soon as the Queen’s beloved servant had left Hampton Court.
Felton gave an impatient sigh and began to pace up and down. ‘What the devil is taking so long?’
At last, the door to the chapel opened and Lady Ruthven was on the threshold. ‘Come,’ she said quietly, beckoning them back in.
‘Do you have them?’ Felton demanded.
But Lady Ruthven had swept out of sight. Frances and her companion swiftly followed. She led them back to the altar, where the chaplain was waiting. Frances’s eyes darted to a casket that had been placed in the centre of the altar cloth.
‘He wishes to bless us, to ask for God’s protection.’
Felton grunted but knelt by the rail once more. When the chaplain had finished, Frances made the sign of the cross over her breast. ‘Amen.’ She watched as he handed Lady Ruthven the casket.
‘Unlock it,’ Felton barked. ‘It might be filled with stones, for all I know.’
Lady Ruthven looked at him sharply but did so. The jewels glittered in the light from the candles. The casket was full to the brim with precious gems – rubies, emeralds and diamonds, as well as strings of creamy pearls and brooches studded with sapphires. Frances blinked back tears as she recognised several and prayed this was not a dream, that she would not open her eyes to realise she had slipped into an exhausted sleep while riding towards the palace. No. Everything they had risked had been worth it. Buckingham’s schemes would be thwarted at last.
‘May these jewels perform God’s work, as Her Grace willed it,’ Father Goodman said softly.
The journey to Hertfordshire seemed to last an eternity. Guided only by the fragile light of the stars, they were obliged to ride at a slow plod as their horses picked their way through the thickets of woodland and along the edge of fields. For the first few miles, they stayed close to the curving path by the river, passing the old palace of Richmond. Frances swallowed her grief as she thought of the night, almost exactly fifteen years before, when her father had gasped out his breath, imploring her to stay true to their faith. It warmed her heart to think that he would have been proud of what she had done – what she must yet do.
The pale light of dawn was gathering as they reached the edge of the woods that surrounded the vast estate. Following the line of the red-brick wall that marked its outer reaches, they spurred their horses to a canter. Every now and then, Frances glimpsed the turrets of Theobalds Palace through the trees. Built by Queen Elizabeth’s most trusted adviser, Lord Burghley, it had been bequeathed to his son – Frances’s old adversary, Robert Cecil. He had entertained the King there upon James’s arrival in England and numerous times after that. The King had become so fond of the place that Cecil had eventually been obliged to give it to him, in exchange for Hatfield House. It had hardly been a fair bargain, Frances thought, as she looked across the beautifully manicured lawns and neatly kept beds laden with all manner of plants and herbs. The heady scent of marjoram and feverfew carried on the breeze. Frances felt her fingers twitch as she imagined plucking the treasures of the garden, which had been laid out by John Gerard. She still had his Great Herbal in her mother’s library at Longford, its pages worn with age and use.
The gatehouse was as big as a castle, the house beyond it grander than any Frances had seen. Little wonder the King had coveted it. At the far end, a high turret rose up towards the clouds and a soft light glowed from the large windows on the upper floor. Frances guessed that this was the King’s chamber – certainly it must command the finest views of any in the palace. The prince’s apartments would be close to it.
Felton drew on the reins as they reached the gatehouse and nodded at the two yeomen, who were dressed in the King’s bright livery. Dismounting, he muttered something to them, gesturing towards Frances and Lady Ruthven. Frances climbed down from her saddle, wincing at the stiffness in her joints, then helped the older woman. She took care to obscure the guards’ view of Lady Ruthven as she concealed the jewels behind the fur muffler she carried. They summoned a young servant, who scurried into the hall with word of their arrival.
At length, the page returned and nodded