jerked her head towards a small movement in one of the chambers above. She stared as a shutter was closed – so quickly that it made her wonder if she had imagined it. But Felton was looking in the same direction. After several more minutes, the abbess reappeared at the gates. Her gaze rested upon Frances, and she motioned for her to enter. Felton made to follow, but the woman told him to remain in the courtyard. He looked in alarm at Frances, who hesitated, then gave a slight nod.
As she followed the abbess along a dark corridor, she inhaled the smell of damp stone and incense, drawing some small comfort from it, though her nerves were strung as tightly as the ropes of a truckle bed. Every time they passed a doorway or recess, her skin prickled with fear. At the end, the woman led her up a steep flight of spiral stairs. Frances clung tightly to the rope that had been strung along the cold stone wall to her left, her soles slipping now and again on the steps worn smooth by centuries of use.
Another gloomy corridor lay at the top of the stairs. As they walked slowly along it, Frances could see the dark outline of a crucifix on each of the doors. The woman stopped outside the chamber that lay at the furthest end and knocked quietly three times. The door was opened a crack. After a few moments more, the abbess pushed it just wide enough for her to enter. Casting an anxious glance at her, Frances uttered a silent prayer and walked inside.
‘You have travelled a long way to see me, Lady Tyringham.’
Frances stared. In her simple grey habit, the late Queen’s favourite was barely recognisable. Not even a strand of light red hair showed under her tightly bound wimple, and her face was devoid of the white paste that had marked her out as a lady of status.
‘Please.’ Lady Ruthven gestured towards a low wooden stool opposite her own.
‘I come on behalf of His Grace, the Prince of Wales.’ Her voice sounded hoarse.
‘So I understand. How did he know where to find me?’
‘You are in danger, Lady Ruthven. The Marquis de Châteauneuf knows you reside here.’
‘I do not doubt it,’ the older woman replied calmly. ‘It is exactly as I intended.’
This was so unexpected that Frances was at a loss as to how to respond.
‘So long as I am here, His Excellency will believe that my late mistress’s jewels are too – or, at least, that I can lead his spies to them.’
‘And you cannot?’ Frances whispered.
Lady Ruthven gave a low chuckle. ‘Well, I could – but it would involve as long a journey as you have just made.’
Frances looked at her in confusion. ‘But you fled with them after the Queen’s death. You were seen . . .’
‘People will convince themselves that their eyes have seen something that their heart believes. I left England at the same time that the jewels disappeared, so of course it was put about that I had taken them. I am sure that the story grew with the telling . . . that the locked casket I was seen carrying became a chest overflowing with rubies as big as apples and pearls that drooped on their chains. In fact, it contained nothing more than bread and cheese . . . a little malmsey too, God forgive me,’ she added, crossing herself.
‘So where are the jewels?’ Frances’s surprise made her blunt.
‘Her Grace was a lady of great wisdom and foresight. She knew that the King would attempt to take the treasure she had bequeathed to their son and fritter it away on vanities and favourites. She knew, too, that if the prince managed to keep hold of his inheritance, it could prove deadly – there were riches enough to tempt even the most loyal of her son’s attendants to turn traitor. So she determined to safeguard the jewels until such time as the prince had the power to use them for the good of our faith – in short, until he inherits the throne.’
Frances experienced a rush of affection for the late Queen, tinged with renewed grief at her passing. She had been a queen of secrets, outwitting those who sought to disempower her – her own husband above all. ‘And they are safe still?’ she asked quietly.
Lady Ruthven nodded. ‘My late mistress and I resolved upon a plan as she lay dying at Hampton Court. When the