Read Once Upon a Rose Page 26

they gave the prisoner lavish meals and allowed

  him to keep his weapons?

  The food was, as he expected, delicious.

  The roast chicken was prepared exactly as he

  preferred it, with a crust of herbs and salt. The

  wine, too, was excellent, good enough to be poured

  without the spices that masked the flavor of an

  inferior beverage.

  When he had finished, he stretched on the cot.

  The candle still illuminated the cell, but it didn't

  seem to be a prison at all. Indeed, it

  looked more like the cellar of some great house or

  estate.

  "Hello?" he shouted once more.

  "Was your meal good, Duke?" The cheerful

  voice had returned.

  "Yes, it was," Kit replied, feeling very

  much as if he were speaking to a waiter in one of

  London's better prewar restaurants. "Where

  am I?"

  "Never worry, Duke. You are safe as

  safe can be 'ere."

  "This is not the Tower," he said, a statement rather

  than a question.

  The response was a short bark of a laugh.

  "May I send a note to someone?"

  "Well now, that depends." The unseen man was

  clearly thinking. "Give it a try. It cannot

  'urt."

  Several minutes later the door opened, but

  Kit remained calmly seated on the cot.

  Until he knew exactly where he was, he

  would not make any attempt at escape. He

  wasn't concerned with his own fate, but he did not

  want repercussions from a rash act to harm

  Deanie.

  The solicitous man pushed a quill, several

  sheets of parchment, and a small bottle of ink under

  the door.

  "Candle 'olding up, Duke?"

  "Yes, it is," Kit answered, pulling the

  light toward him. "Thank you."

  After thinking for a few moments, Kit began

  writing a note to Suffolk. He would not risk

  Deanie.

  Suffolk,

  I seem to be held by persons unknown, in

  a place as yet unknown. Forgive me for asking

  of you a great favor. Could you help Mistress

  Deanie with a strange endeavor? She has need of

  someone to light small bundles of gunpowder about

  the maze at Hampton. Think me not insane.

  She alone will know what to do within the maze.

  Should she remain at court, please take

  care of her until such time as I am able to attend

  to her myself. Should fate dictate otherwise, and

  I am not able to return, use any monies from

  my own estate to help her.

  Finally, let her know I am well cared for

  at the present time, and love her above all

  else.

  I thank you, my good Friend.

  Hamilton

  When he had completed the note, he pushed it

  through the door.

  "Who does this note go to, Duke?"

  Kit had clearly addressed the letter; he

  realized the guard could not read. "It is to go

  to Charles Brandon, the duke of Suffolk."

  There was a pause before he replied, "I will

  see what I can do, Duke."

  "Thank you," he said. Suddenly his

  head began to ache once more, and he closed his

  eyes, exhausted, hoping the note would somehow reach

  Suffolk, and that Deanie could somehow reach her own

  time.

  Chapter 16

  The duke of Norfolk glared sullenly as

  Mistress Deanie was led into the courtyard at

  Richmond. He stood at an angle, so if

  by chance she should look up she would not see his

  visage in the window.

  She had been allowed the extraordinary

  privilege of making the journey from Hampton

  Court in the royal barge. The little fool did not

  realize the meaning of the gesture. Only the king's

  closest, most intimate friends were blessed with a ride

  on the royal barge, the sumptuous floating

  palace that Henry used with princely delight.

  Her common backside rested against tufted

  velvet, her plebeian feet trod the rich

  carpet.

  Norfolk had yet to be invited upon the royal

  barge.

  He hated the Bailey wench, despised the

  way she smiled at Suffolk, the bloated

  idiot. He held her hand with courtly pride,

  as if she were the queen of Sheba. His insipid

  niece would not compare favorably with Mistress

  Deanie's dark, slender beauty, set off this day

  by the deep crimson of her gown.

  And then, unexpectedly, he grinned.

  Mistress Deanie, who would soon be trotted

  before the king like a prize filly, was clothed in the

  plain manner of homely Queen Anne.

  Indeed, her red velvet gown was remarkably

  similar to the one worn by Anne in the disastrous

  Holbein portrait that had so misled the king.

  Although she wore a French hood instead of the

  clumsy gabled piece of the Cleves mare, there was

  no train to swirl behind in luxurious folds, no

  fitted bodice to entice a manly eye.

  The king, upon seeing Mistress Deanie, would

  first lose his appetite for the wench, and then, with

  thrilling predictability, lose his majestic

  temper.

  The duke left his excellent view by the

  window. He was unwilling to risk missing what

  promised to be a most amusing scene.

 

  Suffolk held Deanie's hand as they strolled

  regally through the courtyard. Both were aware of

  Norfolk, who mistakenly thought he was hidden

  by the glare of the thick, uneven glass. He was

  wrong.

  "Why in God's name are you attired thusly?"

  Suffolk asked, a smile pasted upon his face.

  He had been at court long enough to have mastered the

  ability to speak without altering his diplomatic

  expression.

  "What's wrong with how I'm dressed?"

  "Do not act the innocent, my dear. You are

  wearing a gown of unfortunate Germanic

  tailoring. The king will not be pleased. Mind your

  step."

  Deanie did not reply. From the moment

  Suffolk helped her off the barge she had been

  conscious of being followed by unseen eyes. The

  courtyard was strangely silent, yet she felt

  the heat of curious, hidden stares.

  "Kit's in the Tower," she whispered. "I'm

  going to get him out."

  Suffolk halted momentarily, then continued as

  usual. "My dear, just how do you propose

  to release him from the Tower?"

  "I'm going to do some big-time royal rear-end

  kissing." She smiled, nodding to a page who

  emerged from the side entrance. A moment later the

  duke of Norfolk walked steadily from the main

  arched door, his hands folded within the large fur

  cuffs of his robe. His clothing, always of superior

  quality, had become even more opulent in the past

  few weeks.

  "Ah, Suffolk and Mistress Deanie."

  Norfolk stood as if he alone
were the master of the

  palace. "Allow me to--"

  "Suffolk!" The unmistakable boom of the

  king's voice seemed to rattle the windows and

  bricks. "Mistress Deanie!" He walked with

  an awkward gate, a slight wince when he

  placed his enormous weight on the leg with the

  ulcerated thigh. His white satin hose bore an

  embroidered garter to cover the many layers of

  bandages, and he wore a large amount of

  cologne to mask the wound's foul odor.

  He stopped cold, and the cheerful expression on

  his swollen features became hard and unyielding.

  "What are you wearing?" His voice became a

  growl.

  "How generous of you to notice, Your

  Highness." Suffolk bowed at the waist.

  "By God, it's been years since you've found me

  in the very least bit attractive."

  The king's tiny eyes, glinting like black

  pellets, flicked to Suffolk. Norfolk,

  watching from several feet away, was unable to resist

  the quiver of a thin smile.

  Then, to everyone's astonishment--including the

  king's--Henry began to laugh. "Charles, you

  mule! Now that the ladies don't find you

  irresistible, you seek approval of your old

  friend? Ha!" His well-stuffed doublet rolled with his

  chortle. The smile faded from Norfolk's

  face.

  "Mistress Deanie, now I am able to see

  how the gown should truly be worn, and it is indeed

  a gratifying vision. Now come within. We shall have

  food and drink and merry times."

  "Your Majesty." Norfolk's tone was

  brisk. "My niece Katherine shall join you."

  "Fine, fine," the king answered distractedly,

  turning his back on Norfolk. As Suffolk,

  Mistress Deanie, and the gaily dressed king

  entered the palace, Norfolk watched with bitter

  hatred.

  He vowed, for the tenth time that day, to become the

  most powerful man in England.

  It was his duty. He alone, through the grace of

  God, was worthy.

  The king seemed oblivious to the strained tension in

  the chamber. He was delighted to be once again in

  amusing company, for Richmond was dull indeed

  compared to the lavish routine of Hampton.

  Richmond still bore the severe lines of his dour,

  disapproving father, a man of little humor and even

  less thirst for the worldly pleasures of life.

  The twenty-foot ceilings were inlaid with

  Henry's initials entwined by a Tudor rose.

  More than once Deanie looked up and counted the

  panels, reminding herself of when she used to count the

  accoustical tiles in her dentist's office.

  Katherine Howard giggled incessantly,

  speaking rapidly and leaning in a conspiratorial

  fashion toward the king. He nodded, flattered by the

  way her plump hand concealed her meaningless words from

  the others. Norfolk seemed on the verge of

  interrupting her, alarmed by how base her behavior

  seemed even to his own encouraging eyes. The king

  seemed not to notice.

  "Mistress Deanie." The king spoke over

  Katherine's voice, but she did not seem to be

  distressed. "How fares your cousin,

  Hamilton?"

  Completely taken aback--she had just counted the

  forty-eighth ceiling panel--Deanie tried

  to gauge if the king were playing one of his cruel

  games. She shot a glance at Suffolk, and he

  too seemed startled by the question.

  "Thank you for asking, Your Majesty. When I

  last saw him two days ago, he seemed to be

  well." She added a neutral smile and shifted

  against the carvings on the high-backed chair.

  "Do we know where he is?" The king stroked his

  beard in thought, his eyes never leaving Deanie's

  face.

  From the corner of her eye she saw Suffolk

  straighten and Norfolk lean closer. Only

  Katherine, who was reaching for yet another handful of

  honeyed figs, was not hanging on every word.

  "No, Your Highness." She almost left it at

  that, but some unseen force drove her forward. "I

  thought you might know."

  "Me?" His face slackened into a perplexed

  question mark. "How would I know where that rascal has

  gone?" The king tossed a wrist to the honeyed

  figs, eyes twinkling as his fingers collided with

  Katherine's hand in the gold bowl. "Well, we

  shall all watch and listen, and try to reassure

  ourselves that he has come to no harm. Is that not

  correct, Norfolk?"

  He jumped when his name was called. "Of

  course, Your Majesty."

  "Well, Norfolk? Do you know where

  Hamilton is?" The king could barely hide his

  annoyance, and he concentrated instead on another

  fig.

  Deanie bit her lip, resisting the urge

  to scream at the king. Why was he doing this? Everyone

  knew Kit had been taken to the Tower of

  London. Had the royal amusements grown so

  thin that the king was forced to resort to this callous

  behavior?

  A steward entered the room and bowed to the king.

  "Your Highness, there is a missive just arrived

  for the duke of Suffolk."

  "Ah, Charles." The king seemed to forget the

  previous conversation. "You may take the

  message. I assume it comes forth from that troubled

  household of yours."

  "My household is surely troubled, Your

  Grace," Suffolk agreed as the servant handed

  him the note. For a brief moment his face

  changed, tightening into concern before he again relaxed

  into his usual contented half smile. "The trouble

  is now with the dairy cows, who seem to have gone on

  a rampage. All will be well soon, Your

  Highness." He folded the note and slipped it

  into his doublet.

  "Very well." The king then remembered Deanie.

  "Good mistress, favor our ear with one of your

  Welsh songs."

  She blinked as if he had asked her to do a

  handstand. Music. It had once been so vital

  to her, the most important thing in her life. Now

  it seemed a worthless substitute for real

  emotions. Until Kit, music had been her

  only passion. Had her life been that empty?

  "Mistress Deanie." Suffolk raised his

  voice, not unkindly but to reach her. She had

  seemed lost in her own thoughts. "The king wishes

  for a song."

  She turned to Suffolk and suddenly felt

  lost. She gripped her hands together to stop them from

  visibly trembling. What the hell was she doing,

  chatting away over honeyed figs while Kit was

  rotting in the Tower?

  "I don't remember any songs," she said

  flatly.

  "Come now," soothed Suffolk, urging her with a

  pointed glare. "I recall you singing a song about

  an addled mind."

  "Yes!" The king clapped in agreement. "And

  about losing one's limbs. The words were most

  peculiar, but the
y pleased us."

  The servant who had delivered the message

  to Suffolk returned with a familiar guitar. The

  back was pieced together with squares of wood,

  alternating light with dark to produce a

  strangely modern geometric pattern. Tied

  to the neck and base of the instrument was a sash, so it

  could be looped across her shoulders.

  It was Kit's guitar.

  "Where did this come from?" She stroked the wood

  gently, as if it were Kit himself.

  "It was sent from Hampton," replied

  Norfolk, irritated by the king's lack of

  interest in his niece, who was examining the seeds of a

  half-eaten fig as if it held the mysteries of the

  universe.

  Deanie sang the songs they requested--

  "Crazy" and "I Fall to Pieces"--with less

  emotion than she used in ordering a pizza. But

  her audience did not seem to notice, and on the

  last verse the king's voice was raised with her,

  blending with a force that left the royal eyes damp

  with tears.

  At last Suffolk had Deanie alone,

  cornered in one of the short corridors of

  Richmond.

  "The note was from your cousin." He spoke

  quickly, without preamble or his usual flowery words.

  "He is being held but treated well."

  "Where is he?" She wanted to grab him by the

  lapels, but he had no lapels. "When can we

  get him out?"

  Suffolk grasped both her wrists in one of his

  large hands to prevent them from going about his neck.

  "He is being treated well," he repeated

  slowly. "He sends you his love."

  "What? What does he think this is, a

  postcard from camp? Let me see the note."

  "Nay," he replied, relieved to have her hands

  captive. "I have destroyed the note for obvious

  reasons."

  "Goddamn it, Suffolk! Why did you do

  that?" Her eyes filled with hot tears, and she

  wanted to strike someone, but he gripped her

  wrists more firmly.

  "The less you know, the better for your safety,"

  Suffolk said with authority.

  "Don't give me this "Father Knows Best"

  stuff. Tell me where he is! In the Tower,

  right?"

  "Calm yourself." He lowered his voice. "He

  wrote that he loves you above all else,

  Mistress Deanie. That is all a maid needs

  to know."

  "Hell, I'm not a maid!" Suffolk

  flushed, but she continued, trying to sound convincing but not

  hysterical. "Please understand. Kit and I need

  to be together and to go to the maze at Hampton. In

  order to be together, he must be released from the Tower.

  Now, if you would simply tell me where he is,

  which part of the Tower, I will leave you alone."

  "He wrote of the maze."

  Deanie stared at him, not sure what

  to believe.

  Suffolk dropped her hands and walked

  away, a clenched fist tapping against his other hand as

  he thought. "He told me to help you, to ignite

  small bundles of gunpowder while you are in the

  maze. He said you would know when to do it, and that--"

  "He said that in the note?"

  Suffolk nodded.

  "That means he doesn't think he'll get out.

  He must be in the Tower." The feelings of blind

  panic she had been trying to crush began

  to surface again, and she took a deep breath.

  "He wished me to reassure you," Suffolk

  continued. "Should he not return--those were his words--

  I am to care for you, and you are to receive all of the

  monies from his estate."

  "I don't want anything from his estate." She

  felt as if the walls were closing in around her.

  "I want him."

  Suffolk opened his mouth, about to tell her that

  Kit himself did not know where he was being held. But

  the less she knew the better. And she couldn't

  ask the servant who'd delivered the message where

  he had come from, for it was simply left on the

  threshold, according to the staff. Let her believe he

  was in the Tower, and she was less likely

  to attempt something foolish.

  "I have known Kit for a long time," he said

  gently. "Since he was a young man, all legs

  and fire and spirit. He came to court a youngster, and

  now he is one of the bravest and best men in

  England."

  Deanie wiped her eyes with an inelegant

  hand, and he continued.

  "I can truthfully say, Mistress Deanie,

  that he loves you a great deal. He wishes you

  to be together, but barring that happy possibility, he

  wishes you to be well alone. Few men love so

  much that they dare to envision their sweethearts without

  them." He lifted her chin. "I know I never have.

  So do as he requests; he risked much to send the

  missive to my hands. Trust him--and by proxy,

  me--and all may soon be well."

  She was about to protest, to run straight to the

  Tower and release Kit, but realized that she must

  find another way. Suffolk was doing his best, she

  knew that. So instead of kicking him in the shins and

  escaping, she gave him a genuine smile.

  "Thank you. I'll try my best."

  Somehow, neither of them truly believed her.

 

  His head had finally stopped its ceaseless