The Boleyn Deceit (30 page)

As she pondered, she stared at the casket that had held the letters and now stood empty. It was silver, perhaps a foot wide and high, with ornate fretwork details on the sides. On the curved top were cinquefoils, the five-pointed flowers enameled in yellow and red. Minuette knew the casket had belonged to Alyce’s mother and that her friend had always had it with her at court.

She ran her fingers carefully along every surface, recalling the hidden altar piece at Framlingham that had once concealed a precious document. She detected nothing unusual. Next, she opened the casket. The interior was lined entirely with brown velvet that was shiny in several spots, no doubt from age. Considering, Minuette used her fingertips to trace the edges of the velvet. The bottom yielded nothing to her touch. But when she moved to the rounded top, almost at once her fingers caught at a corner where the fabric did not quite align.

Holding her breath, she pried loose one corner and then along one edge to another corner. The fabric pulled loose where it had merely been tucked in and she could hear the rustle of pages before she pulled them loose. She let her breath out in relief.

Here at last was Alyce’s accounting of her actions.

He danced with me tonight, twice … I should not be moved by him, but he makes me laugh … he is dangerous but that is part of the allure, I could never fall in love with a commonplace man … I know I am not the only woman in his life, but he makes me feel that I am … he’s asked me to spend a month with him, and though I know it is reckless to the point of lunacy, I will go … I told him about my condition today and he could not even be bothered to be angry—worse, he was indifferent … I am finished doing as he bids—rather risk the king’s wrath now than later … I will tell him what I mean to do, for I owe him that much …

Nothing as useful as a name, of course. But from the descriptions alone, the words convincingly ruled out the late Giles Howard. Even the most besotted woman could never have described him as alluring.

Minuette considered the pages before her and the letter from her stepfather. In that tangle of information, she knew one thing for certain: she needed to talk to Dominic.

She didn’t think he had gone hawking with William and Elizabeth—more likely he was working somewhere in the palace. She penned a brief message, asking him if they might meet later today to discuss “a matter of the past.” Let him interpret that as he wished.

When Minuette handed the message to Carrie and asked her to deliver it to Dominic, Carrie frowned and suggested she leave the suite as well. “You could walk in the galleries. It will do you good to look at something other than your own walls. And with the court out hawking, the galleries will be empty. You will not
have to watch yourself so closely. I will find you when I have Lord Exeter’s reply.”

Minuette wondered, not for the first time, how much Carrie guessed of her dilemma. She had the uncomfortable feeling that her maid knew the innermost workings of her heart as well as she knew the linen underclothes she wore. Well, whatever Carrie might know or guess, Minuette could not speak freely. Not in the very heart of William’s palace.

As Carrie had advised, the long galleries were as empty as they could ever be. With William hawking, there was little need for hopeful courtiers to stand around waiting for him to pass through the corridors to plead whatever causes they had to plead. Those whom Minuette passed this morning seemed as anxious for solitude as she, and no one spoke to her.

Except the one person she least wanted to see.

She was standing in the gallery, gazing blindly at a tapestry of an idyllic country retreat complete with swans on a lake and a hunting dog pursuing ducks, when Eleanor Percy found her. “Mistress Wyatt.”

It was the first time she had seen Eleanor since the adder incident, and it was the politest voice Eleanor had ever used with her. Minuette inclined her head in the barest acknowledgment and waited for the other woman to pass on. But Eleanor, it seemed, had been in search of her, though the tight lacing of her bodice showed rather an interest in looking for men than for a woman. “Lord Robert Dudley would like to speak with you privately.”

Whatever for?
she nearly asked. It was almost as though Robert knew what she had just read in her stepfather’s letter. “And why would he send you to find me?”

Eleanor gleamed in that particular way of hers, designed to make men stop thinking and women roll their eyes. “I was conveniently nearby. He’s in the map room just now. I believe this is a
conversation you would prefer to have out of sight of the royals. Will you come?”

It seemed Eleanor meant to lead her there. Minuette tried to politely refuse, then less politely, but Eleanor said, “I wouldn’t want you to slip away. Lord Robert was quite specific.”

Something in the way she said his name … could Eleanor have moved on in her choice of men? Surely not, at least not with Robert. He had an eye for women, but he had a sharper eye for his own preservation. And bedding the king’s former mistress in the king’s own palace was sure to jeopardize one’s future. Especially when one was in love with the king’s sister.

Warily she followed Eleanor through the empty corridors to the map room, so-called because of the frescoed map of Europe that covered one entire wall. It was mostly used for exchequer business, but today there was only Robert sitting at a table with a ledger open before him. He shut it as the women entered and rose. “Thank you for coming, Minuette.”

To Eleanor, who waited at her side, he said, “You may go.” There was nothing, not even a flicker, to betray the slightest personal interest in her. Perhaps she had merely been convenient, at that. Minuette was just glad to see her go.

“Please,” Robert said, and they sat across from each other. She had seen him in this mood only once before, solemn and serious, when he had come to Framlingham last fall to tell her that the Spanish navy was on the move and she’d best hurry and find the Penitent’s Confession she’d been sent to locate. Robert serious was very serious indeed.

As though he could read her mind, he asked, “Do you remember the night Giles Howard died?”

I might have enjoyed you willing, but I will revel in you fighting.
Giles upon her, sword in one hand, the other hand digging into her arm, dragging her up … pushing her against the wall … 
then he was falling and there was blood on her hands and wet across her face and her dress and spurting across the stones of the floor.

“I remember.”

“I know it was you, Minuette.”

“You know what was me?”

“You are the one who killed Giles Howard, not Dominic. I saw Dominic that night, not ten minutes afterward, in the clothes he was wearing in that lady chapel, and he had only smears and streaks of blood on him. You, however … your gown was so soaked in blood that your maid burnt it.”

She met his gaze steadily, but her thoughts raced as swiftly as her heart. It wasn’t as though she regretted killing Giles, considering what he’d meant to do to her. It just wasn’t something she wanted to remember. Or anyone else to know.

“Why are you bringing this to my attention now?” she asked softly. Robert Dudley was always a hard man to read, but never more so than when he was serious.

“Because you are in a precarious position, Minuette, and I would like you to take my advice.”

“By threatening me?”

“By proving to you that I have your best interests at heart. If I did not, I would have spread this news, for there are many at court who would pay to know anything that might discredit you. I am not interested in injuring you.”

“What are you interested in, Lord Robert?”

“Protecting England. You have to walk away from William.”

How to play this? Innocent? Outraged? Or as Robert was playing it—matter-of-fact and straightforward?

“Assuming that I know what you are talking about, why would I do that?” Was she always to be in the position of defending a match she didn’t even desire? Life would be so much easier
if she could just tell everyone—anyone—the truth:
I have no intention of marrying William ever.
“And why are you the one to give me this advice?”

“Because no one else will,” he retorted. “At least, no one you want to tangle with. Would you rather be discussing this with my father? Or the Lord Chancellor? Or why not bring the new Duke of Norfolk into it—surely he’d have an opinion as to whether the king should marry the woman who murdered his nephew.”

She rose, pleased that her body responded gracefully even though panic was lurking deep. “I will not be threatened by you.”

Robert stood as well and leaned toward her, his palms flat against the table, speaking fast and low. “Look, I am as close to the holy quartet as anyone can be who isn’t part of it. You, Dominic, William, Elizabeth—I know how the dynamics work. William thinks he runs things, but that is only because he is king. It has always been the two of you together doing what you want and leaving the others to clear up after. Dominic won’t speak to you of this because … well, because Dominic never speaks and because he cannot see beyond his loyalty to Will. And Elizabeth, for all her brains and wit, has a blind spot where her brother is concerned. She may not believe that everything the king does must be right, but damned if she’ll let anyone else accuse him of it.”

He stepped around the table, urgency threading his voice. “You’re the one with all the power here. You must walk away from William. If you don’t—”

“Who put you up to this? I know this isn’t coming from you. Is it your father who’s warning me off? What exactly does the Duke of Northumberland threaten if I do not walk away?”

His face darkened. “You are in over your head. That is my
warning, no one else’s. If you don’t walk away from William, someone might ensure that you are forced to.”

She would not give him the satisfaction of knowing he had shaken her. With a contemptuous turn of her shoulder, she walked out straight-backed and unflinching. But so unnerved was she inside that she flinched when Eleanor fell into step with her in the corridor.

“Here to escort me elsewhere?” Minuette asked.

This time Eleanor did not trouble with politeness. “You grow increasingly troublesome with each day that passes.”

“Troublesome to whom? You? Forgive me for not caring.”

“Don’t be a fool. I don’t like you, but I am beginning to feel sorry for you. You’re no match for the king. William will have what he wants, and if you don’t play it right, you’ll end up with nothing.”

“I know what I’m doing.” Minuette nearly laughed aloud at the breathtaking folly of the situation—proclaiming her ability to end as William’s wife to his former mistress. Never mind that she wasn’t at all interested in being queen.

Eleanor studied her intently, eyes glittering, then shook her head. “You did me a favour, ridding me of Giles. So I will say it plainly one last time: you have enemies you’ve never dreamed of. And their tactics are not confined to innuendo and court gossip. You think the Catholics make bad enemies? They are as nothing to the hard hearts of the Protestants.”

Minuette stared as Eleanor swept away. What was she implying—that Minuette was in actual peril? That was absurd. Beyond Elizabeth and Dominic, no one knew for certain that William wished to marry her. Minuette shook her head and went back to her rooms, convincing herself as she went that Eleanor’s words had been nothing more than an attempt to rattle her.

Robert’s words, though, had been meant to do more than
that. Combined with her stepfather’s insinuations and her own increasing uneasiness with the Dudley men’s alibis, how could she not perceive it as a threat? But how could she believe that Robert, a man she’d known since childhood, actually meant her harm?

Carrie met her at the door to her chamber with a note in Dominic’s familiar handwriting. He wrote that he would meet her in the gardens as soon as she could be there. Though there had been tension between them since his mother’s house, just the thought of seeing him lightened her mood. Compared to the murky depths of court politics, Dominic was like a refreshing dose of clear water. She would tell him everything and welcome his opinion.

She briefly considered changing clothes, but she didn’t want to waste the time. At the last moment her gaze fell on the star pendant lying neatly on the dressing table. She hadn’t worn it since leaving the French court, and had laid it away in the small, locked casket that kept her few valuable pieces. Carrie must have pulled it out for some reason. Perhaps it was a hint from her discreet maid. Well, she would take the hint.

It took her three tries to catch the clasp blindly, but at last it settled into place, the filigreed star nestling into the hollow of her throat. With footsteps as light as her heart, Minuette went down the stairs, through the courtyards, and into the gardens.

She saw Dominic, dark and watchful near the fountains, and increased her pace.

At the last moment Elizabeth decided it was too hot to go hawking with William and the French ambassador. She was practicing with her lute master when Robert Dudley appeared in her presence chamber. Although she was still annoyed with him in proxy for his family, it was hard to remember that when she saw him. He
was such a familiar presence—both comforting and arousing—a reminder of herself as Elizabeth first and a princess second. She finished the lute arrangement of her father’s song, “Pastyme with Good Company,” then waved Robert to join her near the window while the lute master took her instrument and bowed himself away.

“You’re looking terrifyingly solemn,” she remarked. “What dreadful crisis has brought you to that?”

He hesitated, as though deciding which flippant response to give. Then he settled on truth. “I expect to be an uncle within a fortnight.”

“I know.” Margaret Clifford was hugely pregnant. She remained confined to the Tower, as was Guildford Dudley, though the two of them were kept strictly apart. She didn’t need Robert to elaborate on the solemnity—if Margaret’s child was a son, it would be the first boy born in the royal line since William. A Protestant boy, thus less dangerous than a Catholic one, but no doubt there would be treacherous whispers about moving him up in the line of succession. At the least, a boy would give Northumberland, as the child’s grandfather, a good deal too much power.