“How religious,” she remarked.
Dominic launched straight to the heart of the matter. “Where did you keep the monkshood?”
She blinked. “I haven’t the least idea what you mean.”
“If it was ever in your possession, we’ll find evidence of it. You can’t have got rid of every trace.” Dominic was bluffing. William might not think much of Eleanor’s planning abilities, but even she would have disposed of whatever had contained the monkshood poison. She need only have thrown it in the river.
“Has someone been poisoned?” She was such a practiced performer that Dominic could not tell if her studied shock was false. He had the impression she was never less than studied.
“Where were you yesterday in the early afternoon hours?”
“Are you accusing me of something?” Her voice trembled, but she met his eyes squarely, and Dominic was almost certain he saw a flicker of triumph in them.
“Yesterday someone slipped into Mistress Wyatt’s rooms, painted a solution of monkshood on the back of one of her pendants, and left it for her to wear.”
He knew he was supposed to keep it quiet, but he would have bet anything that Eleanor already knew. And he was too angry to be careful.
Eleanor narrowed her eyes. “I believe I warned you some months ago that she has enemies. It seems one of them is growing desperate.”
“Mistress Wyatt poses no threat to anyone of importance.”
“Of course she does. A blind man could see how William follows after her like a lapdog. Rumour has it she’ll not give in for anything less than marriage. Trying Anne’s tricks on Anne’s son—it’s quite cunning really. But she’s no match for Will. He’ll have her yet, and when he has, the allure of her innocence will quickly pall. Still, some might believe she poses a serious threat to the French marriage. And that might be a matter for poison.”
Too furious to be calm, and afraid he might hurt Eleanor if this continued, Dominic said, “You may go—for now. The king will order further questioning as he deems fit.”
“You have no evidence.”
“Since when is that an obstacle?”
Her face darkened, and Dominic caught a glimpse of the hard, obsessive woman behind the practiced mask. She stood in one disdainful movement. “William will never harm me based solely on one man’s opinion. Not when evidence exists against the true culprits.”
“If you know of evidence, and you do not disclose it, you’ll be arrested as an accessory.”
She appeared to consider his words, then shrugged. “To prove that I don’t hold a grudge, I’ll tell you this. Did you know that yesterday afternoon Minuette had a private conversation with Lord Robert Dudley? He sent me to fetch her to him and told me to make certain she was not followed. Ask yourself why Robert Dudley would want her away from her rooms at that moment. Very convenient timing for the poisoner. And before you jump at the fact that I was the one to convey the message, and thus undoubtedly knew of the arrangement, remember whose son Robert Dudley is. With one son in prison, the Duke of Northumberland is desperate to regain influence with the king. He doesn’t want William wedding a French princess, but still less does he want the king tying himself to a silly girl of uncertain religious temperament. And Black Jack Dudley has a history of getting what he wants.”
25 August 1555
Hatfield
I have been asked over and over what I remember of the day I was poisoned. But only Dominic has asked me what I remember of the night itself.
I remember the paralyzing numbness that spread from my throat down my body. I remember the terror of believing each breath might be my last. I remember my vision fading to a yellow-green haze. I remember Carrie’s fierce face, determined to pull me through by sheer force of will; Elizabeth, calm and reassuring despite the tightness of her lips.
I remember wanting Dominic, and panicking because he was not there. I don’t ever want to feel that again.
5 September 1555
Hatfield
I lost my temper with Elizabeth today. She has been nothing but sweet and solicitous and I could not bear it a moment longer. I’m not a child, I reminded her. I know what’s going on. Someone—likely Eleanor Percy—wants me removed. Permanently. I’ll agree not to make it easy for her, to leave court and allow William and Dominic to gather their evidence, to keep out of harm’s way until the threat is removed…but I will do those things because they are logical, not because I am ordered to.
And if I am acting on logic, then I must admit that the poisoner may not be Eleanor after all. It may not be jealousy that prompted the attempt on my life, but fear. Because, whatever men might think, I am more than just a pretty face that a king desires.
I am Alyce de Clare’s friend, the only one who still wants to know who used her and discarded her when she was no longer convenient.
Perhaps I am drawing near to my answer—an answer someone would kill to keep.
When we left court for Hatfield, I gave Dominic the silver casket with Alyce’s concealed notes about her love affair. I also told him of my stepfather’s insinuations and the problem of a father and son being one another’s alibis for the period in which Alyce fell pregnant.
