The Boleyn Deceit: A Novel (Ann Boleyn Trilogy)

by Andersen, Laura

  “Can you tell what poison it is?” Dominic demanded.

  “Given her symptoms, likely monkshood. You’re right, it’s on the pendant itself. Monkshood is just as deadly when absorbed through the skin as when ingested.”

  “Will she …”

  He could not finish the question. The physician shrugged. “I’ll see if she can tell me how long she was wearing that. But there’s no way to know how much was on there. She’s young and healthy. If the absorption was small enough …”

  “How long before we know?”

  The physician was equally blunt. “If she’s going to die, she won’t last the night.”

  There was movement behind the physician and Dominic looked over the man’s shoulder to where Elizabeth stood in the doorway, her face white but perfectly composed. Dropping the leather pouch and its dangerous contents on the nearest table, the physician returned to his vigil within.

  “What can I do?” Dominic asked Elizabeth.

  “Find William. If he hasn’t returned from hawking, go after him. If we do not alert him at once, he’ll never forgive us.”

  He’d forgotten about the king. Yes, he must be told—and discreetly. This story must not be spread abroad. Not until they had an ending to it, and could put a name to the person responsible.

  Dominic went straight to the stables to commandeer a horse, but the hawking party was just riding back in. William and the French ambassador were telling each other vulgar jokes and laughing uproariously. Dominic tried to catch William’s eye, but when that failed he interrupted. “A word, Your Majesty?”

  His tone must have alerted William, for he smoothly excused himself from the ambassador and the other members of the party. When Dominic whispered the news in his ear, William went noticeably pale. He motioned a page to them and said, “Report to Lord Rochford that I will be unavailable for the remainder of the day. He is to see to the comfort of the French ambassador and deal with any matters that might arise before tomorrow.”

  William didn’t say another word as they paced quickly back to Elizabeth’s chambers. That suited Dominic. He could not have spoken more than the necessities if his life depended on it.

  Elizabeth’s privy chamber was empty. Without pausing, William let himself into the sickroom and shut the door behind him.

  After staring at that closed door for what felt like an hour, Dominic retrieved the leather pouch that held Minuette’s treacherous pendant and escaped. If he was not to be allowed into the sickroom—and why should he be? It was the province of women, whatever liberties the king might take—he preferred to shut himself up in his own rooms. There were many things he could be doing—helping Rochford with the French or beginning inquiries into how this had happened. Who had got into Minuette’s rooms and when? Where had they found monkshood? And above all, why?

  But none of that mattered at the moment. Nothing mattered but that Minuette’s heart continue to beat.

  It was the longest night of Dominic’s life. When he wasn’t pacing like a caged lion, he sagged to the floor with his back against the wall, arms braced on his bent knees. At first he knew time was passing because of the changes in the light coming through his window. But when darkness fell, he sat unmoving, as though he’d been suspended in a bubble where time did not exist. Almost, he envied his mother her surety of faith; at the least, a rosary would have given occupation to his hands while he waited. He almost got up then, for he knew Minuette kept her own mother’s rosary hidden in the false bottom of her jewelry casket. But he could not face her empty chamber, not until he knew whether she would return to it.

  In the dark, dead hours of the night, Dominic felt his hope flicker and go out. If the end neared, he thought desperately, surely Elizabeth would summon him. She would not let Minuette go without allowing him to tell her goodbye. Even as simply her friend, he deserved that. But no one came.

  When finally there was a knock on his door, he had to blink himself into reality. Lifting his head from his hands, he saw that the first faint grey of dawn had come.

  The second knock was louder, and Dominic had to swallow past the terror in his throat to answer. “Who is it?”

  “Harrington.”

  Through his mingled hope and dread, Dominic called sharply, “What do you want?”

  “I’ve a woman wants to see you.”

  In the time it took him to cross the room and open the door, Dominic imagined several scenarios. Elizabeth, grieved and shaking. One of the ladies-in-waiting, summoning him at Minuette’s request. It was dawn. Had she lived through the night?

  Carrie stood at Harrington’s side, looking exhausted and ill herself. But her face lit in an angelic smile when she saw Dominic. “She’s come through it, my lord. She’s tired and very weak, but her heart is beating normal and she can breathe easy now. Physician said himself that she’ll do.”

  Dominic had spent so many hours preparing himself for the worst that he wasn’t ready for this. He gaped at Carrie for several moments, long enough for her smile to falter and her eyes to grow quizzical. Plainly she was wondering if he’d understood.

  Finally, he found the only words that meant anything. “Thank God.”

  Her smile returned. “Yes, my lord. I must get back. She’s sleeping peaceful for now and Her Highness has asked that she be kept quiet for the day. No visitors.”

  “Of course.” He could wait. Minuette would live.

  “My lord.” Carrie hesitated. “Is there anything you’d like me to tell her?”

  It wasn’t the question so much as the look she gave him, as if she could see into the dark hours of his vigil. Her expression reminded him of Diane de Poitiers—though the two women were poles apart in appearance and dress and comportment, Carrie had the same piercing look of understanding more than she told. Did Carrie know? If she did, it was by her own intuition, for Dominic knew Minuette had not revealed their secret even to her maid. Just as he had not told Harrington—though, come to think of it, Harrington seemed to have a hint of sympathy in his own grave eyes.

  Dominic thought of all the things he’d like to say to Minuette at this moment, and knew that he must say none of them. It was harder than he’d imagined, trying to think of innocent words that would raise no one’s suspicions but would convey what he wanted to Minuette herself.

  And then he thought of the pendant, his gift that had been turned against her, and sighed. “Tell her she is still the sweetest and merriest star of all.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  AFTER A FEW hours of snatched sleep, Elizabeth met with her brother and Dominic in her privy chamber. It had been an awful night, reminiscent of Hever last summer when it had been her mother struggling to breathe on her deathbed while Minuette had held her hand. There had been no one to hold Elizabeth’s hand last night. William stayed just long enough to ensure that Minuette was being cared for, then locked himself away in his own rooms. Elizabeth suspected he’d spent much of that time drinking. She didn’t know what Dominic had been doing, but when he appeared he looked no more rested than her brother.

  In spite of the lack of sleep, Elizabeth had managed to behave as normal for public eyes, dismissing Minuette’s illness as a severe headache. The physician and Carrie were sworn to secrecy and Minuette had been returned to her own chambers just after dawn. But Elizabeth saw more than one thoughtful expression amongst her women as her story made the rounds, and she felt, with a sinking heart, that they were now in a different kind of trouble. When a woman was as near to a man as Minuette was to William, any illness would be credited to one cause.

  It was a point she tried to make when the three shut themselves away in privacy. Dominic was in no mood to hear it. As he had once before, he wanted Minuette sent away from court at the earliest possible moment. And as she had once before, Elizabeth argued. She pointed out that speculation was no doubt already bubbling that Minuette was pregnant, that the only way to refute such rumours was to keep her here and show her off as much as possible. Let the court see that she
did not continue ill, or swell with child. Send her away, and tongues would wag that she was going to bear William’s child in secret.

  But William was entirely on Dominic’s side. “Someone meant to kill her. Monkshood is not playing. Minuette must go until we know who that person is and have dealt with him—or her.”

  He knew it meant further weeks of separation. He knew that rumours of an illicit pregnancy would further impede his marriage plans. It was the first time Elizabeth had seen her brother do something truly disinterested, and she realized with a bittersweet pang that his love for Minuette did go beyond desire.

  “This time, she doesn’t go to Wynfield,” William ordered. “Sending adequate royal guards with her would only spark more gossip. You must take her to Hatfield, Elizabeth. No one will blink twice if I increase your protection.”

  Elizabeth had hoped for that solution, for she had a plan of her own. First was to get Minuette well. A week or two, the physician thought, and she would be strong enough to travel. They would travel to Hatfield, right enough, but from there it wouldn’t be hard to persuade Minuette to travel to Dudley Castle with her. Even William would have to approve that plan, for she would have a chaperone around Robert—if Elizabeth had meant to tell him. Which she didn’t—at least not in advance. But when he found out later, she would be able to point out that she’d known very well that, as a Howard widow, Eleanor Percy would never show her face in such a Protestant household as the Dudleys. For surely Eleanor must be considered the most likely assassin.

  That was for William and Dominic to discover—how to deal with the matter of poison. And poisoner.

  For the first time in their friendship, William found himself trying to restrain Dominic from too hasty action. No, not the first time, he corrected himself. As William watched his friend pace the perimeter of his private closet, he could almost see Dominic’s knife once more at Giles Howard’s throat. And just look how that had ended.

  William was no less angry. But he knew how to use his anger, how to let white-hot emotion cool into deadly resolve. It was something he had learned, ironically enough, from Dominic—think before you act. There were too many traps here, possibilities and consequences that must be considered. He would take his time and act when he was ready. If only he could keep Dominic reined in.

  “Why have you not put Eleanor under arrest?” Dominic growled for the fourth time that hour.

  And, for the fourth time, William gave the same reply. “We have no evidence.”

  “She hates Minuette, she always has. Do you think she’d balk at killing? You said it yourself once—the woman’s only virtue is devotion to her own interests. No doubt Eleanor believes that with Minuette dead, you’d turn back to her.”

  “I’ve given her no cause to think so.”

  “You met her daughter this summer. That alone would have given Eleanor cause to hope. And then you invited her to return here to court.”

  “Even you cannot fault my behavior since her return.”

  “And before her return?” Dominic asked brusquely.

  William forced himself not to blink. Dominic did not listen to gossip—if there had been gossip, which was unlikely. They had been extremely discreet at Kenninghall.

  If there was any act of his life William wished undone, it was admitting Eleanor to his chambers that summer night two months ago. He had first met Eleanor’s daughter that day. His daughter, William was sure of it. The girl looked like Elizabeth, and had an air about her disconcertingly like their mother. He’d been disarmed by the child and by the emotions she’d raised. And Eleanor had been … familiar. Tempting. She knew him well, and no doubt she played the moment for all it was worth, but he had let her. He had argued against his conscience ever since, certain that Minuette would not expect complete celibacy from him, that she would know what men need and understand that his love for her was completely different than an hour’s dalliance with another woman …

  But if he learned that Eleanor had deliberately harmed Minuette after he had allowed her to return to court, he would never forgive himself. And he would do more than throw Eleanor in the Tower.

  “I’m not disagreeing with you,” he said. “I don’t trust Eleanor, and I’m quite willing to see her punished. But I’m nowhere near convinced she could do this alone. It was planned, Dominic. One doesn’t keep monkshood on one’s person merely in hopes that an opportunity of using it will arise.” William wasn’t quite sure if that was really what he believed or if he was just grasping for an answer that made his own failure less.

  For the first time today, Dominic stopped and listened to him. “If not Eleanor alone … whom do you suspect, Will?”

  “Eleanor must be questioned—but I don’t want her arrested, not yet. That sets off too many alarms. Bully her if you like, but don’t spread it widely. If there’s more to this than her jealousy of Minuette, I don’t want us missing anything from prejudice.”

  Dominic could have sent a page after Eleanor, but he could not be still. It wasn’t anger or fear driving him—just a clarity of purpose that had narrowed to one objective. Find Minuette’s enemy.

  It took him nearly an hour to track down Eleanor, playing the virginals in one of the medieval galleries in the older section of the palace. She was surrounded by a crowd of appreciative men. Most of them seemed more appreciative of her attributes than her musical talent.

  “I’d like to speak with you, Mistress Percy. Privately.”

  She smiled at him, as smooth and bland as cream. “It will be my pleasure, Lord Exeter.”

  Leaving the disappointed and envious men behind, Dominic did not take her to his own rooms this time. Instead, he led her into the empty chapel.

  “How religious,” she remarked.

  Dominic launched straight to the heart of the matter. “Where did you keep the monkshood?”

  She blinked. “I haven’t the least idea what you mean.”

  “If it was ever in your possession, we’ll find evidence of it. You can’t have got rid of every trace.” Dominic was bluffing. William might not think much of Eleanor’s planning abilities, but even she would have disposed of whatever had contained the monkshood poison. She need only have thrown it in the river.

  “Has someone been poisoned?” She was such a practiced performer that Dominic could not tell if her studied shock was false. He had the impression she was never less than studied.

  “Where were you yesterday in the early afternoon hours?”

  “Are you accusing me of something?” Her voice trembled, but she met his eyes squarely, and Dominic was almost certain he saw a flicker of triumph in them.

  “Yesterday someone slipped into Mistress Wyatt’s rooms, painted a solution of monkshood on the back of one of her pendants, and left it for her to wear.”

  He knew he was supposed to keep it quiet, but he would have bet anything that Eleanor already knew. And he was too angry to be careful.

  Eleanor narrowed her eyes. “I believe I warned you some months ago that she has enemies. It seems one of them is growing desperate.”

  “Mistress Wyatt poses no threat to anyone of importance.”

  “Of course she does. A blind man could see how William follows after her like a lapdog. Rumour has it she’ll not give in for anything less than marriage. Trying Anne’s tricks on Anne’s son—it’s quite cunning really. But she’s no match for Will. He’ll have her yet, and when he has, the allure of her innocence will quickly pall. Still, some might believe she poses a serious threat to the French marriage. And that might be a matter for poison.”

  Too furious to be calm, and afraid he might hurt Eleanor if this continued, Dominic said, “You may go—for now. The king will order further questioning as he deems fit.”

  “You have no evidence.”

  “Since when is that an obstacle?”

  Her face darkened, and Dominic caught a glimpse of the hard, obsessive woman behind the practiced mask. She stood in one disdainful movement. “William will never harm me
based solely on one man’s opinion. Not when evidence exists against the true culprits.”

  “If you know of evidence, and you do not disclose it, you’ll be arrested as an accessory.”

  She appeared to consider his words, then shrugged. “To prove that I don’t hold a grudge, I’ll tell you this. Did you know that yesterday afternoon Minuette had a private conversation with Lord Robert Dudley? He sent me to fetch her to him and told me to make certain she was not followed. Ask yourself why Robert Dudley would want her away from her rooms at that moment. Very convenient timing for the poisoner. And before you jump at the fact that I was the one to convey the message, and thus undoubtedly knew of the arrangement, remember whose son Robert Dudley is. With one son in prison, the Duke of Northumberland is desperate to regain influence with the king. He doesn’t want William wedding a French princess, but still less does he want the king tying himself to a silly girl of uncertain religious temperament. And Black Jack Dudley has a history of getting what he wants.”

  25 August 1555

  Hatfield

  I have been asked over and over what I remember of the day I was poisoned. But only Dominic has asked me what I remember of the night itself.

  I remember the paralyzing numbness that spread from my throat down my body. I remember the terror of believing each breath might be my last. I remember my vision fading to a yellow-green haze. I remember Carrie’s fierce face, determined to pull me through by sheer force of will; Elizabeth, calm and reassuring despite the tightness of her lips.

  I remember wanting Dominic, and panicking because he was not there. I don’t ever want to feel that again.

  5 September 1555

  Hatfield

  I lost my temper with Elizabeth today. She has been nothing but sweet and solicitous and I could not bear it a moment longer. I’m not a child, I reminded her. I know what’s going on. Someone—likely Eleanor Percy—wants me removed. Permanently. I’ll agree not to make it easy for her, to leave court and allow William and Dominic to gather their evidence, to keep out of harm’s way until the threat is removed … but I will do those things because they are logical, not because I am ordered to.