“What kind of a profession?” Jacob demanded.
“Oh, I would think perhaps marrying a wealthy widow might be along your line. You’re not a bad-looking fellow, but there’s no courting a wealthy woman wearing those clothes and with your hair like that. A man must have an appearance to make an impression. I might even wager that you most likely know such a woman—do you now?”
As a matter of fact, Fowler did know such a woman. She’d had three husbands and was plain almost to the point of ugliness, but she had money, lots of it. Furthermore, she seemed to be open to a bit of romancing. Why, with a fine suit of clothes, maybe riding up on a fine horse, a little sweet talking—Widow Hoskins could be his! And after he married, there would be ready money for girls and drink, and the woman would just have to keep her mouth shut. That’s how it was with wives. He had thought of Widow Hoskins more than once, but there seemed little chance of winning her, not when other suitors had so much more with which to tempt her.
Now he said craftily, “I might be knowing a woman such as that, but a lot of good it’ll do me if I’m hanged for lying to the king’s man.”
Winslow smiled reassuringly and said, “Do as I say, Jacob. You’ll be all right. You shall have your widow. I shall have my father and my uncle out, and we’ll have Stoneybrook.” Stuart paused, and Fowler watched the blue eyes narrow and turn ice-cold. “The only one who will lose will be Ives Hard-castle.”
“I wouldn’t mind that,” Fowler said wolfishly. “Not a bit of it! Now, Master Winslow, you tell me all about this plan of yours.”
The wind was shifting in the court of Henry VIII. Anne Boleyn had given birth to a daughter, whom she named Elizabeth, instead of the son Henry so ardently desired. “The king is no longer satisfied with Anne,” many were saying. This would have been a dangerous thing to say during her pregnancy. Henry had had laws passed that penalized anyone who spoke against the queen. But now he obviously had other interests. Henry had cast his eyes on a lady named Jane Seymour. Those who understood Henry the best whispered, “He’ll be marrying her soon.” When asked about Anne, “It’s only a matter of time. The king will get himself out of that one.”
Stuart listened to this talk as he moved around London, seeking a way to present the new evidence. He had Jacob Fowler primed, though he had paid him only a small portion of what he had promised. Fowler had been suspicious at first, but gradually had been won over as Stuart convinced him that the entire fee would be paid upon completion of the task. “But how will you keep me clear of it?” he kept asking. “How can we get them out unless I change my story? And if I should do that, they’d ask me why for certain.”
Stuart was asking himself the same questions. He was struggling with the problem when a knock came at his door. He opened it, holding the hilt of his sword. “Orrick, what brings you here today?” He had informed Orrick of his whereabouts, and a couple of times Orrick had come to visit.
“I’ve come for you, sir. I ran into someone from Stoneybrook. Your mother, she’s not doing well.”
“She’s ill?” Stuart demanded.
“Yes, sir, she’s taken a bad turn, with the cold weather. I brought you a good horse, but we need to make haste.”
At once Stuart pulled a cloak around his shoulders, and the two went out to the horses. Soon they arrived at the Murphy house, where his mother was staying.
The lady of the house met Stuart and led him to a room upstairs. Grace was propped up by pillows, and the covers were pulled high. A Bible in English was on her knees.
“Stuart!” she cried, her voice faint but her eyes alert. “You must be away from here. If you’re found—”
“Shh, shh,” he said. He sat down on the bed and kissed her gently. “Never mind your fears for me. What’s this I hear about you?”
“Oh, they say I’m ill, but it’s nothing really. What are you doing in England? I’ve only gained a measure of peace through knowing you and Heather were safely away.”
Stuart hesitated but then told her the whole story. When he got to Jacob Fowler, he said, “The man is ready to change his testimony, but only if he can escape the hangman, which is what I haven’t figured out. He won’t die for the money I promised him.”
“Well, we shall pray about it and see what more has to be done. We need God’s wisdom, of course.”
Stuart gave Grace another kiss on the cheek and said, “I’ll stay until you’re better. Where is Quentin?”
“Away at Oxford. The Murphys saw him safely lodged there. He writes every day, pining for Stoneybrook. But I’m determined that he should see to his studies, even in the midst of such concern over … Your father would want him to carry on.”
“Yes, he would. I’ll stop by, check on him, as time allows, Mother.”
Relief flooded her eyes. “I’d be so grateful.” She swallowed and then coughed for several minutes. When she regained her breath, she said, “If you’ll stay for but an hour, I might find a way to sleep.”
Stuart understood then. She had slept little since Claiborn’s arrest. How could she regain health if she did not sleep? “I’ll be right here, Mother. Sleep now. I shall not leave you.”
“Stuart, you’ll never get your father’s and your uncle’s case reversed by yourself,” Grace said from her bed. She looked better today after a week of rest. “Ives is too powerful, and even if it came to court, he could step in or have one of his hirelings do so.”
Stuart nodded. He’d learned that Ives had survived Wolsey’s dismissal and charge of treason—which arose after the cardinal failed to obtain Henry’s desired annulment—and even absorbed a remnant of his power within the court. His stepbrother was a dangerous man in more ways than one. “But it has to be done before the judges. There’s no other way to reverse what the chief investigator has set into motion.”
“But the court can be swayed.”
“It isn’t supposed to be. It is supposed to be above influence and to mete out justice.”
Grace held up her hand. “Right. There’s only one man who can sway the court the way we wish it to go.”
Stuart stared at her. “The king?”
“Yes, the king.”
“But, Mother, that’s impossible! Why should the king step in? He only does what’s good for himself. He’s the most selfish human being on the face of the earth.”
“He has become that way, but he was not always so. Remember him as he used to be? As a young man, there was generosity in him and a desire for justice. The power of the throne has possessed him and corrupted him. But,” she added spiritedly, “that which was in him as a young man may still be there, though buried and forgotten. You must go to Henry.” She saw the objection forming on Stuart’s lips. “I know he’s surrounded by an army.”
“And I am a wanted man.”
“Yes. Let’s set that aside for now.”
“Set it aside? Mother, no one can get through Henry’s guards.”
“You’ll never get to see the king as long as he is at court, but when he goes to hunt, he’s not so well protected then, is he?”
Stuart lifted his head, his eyes alert. “Why, that’s true. Many times he’ll have only two or three men accompany him. Sometimes not even men of office. Just hunters or servants in charge of the dogs and birds.”
“Then that’s what you must do. Wait for him in the woods until you can speak to him.”
“You realize, Mother, that he may simply call for my arrest. Then I will be with Father and Edmund in the Tower.”
“We must leave that to God,” Grace said. “God never contradicts himself, Stuart. If he’s told you he will free Claiborn and Edmund, and if the only way is to gain the favor of the king, he will make a way for you to do so. It’s his will that you speak to the king. Even if you go to the Tower for it, it’s the right thing to do.”
Stuart knew at that moment that there was no choice. “I’ll be leaving then, Mother.”
“God be with you, my dear. I’m a weak old woman. But in our weakness God is
shown to be strong and all-powerful. As you go, I’ll be praying for you.”
Leaving his mother’s room, Stuart went out of the house.
“Where ye going, sir?” a servant asked curiously.
“I’m going to borrow some of the birds from Stoneybrook.”
“You mean Hardcastle birds?”
“Winslow birds,” he corrected. “Come on.”
Henry got out of his bed. It was early. The dawn had merely begun to appear, but a servant was ready.
“Sire?”
“What is it?”
“A message from the mews, sire.”
“A message? What sort of message?”
“There’s a gentleman there who wishes to give you a gift. Two gifts. A peregrine and a tercel.”
Henry brightened. Surely this would be more interesting than listening to anyone in the palace! “Yes. I’ll see the birds. No, I’ll fly them.” He dressed quickly. When he saw that the ulcer on his leg was bleeding again, he changed the dressing himself, stared at the raw wound, and wondered why God was allowing this to happen to him.
When he reached the mews, three young courtiers joined him. “No,” he said. “Not this time. I want to be alone for a while.” He had seen a tall, broad-shouldered man with white hair and a black eye patch.
“Yes, what’s your name?”
“George Rochester, sire.” This Rochester was a fine-looking man with a youthful face, despite the white hair, and a fit, strong body that Henry envied. This young fellow looks as I did twenty years ago, he thought almost resentfully. But he’s brought me some birds, so I’ll not begrudge him. “Rochester? Any relation to Sir Edward Rochester?”
“No, sir. I am not of that family. Only your humble servant.”
“Nothing finer than a servant of the realm,” Henry said heartily. “You have brought me a gift, I understand?”
“Yes, everyone knows Your Majesty’s love of hunting birds. I do have two birds that I wish to give you, sire, should you find them acceptable.”
“We’ll go out and try them. There ought to be game stirring this morning. Let’s have a look at them.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Henry watched eagerly as the man opened one of the cages and thrust his arm in. “This one is simply called Lightning, Your Majesty. He’s not as beautiful as some birds, but he seldom misses his strike.”
Henry held up his arm and prodded the tercel’s claw to make it step forward. The talons gripped Henry’s gauntlet. “Looks aren’t everything,” Henry said. Just being in the mews and dealing with the birds had calmed his spirit. He expertly pointed out the good points of the tercel and handed him back.
“And this one is a bird almost worthy of Your Majesty’s talent.”
Henry stared at the peregrine and exclaimed, “Good heavens, I’ve never seen a finer bird! How is it that you have come by this bird, Rochester? You know, I suppose, that by law one must be at least an earl to fly a peregrine.”
“Yes, sir, I know. I know also that that law is probably broken more than any law in your kingdom.”
The king lifted an eyebrow and stared at the tall man, who said quickly, “Being an English servant, I decided to rescue this bird from a pernicious commoner who was breaking that noble law and present it to Your Majesty. I do not believe even an earl is deserving of this bird.”
Henry laughed. “I can’t argue that.” He took the falcon and pulled out a couple of loose feathers. “I’m of a mind to try him, Rochester. Come along. You and I will have a hunt.”
The two men had gone out alone, leaving even the grooms behind. The hawking went well, and the king was obviously delighted with both birds.
“Rochester, this is a magnificent gift! Seldom have I seen better. I accept them with pleasure.” The wind was keening slightly, and the king’s face was ruddy and filled with pleasure.
Stuart knew suddenly that he was at a turning point. Never again would there be such a moment. He breathed a quick prayer and said, “Your Majesty, my name is not Rochester.”
Henry’s eyes grew hard with suspicion. “What sort of trick is this?” He was always aware of the threat of assassination, and he darted a glance at his bodyguard, standing a hundred yards away.
“I am Stuart Winslow, Your Majesty.”
Surprise washed across Henry’s face. He obviously had been angered by the supposed treachery of Sir Edmund Winslow and his brother Claiborn. “You were a faithful servant, Stuart, but you became a traitor. You fled overseas.”
“I stand ready to pay the penalty, but I ask Your Majesty one boon. Hear what I have to say before you call the guard.”
At that instant a hare started. Henry whirled and threw the peregrine high into the air. The great bird’s wings beat the air as it rose. The falcon wheeled sharply, spotted the feeding animal, and dropped like a stone. It struck, wings high, talons outstretched, and killed the hare instantly. Henry said, “Well, man, don’t just stand there. Let’s get the hare!”
The moment had broken Henry’s severity. When he picked up the hare, he said, “I can hardly see you beneath that silly disguise you’re wearing. “ He took off his ermine cap. “Now, what’s this all about, Stuart?”
“My father and uncle have been unjustly accused, Your Majesty. Your investigator,” he added quickly, “was not at fault. He had improper evidence, and I’ve come to ask you to look into the matter once more.”
“What improper evidence?”
Stuart told Henry the whole story, altering it to keep Jacob Fowler from being hanged. He told Henry that Fowler had been misled.
Henry listened shrewdly. “This fellow Jacob Fowler, he’s ready to go before the judges and present new testimony?”
“He is, Your Majesty.”
“He is a fine friend of justice, then,” Henry said. “Does he realize that he could be hanged for perjury? Lying to my chief investigator is the same as lying in court.”
“There are few men who seek justice fervently. I had to help him remember things. To take another look. And now he’s ready to do it.”
Henry was no fool. But he looked at the two birds and then grinned at Stuart, saying, “I shall see to the matter. Have your man at the palace tomorrow. I’ll leave word that you are to be brought for a private hearing.” Suddenly a wry grin touched his lips. “Am I allowed to keep the birds, Winslow, if I see that your father and uncle get a new chance?”
“Whatever you decide, the birds are yours, Your Majesty.”
“Well, I’ll take the birds.”
“Your Majesty is merciful indeed and gracious and just.”
“I’m so accustomed to hearing so much flattery that when an honest man speaks I hardly know how to respond.” He turned suddenly and headed for the palace. Stuart watched him go with a heart alive with praise.
“Thank you, God, for preserving me! Now be my help and my father’s friend.”
As Jacob Fowler stood before the tiered row of judges with His Royal Majesty King Henry sitting on a throne to one side and his chief investigator beside him, he felt helpless. His legs were shaking so badly that he could hardly stand. He had just given his testimony, his voice had trembled, and now he stood enduring the heavy silence as the small eyes of the king seemed to bore deep into his very breast.
“And so you planted the evidence in the home of Sir Edmund Winslow and his brother. Why, you’ll be hanged for that, you scurvy dog!”
“Oh, please, Your Majesty, it wasn’t me that thought of it. Mr. Hardcastle, he told me that Sir Edmund was guilty and his brother too. That it was for you, Your Majesty. That’s what he told me.”
Henry glanced at Stuart and said, “Are you speaking for this man, Mr. Winslow?”
“The man has been dishonest, Your Majesty, but I feel he has learned his lesson. I pray you be merciful to him.”
Henry glared ferociously at Fowler and then slowly nodded. “Very well, he shall have his back scratched and spend a few weeks in a cell.”
“Oh, thank you, Yo
ur Majesty!” Fowler gasped in relief. He was seized and hurried out of the room by two guards.
Henry looked at the judges. “I see no profit in prolonging this matter. It’s plain to me that Sir Edmund and his brother have been falsely accused. Does anyone see the matter differently?” Henry did not even bother to look surprised when the judges all nodded.
Henry said, “Mr. Winslow, the court will give you the papers that will set your family free. I will have officers accompany you with authority for the arrest of Ives Hardcastle.” Henry rose and faced Stuart. “I’ve two fine new birds that I’m anxious to try.” The king of England winked at Stuart and left the room singing one of his own songs.
The darkness had become so familiar to Edmund and Claiborn that they paid no heed to it. They lay alone on their hard bunks. Claiborn thought of his early days when he was first married to Grace, of the birth of Stuart, then later, the birth of Quentin. And his heart was at peace, although he knew the shadow of the headsman was over him. Edmund was breathing heavily in a troubled sleep.
Suddenly the bar of the cell door screeched and the door swung open. The lamplight in the corridor was brilliant in comparison to their gloomy cell, and it hurt Claiborn’s eyes.
“Is that you, Jennings?”
“Aye. It’s me, sir.”
“Time for a little exercise?”
“Not this time, sir. Get yourself cleaned up. You and Sir Edmund. Bring all your things with you.”
Claiborn did as he was told, wondering about the strange instructions.
Edmund awakened. “What is it?” he mumbled. “Is this the end, Jennings? Have they dispensed with a trial?”
“The end? No, sir, indeed not. Come along. You don’t have much time.”
The guard led them outside and down a corridor, and when they were put in a small cell with a window, Claiborn looked out to the courtyard. It was a beautiful day, but he could see no crowd collected for an execution as he might have expected.
Honor in the Dust Page 26
