The Tapestry by Nancy Bilyeau Read Free Book Online Page A

him here —in the building that housed Parliament? If I were to disclose the truth, it would end his suspicion. But I did not want to tell him why I’d come to Westminster Hall. If I did that, then I mustalso disclose the attack on me, and how could I trust this distressing business to Thomas Cromwell? It wasn’t just that. I had to protect Culpepper—I owed him that much, at least.
    Cromwell took a step backward, nodding. “No answers for me, of course. But I shall have my answers, Mistress Stafford. Come.”
    I rose, but I was so full of fear that my legs wobbled. To steady myself, I touched the chain round my neck.
    Cromwell opened the door with a mirthless smile. “I expect that is a crucifix you fondle, Mistress Stafford. Before nightfall, we shall know for sure—and all of your other Papist secrets.”
    He was a man whose eyes missed nothing, whose mind worked faster than any other’s. How long would it be before he knew every single thing about me?
    In the passageway outside the room stood five men, all startled at the sight of me. “This lady shall accompany me,” Cromwell said by way of explanation. The men immediately fell in behind us, as the Lord Privy Seal escorted me down the hall.
    A way out of this suddenly occurred to me, and I said, “My Lord Cromwell, how could I be accused of spying on you if you entered that room after me?”
    Cromwell said smoothly, “That is not yet an established fact, mistress, who was present in the room first.”
    So he intended to alter the facts. It would be my word against his, and who would believe Joanna Stafford? As I walked down the passageway, my thoughts circled around Agatha Gwinn. How distraught she would be. My onetime novice mistress had sensed danger for me beyond the palace gatehouse, and she had been right.
    I expected that some sort of small room, sterile and windowless, would be my destination, the sort of place where Thomas Cromwell got answers to his questions, whether the targets be the lovers of Anne Boleyn or the friends of Henry Courtenay. But instead I was ushered into what was quite simply the largest hall I had ever stood in.
    There were rows of men lined up in front of both walls, two groups facing each other, the sun slanting through tall, narrow windows. Above us was an interlacing of carved wooden kings. Undoubtedly, I beheld the assembled lords and commons. To my shock, I stood before Parliament itself. They were assembled for Cromwell’s elevation, which I realized now had not yet taken place.
    “My lord Bishop of Winchester,” said Cromwell, not by any means shouting but loud enough so that all conversations going on in the hall ceased.
    “Yes, my lord Cromwell?”
    My heart sank at the sound of Stephen Gardiner’s voice. A hand closed around my forearm, and Cromwell pulled me toward the voice. There the bishop stood, in the center of the front row of the lords of Parliament, next to his chief ally, Thomas Howard, Duke of Norfolk.
    Impossible to say which of these two men looked more horrified. Gardiner’s lips pressed together and red patches flared in his cheeks. Norfolk squinted at me and then, recognition breaking, he took a step forward. His strangled curse could be heard above the startled hush of the assembled men.
    My face blazed hot as the attention of everyone in Westminster Hall turned toward me. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a young lord push aside another so that he could get a better look.
    But for Cromwell, there was only one other man in the room. He said to Gardiner, “I have discovered one of your disciples, Mistress Joanna Stafford, and in a most interesting place. She bears a summons to come before the keeper of the wardrobe, yet I found her here, in Westminster Hall.”
    “She is not my disciple,” said the bishop calmly.
    “No?”
    I turned to look at Cromwell. That satisfied smile reappeared, which had twisted his face when he accused me of wearing a crucifix. It did not warm his features; nothing