Chapter Eighteen #2
Francis is sitting in a chair with Catherine’s grandmother—my grandmother—standing to the right of him, leaning down on the support of a cane.
My first impression is that she’s stately, elegant, and noticeably dressed in all black.
She’s smiling at me, but there’s also something subtly menacing about her.
I wouldn’t be surprised if her cane doubled as a shank.
“Well, my girl. You have certainly come a long way since Lambeth, haven’t you?” Her voice is rich with age, and in a way, it reminds me of my own grandmother’s voice. It hurts to hear, but I want to hear more.
“That’s one way of looking at it,” I reply.
She crosses the room, stomping her cane with each step until she sits in a chair by the fire. Her skin is wrinkled, but her eyes are young and teasing. “My granddaughter, the queen of England. How does the crown feel?”
I think a moment before answering. “Heavy.”
She chuckles at my response, settling her skirts around the chair.
“Yes, well, my stepson, the Duke of Norfolk, is certainly tickled to be related to royalty once again. But I’m sure you already know that.
Tell me, has he been in here whispering threatening riddles into your ear this afternoon?
If not, don’t fret. The day is still young. ”
Looking behind me, Lady Rochford is standing by the door. I move deeper inside the room, taken off guard by the Dowager’s frankness. “I’m surprised to hear you talk about him like that,” I tell her.
She taps her embellished cane on the floor, resting both her hands across the handle.
“I am well aware of the sort of man my stepson is. He’s tortured enough squirrels on our estate through the years to know that it was only a matter of time until he moved on to ensnare bigger beasts.
And now you are the one who’s caught up in his web of ambition, it seems.”
Her candor is as refreshing as it is concerning.
“Accustomed to mischief as I am, I was still surprised to find this surly field mouse sniffing around my library under the cover of the night.” She nudges her cane toward Francis, and he flinches a little.
“If you’re trying to destroy evidence, you should at the very least try to send someone with a little more finesse. ”
The Dowager reaches into her pocket then, pulling out a tied-up stack of letters. I look over at Francis, and he grips the arms of his chair as his mouth parts. Those are the letters.
When I glance back over at the Dowager, she’s watching me with an expectant gaze. “Well then? What do you have to say?”
My heart is beating too fast in my chest. My fingers twitch with the urge to snatch those letters right out of her hands.
But I need to stay calm. I need to play smart.
Those letters very well might be my execution warrant, and Catherine’s story inside one of them could be my ticket home.
But I can’t let the Dowager know just how badly I need them.
I take a steadying breath and walk the few feet to sit in a chair across from her, folding my hands in my lap. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I tell her innocently.
The older woman only chortles. “Don’t you try your pretty little trickery on me, girl. For all the love this one swears he bears to you, he sang like a skylark when I questioned him.”
Our collective gazes shoot over to Francis, who squirms back in his seat.
“I’m sorry, Catherine,” he says, his voice sounding feeble. “She practically beat it out of me.”
“Oh, indeed,” the Dowager laughs, stomping her cane on the floor again. “I said but one stern word to him, and he told me all in an instant.”
My blood turns cold at her statement. “All?” I ask, turning my betrayed eyes back over to Francis. His face goes white, but he gives his head a barely noticeable shake.
“Yes, he told me how you sent him to Lambeth to rid me of the letters. ‘She needs to keep her reputation pure,’ he said. And you wouldn’t be wrong, of course.”
Her last sentence gives me hope. “Does that mean you’ll let me have them?” I ask.
She nestles the letters more securely in her lap. “What pained me the most keenly in all this is that you thought me capable of using them against you in the first place.”
The letters are still in her vise grip.
I keep my voice soothing as I speak to her. “I didn’t think that you would use them against me. I just wanted to be careful. I wanted to protect our family.”
“Yes, our precious family,” she muses. “I suppose your uncle’s whispers have reached you well enough after all.”
I nod in solidarity as a thick silence covers the room. I stand up a second later, smiling at the Dowager in what I hope is familial friendship.
“So, can I have the letters back?” I hold out my hand, and the Dowager slowly stands to bring herself to eye level. My hand is shaking ever so slightly in anticipation. I can’t be sure if the woman notices, but she tucks the letters back into her pocket.
“I’ll have a think on it,” she says. “I’ve traveled long and I’m tired.”
My hope collapses in on itself, my limbs feeling heavy as the Dowager makes her way to the door. When she’s halfway there, Lady Rochford steps forward to block her path, prompting the older woman to turn around to look at me.
“Is this your henchwoman?” she asks. “If she thinks to scare me, I’d have to warn her that I’ve dispatched much more unsightly creatures than her, and I have plenty of fight in me yet.”
I shake my head, swallowing down my disappointment. “It’s all right,” I tell Lady Rochford, who then steps aside, clearing a path for the Dowager.
“Good night, Catherine. I’ll see you again soon enough.”
She exits the room in all her state, leaving Lady Rochford to close the door behind her.
“Did that sour-faced hag just call me an unsightly creature?” she asks, aghast.
I sit back down in my chair. “She might have.”
I look over at Francis, and his posture is the most relaxed it’s been in this entire conversation. “She really isn’t a very nice woman at all,” he says.
If I was in possession of the Dowager’s cane, I’d hit him with it. “Thank for that observation, Francis, and for absolutely nothing else. I thought you said you could easily get the letters?”
He finally stands up, pushing his shoulders back and running a hand through his tangled hair. “Well, it’s not ideal circumstances, but at least the letters are here at court. It should be all the easier for us to get them back now.”
“Or for them to get discovered,” I counter.
Lady Rochford takes a decided step closer. “I’ll get the letters,” she states. “But not tonight. From the looks of her, that crone will stuff them in her hindquarters now that she knows we’re after them.”
I wince at the thought. “That is a disturbing visual,” I tell her. “But you’re also right. It has to be soon. Bessie and Richard pushed up the wedding, so that’ll be happening in three days. I’ll make sure the Dowager is invited and you can sneak into her room during the wedding feast.”
Lady Rochford nods, and Francis moves toward us. “What about me? What should I do?”
I scrunch my face as I try to think something, but Lady Rochford is quicker than me.
“Perhaps you can sit and cry over the fact that you were bested by a tired old woman who’s likely half blind, yet still managed to find you sneaking into her home in the dark.”
Her insult lands with stunning accuracy, and I take a step nearer to Francis to soften the blow. “Don’t take it personally. She’s only mean because she cares.”
I turn to Lady Rochford in the hopes that she’ll agree, or stay silent, but instead she answers, “I assure you, I’m dead inside.”
Well, that settles that. I give Francis’s shoulder an encouraging squeeze and steer him in the direction of the door. “I’ll let you know if we hear anything,” I tell his retreating form.
Once he’s gone, I turn back to an ill-tempered Lady Rochford and clap my hands together. “So today was eventful, huh?”
It takes a fair amount of time before she speaks again. “I won’t say it out loud, but you do know what I’m thinking, don’t you?”
“That you still miss Anne of Cleves?” I venture quietly.
Lady Rochford nods and closes her eyes. “I really, really do.”