The Boleyn Deceit (10 page)

William also leaned forward, and clasped his hands loosely on the table in front of him while focusing on Northumberland’s uneasy face. “I wonder, is your son still in England, or has he been spirited away to the Continent? Not very gallant of Guildford to abandon his girl-bride.”

“He knows Your Majesty would not harm her,” Rochford interposed in his measured way. Like so much his uncle did, the intervention irritated William.

Harm his young cousin? No, he would not do that. But the
chit of a girl was hardly an innocent—Margaret had admitted to being a wife in all ways to Guildford Dudley and had the belly to prove it. Time to bring pressure to bear before it was said that Northumberland could get away with anything. Let it be seen, William thought, that he could punish Protestant as well as Catholic.

“My Lord Chancellor,” he said—for this was a task for Rochford, not for Dominic’s more sensitive conscience—“have Margaret Clifford—excuse me, Margaret
Dudley
—arrested. Bring her to the Tower, that we might question her more closely about her husband’s whereabouts and … intentions.” He considered Northumberland for the space of four slow breaths, letting the tension build. “I find it difficult to believe that young Guildford would have been so rash of his own accord. To bed the girl—yes, he would easily do that. But to wed her? A girl in line to my throne? I wonder where your son got the courage to do that?”

He took pleasure in having rattled the normally undaunted Northumberland. “Your Majesty, I assure you—”

“You’re excused, my lord Northumberland. I have no further need of you at court just now. You may return when you bring your son to answer for his crime. You are free to retreat to whichever home you choose—save Syon House, naturally.”

It was a toss-up whether the duke would go quietly. He did, in the end, shoving his chair back with all the fury he could not give voice to, and William did not envy whatever unlucky soul would bear the brunt of Northumberland’s swallowed resentment.

The remainder of the meeting passed quickly, no one anxious to further try William’s uncertain temper. He rather enjoyed it, while he pondered Surrey, who’d had the good sense not to react to Northumberland’s public rebuke. The late Duke of Norfolk
would not have been so circumspect. Although he knew the Howards could be erstwhile friends and implacable enemies, William decided that he liked this young earl.

It seemed Dominic liked him as well, for he took several minutes to speak to him as the privy council was dismissed. When Surrey had left the room, William called Dominic back.

“I need hardly ask if you agree with him,” William said.

Dominic shrugged. “I have seen the results of heavy-handed repression. You wouldn’t need a lieutenant on the Welsh border if there hadn’t been so many generations of brutality on both sides.”

“The real trouble with the religious divide is that even when I punish clear-cut wrongdoing, it gets tangled up with religion. There’s always someone ready to turn any situation to their advantage.”

“I suppose that’s why we have a king. To sort the impossible.”

William laughed. “All the more reason to buy what books I wish, without meddling from accountants and clerks.” He looked at Dominic and made his decision on the spot. “Dom, I want you to head this commission into court spending. Your advice I can live with, for it will not be condescending. Or, at least, no more so than usual. I do have one condition.”

“What is that?”

“That you do not protest the expense of any gifts I choose to give Minuette.”

Dominic’s expression did not so much as flicker. “As long as they’re not bought with treasury funds, I promise to refrain from comment.” Then, swiftly, he changed the subject. “What made you go after Northumberland today, after so carefully holding your tongue?”

“A man who wishes to openly attack should take care his own
house is in order first. If Northumberland wants to provoke Catholics, he needs cleaner hands. Don’t you think he’s the one who manipulated Guildford’s marriage?”

Dominic shrugged. “Possibly.”

“That’s a possibility I dislike. Everyone knows his one great regret is that he married off Robert too young, so that he has no chance with my sister. He would have taken care with Guildford to choose ambitiously. Not quite Jane Grey—I’m sure Northumberland still hopes I will change my mind and marry her myself—and Jane’s sisters are too young, but Margaret Clifford comes next to them in succession.”

“All those women,” Dominic said lightly. “Elizabeth, the Grey sisters, the Clifford girls …”

William laughed. “Believe me, no one is more anxious than I am to start getting sons. But until then, yes, all those women line up after me, which means I must take great care with the men who come near them.”

Always anxious after being confined to sitting for too long, he stood and began to circle the table. Dominic rose as well, used to standing still while his friend prowled. “I’ve been thinking, Dom.”

“Always a sure sign of trouble.”

He rolled his eyes at his friend, who for the first time in weeks looked somewhat cheerful. William hadn’t realized how tense Dominic had been until now, when his expression was once again open and relaxed. It lightened his heart, and he went on confidently, “I’ve decided to allow Surrey to inherit his grandfather’s title.”

“Another Duke of Norfolk? Let’s hope this one is less trouble than the previous one.”

“It’s good for the country,” William said. “I won’t let him
have all the lands and retainers—I’ll clip his wings considerably—but it will soften the Catholics to see that I am not afraid to listen to their advocate.”

“Fair enough.”

“The thing is,” William went on, “as I’ve said before, it’s a balancing act. With Surrey made Duke of Norfolk, that brings us back to three dukes in the kingdom. But when I propose this to my uncle, I actually mean to propose bringing the council to four dukes.”

“You mean to create a title?”

“No, I thought I’d resurrect one. There hasn’t been a Duke of Exeter in almost a hundred years—what do you think?”

Dominic must have been truly relaxed, because William could see the play of thoughts across his usually impassive face: openly surprised, then shocked, then staggered. He opened his mouth, and shut it without speaking.

“Wouldn’t you like to be my lord Duke of Exeter? Come on, Dom. Say something.”

“You have lost your mind.”

“Say something less insulting.”

“Your Majesty—”

“Don’t call me that.”

“People will say it’s favoritism.”

“And so it is.”

“Damn it, Will!” Dominic ran his hands through his black hair, an unusual sign of aggravation. “Be reasonable!”

“Finished yelling at me?”

They glared at one another.

Then William nodded. “Good. Now give me credit for not being stupid. I know what some will say if I make you a duke. Just as I know what some will say about restoring Norfolk’s title
to his grandson. People always talk, Dom. I don’t care about that. I care about having a council that represents England and a nobility that is balanced.”

“Northumberland and Norfolk,” Dominic said thoughtfully. “Protestant and more-or-less Catholic.”

“Yes. With my plan, I will have one duke loyal to the Catholics and one duke loyal to the Protestants. Then there’s my uncle. Protestant as well, but loyal primarily to himself. What I need to round it all out, Dom, is you.”

“Why?”

“So that I have one duke in England who is loyal only to me.”

Dominic must have been far more shattered than he’d suspected, for he broke royal protocol and sat down in the nearest chair while William still stood. He dropped his head into his hands for a long minute in which William wisely held his tongue. He knew how to bring his friend round. One only had to appeal to his sense of duty.

Dominic groaned. “I don’t suppose I actually have a choice, do I?”

William grinned. “That’s why I like you—always stating the obvious.”

E
LIZABETH
,
WHO HAD
not been to Syon House before, had to admit it was impressive. Approached through a park that was in detail, if not size, nearly the equal of royal grounds, the house itself had been built by Northumberland in the Italian style in the years since King Henry’s death. Once Sion Abbey, dedicated to the Bridgettine nuns, Northumberland had laid out his house over the foundations of the abbey church.

Despite its grandeur, Elizabeth felt a faint apprehension as she studied the rectangular, flat-fronted house. The nuns of twenty years ago had not taken lightly to their dispossession: indeed, their confessor protested so vigorously that he had been executed and his body hung on the abbey gates as a warning to other recalcitrant Catholics.

Had William had those memories in mind when he sent Mary here? Elizabeth would not put it past her brother to layer message upon message. A royal abbey, dissolved by royal command and given into the hands of a committed Protestant, now housing the most devoted Catholic in England.

John Dudley, Earl of Warwick, waited for them in the echoing hall, the floor laid with glazed tiles of green and blue, patterned in swirls like moving water. Six years older than Robert, he
looked more like their sturdy and rough-edged father than did his younger brother. But there was a certain similarity in his expressions and turn of speech that reminded Elizabeth of Robert.

John greeted Elizabeth and Minuette courteously and briefly, managing to convey his regrets that they would not be guests at Syon House without touching on Guildford’s crimes or his father’s current precarious position. Then he escorted them directly to Mary in the wing of Syon House set aside for her use.

Elizabeth thought that her sister could hardly complain at being ill-used in her house arrest, considering the lavish appointments of her chambers. As Syon House was considerably newer than most royal palaces, the rooms were bright and airy, high windows giving on to views of the lavish gardens just beginning to show spangled hints of colour from early blooming crocus and daffodils.

The fact remained that, however opulently gilded, Syon House was a prison, with the Earl of Warwick on guard to ensure Mary did not slip away into rebellious hands or receive any visitors who might be looking to stir up trouble. But how was that significantly different from anywhere Mary lived? She was always at William’s mercy. This was just a particularly stark reminder of that fact.

As the elder sister, Mary did not deign to rise when Elizabeth and Minuette entered. Seated in an intricately carved chair before a blazing fire, Mary Tudor did not look like a figurehead for rebellion. Though elegantly dressed and impeccable in her manner and bearing, Mary was aging rapidly. Thirty-eight this year, Elizabeth mused, and wearing that somber dark brown overdress and starched hood, looking even older. Her dark red hair was still thick, but her high, broad forehead showed new lines. The once-sharp jawline that narrowed to a pointed chin was growing soft and blurred.

One thing that never changed was the surety of Mary’s birth and position. She still held a grudge against the younger sister who had usurped her title as Princess of Wales so many years ago. Never mind that William had come along soon after and supplanted them both—it was Elizabeth whom Mary had always disliked.

Not that she would betray it in words. “Welcome, sister,” Mary said. “I am grateful to be remembered by my family.”

“Have you been comfortable?” Elizabeth asked politely. Of course she had; William would never allow less.

Mary sniffed. “I would prefer to be allowed to go home. I do not see why I cannot stay at Beaulieu.”

“Do you not? I would have thought events at Framlingham were self-evident. The Crown cannot risk a foreign power interfering in your life.”

Mary’s hands moved restlessly on the arms of her chair, her jeweled rings sending flashes of blue and red and green into the shadows. “I have answered the king’s questions—if they were truly his. More likely it is my enemies who conspire to blacken me to the king. If the Duke of Norfolk was involved in a plot against the king, I had no knowledge of it and so I have stated. Is my word not good enough?”

Talking to Mary was always an exercise in patience. She was intelligent and educated, but she had little sense of irony and none at all of humour. And always she would be blinded by her obsession with what she saw as England’s heresy.

Which meant Elizabeth could run rings around her when she chose. But today she wasn’t here for entertainment; she was here for information. She damped down her normal impulse to dazzle Mary with her youth and beauty, and aimed for honesty rather than cleverness.

“Tell me, dear sister: if the Duke of Norfolk had said, ‘There
are Spanish ships waiting to take you to the emperor, you need only ride out a few miles …’ would you not have gone? You came so close five years ago.”

In 1550, Mary had indeed come close to escaping England in that very way—a ride to the east coast and Spanish ships waiting for her. In the end it had been her own indecision that cost her the chance. She had simply waited too long trying to divine what God meant her to do.