“Dr. Dee,” Minuette said, “we’re wondering what you might be able to tell us about a political plot.”
“Is that not a matter for an intelligencer?”
“The trouble with intelligencers is that they all interpret information according to who is paying them. We are looking rather for the truth.”
“The truth…” Dee smiled and looked all at once every bit the young man he was. “That is a rare commodity. What particular truth are you seeking?”
“A young woman who served the late Queen Anne died quite suddenly two years ago at court. She was with child at the time, and embroiled in a plot to discredit the king. We want to know the truth of her death. I was wondering if you could chart her stars. Perhaps the heavens might point the way to those who used her.”
Dee looked intrigued. “To chart the stars of the dead is not a usual practice. But if you can tell me what I need to know of her birth, then yes, I can give you a chart. Whether it will be useful…” He shrugged.
“More to the point,” Elizabeth intervened sharply, “I am interested in knowing who used this woman and plotted against my brother.”
“Was that not the late Duke of Norfolk, Your Highness? He was being held in the Tower at the time of his death.”
“The evidence against the duke is, shall we say, less than compelling. Clearly Norfolk had motive, Catholic devotee that he was, but I would not condemn a man or his family based solely on motive.”
“That is wise, Your Highness. We all have motives that are less than pure. But we do not all act on them.”
Why did Minuette feel that he was speaking straight to her? What exactly had he seen in her stars at Christmas? she wondered anew. Did John Dee know she was in love with Dominic? Did he know the lies she was telling to William and Elizabeth? She had told herself the secrecy was for William’s own good…We all have motives that are less than pure.
But John Dee wasn’t even looking at her; he gave a thin, enigmatic smile to Elizabeth and asked, “Are you asking me to decipher your brother’s stars more fully?”
“Can you tell me if he’s still in danger?”
Minuette held her breath, for there was an almost tangible tension between Elizabeth and John Dee, as though each was attempting to divine the other’s thoughts. It was the unspoken conversation of two people who have known each other for years.
Dee broke the connection first. “Your brother will always be in danger, Your Highness. He is a young king in a divided land and he will never be free of enemies. The stars do not speak of an immediate physical danger, if that is what you seek to know. But there are plots within plots swirling around him. I do not think you have unraveled them fully just yet.”
“I don’t suppose you care to tell me what I will find when all is unraveled?”
“No.” Leaving open the question of whether he was capable of doing so, Minuette realized wryly. Though the topic had wandered rather far afield from Alyce, she held her tongue. She would get Alyce’s star chart; Elizabeth could ask whatever else she desired.
“Any suggestions on where to begin my unraveling, Dr. Dee?”
“I do not think, Your Highness, that you need me to teach you how to unravel plots. You are your father’s daughter; trust your instincts.”
Robert did not especially like Syon House. He preferred the luxury and convenience of Ely Place in London or the home where he’d done most of his growing up, Dudley Castle in the West Midlands. His father had only started building Syon House eight years ago, after it had been Crown property for a decade. Not that it had done much good for the Crown: Henry VIII’s body had rested here one night on its way to Windsor for burial, and people claimed his coffin had burst in the night and dogs were found licking the king’s remains.
And with Mary presently confined here, like a dour black raven in her wing of Syon House, Robert wished he were elsewhere. But this was the nearest he could get to Richmond; once William and the court arrived next week, Robert would be free to take up residence there as well. Until then, his brothers were good enough company.
More or less. Ambrose flung a pair of hose at his head when Robert walked into his bedchamber. “Stop strewing your clothes around my room,” Ambrose complained. “How does your wife put up with your mess?”
“Amy,” Robert retorted sharply, “is accommodating.”
Ambrose raised a knowing eyebrow. “But not quite so accommodating as you would like, is she? Or else you would have a divorce already.”
Although he loved his brothers, there were some subjects Robert would not discuss with them. Elizabeth was one; his wife was another.
He twisted the subject away from his own flaws. “How long is Guildford going to hide away?”
“Until Father tells him to show himself. I think he hopes the king’s temper will blow over.”
“Guildford may believe that, fool that he is, but Father should know better. He’s made the mistake of the old men at court—assuming that because William is young he is changeable. The king may have Henry’s rages, but he has Anne’s memory for slights.”
Ambrose shrugged. “I wouldn’t worry. Father knows what he’s doing.”
Robert hoped so. Because if he didn’t—if Northumberland continued to err in his relationship with the Crown—then the whole family would be dragged into the mess. Robert was not slow to advance his own ambitions, but his family would always call to his first loyalty.
