Laura Andersen - [Ann Boleyn 01]

by The Boleyn King

  He dragged his attention back into the Hatfield gardens and said the first thing that came to mind. “When you return to London, you will find that … I have … that is, Eleanor has left court.”

  As he saw the flare of surprise in her eyes, he wished he could take back his words. He remembered Elizabeth’s warning about empty apartments and whores and felt the colour rise in his cheeks. Please heaven Minuette would not read into it what Elizabeth had feared.

  But she seemed as determined as he to keep the conversation on commonplace ground. “What of France? You expect King Henri to meet your terms?”

  “Yes.”

  “Including Mary Stuart?”

  When William did not answer, Minuette pressed. “She is your principal demand, is she not?”

  It was getting harder to speak calmly. “Yes.”

  She seemed aware of his discomfort, or perhaps it was her own that prompted her to say, “You have a long ride ahead. Safe journey, William.”

  How could he ever have thought he could see her and talk with her and not want her? The long weight of her hair, her slender figure and steady eyes …

  France and his future were waiting. He knew what he must do.

  “Minuette.”

  He found himself staring at the peak of her hair, the point of gold in the perfect center of her forehead. All at once he could see his parents standing before him. He must have been little at the time, but he could recall it clearly—his tall, forbidding father reaching out one hand to smooth his wife’s dark hair in a gesture of infinite tenderness.

  Henry had cast off a queen and a daughter and a religion for Anne, and all of Europe had been asking ever since if he had found her worth it in the end. The answer was yes—in that moment, William was sure of it. Henry had loved her, and he had let nothing stand in his way.

  He touched his right hand to the silk of Minuette’s hair and said the only honest thing he dared. “I will miss you.”

  An hour after William rode away from Hatfield, Elizabeth finally went out to Minuette. She had stayed in the knot garden, perched on a bench and staring at nothing, and she only blinked when Elizabeth laid a cloak around her shoulders.

  Elizabeth had determined from that first night not to ask about William. Minuette had always been politely reticent about Robert, and she was owed the same consideration. But the surprise of his visit and the deepening twilight seemed to unlock Minuette’s reserve.

  “I had thought,” she said, “that I had lost his regard. I am glad to know my behaviour has not made him despise me.”

  Elizabeth bit back her first response—that her brother had enough to despise in his own behaviour—and merely murmured a neutral acknowledgment. But Minuette seemed to know by instinct Elizabeth’s opinion, and she rushed to defend him, as she always had.

  “He apologized quite thoroughly, Elizabeth. It was awkward, but now it is past.”

  “What else did he say?”

  “We spoke a little of France and Mary Stuart.”

  How Elizabeth wished she could ask Minuette how she felt about that, and whether she was truly in danger of being hurt by William. For as simple and open as she had always thought her friend, Elizabeth realized, she had no idea what Minuette was feeling.

  After a pause, Minuette added, “What happened at Hever was an impulse, born of grief and strain and convenience. It will soon be forgotten, and all the better for us both.”

  Elizabeth knew that tone of Minuette’s voice—it meant she was trying to persuade herself as much as her listener. For her part, Elizabeth was entirely unconvinced. We Tudors are notoriously stubborn where our hearts are concerned, she wanted to warn.

  Leaning her head against Elizabeth’s shoulder, a gesture from childhood, Minuette said, “I must finish preparing for Framlingham.”

  “Did you tell William where you are going?” Elizabeth asked.

  “No more than you did. He thinks I will be in London with you, and he must go to France thinking of peace, not fretting about things he cannot control here.”

  Those are my uncle’s words, Elizabeth thought. But she could not disagree.

  Sensing her concern, as Minuette always seemed able to do, she said, “You must not fret, either. We each of us have our duties. And when they are finished, we will come back together and all will be well.”

  Minuette stood in a sudden movement and said into the shadows as she walked away, “When he comes home, all will at last be well.”

  There was something about her voice that made Elizabeth wonder whether William was the “he” she meant.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  BY THE FOURTH day out of Cambridge, Minuette was ready to run mad. They had left Hatfield a week earlier, she and Carrie headed for Framlingham while Elizabeth returned to London. They traveled with a dozen royal guards and Rochford had suggested she take a closed carriage as well. Minuette had flatly refused—if she was going to travel for a week, she was going to ride rather than be jolted about like a parcel. Carrie had to ride pillion behind a groom, but she had not complained. Not about the riding, at any rate. But as Framlingham drew nearer, Carrie grew quieter.

  It had taken three stormy days to reach Cambridge, but even the rain had not deterred Minuette. If she had to do this, she wanted to get started. The longer it took her to reach Framlingham, the more time she had to think about all the things that could go wrong. Fortunately, the skies had cleared a bit after Cambridge and on this last afternoon, though it was windy and cold, it was dry.

  They stopped briefly at an inn just four miles from the castle. Minuette tried to spark conversation with Carrie as they walked around the inn yard to stretch their legs.

  “I’m beginning to remember the road,” Minuette remarked. “I wasn’t sure that I would after so many years.”

  Carrie said nothing.

  “It must be even more familiar to you,” Minuette prodded. “You were here nearly two years with my mother.”

  “So I was,” she said at last.

  “I hope you remember your way around the castle. I have only vague memories of a bewildering array of walls and towers and corridors.” Even as she said it, an image sparked in her head of a particular corridor and a room opening off it—old stone, cold and empty. Or nearly empty …

  The image vanished as Carrie said sharply, “I remember that one should not wander alone. Promise me that, mistress. The castle cannot be trusted, no more than those inside it.”

  It was the first negative comment she had ever heard Carrie utter. The surprise of it stayed with Minuette as they remounted and rode the last miles to Framlingham.

  The flint walls rose out of the surrounding fields like a shield piercing the low sky. Minuette felt she was seeing it with doubled eyes—one set here and now, approaching on horseback with the might of the Lord Chancellor at her back, the other set those of a six-year-old girl seeing her mother’s new home and knowing it would never be hers.

  By the time they reached the walls the gates were open, alerted by the guards on the wall walks. Unlike most castles of its age, Framlingham had no keep, depending instead on its formidable curtain walls and towers to defend the sprawl of domestic buildings across the courtyards. They were greeted by men in the red, gold, and blue badges of Norfolk, and a soberly dressed man introduced himself as steward and offered to take Minuette to her room.

  “I’ll do it,” drawled a voice Minuette had hoped not to hear. It seemed her stepfather was at the family residence as well.

  She allowed him to lead her with a hand tucked through his arm into a wing that jutted at a sharp angle from an outer castle wall. “Near Her Highness,” Howard said. “At her request. You don’t mind that we use her title, do you?”

  “Would it matter if I did?”

  “You might report it.”

  “Do you think William does not know what your family calls her?”

  They reached a door that Howard opened. “Yours,” he said, and dropped her hand. “I think William knows what w
e call her. I think he doesn’t care. Perhaps he should.”

  “Dear me,” she said sweetly. “Do you have something to report?”

  He gave her a somewhat savage smile. “You’re in Norfolk territory now. I won’t do your spying for you. However, I will give you one piece of advice.”

  “Yes?” She expected a warning about the duke or Mary’s temper, or even a repeat of Carrie’s advice not to go wandering alone.

  “My nephew Giles and his wife are in residence. They’ve spoken of you, both of them. From their words, I’m not sure which one is the greater danger—but I tell you this: you have enemies here, girl. And I don’t mean political. Their enmity is personal. I would take care if I were you.”

  He walked away, whistling as he went.

  Dominic was surprised when he arrived, as summoned, to find William alone. The king had been in Rouen for two weeks now, and their encounters had been all business, surrounded by councilors and soldiers and diplomats. He had tried not to take it personally—he knew how critical this treaty was—but there had been a mean part of him that had wondered if William as an unfettered king meant no more Will as his friend.

  Tonight William looked to be his friend. He had discarded the heavy jewels and jerkin and sat in an armchair with his legs stretched out and a cup in one hand. He nodded to the table, where another cup and a jug of ale sat. “Help yourself.”

  Dominic filled the cup, then sat in a matching chair at an angle to William’s. “You look tired,” he commented.

  William laughed. “You are the worst courtier ever. Sitting alone with your king, and the first words out of your mouth are a criticism, or possibly an insult.”

  His tone made Dominic’s shoulders ease. He sighed and leaned back in a similar pose. “I’ve missed you.”

  “Hmmm.” William looked into the fire, necessary in the October chill. “I’ve been … busy. Distracted.”

  “Yes, I’m impressed. I never thought to see you quite so dedicated to work.”

  “Your lessons,” William said. “You’re a better teacher than you thought.”

  There was more than tiredness there, more than the distraction of politics. Dominic knew William through and through, and there was something bothering him.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “I have a favour to ask.”

  “Anything, you know that.” Why did William sound so hesitant? If he wanted, he could command Dominic to anything.

  “I want you to return to England. Immediately.”

  Even as he said, “May I ask why?” he was thinking, He really doesn’t want to be anywhere near me. What has he done?

  Finally William met his eyes. “Because I cannot go, and you are the only one I trust for this.”

  “Mary?” he hazarded. “Is she still with Norfolk?”

  “At Framlingham, yes. My uncle wrote to me, says there’s possible movement by the emperor’s fleet.”

  “Maneuvering to get her out of the country.”

  “Right.”

  Dominic ran a hand through his hair. “Troubling, yes, but Rochford is much better suited to this than I am. Why send me back to court?”

  “Not to court. To Framlingham.”

  “Will, you’re not making any sense.”

  “Mary is at Framlingham, with the Duke of Norfolk.”

  “I don’t know what you want me to do.”

  William went on as though Dominic had not spoken. “Giles and Eleanor are also there—”

  “So you want me to get your mistress safely away in case of trouble?”

  “—and so is Minuette. It appears my uncle sent her there.”

  Blank silence settled in his chest with a weight that stopped his breath. He was surprised by how calm he sounded. “What in the name of God is Minuette doing in the same house as Giles Howard?”

  “Rochford sent her to look for the Penitent’s Confession.”

  Dominic was on his feet before he knew it, ready to wrap his hands around someone’s neck. Rochford’s, preferably. “Has he lost his mind? He has no right to put her in danger. What was he thinking, launching Minuette into a world where men kill to keep their secrets? You must get her out of there, now—”

  “Why do you think I’m sending you?” William shoved the chair back and was on his feet as well, staring him down.

  Dominic forced himself to breathe slowly. “Right. I’m sorry, I was just …”

  “Worried. So am I. Ride light; get to Le Havre as fast as you can. I’ll send letters to free a ship for you. When you land, don’t head to London. Go straight on to Framlingham.”

  “How much danger is she in?”

  William turned away, so all Dominic could see were his shoulders, braced tight. “Just get her out of there.”

  “I will.”

  He was halfway down the corridor when he heard footsteps. He stopped and let William catch him up.

  “Will you give her a message for me?” William asked. He sounded, once again, unusually diffident.

  “Of course.”

  “Tell her …” He paused, and in his eyes Dominic saw something hovering, something that his friend seemed almost ready to share. But he just smiled and said, “Tell her I have missed her.”

  When she was six years old, Minuette had spent the week of her mother’s wedding at Framlingham, lost and unhappy and missing Elizabeth fiercely. She had been assigned a nursemaid, a girl who had taken to her job less than enthusiastically and from whom Minuette had slipped away more than once to wander around the castle on her own. Now that she had returned twelve years later, Minuette found herself ignoring Carrie’s advice not to venture out alone and began retracing her steps—and her memories—through the maze of the castle.

  Today, a week after her arrival, Minuette returned to the northeast tower, a place she had last been on the day before her mother’s wedding. As it had been then, it was still room after empty room, some furnished with odds and ends but many more with only dust and the occasional mouse nest. Minuette remembered tracing her name several times in the grime of a low windowsill before deciding to go in search of her mother, who had promised that her daughter might sit with her while she finished the embroidery on Minuette’s dress for the wedding.

  She followed the trail of memory along the echoing corridor to where, all those years ago, a sound had caught her attention—an almost laugh that turned into a sigh. Curiosity had led her then to the half-open door ahead of her. She would never dream of walking into a royal room uninvited, but she had no such inhibitions in this house. Standing in the gap where the door had been left ajar, she looked in.

  Her mother stood with her back against the far wall, eyes closed and skirts in an untidy heap. Her arms were locked around the neck of the man before her. Frozen in fascination and disgust, Minuette watched until the man groaned and buried his head against her mother’s chest.

  The moment her mother opened her eyes she let out a little cry, and the man pulled away from her and turned around. Minuette stared at her almost stepfather, waiting for a roar of words or even a slap. But when he moved, it was only to adjust his clothing and, surprisingly, he laughed.

  “How long before some man has you against a wall, sweetheart?”

  Minuette had run away then, back to her own quiet corner of the nursery, and when her mother tried to talk to her later she had kept her face still and nodded submissively that yes, she understood that some things were between grown-ups. She had attended the wedding the next day and gone gladly back to Hatfield afterward, burying the memory so deep she had forgotten it until now.

  As Minuette stood in that still-empty room all these years later, she knew it wasn’t just Framlingham that had stirred up the memory. It had been coming at her for months, pricked into life by the nasty words of Alyce de Clare’s sister: It was the younger Howard she’d always had her eye on. And Queen Anne’s ramblings: Go to your Henry. I know what it is to love a dangerous man. And Hever, where a man had indeed had her up against a w
all and she had not stopped him.

  Minuette walked out of the empty room, not sure if her melancholy was caused by the fact that her mother was dead and thus could never explain her complexities to Minuette or if it was her own complicated emotions that were haunting her.

  That uncertainty continued to stalk her over the next week, alternating only with her violent wish to be elsewhere. She did not like Framlingham, she did not like spying on Lady Mary, and she most definitely did not like being in the same place as Giles and Eleanor Howard. At least Eleanor had not brought her daughter along. That would have been one indignity too many for Minuette to bear. But still, every waking hour was tense and unhappy and every sleeping hour filled with fragmented dreams. She did not think she had truly rested at all since leaving Hatfield.

  The only saving grace were the letters. Elizabeth wrote daily, and today she had forwarded five letters that Dominic had sent from France. His letters were like him: practical, steady, a rock of sense in the waves of turmoil. She wished she could ask him what to do—about Giles and Eleanor, about her mother’s mysterious heart, about Mary’s intentions—but the last thing she wanted him to know was where she was. He would be angry if he knew—probably with her for letting herself be manipulated into such a situation.

  As Minuette tried to compose a letter to Dominic one afternoon, Carrie asked abruptly, “Should you be doing something that you are afraid to tell Lord Exeter about?”

  Not entirely truthfully, Minuette said, “I am not afraid of Lord Exeter. I am doing what I have been asked to do, and there is nothing wrong in that.”

  “There is something wrong in it,” Carrie said. “And if you will not see it, then I will see it for you.”