The Boleyn Deceit (34 page)

“On the theory that I would be less likely to punish? He lost that gamble. Guildford stands trial tomorrow. There is little doubt that he is guilty, and the sentence for his crime is death. I think he shall have to be an example to his father.” He studied Dominic closely. “If I ask you to attend his execution, will you?”

The answer was not as long in coming as he’d feared. “Yes. But I would prefer to have more evidence of his father’s crimes.”

“Have at it. The Dudleys are all away from London just now, aren’t they?”

“They are.”

“Then search their London house. Top to bottom, cracks and
crevices. Interrogate the servants and the neighbors. I want to know everything that’s gone on there in the last two years. Just you, though, no one else in this search yet. If you find something … well, then we’ll see.”

When Dominic hesitated, William snapped impatiently, “What?”

“This could be no more than an attempt on Eleanor’s part to divert suspicion. She would not hesitate to throw someone else to the wolves in order to distract attention from her own deeds.”

“Don’t let your personal dislike colour your judgment, Dom. Follow the evidence, wherever it leads. This is about more than a single poisoning and a jealous mistress.”

William spent the next hour with his secretary signing letters. He could not have said to whom they were going or what issues they addressed—for all he knew, he was signing away English possession of Calais—because he was consumed with wondering what Dominic might uncover. It was almost a relief when his uncle appeared, asking for a moment of his time in private.

Rochford waited until they were alone before speaking. “I know that you’ve kept Mistress Wyatt’s illness as quiet as possible. I understand why. However, I’ve discovered some information, from a person who might know what caused the young lady’s sudden collapse.”

Was this just Rochford trying to guess at secrets? To get him to admit Minuette had been poisoned? William couldn’t take the chance and deny it. “Who?”

“A lady in my wife’s household.”

“Tell me.”

“Apparently this young woman has been slipping out at night to meet a man. She came to my wife this morning and confessed—her conscience has been troubled by things this man’s been
saying. Dropping hints about services rendered to powerful courtiers, and boasting about the promotions he will soon receive. And he’s had an unusual amount of ready money. When she asked him about it, he winked and told her gold came easy for a man with the right skills and the discretion not to talk about them.”

“And?” William prompted his uncle, who seemed reluctant to continue.

“She saw this man the day of Mistress Wyatt’s illness. In the corridor outside her bedchamber. He was coming out of another woman’s room and she was jealous for a little, until he told her he was merely delivering a message to the young lady from his patron.”

“And do we know who that patron might be?”

“He is a minor functionary in the Duke of Northumberland’s London household.”

A message—not in writing, but in poison. Here was proof to satisfy even Dominic: the attempt on Minuette’s life had indeed been masterminded by Northumberland.

William drew a deep breath and let it out. “If the clerk’s tongue is loose enough to hint to his mistress, he should have any number of things to tell us once he’s in the Tower.”

Rochford nodded in agreement. “Shall I have him arrested?”

“Discreetly. Absolutely no one must know that he has any connection, however tenuous, to Mistress Wyatt. Do I make myself clear?”

“Eminently, Your Majesty. I will see to it.” He paused. “Is there anything else you would like me to see to before Guildford Dudley’s trial tomorrow?”

“I have it in hand, thank you.”

“As you say.”

He’s getting better at this, William thought, offering counsel without telling me what to do. It pleased him that his uncle was beginning to respect his authority.

Now pray God Dominic found something damning to wrap it up neatly before word leaked to any of Northumberland’s supporters.

Dominic returned to Whitehall well after midnight, only to be informed by Harrington that the king had left orders for him to report no matter what hour he returned. He took a few minutes to change his shirt, dusty and creased from hours of prying through wardrobes and checking loose floorboards, then gathered up what he had found.

He was shown to William’s private oratory, a small space somewhat plainer than of old but still beautiful with its gilded and carved screens and the lectern upon which rested the pride of William’s reign, the Tyndale Bible in English. It was open to the book of Luke and, as William beckoned him in, he said, “Chapter twenty-one—‘for these be the days of vengeance.’ Even you will agree with that when I tell you what I learned from my uncle this afternoon.”

“Which was?”

William glanced at the sheaf of papers Dominic held, but continued with his own news. “I have a man in the Tower being questioned. He was seen in Minuette’s rooms the day she was poisoned. He claimed to be delivering a message from his employer, the Duke of Northumberland.”

Dominic was seized by an urge to question the man himself—or perhaps not so much question as inflict pain upon.

“Tell me you found something,” William added.

“You’re not going to like it.”

William visibly restrained himself from reaching for the papers Dominic held. “I won’t like what?”

For a moment, Dominic hesitated. He knew what would follow from this and he almost did not want to go on. Let the nobility tear itself to pieces, what did he care?

But he cared very much when Minuette was a target. “You know Northumberland hasn’t been at his London house for months, not since you sent him away from court. There was little to raise any suspicions, but he left so hastily I suppose he overlooked a few things. I would call them suggestive, rather than conclusive.”

William swiped his hand impatiently. “Such as?”

“A partial accounting of monies paid out to individuals indicated only by their initials. Some foreign coins, including French and Dutch. And a vial—an empty vial.”

“A vial that could have held monkshood? Where is it?”

“With Harrington. I’ll take it to an apothecary tomorrow and see what they can tell me.”

“Is that all?”

Dominic sighed. “And a partial letter, begun but never sent.”

He handed over the pages and William studied the first one. “This is your handwriting,” the king pointed out.

“The original is beneath. A letter in Northumberland’s hand, in cipher.”

He watched William read, guessing at the emotions his friend was experiencing, the disappointment and fury that Dominic had passed through in the last hours. He had thought himself prepared for whatever his search of Ely Place turned up. He had not been prepared for this: incontrovertible evidence of state treason. Unlike the suspicions against Norfolk last year, this could not be mistaken for anything else.

The letter, as Dominic had said, was only partially complete. It had been addressed to one of the principal ministers in the strongly Protestant Low Countries and it was clearly not the first letter Northumberland had sent.

The duke referenced previous communications throughout the letter, and addressed specific issues that the minister must have raised. Some of it was innocent enough and might occasion no more than a raised eyebrow and a reminder that some phrases could be interpreted in more than one way. But when discussion had turned to Minuette, Northumberland’s language became seditious.

William read the last sentence aloud, dropping the words like coals heaped on Northumberland’s head. Then he looked at Dominic and said, “He would never countenance Mary on the throne. He may seek to use the Catholics, but he would not turn England back to Rome. Not even to gain a pliable ruler.”

“He didn’t mean Mary,” Dominic countered, staring at his friend’s outraged face. “He meant Elizabeth.”

“He cannot imagine Elizabeth would usurp my place under any circumstances!”

“If you were dead, and it was between your sisters … of course Elizabeth would take the throne.”

William let out his breath in a furious hiss. “Doubtless with his own son, Robert, beside her.”

“Quite possibly that is his thought.”

“Which means Robert is as guilty as his father.”

“Possibly.” Dominic was always cautious, and he knew that Robert was less prone to wild overreactions than his father. But he held in his mind the image of Robert distracting Minuette during the very hour someone smeared a lethal solution of monkshood on her star pendant.

William flung the damning pages to the floor of his oratory. His face was implacable. “Tomorrow Guildford will be tried and sentenced. He will be executed the day after. As soon as you have seen him die, take a contingent of soldiers. March to Dudley Castle to arrest the Duke of Northumberland and Lord Robert Dudley. I’ll have my uncle see to Eleanor’s arrest as well. This time, she’s not coming out of the Tower until I’m satisfied that she will never again be a threat to Minuette.”

Better and better, Dominic thought with satisfaction. And hated himself for relishing Eleanor’s downfall.

“I’m just glad the women are well out of it at Hatfield,” William mused. “I can only imagine the fireworks that will erupt when Elizabeth learns of Robert’s perfidy.”

Elizabeth did not sleep at all for fury. She counted it to her credit that she had managed to eke out a few meaningless words to Amy Dudley last night before Robert had escorted his wife out of the hall, more or less commanding her that “you must be weary after your journey—you should not have troubled yourself.”

Oh, it was no trouble, Elizabeth knew, watching the way Amy
slipped her hand through Robert’s stiff arm. Amy had been awaiting her opportunity for a good many years.

Elizabeth had excused herself almost immediately afterward and spoken to no one, not even Minuette. Her friend was wise enough not to murmur more than, “Well, that was awkward,” in a manifestly dry-toned understatement.

It wasn’t as though Amy came as any surprise. Elizabeth was well aware of Robert’s marriage. In fact, William had attended it five years ago as a fourteen-year-old regented king. Elizabeth herself had been invited, but had been staying with her mother at Blickling Hall at the time. Robert had been only eighteen at his marriage, Amy not even quite that. Elizabeth, no matter how hard she’d tried since, had never been able to forget Lord Burghley’s cynical statement that theirs was “a carnal marriage.” True, Amy was the only child of a wealthy gentleman. True, she would inherit a fortune and lands when both her parents died. But considering how ambitious Northumberland was for all of his multitude of children, Robert must have pressed hard to marry Amy for nothing more than love alone. Or at least lust. Elizabeth didn’t know which of the two motives she preferred.

Not that Robert seemed particularly attached to Amy any longer. In the last three years he had hardly been away from court, and Elizabeth had heard that Amy often resided with her parents rather than at the rented manor she had once shared with her husband. And in five years of marriage, there had not been even a hint of a pregnancy. Whether because Amy was barren or because Robert could not be bothered to try (Elizabeth rather hoped it was that) or, most likely, because he had learned greater ambitions and knew that annulling or divorcing a wife who had given him children would complicate matters.

None of that matters,
Elizabeth told herself.
Not any longer.
It was one thing to know about Amy Dudley in abstract—it was quite
another to meet her in the flesh. She was not as elegant as Elizabeth, not as clever or learned, not as wealthy, not as privileged, nowhere near as desirable as herself in any way … but she was real from the top of her blond head to the tips of her squared-off fingers and little feet. And in the eyes of God, this very real woman was Robert’s
wife.

If Elizabeth could have stormed out of Dudley Castle, she would have. But she would not be driven from any house by a mere gentlewoman married to a fifth son. She was the royal guest here. It was for Amy Dudley to leave.

Which point she made clear when she found Robert leaning against the wall across from her chamber door. He looked as though he’d been there for some time.

“Don’t,” Elizabeth snapped. “I have a meeting with your father. You are not welcome.”

“I didn’t tell her you would be here. I swear it.”

“Clearly she has learned the Dudley gift for scavenging information.”

“Elizabeth—”

“If she’s here to meet me, she has done so. I will not see her again. If that is her aim, she may as well be on her way at once.”

“I’ve told her to be ready to depart at noon.”

“You go with her.”

She turned to walk away but Robert gripped her arm and swung her around.

“How dare you?” She slapped his hand away.

“Don’t do this, Elizabeth.” More gently, he let his fingers rest on her cheek. “Please.”

“How can you think to touch me with your wife in the same house?”

“Because I have no wife in any sense that matters. I was a fool to marry Amy—I was young and hot-blooded and a damned
idiot, and every hour since then I have regretted it. I touch you because you are the only woman in the world who matters to me. You know that.”

“How long since you’ve been in her bed?” How she hated herself for needing to know.

“More than two years. And I will not go back, not ever. Not while I live and love you, Elizabeth.”