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?”
“Ifa man will jump, perhaps not. Buthowhe 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.”
3 February 1555
Whitehall Palace
There are stretches of time in which I (nearly) forget about Framlingham and the lady chapel and the rivers of blood and tears I shed there…but today is not one of those times.
