Gwynnie searched for another. At the side of the room, where the other professional gentlemen sat, were Tombstone and Pascal. They both whispered frantically in the ears of Cromwell. The privy councillor stared forward as he listened to their words. When they were done, he stood and turned to face them. Despite the distance that separated them, Gwynnie could see well enough that Cromwell was challenging the men. No doubt he wished to be certain that what they had found in Fitzroy’s chambers could not be mistaken for something else.
Gwynnie walked around the hall, being careful to add one of the golden bowls she carried to Cromwell’s table.
“You searched his room? If the king should know —”
“Forgive me, my lord,” Tombstone interrupted, “but would the king not care more that his son might have been the one to steal from his wife, the queen? I would have thought that would be the greater concern.”
“Surely you are not accusing a duke of being one of the Shadow Cutpurses? It is an outrage! You have let ideas run away with you.”
“My lord,” Tombstone went on calmly, “it is the whispering of courtiers that has suggested the Shadow Cutpurses were ever in this palace at all. What if the thefts had nothing to do with their legend? It is possible, is it not?”
Cromwell didn’t answer for a minute. He breathed deeply, his shoulders wideset. Despite the fact he was shorter than both Tombstone and Pascal, he seemed somehow more impressive and much more intimidating.
“I do not like this. Every bone in my body, every one of my bodily humors, argues against it. My black bile runs foul,” Cromwell spat darkly. “It must be done, however. There is no way to avoid it. Come.”
“Where is it we are going, my lord?” Pascal asked.
“To have a meeting with the king. You will tell him what you have found, for I will not take the blame for his son’s rooms being searched.” As Cromwell stepped away, Tombstone and Pascal exchanged an uneasy glance.
CHAPTER 25
“They want you in the kitchens,” Emlyn growled as she strode up to the door leading to the king’s chambers. She leaned against the wall beside the yeoman who was standing guard.
“Now?” The yeoman frowned. “It is not time to change.”
Gwynnie stayed hidden around a corner in the corridor, waiting for her mother to move the guard along. It took some persuasion.
“I am just following orders. I do not want to be the one accused of disobeying. Do you?”
The guard clearly didn’t want to get into trouble. Without a goodbye, he marched off, walking past Gwynnie’s hiding place. Once he was gone, Gwynnie stepped up beside her mother, who opened a cupboard door.
“Get inside,” Emlyn urged. “They will not question a yeoman of the guard standing here, but a footman without a duty will raise eyebrows.”
Gwynnie stepped into the cupboard. It smelled of damp. Covering her nose, she pulled the door shut, her back pressed against the bolts of linen that filled the space.
It did not take long for Cromwell, Tombstone and Pascal to appear. What shocked Gwynnie was the voice that accompanied them. Evidently, Cromwell was not content to speak to the king about such a matter without his son being present.
“What is this insanity?” Fitzroy demanded. “Cromwell, we are feasting. My father has orders not to be disturbed. His physicians are with him. You do realise how ill he is? How close to death he came in that jousting accident —”
“Your tongue, Your Grace.” The sudden words startled Gwynnie. She imagined few in the palace would have the gall to interrupt a duke, but apparently, Cromwell was one of them. “I should think a man such as yourself would be wary to even mention death after what happened to your father. He is a superstitious man. Just this morning, he demanded that all the crows and ravens be scared from the palace roofs.”
Gwynnie pressed her ear close to the door, straining to listen. Like a chastised child, Fitzroy said nothing. Cromwell knocked on the door to King Henry’s chambers, which was opened a minute later by the master of the stool, who at first prevented their entry. When Cromwell insisted on coming in, one of the physicians attending the king also appeared at the door.
“It is imperative we see the king.” Cromwell refused to back down. “It concerns his son.”
“Devel seoc,” Fitzroy whispered, under his breath.
Gwynnie grimaced. She’d heard such words once before, many years ago. Someone had muttered them to her mother, accusing her of being possessed, and of no longer being in control of her own mind.
“It must be done,” Cromwell ordered the physician. “The king will be furious if he does not learn of this quickly enough and knows that we have sat upon such important information as I have now received.”
His power was clearly greater than Fitzroy’s. The physician stepped back, and the men were ushered inside. The door clicked shut, and less than a second later, Emlyn opened the door of the cupboard.
Neither Gwynnie nor Emlyn said anything as they tiptoed to the door, straining to hear the conversation inside the king’s chambers. The voices were muffled at first, so they could not discern one word from another. Fortunately, Fitzroy’s outrage made him raise his voice, so they could hear everything he said.
“They are accusing me of being a thief! They should be put behind bars for such an accusation. Me? A thief? I want for nothing!”
“I am not accusing you of being a thief.” Cromwell raised his voice. “Yet the circumstances do require an explanation.”
“Why were the queen’s jewels in your chamber, Your Grace?” It was Tombstone.
Gwynnie stiffened, her hands on either side of the doorframe. Tombstone must have been the lowest ranking man in that room, yet he persisted.
“Brash of him,” Emlyn whispered, clearly thinking the same thing. “Foolhardy.”
“Courageous?” Gwynnie offered.
“I do not have to explain myself to a common lawyer.”
“I am asking you to explain yourself to a privy councillor and to a king,” Tombstone went on.
“Elric.” Pascal’s voice held a warning. For all the anger and stiffness he had shown previously, he was clearly cowed by power.
“It is a simple question,” Tombstone continued. “Why were the jewels in your chamber?”
“I require an explanation too,” Cromwell added. “Explain the matter and this conversation will be at an end.”
“There is something I wish to know…” a rather weak voice interrupted. Gwynnie’s eyes widened as she realised it was the voice of the king, though it was virtually unrecognisable. “Cromwell, you came to me yesterday and said your men were hunting for two women… Maids.”
