Gilt (32 page)

He filled the door, tall and wide. The white sleeves of his cassock billowed from his shoulders. His face was bottom-heavy, with small eyes holding little humor. The dust settled around
us as the others froze. I thought I heard Jane whimper.

Behind the Archbishop stood the Duke of Norfolk, more menacing than I had ever seen him. The duke wasn’t shouting. He wasn’t purple in the face or sweating anger. He was silent, his forehead creased with choler.

Trouble had arrived at our door.

“We have come with some questions to put to the queen,” Cranmer said.

Behind him, the duke rolled his eyes up to the ceiling and then closed them tightly, as if sending a silent prayer to the heavens.

“You may enter, Archbishop,” Cat replied. Her voice raised a notch in pitch. “We were just dancing.”

The men stepped in, and Cranmer motioned for me to close the door behind them. I did so, and stood against the crack, feeling the whistle of wind from the cold gallery up my back.

“The time for dancing is over,” said Cranmer.

The duke made a strangled sound like a dog choking on a fish bone.

“I have some questions about your secretary,” Cranmer continued.

Cat looked up at him, her expression betraying nothing. Cranmer went on.

“One Francis Dereham, I am told?”

“Is he in some sort of trouble?” Cat asked. “I have not seen him for a number of days.”

“He is in London.”

“Well if you have any communication with him, I should like you to tell him I resent his disappearance and neglect of his duty.”

“Yes,” Cranmer said, more cough than speech.

The duke clenched his fists.

“It has come to my attention,” said Cranmer, “that perhaps you knew Master Dereham prior to his post here.”

The duke shuffled his feet. The rest of us remained as still and silent as the furniture.

“Yes.” Cat lifted her chin and smiled engagingly. “He was a retainer in my grandmother’s employ. At Norfolk House.” The last words pointed. Directed at her uncle. Claiming kinship. Claiming support.

The duke ignored her.

“Is that all?” Cranmer asked.

“Yes, of course,” said Cat. “Though I believe he went to sea before I came to court.”

“You knew him in no other capacity?”

“How many times do I have to say it?” Cat snapped. “I didn’t know the man well. My grandmother employed him. My grandmother asked me to find him a place in my household.” She paused. “The Dowager Duchess of Norfolk asked for my patronage as queen.” Playing her trump card.

“My source says you knew him quite well,” Cranmer’s face showed not an inkling of suspicion, not a symptom of sympathy. Not a fragment of consideration for Cat’s rank and influence.

“And who is this source?” Cat said imperiously. “Have you spoken with the man in question?”

“At length.”

Those two words knocked the life out of her. She disappeared into herself; her eyes remained open and clear, but completely absent of any human intelligence or emotion.

“I see,” she breathed.

And then she collapsed. Her skirts flumed around her in a cloud of silk. Her hood tilted to one side, pulling with it streamers of auburn hair. Jane knelt down beside her and drew Cat into her lap. Cat clung to her like a sailor to a piece of wreckage.

The Archbishop stared, horrified, at the cluster of human arms and legs on the floor before him. The duke cringed and then arranged his face to a look of horror and surprise. I couldn’t move. Not out the door, nor to the knot of loyalty on the floor.

Cranmer waited for an eternity before turning and approaching me.

“The queen may keep her privy keys,” he said.

A candle of hope lit the back of my mind.

“Her ladies are dismissed,” he said, extinguishing it. “I suggest she keep to her rooms. I shall send some men to inventory and remove all her jewels.”

At this, Cat set to sobbing and wailing more loudly still, her voice high and keening, as if at the death of a loved one.

Cranmer didn’t move.

“Please allow me to exit,” he said quietly.

I realized I still stood at the gap where the door met the wall. The handle pressed into the small of my back, my hand gripping it so tightly I could no longer feel my fingers.

“Get out of the way, you stupid girl,” the duke blustered, and pushed me aside. He ripped the door open himself and swept from the room in a lather of petulance and fear. Cranmer nodded once to me and followed.

T
HE
C
OVEN WENT QUICKLY
. T
HE SHIP WAS OBVIOUSLY SINKING NOW
. They must have heard everything through the withdrawing chamber door. They gathered nothing but their skirts and fled Cat’s rooms for their own.

“Oh, mercy,” I heard the duchess mutter. “There will be a divorce and she will be sent back to me.”

Cat remained on the floor, buffeted by the ebbing tide of retreat, half hidden in Jane’s skirts. Joan watched the others leave, panic corroding her soft features. But then resolve hardened them, and she turned back to stroke Cat’s hair.

“What did he say?” Cat said after I had closed the door.

“Cranmer?” I asked.

“No, you idiot, Francis. What could he tell them?”

We stared at her. The remnants of her tears still streaked her face. Her hood still lay askew on her head, giving her the look of a demented patient of Bedlam. But her eyes were hard and calculating.

“Well?”

“I guess he could tell them everything,” Joan said slowly.

“Everything?” Cat shouted. She pushed Joan away and stood up.

Francis knew a great deal. Knew Cat’s past. Knew of her prior interest in Culpepper. How much more did he know?

“Well, he could, Cat,” Joan protested.

“But would he?” asked Cat. She turned to me. “Kitty, would he tell them everything?”

“He has to, Cat,” I replied. “They are the king’s men.”

“No, he doesn’t
have
to, Kitty Tylney,” she mocked me. “He could
lie
, inconceivable as that may seem to you.”

“How will you ever know?”

“They’ll ask me to confirm what he’s said.”

“No, they’re smarter than that.” Jane spoke for the first time since the men had left. “They will ask open-ended questions that require specific answers.” Her voice shook. “They will ask them again. And again. And again. Until you answer.”

“They can’t be that smart,” Cat muttered. “They didn’t ask me anything before.”

“They had no reason to,” Jane pointed out. “You were brought to the king as a virgin. Why should they ask any questions? The dowager duchess vouched for you. They had no reason to be suspicious. Now they do.”

“We need to find out what they know,” Cat declared. “Where is Alice? Alice hears everything. Go find her, Kitty. The queen requires her presence.”

I hurried from the room, retracing my steps from the day before. All I’d needed to do then was ask after the king’s health. Now, our lives hung in the balance.

I hurried through the eerily quiet palace in search of the
Duke of Norfolk’s rooms. I had no desire to see him again; his anger would impale me. But I went, through the galleries, the Great Watching Chamber, Anne Boleyn’s gate, the HA HA mocking me. All emptier than I had ever seen them, deserted by those loyal to the king.

William stood outside the duke’s door.

“William!” I said. “I need to find Alice.”

“Alice left for Kenninghall this morning.”

The duke’s estate in Norfolk. The duke must have wrung as much information out of her as he could in return for safe passage. Alice got out. I slumped back against the wall.

“Kitty?” William asked. “Are you well?”

“No, William,” I said. “I am not well at all.”

“Do you need a place to go?” he whispered.

I looked at him. The mask was gone, his features mobile with concern. His eyes flashed over my face, checked the gallery, and returned to me.

“My family’s house in Cheapside is rundown and crowded,” he explained. “But with a message from me, you would be welcome. And you wouldn’t be found.”

The implication of this struck me hard in the center of my chest. Leave court. Leave Cat. Save myself.

“Go into hiding?” I asked. “Is it really that bad?”

He nodded. “They’re questioning everyone about the queen’s activities before she married. Any secrets . . . could be damning.”

“Secrets just get in the way.”

“And worse.”

We stood in the empty gallery, listening to the bustle of the duke’s servants packing his things, preparing for flight.

I could leave Cat and all of her secrets behind. Go where no one knew me. Where no one told me what to do or what I wanted. The question was, what did I want?

William stood before me, waiting for an answer, and only one came to mind.
Him
. I only wanted him. The one thing I couldn’t have.

Alice was out already. William would surely soon make his way to Kenninghall to be with her. And I, who knew the most, but also knew how to say nothing, was indentured to the queen. Her sister of the soul.

I couldn’t abandon her.

“Thank you, William,” I said, “for the offer. But I can’t take it.”

Those words appeared to hurt him more than anything had before. He closed his eyes and let go a great shuddering sigh.

“Go well, Mistress Tylney.”

I returned to the queen’s rooms. Three men in the scarlet and gold of the king’s livery busied themselves, taking stock of all the jewels and valuables in the apartments. They packed everything away in boxes lined with velvet. Pearls. Brooches. An enameled coronet garnished with rubies. The diamond collar.

Cat sat silently weeping by the fire while the men moved about the room.

“My lady,” one of the men said to Cat. “Could you please remove your rings?”

“My rings?” she asked, her voice hollow as if traveling a great distance.

“Yes.”

Three from the left hand and five from the right. She handed them to him one by one. When finished, she sank back, defeated.

“And the last one,” he pressed.

“But that’s my wedding ring.”

“We were told to take everything.” His voice betrayed a perverted joy in her sorrow.

Cat handed him the ring and removed her jeweled hood. Her hair tumbled down her back and she buried her face in her pale, naked hands.

But as soon as the men had left and the door closed behind them, she lifted her face and wiped it with her sleeve.

“Where is Alice?”

“Gone,” I said. “To Kenninghall.”

“The duke’s protection,” Cat muttered. “Damn that girl. She knew I would need her, and she only saved herself.”

I felt a sudden desire to justify Alice’s actions. They so closely resembled what could have been my own. But I stayed silent.

“We’re here for you,” Joan said, kneeling down to put an arm around Cat. “Aren’t we, Kitty?”

“And a damn lot of good you’ll do me.”

Joan looked stricken.

“And Jane,” she attempted.

“Jane?” Cat cried and looked around. Caught Jane by the window. “Jane Boleyn? The woman who has served five queens and survived them all?”

I thought of Jane’s fingers on Anne Boleyn’s pearls, the beads tapping quietly. The darkness in her eyes as she spoke of Cranmer’s questions. And I wondered if that survival was worth the cost.

“No, four,” Cat said. “Because Jane won’t survive this queen. No one will.”

“Don’t talk like that, Your Majesty,” Joan argued.

“You’ve finally remembered to call me by my title,” said Cat, patting Joan’s hand.

I shivered at the coldness, the blankness in her voice.

“We’ll all survive,” Joan said. “Together. We’re family. Right?”

C
RANMER RETURNED THE NEXT DAY, ARMED WITH QUESTIONS, PEN AND
ink. He sat down at Cat’s little writing desk and looked at her inquisitively.

Cat sat mute by the fire. Joan sat next to her. I waited by the door, still fighting the urge to flee. Jane stood by the window, still and silent. The perfect, invisible courtier.

“My lady,” Cranmer pronounced, “We can do this one of two ways. Based on the extensive information I have already gathered, I could give a full account of the punishment you will reap for your past misconduct. Or you could tell me your side of the story, and I will be content to listen and draw my conclusions.”