The Boleyn Reckoning (27 page)

“Stay out of this, Elizabeth.”

She went on as if he hadn’t spoken at all. “William just rode out with a dozen lords and a regiment of guards. Almost, I might think you responsible for staging this attack on the Tower. It’s certainly convenient, for it seems William has neglected to leave any orders as to your person. I should take care to be gone before he returns.”

“I won’t run.”

“You were set to run in just a few hours. Go to my uncle and get the papers you need now.” Elizabeth’s composure was not as complete as he’d thought. Her voice thinned around the edges as she snapped, “This isn’t a game or test of honour. You have devastated him. I do not wish to see my brother injure you. Better to remove yourself and leave him to calm down in his own time.”

“I’m not leaving Minuette.”

“He will not harm her.” She raised her hand as he opened his mouth to protest. “Yes, he struck her this morning, but that was in the heat of anger. It won’t happen again.”

Dominic gave each word equal weight. “I’m not going anywhere without my wife.”

Even in the midst of his desperation, Dominic felt a moment’s thrill at that.
My wife
. It was the first time he’d ever called her that aloud.

Elizabeth’s lips tightened. “Let me be plain, Dominic. You are in the wrong. As far as I’m concerned, this catastrophe rests on your head. It’s only because I know you so well—both of you—that I can believe it was not ill-intended. It was folly, but not malice.” She sighed, and her face crumpled slightly. “What do you need?”

He didn’t dare answer for a moment, afraid that he’d misunderstood. But she continued to regard him gravely. Dominic drew a
deep breath. “Can you get Minuette away from the guards and out of the palace?”

It was an eternity before she answered. “Yes.”

“Do it.” He calculated quickly. “An hour and a half, bring her to the outer walls near Westminster Abbey. It would be best that she dress for riding, just in case. I’ll go to Rochford and hope we can move things up a little.”

Dominic didn’t even risk going back to his room, sending Harrington to retrieve the few personal items already packed and then to fetch horses, including Dominic’s own favored gray stallion, Daybreak, and the white jennet William had given Minuette on her seventeenth birthday. Then he headed northeast on foot to George Boleyn’s elaborate home at Charterhouse. Only when he’d cleared the last of Whitehall’s warren of entrances and gates did he begin to breathe easy. He’d kept expecting a guard to come from behind and detain him.

He presented himself at Charterhouse’s outer entrance to the first of Rochford’s men, all with the distinctive serpent badges and something of the same air of detached intelligence as their master. For the first time in his life Dominic was grateful for his position, for it enabled him to pass quickly through the several layers of protection around the former Lord Chancellor. Only when he came face-to-face with Rochford’s secretary did he stutter to a halt.

“I’m sorry, Lord Exeter, but Lord Rochford is closeted with representatives of the Spanish guilds. They are trying to salvage economic ties in the wake of Spain’s upcoming talks with France.”

“As he’s speaking to the Spanish, then he’ll definitely want to know that the Tower is currently under attack and the king has ridden out to engage. Did you not hear the explosions?”

“I was instructed not to disturb the gentlemen. You know how little His Grace likes being disregarded.”

“I am sure he would be even less pleased to discover that his nephew may be under personal threat and you made no move to inform him.” Dominic pushed his way past the man, using his size and leashed panic to intimidate. “Let his wrath be on my head.” For tomorrow I’ll be out of reach, he thought. And anyway, Rochford would have to line up behind Will at this point if he wants my head.

The secretary let him pass, but stayed prudently out of sight of the door to Rochford’s study. Dominic flung it open, prepared to apologize brusquely and get the Spanish representatives out of the room as quickly and rudely as possible.

But the study was empty. Dominic stopped short, instinct taking over as his eyes roamed about the chamber. There were two chairs in front of Rochford’s desk, shoved casually aside as though they had just been vacated. Rochford’s high-backed, heavily carved seat was pushed roughly parallel to the desk. Where had everyone gone?

Even as the question went through his head, Dominic had his answer—or, more precisely, two answers. The first was provided by the French windows that gave onto a balcony fronting a garden with a low wall. It would be a simple matter to depart this chamber without alerting the secretary or guards and climb over the wall into the city streets. There would usually be men in that garden, but clearly Rochford had required absolute privacy for this meeting.

The second answer was more blunt, and awful—not everyone in this chamber had gone. Perhaps he could smell the blood or perhaps the last moment of violence lingered in the air, pressing against his skin, but Dominic knew what he would find even before he crossed the room in long strides and shoved Rochford’s chair out of the way.

George Boleyn lay on his side, the dagger handle protruding
from beneath his ribs where a very careful and skilled assassin had plunged it into his heart. Dominic squatted on his haunches and touched his finger to the blood. Still warm. He shut his eyes and swore long and vividly, though well under his breath so as not to alert the secretary hovering out of sight beyond the door. He could not afford to get caught up in this. There wasn’t time.

Swiftly, he checked each document case stacked on Rochford’s desk, hoping against hope to find the papers prepared for him and Minuette. He found nothing in his first sweep and knew he couldn’t risk searching any longer. Probably the papers were already gone: given into the hands of some nameless, faceless man who was meant to meet them in Greenwich later. They would never make it—Greenwich was east of the Tower of London where the king and his soldiers were now swarming against whatever threat had presented. The east was closed to them now.

Even as Dominic’s thoughts focused on their immediately precarious situation, considering and discarding options, another part of his mind assessed the larger issue. An explosion—just the first one—had been set off close to Whitehall. More had been set nearer the Tower along with, apparently, enough armed men to make it seem a rescue attempt was under way. But what if the true target had been Rochford? Could the explosions have been merely a feint, to distract attention away from George Boleyn’s murder while his killers escaped?

If it were a week earlier, or even just a day, Dominic would have called Rochford’s secretary in and grilled him about the men. He would have sent guards to scour the streets at once, tracking down the assassins.

But it was now, this hour, and if he didn’t move fast he and Minuette both would join Mary Tudor in the Tower. They needed to take flight—without Rochford’s preparations to aid them.

Although much thought had passed since he’d entered Rochford’s
study, no more than four minutes had elapsed. Dominic took to the French windows as the last visitors had and spared one glance back for his former guardian.

“What’s William going to do without you?” he asked softly into the air, then scaled the wall as the assassins had done before him and lost himself in the London streets.

Harrington met him outside Whitehall’s precincts with the horses that would now be their salvation. It couldn’t be a good idea for Minuette to ride so soon and for so long after losing the baby, but there was no choice. The women appeared within minutes. His eyes went straight to Minuette, who looked ashen, but she smiled briefly. He took in the welt on her cheek where William had struck her and the guilt that kept threatening to swamp him vanished in icy rage.

Dominic stood ready to help her mount, but she hesitated and looked instead at Elizabeth, solemn and silent. “I—”

“Don’t say anything,” Elizabeth commanded. “Just go.”

After helping Minuette onto Winterfall, Dominic mounted Daybreak and broke the news to Elizabeth. “Find Lord Burghley and your man, Walsingham. Lord Rochford has been assassinated. You need to take control at Charterhouse before the news spreads.”

Elizabeth paled, then flushed. “My uncle is dead?”

He’d forced himself to wait until they were mounted to tell her, so that Minuette could not be moved to compassion and delay their parting. He jerked his head at Harrington to lead the way out and said, “I’m sorry.”

Did Elizabeth watch them ride away? Dominic did not turn back to see. But he guessed that, being herself, she had not waited but gone straight to her duty.

God help England now.