Betrayal (47 page)

“George, we have known each other too long to stand on such formalities.”

“Yes, I agree, Thomas. But to be quite honest, I did not expect to ever see York Place again.”

“Whitehall, the palace is called Whitehall.”

“Yes, of course, a slip of the tongue.  Your pardon, Thomas.  Living away from Court as I do I have not been aware of what changes have taken place.”

“Understandable, to be sure” Cromwell replied as he began to pace before the fire.  “I have been going through the late Cardinal’s papers.”  Cromwell paused.

“Yes, Thomas.”

“There are papers I cannot find, important papers, you see.”

“What is it you seek?”

Cromwell straightened his back, took a deep breath, and crossed to his desk. “I seek certain papers concerning Henry Percy and the Lady Anne Boleyn.”

Cavendish realized in an instant what Cromwell wanted, but he played dumb. “What papers are those, Thomas?”

“The papers concerning her contract to marry Henry Percy. Do you know where they are?”

Cavendish walked to the window.  The river beyond lay shrouded in mist.  He sighed heavily as he turned back to Cromwell.   “There was no contract, you know that, Thomas.”

“There was fear that a pre-contract existed between the two, and I remember my lord Cardinal investigated the matter thoroughly. What I seek are his notes. Where are the documents of his investigation?” Cromwell demanded.

“Destroyed, all destroyed, and by Wolsey’s own hand,” Cavendish said quietly.

“Destroyed!” Cromwell shouted.

“Yes, when the Lady Anne accepted the King, my lord Cardinal thought it best to destroy any evidence of his investigation, lest it be used against her and her children. He also sought to protect Henry Percy’s marriage and heirs. No doubt could be allowed to darken either match,” Cavendish replied triumphantly, believing that he was telling Cromwell what he wanted to hear.

“Destroyed!” Cromwell shouted, throwing his wine cup to the floor.

“Yes my lord, it was all burned before the Cardinal left for York. Poor soul, what a shame he died so unexpectantly before he got there,” Cavendish said sadly.

“But not soon enough,” Cromwell muttered.

“Beg pardon?  What did you say, Thomas?”

“Nothing, George,” Cromwell said, turning his back to Cavendish.  ‘All is lost,’ he thought as he fingered his chin. ‘There is naught to do, but to see what the sheep farmer has to offer.’ Then turning to his guest Cromwell remembered his manners and offered food and drink.

Later, after Cavendish had left, Cromwell sat at his desk for hours trying to formulate a plan that would unseat the Queen and keep his head on his shoulders.

             
                                                        ***

             
Andrew Tremayne met Thomas Seymour at The Three Bells on a cold and windy night less than a week later.  When he saw Seymour enter the public house Andrew waved him to a secluded table. “He has written me,” Andrew said once he had sat down. He held a folded piece of parchment in his right hand.

             
Thomas Seymour signaled for the barmaid to bring a pitcher of watered wine and two cups; then he paused to look around before he answered Andrew. “Are we safe here?”

             
“As safe as anywhere in London when you seek the downfall of a Queen.”

             
“Be quiet man,” Seymour demanded, once more looking over his shoulder at the crowded pub.

             
“There is enough noise in here that we will not be overheard,” Andrew assured the other man.  “Here, read this,” he continued as he handed over the parchment.

             
It read:

             
             
Master Tremayne, if you will do me the honor of visiting me in my chambers at Whitehall Palace on the evening of March 23rd at eight o’clock, I shall be much obliged

Your servant, Thomas Cromwell

             
“That’s tomorrow,” Thomas Seymour almost shouted.

             
“I will need time to formulate the letter and I must have assurances that Elisabeth will be safe. She is carrying my heir, you know.”

             
“Congratulations, dear fellow, but my, you were fast off the mark with her. Pray the King is as successful with my sister Jane.  What plans have you made?”

             
Andrew looked puzzled and Thomas spoke again. “I meant what is it that you plan to include in the letter?”

             
“I had thought to make up a list of dates and places of rendezvous, and perhaps infer that the Queen had a lover.”

             
“I think you will need more than that to convince the King. Have you seen how he hovers around her? Like a moth he is drawn deeper into her web.”

             
“Perhaps I should see what Cromwell wants first. He may have suggestions of his own. What do you think, Thomas?”

             
Thomas Seymour sipped at his wine, eager to have the whole business over with. “And what will be your reward, Master Tremayne?”

             
Andrew smiled, shrugged his shoulders and replied, “I am sure that when the deed is done, I shall be justly treated.”

             
“That you will, man!  Now, drink up. We should find a quieter place to talk. Now, raise your glass in a toast to Good King Harry. May he father many sons.  The King!” he toasted.

              Those sitting at nearby tables jumped to their feet on hearing Seymour’s toast. “The King!” they sang loudly while Seymour blushed wildly. To Andrew he said, “A quieter place, man,” and the two men hurriedly pushed their way out of the pub.

***

             
Elisabeth awoke early on the morning of March 23
rd
entangled in George Boleyn’s arms. He lay next to her fast asleep, his left hand cupping her left breast, a smile creasing his lips. She sighed heavily as she thought of Andrew.  She hadn’t seen him since the middle of March as she was in constant attendance on the Queen.

             
She slept in her old room at Whitehall Palace, the same room she had occupied when Cardinal Wolsey was in residence.  Andrew still boarded at The Three Bells as no accommodation had been made available to him within the precincts of Whitehall Palace. At first Elisabeth had wondered at this, but she soon realized that George Boleyn had been responsible for their enforced separation and he had used it to resume his clandestine meetings with her.

             
Jane Rochford had returned to Durham House in London, but she remained at odds with her sister-in-law and so was rarely seen at Court.

             
With both spouses otherwise located George Boleyn visited Elisabeth’s small bedchamber almost nightly.

             
He stirred in his sleep and Elisabeth leaned over to kiss his cheek. “You know,” she whispered, “we should not meet so often, surely someone will see.”

             
“Fear not, my beloved,” George whispered as he leaned over her to kiss her neck and breast. “The household is full asleep before I climb your stairs. Do not forbid me my one joy in life,” he continued as he reached to kiss her lips. “You are my joy and here” he said as he rested his hand gently on her distended stomach, “lies our future.

             
“Has the Queen agreed to speak for you?” Elisabeth asked hopefully.

             
“Not yet, but she is weakening. I can see it in her eyes when she looks at you.”

             
“Andrew wants me to go to Cornwall,” Elisabeth said quietly as she lifted his hand from her belly to her lips.

             
“Delay, dearest, if thou canst. I am sure all will be well if we are patient. Henry visits Anne often and seems to have forgotten plain Jane Seymour. Surely Anne will become pregnant soon and Henry shall have his heir.”

             
“As soon you shall have yours,” Elisabeth said triumphantly, laying his hand once more on her bulging stomach.  “Now, dearest, kiss me once more before you go.”

             
“Until tonight,” George whispered as he drew Elisabeth close, kissing her passionately.

             
“Yes, my darling,” Elisabeth breathed as she held him tight. “The dawn breaks and you must be gone.” She sighed as she released him and watched him dress quickly in the cold room. Before he left the small room he stirred the dying embers to life, smiling as the crackling fire reflected in Elisabeth’s lovely face.

***

             
Later Elisabeth was alone in the Great Hall when George Boleyn came in. He was breathless as he rushed to her.

             
“I think something is happening, but I do not know what. The King has left for Greenwich without telling Anne.”

             
“Oh, George!” Elisabeth cried as she leaned into his arms.  “What can it mean?” she sobbed. “What will happen to us if he turns against the Queen?”

             
George reached his hand to caress the child within Elisabeth’s womb, his hand familiarly on her stomach.

             
At that moment Andrew Tremayne was crossing the Minstrel’s loft on his way to Elisabeth’s chamber.  He stared unbelievingly at the scene below.  ‘Whore,’ he mouthed as he cursed silently.

             
The lovers were so entwined in their embrace that they were totally unaware that they were being watched.

             
George moved his hand across Elisabeth’s stomach, leaning down to kiss the bulge beneath her gown. He raised his head to gaze at Elisabeth, drew her close, kissed her, and was gone.

             
Elisabeth stood alone in the Great Hall, unaware that her husband was so near. She straightened her gown and smoothed her hair before she quietly left the hall.

Andrew gripped the wooden balustrade until his knuckles were white. “Cuckolded!” he said aloud. “They will pay for this,” he continued as his eyes bore into the spot where the lovers had been standing.  “They will pay for this,” he repeated, slamming his fist into the wooden banister. He no longer wished to see Elisabeth or be near her so he left Whitehall Palace in search of the nearest tavern where he set about putting his plan into action.

                                                                                    ***             

Later that evening he visited Thomas Cromwell’s apartments. “You wanted to see me, Master Tremayne?”

              “I have been thinking about your problem,” Andrew began after he had sat down and been offered wine. “I have an idea, to provide a letter, Master Cromwell, naming names and providing proof of the Queen’s infidelities.” Andrew leaned back in his chair to sip his wine watching the other man closely.

             
“But, Master Tremayne, what weight would a letter from you carry?  You have no access to the Queen.”

             
“But my wife does, Master Cromwell, and a letter written in her hand would carry great weight, I think.”

             
“Would she write such a letter?” Cromwell asked, uncertain of what was being offered.

             
“She already has and here it is,” Andrew said, passing a creased piece of greasy vellum to Cromwell.

             
Cromwell put down his wine cup and began to read the letter of accusation. “Ah, yes, the musician.  I suspected as much. He is always in her company and comes late at night to her chambers.  I see your lady has provided the dates of his visits. Very good,” Cromwell said, lifting his wine cup to sip his wine.  “Henry Norris! That is no surprise either.  He fawns over the lady like a lovesick puppy.” Cromwell frowned as he continued to read. He paused to sip again at his wine before continuing. “George Boleyn!” he shouted. “Your wife accuses Lord Rochford of incest!  That is not to be believed, no, that is nonsense!  But yet, according to this, he visits the Queen often late at night when his wife is away from Court.  Look, she even gives the dates of his nocturnal visits.” Cromwell paused and raising his hand to his chin he stroked it thoughtfully.

             
Andrew held his breath.  Had he gone too far accusing Rochford of incest?

             
“I like it,” Cromwell said at last.  “Get rid of the whore and her brother too. Yes, the idea pleases me. But, there are others, how shall I say this, who would not be missed.”

             
“Yes, I think I know of whom you speak.  Weston, Brereton and that foolish poet Wyatt. But how do we proceed?”