Laura Andersen - [Ann Boleyn 01]

by The Boleyn King

  Minuette let that hang in the air before saying lightheartedly, “Well, then, I shall continue to back Jane. I quite think she has the best chance, seeing as she’s already here. What is it they say about possession?”

  She was teasing him now, as shamelessly as she had when they were children. William let it soothe the edges of his irritation and turned his attention back to the chessboard.

  “How are your inquiries coming along?” he asked. “You haven’t given them up simply because my uncle was asking about it, have you?”

  “Of course not.” As he moved a rook out of harm’s way, Minuette sighed and went on, “It’s tedious. There were more than fifty names on that list. Even eliminating those least likely—I honestly don’t believe that Alyce was besotted with the Bishop of Winchester; not only is he sixty years old, but he weighs more than two men put together—that still left nearly three dozen to track down. It has taken time to write letters and approach the matter discreetly.”

  Though her words were nonchalant, William knew every expression in her store. She had something—she just wanted it teased out of her. “So how many of these men did you have to allow to proposition you before you had your name? And how many deserve my wrath for that, if not for Alyce?”

  He loved her laughter—it was summer and childhood and freedom in one. “I’ll never tell. However, my stepfather sent me a letter this week, a most intriguing one. Not only was a certain kinsman of his not at the family seat, as he claimed to be, the first time Alyce was away from court … but said kinsman also stayed in a remote country manor the entire month of March a year ago.”

  “The month when Alyce was got with child.”

  “Quite.”

  William allowed Minuette her moment of triumph as she studied the board and moved her king to box in one of his bishops. Finally he was forced to say, “Do tell, Minuette.”

  “Can you not guess?” She sounded truly surprised. “You know my stepfather.”

  He did, but only after making himself remember. After her father’s death, her mother had married a younger brother of the Duke of Norfolk.

  And a Norfolk kinsman meant … “Giles Howard.”

  “Yes.”

  William wasn’t quite sure what he felt. On one hand, he didn’t like Giles Howard. On the other hand, he was Eleanor’s husband.

  “What’s your next move?” Minuette asked, and he knew she did not mean chess.

  He had an answer she would not expect. He had only been waiting for the right time to tell her. “My next move is—you.”

  “I’m intrigued.”

  “I have decided that the quickest way to mend matters with Mary is to require her attendance at mass on my birthday. An English mass.”

  “To mend matters—or bring them to a head?”

  “Mary’s feelings have been indulged too long. I intend to begin as I will go on—and that means that she and her supporters will recognize that I am king. She will make me her submission, and she will recognize my mother.”

  “And how do I come into it?” Minuette asked skeptically.

  “I am sending you to Mary’s household within the week.”

  Minuette studied him with the same care she had given the chessboard. “She will not like it.”

  “She will not.”

  “She will think I am sent to spy on her.”

  “And so you are.”

  With exasperation, Minuette said, “William, what exactly am I meant to discover?”

  “Whatever you can—I trust your intelligence to alert you to oddities. But that is not your most important task.”

  With dawning comprehension, she shook her head. “I am not a messenger, I am the message. ‘Don’t trifle with me,’ you’re telling her. ‘I control even the details of your own household. And if you don’t like it …’ ” Her face darkened. “If she doesn’t like it, then what?” she asked. How far will you go? she meant.

  “I will not let my kingdom be divided. If the Catholics force my hand, they will regret it.”

  “And what of Giles Howard and his involvement with Alyce?”

  “I’ll put Elizabeth to work on that. The Duke of Norfolk has always liked her. She’ll know how to play that.”

  Before she could say anything more, a page crossed the room and presented William with a letter sealed with Eleanor’s initials. He read it conscious of Minuette’s assessing gaze.

  “All is well?” she asked neutrally.

  William tossed her the letter. “Eleanor delivered safely three days ago. A girl.”

  He felt a twinge of disappointment that it was not a son, swallowed up in a larger relief. A boy would have been trickier to deal with in the future. A girl, though, could be safely left in the Howard household. Providing her father of record is not a traitor, he thought. Better get Elizabeth to work on Norfolk without delay.

  With the clarity and edge of glass, Minuette said, “Congratulations … to Eleanor. I’m sure she’s delighted that her child is safely delivered almost two months early.”

  William met her eyes. “I’m sure she’ll welcome your congratulations when she returns.”

  Her gaze flickered as she hovered on the edge of speech, and he wondered if she would forget discretion long enough to tell him that she despised Eleanor Howard and always had.

  But she merely laid aside the letter and smiled sweetly. “Your move.”

  Elizabeth sat in the solarium at Hever Castle, reading aloud in the unseasonably warm May Day afternoon. She read Latin as fluently as she spoke English, and the mellifluous syllables spilled from her tongue to her mother’s ears. Anne sat with eyes closed in concentration—and also, perhaps, as a defense against the many things that she could no longer see even when her eyes were open.

  A slight nod from her mother stopped Elizabeth at the end of the essay. “A pity more women do not trouble to learn Latin.”

  Elizabeth darted a quick glance at the gaggle of waiting women embroidering near the window and stifled a smile. “A great pity.”

  “It is good of you to spend this month with me. A pleasant pause before the ceremonies of this summer.”

  Why, Elizabeth wondered, are the two of us incapable of making any but trite conversation? As she felt the beginnings of a headache, which always signaled frustration, she could only say lamely, “I doubt we’ll see anything this fine again, not until a queen’s coronation.”

  Her mother’s smile was wistful, and Elizabeth thought she must be remembering her own coronation. “And have you any idea when that might be?”

  “William does not seem anxious to make a decision. Marriage, after all, has so many unforeseen consequences.”

  Perhaps it was that last barb, veiled though it was, that moved her mother to ask smoothly, “And you, Elizabeth? Shall you ever be wed?”

  Elizabeth stiffened into formality. “That is a matter for the council or the king, my brother.”

  Her mother’s glance was quite penetrating for a woman who could see only outlines and shadows. “Indeed it is.”

  She rose, and instantly two attendants were at her side to guide her unobtrusively across the room. But her mother had one last caution to deliver, in an offhand, even slightly amused, manner. “Robert Dudley, charming though he is, can never be anything but a diversion. I trust to your intelligence, Elizabeth, to remember who you are.”

  The room emptied in the wake of her mother’s departure, while Elizabeth sat with lips pressed tightly together, restraining the retorts that had risen so easily to her tongue. And you, Mother, how well did you remember yourself when a married man threw himself at your feet? When all of London called you whore and witch? Tell me, Mother, what is the difference between a diversion and a crown?

  She curled up in the chair and laid her aching head in her arms. Before she knew it, Minuette’s soft voice pulled her out of the dreamlike state she’d slipped into. “Elizabeth? Can I do anything for you?”

  Elizabeth opened her eyes and smiled. “Come sit and talk t
o me before you go away. We must have a good gossip—heaven knows you won’t get any of that with my sister. Tell me about Jonathan Percy and the sonnets he keeps writing you.”

  Minuette blushed. “I’m sure you know as much about him as I do.”

  “I’m sure I don’t. He’s never said two words to me, but you he can talk to for hours. A musician and poet—I never expected you to find such a scholarly young man appealing.”

  “He’s a nice boy,” Minuette said. Elizabeth raised her eyebrows in question, and she laughed. “All right, he’s not a boy. But he is very nice. He talks to me as though I am a person, not just a woman.”

  “Very different from his sister.” Elizabeth could never resist teasing Minuette about her dislike of Eleanor.

  “Indeed. I find it hard to remember that he and Eleanor are not only siblings but twins.” Her face hardened a little. “You’ve heard that she’s been delivered of a daughter.”

  “Will is pleased, though no doubt Eleanor would have preferred a son.” She studied her friend’s averted face. “Tell me true, Minuette: could you bear to be her sister-in-law?”

  Minuette hesitated. “I … it’s not a question of that.”

  “Isn’t it? The only reason Jonathan hasn’t asked for you yet is that he lacks the arrogance of most males. He may actually be unsure of your answer.” She studied Minuette closely—the troubled eyes that would not quite meet hers. “You would say yes, wouldn’t you?”

  Minuette did not precisely answer. “He’s a good match for me. He’s a court musician, so I could continue in service to you. He would be kind to me and to … any children.” Her blush deepened. “I do not find him unattractive. That is more than most women can expect in a husband.”

  “Certainly more than I can expect.”

  Minuette must have caught the edge of despair in her voice, for she went straight to the heart of Elizabeth’s chaotic emotions. “Have you spoken to William about your future? He cannot wish you unhappy. If you could tell him how you feel, make him understand …”

  Elizabeth aimed for sarcasm but didn’t quite bring it off. “What do you imagine, Minuette? That I confess my wildly improper love for Robert and hope the king and council would approve a royal princess marrying an ambitious man who would divorce his wife for that sole reason? Brotherly affection will never overrule William’s practicality.” But wasn’t that the very thing she hoped? Wasn’t it, more or less, what Northumberland had hinted at?

  “Your parents married for love.”

  Throat painfully tight, Elizabeth stared at the tapestry on the far wall, an image in deep shades of russet and green of Judith cutting off Holofernes’s head. “My father, perhaps. But if you have managed to uncover my mother’s heart enough to know why she married, it is more than I have ever done.”

  “You do not think she loved him?”

  Elizabeth took her time answering, though it was a question she had long debated. “I think she loved him as well as she was able considering she had no choice in the matter.”

  4 May 1554

  Beaulieu

  I arrived yesterday before noon. I have yet to see the Lady Mary. She has kept to her privy chamber all day while I sit amongst her women in the presence chamber. No one seems at all likely to speak to me, and I’m beginning to wonder what precisely William expects me to do. Interrogate the women? Force myself into Mary’s presence? At least I have Carrie with me—she insists she is only my maid, but I tell her she is my friend. And here at Beaulieu, she is my only friend.

  At least I can report that I have unsettled everyone. I suppose that’s something.

  5 May 1554

  Beaulieu

  I was summoned to speak with Mary’s private chaplain today. Father Hermosa was a confessor in Catherine of Aragon’s household and, though greatly aged, he is intelligent and—surprisingly for a Spaniard—practical.

  He apologized for Mary’s continued confinement, alluding to repeated bouts of weakness since her great illness in April. And just as he knew I wondered if the illness was real, I knew that he wondered if I’d heard the supposed cause of it.

  “You are a ward of the king’s mother?” he asked. If it weren’t for the disdain behind the words, I would be entertained by the convoluted ways they speak of Anne, since they will never call her queen.

  “I am.”

  “And a companion to the Princess Elizabeth?”

  I simply inclined my head, since he obviously knew all about me. Perhaps that is what they’ve been doing behind closed doors for two days—gathering information about me.

  “Elizabeth would dearly love me to give her best wishes to her sister,” I said smoothly. “As would the king, her brother. I am here to see her for myself, so as to send my personal assurances to those who cannot visit.”

  “I shall let Her Highness know.”

  He used that title deliberately, to see how I would respond. Mary is not a royal highness, not even inside her own walls. But then they are not her walls, are they? The walls, like every other thing in her life, belong to William.

  8 May 1554

  Beaulieu

  I was at last granted an audience with the Lady Mary this evening. I arrived just after what was undoubtedly a private service of vespers in her makeshift oratory. Clearly William is not the only one of Henry’s children to know how to send wordless messages.

  But she was kind enough to me, if naturally wary. She asked with genuine goodwill after Elizabeth and William, and seemed pleased when I asked with intelligence about her latest project—writing a rebuttal of Martin Luther’s heresies (much as her father did more than thirty years ago).

  “I remember you,” she said suddenly, apropos of nothing. “In the gardens at Hampton Court. You and Elizabeth were walking with my father. He liked you—you made him laugh.”

  “I am glad to have known His Majesty, even a very little.”

  Mary is not good at dissembling. Her efforts to decide what to do with me were all too apparent from the tightness of her hands on the chair arms and the tension around her eyes. She knows she cannot send me away, but she could choose to stay behind private doors while I am here.

  Her face softened slightly, though not anywhere close to a smile. “I am honoured that the king, my brother, has sent you to me for a time. I look forward to speaking with you often of his health and happiness.”

  I made a deep curtsy and was then dismissed to bed. I cannot possibly be duplicitous by nature, or I would not care whether she welcomed me or not. I do care—it would be awful to spend the next seven weeks trapped in a house with a woman who hates me.

  Though if she hated me, I might not feel quite so guilty about spying on her.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “MORE WINE, LORD Norfolk?” Elizabeth asked, and when the old duke nodded, she motioned forward an attendant to pour.

  Elizabeth was doing William’s bidding in hosting the duke for dinner in her presence chamber. Though there were two of her women and four of his men in attendance, she and Norfolk sat alone at the small round table. He’ll be less wary of you, William had said. Soothe him and sympathize with him … and see what he might spill about Mary. And Giles.

  Just as well he had asked her to do it, Elizabeth thought, for William was in a chancy mood at best. Beneath the surface enthusiasm and energy devoted to his coming majority lurked a temper that had been flaring more often than usual these last weeks. Just yesterday William had shown himself mightily displeased at losing a tennis match to Robert. Though truly, it was when he stopped throwing tantrums that William was most dangerous.

  Norfolk might be charmed by her, but he was too canny to believe this dinner was to flatter him. “What is our topic this evening, Your Highness?”

  “Must we have a topic?”

  “I knew your mother at your age—don’t tell me you don’t have a purpose.”

  “My brother would like assurances that his looming majority will not precipitate a domestic crisis. I’m sure you’ll agre
e that we have quite enough to deal with on the Continent just now.”

  “And I’m sure you would agree that the king’s first responsibility is to his own people. Many of whom have been hunted and repressed for years.”

  Elizabeth had her marching orders, and she delivered them smoothly. “In return for your personal assurance that all His Majesty’s subjects will respect his throne, he is prepared to return the Lady Mary to the line of succession—after his own future children and myself, naturally.”

  Of course Norfolk would accept. He could not hope for more. The Protestants would be furious, but sometimes balance was maintained by keeping both sides discontented.

  “And my assurance will take what form?”

  “An act of Parliament, to which you will give vocal and written approval.”

  Norfolk steepled his fingers. “May I ask what the king envisions for the Lady Mary in his reign?”

  “Our dear sister may continue with the attendants of her choosing and the ability to hear mass privately from her own chaplain. How privately is up to the king—but I daresay he will not countenance attendance above two or three at a time.”

  “She will be allowed to travel?”

  “At the king’s discretion—and certainly not abroad.”

  Elizabeth knew that the Catholic powers were divided on this point. Some had pushed for years for Mary to quit England and return to her mother’s Spanish home in order to rally support. But others cautioned that once Mary was gone, she might never return, and thus would die the last hope of Catholics in England. William was of the opinion that an enemy, especially one in your own family, should be kept close at hand.

  “Your Highness,” Norfolk said, “principle demands that at the very least I demand a return to your father’s Act of the Six Articles”—meaning dismantling the heavily Protestant changes led by Rochford and Northumberland. Norfolk continued, “If the king can assure me that he will consider—seriously consider—doing so, then I am prepared to support such an act of Parliament as has been proposed.”