The Queen's Rival by Diane Haeger Read Free Book Online

Almoner and key adviser, as well as the architect of the war in France. Her father had described the important players at court so well that she knew them all. Wolsey was unmistakable.
    She watched him more keenly now, moving past her own great sense of panic to wonder what he was doing alone at this late hour in the king’s private bedchamber. In his long cassock, buttoned to the floor, close-fitting sleeves, white rochet, and biretta, he moved methodically. The strong scent of ambergris swirled around him, invading the room. She kept silent watch as he flipped through each of the books as if searching for something hidden between the pages. He moved next to the tall, ornately carved cabinet.
    Stories about Thomas Wolsey played through her mind as she watched him. In great detail and with much gesturing, her father had told her of a boldly ambitious man, the son of a merchant from the village of Ipswich, who had found not only his calling in the clergy, but his path to greatness. An unattractive middle-aged man, who seemingly presented little outward threat to the other ambitious courtiers, Wolsey had become the king’s private Almoner, a member of the Privy Council, and eventually, and determinedly, an intellectual counselor whom the king had come to trust implicitly. But, as Bess studied him from beneath the bed, she felt instant distrust. Knowing he was here in these private quarters when the king was away seemed to confirm her feelings.
    Suddenly, her thoughts were distracted by a small, soft slip of lace fabric edged in silk bunched up on the floor beside her. Bess pulled it to her in the shadowy darkness, as there was some sort of embroidery sewn into the center in small, neat stitches. She watched Wolsey open the cabinet next and begin rifling through one of the drawers there. She did not move, and she tried to not even breathe too loudly. But she watched.
    The prelate took a small blue velvet pouch, heavy with coins, and she watched him withdraw several, as if they were his own, before replacing the pouch. Next, he took a small brick of crimson wax and a gold stamp and put them into a pocket in his ankle-length black satin coat. Did he really have this sort of access, Bess wondered, or was he actually stealing from the king?
    She had heard some of the women saying that after victories at Thérouanne and Tournai, young King Henry was now seeking appointment for the older Wolsey as Bishop of Tournai. Perhaps Wolsey had returned early to watch over the pregnant queen now that victory belonged to England? Bess knew she had much to learn here, and she could not be certain of any of the players enough to trust them. She clutched the lump of fabric and waited until he finally left the room. Only then did she scramble back out from beneath the bed as she dived for the secret door, anxious to be out of there.
    In the corridor at the bottom of the turret, Bess expected to see Elizabeth, Jane, and Gil waiting for her, but they had vanished. As the panic came at her in another powerful wave, Bess tried to remember from which direction in the black maze of hallways they had come so she could make her way back to her chamber. In the dark, the corridor, which ran in two directions, was impossibly long and forbidding. If she went the wrong way now, she could easily become lost and at greater risk of being caught. Neither path before her looked familiar. Yet with the sturdy determination of a Blount, she chose one, exhaled an unsteady breath, and moved forward.
    “Lost your way?” a deep-voiced man called out behind her.
    Bess’s heart stopped. She froze where she was. She was afraid to turn around. When she did at last pivot back, tucking the fabric into a fold in her skirt, she saw that it was her father’s uncle, the balding and formidable William Blount, Lord Mountjoy. She had met him at Kinlet on only two occasions, but the family resemblance to her father, particularly the cool blue eyes, was unmistakable.
    “My Lord