Court of Traitors (Bridget Manning #2) (6 page)

Sir Richard, far from disinterested, gladly accepted Carew’s blessings and offered to fetch both him and Exeter and Neville cups of wine. They all charmingly assented. Once he had departed, the mask of neutrality that Carew had worn so expertly slipped away and his features turned hard. He addressed Bridget directly. “I remember you. You were one of that Boleyn woman’s maids, attended her in the Tower, on the scaffold even. I suppose, given that history, you deserve some credit for having the stomach to come back here. But I warn you that if you have done so because you seek to emulate your old mistress’s ways and obtain advancement by climbing into the king’s bed, then you should turn around and leave now else you will end the same way she did.”

“
Now, steady on, Carew,” Exeter chimed in. “I am sure Lady de Brett has no such intentions. Jane is our queen, and the king openly adores her. She carries his son and heir in her belly. No one will allow anything, or anyone, to upset that.” Neville murmured his agreement and they both looked encouragingly at her, but Carew did not join them.

Bridget was am
azed at the bluntness of their speech, most especially Carew’s, and at first could not formulate an adequate response. When she finally did, it was equally direct. “Let me be perfectly clear, gentlemen, so that I may put your obviously fevered minds at rest. The king summoned my husband and myself to court. As I am sure you realise, such a summons may not be denied. I obeyed as a true subject, and a true wife, and not out of any personal inclination to return to this place. As for
your
vile insinuations, Sir Nicholas, I am faithful to my husband: I do not climb into anyone’s bed. I am well aware of who the queen is, and I have no intention of upsetting anything. I am here solely to support Sir Richard. If I had my own choice, I would never come near the court again. But a wife is at the beck and call of her husband and not the other way around.”

Sir Richard re-joined them and handed the stony-faced Carew and the self-conscious Exeter and Neville their cups of wine. Carew drank his down in one gulp, offered a curt thank you, and stalked off, followed more sedately by Neville. Exeter took his time and farewelled them with greater courtesy, as well as a few words of friendly advice. “It is good to see you, de Brett, but I feel I must counsel you to be careful at court. You will find it much changed and not for the better. His Majesty enjoys the company of varlets and lowborn men—he surrounds himself with them—and those of us who are descended from the old families are pushed aside. The worst of these rogues is Thomas Cromwell,” he hissed. “He rules all here, and the king does nothing without his advice. He is now Lord Privy Seal, as well as the Vicar General, and is nothing more than the son of a shearman, who was known as the most dishonest man in London! It would be amusing were it not the truth.”

Sir Richard assured him he would exercise
all due caution and Exeter seemed pleased with that. He shook his hand and walked away. Once he was gone, Sir Richard turned on her. “What happened with Carew?” he demanded. “Did you have words with him? His expression was thunderous when I returned. I hardly knew whether he would drink the wine or throw it at me! I certainly hope you did not quarrel with him, because we cannot afford to alienate anybody at court. Not if we are to rise.”

“Maybe so, husband, however . . .” Bridget started, but she never completed her reply. A man in green-and-white livery entered the hall and made straight for them. He performed a very slight bow and addressed himself to Sir Richard.

“Sir, His Majesty the King requires the atten
dance of yourself and your wife in his privy chamber. If you would care to accompany me, sir, madam, I shall lead you there directly.”

Sir Richard’s face lit up, and he wasted no time in following the messenger out of the hall. Bridget trailed unwillingly behind them with Carew Exeter and Neville watching her intently as she walked out the door.

Upon arrival in the privy chamber, they found only a small group of courtiers in attendance. The king was engaged in a game of cards, but he sprang to his feet as soon as they crossed the threshold and ushered them in himself, like a genial landlord welcoming guests into his humble abode. Of course, it was very far from humble, and Bridget could not help but gawp in wonder at the luxuriousness of the king’s apartments. The rooms were brightly lit by rows and rows of fat, white candles that blazed from countless sconces and candelabrum, illuminating the rich, jewel-like tapestries that hung weightily from the walls. The floor was inlaid with Tudor roses and the initials “H&J” loomed out at Bridget from every surface, their straight, confidently drawn lines reminding her, as if she needed it, of the new order of things.

The king, at his leisure, was less sumptuously dressed than earlier in the day, though only slightly. He had discarded his scarlet-and-gold gown for a ruby-red doublet encrusted with hundreds of tiny pearls set off by a single, luminous pearl that sat in the middle of his velvet cap. “Come, come,” he cried, “do not be shy!” He motioned them forward, and they walked a little nervously toward him. Bridget executed a deep curtsey, from which the king ordered her briskly to rise. “No need for that, madam. I have had enough of bowing and curtseying for one day. All I ever see are the tops of people’s heads. I wish to look at your face. It is such a lovely one.”

He devoured her quite unashamedly with his eyes, and Bridget felt herself blush under such a frank appraisal. He took in every aspect of her visage: her dark eyes, her high cheekbones, her full lips, her smooth forehead, and the few wisps of blonde hair that had escaped from under her hood. This time, unlike earlier in the day, the sight of her did not seem to perturb him. Quite the opposite. He appeared enlivened by it, so much so that he could hardly tear his gaze away. Bridget, aware of the silence in the room, cringed inwardly and battled to maintain a suitably respectful mien under such a long and intense evaluation from the king.

Eventually, he waved the courtiers with whom he had been playing away from the table and bade Sir Richard and Bridget be seated. “We were playing Primero. Are you familiar with the game?”

Sir Rich
ard said that he was, and Bridget nodded along in agreement, even though it was mostly a lie; she had of course seen the game played but never participated in a round directly. That however was about to change. The king started things off by throwing some coins into the betting pot and Sir Richard followed suit, betting for both himself and his wife. The king then dealt each of them a hand of four cards and the game began.

“I was pleased to see you in conversation with my daughter
today, Lady de Brett,” the king said. “You are of an age with her, and she needs to make some new acquaintances to draw her out of her shell. She has grown most introverted I fear in her absence from my care. Doubtless the result of being in the company of all those embittered, old harpies who so slavishly worshipped her mother. They have been allowed to exert far too much of an influence on her. Jesu only knows how we will ever find her a husband! She is my entirely beloved daughter, but she does not have much beauty, and beauty goes a long way in securing a husband. Even for the daughters of kings. You, however, would not understand such a consideration, my lady. You are a flower—Sir Richard here would have been panting to pluck you.”

Bridget demurred, with great embarrassment, but the king would have none of it. “Do not be modest, my lady. I abhor false modesty. You are a rose, the comeliest one I have seen in a long while. You, of all people, would not disagree with me, would you, Sir Richard?” Sir Richard did not disagree, but he had gone very still, unsure whether he should be concerned at his sovereign’s flirtatiousness with his wife, or whether he should simply play along. He chose the latter.

Bridget did the same, for lack of a better alternative, and then tried to steer the discussion away from herself and back toward the safer waters of the Lady Mary. “I was very honoured that your daughter chose to speak to me, Your Majesty. I must, if I may, protest at your assessment of her. I thought she had a very pretty manner, as well as a beautiful complexion and a quiet dignity that is much to be praised. I am certain that many a prince would be only too happy to ally himself to her and thus to Your Majesty’s illustrious house.”

“Really?” was the king’s only reply, and Bridget worried that she might have managed to say the wrong thing. Henry’s disposition was famously chancy, but the flash of temper that had passed over his face soon faded as he won another round, throwing down his cards in triumph and claiming his prize of a fistful of coins with relish. His mood was further improved by the arrival of Will Redcliff. The king greeted him as if he were a long-lost son newly returned in glory from war with France.

“Will! Come over here, my boy, and join us. I am playing Primero with the de Bretts, but you may take Sir Richard’s place at the table. He plays very ill, I am afraid.”

Sir Richard blushed to the roots of his grey hair at the king’s mild reproof and hastily gave up his seat, amid a flurry of apologies, to the younger man. Will bowed deeply before taking
it, and Sir Richard backed away into a corner, where he was reduced to the status of an observer. Will favoured Bridget with a distant “good evening, my lady” before he took up his cards and focused all his attention on the game. Henry cuffed him gently around the ear and chided him for his lengthy absence from his chamber. “As always, Master Redcliff, you were needed here and yet nowhere to be found! But I forgive you. You are the best-looking of my courtiers, and I can still remember what it was to be young, handsome and desired by the ladies. I would wager that you can barely move through the passageways for swooning maidens.”

Will laughed self-deprecatingly and promised the king that that was not the case. “No swooning maidens were involved, sire. I was merely conversing with Lord Cromwell and I lost track of the time.”

The king guffawed at this e
xplanation, the deep sound of his laughter echoing around the chamber. “I can well believe it, Will. Lord Cromwell has that effect on many people, myself included. Oftentimes I have fallen into conversation with him only to find that half the day has elapsed without my noticing it. ’Twould be possible to drown in his words, I have no doubt, such is the depth of them. Still, despite his tendency to talk the day away, he is a useful man for a king to keep about him. He has a finger in every pie and an ear at every door. All kings require a servant such as him.”

Bridget glanced up from her poor hand, as though the mere mention of Cromwell  would cause the man himself to materialise in front of them, Lucifer-like, and begin engulfing them with his words. But no, the only figure who appeared was a servant who edged quickly forward at a flutter of the king’s hand and deposited a plate of comfits in front of his monarch before sidling, with equal alacrity, away.

The game continued on and on, the king dominating, due to Bridget’s inexperience and Will’s tactful errors. Time passed, the candles burned low, and Sir Richard, watching on, was forced to hide several yawns behind his hand. Bridget’s own eyelids were drooping and she yearned to retire, for she was finding it increasingly hard to concentrate on anything, let alone the cards arrayed before her.

The king glanced across at her, a teasing rebuke for her inept play ready on his lips, but he bit it back at the sight of her weariness. With a loud sigh, he threw down his cards face up, displaying a non-winning hand, and stood. Will leapt to his feet and, in concert with three others, came forward to assist him. Henry waved them away with impatience.

“Hold your
horses, gentlemen. I am not so decrepit that I cannot make it to my bedchamber under my own strength. Sir Richard,” he nodded at him, “and Lady de Brett, it was a pleasure to be in your company tonight. I trust you will not be strangers to my chamber. In fact, I would like you to attend on me many more times in the future.”

He collected up his winnings and made to leave, but then turned back and crooked his finger at Bridget. With no little amount of apprehension, she walked toward him in four uneasy steps. He bent his face close to hers, and the hot blast of his pungent breath, rendered only slightly sweeter by consumption of the comfits, nearly overcame her. “I require you and your husband to follow us to Windsor,” he murmured. “I would like to spend more time with you. Clearly, you lack skill at Primero, whereas I am an expert player. Mayhap I could teach you the rules of the game.”

He caressed her cheek and then departed, his retinue following close behind. Bridget rubbed the spot where Henry’s finger had grazed, as if by doing so she could erase the unwelcome burn of his touch. Her stomach roiled, and all the wine she had consumed that night threatened to swamp her senses.

Behind her, Sir Richard coughed loudly and said
, “Come along, wife. It is time to retire.” He took her arm, not entirely gently, and they proceeded back to their rooms. Once there, Sir Richard disrobed in silence and waited, impatiently, for Bridget to do the same. Once she had done so, she climbed into bed and lay there, expecting to have to endure his attentions. But Sir Richard was seemingly uninterested in exercising his conjugal rights that evening. Instead, he slid under the covers, blew out the candle, lay down and went to sleep. His back remained firmly turned toward his wife all night.