A point he remembered when Lord Rochford showed up at Syon House the next day. John, as the one charged with Mary’s confinement, met with the Lord Chancellor at once, closeted alone with him for orders or reports or whatever had to be communicated between London and its royal half prisoner.
Robert lingered around the park, guessing that Rochford would want to speak to him as well and reluctant to be sent for like a servant. Sure enough, when Rochford and John came out of doors, Rochford said, “I will take a turn in the park with your brother, Warwick. He will see me on my way.”
John shot one troubled look at Robert—as though he could see the tangled nature of the ties between him and Rochford—but naturally he acquiesced. “Of course, Your Grace.”
As he and Rochford strolled amongst the neatly divided flower beds, Robert said, “I didn’t think you were allowed to speak to me outside the shadows of dank cellars or empty outbuildings.”
“You flatter yourself,” Rochford replied smoothly. “Who would think you important enough to catch my eye for more than the most casual conversation?”
“What do you want?” Usually Robert only spoke bluntly to Rochford when he’d been drinking, but he was unnerved having the Lord Chancellor in his home and among his family. It was a reminder of the perilous secrets he was keeping from them.
“You have been reticent with your reports on Mistress Wyatt. As you have seen her quite recently here, away from the court, I wondered what you might have to tell me.”
“Very little.” The truth was, Robert found it hard to concentrate on any woman but Elizabeth, and he was uncomfortable about spying on Elizabeth’s friend. So he fell back on generalities. “Mistress Wyatt is beautiful, she is the princess’s closest confidante, she is well-liked by everyone who knows her.”
Rochford came close to rolling his eyes. “I see I shall have to be specific. Does she continue to pry into Alyce de Clare’s death?”
“Not that I’m aware. She appears to be doing nothing more taxing than dealing with Elizabeth’s correspondence and enjoying herself. Why are you so concerned about her?”
“Because she is an anomaly,” Rochford answered promptly. “I think the time has come to settle the girl’s future. I’m sure I can find her a suitable husband who will occupy her time and leave her less…influential in my niece’s life. Pity none of your brothers are available at the moment.”
Robert tried—and failed—to imagine Minuette married to one of his brothers. John was far too humourless; Guildford too young and thoughtless. Perhaps Henry or Ambrose would have done, were they not both married at the moment, but truthfully, when Robert thought of Minuette, there were only two men who seemed to belong with her: William and Dominic.
They had turned back to the house and nearly reached Rochford’s horse when the Lord Chancellor remarked in a manner that would have passed for casual in any other man, “By the way, William intends to elevate two men at Easter. He’s going to allow Surrey to become Duke of Norfolk. And the second man…”
Rochford paused meaningfully, and, despite his own studied air of disinterest, Robert felt his pulse twitch. Was he at last going to be given a title of his own, more than just the mere courtesy “lord” afforded him by his father’s title? Was this the beginning of his vaguely promised reward for doing Rochford’s bidding, the beginning of making him eligible in title and wealth to seek Elizabeth, if only his marriage were dissolved?
As though he knew precisely the hopes he was dashing, Rochford finished bluntly, “Dominic Courtenay will be named Duke of Exeter.”
29 March 1555
Richmond Palace
John Dee came to see me yesterday with Alyce’s chart. I cannot deny that he is a man who unsettles me. I feel as though he knows all my secrets…but does he know Alyce’s? He didn’t name the gentleman for me—I hadn’t really expected him to—but he did tell me more of Alyce. That behind her reserve lay a passionate nature. That she was so tightly wound that she was likely to come undone when in love and behave recklessly. That she was fierce in her independence and prickly in her friendships. All of which I knew, to some degree, but at the end Dr. Dee said one very illuminating thing: “She was not a woman to take her secrets to the grave. She would want to be known, and understood. She was a woman to leave a record.”
I remembered the letters she entrusted to me at her death, and her book of Petrarch’s poetry that had contained a cipher. I wonder what happened to them after we searched through them? I shall have to ask Dominic.
Just before he left me, Dr. Dee made an intriguing request: he asked me to speak for him to Elizabeth. His exact words were—“I think Her Highness and I would work well together.” When I asked him if he contemplated leaving the Dudley household, he smiled enigmatically and said only, “The stars are in motion, mistress. Who knows where they might lead us all?”
Every time he speaks of stars, I think of the pendant Dominic gave me. In his story, we four are the stars, bound together. Who knows where the motion of one might lead us all?
Minuette left her diary open to allow the ink to dry while she fussed with her sleeves and kirtle. William and the rest of the court had arrived at Richmond last night, but it wasn’t for him—nor even for Dominic—that she troubled about her appearance this afternoon. No, the person she was off to see was much more unpredictable, and so Minuette focused on her clothing as if that would be the deciding factor in whether Lady Rochford would speak to her or not.
She had not spoken directly to the duchess since that awful, awkward encounter in a corridor at Greenwich when she had found herself in the wrong place at the wrong time. That day, Lady Rochford had been emerging from what could only have been an improper liaison with Giles Howard, but even her husband’s unexpected presence in the corridor had not shaken the duchess. She had simply smiled with all the warmth of a predatory cat and proceeded to give Minuette some rather improper and blunt advice on how to manipulate men. But despite Minuette’s personal distaste for Lady Rochford, one thing John Dee had said stayed with her as she pondered Alyce’s death:We all carry with us our pasts. Who we were then informs who we are now.
And Alyce’s past lay in the household of George and Jane Boleyn, where her father had been a clerk to Lord Rochford and her mother a lady-in-waiting to his wife. Perhaps, Minuette thought, Lady Rochford might have some insight into Alyce as a child and young woman that would help her divine Alyce’s secrets.
Wherever the Duchess of Rochford was, there were people; not because Jane herself was engaging, but because of her title and her position and her husband. As aunt by marriage to the King of England, it would have taken more than a bitter disposition and a sour temper to keep people away from her. Minuette did not usually involve herself in this circle, but today she forced herself to small talk and gossip. It was surprisingly easy, but then, she was known to be very dear to Elizabeth and William and so people were flattered by her attention.
At last she maneuvered herself near enough Lady Rochford that, when there was a lull in the conversation, she was able to say quietly, “Might I speak with you privately for a few minutes?”
Lady Rochford considered her with those flat eyes that very nearly made Minuette twitch. “Could it be that you are at last prepared to seek my advice?”
A woman has one power in this world. If you’re wise, you learn to use it to your advantage.
“I am seeking information.”
“On behalf of my niece?”
