A/N: And here we are again! Admittedly a day late (more or less weekly - hey, ho). Thanks again for your comments - all much appreciated. One can't help but feel bad for Henry Fitzroy - though his position was pretty weak thanks to his illegitimacy, in spite of the abortive attempts to legitimise him, so how well he might've done given that everyone saw him as a bastard is difficult to speculate. That said, he might well be dead, but his letter is most certainly not...
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Counterstrike
Wiltshire glowers, his eyes upon the gardens outside, but seeing nothing of the planting therein. No sooner have they found the opportunity to ally with a candidate for the throne who would give them all they want - and more - than he is dead. Worse, all of the evidence proclaims that it was a natural cause; for the youth had begun to sicken some months ago, and no poison that he knows of can replicate such a congestion of the chest. And he should know, should he not?
God's blood, Norfolk has proved to be a hopeless conspirator - it seems that his capabilities are expanded entirely by those who aid him, whether it be his fellow plotters, or the intended victim. It was, after all, hardly a challenge to bring Wolsey down when the man had made it so easy for them. No - against a politician as capable as Thomas Cromwell, Thomas Howard could never hope to win. Not unless the man is considerably compromised - and he is far too well established to make such an error.
There is no choice - if he is to win back all that he has lost, then he must be able to act with a free hand. Norfolk's self-regard is built upon his position as the foremost nobleman at Court, and thus he is utterly unable to act with the devious viciousness that this battle is likely to require. God knows that Katherine's brat shall never, ever permit him to even enter her presence, much less sit upon her council. Thus he must remove the Regent, and step in as Lord Protector. He is after all, Elizabeth's grandfather, and that familial relationship shall qualify him to do so far more than a conceited Duke.
He looks up as Rochford enters the chamber, "I hear rumours, Father." He announces, as he approaches, "The body of Richmond has been interred with as little ceremony as possible, and naught but two retainers witnessed the burial."
"That is hardly of any interest to me." Wiltshire snaps back.
"There is more." Rochford comes to stand beside him, "The word is that young Mr Smeaton has the most fearful calf-love for my sister - and has spent enormous sums upon garments to impress her."
Wiltshire turns, "He has the money to do it. His Late Majesty valued him to such a degree that even now he is paid far more than a man of his station is worth." He reminds his son.
"His Majesty would not have appreciated the lust."
"So you think he shall serve as a rumoured amour?" There is a tinge of cynicism to Wiltshire's voice, though Rochford fails to notice.
"Most already consider her to be a whore, so who would think it to be false? Her reputation would be in ruins, and thus we would be free to oust her, establish a Lord Protector for Elizabeth, and grant the Duke his vengeance against his enemies." Rochford looks quite pleased with himself at the idea.
Wiltshire shakes his head, "No. I would not countenance such a stain against my name. Besides, her pride is too great to accept such an approach from a lowly creature as he. Even were she to share his foolish feelings, his origins are too low for a woman of her rank. She has been the wife of a King - what is a court musician in comparison to that?" He looks off into the distance, and scowls - clearly thinking of another matter.
"What is it?"
"I am coming to the conclusion that my brother-in-law is becoming more a hindrance than a help. His failure to grant the late Duke of Richmond a fitting burial has dimmed his reputation amongst the Council, for it makes him look petty and resentful. I think that her Majesty might be most dismayed to discover that Norfolk has plotted against her, and it would most assuredly sit well in her mind given the manner in which he has dealt with the funeral of the youth." He crosses to a small coffer, unlocks it and removes a sheet of paper, "His engrossment in arranging to meet with the boy was such that he failed to notice my retention of the evidence."
Rochford's eyes widen, "You would present that to the Regent?"
"God no. She would be immediately suspicious. No, I shall allow it to fall into the hands of one of the ambassadors. Cromwell shall discover it immediately, as he has spies who watch over them."
"And you think that he shall believe Norfolk to be so careless?"
Wiltshire smiles, nastily, "If it shall get Norfolk from off his back, shall he care?"
"This is most helpful list, Lady Bryan. I am told that Mr Grindal has an excellent reputation, and Mr Ascham is equally well regarded." Anne is pleased, "I think I shall allow Elizabeth a little while longer to receive instruction from you, and from Mistress Champernowne. She seems to thrive under your joint tutelage."
"Yes Majesty. She has proved to be an excellent governess to her Majesty - and I am grateful for the assistance, as my work has become rather more busy in the last few weeks."
Sitting back in her chair, Anne leafs through a number of papers. The writing is dreadful, as Elizabeth's little fingers still lack the dexterity to wield the pen neatly, but the standard of the discourse is astonishing. Goodness, she is bright - perhaps she has inherited the joint intelligence of both her parents. A gift from her father additional to her red-gold hair.
And thank God for it - for the work that lies ahead for that little girl is truly a monstrous task, "Has Elizabeth been out to play yet?"
"Her ladies are fetching out appropriate garments, Majesty. Mr Browne hopes to introduce her to her new pony today."
"I should like to see that." Anne smiles, delightedly, "Could you call Madge, please? I shall require pattens, I think, if we are to visit the stables."
Lady Bryan looks surprised, "Are you not meeting with your advisers?"
She has forgotten that. Damnation. No - she will not miss such a delightful moment, "They shall come too."
The sun is warm, perhaps too warm for such heavy garments, but such is the requirements of propriety. Standing in the shade of the mews, Cromwell clutches his portfolio of papers in defiance of a rather determined breeze, and watches with interest as his young Queen waits excitedly to meet the Master of the Horse, as she knows what she is to be given.
Elizabeth fidgets rather, and her newly arrived governess, Mistress Champernowne smiles as she chides her for her impatience. Beside Cromwell, Rich is smiling indulgently, doubtless reminded of his own daughters, as he has several, and the Lord Treasurer is startled to find himself experiencing a stab of jealousy. How would his little girls have behaved had they been offered a pony to ride? Standing beside him, Anne also smiles, joyful at the opportunity to give her adored daughter a gift that she shall delight in.
All stops at the percussive sound of horseshoes upon cobbles, and Sir Anthony Browne appears around the corner, leading a small chestnut palfrey on a leading rein. There shall be no riding today - Elizabeth is not yet schooled to the sport - but today's introduction shall be followed by a fitting for riding habits, which shall leave the little girl in no doubt that lessons shall be forthcoming in short order.
She claps her little hands at the sight of the beast, "Oh, Mama - she is beautiful! What is her name?"
Anne steps out of the shade to join her, "She has no name yet, my precious; what would you like to call her?"
"I think I shall call her Orithyia." Elizabeth says, after some thought - a clear reflection of her recent study of Greek legends, "When can I ride her?"
"You shall need a saddle, Elizabeth, and riding habits, for you must be properly dressed. Mistress Champernowne shall escort you back to your apartments to meet your dressmakers. When the habits are ready, Sir Anthony shall help you choose a saddle, as it must be correct both for Orithyia, and for you."
She pouts a little, but accepts the inevitable, "Yes, Mama. Thank you - she is wonderful."
"I am glad that you like her, my darling." Anne crouches before her and kisses her upon the forehead, "Now, inside with you, I must meet with your advisers."
As she turns to watch her daughter's departure, she sees a look of painful regret, quickly suppressed, upon the Lord Treasurer's face. She remembers his telling her, years ago, of his own two daughters, taken by sickness when they were still young - and now he has been obliged to watch as she indulges her own child. God above, how fortunate she has been, "Come, Gentlemen, there is a small arbour in the privy garden that is shady and shall serve well for our meeting. I shall have some wine brought out for us."
The promised arbour is a large frame upon which is trained vines and other trailing plants that provide fragrant shade from the warm sun, while offering a modicum of privacy without concealing the occupants. Seating himself, Cromwell burrows into his papers and retrieves the document of interest, "I have had a communication from Mr Wingfield setting out Parliament's position in relation to your offer, Majesty."
"And?" she asks, reaching for it. As she scans the text, she takes in the requested privileges. To her surprise, Humphrey Wingfield has been remarkably diplomatic. Being an intermittently gathered institution that is called, and dismissed, by the Crown on a largely arbitrary basis, the powers of those who attend are inevitably limited solely to when they are in session. Thus he has asked that they be called more frequently, and for longer sessions. That they are granted the right to debate and approve all laws made in the realm, though the final assent shall remain with the Queen, furthermore, the system of taxation must be reformed and modernised - additional to the subsidy introduced by the late Cardinal Wolsey.
"They do not seem to be intend upon eroding her Majesty's overall authority, Majesty," Cromwell advises, "My concern was that they might demand the right to approve your Majesty's appointments to your council, and make those councillors accountable to them, rather than to her Majesty the Queen. Thus far, however, they have not. Equally, their requests over taxation relate solely to reform, not control of expenditure by the Royal household."
"Clearly they are wise enough to know how far they can set their demands, Mr Cromwell." Anne smiles, "How do these proposals stand alongside your own plans for reform?"
"These could run easily in harness with my own intentions, Majesty." Cromwell agrees, "I intend to continue my work to improve the efficiency of the departments of Government - with your consent, of course."
"And what of your views, Mr Rich? Are any of the proposals of concern to you?"
"Not at present, Majesty." Rich says, "I suspect that Mr Wingfield is aware that requests for a greater degree of authority shall be rejected. At this time, Parliament does not meet with sufficient regularity to achieve these objectives, so it may serve us to establish a process by which her Majesty calls a Parliament each year for number of fixed periods, during which time laws can be debated and taxation set. If that is established, then there is less danger of accusations that we have acted arbitrarily, and her Majesty's Parliament shall serve as a conduit between her royal person and her subjects."
She nods, "I think that to be wise. Please could you arrange a draft response to Mr Wingfield - and a report to me setting out your proposal for the periods during which the Parliament should meet."
He rises and bows, "I shall see to it at once, Majesty."
Anne watches as he departs, "Do you think yet that he can be trusted, Mr Cromwell?"
"As far as any man in this benighted place can be, Majesty." He smiles at her, "Even I."
"I trust you." She says, quietly, "More than I trust any of my own kin."
Cromwell looks at her more closely. In spite of her cosmetics, he can see dark circles under her eyes, and her complexion is dull. She is heavily burdened, and seems so bereft of any to whom she feel safe to turn that she looks to him - a base born commoner of dubious political reputation - as a mentor. His spies have alerted him to the machinations of Norfolk and her father; in their determination to gain control of Elizabeth, they look to remove her and shut her away from her child. Her own relations are amongst her most implacable enemies.
In an instant, he is angry; God's wounds - they do not deserve her! She is intelligent, capable and strong - a woman who can lead the nation until her daughter is old enough to do so; but they do not want her to be so. Were she his child, he would be proud of what she has become.
But then, he is not a grand Lord looking to become a Lord Protector - and he is aware enough of his own foibles to know that, were he in that position, he might not look upon her so kindly either.
"I would jest over such foolishness, Majesty." He admits, "But I am grateful for your trust - and I will swear to you again, should you wish it, that I shall do all in my power not to betray it. I have always sought to give my service to the one who wears the crown, and to the best of my ability. You wear the crown, and thus that service is yours to command - and shall remain so for as long as you wear it."
Anne's smile warms, "Thank you, Mr Cromwell. I think that I shall be able to weather all storms, for you are beside me as my coxswain. And I am grateful."
He rises to his feet, and bows before her, "To the end of my days, Majesty."
"I shall hold you to that."
To describe Eustace Chapuys as 'wily' would be the height of understatement. Keen, intelligent, utterly unscrupulous and loyal to only the very few, he regards the letter before him with interest, "And you say that it was found in the midst of burned papers?"
The anonymous steward nods, "Yes, Excellency. His Grace was in the process of burning a number of documents; but he was called away, and I found this had fallen behind the main body of the fire. It was a simple matter to extract it with the poker."
Reading it, Chapuys smiles, "Most careless of him. Particularly to retain something so clearly treasonous."
"Hence the hurling of it upon the fire, excellency." The steward smiles back, "His aim has always been most poor."
Pleased, the Imperial Ambassador drops a small leather bag in front of his informant, "I think this is worth the contents of this purse. I think my Master would find this most useful - as would another individual of my acquaintance."
Snatching up the pouch, the young man bows hastily, and departs.
Sitting down at his writing table, he reaches for a sheet of paper, and sharpens his quill.
The offices are empty of clerks, and even Sadleir has departed. Only Rich remains, and sits quietly at his desk, working by the light of a single candle.
His presence is of no concern to Cromwell, as their joint enterprise to advise the Queen Regent has brought them into a partnership that relies upon trust - always something of a rare commodity in their past dealings. This evening's activity is perhaps his most overt gesture of faith yet, as he is awaiting the report from one of his many planted men, who has alerted him to the finding of a document that shall send shockwaves through the Council.
The man arrives shortly after the hour of nine, and pauses only to set a packet upon the Treasurer's desk before departing.
From his position at his desk, Rich fails to discern the identity of the spy, but the interest with which Cromwell reaches for the packet suggests that the delivery might well be worth waiting for. Rising from his chair, he crosses to join his colleague, "What is it?"
"At this moment, I do not know." Cromwell unfolds a paper, slightly burned here and there, "It seems likely that someone rescued this from a fire."
"Where has it come from?" Rich is immediately intrigued.
"From Chapuys." He smiles back, a little mischievously, "Not that he knows it. His Secretary has, shall we say, rather exotic preferences of a carnal nature that would certainly end his career, if not worse. I became aware of his behaviour some years ago; and, in exchange for my silence upon the matter, he grants access to all that his master sends from the court prior to its dispatch to the Emperor. If it is of little account, it continues upon its journey; if it is interesting, I take note of it. The most interesting items have been known to be lost en route." Smirking rather, he starts to read.
"What?" Rich can see the look upon his face as he takes in the words upon the paper, and is immediately distracted from further questions about the Secretary's unmentioned vice.
"God above…"
"What?" his voice is a little louder now.
"It is a letter from Richmond. To Norfolk - seeking his aid in staking a claim to the throne. His writing is quite distinctive - it was most certainly from his hand."
Rich's eyes widen, "No wonder Norfolk wished to destroy it."
Cromwell, however, frowns, "Then why wait so long? While this is not dated, it seems strange to me that he would have retained it after the young man died. Were I in possession of such a deadly missive, I should have destroyed it before the day was out."
"You think it to be a forgery?"
He shakes his head, "No; there is too much about this letter that proclaims Richmond to be the originator for me to think that. For reasons I cannot fathom, this has been held, and then permitted to emerge. Whoever let this loose, it was not Norfolk."
Rich nods, "From what I know of him, he indeed is too canny to be so careless. But who would have dispatched it to Chapuys?"
"Someone with much to gain; but equally someone who would be within Norfolk's confidence; no one else would know of its existence."
"Is there someone so privileged?" Rich scoffs, "There is only one that I can think of - and that would be Wiltshire."
He smiles, amused at such a ridiculous idea, only for the emerging laughter to die in his throat as he sees the look upon Cromwell's face, "Surely not?"
"Oh, I think it most likely. For all his plotting, Norfolk is no conspirator; he has always left the destruction of others in hands more capable than his own. Wiltshire is far less fearful of staining his hands with blood, it seems."
"So what do we do?" Rich asks, "I have no wish to play into Wiltshire's hands if it is his intention to remove Norfolk and step into his place."
"Nor do I." Cromwell admits, "I despise the prospect of being so used; though if I can rein in the Norfolk faction, then I would be a fool to let it by."
It is a singular dilemma. While it would be useful to dispatch Norfolk away from the court in disgrace, the presence of Wiltshire in his place would be tiresome to manage. For all his determination to regain his former place at the Council table, Norfolk is - mostly - held in check by his own personal pride, and would never stoop to the sort of behaviour that would be unbecoming to a man such as he. Why would he do such a thing when he has no need to? Until the new council was appointed, he had been granted immense power and prestige purely as a consequence of his station, and thus he has no practice at the worst acts that councillors perpetrate.
Wiltshire, on the other hand, has talent and wealth additional to his all-consuming ambition, but lacks the noble credentials of his brother in law. Thus his willingness to stoop to fearsome depths in order to make gains for himself is greater, and his experience at doing so more extensive. Norfolk has always remained aloof from such conspiring, preferring to allow others to take the risks that accompany it, and now he shall find that he is no more immune from it than any of the other great men that were swept aside at his behest.
But is it worth leaving Wiltshire with the inevitable sense of puffed up pride that he shall feel knowing that he has led the Regent's chief adviser by the nose? How to bring this to the attention of the Regent without showing his hand?
"If only there was a way that we could set the blame for this entirely at Wiltshire's feet." He says, eventually, "This letter in itself is no longer directly treasonous, given that the one who penned it is no more, and it is not in the possession of the named recipient. While he can - and shall - disavow all knowledge of it, the fact that it was not destroyed is powerful circumstantial evidence, and certainly it would give her Majesty the Regent the opportunity to remove a dangerous enemy by banishing him from Court. I do not think it wise, however to risk sending Norfolk to the Tower upon such flimsy grounds."
"Then give Wiltshire the credit for discovering it." Rich suggests, "You have people who do your underhand work all around the Court - perhaps there is a way to return it to the Earl's papers prior to a Council meeting, and thus engineer his discovery of it. If he is caught with it in his hand, he is hardly likely to confess that he is complicit, after all. He would equally disavow all knowledge of the conspiracy and find some excuse that shall save him while it condemns Norfolk." He has the grace to look a little embarrassed, "I would."
Cromwell considers the idea. It is certainly worth the attempt - for it would remove the tiresome Duke from the council, but also send a clear message to Wiltshire that he cannot expect them to fall for such a ruse as this. Neither Cromwell nor Rich have reached their positions at Court through being credulous and lacking in suspicion. To be so is to invite disaster, and usually death, too.
"I shall think on it, and consult with the Regent." He says, after a while, "I think it likely that such a contrivance shall be as transparent as glass - but if Wiltshire is given no alternative but to bow to it, then it shall serve."
Anne reads the letter, her eyes widening, "Do we know Norfolk's answer?"
Cromwell shakes his head, "Richmond was too wise for that - he asked for a visual signal. Enquiries at the mews have elicited that the Duke took his horse out a quarter hour before the hour of ten upon the morning that the youth was found to have died, which suggests that it was his intention to grant that request. No other horses were taken out that morning, for no one hunted, so he would be hard put to explain his actions. While it is not conclusive, it is circumstantial."
"And it came to you via Chapuys?"
"Not according to his design." He admits, a little sheepishly, but then looks more serious, "The manner in which it reached him suggests that it was planted - it was too convenient a discovery. I think it likely that another party is looking to use me to achieve his intent."
Anne thinks for a while, "My Father." She says, eventually.
Cromwell looks at her, startled at her suggestion. He has come to that conclusion, but he is surprised that she has done the same with so little pause.
"You think me to be incorrect, Mr Cromwell?" she asks, eyebrow cocked, "Believe me, my father has no scruples in his determination to gain power and wealth for himself. He used me, did he not? I came to Court at his behest with the intention of being traded to a man in exchange for his title, but as soon as my late Lord showed keenness to woo me, he saw only what he could gain from a grander liaison. It did not please him that I would not accept the temporary state of Maîtresse-en-titre as my sister had done, for that would have resulted in rewards for him - but when it became clear that marriage was a true possibility, he demanded ever more from me in hopes to gain ever more for himself."
She smiles then, at his shocked expression. Only a man would be so shocked - for a high-born woman to be used so? That is only to be expected.
"He loved me once." She says, quietly, "I have fond memories of his kindness and the games we would play when I was a child. But at some point; I suspect the point at which I became marriageable, that love died and was replaced by acquisitiveness. Perhaps it is so for all women of my station."
"I am truly sorry, Majesty." He mumbles, not sure what else to say, "Power can be cruelly seductive."
"Thank you." The smile returns, though it is still sad, "I think we must do what we can to use this opportunity, as you are doubtless intending, but without playing into my father's hands."
"I shall think upon the matter. I suspect the most convenient way shall be to conceal it amongst Wiltshire's papers - or perhaps Rochford's?"
Immediately, Anne looks up, "Yes - that would be the better move. My brother is not so well able to conceal his emotions behind a mask of inscrutability. Thus were he to come across the letter, he would be hard put to hide it. That would serve our requirement to bring the suggestion of treachery to light, but also to warn my father that we are not to be trifled with."
"Mr Wriothesley shall be assembling papers for this morning's meeting. I shall ensure that this is set amongst those to be given to Rochford. As - to all intents and purposes - I am not responsible for the assignment of papers, Wiltshire shall be hard put to accuse me of planting it."
"Then go to." She says, her eyes cold, "If you will excuse me, I shall spend the intervening time in my daughter's company. I wish to remember what it is to be innocent."
The men of the Council are still not quite at ease with the presence of a woman at the head of their table, but none are fool enough to comment upon it. Norfolk has returned from Thetford, though his expression is still resentful at being obliged to pay for the funeral of his son in law, and he sits alongside Cromwell, as he cannot force him to step aside; a situation that does little to amend his temper.
Each place at the table has a folio of thick paper set upon it, which contain fair copies of the agreement with Parliament to secure regular sessions that shall be called by the Queen three times a year, that calls upon those who attend to debate and approve all laws to be passed in England, and also to debate and agree a reformed system of taxation further to the Subsidy - which shall serve to replace the ancient and obsolete system of fifteenths and tenths. That alone should keep them busy for the best part of a year, and so they shall hardly notice that their power is still limited, as they cannot control who sits upon the Council.
Being ever efficient and discreet, Wriothesley has penned the initials of each council member upon the portfolio he has supplied to them. Consequently, it was a simple matter for Rich to quietly slip the incriminating letter from Richmond into Rochford's papers, though he was not at all pleased to be asked to do it, for fear of being seen in the act. Trusted though Sadleir is, Cromwell does not wish to embroil him in the war of words to come.
Other matters are raised first, largely relating to diplomatic approaches, appointments of lesser officials and matters of foreign policy, as they can be dealt with and dismissed relatively quickly. Cromwell reports that, while there have been many raised eyebrows across Europe at the creation of England's first Queen - and her first Queen Regent without a King - so far none of the European Princes have issued any great objection to the prospect, nor have they shown any ill will towards England's tiny new Queen. There is no suggestion yet of any bulls from the Lateran Palace, but - he admits - that is likely to be so only because the Vicar of Rome is has not yet made the measure of the women who are now ruling England, or what they shall do over the future of the church.
"Then he shall not be obliged to wait for long." Sussex snorts, "For that is decided. We are free from under the heel of Rome, and I, for one, shall not be quick to demand we bow under it again."
Tunstall says nothing, but the scowl that peeps out between the purple of his zucchetto and his robes suggests he most certainly does not agree with such sentiments.
Suffolk is equally quiet, for he has nothing to say that shall not inflame matters. He suspects that the Pope is primarily waiting to see who shall be wearing the crown by the end of the year - after all, there is another heir, is there not? A loyal, catholic heir who is recognised by most as the true and rightful daughter of the King and his First Queen. Should England turn to her, then they shall also turn back to the true faith, and thus bulls shall not be necessary.
Rather than allow matters to degenerate into a quarrel, Anne smiles, "Perhaps so, your Grace. That is a discussion for another day. We have, today, a greater matter to concern us. Mr Rich - if you would?"
Rich rises to his feet, "As you will be aware, we have been in negotiations with the Speaker of Her Majesty's Parliament, and, in order to effect good governance in the Realm, we propose a number of agreements with him pertaining to the calling of Parliament, its involvement in the making of law, and in the reform of taxation further to the subsidy instituted by his late Grace, Cardinal Wolsey."
In spite of his nerves, Rich continues to speak, taking care to ensure that his address is as dull and dry as possible. If Rochford is bored and distracted, then his reaction to the letter hidden in his papers shall be all the more pronounced. Fortunately, everyone is starting to fiddle with their portfolios to read the fair copies of the agreements and the briefing notes that were included with them, and thus they do not see that he has gone a little red, or that he is fighting to keep his voice steady, or that his hands are trembling a little.
It is such a simple, ridiculous ruse - but Rochford's reaction to the additional paper is immediate, for he had assumed it safely dispatched to Granada, and far away from those who might be damaged by its dangerous sentiments. He stares at it, his eyes widening, a sharp intake of breath catching the attention of everyone at the table.
"Are you quite alright, my Lord?" Anne asks, "What is it that you have read that perturbs you?" None need to know that she was prepared for this moment, and has been watching him like a hawk in anticipation of it.
"I…er…I it is nothing…nothing, Majesty." He says, hastily, attempting to screw the paper into a ball.
"Please - it must be something of concern. Show it to me - what statement upon it is the culprit?"
He cannot refuse her - not without causing matters to get even worse. His expression nervous, his complexion growing slightly grey, he complies, tossing the paper ball in her direction.
Her expression artfully intrigued, she unfurls it, and reads awhile, then looks up at Rich, who is still on his feet, "Could you read this aloud for the assembly, Mr Rich?"
Her tone is now very cold indeed.
Nervous, Rich takes up the letter, "My Lord Howard of Norfolk," he begins, slightly hesitantly, "forgive my presumption in approaching you, for it is of great concern to me that - as the only male heir of our late Lord Henry - my right of blood through the paternal line has not been recognised, nor has my more suitable age to rule been considered.
"As a Royal Duke, I am qualified both by blood and by virtue of my sex to rule this Kingdom, and I can thus protect the realm from the inevitable disaster that shall follow the setting of the Crown upon the head of a mere babe. Thus, if you are willing, I would ask that you stand with me as I make my claim to my late father's throne. There is no need for a Regent when there is a man who can be King.
"I would - of course - look to you as my first, and foremost adviser and Steward in recognition of our relationship through marriage. Thus we can restore the rightful rule of the realm to those who are fit to carry that burden.
"I do not require you to set out your answer to me in writing - but, if you are mindful to offer your support to my claim, I ride in the Park of St James each day two hours before the noon. Thus it would be mere coincidence, would it not, if a man of your colours might be present by chance in my vicinity. Should such a man appear, I shall know your decision. I shall await your answer, though I appreciate that it may take some time to arrange. Thus my offer shall remain open to you until the end of the month.
"Henry Richmond. Son of the Late King of England, France and Ireland."
Seated beside the intended recipient, Cromwell senses, rather than notices, Norfolk become very tense. The faces of the other council members are shocked at such a blatant approach by the young man, and his presumption in the face of his unresolved bastardy, given that no illegitimate child of a King has ever won the throne. Even Wiltshire is wearing an expression of surprise, and he stares at Rochford, as though scandalised.
"It is not mine!" Rochford demands, furiously, "I did not set it amongst these papers - it is a deception!"
"My Lord Suffolk." Anne's voice is like ice, "Please examine the paper - I believe you are acquainted with the handwriting of Henry Fitzroy."
His expression unreadable, Suffolk rises, and takes the paper from Rich's hand. After a considerable pause, he looks up. "Yes, Majesty. That is the hand of Fitzroy."
As a piece of evidence, it is - essentially - useless: as it is, in itself, not proof of treason as there is no suggestion that any action was taken in response to it. Nonetheless, the degree of guilt by association is high, and everyone's eyes are now upon the Duke, who glares at Rochford in return, "I warrant that it was intended to be sent to me - but, if I received it, where is my reply?"
"One was not demanded." Suffolk answers, quietly, "It would be a simple matter to enquire with the stables whether or not you took horse into the Park at any time, would it not?"
"You can prove nothing!" he snaps back.
"I can prove that the intent exists." Anne says, stonily, "For it rests in my Lord of Suffolk's hands. Why would his Grace of Richmond think you willing to stand with him to steal my daughter's Crown?"
"He was a young, impetuous fool!" Norfolk spits, "What the hell were you doing with that letter, Rochford? Do not pretend that it was not a deliberate act upon your part!"
Rochford reddens, "I did not place it within my papers - I knew nothing of it but what was spoken of to me!"
"Who spoke of it to you, George?" Anne leaps upon the unforced error, "When did you know of this? Why did you not tell me?"
"I…" he looks helpless - whatever he says now shall sound incriminating, regardless of what it is.
"And you, Boleyn?" Norfolk's eyes are vicious, "What did you do with it when I showed it to you? I set it in your hands and saw it not again!" Such is his fury at Wiltshire's presumed betrayal, he seems utterly oblivious to his own unforced admission that he received it in the first place.
Wiltshire's expression is astonishingly bland, "I know nothing of this." He says, coolly, "It would be of no interest to me to support a King's bastard in place of my own granddaughter. That would be treason."
Cromwell fights to conceal his disgust. Not only is Wiltshire disavowing all knowledge of the letter, but he is allowing his son to be blamed as equally as his brother-in-law, "Forgive me, Majesty - but this has come as a surprise to me as it has to you. That his Grace would conspire against you is one thing - but my own son."
And again, Rochford's inability to hide his emotions betrays him, as an expression of shock and hurt crosses his face, "Father!"
"Enough!" Anne rises sharply to her feet, obliging everyone else to do likewise, "My Lord of Norfolk - you received a communication from a man who sought to steal my daughter's Crown - and you did nothing to warn us of it. Furthermore, there is no guarantee that you did not attempt to provide the answer demanded. In spite of your initial denials, you have - before all present - declared that you received it; but at what point in time did you intend to speak of it to me? Would that have been before or after Richmond had drowned half of England in blood?"
His expression is savage, but it is not directed entirely at her. No, some of that venom is intended for her father - she can see it in the way that Norfolk's eyes flit back and forth between the other Councillors, and Wiltshire.
"I cannot have a man of such duplicity within my daughter's court. If you are not departed from this place by the day's end, you shall be arrested and escorted forthwith to the Tower. Begone."
For a few moments, it seems likely that he shall refuse, but the pressure of eyes upon him causes him to wilt somewhat, and he turns back to the two male Boleyns, "Do not think this is over. You are equally to blame for this, and I shall ensure that you pay for it!"
He rises from his seat with what little dignity he can still muster; then, turning upon his heel, he stalks out.
Wiltshire is not quick enough to suppress the vile smirk upon his face as Norfolk departs, and it does not go unnoticed, "It is of great concern to me that the letter was found within your papers, my Lord Rochford. Were it not for the requirement for your wife to follow you, I would demand that you also leave court, to remain away until it be my pleasure to recall you. As it is, know that it is thanks to your wife that you remain." Anne turns to her father and glares at him, "My Lord of Wiltshire, I am minded to commission a survey of all serviceable ships that can be called upon to form England's navy in times of War. I am appointing you to lead that commission in person. See to it. I expect to see your proposals and itinerary presented to the Lord High Treasurer two days from now."
Even Cromwell is surprised at that; in an instant, she has dismissed Norfolk, and obliged her interfering father to busy himself elsewhere for half a year at least. He would never have thought of such a thing - even had it been possible for him to carry it out. She has not dismissed Wiltshire, nor has she insulted him - instead she has given him a task that is of importance to the safety of the realm, so he has no right to complain.
Well done, my Queen. He thinks to himself, his heart swelling with pride for her, Well done indeed.