Linnet was well aware of the gazes that drifted toward her as she scanned the room for the bishop. Ah, there he was. Though the bishop’s back was to her, his pristine white robes stood out amid the colorfully clad nobles and wealthy merchants.
Men drew in their breath as she strode past them, her chin held high. The bishop turned around just before she reached him, as if he had eyes in the back of his head—which some said he did.
The bishop arched an eyebrow ever so slightly. “Now I see what caught everyone’s attention.”
“Your Grace.” She sank into a low curtsy.
When she rose, Bishop Beaufort said in an amused tone, “A special evening, is it?”
She returned the smile. “In sooth, I am hoping for an uneventful time ahead.”
“It will be more difficult for anyone to overhear us if we walk,” he said in a low voice. As she fell in beside him to stroll the length of the room, he said, “I suspect I know what you wish to speak with me about.”
“I swear to you, these rumors about me are false,” she said in a hushed voice.
“ ’Twas risky—but very clever—to come here tonight and put your accusers off their guard.” A faint smile touched his lips. “I must say, that large cross and… heavenly… gown are nice touches.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.”
“Your enemies will have to think twice about proceeding after such a public display of your virtuous nature,” he said. “But tell me why you seek me out.”
“Because my enemies are yours, Your Grace,” she said. “The most dangerous rumor against me is that I used sorcery to cause the queen to have an affair with your nephew.”
“This is the reason I am willing to speak with you, of course,” he said with a thin smile. “I am glad we understand one another.”
“I will do all I can to protect the queen and Sir Edmund,” she said. “Can you advise me?”
“I cannot prevent your arrest,” he said, and Linnet’s heart sank to her feet. “But I’ve a better chance of keeping this quiet and controlling the outcome if you are tried by an ecclesiastic court.”
The bishop nodded to a group of well-dressed men Linnet did not recognize.
“If I send you a warning,” he said, “get yourself to a church with all haste and claim sanctuary.”
“God bless you, Your Grace.”
“God blesses those who use the wits He gave them.” The bishop stopped walking and said in a voice loud enough for those nearby to overhear, “Where do you get such exquisite cloth? I know it comes from Flanders, but you must tell me the weaver.”
Bishop Beaufort, clever man, was using his well-known interest in the cloth trade with Flanders to mislead others in the hall as to his reason for speaking with her. She was happy to play along.
“The weaver’s name slips my mind, Your Grace.” The bishop knew very well the name was a well-guarded secret. “Whoever does the embroidery on your vestments is highly skilled… almost as skilled as the woman who does mine.”
When she held out her sleeve for him to examine, his expression soured, for hers was finer.
“It would be a great honor for me to provide your new cardinal’s vestments, if that would be permitted,” she said. “After all, a cardinal’s vestments should be the very best.”
“That would make an excellent offering to the church.”
Linnet tried not to smile as she asked, “Would it count against my tithing?”
“From what I hear, you can afford the additional donation.”
The richest man in England certainly knew how to squeeze a coin.
“I wish to make a donation as well to the chancery you are building in honor of our late and glorious King Henry.”
The bishop pressed his lips together and nodded, and she knew her gesture touched him. It was well known that the bishop had been exceedingly fond of his nephew, the great King Henry V.
Linnet was about to take her leave when he spoke again.
