‘He is hardly an innocent,’ Frances countered. ‘He spent much of his childhood at court and has been managing the Longford estate for three years and more.’
Her husband held her apart from him then, his eyes blazing with sincerity. ‘That may be true, my love, but George can have encountered no one as duplicitous as the duke. Besides, if we try to deter him from seeing Buckingham again, he will hardly agree to it without an explanation – and that is something we cannot provide.’
The click of the latch made them both start. George stumbled into the apartment, uttering a curse as he tripped over one of the flagstones. ‘You scared me half to death!’ he exclaimed, as Thomas moved to help. ‘Mama? Why are you not in bed too?’
‘We are not so old and dull as you suppose, my boy,’ her husband said, before she could reply. ‘How was the duke?’ Although he kept his tone light, Frances heard its edge.
‘The very best of men!’ her son exclaimed.
She exhaled as the soft light illuminated his face, which was flushed with excitement. He did not know. But her relief soon turned to disquiet as George proceeded to regale them with every detail of his evening – the delights of Buckingham’s table, the sumptuousness of his chambers and, above all, the many and varied virtues of his new acquaintance.
‘I am pleased it was worth delaying your journey for,’ Thomas said, when at last George had paused to draw breath.
‘Oh, yes!’ he exclaimed. ‘The memory of it will stay with me always – though I hope it will soon be superseded by others.’
Frances bristled. ‘Others?’
‘Many others, I hope,’ her son replied. ‘The duke made me promise to return to court whenever I have leisure to do so – which will be often, I’m sure. He even talked of visiting me in Cambridge. He has estates close by, apparently.’
‘He has estates in every part of the kingdom,’ Thomas muttered.
‘I can well believe it,’ George continued, oblivious to the scorn in Thomas’s voice. ‘There are no limits to his authority, or to his favour with the King. If I can only remain in his good graces while I am away . . . God’s wounds!’ he cried, with sudden passion. ‘I wish that I was not bound for Cambridge. I would flourish far more by staying here and serving the duke.’
‘No, George,’ Frances said. ‘You are committed to study law, and that will stand you in far better stead than the uncertain promise of favour here. Your grandmother must have told you many times how fickle the court can be.’
In the candlelight, she saw her son’s frown crease into a scowl. ‘Of course I shall go to Cambridge, Mother,’ he replied petulantly. ‘But you should be glad that I have ambitions beyond resolving petty disputes over land or inheritance. Here at court is where the greatest prizes are to be had.’
And the greatest dangers. She opened her mouth to reply, but Thomas was there before her.
‘They are indeed, and we are proud that they seem already to be within your grasp, George,’ he said, giving him a placatory pat on the shoulder. ‘Now, get some rest. You have a long journey tomorrow.’
Frances saw that her son’s eyes were already heavy. Judging from his breath, he had drunk enough wine to sleep like the dead. She rose and kissed his cheek, then folded down the coverlet on his pallet bed and watched as Thomas led him towards it.
‘God give you good rest, my boy,’ her husband said softly, bending to stroke his hair.
‘And God keep you from evil,’ she whispered, as her son’s deep, rhythmic breathing echoed in the darkness.
1625
CHAPTER 57
18 February
Frances watched as her husband helped the King into his saddle. James’s face was flushed even from this small exertion, and he shifted uncomfortably, wincing with every movement. Above the line of his boots, she could see that his legs were swollen. The gout had become so acute in recent weeks that he had been obliged to cancel several hunts, which had made his temper all the more uncertain. Little wonder that a crowd had gathered in the stables to watch what would happen this time.
A hound gave a high-pitched yelp as another sank its teeth into its flank. Thomas tapped the troublesome beast on its snout and it skulked away, whimpering. They were growing as restless as the courtiers – Frances included. She had been anxious since George’s departure, even though it was now more than four months ago. He had soon written of his safe arrival in Cambridge, but the memory of their conversation that night had turned over and over in her mind. She imagined her son boasting to his new companions of his powerful patron and knew that he would be itching to return to Whitehall so that he could renew their acquaintance. She was just as eager that he stayed away, though she missed him keenly.
She looked across at Buckingham, who was regaling his royal master with some amusing tale. Now and again, James’s laughter echoed across the crowded courtyard, his breath misting in the cold morning air. Frances had been careful to avoid the duke since their encounter in Hyde Park and had kept to her apartments as much as she could. But while they had not been alone together, the sly looks he sent her at court gatherings served as a constant reminder.
His threat seemed to hang ever more heavily over her – Thomas, too. The thought of how he might use his knowledge of her son’s father against them had continued to plague her. She and her husband had spent so much of the past ten years in his power. Now that he knew about Tom Wintour, there seemed no prospect of their enslavement ending.
At least Buckingham had not made good his threat to visit her son at Cambridge. George had written to her and Thomas several times, begging to know when he might come to Whitehall again. They had always found an excuse – the threat of plague, Thomas being away on the hunt, his royal master laid low with sickness. The latter was true more often than not, Frances consoled herself – she hated lying to her son. She was relieved that his letters had grown less frequent of late, as his studies and companions drew his attention away from the court . . . and the duke.
‘Make way!’
Frances turned to see Arthur Brett pushing through the crowds, clutching something. A flash of silver caught the light as he held it aloft.
‘I have found the new stirrup, Your Grace,’ he announced breathlessly, sweeping a deep bow.
James scowled down at the young man who had been his most intimate attendant until Buckingham’s return to favour. ‘Give it to Steenie.’
Buckingham held out his hand, but his rival pretended not to notice him and began to fasten the stirrup into place.
His royal master glanced down, his face suffused with fury. ‘How dare you defy me, boy?’ he cried, kicking at the fumbling fingers. The stirrup fell clattering to the ground and Arthur stared at it, mumbling an apology. Pity for the young man mingled with loathing as Frances saw Buckingham’s eyes flash with triumph. Thomas was right: Master Brett’s allure had been extinguished.
‘Go well, my sow.’
The duke’s words rang out across the stable-yard, prompting audible gasps. This latest nickname was the most outrageous yet. Frances had hardly believed it when Thomas had told her. Yet looking at James now, she could see how he delighted in his favourite’s over-familiarity.