As Felton struggled to free himself, Frances saw his eyes alight upon something at the back of the room. She turned to see the Marquis de Châteauneuf flanked by two thickset men. They must have been hiding in the shadows. The envoy’s smile flashed white in the gloom. Following her gaze, Lady Ruthven’s hands tightened on the casket.
‘I must say, it is very good of you to save me the journey, Lady Ruthven. When His Excellency told me that his man had been foully murdered, I had a mind to come and find you myself. How surprised the King will be to learn of your presence. He will scarce believe that the woman who flouted his banishment years ago, then fled with his wife’s jewels has now been found . . . but without the treasure. He can only conclude that you sated your greed by selling it all.’ Lady Ruthven flinched as one of the marquis’s men took a step closer. ‘I wonder which punishment he will choose? The gallows will be far too good for you.’
‘And what of you, Lady Tyringham? You have been unusually silent on the matter. Did you hope to win a share of the jewels and restore your husband’s pathetic fortune? One of the small trinkets would have been more than enough for that. Tyringham Hall could fit inside the stables here,’ he scoffed. ‘Though it is quaint enough, I suppose, and Kate has developed a fondness for the place. Well, she can return there for as long as she wishes now.’
‘You should not judge others by your morals, Your Grace.’ She took a step towards him. ‘The only reward I sought was to rid this kingdom of evil . . . to rid it of you.’
Buckingham affected a wounded expression. ‘Come now, my lady. Your passions were as stirred as mine by our little encounter in Hyde Park. I have thought of it often since. No wonder your husband looks as sullen as the King’s dogs whenever he is apart from you.’
Frances’s hand itched to slap him but his blade was still pressed to Felton’s neck.
‘Neither have I forgotten the matter we spoke of,’ he went on. ‘That should be enough to buy your silence about the jewels, once the marquis and I have reclaimed them.’
Frances imagined seizing the dagger and plunging it deep into his heart. The desire to see the blood spurt from his chest was overwhelming, visceral.
The marquis gave a small cough, prompting.
‘Forgive these petty squabbles, Monseigneur,’ the duke said. ‘Now, Lady Ruthven, it is time to relinquish the burden you have carried all these years.’ He nodded to one of the marquis’s men, who seized the woman’s shoulders. As she tried to struggle from his grasp, the casket fell to the floor, its contents spilling out. A shard of light glimmered through the shutters, illuminating the glittering haul.
The corners of the duke’s mouth curled into a lazy smile. He gazed down at the treasure for a long moment, then motioned for the other man to gather it back into the casket.
A movement over Buckingham’s shoulder drew Frances’s gaze. The marquis had seen it too. His face paled as he stared.
‘How dare you lay hands upon my jewels?’
The prince was standing on the threshold of Kate’s chamber, which adjoined the duke’s. Buckingham’s eyes narrowed as he saw his wife step from behind Charles, her gaze lowered. She had gone to warn the prince, Frances realised, her heart surging with admiration for her friend.
Seizing his chance, Felton whipped the knife from Buckingham’s grasp and held it to his neck. Frances heard Kate make a small cry when she saw this swift reversal. The prince gave her a brief smile of reassurance and they stepped into the room, followed by four yeomen.
‘Give them to me,’ he commanded.
The marquis’s man looked towards his master, who gave the smallest of nods. Charles took the casket from him and looked down at it for a moment, then closed his eyes and mouthed a silent prayer of thanks.
‘My mother bequeathed these to me so that I could use them to do God’s will,’ he began, looking from Buckingham to the marquis. ‘You would have used them to do the devil’s work. I thank God that He put an end to your wicked schemes.’
‘No, Your Grace,’ Buckingham urged. ‘It was in God’s name that I acted. Through this alliance, England will be saved from heresy. When you are king and married to the French King’s sister – a princess of the true faith – you will restore us to the Catholic fold. This treasure will give you the means to crush all resistance.’
The prince faced him. ‘You speak treason, sir,’ he said quietly. ‘My father is king, yet you anticipate his death. What makes you so certain it is imminent?’ He let the question hang in the air. ‘You speak heresy, too. His Majesty established the reformed faith as the one true religion. Anyone who veers from that, or seeks to make this kingdom a vassal of Rome, is a traitor to the state.’
‘But I thought . . .’ the duke began, staring at the prince in consternation. ‘Your enthusiasm for this match – and that with the infanta – led me to believe—’
‘That I was a papist too?’ The prince glanced at Frances, who smiled her acquiescence. Charles was right not to trust Buckingham with the knowledge of his private faith.
‘I was doing God’s will,’ the duke repeated, in rising agitation.
‘No, my lord duke. You descended to Hell years ago. You were damned from the moment you began to seek power, riches,’ he said, holding up his mother’s casket.
‘She is the sinner, not me,’ Buckingham cried, pointing a trembling finger at Frances. ‘Her allegiance to the old faith was once so strong that she involved herself in the plot to blow your father and Parliament to the heavens.’
His words echoed into silence. Frances saw the prince grow pale as he stared at Buckingham before turning his eyes to her. Next to him, Kate looked as if she might faint.
‘Does he speak truth, Lady Frances?’
She thought of protesting a denial, of railing against the duke for voicing such slander. But instead, she remained silent.
‘If she will not confess, then I will do it for her.’ Buckingham’s voice rose in triumph. ‘She even birthed the bastard of Tom Wintour. George Tyringham is not Sir Thomas’s boy, but the son of a traitor.’
Frances closed her eyes. She could not bear to see the shock in the prince’s eyes, Kate’s too, the revulsion that would soon follow. Neither could she stomach the triumph in Buckingham’s. An image of George came before her, his eyes filled with love as he bade her and Thomas farewell. Then he was a boy again, in the saddle as his beloved papa led his horse around the stable-yard. And now he was a baby cradled in her arms as she rocked him to sleep in her bed at Tyringham Hall. Now that the duke had betrayed her secret, George’s life would be blighted for ever.
Tears streamed down her cheeks as she faced the prince at last. He returned her gaze, not with disgust but pity. ‘Leave this place,’ he said. Frances lowered her eyes to the floor, then made to walk away but Charles rested his hand upon her arm. ‘My lord duke,’ he said, more firmly this time. ‘Leave this place at once. Go far from here, before I change my mind.’
‘Your Grace!’ Felton objected, but his master raised a hand to silence him.
‘My father’s health is too fragile to suffer the shock of your arrest – for now, at least. I will tell him your mother has taken ill and begs your presence. You will not return here – and neither will you, Monseigneur,’ he said, turning to Châteauneuf. ‘The King is already tired of your presence and shows no greater inclination towards this alliance than he did when you first arrived. Tell your master he may send a different emissary, in time.’