A Love Most Dangerous (26 page)

He turned to his family and flung his arms wide. 'To
the nobility. Henry will achieve what fifty years of war and the miserable rule
of his father failed to do. He will destroy the old nobility and replace it
with indentured serving men like Cromwell and Richard Rich.'

No sooner were those words out than he paused.

'Richard Rich,' he murmured. 'Now there's a thought.'
His stared out of the window as if his gaze could fly the hundred miles to London.

'What do you mean?' Surrey asked. He gave his father a
look which was half admiring. 'What are you plotting?'

Norfolk
started pacing once
more, waving his finger in front of his face, counting off the arguments in his
mind. He was excited now, animated, completely different to how he had been up
to this moment.

'Richard Rich would sell his mother to the devil to
further his own ambitions,' he said. 'Perhaps he may prove a fitting instrument
for me. Perhaps I will turn Cromwell's most base servant against him.'

'It is a dangerous course,' Bess said quietly.

'Yes,' cried Norfolk. 'And who can win a victory if he
is not willing to take the dangerous course?'

Sir Richard Rich pulled the cloak even closer to his
face and glanced around. No one was in sight, no one had seen him.

His horse whinnied softly in the twilight. Up ahead
the darkening shape of Kenninghall became pin-pricked by light as servants lit
candles and tapers.

He kicked his heels and his weary horse walked on in
the gathering gloom. He gave it another kick to speed it up. He was anxious to
arrive at his rendezvous.

He had never been in Kenninghall before, had rarely
had dealings with the Duke of Norfolk or any of his kin. He knew better than to
do that.

His master Cromwell and the Duke appeared to enjoy a
civil relationship with one another, in fact a cordial one, but Rich knew that
this was a charade. Both men smiled to each other's faces and would work
together well enough when it suited their own interests. But they both aspired
to be the King's sole favourite. And the King could have only one.

The two men were caught in a deadly dance, a desperate
masquerade. Everyone at court knew it. And everyone watched to see which of the
two would stumble first. Most believed it would be Norfolk.

Rich was shown into a small chamber with a good fire
blazing in the hearth. He was chill from his long ride from Bury St Edmunds and
snatched the cup of mulled wine which a servant brought to him. He stood close
to the fire, grateful for the heat which began to warm his stiff limbs. He
drained the last drops of wine and examined the room.

Three comfortable chairs were placed to the left of
the fire, with a little table beside each. A large sideboard stood beneath the
window with plates, cups and knives arranged upon it. His stomach rumbled at
the sight. He had eaten only a small pie of beef and oysters, bought at noon
from a bake-house in Stanton. He hoped that the plates and knives meant that
supper would be provided. And more wine, he hoped, placing his empty cup next
to the plates.

The chamber was panelled in rich oak with delicate
figure work across a frieze. A large tapestry hung upon the wall, depicting a
battle between two armies. No doubt some celebration of the Howard history, he
thought, his face wrinkling in a sneer.

At that moment the door opened and the Duke entered,
followed by his son.

'Welcome, Sir Richard,' said the Duke holding out his
hands to grip hold of those of Rich.

Rich was amazed at the strength in a man of such
years. He felt his hands squeezed even tighter as if the Duke wished to
intimate to him that he was caught fast. As if they were in a giant
thumb-screw.

'You know my son, the Earl of Surrey?' Norfolk asked, relaxing his hold.

'By reputation, Your Grace.'

Surrey
laughed. 'A good one or
a bad?'

Rich smiled but did not answer.

'See what a diplomat the man is,' Norfolk said to his son, lightly. 'It is little wonder that he has advanced so high in the King's
service.'

He poured two cups of mulled wine and passed them to
Rich and his son. He did not take one for himself.

'You have come far, Sir Richard?' Surrey asked.

'I was at Leeze Priory three days ago when the Duke's
request to visit reached me. I started early the next morning and stayed last
night at Bury St Edmunds, in a goodly inn.'

'Two long days in the saddle, then,' Surrey said. 'Such work is fine for the aristocracy but not I think for commoners unused to
horsemanship.'

Rich's eyes glittered as if pondering whether or not
the earl had insulted him.

'I travel much in the King's service,' he said. 'I go
where he commands and I fulfil his commands.'

'Yet now you have come at my father's summons,' Surrey said.

Rich gave a bleak smile. 'A request to visit, my lord.
Not a summons, surely?'

'But you came, nonetheless. Post-haste.'

Rich inclined his head a fraction. 'I came and am
intrigued at the request to visit.'

The atmosphere in the room seemed to crackle and spit.
Norfolk held up his hand in a little warning gesture to his son. It was a
little gesture but one which Rich took note of while wondering if the earl had.

Norfolk
indicated the three
chairs beside the fire.

'Riding is weary work for any man,' he said in an
emollient tone. 'Let us take our ease.'

The Duke's steward appeared at the door. 'Supper is
ready, Your Grace. Shall it be served in here?'

The Duke nodded and turned to Rich. 'It is warm and
comfortable in this chamber. And quiet.'

The steward beckoned to two other men who carried in
trays of steaming food and more wine. 'Shall we serve you, Your Grace?' the
steward asked.

Norfolk
nodded and the servants
expertly filled three large platters of food, placing each one on the small
tables beside the chairs, together with a fine glass and a jug of wine.

Rich's mouth salivated at sight of the food. There
were two thick slices of beef, charred on the outside but oozing red within, a
large slice of game pie, a small roast fowl, a thick sausage studded with herbs
and a chunk of good white bread running with butter. The servants brought
smaller plates with a wrinkled apple, a pear and a wedge of cheese.

The Duke bowed his head and mumbled Grace before
taking up his plate.

'So, Sir Richard,' he said, 'you are intrigued at my
suggestion that you visit us at Kenninghall?'

'Intrigued and honoured, Your Grace. I had not thought
that a humble man such as myself would have come readily to your notice.' He
bit on a corner of the pie.

'Come, come,' said Surrey. 'You are too modest
entirely, Sir Richard. Are you not the Lord Privy Seal's terrier?' He stroked
his chin as if trying to recall an elusive thought. 'What is it they call you?
The hammer of the monasteries? Yes that's it. You are the hammer and Cromwell
is the mallet.'

'I obey my Sovereign's commands,' Rich answered, 'no
more no less.' He paused for a heartbeat and glanced at the earl. 'As I am sure
we all endeavour our utmost to do.'

'Naturally,' said Norfolk. 'The King is the sun who
shines upon the realm and gives warmth and sustenance to all men, great and
small.' He shot a little glance of warning at his son who appeared not to
notice but sat back very slightly in his seat, watching the proceedings as if
at a play.

Norfolk
turned to Rich. 'It is
of the Lord Privy Seal that I desire to speak,' he said.

Rich was taken aback at the speed with which the Duke
had come to the point of the meeting. He was used to the slower, more subtle
ways of his master.

'The Lord Privy Seal?' Rich asked.

'Yes.' Norfolk speared a slice of beef on his knife
and held it between them. 'I am worried about Baron Cromwell.'

Rich frowned but kept silent.

'His duties are demanding, are they not?' Norfolk continued. 'Onerous, exhausting. Perhaps too much for one man only.'

He said nothing more but pushed the meat inside his
mouth as if he were a cook stuffing a capon.

'Lord Cromwell is in the best of health,' Rich
answered. 'He appears inexhaustible, as if his service to the King gives him
greater sustenance than food or sleep.'

'No man is inexhaustible,' Norfolk said.

'And none are indispensable,' added Surrey.

Rich's breath caught at this. He shot a glance at Norfolk. He did not seem the slightest bit perturbed by his son's blunt words.

A thin trickle of fear ran up Rich's spine. There was
threat here, a threat to his master. Yet surely none would be so rash as to
seek to undermine him? He was too high in the King's favour, too dominant.
Unassailable.

Rich's mind worked fast. What did these haughty men
desire from him? How might he make use of this desire? He forced his mind to
close down all further speculation. Better to wait and watch, better to sniff
out the advantage.

'You must be a great support to the Lord Privy Seal,' Norfolk continued. 'I doubt he would be quite as effective without your assistance.'

Rich bowed his head. 'You are too kind, Your Grace.'

'And you must know much about his work,' Surrey added. 'You must be privy to many of his concerns and strategies.'

'Some, perhaps,' Rich said in a guarded tone.

'More than some, I should think,' said Norfolk. 'I doubt there is any man closer to Thomas Cromwell or knows better how he fulfils his
duties.'

'No man in the Kingdom who could better fill his
shoes,' said Surrey, leaning forward. 'Should he fall ill or grow weary of his
tasks.'

Rich gave a little chuckle. 'As I have said already,
Lord Cromwell is in the best of health. And he will never, I promise you, grow
weary of the King's work.'

Surrey
's face was too watchful,
too intense, as if he had come to the part of a battle long planned and fretted
over. He hid it in an instant, an instant too late.

Rich glanced at Norfolk. His face was bland and
inscrutable. He cut a slice of his pie and placed it in his mouth, chewing upon
it, giving it his fullest attention. He was not a man to leave any hostages to
fortune.

'I am overjoyed to hear what you tell us about the
Lord Privy Seal's rude health,' he said with a smile. 'Overjoyed.' He picked up
his glass and swilled the wine around his mouth as if to wash away something
unpleasant which had lodged there.

'There is no need for Cromwell to hear of our
concerns,' said Surrey. 'Let this inquiry into his health be put down to
genuine concern for a dear friend.'

'I agree,' said Norfolk.

He turned and held Rich's eyes in his own. 'Let this
meeting be our secret. We would not wish to be derided or talked about for our
heartfelt worries.'

'No, indeed, Your Grace,' Rich said. 'You can rely on
me to keep our secret.' He paused. 'As I am sure I can rely on you.'

The Duke nodded. 'How goes the King's search for a new
queen?' he asked as if to change the subject of the conversation completely. 'I
hear that the negotiations to wed the Duchess of Milan are going well.'

Rich's eyes flickered. The negotiations were a
close-guarded secret, known to very few. He had no idea how much the Duke knew
of the current state of talks, of how bogged down they were.

His mind raced for a moment, seeking the best course
to take.

'They go, as these negotiations habitually do, at slow
but steady pace.' He paused and wondered whether to cast some bait and see if
the Howards bit. He gave a little laugh. 'Of course, the delay gives the King
more time to sport.'

The Duke frowned at this and shot a glance at his son
who shrugged and shook his head.

'Sport?' Norfolk asked. 'What sport?'

Rich pretended surprise.

'Surely Your Grace has heard of the King's latest
conquest?'

Norfolk
did not answer. He had
heard nothing of this but did not want to give Rich the pleasure of knowing it.
'What is the woman's name again?' he asked casually. 'I forget it.'

'Alice Petherton,' Rich said.

'Ah yes, I recall her name now. A comely creature.'

'More than just comely, Your Grace,' Rich answered.
'She is the very Venus of the Kingdom.'

As he said the words his stomach lurched. After all
this time she still had the power to unman him. The Duke's indifference to her
could mean only one thing; that he had not yet seen her. Either that or he had
forgotten he was a man.

Rich glanced at Surrey who had sat forward at these
words. Ah, there's one young buck whose interest has been piqued. He had been
wrong-footed by the Howards this night and he was glad that he had done a small
amount to wrong-foot them.