckingham’s arrest spread across the court. It had been the subject of conversation at every mealtime, every masque and other gathering held during the five days since. Although she had not joined in the gossip, Frances had taken a much greater interest in it than usual. Each day brought a fresh rumour: a trial would take place two days’ hence, the King meant to pardon his favourite, the marquess had escaped from the Tower. She had even heard it whispered that he had already been put to death – privately, as a concession by the King for the affection in which he had once held him. Thomas had tried to find out the truth but James had not spoken of the matter to anyone – even his closest attendants.
Frances slowed her pace as she neared the apartment. She knew it was unwise to come here – Thomas had tried to persuade her against it – but she could not forsake her friend as the rest of the court had. She knocked lightly on the door and waited. There was a high-pitched squeal from the other side, quickly suppressed. When nobody answered, she knocked again, more loudly this time. The door opened a crack.
‘Kate – Lady Buckingham, please!’ Frances placed her foot in the gap. ‘I come in friendship, nothing more.’