in such a state as this.’ Anne croaked, then paused, her mouth open as if she was gasping for air.
‘I will do anything I can to ease your suffering,’ Frances said. She began to fumble in her pocket for the small pouch of herbs she had hidden there, but the Queen gripped her wrist.
‘I fear that I am beyond even your help, my dear.’ Her mouth twitched into a smile and her eyelids fluttered down once more. ‘Even my eyes have forsaken me – they open only onto darkness now.’ Frances was overcome by a wave of pity. ‘I asked Bea to summon you here because there is something I must tell you before I die,’ Anne continued. ‘Please, sit close to me.’
Frances did as she was asked. As she waited for the Queen to continue, she saw that her chest was rising and falling in rapid, jerking movements, as if each breath pained her. A salve of feverfew and spurge would bring her ease, Frances knew. Her fingers itched to prepare some now.
‘I know how much you hazarded for his sake,’ the Queen murmured, as if in a dream. ‘Raleigh,’ she said, opening her eyes.
Frances glanced to where Lady Ruthven was seated, her fingers toying with the embroidery on her lap.
‘Do not mind Bea,’ Anne said, sensing her hesitation. ‘She knows all my secrets and can be trusted to keep them. Neither has she forgotten the debt she owes you, my dear.’ She fell silent, tears in her eyes. Then: ‘I am to blame for his death.’
Frances took care to conceal her shock as she held her unseeing gaze.
‘His expedition was my idea,’ Anne went on. ‘It was I who arranged it with the King of Spain, I who helped to pay for it. I had to do so from my own funds, of course – my husband allows me little enough from the privy purse. Like you, my dear, I staked everything I had upon its success. Ah, I sense that you doubt me,’ she said, gesturing weakly. ‘I lie here in the splendour of this palace, surrounded by luxury, just as I did at Denmark House. But it is all the king’s. I own nothing but the jewels I carried with me when I sailed across the North Sea thirty years ago. Even my dresses are borrowed from the late Queen’s wardrobe.’
‘I am sorry, Your Grace.’ Disappointment was mingled with pity for the Queen. She had allowed herself to hope that Anne might help her and Thomas out of their predicament. It was not a hope she had voiced to her husband – she had been too ashamed even to acknowledge it to herself – but when she had received the summons to Hampton Court, it had flared again. Looking at the Queen now, she felt a wave of remorse for her selfishness. She was little better than the sycophants of court, who flattered and fawned their way to advancement.
‘I wish I could make amends – to you as well as Raleigh,’ Anne went on, as if reading her thoughts, ‘but there is nothing I can do. I must go to my grave knowing I caused the death of a man of truer faith than any in this kingdom, and the ruin of many more besides. I pray—’ She broke off, a paroxysm of coughs racking her. Frances raised her on the pillows then poured a cup of water and held it to her lips. She took a small sip, but most of it dribbled down her chin as another fit overtook her. Eventually, the spasms subsided and she sank back onto the pillows.
‘You should rest, Your Grace,’ Frances murmured.
Anne shook her head slightly. ‘I can have no rest – in this world or the next. God will not forgive my sins.’
‘He has nothing to forgive, Your Grace,’ Frances whispered, clasping the Queen’s cold fingers in her own. ‘You sought only to honour him, to restore this kingdom to the true faith. There are many sinners at court but you have never been among them. God will reward your righteousness.’
‘I should have heeded the signs He sent, Frances,’ Anne persisted. ‘None of the plots to restore this country to the Catholic faith have succeeded. The Powder Treason, Arbella, Raleigh . . . So many lives blighted – yours more than most, my dear. Can you forgive me, even if God cannot?’
A solitary tear weaved its way down her cheek as she stared towards Frances, her unseeing eyes