“Do not say it. Do not dare say those words, Anne.”
“I am afraid the queen’s suspicion is true, Your Majesty,” Cromwell said gravely, hanging his head. “Renard, speak.”
Renard lifted his head, staring into space. “I covered up the Duke of Richmond’s actions. I hid Master Woodville’s body, and I put Master Battersby’s body in the courtyard too.” He glanced at Tombstone, who nodded at him, urging him on. “I cut Battersby’s throat to mask the bruising on his neck. Both men were strangled.”
An eerie silence fell upon the room. No one said anything.
Gwynnie glanced around, seeing that she was not the only one looking from one face to the next. The two physicians kept glancing at one another in shock, and Queen Anne stared at her husband, waiting for him to say something.
Henry heaved. His hands gripped the arms of his chair as his small, beady eyes glared at Renard.
“Where is my son?” he muttered eventually. “Cromwell, where is my son?”
“He is in his chamber.” Cromwell kept his calm tone. “He does not know of this meeting.”
King Henry nodded.
Gwynnie glanced at Tombstone. He looked back at her, his shoulders lifting in the most subtle of shrugs.
“And the maids?” Henry looked at Gwynnie and Emlyn. “Who are they to this?” Cromwell gestured for Tombstone to explain.
“They are the thieves, Your Majesty.”
Gwynnie took hold of Emlyn’s arm, rather fearing she was going to run from the room. To do so now would no doubt result in an arrest.
“Mistress Gwynnie Wightham witnessed the second of the murders,” Tombstone explained. “The night Goodwife Battersby was attacked, it was because Fitzroy and Renard were trying to frame Mistress Gwynnie for it. They wished to point the blame elsewhere.”
Cromwell nudged Renard in the shoulder, who nodded in agreement.
Another silence fell upon the room. Gwynnie held her breath. Her eyes moved to Queen Anne, seeing her breathing was laboured. She was the first to tire of the silence.
“My husband,” she whispered, leaning toward him. “We must do something about this. It is murder … oh, murder most horrid.” She clutched her necklace, her hand shaking.
Henry lifted his head, his eyes narrowing in Cromwell’s direction.
“Have this man arrested for murder.” He thrust a finger at Renard. “Send him to the hangman tomorrow.”
Gwynnie’s mouth fell open. Tombstone stepped forward, though Pascal took his arm and jerked him back.
“Your Majesty?” Cromwell’s voice shook for the first time. “Renard did not kill. Let him be punished, but to hang him tomorrow… The killer was —”
“Not another word.” Henry moved to his feet, grunting in pain. The two physicians ran forward to help him, but he shrugged them both off with a sharp swipe of his arm. “Speak another word to me, Cromwell, and you will find yourself at the gallows too. Get this man out of my sight.”
He tried to waddle away, struggling with the pain he was in.
“Your Majesty!” Queen Anne reached for his arm. “You cannot ignore this. Your son… Look at what your son has done. He must pay for his crimes. It is the law. It is God’s law on this earth. Husband —”
The king struck Queen Anne across the cheek with the back of his hand. She fell to the floor, cradling her bruised cheek.
Henry’s eyes darted around the room, as if daring anyone to speak. The physicians approached him warily once again, not daring to touch him.
“No one must know,” the king spat the words. “Cromwell! You hear me? No one must learn of this. Bring my son to me. Order him to my chamber. See that man —” he thrust a finger toward Renard — “is hanged tomorrow. See it done!” He limped from the room.
The two physicians ran after him.
Cromwell moved toward Renard and took his shoulder, urging him to stand.
Gwynnie found herself moving forward. She slipped between Pascal and Tombstone’s shoulders, and reached Queen Anne, bending down beside her.
“Your Highness.” She offered her hand to the queen to help her stand.
Anne looked up. Her dark eyes glistened with unshed tears as she lowered her hand from her cheek. She took Gwynnie’s hand and stood, struggling with her vast gown and farthingale. She was a changed woman from the one Gwynnie had seen the night she had broken into the tower. Where she had once been impressive, commanding, she now trembled like a frightened pup, her hand lifting repeatedly to her cheek.
The queen’s ladies must have been waiting outside the door, for they hurried into the chamber a few seconds later and swept Anne away, taking her from Gwynnie’s grasp.
She stared after the queen, watching as she stepped beyond the door and suddenly cried aloud. The door was thrust shut behind her.
“Pascal!” Cromwell’s voice was suddenly full of fire. “Have Renard taken to Newgate, and those two as well.” He pointed a thick finger toward Emlyn and Gwynnie in turn.
Emlyn stepped back as Gwynnie looked at her. Neither Tombstone nor Pascal made an argument against the matter.
“Guards?” Pascal called and the door opened.
Two guards walked in. Gwynnie moved back, fearing now that she would run too. Yet the yeomen were not the only ones to walk into the room. Esme Battersby walked between them.
She was pale, but she was on her feet. Any relief Gwynnie felt to see the woman standing was overwhelmed by the fear she felt.
“Take Renard to Newgate,” Pascal said distractedly to one of the guards. “For the murders of Jerome Woodville and Florian Battersby. Take those two as well, for larceny.”
