The Boleyn Deceit (7 page)

She
—it could only be Eleanor Howard. He traded glances with Harrington, who shrugged slightly as if to say
Up to you.
Dominic had no desire to speak with William’s former mistress, but she was the only female of the Howard family to be confined to the Tower. Guilt decided him. Or perhaps it was merely prudence. Eleanor made an unpredictable enemy.

She was being held in Beauchamp Tower, closer to the Lieutenant’s Lodging. Her outer chamber was smaller than Surrey’s, but it was warmer and richer, with tapestries on the walls that she would have had to pay extra for. She had two maids with her, both older and plainer women than herself who had the knack of blending into the furniture. From the moment Dominic entered,
Eleanor ignored her maids completely and focused all her attention on him.

She was undoubtedly an attractive woman—with her flaxen blond hair and surprisingly dark eyes—and she had the trick of looking at every man she met with more than a hint of promised pleasure. There were no concessions to prison in her clothing; she wore an extravagant gown of moss green velvet edged with ermine. Though she had claimed to be pregnant at the time of her arrest, there was no sign of it now beneath her tightly cinched stomacher.

Dominic had not seen her since November, and she said almost the same thing she had that last night at Framlingham. “I must see the king.”

He opened his mouth to reply and she snapped, “And don’t say he doesn’t consort with traitors. I am not a traitor. You know that.”

He did—reluctantly—know that. She was grasping and ambitious and amoral and had never evinced the slightest grief over her husband’s violent death … but she was loyal to William. He was probably the only thing she had ever been loyal to.

He promised what he could. “I will speak to him.” Surely if William were going to release Surrey and allow him to become Duke of Norfolk, he would set Eleanor free as well, if only for the sake of the child she had borne him. Not to return to court, of course … which was best for all concerned.

Eleanor narrowed her eyes, as though she knew what he was thinking, but said only, “You do that.”

If Eleanor discovered even a hint of William’s passion for Minuette, she would make a relentless enemy.

William was shooting with an arquebus when Dominic returned from the Tower. He heard Rochford’s queries and, content to let his uncle have the first say, lifted the twenty-pound matchlock gun onto the forked stick and sighted carefully. He squeezed the lever, igniting the flash, and the ball shot out to strike the targeted breastplate. William liked shooting at plate armour; he was close enough to this breastplate to tear through it completely. As the onlookers applauded, he handed the arquebus to his arms master and looked over to Rochford and Dominic, in close conversation.

In the months since turning eighteen, William had found satisfaction in standing his ground and forcing others to come to him. When he beckoned them, he thought Rochford moved a little slowly.

“Walk with me,” he commanded. This time his uncle definitely hesitated when William made clear that it was Dominic he wanted at his side.

“You spoke to Surrey,” William remarked, leaving Rochford to pace slightly behind them.

“I did.”

“And?”

“I am convinced he had nothing to do with his grandfather’s treason. The investigation has not turned up any evidence, he went nowhere near Framlingham or the rest of his family for months, and his character—”

“You think there is a specific character type for treason?” Rochford cut in. “That you can know by past action how a man will jump in future?”

“
If
a man will jump, perhaps not. But
how
he will—if the Earl of Surrey committed treason, I do not believe he would lie about it. He would have his reasons, and he would not be ashamed of them.”

“Men change when their lives are at stake.”

“Then they are not men,” Dominic said sharply.

“Enough,” William interposed. “I agree with Dominic. Surrey is to be released. He will return to Kenninghall and stay there until further ordered. Which I believe you counseled?” he said pointedly to Rochford.

“So I did.”

“See to it.”

He watched until his uncle had disappeared inside the ashlar-stone walls of Whitehall. Then he turned back to Dominic on the riverbank path. “What else?” he asked. He knew when his friend was brooding.

“I spoke to Eleanor.”

He didn’t look at Dominic, appearing to consider the bare landscape of midwinter. He knew he would not have to respond; Dominic was incapable of ignoring anything he felt was his responsibility. It was why William had sent him.

“Is she also to be released?” Dominic eventually asked.

William had made his plans long before today. “Eleanor can go to Kenninghall with Surrey. I believe her daughter is being cared for there.” Actually, William knew it for a fact. He had taken care to know. The child, Anne, was undoubtedly his; he had briefly considered acknowledging the baby girl before Eleanor’s arrest, but knowing how much Minuette disliked Eleanor had stayed his hand. Still, he would ensure the child did not lack for proper care.

“Eleanor wants to see you.”

Of course she does.
“No.”

“Are you sure that’s wise?”

William looked sidelong at Dominic, amused. “Surely you are not counseling me to meet with Eleanor Howard?”

“I am counseling you to take care. She is dangerous, Will. Far more so than the Earl of Surrey, if you ask me.”

“Eleanor cannot touch me.”

“What of Minuette? Eleanor hated her thoroughly when she was nothing more than your friend. If—when—she finds out that Minuette is much more to you …”

“Don’t worry about Minuette,” William said. “There is no person more important to me. I will keep her safe, Dom. You can trust me for that.”

There was a long pause, as though Dominic couldn’t decide which condescending and unnecessary warning to issue first. At last he said simply, “Just be careful.”

Minuette knew that she could not, of course, go completely alone to see Stephen Howard. She might be able to deceive the men, but never Carrie. Her maid was a fierce friend and even fiercer guard, and there was no slipping away from her. Minuette took Fidelis with her as well; the enormous hound reminded her of Dominic, padding quietly along next to her and turning a forbidding gaze on all around him. Fortunately, her stepfather’s town house was on the same side of the river as Whitehall. She couldn’t imagine the boat that could have carried Fidelis across the Thames.

The streets, as always, were awash in humanity and its trappings. Street vendors and darting pickpockets and the shrill cries of argument mingled with the odors of food and, from some of the smaller streets, abundant refuse. At least in winter the odors were not quite so overwhelmingly bad. Minuette had dressed in one of her plainest gowns and a simple wool cloak with no trim—but there was no disguising the quality of the fabrics or the shine of her hair or even the way she moved. Eyes followed her and Carrie as they walked the mere half mile from Whitehall to the edge of the City—that square mile of London that answered to its own Lord Mayor and deigned to pay homage to the king—but Minuette did not feel in any danger, particularly as Fidelis ensured that she and Carrie were given a wide berth.

She knocked on the door of a discreetly wealthy town house and Stephen Howard himself threw it open. He looked much the same as before his imprisonment, perhaps the lines around his mouth and eyes slightly deeper. Though he was in his mid-fifties, he had the lean build of a younger man and his light brown hair had grayed attractively. There were times when Minuette had to admit that her mother might have actually loved her second husband for his person as much as for his position.

Those moments were usually ruined when he opened his
mouth. Today he raised his eyebrows at Fidelis and asked, “What the hell is that?”

“My protection,” she said.

“Do you need protection from
me
?”

He always made her ruder than she meant to be. “Are you going to invite me in? I am here at your bidding, not the other way round.” He regarded Fidelis dubiously, and she added, “He can wait with Carrie. Surely you have somewhere for my maid to sit comfortably?”

It was pleasant to have disconcerted him, and she thanked Dominic silently for it as Howard led Carrie and the wolfhound—which nearly reached her maid’s shoulder—to the kitchen.

When he returned, he took Minuette into an airy solar at the back of the house. The room overlooked a narrow garden that was sunk in the grayness of winter slumber. In addition to the fire in the maroon-tiled fireplace, several coal-filled braziers made the chamber pleasantly warm.

After she seated herself, he studied her and remarked, “My disgrace suits you, stepdaughter. You are glowing.”

Uncomfortable with his penetrating stare, as though he might be able to divine the secrets that made her glow, Minuette countered sharply. “What disgrace? You never even saw the inside of the Tower. You ensured leniency when you warned the king of your brother’s search for the Penitent’s Confession. House arrest can’t have been too difficult in these surroundings.” She indicated the warm fire, the thick carpet, the silver candlesticks.

“Yes, my familial disloyalty and your intervention spared me the Tower. Nonetheless, the name of Howard is a dangerous one to bear just now.”

“As it has been before. You weathered your nephew’s treason and brother’s disgrace once before—no doubt you will weather it again.”

He chuckled. “Can it be that you have grasped the game of politics? Your mother never had it in her—and your father certainly didn’t—but then, you’ve spent most of your life being tutored by the Boleyns and they play as easily as they breathe.”

She ignored—just—the slight about her father. Stephen Howard seemed to take it personally that her mother had loved a man before him. But she didn’t have time to debate the merits of her father to her stepfather. “What do you want?” Minuette asked.

“To tell you not to play these games,” he answered promptly, and all mockery vanished. “I don’t like that you were in the middle of everything at Framlingham. And your mother would have been horrified.”

“You were the one who warned me that the duke was looking for the Penitent’s Confession. That’s why I was at Framlingham.”

“You were at Framlingham because you are a convenient pawn. Who sent you there? Was it the king himself? Or Rochford?”

He was so annoying that it was easy to overlook how perceptive he could be. “What does it matter? The Penitent’s Confession is destroyed and this particular game is over.”

“Is it? Why did you burn that confession, Minuette?”

Because I don’t trust you entirely. Because my mother’s name was signed to that document and you are the one who told me your brother was looking for it …
Although part of her wanted to pretend that burning the Penitent’s Confession had put an end to the ache, the larger part wanted answers.

She countered with a question of her own. “What precisely did you know about the contents of the Penitent’s Confession?”

He looked bewildered, and wary. “Only that it claimed William was not Henry’s son.”

“That is all? No discussion of who might have made such a
claim? No concern that such a convenient document might be a forgery or outright lie?”

“As you said … what does it matter now?”

“Who talked about it in your family? Someone besides your brother?”

“Minuette—”

“Who talked about it?!” she yelled, and was darkly amused by the shock on his face. He had not expected her to raise her voice.

Shock quickly turned to anger. “I’m not going to indulge your curiosity while you’re in a temper.”

She pitched her next words with care. “Who in your family made a mockery of my mother’s name?”

“The Penitent’s Confession was signed with your mother’s name?” Though it was half a question, he did not need her confirmation. “That is why you burnt it, because you did not want your mother’s name seen.”