This Scepter'd Isle (55 page)

Obviously they could not present themselves at court in this condition—not that Denoriel knew where the court was. Nor could they spend too much time seeking shelter, as the short winter day was coming to a close. Denoriel would have taken the party to his house, except that he was sure Norfolk would disapprove of such familiarity without permission. The duke now seemed resigned to Lord Denno's relationship with Harry, but Denoriel did not want to take any advantage that might raise the duke's doubts again. He asked Sir Edward to lead them to Norfolk's London residence.

If Norfolk was not there, then Denoriel would offer the house on Bucklersbury. But the duke was at home—it was, for a change, pouring rain mixed with sleet, and he had cancelled several appointments. He came running down the stairway himself to greet his guests with cries of relief because they were already more than a week behind their estimated arrival and he had been worried. Relief soon mingled with horror when he learned they had no baggage and had no idea when it would arrive, if ever.

Servants were sent scurrying for changes of clothing, although the duke said, apologetically, that he did not think the servants would find anything to fit Lord Denno, who was so tall. Denoriel promptly eliminated that concern by reminding Norfolk that he had a home in London and would have no trouble changing his clothing.

He realized too late that being rid of him had been Norfolk's purpose, but he left forthwith. It would be worse to make excuses to stay than to leave Harry to his own devices. He couldn't be with the boy every moment; Harry would have to manage on his own. Later he learned he had missed the perfect confirmation of his idea that the boy would make a diplomat—if he lived.

Taking advantage of their condition, Norfolk sent his ward's servants off to be cleaned and reclothed. He summoned his own valet and dressers to his son's apartment, in which FitzRoy would temporarily be accommodated because it was warm while another apartment was prepared for him. FitzRoy was stripped and a bath brought up. When he was clean and wrapped in one of Henry's bedgowns, Norfolk invited him to sit down to a belated meal and himself joined him.

After commonplaces about the trip and FitzRoy's health and what he was currently studying, Norfolk got to what he really wanted to know and asked about Lord Denno.

"I' faith, we are good friends now," FitzRoy said. "Since I went to live in the north, Lord Denno has been coming several times a year to see about his wool—actually I think he may own the sheep from which it is sheared. He is very particular about the wool."

"Wool is sheared in the spring," Norfolk remarked. "Why would he need to come north several times a year?"

"I said he was particular. He comes to inspect the sheep in the summer and autumn, sometimes even in winter. Whenever he comes, he stays at Sheriff Hutton. He says it is because the accommodation is free, but I think he doesn't care a bit for that. He's very rich, you know. Very rich."

"Then I suppose he need not ask you for any favors." Harry was very good at reading nuances of expression. Norfolk was probing, and Harry was happy to give him an answer of which he would approve.

"What kind of favor could I do Lord Denno?" he asked, innocently. "He'll take nothing from me, unless it is a keepsake of some sort—one of my poems, or suchlike. I wish I could think of something. I'd do it quick enough. He's saved my life twice, you know, once at Windsor and once when something . . . a plague of tiny things like mice or rats gone quite mad, attacked my cortege when we were first going to Sheriff Hutton."

Norfolk frowned. "Lord Denno shouldn't remind you of that. It's enough to give you nightmares."

FitzRoy laughed. "Lord Denno has never mentioned either rescue—except to tell me that the men who attacked me in Windsor were dead. That was because I asked him directly whether they would try to hurt me again."

Norfolk was still frowning, but now it was in puzzlement. "Then what do you talk about when he comes to visit you? I assume he does spend some time with you when he comes to Sheriff Hutton."

"Talk? About wool and his accursed sheep." FitzRoy laughed again. "And about gardens. Lord Denno has a passion for flowers and plantings. Sometimes we talk about books. He likes Caesar and Herodotus. But mostly we fence or shoot at butts or ride out hunting." For a moment the boy's eyes grew misty, but all he said was, "He's a capital horseman, Lord Denno. And he tells me about the court. He admires the Lady Anne very much, I think, for making my father happy."

Nothing to fear there . . . yet, Norfolk thought, so when a servant came in with some of Lord Henry's outgrown clothing, Norfolk wished his charge a good and quiet night's sleep and left, presumably to allow the boy to try on the garments in private and then go to bed. Actually he made his way to the room assigned to Sir Edward to probe further.

First Norfolk thanked FitzRoy's master of the horse for bringing the boy safely to London. He received a smiling denial, a reference to the passionate devotion of FitzRoy's servants and guardsmen, and a laughing encomium of Lord Denno's ability to find some hovel or other to shelter in when all hope seemed lost.

That gave Norfolk his opening. "I had no idea that Lord Denno was such an intimate in Richmond's household," he said rather coldly. "Is that wise?"

"It used to worry me," Sir Edward admitted, "but in the beginning none of His Grace's councilors wished to add any more grief and anxiety to him. He was upset enough at losing his playmates, your son and daughter, and the familiar servants of Windsor. Lord Denno's presence did him much good."

"And he took advantage of that to enlarge the intimacy. Richmond will be a
very
rich and very powerful man when he comes of age." Norfolk came directly to the point. "So, what do you think Lord Denno wants?"

Sir Edward shrugged. "We all waited, of course, for the bill to be tendered . . . but there has been no bill. The man has never asked for anything—except his lodging and food—in all the years he has been coming to see His Grace."

There was another opening for information; Norfolk took it. "Then he does come to see Richmond, not to examine his sheep or his wool?"

"I think so," Sir Edward said thoughtfully. "No, I am sure so. Although he does go out and ride about the farms. He often takes His Grace of Richmond with him."

"Inspecting sheep farms?" Norfolk was not certain whether or not to be offended. It was not unheard of for a nobleman to take direct interest in his holdings, but it seemed very 'rustic' an occupation.

"I do not think it can do the duke any harm to know where wool, which is so much the wealth of England, comes from." Sir Edward sounded defensive.

"Perhaps not. But what
does
Lord Denno want that is precious enough for him to spend so much time with a child?" Norfolk did not understand this, and he did not like things he could not understand, "It isn't as it was at first, when it looked as if the king might name Richmond his heir. There's no chance of that now, and yet Denno pursues this relationship with the boy."

Sir Edward smiled at him. "Believe it or not, I will swear that it is just being with the boy himself that Lord Denno wants. I made some enquiries, Your Grace. Lord Denno does not need money. He could probably buy his bankers. He pays all tariffs and taxes promptly. He has never asked any of Richmond's councilors for any favor at all and has never been in any trouble with the law."

"So?" Norfolk persisted.

"So, I stand by what I said." Sir Edward smiled to soften the defiance. "I know Lord Denno has no one in the world to call his own. His own family is all dead, and I think because of the terrible pain that caused him he hesitates to marry and have children. I think what he wants from Richmond is . . . the feeling that he has someone. There is no doubt in my mind that he sincerely loves the little duke, that he would lay down his life for the boy."

"Hmmm. I like him myself, you know," Norfolk confessed. "It is only the thought of a foreigner having such a grip on someone as powerful as Richmond will be that makes me uneasy. And Richmond admits he would do Lord Denno any favor he could but that he cannot think of any—which means Denno has put nothing in his head." He still didn't understand it—and he wished devoutly that the foreigner would do or ask for something so that he would at least know where the man stood! Still—it all seemed harmless enough. "So, for now it seems safe to allow all the access to Lord Denno that Richmond desires."

"You relieve my mind," Sir Edward said. "Cheerful and pleasant as Richmond is, he has a will of his own—and when it is crossed he can be vicious and of long memory."

Now this was something that Norfolk understood. Richmond had his mother's sweet and biddable manner most of the time—but cross him, and it seemed, you got Great Harry in a rage. "Ah. And he will have the king's ear . . . So, the servants and guards . . . you say they are fond of him and he of them? I had no time to look at them—not that there would have been much I could see under the mud. Are they fitting to attend and guard the duke in Greenwich?"

Sir Edward nodded. "The guards are the same ones you yourself appointed in Windsor. They love that boy like a son. When he was lost, only his servants continued to search the forest in the dark, which no one else would do for fear of the terrible creatures that had attacked us. Nor did they fear they would be faulted. Everyone else had quit the field. They are devoted."

Devoted was precisely what Norfolk wanted. "Good enough. They know the ways of the court, too, having been royal guards. The others?"

"The grooms will be fine, although there are only two," Sir Edward replied. "They know horses and are quite capable of holding their own with other servitors. If the king offers Richmond more horses, he may need one or two more under-grooms, which will not be a problem. The valet . . . most interesting man. Although he is common born, his speech is fine, and I have never known him to be at a loss in any situation. When we ride, he wears a sword, and he can use it . . . I have seen him do so. His sense of style seems good, too, but as you know we have little occasion for full court dress at Sheriff Hutton or Pontefract. You might want to appoint an under-valet with knowledge of what will be needed."

"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.