“You must be Lady Elizabeth’s Lord Denno,” she said.
“I am indeed Lord Denno Adjoran,” Denoriel replied. “As to being Lady Elizabeth’s Lord Denno … I suppose I am most sincerely her servant if only the least among them.”
A very faint frown marred Mistress Cecil’s smooth brow. “It is true enough that Lady Elizabeth very rarely spoke of you, but Mistress Ashley thinks the sun rises and sets by your wishes.”
Denoriel smiled and shook his head. “Mistress Ashley is too kindhearted and too indulgent. She forgets that some things are easily available to a merchant adventurer and puts too great a value on some bolts of cloth and a few bottles of wine. But sometimes even a merchant adventurer does not have to hand everything he desires. I regret to have to tell you, Mistress Cecil, that I have no more of the rumney wine.”
“But I see your servant carries a basket,” Mistress Cecil said, smiling also.
“Yes. I thought some claret for you and, if Master Cecil has more austere tastes, some alicant for him would make up for the missing rumney.”
“That is very kind, too kind really. I should not have made so bold as to ask for the rumney, but I did like it so much when Lady Elizabeth invited us to breakfast with her. She said, when I asked, that she had it from you and I did not know where else to ask for it. But, you know, I did not mean to ask it as a gift.”
Denoriel gestured dismissively. “A few bottles of wine. You gave such pleasure to Eliza … I beg pardon, to Lady Elizabeth by approving her opinion on the oration of Cicero she was reading, that I wished to thank you.”
Mildred Cecil now had a self-satisfied smile. She had been sure that Lord Denno was a personal favorite of Lady Elizabeth and had been disappointed when he claimed only friendship with the governess. That, being no fool, she saw was only caution. Lord Denno was almost certainly a conduit to Elizabeth.
Denoriel, seeing the smile, cursed himself for his slip of the tongue. Until he knew who would hold the reins of Elizabeth’s life, he wanted no rumors about her unsuitable friendship with a common merchant. He knew Mildred to be a fine scholar, but sometimes the ability to understand Latin did not assure the ability to understand people and life. He was about to point out that Elizabeth’s position was at this time delicate, when the door was opened by the servant who had shown Denoriel in, and a medium-sized man in sober but rich clothing came into the room.
“Lord Denno,” he said, holding out a hand to be clasped. “I am William Cecil. I am pleased to meet you. I have heard much good of you from many sources. And I wished to thank you in person for your generous response to my wife’s requests.”
“Nothing.” Denoriel again gestured dismissively. “As I said, I was happy to be able to do some small thing for a friend of Lady Elizabeth. And, Master Cecil, I would gladly give you a tun of wine for your thoughtfulness in sending information about the Dirge to Mistress Ashley. To my great shame, I had myself forgotten what that would mean to Lady Elizabeth.”
Cecil smiled. “You have my wife to thank. It was Mildred who reminded me that Lady Elizabeth would want to know.”
“Then I am more than ever in Mistress Cecil’s debt, not she in mine. Indeed. Lady Elizabeth held her father in the highest regard. She loved and respected him. He was, in many ways, the center of her whole world. She still finds it very difficult to believe that such a man could be dead.”
Shaking his head, Cecil sighed. “He was so strong a king that he was the center of all our lives here in England. There is great uncertainty in the Court over the provisions of the king’s will. So large a Council would make a most unwieldy governing body. What say the merchants, Lord Denno?”
Before Denoriel could answer, Cecil looked around and said, “Why are we all standing? Let me make you known to my wife’s sister, Anne, and a friend, Elizabeth Sands. And let us all sit down.”
For a few minutes there was no further conversation. Denoriel bowed to both ladies and murmured the standard phrases of pleasure in the introduction while servants brought and placed chairs. He liked the look of both women; Anne he thought was prettier than her sister, but she had the same expression of eager alertness, and Mistress Sands had a peculiarly sweet expression, but without any look of foolish simpering.
When they were settled, Cecil repeated his question about the merchants, and Denoriel, recalling various things Joseph Clayborne had said, replied that what merchants all desired most was stability.
“We would rather,” he said “that there be one clear master than that several powerful lords be in contention for who shall be the most powerful. Such contention can only lead to unrest, and unrest is bad for trade within the realm and makes foreign governments contemptuous of us.”
To that William Cecil nodded. “And have you heard of any preferences among your fellow merchants?”
“To speak the truth I have only hearsay from my man of business, who is most astute, and he named no preference himself. Myself, I was trying to obtain an audience with Sir Anthony Denny, who in the past has favored me with his notice. He did not have time to speak to me. However, from what I heard, here and there, it was assumed that the earl of Hertford, who has the king in charge, would likely head the Council.”
Cecil looked rather pleased at that remark and Denoriel judged that Cecil had some connection with Hertford. What Cecil said, indirectly confirmed that notion.
“Very likely.” And after a very brief hesitation, he continued, “I am sorry to hear that you could not win an audience with Sir Anthony. Perhaps I could carry a message to him or to someone else at Court?”
Denoriel had not only been attending to what William Cecil said but peripherally to the three women. All were completely at ease, which spoke well for Cecil’s relationship with his wife; that he had not sent her away when he intended to have a serious conversation with another man implied trust in her discretion. That her sister and a visitor should be both interested and yet relaxed was significant, implying that he liked and respected women.
Another point strongly in Cecil’s favor was that he had admitted it was his wife who had prompted him to send London information to Elizabeth through Kat Ashley. Not only did he trust his wife’s discretion, but he took her advice. And all Sir Anthony Cooke’s clever daughters, Denoriel remembered from the halcyon days at Hampton Court under Queen Catherine Parr’s tutelage, liked and admired Elizabeth, who was as earnest a student as any of them.
Last and least, but also significant, was that Cecil had introduced him to the other ladies in his household and gone further in offering to allow him, merchant and foreigner, to sit with them. It seemed to Denoriel that through his wife Cecil already knew about his relationship to Elizabeth and by implication approved of it.
“I thank you,” Denoriel said, deciding it was safer to make a clean breast of what he had done than try to conceal it, only to have it revealed—likely by that loudmouth Thomas Seymour he had met in the queen’s lodging. “Nor will I refuse your offer, but I must tell you that I have engaged another advocate of my cause.”
“Your cause?”
For the first time Cecil looked surprised and somewhat uneasy. Denoriel smiled at him. “My cause was to speak to Sir Anthony Denny about arranging that Lady Elizabeth learn who was to be in charge of her—and, of course, to urge the choice of someone who would be kind and she could trust.”
“Ah, you were acting for Lady Elizabeth.” He glanced at his wife. “I have heard that you often interested yourself in her.”
There was no disapproval at all in Cecil’s voice or face. Denoriel did not permit himself to sigh with relief, but he could feel himself relax. Anne and Mildred both smiled at him.
So he told the story of his connection to Harry FitzRoy and how he felt, after Harry’s death, that Elizabeth was a kind of legacy. He shrugged. “I am very rich. I have no kith or kin. I have watched her grow since the day she was born, and I must confess I am totally enslaved by her.”
Mildred giggled. “Most men are, and not a few women. Lady Eli
zabeth is a most fascinating person. A fine scholar, yes, but as interested in people as in her books.”
Denoriel nodded. “Yes, and just now she is frightened and unhappy. She feels as if the ground was snatched out from under her feet when her father died and that she is falling without hope of a happy landing.”
“Poor child,” Cecil said. And he looked as if he truly meant those words, not that they were merely something to punctuate the conversation.
“I know Mistress Ashley has assured her over and over that all would be well, that she is well endowed in her father’s will, and that provision would be made for her … but …”
“I am sorry. I had no idea that Lady Elizabeth was so distressed.” Cecil bit his lip for a moment but then shook his head. “Lady Mary is sorely grieved by King Henry’s death, but otherwise calm. And I do not know what I can do for Lady Elizabeth. There is still much uncertainty …”
“Well, I have made a start. When I could not reach Sir Anthony, I began to think of who else might have Lady Elizabeth’s interests at heart, and the first person that came to mind—who was not neck deep in the formation of a new government—was the queen. I sought an appointment with Queen Catherine, and she was most sympathetic.”
“The very person!” Mildred cried.
“Yes, indeed,” Anne added. “Queen Catherine always had a special sympathy and interest in Lady Elizabeth. She was truly motherly toward her. And their … ah … thoughts and interests were much in tune.”
“She is a lovely woman,” Elizabeth Sands murmured, “both kind and clever.”
William Cecil was nodding but looking somewhat puzzled. “I agree with you all,” he said, “but I do not see how I can raise this topic on my own. Although it is possible that I will have some control over requests … ah … a request must be made.”
“That is in the working,” Denoriel said, almost rising from his chair in his enthusiasm. “The queen kindly wrote to Lady Elizabeth, and Elizabeth wrote back, mentioning her fears and her loneliness and begging the queen, if it were possible and to the Council’s liking, that Queen Catherine have charge of her and that she be allowed to live under the queen’s guidance. Queen Catherine liked the notion so well that she wrote to Sir Anthony Denny, and he promised to visit her soon to speak of the matter.”
“Oh, excellent,” Cecil said. “Nothing is yet certain on any score, but such an arrangement is surely possible.” He pursed his lips. “Another week should decide everything. King Henry will possibly be buried on the sixteenth—”
“Will Elizabeth be expected to attend?” Denoriel drew a sharp breath, appalled at having interrupted, but Cecil did not look offended and merely shook his head.
“None of the children will be summoned,” he said. “Only the queen is expected to attend and the reason I mentioned the funeral is because Queen Catherine will not be able to take Lady Elizabeth into her home until after that event.”
“I see. Thank you for telling me. Once Lady Elizabeth hears that she will be allowed to live with the queen, she will be … ah … impatient.”
Mildred giggled again at the understatement, and Denoriel smiled at her.
“Yes. I will be very glad to have a reason to give her for any delay she perceives.”
They spoke a little longer about the funeral, Mildred wondering aloud whether it would be more terrible for Lady Elizabeth to see her father’s body committed to the earth or just to be told of the event. Despite the pain of seeing a loved one physically buried, it must give a sense of finality, Mistress Sand remarked gently, which would allow one to grieve and then accept and be comforted.
Denoriel did not contribute to the conversation although he listened closely. He could not himself imagine such a dreadful event. He had not, of course, attended Harry FitzRoy’s funeral; it was believed that he was on a long trading voyage when he was really Underhill recovering from nearly killing himself defending Elizabeth. But even if he had gone, it was not Harry’s body but Richey’s that was going to putrefy and eventually turn to dust.
His silence was noted with considerate concern. “You have seen too much death, I fear,” Cecil said. “Come, let us be more cheerful. Let us try some of the claret you have been so kind as to bring.”
Denoriel glanced at the window that flanked the hearth to judge the angle of the sun. “As a stirrup cup, thank you,” he said. “I am afraid I have long overstayed the time of a polite visit.”
“Not in our pleasure in your company,” Cecil said, rising and going to the door to tell the servant waiting there to take the bottles of wine Cropper was carrying and to open a bottle of claret and bring glasses.
They spoke about wine in general until the servant returned and then Mistress Cecil made clear her appreciation of the quality of the claret Denoriel had provided. He said what was polite, finished his own glass of wine, and then made his farewells. William Cecil set his glass down on the small table between Mildred and her sister and said he would see Denoriel to the door.
As soon as the door closed behind them, Cecil said, “I am grateful to you, Lord Denno, for mentioning to me that Lady Elizabeth would like to live with the queen and Queen Catherine would like to have her company. I have heard that the queen is distressed and feels she was thrust aside and denied the opportunity to support King Edward in his grief.”
Denoriel shrugged. “I do not know the king, having seen him only a few times at a distance when I visited Lady Elizabeth, but the boy is no more than ten years old and his father has been taken from him. He must feel frightened and lonely. He loves the queen and is accustomed to her management. Her influence might be useful … if it were properly directed.”
There was a slightly protracted silence. They had reached the door, but Cecil did not signal the servant to open it. Finally, frowning unhappily, he said, “It will not happen.”
Not daring to press further for the idea that the queen should be involved in caring for the child king, Denoriel shrugged again and made no reply.
“How would one know how that influence might be directed?” Cecil said softly. “And some of the Councilors are strongly opposed to her religious views. Moreover if her influence should continue to grow …” Cecil hesitated, looking thoughtful, but then shook his head and said decisively, “It will be better for her to live retired and be pacified with control of Lady Elizabeth.”
Thinking of Thomas Seymour, Denoriel wondered if it was wise to have the queen living “retired,” but he immediately decided it was none of his business. As the thought passed his mind he felt uneasy, as if he should care, but he still said nothing, only bowing as Cecil stepped back and gestured and the servant opened the outer door. Cropper put his cloak over his shoulders. In parting, Denoriel said only that Cecil had his direction; if he could be of use he would be happy.
He returned home thinking that Cecil must already have more influence than appeared on the surface and satisfied with the warmth of his reception. It was a relationship he definitely wished to foster. Cropper had been following, his careful three steps behind, but darted ahead of Denoriel to wield the knocker on the door. Inside, he took Denoriel’s cloak and disappeared.
It was now time for dinner. Denoriel knew he should go Underhill and see if there were news or he was needed for something. Instead, with a moue of dissatisfaction, he opened the door to Joseph’s office and invited him to join him for dinner at one of the taverns nearby. Joseph rose with such alacrity that Denoriel asked, as they left the house, if he did not like the food the servants prepared.
“Oh yes,” Joseph said, looking over his shoulder at the opposite side of the road as they started toward the Chepe. “Just now and then I have a yen for a good piece of steak or a pork pie.”
“Do you expect someone?” Denoriel asked, noticing the over-the-shoulder glance. “If you planned to meet a friend—”
“No,” Clayborne said quickly. “I thought I saw two men watching the house earlier today. I could swear one started forward when I went down the r
oad toward the Chepe this morning, and then turned away. But they are not there now, so perhaps I was mistaken.”
“Watching the house?” Denoriel repeated. Dark Sidhe, he wondered, but dismissed the thought. Most could not endure the iron in the mortal world. “Rumor says I am rich. In these uneasy times, you should wear a sword, Joseph.” He shook his head. “Ah … I never asked if you can use a sword.”
“Not like you, m’lord, but I can,” Joseph said, smiling. “And I take Cropper with me, with a good cudgel to hand, if I am carrying any real sum.”
“That is wise.”
Clayborne laughed self-consciously. “The man may not have started toward me at all. It may be my imagination, m’lord. That person who came asking for Lady Alana made me uneasy. But I thought it wisest to tell you even if I am making much ado over nothing.”
“I am glad you did tell me. A stupid thief might not realize there is not much in the house to steal. And if I am away, you are alone here because the servants do not sleep in.” In fact, the servants all went back Underhill to renew themselves every night. Recalling what Aleneil had said about Vidal’s new purpose, Denoriel added, “We must talk over what precautions can be taken to make the house safe.”
“Yes, m’lord, specially since you may choose to be away from London for some days.”
Denoriel frowned. “Leave London? But I have urgent business here—”
“Not for a few days, m’lord. Nothing will really be done except for the funeral and the coronation, and preparations for those are already under way. I have had pressing requests from mercers who will supply cloth and vestments and who know you can obtain really remarkable stuffs. If we can provide that cloth—much of it being rich brocades and elaborate embroidery—we will, to be crude, fill our pockets at the expense of others’ vanity. And it will do your reputation no harm to be able to get such exotic goods so quickly.”
About to protest that seeing Elizabeth settled was more important to him than filling his coffers, Denoriel swallowed down the words. There was bound to be a further delay while Catherine made her request and the Council considered it. He was already restless and was going to irritate someone—or betray himself—if he did not remove himself from London.
By Slanderous Tongues Page 10