By Slanderous Tongues Read online

  “She is well provided for,” Catherine said.

  “But no one has told her what is truly to become of her and, truthfully, she feels in strong need of the guidance she had when the late king was alive.” That was the proper tactic to take, to remind Catherine, not that Elizabeth was old enough to be a pawn in the marriage game, but that she was still young enough to require guidance. “She feels adrift, lost. She is not yet fourteen years of age and does not know who will direct her life, where she will live.”

  Catherine looked troubled. “I do not know either—I mean who will direct Elizabeth. Possibly she will live with Mary …”

  Denoriel was horrified by the idea. He did not think Mary could convert Elizabeth to her own narrow and fanatical faith, but that in itself would be very dangerous to Elizabeth. If the Visions in the FarSeers’ lens were true Seeing, Mary would come to rule before Elizabeth. If Mary believed that Elizabeth would not follow her as a good Catholic, subject to the pope … Elizabeth would not survive Mary’s reign. And he would lose Elizabeth!

  Doubtless it was forbidden to bespell the Dowager Queen, but Denoriel did not care. He could not permit Elizabeth to be placed in Mary’s charge. He raised an image of Elizabeth turned totally away from the reformed religion, to which Catherine was so strongly inclined, totally accepting Mary’s rigid Catholic fervor. He pushed into Catherine’s mind all the worst corruption of the Church, the sale of indulgences, the foul practices of the pardoners.

  “No,” Catherine murmured more to herself than as if she were aware of Denoriel. “Mary is a good woman, but she was warped by her mother’s fate. It would be very wrong for Elizabeth to hear four Masses a day, to be taught that the pope is supreme, and that a few shillings rather than a pure life and God’s mercy can buy absolution from sin.”

  “But madam,” he said, softening his tone. “Surely, Mary has been apart from her sister too long to make a good guide and companion. After all, it is you that Elizabeth loves, you who gave to her some of the happiest years of her life, who made her feel safe and cared for. And she misses your company, your guidance and wisdom so much …”

  Catherine’s eyes were shadowed with remorse. “Poor child. She must feel that I, too, have forgotten her.”

  “No, not that, Your Grace. She fears worse than that. She fears that you have been forbidden to come to her or bid her to come to you.” Denoriel also feared that.

  Catherine shook her head. “No, not at all. Alas, to my shame, I have been so taken up with my own grief and fears that I have all but forgotten her. I have not even written to her to condole with her on her loss … and mine.”

  Better and better. “A letter would be a great help, madam. A letter would assure her that you think of her. But it is your company she desires … no, needs. She has said to me that if she could live with you, madam, she would feel cherished and secure.”

  To know that the Dowager Queen had not been ordered to avoid Henry’s heirs was a considerable relief, but Catherine’s ignorance of Elizabeth’s fate was not proof it was undecided. Still, as long as no one knew the decision it might be changed. He might as well, Denoriel thought, be hung for stealing a sheep as for stealing a lamb and he set into the Dowager Queen’s mind the notion that she ask Sir Anthony Denny to urge the Council to give her charge of Elizabeth.

  Denny still had some power. He had been with King Henry when he died. He had agreed to keep secret the fact of Henry’s death for the time needed to forward Edward Seymour’s plans to seize Edward so he could be named Protector. Also Denoriel knew that Denny was fond of Elizabeth and always respected Catherine. Beyond that, Denny regarded Denoriel as a good friend and would not try to prevent him from visiting Elizabeth and the queen. The scheme could not have been better for Denoriel’s purposes.

  “You truly believe that Elizabeth desires to live with me?” Catherine asked, coloring very slightly.

  There was a little catch in her voice as the feeling that she had been cast aside like a worn-out, useless thing was eased. Someone wanted her. Someone needed her. Until his death was imminent Henry had needed and wanted her. Before that, he had gladly given into her hands the care of his children, even his precious heir.

  Mary was a woman grown, and though she and Mary had been friends, Catherine knew Mary had no need of her. She knew, too, she would never be allowed any close association with the little king. But Elizabeth … Memories of Elizabeth, of her bright looks, of her wit and her eagerness in learning, of her openly expressed affection and deep respect for her stepmother, filled the emptiness in Catherine’s heart. And they shared one other thing—a passion for the reformed religion that even Henry himself had not possessed. For Henry, the change in religion had been a tool to gain him what he most wanted. For Catherine and Elizabeth, it was the one true path.

  “I know that to live with you would give Elizabeth joy and comfort, madam,” Denoriel said, again thrusting the image of Sir Anthony Denny into her mind.

  “Well, why not?” Catherine said. “She is too young to live alone and I think the Protector would not want her to come too much under Lady Mary’s influence. Hmmm. Why do I not write to her now, Lord Denno? You can carry the letter and if I have from her a reply saying how frightened and lonely she is and requesting my protection … Yes. I could take such a letter to Sir Anthony Denny.”

  “That would be very wise, madam. Sir Anthony is on the Council and I know he is fond of Elizabeth and would wish to give her comfort.”

  The queen smiled up at Denoriel. “I thank you for letting me know. If you will wait—”

  She rose to her feet. Denoriel stepped back, away from the chair near which he had stood while he and Catherine had been talking, and bowed. The chamberlain began to come forward, either to show Denoriel out or tell him where he could wait while Catherine wrote her letter … and the door to the room burst open.

  Denoriel stepped back yet again to be out of the way, which took him beside the bed into the shadow of the bed curtains. A tall, broad-shouldered man came impetuously through the doorway, just jogging enough aside not to knock down the chamberlain.

  “Your Grace,” he said in a loud penetrating voice, “I have come to beg your pardon for failing to escort you to church when the Dirge was sung.”

  “It is just as well you did not, Sir Thomas,” the queen said. “It was better that I attended the lament for my husband alone.”

  Her voice was steady, but there was not the smallest hint of reproof in it for the gentleman’s unceremonious entrance and she was smiling brightly. Moreover, Denoriel’s keen vision picked up a renewal of the heightened color in Catherine’s cheeks. He looked with considerable interest at the visitor. Sir Thomas was certainly a very handsome man—by mortal standards. He had a luxuriant red beard, curling auburn hair, and bright blue eyes. His clothing, Denoriel noted, showed no sign of mourning drabness.

  “Surely you cannot think anyone would be offended if I lent you the support of my arm in church,” Sir Thomas protested and then, lowering his voice slightly, “I want to be with you, Catherine. You know I never so much as looked at you all the years you were Henry’s wife. I would not for any reason put you into such danger as my attentions might—”

  Denoriel cleared his throat, took a step forward, and bowed. His face was carefully expressionless. “I beg pardon, Your Grace. I will wait in the hall for the letter you wish me to carry, so please you, or come again for it when you tell me if that will better suit you.”

  Sir Thomas’ eyes stared with surprise, his upper lip lifted in what Denoriel suspected was a snarl, and one of his hands twitched. If he had been a servant, Denoriel thought, that hand might have launched a blow, but Sir Thomas’ glance had taken in the rich elegance of Denoriel’s clothing and the gold-hilted sword by his side.

  “Who the devil are you?” Sir Thomas snapped.

  “My name is Lord Denno, Sir Thomas. I am what I suppose is called a merchant adventurer, and during his lifetime I was honored to be called friend by the la
te duke of Richmond. I was also fortunate enough to be included on the list of allowed visitors to the children being schooled in Hampton Court before the late king’s death. I had come to offer my condolences to Her Grace.”

  “Yes, and to remind me that poor Elizabeth feels very frightened and abandoned. It was cruel of me not to remember her and offer her some comfort. Sit down, Sir Thomas, for just a moment while I write a note to Elizabeth, which Lord Denno has kindly offered to carry to her for me.”

  “As you like, madam,” Sir Thomas said.

  Denoriel thought the formal address was a bit like locking the door of the stable after the horses had been stolen, but he only bowed again. Queen Catherine went to a writing desk placed against the wall, and Sir Thomas, without a by-your-leave, plumped himself down in Catherine’s chair. That did not, at the moment, have much meaning for Denoriel, who was wondering about the odd expression on Sir Thomas’ face when he heard Elizabeth’s name.

  “So you are a merchant adventurer,” Sir Thomas said. “And what might that mean?”

  “It means that I have a fleet of ships that travel far and wide for valuable cargoes. After His Grace of Richmond died, I traveled with my ships for several years, but then I grew homesick for England.”

  “You aren’t English!”

  Ignoring the contempt in Sir Thomas’ voice, Denoriel smiled. “True enough, Sir Thomas. I was a prince in Hungary before the Turks overran my country. Fortunately for me, I was away on a long voyage so I survived and was able to hold together my family’s trading business. But I have lived in England for so long, that it is home to me.”

  “How does a merchant come to know Lady Elizabeth?”

  Denoriel smiled more broadly, partly to hide the uneasiness he felt. He did not catch a clear thought from Sir Thomas, but there was a feeling of avarice that exuded from him when he said Elizabeth’s name.

  “I am a very rich merchant,” he said.

  That woke a spark of interest in Sir Thomas. “I doubt Elizabeth will be of much use to you in decreasing tariffs or winning contracts.”

  “Oh, none at all,” Denoriel agreed lightly. “Merely I came to know her when she was a babe because her half brother the late duke of Richmond was deeply attached to her, and when I returned to England, I wished to see into what kind of child the babe had grown. A distant cousin of mine is one of Lady Elizabeth’s maids of honor and gained me an introduction. Lady Elizabeth found me amusing; I found her enchanting and so from time to time we still meet.”

  “More than from time to time, Lord Denno,” Catherine said over her shoulder, smiling. “You were a regular and frequent suitor, and Elizabeth always looked forward to your visits, I know. She said you were one of the few people who was willing to quarrel with her.”

  She turned back to her letter writing and Denoriel found himself smiling at her back. She came of no very high family, and once she was sure he was not pressing for favors or urging any political policy on Elizabeth, she had never enquired too closely about his visits. The pleasant memory was abruptly terminated.

  “Enchanting, is it?”

  Although he spoke much more quietly, there was a nasty snarl in Sir Thomas’ voice. Denoriel was annoyed with himself for using that word, but it was the first that came to his mind when he thought of Elizabeth. He could do nothing more than curse himself and try to amend the mistake, so he shrugged and laughed. “Enchanting” was not a word you should use in describing a girl whose mother was accused of witchcraft. Nor was it a word you should use in describing the third in line to the throne, who was, at this moment, most valuable as a marriage prize.

  “Yes, absolutely enchanting. She conquered me when she was three years old, lisping her Latin in a baby voice with the seriousness of a scholar ten times her age, and I have been her courtier ever since.” Then he scowled. “However, Sir Thomas, you need not fear that I have ideas above my station. I am not a young man and I am not a fool. Merely, Sir Thomas, I have always loved children, specially those who, like Lady Elizabeth, are very clever. And I have no child of my own.”

  “Why, Lord Denno? You are rich, handsome, and vigorous despite your age.”

  Denoriel started slightly. Catherine had come up behind him, the folded and sealed letter in her hand, but she was looking at him with interest and sympathy.

  “I …” Denoriel hesitated and then said quickly, “Perhaps because I am a coward. When the Turks overran my country, my whole family was destroyed. I did not wish, I think, to open myself to such pain again. But then I found Harry—” he shook his head and sighed “—and then Harry died …” He blinked as if to force back tears. “No, I have no inclination for a wife and children of my own. Not at such a cost. Lady Elizabeth is a very interesting person. It has been a wonder and a privilege to watch her grow.”

  “Ah, well,” Catherine said, “I, too, have had my losses, but I still think to be a wife and mother would be worth all else.” She smiled at Denoriel and held out the letter. “Here, this is for Elizabeth. I hope it will please her and save you a skinning.”

  Denoriel grinned as he bowed and took the letter from her. “How did you know Lady Elizabeth skinned me?”

  Catherine laughed lightly. “Because she grieved to me over having done so. Do not despair, Lord Denno. She is really very fond of you.”

  “How touching,” Sir Thomas said, and put a hand possessively on Queen Catherine’s shoulder.

  She did not show any sign of indignation, shake his hand loose, or step away but put her own hand over it.

  So that was the way the wind blew. Denoriel did not think the man worthy of her, but that was none of his affair. Having his letter in hand, he simply bowed, said a polite farewell, and left them together. He had forgotten them both as he left the palace, his mind leaping ahead to the joy he was bringing to Elizabeth.

  Because no one at Enfield would know when he left London and no one in London would know when he arrived at Enfield, Denoriel asked the elvensteed Miralys to take him to Elizabeth quickly. Miralys did spend about two minutes going sedately from the stableyard of the palace to a nearby narrow alley, but then he covered the near eleven miles to Enfield in less than ten minutes. The effort—if it was an effort for Miralys; although Miralys had been Denoriel’s mount since he was four years old, he still did not know everything the elvensteed could do—was wasted.

  “Where have you been?” Elizabeth snapped at Denoriel when he was shown into the parlor in which she sat.

  Kat Ashley drew a sharp breath and leaned forward to put a hand on Elizabeth’s arm. Aleneil, who in her human guise of Lady Alana was noticeable most as a remarkably handsome suit of clothing, uttered a small protesting murmur. One of the three other ladies attendant on Elizabeth, who had remained with her mostly because their homes were even more crowded and less elegant, giggled. The sound made Elizabeth stiffen slightly. Her eyes flicked to Lord Denno’s face, but he showed no consciousness of how improper her tone had been to someone who had done so much for her over so many years.

  “As you can imagine, my lady,” he said calmly, “there is considerable confusion in the Court and Sir Anthony Denny, who honors me with his friendship, is busy beyond belief. I am afraid I wasted two days in trying to get an appointment with him.”

  “That does not sound very friendly,” Elizabeth said in a tone that showed she was not mollified. Her lips closed tight over the words; she had meant to sound as if this remark and the previous angry cry were jests. Everyone knew she often teased Lord Denno.

  Denoriel stared hard at her. She was really shaken to bits to show her feelings so plainly, particularly when attended by women not in her inner circle, but there was nothing he could do to help.

  He could only continue on as if she had been courteous rather than rude. “He knew I came merely to tender my condolences, that I had no business to transact. What he did was reasonable and just. I was at fault in imposing courtesies where serious matters were under consideration.”

  “I am not a ser
ious matter?” The voice was somewhat tremulous this time.

  “Elizabeth!” This time Kat Ashley spoke her protest and warning aloud.

  Denoriel smiled. “Come, Lady Elizabeth. Even you must admit that ensuring your brother is safe and there are no threats to the smooth transition to his reign are matters that must first engage those appointed to the Council by your father’s will.”

  “No threats?” Elizabeth’s eyes widened, and she looked up anxiously into Denoriel’s face. “Surely no one would wish to harm Edward or contest his right to the throne!”

  He tried to tender a warning with his eyes. These were matters she knew, as any royal child would know. One or more of her women could be reporting back to—well, anyone on the Council. One did not speak openly of such things. “I do not think so, but the matter of who will be his principal advisor … who, in fact, will govern England because, after all, Edward is only ten, even if he is a brilliant boy … is a matter of preeminent importance.”

  “Yes, of course,” Elizabeth said, her voice flat and her face composed. “I am sorry if I sounded angry and impatient. I find it uncomfortable to be so uncertain, not to know where and how I am to live.”

  The smile Denoriel was wearing broadened. “Ah,” he said, “but I have not wasted all my time. I may have an answer to those questions.”

  Her eyes widened. “Oh, Lord Denno, have you?”

  “Well, I do have here a letter from Queen Catherine.” He took the folded sheet from an inner pocket and held it up under his chin. “And she said to me she was very sorry her distress had so overpowered her as to make her blind to the grief of others. I believe she asks an important question of you.”

  Elizabeth rose to her feet and held out her hand into which Denoriel put the letter. “If you will pardon me,” she said glancing around at the ladies.

  Aleneil immediately rose to her feet, gesturing to the other ladies. They also rose, although much more reluctantly and followed Aleneil out into the common hall. So few were now in Elizabeth’s household, that Kat Ashley had given orders not to light the fires in the great room.