Page 40

Rolfe was nearly ready to force his way past the guard station and begin searching room after room when a footman suddenly appeared at the door.

“Lord Ravenscroft, His Majesty will see you now. If you would but follow me?”

The footman led him through a maze of twisting corridors, doorway after doorway, deeper and deeper into the palace, until Rolfe wasn’t certain he’d ever be able to find his way out.

He noticed that the hallways were mostly deserted except for the occasional servant, indicating that the palace denizens had taken off for their own private amusements.

The footman came to a halt outside a closed door. A single candle sat in a gold sconce on the wall beside the door.

“His Majesty awaits you inside,” said the footman before bowing and vanishing into the shadows.

Rolfe watched him go, confused at why the footman hadn’t shown him into the room to properly announce his arrival. Alone now, he knocked softly at the door.

“Enter!”

Inside, the room was lit by numerous candle branches that had been set apart from one another about the spacious chamber.

Carved and gilded furnishings filled the room to excess.

There were chairs covered in a rich cream-colored velvet, tall carved chests and elegant tables inlaid with mother-of-pearl.

Bronze and ivory statues crafted by the likes of Donatello and Riccio stood at guard.

Brilliant colorful tapestries covered the whole of one wall.

Rolfe spotted the king on the other side of the room nearer to the tall windows whose drapery had been opened to reveal the starlit night sky. A telescope was standing there, pointing out. It was a striking view, set against the backdrop of the Thames, the moonlight rippling on the water’s surface.

Charles sat on the floor amid a bevy of tufted and tasseled pillows. Curled beside him like a satisfied feline, and wearing an inappropriately minimum amount of clothing, was none other than Barbara Palmer, Lady Castlemaine, his mistress.

“Rolfe, my good man, welcome to the apartments of our dear countess. Consider yourself privileged. Not too many men are allowed inside. Are they not the most resplendent rooms you’ve ever seen?”

The king was in good humor, Rolfe quickly noticed. Pity it wouldn’t be for long.

“Fit for a queen,” Rolfe said. Or someone who fancies herself a queen at the least , he thought privately.

Lady Castlemaine’s scowl at his statement was not lost on Rolfe.

“ Ma cherie ,” Charles murmured to her, “Lord Ravenscroft is our guest. Have you nothing to offer him?”

“Babette,” Barbara said sternly, clapping her bejeweled hands loudly, “a brandy for Lord Ravenscroft.”

“That is not necessary?—”

The goblet was shoved into Rolfe’s hand by a meek-faced maid even before he had the chance to finish his refusal.

“Hungry?” Charles asked. “I believe we have most anything you could desire, three kinds of wine, a number of cheeses, exotic fruits grown in the palace hothouse.” He motioned toward an array of dishes and platters that were spread out picnic fashion on the marble floor. It was a veritable feast.

“No, thank you, Your Majesty. I have already supped.”

The king sighed. “Well then, I guess we’ll have to eat yours for you.” Charles laughed as Lady Castlemaine popped a sugared grape into his open mustachioed mouth.

He chewed slowly, and as he did, Rolfe took the opportunity to look around the apartment. He soon came to the conclusion that everything about the place—the decor, the garish furnishings, even the amount of food assembled for their private late-night supper—was obscene in its unrestrained excess.

Finally, the king asked, “So tell me, Rolfe, what is so important as to bring you to the palace at such an ungodly hour?”

Rolfe eyed Lady Castlemaine. Her attention, which had heretofore been focused on which morsel of food to offer the king, was suddenly trained on him.

“It is a delicate matter, Your Majesty. I was rather hoping for a more private audience.”

Lady Castlemaine’s lovely violet-blue eyes narrowed on him.

Perhaps it was the serious tone to Rolfe’s voice, that coupled with the fact that the hour was so late and his reasons for coming there were obviously urgent.

Rolfe didn’t know what finally managed to divert Charles’s attention away from his scantily-clad paramour and her midnight feast, but something thankfully had.

“My pet,” Charles said tenderly to her, tracing his finger along the line of her dimpled chin, “would you please be a love and go find me some of those delightful little cherries you had for me last night? I have never tasted any sweeter.”

That she was teetering on the edge of refusal was obvious to both men.

The countess took her time in deciding. When she finally stood and started from the room, Rolfe would have sworn he heard Charles release a breath of relief.

She made it a point to look back several times before leaving and closing the door behind her.

Rolfe suddenly recalled Cassia telling him about rumors that had once circulated among the court accusing Lady Castlemaine of practicing witchcraft.

They had begun in effort to explain the extraordinary hold the woman seemed to have on the king.

Queen Catherine had believed the charges so thoroughly she had na?vely brooked her suspicions to the king, who had immediately quashed them, knowing the seriousness of such a charge.

Witches were still hanged in parts of the country.

What Rolfe had just seen, the obvious influence Lady Castlemaine had over Charles, only lent credence to the rumors.

The transformation in Charles with her gone was immediate. His voice regained its familiar baritone, discarding the mewling quality which had been painfully evident before. He rose to his feet and extended his hand, delivering Rolfe a strong handshake. This was the handshake of a king.

“Now, what is it you need of me, Rolfe?”

“How goes the queen, Your Majesty?”

At first, Charles looked surprised at the question. “Surely you didn’t come all this way at this time of night just to inquire after the health of my wife.”

“Please, sir, it is important.”

Charles regarded him a moment. “All right. To be quite honest, Catherine does not fare well. In fact, she grows worse with each day that passes. I am becoming most concerned.”

The thought to ask him why he was there, in that room, with that woman, instead of at his ailing wife’s bedside, crossed Rolfe’s mind. It was a thought he would never dare give voice to. Instead, he decided to cut right to the point of his intrusion.

“I thought you should know that several nights ago, the night of the masquerade, we believe Lady Cassia was poisoned.”

Charles’s alarm at the news was immediate and genuine. “What? Poisoned? Bloody hell, man, is she all right?”

“Yes, she is fine. At least now she is. It was questionable for a time whether she would survive it. If it hadn’t been for Hadrian’s wife, Mara, and the grace of the saints above, Cassia might not have lived.”

Charles stared down at the carpet. “I feared something like this would happen.”

Rolfe looked at the king. “Your Majesty, is there something more I should know? Something about the death of Cassia’s father you haven’t already told me?”

Charles met his gaze. “What? No, nothing like that. I just never could believe Seagrave’s murder was a random act. As such, I feared for Cassia’s safety, too.” Charles was silent for a moment. “Do you have any idea who it was who poisoned her?”

Rolfe took a swallow from the brandy that had been forced on him, glad now for it. “I cannot say for certain. Whoever it is, they are quite adept at covering their tracks. I wasn’t even certain how she had been poisoned, until I spoke with her about it earlier this evening.”

“And?” Charles broke in. “Out with it, Rolfe. I sense there is more. What aren’t you saying?”

“Your Majesty, we have come to the conclusion that the only opportunity for Cassia to have been poisoned the night of the masquerade would have been when she shared some of the queen’s tea that evening, in the queen’s apartments, when you took her to visit her.”

Charles’s expression turned to stone. It hadn’t taken him more than a second to read the true meaning behind Rolfe’s carefully-phrased words. “Are you trying to say that you think someone was trying to kill my wife?”

“It would seem to explain this mysterious illness she has that confounds the physicians and only seems to worsen every day.”

Charles turned and stared out the windows as he considered this. He did not speak.

Rolfe went on. “I cannot say with all certainty that the poison was indeed originally intended for the queen. It is only a supposition as of now. If it is, in fact, true, then it would appear whoever is administering the poison to the queen is doing so in small doses so as not to bring about any suspicion.”

“If this is true, then why was Cassia so badly affected?”

“The only explanation I have come up with is that perhaps the culprit had decided to increase the dosage that particular night?”

Charles turned to face him again. “But why?”

“Being that most everyone would be occupied at the masquerade that night, and the queen would be left virtually alone—at least she would have been had you and Cassia not gone to see her—I can only conclude that whoever was administering the poison to her decided that the time had come to finish the deed.”

Rolfe could see Charles’s hand tightening around the drapery cord.

“I truly regret having to tell you this, Your Majesty. I merely thought you should be informed of the possibility of it. So that precautions might be taken. For the queen.”

There passed a moment where neither of them spoke. Rolfe stood by and simply waited. When Charles finally looked back at him, his eyes shone with the hint of tears in the candlelight.

“What have I brought that poor woman to? Catherine has never done anything to harm anybody. She is a kind soul, the kindest soul I’ve ever encountered.

She only seeks peace and to do her duty as my queen, yet she is constantly falling under attack by others.

They accuse her of heresy because of her religion.

They label her barren. And for what? Because she is my wife.

I have made her the target. The comments and whispers I can deal with, even the suggestions of divorce.

But this? The possibility that someone in this palace is seeking to end her life?

This is an outrage. It is treason. Who would commit such a despicable act? Who would want to kill the queen?”

Rolfe could think of several possible suspects, in fact the most likely of which had just sauntered her way out of the room. But he decided to keep that thought to himself. As Cassia had once told him, one should never lay false blame. At least not without proof.

“It may not be too late, Your Majesty. The queen yet lives.”

“Yes. You are right.” Charles sprang to life. “I will go to her at once. I will dismiss all who attend her. I can trust no one. I will have her meals specially prepared and I will taste them myself, if necessary. If they want to kill her, then they will have to do me in before her.”

Charles made immediately for the door, Rolfe following him.

“There is an herbal treacle prepared by Mara that proved most effective with Cassia. I will have it sent over to you at once.”

Charles stopped, taking Rolfe by the arm. “I cannot, no, I will not allow Catherine to perish simply for the misfortune of having married me. I will do whatever I must to see that she is safe.”

It wasn’t until later when Rolfe was leaving the palace later that he realized the king had gone to his wife without bothering to inform Lady Castlemaine of his departure.