The Boleyn Deceit: A Novel (Ann Boleyn Trilogy)

by Andersen, Laura

  And if I am acting on logic, then I must admit that the poisoner may not be Eleanor after all. It may not be jealousy that prompted the attempt on my life, but fear. Because, whatever men might think, I am more than just a pretty face that a king desires.

  I am Alyce de Clare’s friend, the only one who still wants to know who used her and discarded her when she was no longer convenient.

  Perhaps I am drawing near to my answer—an answer someone would kill to keep.

  When we left court for Hatfield, I gave Dominic the silver casket with Alyce’s concealed notes about her love affair. I also told him of my stepfather’s insinuations and the problem of a father and son being one another’s alibis for the period in which Alyce fell pregnant.

  I have not told Elizabeth any of it, because of where the threads are leading me. Because of whom I may be closing in on. I have not forgotten that my pendant was left out on my dressing table during my private meeting with Robert Dudley.

  If it is Northumberland who set up Norfolk last year, who arranged the charade of treason to bring down the Catholic powers, then Elizabeth is the last person I can tell.

  Especially since we leave tomorrow for Dudley Castle.

  Clearly, Elizabeth’s primary concerns on this journey were speed and stealth. Minuette had to persuade her friend that she was capable of riding thirty miles a day in order not to be left behind. There was no way she was letting Elizabeth go to Northumberland’s home without her, and so she didn’t blanch when she realized that they would travel in a small group of mounted knights and the two women only. No maids, no carts except one to come along as fast as it could, and packhorses to carry the finery the women would need until the cart caught up to them. This isn’t right, Minuette thought anxiously as they left Hatfield before dawn.

  Clearly Elizabeth meant to get them to Dudley Castle before William could find out and intervene. She had given orders to her household that, in her absence, no one was to leave Hatfield. Minuette had expected as much, and she glanced ruefully at Carrie as they left. She had told her maid to try to get word to Dominic at court, but the chances didn’t look good. She didn’t even have Fidelis to keep her company; the wolfhound was still at Wynfield Mote.

  But she said nothing, not even when her strength began to flag late on the second day. She had thought herself recovered from the effects of the poison, but clearly she had been more weakened than she knew. She gritted her teeth and rode on. At their pace, they would reach Northumberland’s home sometime on the fourth day.

  On the morning of day four they left the small inn where Minuette and Elizabeth had shared a room (the innkeepers had been shocked nearly senseless at the appearance of two women dressed as they were, even though Elizabeth had instructed the men to call her only “milady”), and had ridden just two miles when a party of horsemen appeared coming toward them. Minuette recognized the green and gold colours of Northumberland’s badge, and Elizabeth said softly, “Robert.”

  Sure enough, Robert led the horsemen, looking as smoothly elegant as ever as he swung off his mount and knelt in the road at the side of Elizabeth’s horse. “Your Highness. Our family could have no greater honour than your presence in our home.”

  “Then best lead the way, Lord Robert,” Elizabeth replied tartly, “so that I might reach your home. It has been a dusty journey.”

  He grinned and swung back onto his horse. Minuette rode behind them, watching thoughtfully the two heads—bright and dark—close together as they laughed and teased and entertained each other.

  She had never so hoped that she was wrong in her suspicions.

  It was early afternoon when Dudley Castle came into view. The twelfth-century keep towered high on an ancient earthen motte, surveying the lush countryside around it. As they approached the perimeter wall near the base of the hill, they passed a succession of deserted buildings.

  “St. James Priory,” one of the Dudley guards answered, when she asked about it. “Clunaic monks until the late king brought down their wickedness.” He spat in satisfaction.

  She must remember that she was in the heart of Protestant country here—it made her nearly as uncomfortable as when she’d been in Lady Mary’s Catholic household last year. Fanaticism of all kinds unnerved her.

  The moat had been filled in, and they rode up to an intriguing triple-arch entry. She heard Robert describing it to Elizabeth as her horse drew nearer. “The Triple Gate,” he said. “The Suttons added the extra gatehouse two hundred years ago. About the same time as the chapel and undercroft. But don’t worry, we live much more modern. Wait until you see the work my father had done ten years ago. He brought in Sharrington to construct an entire wing of domestic quarters. You’ll be quite comfortable.”

  The guards fell back as Robert, Elizabeth, and Minuette rode through the Triple Gate and passed into the open space atop the motte. The high earthwork mound on which Dudley Castle stood was flat at the top and quite spacious. She studied the Sharrington range—it really was beautiful, all pale stone and pointed rooflines and narrow windows—while Robert helped Elizabeth dismount. Then he was at Minuette’s horse, and she let him help her down. She stumbled, her body all at once feeling the fatigue of this rapid journey. “Are you all right, Mistress Wyatt?” Robert asked.

  She responded with the same distant politeness. “Perfectly all right.”

  His eyes narrowed and she thought he might press her, but then Elizabeth said sharply, “Robert? Why is there a royal messenger here?”

  He swung round and both he and Minuette caught sight of the royal colours on another horse. She blinked. Had William really caught his sister this fast?

  “Out of sight,” Robert whispered, and whisked both women into the nearest doorway, which was at the base of the old keep. “Stay here, and I’ll see what’s going on.”

  This is ridiculous, Minuette thought, and opened her mouth to say so. Elizabeth did not lurk in secret. She was a princess of England and she was not afraid of her brother.

  But Elizabeth held her hand up in warning and Minuette subsided. She might be here to protect Elizabeth from her worst instincts, but Minuette was still in her service.

  Robert returned in minutes. “The rider has gone,” he reported, “and it had nothing to do with you.”

  “Then what’s wrong?” Elizabeth asked. Robert’s face had changed, the mischief subdued beneath worry.

  “He brought word that Margaret Clifford has been safely delivered of a son.”

  Minuette drew in breath. Oh dear. William must be angry.

  But Robert had further news. “Guildford and Margaret’s marriage has been annulled. And my brother has been charged with treason.”

  For a second Minuette hoped that Elizabeth would see reason and leave at once. How could she stay when her brother was going to try Robert’s brother for treason? But Robert anticipated her. “Please, Elizabeth, we need you now more than ever. It may not be the most festive reception, but please stay.”

  She looked at him as though leaving had never crossed her mind. “Of course I’ll stay. I didn’t ride four days to simply turn around. I understand that the welcome must be … moderated. But I am quite as anxious to speak to your father as he is to speak with me.”

  Minuette sighed deeply. This was even worse than being at Framlingham last autumn, for there at least she’d had Carrie to keep her grounded. And Robert had been there as well, ironically, in case the situation got out of hand. Here, he was much more likely to be the one who pushed the situation out of hand. What she wouldn’t give for a contingent of royal troops at her command just now.

  Elizabeth entered Dudley Castle on the thrill of enthusiasm and the satisfaction of getting away with something. It made the inconveniences of being without her own maids and only the barest possible wardrobe worth it. For dinner that first night she made do with one of the Dudley maids to dress her, but then she sent the fluttering, stammering girl away and had Minuette do her hair and the finishing touches. Her friend looked drawn,
but when Elizabeth asked if she wished to skip dinner tonight and rest, she answered, “On no account. I didn’t ride all this way to miss the sparks.”

  “You think there will be sparks?”

  “There are always sparks when you and Robert collide. But I was thinking more of the delicate timing. The duke and duchess must be worried for Guildford. They will wonder if you can tell them what William means to do.”

  “I wish I knew,” Elizabeth said. “Surely the trial is just a message. A warning, to offset the baby boy. Likely he’ll keep Guildford locked up for some time to come, but William cannot mean to harm the boy for an unwise marriage.”

  Minuette shrugged. “If unwise is the whole of it.”

  “What else could it be? Guildford is hardly a mastermind of treasonable activity—he is simply a fool who acts long before he ever thinks. He might have relished snatching at a forbidden royal girl, but no more than that.”

  “I agree, Guildford is a fool. His father is not.”

  Elizabeth waited until Minuette inserted the last jeweled pin into her hair, then twisted away to look at her friend. “What are you saying? That Northumberland set it up?”

  “Do I need to say it? It’s what you’ve been thinking for months now.”

  Elizabeth held her eyes, laughing softly and not entirely with amusement. “So you’ve learned to read my secrets.”

  “I learned long ago that if I were thinking something, you were sure to have thought of it ages before I did. You’re here to find evidence of Northumberland’s guilt and present it to William.”

  “I am here to find evidence of guilt or innocence. I have not rushed to judgment, Minuette.”

  “But you are suspicious. I know you are. Everyone is—William, Lord Rochford—they suspect that Northumberland manipulated Norfolk’s downfall and then pressed the advantage for his own family’s sake.”

  When had Minuette become so insightful, and so hard? Elizabeth instinctively argued the opposite side. “By a secret, illegal marriage to a royal? If Northumberland wanted to play that game, it would be for higher stakes.” It would be me he aimed at, Elizabeth meant, me and Robert. Northumberland had hinted as much last year, before Norfolk’s downfall.

  “Possibly Guildford got ahead of himself, getting Margaret with child before Northumberland could lay the ground for William’s permission. Possibly Northumberland has had to make the best of an imperfect situation.”

  “Possibly, yes. And possibly no. Just because my brother has taught you how to be suspicious doesn’t mean this comes to you naturally, Minuette. Deviousness is not your strong suit. Let me survey the field before you rush to attack.”

  Dinner was a family affair, although with the number of living children the Duchess of Northumberland had borne her husband, that didn’t make it a small gathering. All of their offspring were present, save Guildford and the eldest son, John, who remained at Beaulieu with Mary to enforce her house arrest. Several spouses were in attendance as well, including Anne, the daughter of Edward Seymour who was married to John and was thus the Countess of Warwick. Elizabeth knew Lady Warwick better than any of the other women, for Robert’s mother usually kept away from court, preferring her private life at home. Elizabeth was also acquainted with Mary Sidney, Robert’s sister, who had borne her first son less than a year previous. As Mary Sidney spoke of the infant with her mother, Elizabeth felt a piercing sense of loss that her own mother would never know any grandchildren.

  Elizabeth watched Robert’s parents at table, looking for signs of their fabled attachment. She found it not in elaborate gestures or fulsome caresses, but in their easy understanding of each other and the comfortable level of their talk—but with all that, there was also a spark between them. The kind of spark that Minuette claimed Elizabeth and Robert had.

  No one spoke of Guildford at dinner, but Northumberland did ask for the pleasure of a private audience with Elizabeth in the morning. “Of course,” she replied. “I imagine there is much we have to discuss.”

  They had reached the final course, an array of sugared fruits and candied ginger, when a newcomer entered the dining hall. She was not a servant, that much was clear from her brocaded green dress, but Elizabeth could not easily place her in the family.

  Silence descended, broken by Northumberland, who, after a sigh that Elizabeth heard distinctly, said, “We did not know you were coming.”

  “I did not know I would not be welcome.”

  “Of course you are always welcome. Come, make your recognition to the Princess of Wales.”

  Elizabeth felt all eyes on her, except for Robert’s. He had gone dead white and was staring at the woman as though she was a particularly unpleasant ghost. Elizabeth remained seated as the woman—who seemed much of an age with her, with round cheeks and fair hair, not uncomely—approached the table and sank into a low curtsey. “Your Highness,” she said, something in her tone at odds with her outward submission. “I have waited a long time to meet you.”

  “And you are?” Since no one, not even Northumberland, seemed eager to give the woman a name.

  From her curtsey, the woman raised her eyes and said slyly, “I am Amy Dudley. Lord Robert’s wife.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  ONCE THE WOMEN were safely ensconced at Hatfield, William closeted himself with Dominic and asked for his friend’s assessment of the situation. As Dominic outlined Eleanor’s claim that Robert Dudley had deliberately detained Minuette while her necklace was poisoned, William paced with slow steps, hands behind his back.

  “I assume you’ve eliminated Eleanor as a suspect?” he asked.

  “While Minuette was with Robert Dudley, Eleanor spent the time speaking with her brother in the corridor outside the map room. And unlike his sister, Jonathan Percy is rigidly honest. He would not lie for her.”

  Especially not to absolve Eleanor of trying to kill Minuette—for Jonathan Percy had once been in love with her. He had even asked William for permission to marry her before the war in France, though Minuette had had the good sense to decline.

  “That leaves us with the Duke of Northumberland,” William mused aloud, and met Dominic’s eyes. His friend looked deeply unhappy.

  As for himself, William wasn’t sure what he was feeling. Not surprised—no, definitely not surprised. The thought had been lurking in the back of his mind for months, ever since the late Duke of Norfolk’s death and the unraveling of any but the slightest circumstantial evidence against him. He had even allowed the new Duke of Norfolk to be racked in the Tower, and the man had confessed nothing. Perhaps because there was nothing to confess. Perhaps Norfolk had not intended treason after all—at least not in the detailed manner implied by Minuette’s discovery of the Penitent’s Confession.

  “Do you think Northumberland could be behind it all?” he asked Dominic now.

  “He could be. He has a sincere and burning personal hatred of the Catholics and he’d not balk at bringing down Norfolk. And it’s true that Guildford’s marriage occurred only after you released the younger Howard from the Tower.”

  “Retaliation?” William snorted. “Why? Northumberland must have known that would come back on him.”

  Dominic shrugged. “Of all your nobles, Northumberland is the most likely to act in anger. He lashes out first and considers much later. Maybe he simply gambled on having a tie, however unfortunate, to the royal family.”

  “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.”