This Scepter'd Isle Page 43

  "Good. Good." Norfolk's brow cleared. Whatever else was going on, Richmond was going to be presentable, it seemed. "As I said I do not wish to upset Richmond if it is not a dire necessity. I want him happy."

  "I, too," Sir Edward said, smiling. "He is a wonderful boy, when he is not crossed—so good at heart, so true and loyal. One cannot help caring for him."

  Satisfied, Norfolk rose and bid Sir Edward a good night. He had a good night himself, relieved that he would not need to come into conflict with Richmond about his friend and servants just before the boy was restored to his father. From what Sir Edward said, Richmond would not be easy to cow. Norfolk did not want the king to hear complaints about his son being deprived of trusted servants.

  They were to be trusted, too, Norfolk thought with satisfaction when Richmond came down to breakfast, shepherded by his valet, who wore a remarkably long knife at the back of his belt, and two of his armed guards.

  The boy was bright and wide-eyed, dressed sensibly for riding. Richmond said a polite good morning and then begged to be allowed to see a little of London before being sent to Greenwich. It had been raining so hard when they arrived, he complained, that he could see nothing.

  Since Norfolk knew the king was at Hampton Court and would be engaged with the French and Imperial ambassadors, he was about to agree to allow Richmond to explore London when a page with very wide eyes entered and bowed and said, "Lady Anne Boleyn is come and asking for you, Your Grace."

  Anne! At this hour of the morning? Norfolk rose, waving at FitzRoy to go on with his breakfast and went out with the page. Anne was waiting in the great withdrawing room, standing before the blazing fire, one hand raised to loosen the pin on her cloak. As he bowed, Norfolk noted that even that common gesture was invested with a kind of special grace.

  "My lady, welcome. Please, let me take your cloak and seat yourself. Can I offer you some mulled wine?"

  But Anne was not to be so easily pacified with courtesy and formality. "You can offer me some explanations, uncle. I have heard that Richmond has arrived and is your guest. Why?"

  "My dear Anne," Norfolk said, "this was no secret plan of mine. It was discussed with your father and your brother over a month ago, and your father assured me that he would explain to you why we all felt it necessary that Richmond should come."

  "So he did, but I—"

  Anne stopped speaking abruptly in response to a timid scratch on the door. She looked furious, but Norfolk had already cried out, "Come," delighted that anyone else should bear the brunt of Anne's wrath.

  The door opened little more than a crack, and FitzRoy peeped inside. "Please do forgive this intrusion," he said, "but I heard that Lady Anne was here. I am so desirous of meeting her. I was afraid she would leave without my having any chance to greet her."

  Both adults stood staring at the opening too surprised to speak. Since there had been no rejection, FitzRoy took this as an invitation, opened the door wider, and poked in a smiling face.

  "May I come in?"

  "Yes," Anne said, recovering from her surprise, but not so far as to put on a cool manner. "Do, indeed, come in."

  FitzRoy slipped inside, closed the door behind him, and made a handsome bow to Anne, murmuring, "Madame, I am very happy to meet you."

  "Are you?" she asked, directly. Norfolk held his breath. What would the boy make of such rudeness?

  "Yes, truly," FitzRoy replied earnestly, "For I have heard how happy you make my dear father, and anyone who brings him joy is very welcome to me, indeed."

  Anne regarded him skeptically. "But if his joy is made complete, and God wills it, you may have a brother who will stand between you and the throne of England."

  Norfolk drew in a sharp breath at the brutal directness, but FitzRoy only continued to smile, his eyes fixed in sweet innocence on Anne's face.

  "I will pray with all my strength for that happy outcome," FitzRoy said. "Daily. Perhaps that is unkind, praying for a burden I myself fear to fall upon another, but I do not feel myself fit to carry that burden. And to give my father a legitimate prince would make him the happiest of men as well as the most blessed of kings."

  Anne dropped the cloak she had removed but had been holding on to the chair nearest her and advanced over the broad-beamed, shining floor toward FitzRoy. She held out her hand, and the boy put his own into it without hesitation. She drew him with her back toward the fire. Norfolk backed away slowly and carefully so as not to draw any attention.

  "Do you know what you are saying, Richmond?" Anne asked, gesturing him toward one end of a dark wood settle cushioned in crimson velvet and seating herself at the other end. There was a very faint smile on her lips, and she cocked her head in a charming look of doubt. "Or has someone been telling you what to say to me?"

  FitzRoy sat and looked at her soberly. "No one even suggested that we might meet, madam, and no one has ever talked to me about you, aside from Lord Denno, who said you were a good, fair lady who has brought my father joy he has lacked in other company. But I do have ears—even if my councilors seem to think all children are deaf—and so I have heard them talking."

  "About me?" Anne's voice was sharp and Norfolk held his breath.

  "No, madam, about the king's concern for the succession," he said forthrightly—and correctly. "I have become aware that for me to come to the throne would cause strong protest, perhaps even war between those who favored me and those who favored Princess Mary."

  Anne settled herself more comfortably against the cushions. "Ah, Princess Mary. She has no stain of bastard birth, so why should she not be her father's heir?"

  "Because she is a woman," he replied on the instant. "Please do not frown at me, Lady Anne. I mean no shame on women in a general way nor do I support what my councilors call the salic law in France, but to secure the next generation on the throne, the princess must marry. Only a reigning prince or his heir would be a suitable husband, and having taken such a husband, who will rule England?"

  "Who, indeed?" Anne replied, making a little moue of distaste. "We would likely be an Imperial province or a French one."

  "And so my father seeks a legitimate son to rule after him to ensure the peace and independence of this realm." He hesitated, then smiled broadly and a little brashly at her. "And I think he has chosen a very pretty lady to furnish that heir."

  The hard glare in Anne's black eyes had softened some minutes earlier and she smiled at the boy who looked hopefully at her. "So you would not feel deprived if I were to marry your father and give him a son?"

  "Not at all," FitzRoy said heartily. His nose wrinkled. "There is nothing duller than listening to petitions or measuring complaints against the law. You know what I would really like?" His eyes brightened from their usual dull light brown to a sparkling hazel. "I would like to be the king's ambassador and go to Paris and Madrid and Venice and Rome. No one could have his majesty's interests or those of England more to heart than I—and I could travel and see new things."

  Anne was chuckling softly now. Suspicious and self-centered as she was, even she could see the naked truth in a child's eyes. She knew that in the future this child might change his mind and grow to be a danger, but for now he would do her no harm, and he might do her good.

  "Well, you may count on me, if I have the power, to forward your desire in every way I can," she said, magnanimously. "I have had great pleasure in meeting you, Your Grace. And I hope we may meet again."

  She rose and the boy rose also, putting out his hand and saying, "Surely we will, Lady Anne. I look forward to it. And you will tell my father of my wishes? I look forward also to hearing from you what he will say."

  "You will be able to ask him yourself," she said, reaching for her cloak.

  "Of course. But I will have a better hope of a sympathetic hearing if my wish comes from you, my lady." He gave her a sly look, and Norfolk smothered a chuckle. If the boy was no scholar of books, he was certainly well-read in human nature.

  She laughed and said, "Flattere
r," but as Norfolk came forward to take the cloak from her hand and place it on her shoulders, he could see she was pleased, and then she bent and kissed FitzRoy's cheek and a notion came to him.

  "Anne," Norfolk said, as he closed the door behind them and walked with her into the central hall where her two women waited, "I had a thought and I wonder if you would tell me what you think about it."

  "Yes?" Anne Boleyn had come here angered, and had not expected to leave charmed and soothed. And by a little boy! In that, he was entirely like his father, who could charm the birds from the trees when he chose. Yet she could not doubt his sincerity; he might know how to charm, but he was not yet skilled enough to dissemble.

  Her Uncle Norfolk, on the other hand . . .

  The black eyes flashed. Anne knew her uncle wanted to see her married to the king to ensure his own future influence, but Norfolk never hesitated to use her at any time. She always needed to measure what he asked against what was best for her. This time, however, he seemed more thoughtful than sly.

  "Richmond," he continued, "is, of course, very eager to see his father, but we have been racking our brains for a suitable 'surprise' to come out of the Mound this year. You remember that last year it was Princess Mary and those girls, all playing instruments. What if this year we make that surprise Richmond? Would that not remove any regret Henry might feel over Mary and her musical ladies?"

  For a moment Anne stood quite still. She had been wavering pro and con a plan to come out of the Mound herself, although she knew that would arouse strong objections. She had wondered whether the new enemies she would make and the reinforcement of older angers would add up to an advantage or disadvantage toward binding Henry to her. Yet, dared she allow someone else to take that place, someone who could turn the moment against her?

  Now she said, more to herself than to Norfolk, "Yes, I remember that, and that chosen gentlemen the king wished to honor came and took the ladies' instruments and then danced with them—Henry with Mary."

  "So do you think the king would enjoy the surprise of having Richmond come out of the mound?" Norfolk persisted.

  Anne raised her head slowly to look Norfolk right in the face. "Yes," she murmured. "It is a very good idea, but instead of Henry coming forward to welcome the boy, when he comes out, Richmond will have to say something suitable, and then choose me for a dance."

  Norfolk had not expected that, and she could see from his expression that her suggestion was not welcome. Still, he must think that it was better than having Anne come out of the Mound herself, which he must have known she had been planning. "Done," he said, "only won't you look silly dancing with a child?"

  She smiled up at him. "Oh, FitzRoy is quite tall enough, taking after his father as he does. That will suit me admirably."

  CHAPTER 27

  Norfolk courteously saw Anne and her ladies to the door. He was well pleased when he returned to the breakfast parlor, to which Richmond had also returned, and he readily gave permission for the boy to see something of London. He was less pleased when, just as he was suggesting that FitzRoy rest for another day until his old friend, Norfolk's son, Lord Henry, could guide him, Lord Denno was announced.

  Richmond's face settled into a decidedly mulish expression and he said, "I am no longer six years old, Your Grace. And I am in the best of health, capable of a full day's hard hunting without fatigue. I do not need another day's rest. I wish to start seeing London today."

  Norfolk opened his mouth to order the boy to his room, and remembered that he was being addressed by the premier nobleman in the kingdom who would soon be clasped hard in the king's arms. He saw that to insist Richmond spend a day tapping his toes while he waited for his own son Henry would ensure Richmond would hate Henry on sight when he saw him again.

  "Well . . . well . . . Let me think who would be suitable to guide you if you will not wait for my son," he said, temporizing.

  "A guide is ready," Richmond said, his voice hard and uncompromising. "Lord Denno will show me everything. He lives in London, you know, and conducts his business from here."

  "Lord Denno is not sufficient escort," Norfolk said, trying to sound reasonable and at least provide some buffer against the foreigner.

  Richmond laughed, but not pleasantly. "I will lay odds that Lord Denno is a far better swordsman than Lord Henry, but that doesn't matter. Gerrit and Shaylor are on duty and will ride with us, and likely Dunstan and Ladbroke too." He spoke around a grim smile. "I am never unprotected, Your Grace, and—" He patted the sword Norfolk had not noticed he was wearing "—I am not unable to protect myself."

  Which left Norfolk to curse himself for forgetting that Richmond was not six years old, was, indeed, entering that age which begets rebellion in the best-trained boy. Hastily he tried to retrieve Richmond's good opinion by offering fresh mounts. The young duke's good humor was instantly restored. He accepted Norfolk's offer with thanks, only remarking blandly that the horses might need another day's rest. They had carried riders, after all, while the riders merely sat in the saddle.

  Whereupon, before Norfolk could reply, Richmond was on his feet, bowing, and in another instant out the door. No, Norfolk thought, he would not be easy to cow—say, instead, impossible. And Sir Edward was right. There would be no separating him from Denno or his servants, at least not until his confidence was won. Winning Richmond's confidence, Norfolk foresaw, signaling a servant and giving the order about the horses, would take time and very careful handling.

  He would need to have a serious talk with Henry about dealing with Richmond. Or maybe he should keep the boys apart? Henry's temper . . . But surely he would understand that Richmond was far his superior in status and was at that touchy stage between childhood and manhood which needs to be treated with respect. Norfolk sighed. Henry wasn't out of that stage yet himself.

  At least for today he need fear no disaster. Denno would protect Richmond and probably raise no political problems in one day. And the boy would be safe, Norfolk thought, as he came out of the breakfast parlor and saw that Richmond's two guardsmen were now planted firmly in front of the door of the small withdrawing room. They were talking to each other, but he saw that one pair of eyes had fixed on him and the other pair watched the front door.

  A few moments earlier, a page had directed FitzRoy to the small withdrawing room. He had found Denoriel there staring thoughtfully into the fire. The Sidhe turned as he came forward, and smiled.

  "I did it!" FitzRoy said, softly, but his eyes were bright with triumph. "I rolled right over Norfolk. He was going to send me to my room to play with my toys and wait until tomorrow for Henry to show me London."

  Denoriel's high-arched brows rose even further. "Hmmm? I myself would prefer that you not see the parts of London Lord Henry might show you—at least, not until you are a few years older."

  "I' faith?" FitzRoy giggled. "Maybe it would have been worth while to wait for him. You aren't likely to satisfy that curiosity."

  "Not for a year or two more anyway." Denoriel grinned. "Did you remember to order the horses?"

  "Norfolk is doing that—to coddle my temper after treating me like a child. Oh. I don't know whether he'll order a horse for you. Is Miralys—"

  Denoriel laughed. "Miralys is just fine and would probably throw me off and jump up and down on me if I dared ride another horse."

  FitzRoy sighed, but he could not say anything about Lady Aeron. Instead he asked where they would go, and Denoriel offered a number of destinations. "Actually I hadn't intended to use the horses today. I had thought of taking a boat on the river—but we can do that tomorrow."

  "Will I be free tomorrow?" FitzRoy asked, quietly. "I thought I would see my father right away, but Norfolk says he's at Hampton Court busy with ambassadors."

  FitzRoy looked down as he spoke, but Denoriel heard the hurt in his voice. "Do you want to lay odds that no one has told the king that you have arrived?"

  He looked up, surprised. "But why not?"

  "Of that, I cannot be s
ure," Denno said, not wishing to betray the plans that George Boleyn had bruited about, "Only that Norfolk would want to present you in a way that will redound to his credit and possibly would wish Lord Henry to accompany you into the king's presence. Also, remember, you have no clothes."

  "Ah. Yes." FitzRoy sighed gustily. "Dunstan has summoned tailors. But would my father care about my clothes?"

  Denoriel laughed. "Likely not, but Norfolk would. Who knows what purpose the courtiers would assign to his presenting you in his son's cast-offs."

  FitzRoy blinked. "If every little thing can be made out to have meaning, I am not sure I am going to like being at court. I want to see my father, but . . ."

  "Each day as it comes, Harry," Denoriel advised. "Take each day as it comes. Likely as not Norfolk has a perfectly innocent purpose—and one that may have nothing to do with you at all. Say, for example, that he does not want the king diverted from his meeting with the ambassadors."

  "You always say one day at a time, and it's mostly you're right, but I still want to see my father." Somehow the boy sounded plaintive and imperious, all at the same time. "Could I insist that tomorrow a messenger be sent to him?"

  Like father, like son, Denoriel thought. Harry had as little use for state duties as King Henry, who, he was sure, would be delighted to put the ambassadors off while he greeted his son. He shook his head.

  "I don't know what to say about that, but surely you can wait until this afternoon, after we look at the city. I—"

  The door opening interrupted him, and Gerrit put his head in to say that the horses were ready. He and Shaylor preceded FitzRoy out. Ladbroke was already mounted. Denoriel put FitzRoy up into the saddle of a fine-looking black and himself mounted Miralys. Shaylor mounted while Gerrit watched; then Gerrit mounted. Dunstan had excused himself, his oversight of the tailors currently more important, as he foresaw little threat to FitzRoy in Denoriel's company.