Page 134 of Boleyn Traitor
‘I’d rather die than be Francis Dereham’s wife!’ she declares. ‘Thomas would never look twice at me. A gentleman like him doesn’t want Francis Dereham’s leavings! He loves me as his queen. I’d rather die than say I was Mistress Dereham.’
WHENISPYon the stable-yard next day, I see my uncle’s horse, and I go to the Howard rooms as they are taking his breakfast in.
‘Sit,’ he says shortly and waves me to a place at his table.
I am served eggs and beef and small ale. I find I have no appetite.
‘Has she been swiving that mincing puppy who was so great with the king?’ he asks me shortly. ‘Have you been such a fool as to let her meet him?’
‘What?’
‘Spare me the May Day games. Just answer the question.’
‘Who says so?’
‘Answer.’
‘No,’ I say flatly.
‘What’s she been doing then? Snowball fights and dancing?’
‘Yes. Snowball fights and dancing. Courtly love.’
‘Again?’ He scowls at me over a trencher of meat.
‘It’s a young court. Young men play at love. Yes.’
‘Will she stick to that? Will you?’
I nod. ‘Because it is true.’
‘We’re coming to see her after breakfast. The whole privy council. She’d better deny it and go on denying it in front of me, or I’ll take her head off myself.’
‘She will,’ I say. ‘If you stand by her, you’ll see a Howard queen by Easter and one day a Howard-Seymour regency.’
He looks thoughtful. ‘Not hungry?’ he asks, with a glance at the crumbled bread on my plate. ‘Go then.’
IGET OVER TOthe queen’s side unnoticed by going down the main stairs to the stable-yard and then crossing the yard to the fire boys’ stairs. Culpeper’s horse is in its stall.
‘Not hawking today?’ I say cheerily to the groom.
‘He’s meeting with the privy council,’ he says proudly.
I keep my smile on my face as I run silently up the little stone stairs and through the presence chamber, the queen’s privy chamber, and then into her bedroom, where they are clearing breakfast. She is dressed beautifully in a gown of dark-green velvet with a dark-green silk hood sewn with emeralds. It brings out the colour of her eyes.
‘Good,’ I say. ‘You look well. The privy council are coming at any moment.’ I lean towards her to whisper. ‘They might ask about Thomas Culpeper.’
The colour drains from her face. ‘But I thought it was all about Francis?’
‘They know nothing for sure,’ I say. ‘You can say there were snowball fights and dancing, everything that everybody saw. Admit everything that everybody saw, but it was all – always – courtly love. They can know nothing that was secret. Just deny all that. He will. And I will, too, if they ask me.’
‘They’ll ask you,’ she says suddenly. ‘It was all your doing. You stood guard for us; you let him in.’
‘No, I did not,’ I say fiercely, wanting to shake her answers into her silly head. ‘Because nobody let anyone in. He was not there. Nothing happened.’
‘Oh! Will they question him?’ she demands, suddenly agonised.
‘They’re bound to, but you can keep him safe. The king mightforgive you, but he would never forgive Culpeper. You must deny everything.’
