Once Upon a Rose

woman. Yet Deanie couldn't remember the

  ghost's name. Blast, why hadn't she paid more

  attention? For all she recollected, it could be

  Deanie herself who would haunt the corridor for the

  next five centuries.

  Again she stopped, and this time there was a brief

  whoosh behind her. She was being followed.

  "Hello?"

  As soon as she spoke she realized how

  ridiculous she sounded. What did she expect,

  a ghost to step from the shadows and introduce itself?

  Or some evildoer to bow and explain why

  he was following her into the dark reaches of the

  palace?

  Picking up her pace, she walked briskly

  toward yet another hallway, not even bothering

  to look into rooms as she passed. Her throat was

  parched with fright, but she ignored the discomfort. Behind

  her she felt someone else mirroring her every

  move, faster or slower as she made her way to a

  large double door.

  Just before she was able to reach for a huge circular

  doorknob, a hand pressed over her mouth.

  "Be still, mistress." The voice was

  unfamiliar. A man pinned her to his body,

  tall and thin against her shoulder blades.

  With a sharp jab, she elbowed his side. He

  groaned but did not let her loose. Instead he

  tightened his grip. "That was not wise."

  Her arms were now held back at a painful

  angle. She bit down on his hand with all her

  might. He spat out a startled curse, and she

  used his momentary shock to escape.

  Taking two steps in blind, animal panic,

  she made for the large door just beyond her reach. She

  slammed the door behind her, her hands shaking,

  searching in the dim light for a lock. There was none.

  Her pursuer yanked on the door from the other

  side. Using all her strength and the leverage of her

  weight, she kept the door pulled shut. With a

  frantic glance over her shoulder, she saw a

  tapestry-covered table and a high-backed chair.

  Upon the table was a single thick candle, its wax

  dripping freely over the needlework. The rest of the

  chamber was cloaked in shadows.

  Stretching out her foot while still holding on to the

  doorknob, she pulled the chair to her side and

  jammed it at an angle beneath the doorknob. She

  knew it wouldn't hold for more than a few

  seconds and immediately dashed for the table, ducking under

  the tapestry and praying that it wasn't a chest of

  drawers--and that she didn't tip over the candle and

  set the whole palace ablaze. Although at that

  moment a roaring, out-of-control fire offered her more

  safety than cowering under a table in a dead-end

  room.

  The table was, indeed, just a table, and there was

  plenty of room for her to hide. Just as she heard

  the chair crash to the planked floor, she pulled

  the train of her gown farther under the table and tried

  to still her ragged breathing.

  "I know you are in here."

  There was a triumphant sneer to his words.

  Deanie tried to identify her assailant but could

  not.

  "Ah, methinks my beautious prey is

  hiding." He gave a sharp, unpleasant

  chuckle. "Perchance under the chair? No. No

  room there. I espy a table. The flame yet

  quivers atop, as if some unknown personage

  disturbed its glow."

  Deanie was about to speak, to crawl out before he

  plunged a sword into the tapestry. Just as she

  pulled the tapestry aside, another voice

  pierced the air.

  "Leave."

  It was a single command, barked with authority.

  "Who goes?" Her assailant's tone was

  unsure.

  "Thomas Cromwell, earl of Essex."

  Deanie had known who the third person was before he

  identified himself. His voice was etched forever in her

  most vivid nightmares. "Be that young Surrey?

  Sheath your weapon, pup."

  Deanie's mind reeled. Surrey? Henry

  Howard, Katherine's cousin and Norfolk's

  scrawny son? She sank against the wall, her

  hand over her mouth. Why would Surrey want

  to follow her?

  "Cromwell." Surrey was growing bolder by the

  minute. "Are you again hiding in disgrace? The

  true peers are below, with the king."

  "That explains your presence here then."

  Cromwell used the same mild tone he had

  used with Deanie.

  "Why you upstart cur!" Surrey sputtered his

  anger. "You have nary a drop of noble blood in

  your coarse veins! You ... you ..."

  "Yes, Surrey?" Cromwell paused.

  "Do I detect a slight impediment in your

  speech? Too much blue blood breeds

  imperfections. Such as your stuttering tongue. And

  your comical swordplay."

  "No!"

  "You may leave, Surrey. Now. Before I

  call for my men."

  Deanie could imagine the mortified expression

  on the younger man's face.

  "You will soon be felled, Cromwell," spat

  Surrey with a final rush of bravado. She then

  heard the heavy door open and slam shut. In his

  blast of shame, Surrey had forgotten

  Deanie, still huddled beneath the table.

  She remained still, waiting for Cromwell

  to leave, hoping he had somehow remained ignorant

  of her presence. If the chamber was divided by a

  screen, or perhaps a small antechamber,

  Cromwell might believe the earlier scuffling

  to have been Surrey alone.

  "You may come out now, Mistress Deanie."

  Now real fear gripped her. Surrey was an

  unknown quantity. With Cromwell, she knew the

  danger she was in, the violence of which he was

  capable. He had already caused Kit's agonizing

  wound with the simple lift of a finger. She remained

  silent, the terror causing her limbs to stay

  motionless.

  "Come come, mistress. You have nothing to fear."

  "Yeah, right," she muttered aloud.

  "I will repeat my request one more time.

  Remove yourself from this ridiculous position

  immediately. Or perhaps you would like one of my men

  to assist you."

  In an instant she crawled from under the table, her

  headpiece catching on the leg, her knees

  tangling in the yards of fabric of both the

  tapestry and her gown. With an annoyed sigh,

  Cromwell held the tapestry still as she struggled

  to her feet.

  For a moment they said nothing to each other. Deanie

  stared at him, aware how very vulnerable she was, and

  also aware how vulnerable Kit was down below. She

  hoped he hadn't noticed Cromwell's absence

  from the hall, silently prayed he was not at this very

  moment searching for her.

  "What were you doing?" Cromwell asked

  simply.

  Deanie blinked. The calm manner of his question

  both surprised and alarmed her.

  "Excuse me?"

  "There
is a banquet below, as usual. The king

  is there, as usual." Cromwell straightened.

  "Lest you forget, we have a bargain, mistress.

  What are you doing creeping through the halls?"

  Crossing her arms and stalling for time, she tried

  to think of an answer. Something that wouldn't lead

  to even more trouble for both herself and Kit. Then it

  hit her: the truth. There was nothing wrong with where

  she had been going, or why.

  "I was trying to find the kitchen," she said at

  last.

  "The kitchen?"

  She nodded. "I know how to make something the king

  would like. They're called doughnuts, and I'm

  sure he would love them."

  "Where is Hamilton?"

  "He's below, watching those awful mummers."

  "And he allowed you to go unescorted into the

  kitchen?"

  "No," she admitted, shaking her head. "He

  thinks I went to the privy. The idea just hit me

  downstairs. I saw the king turn his attention from

  Katherine Howard to a tray of sweets and

  realized how much the king would enjoy doughnuts. So

  I decided to sneak down to the kitchen to tell

  Scholsenberg all about--"

  "Scholsenberg?"

  "Oh, the queen's cook. Anyway, I just

  thought--"

  Cromwell held up a hand to stop her. "I

  see." Slowly he turned his eyes to the single

  candle, one finger tapping in the air as if an

  entity of its own. He did not seem to be aware

  of Deanie. For the moment he was in a solitude

  imposed by his own thoughts.

  Deanie did not like the silence. Cromwell's

  efficient mind, spinning mayhem with just such

  malignant concentration, had created far too many

  disasters.

  "May I ask you a question?" Deanie rushed.

  He seemed startled and fixed his attention on

  her face. With a brisk nod, he signaled her

  to speak.

  "These last few days, well, you've pretty

  much left us alone. You almost killed Kit last

  week, but you've stayed clear since then."

  There was no indication on Cromwell's bland,

  flat face that her words had penetrated. He

  continued staring at her before answering.

  "Would you prefer I complete the task?" He

  spoke softly.

  "No!" She gasped. "We just don't know

  what to expect, and it's driving us crazy."

  Cromwell lunged toward Deanie, his black

  eyes glinting. She was about to scream when his arm

  glided past her and gripped the candle on the

  tapestry-covered table.

  "Come here, mistress." For the first time there was no

  malice in his voice, no threat behind each

  syllable.

  He led her to the back of the chamber. The candle

  cast a yellow circle of light on the

  furnishings as they walked. She realized she had

  stumbled upon his private chambers, his personal

  lair where he attended to business, both state and

  personal.

  There was a massive desk covered with parchments.

  Holding the candle, not looking at her, he

  gestured toward the stacks of thick paper, the

  bottles of ink and bundle of quills. There was

  a heavy seal made of either brass or gold and a

  shaker. She knew the silver shaker was full of

  sand to blot ink dry.

  "These documents will both annul the king's

  marriage and lead Queen Anne to the block.

  They are almost complete, lacking but a handful of

  easily purchased signatures."

  Deanie was unable to speak, and Cromwell

  continued. "Within the past several days there had been

  a certain--well, thawing of the king's treatment of the

  queen. My men say it began when you told him

  how kind the queen had been to Hamilton, how she

  nursed him with her own hands."

  "It's true."

  "She is not becoming a demanding shrew, as

  Kathrine of Aragon and Anne Boleyn so

  foolishly became." Finally he looked at her.

  "I care not who is the queen, as long as the king

  is content and my own position is secure."

  "You mean it doesn't matter whether it's

  Anne or Katherine Howard or me?" She

  tried to keep the excitement from her voice.

  "Nay, I did not say that. Should Katherine

  Howard be mistress or queen, I shall be

  destroyed. And mark my words, I will take you and

  Hamilton and Queen Anne with me." He

  glared at her in the darkness. "If you can persuade

  the king to dislike the queen a little less, it will be

  well for all of us."

  She was about to ask him another question, to explain

  what he meant, when he waved her off. "Go now.

  Go in haste and make the king a most pleasant

  treat."

  Now was not the time to press the issue. She all

  but ran from the room, holding her train in one hand,

  the other stretched out in the pitch-black air,

  hoping to stop herself from colliding with a wall or a

  piece of furniture. Just before she reached the

  door, she halted.

  "Excuse me, Mr. Cromwell?"

  There was silence, then an irritated

  response. "Yes?"

  "How do I get to the kitchen?"

  A strange sound erupted from the direction of

  Cromwell. Deanie realized it was a laugh--a

  dry, humorless laugh. A shiver traced down

  her spine. Even while laughing, the man gave

  her the creeps. "Down the corridor, to the

  left. Follow the scent from there."

  "Thank you," she hazarded.

  There was no response. She ran from the earl of

  Essex as quickly as her feet could carry her.

  Cecily Garrison returned to the Great

  Hall, pausing only to curtsy to her sovereign

  and his wife. She went directly to the duke of

  Hamilton, who was waiting for her report.

  "Did you find her?"

  Kit was uncharacteristically anxious. The same

  man who had coolly faced mortal danger in the

  skies over England, who had just that afternoon risked his

  well-deserved reputation as an unparalleled

  swordsman by engaging in a brutal match with

  Surrey--a lesser opponent but a healthy one

  --was showing distinct signs of worry. And the

  reason?

  The failure of his cousin to return from the

  privy.

  "Nay, I did not," she responded.

  Kit began to rise, not bothering to be charming

  to Mistress Cecily or, for that matter,

  to anyone in the court. Just as he began to bolt to the

  passageway, his left hand hovering over the hilt

  of the sword, he slammed into the figure of a

  woman who seemed to appear out of nowhere.

  "Kit!" she breathed.

  "Deanie, for God's sake, where have you been?"

  The mild commotion the pair created was quickly

  upstaged by the queen's tumbler, performing a duet

  with the three-legged brown bear.

  With a firm grip he pulled her to their place

  on the bench
. Once settled, she turned a

  dazzling smile on him. "You'll never guess

  what just happened!"

  "I'll tell you." He spoke with his teeth

  clenched, the color on his face high. "I almost

  charged through the halls, sword drawn, searching for

  you. Didn't I ask you not to disappear again?

  Didn't I ask you, just this morning?" At last

  he took a deep breath and looked at her.

  Her eyes grew large, her complete attention

  focused on him. All his anger seemed

  to evaporate as he took in the sight of her.

  He realized he was still clutching her arm, andwitha

  gentle squeeze he released her.

  "There is something white on your nose," he said

  softly, reaching out and brushing a dusting of powder from

  the bridge of her nose.

  "Oh, that's flour." She rubbed the remaining

  flour from her nose, leaving it reddened. Kit could

  not help but smile.

  "Look! Look at the king!" she whispered.

  She was about to tell him about her meeting with

  Cromwell but decided to wait until he had

  calmed down.

  "Why?"

  "Just watch."

  On the dais, Englebert, bowing humbly,

  presented the king with a large golden platter

  filled with round clumps of pastry. The queen,

  peering nervously over his shoulder, saw the contents

  of the platter. For a moment her face was blank;

  then, as a slow smile eased her features, she

  turned her eyes to Deanie.

  "What is this?" the king's voice boomed. Then

  he looked closer. His jeweled hand immediately

  grasped one of the objects. He sniffed it once

  like a suspicious dog, then took a large

  bite, his small teeth gnashing in mechanical

  speed. Then the motions slowed, and across the hall

  Deanie held her breath, her hand closing over

  Kit's forearm.

  The king turned to the queen, his mouth still full.

  "From you?" He pointed an accusing finger--the one not

  holding the pastry--at Queen Anne.

  Her face momentarily fell, and she nodded.

  "Ja. They are called doo-nuts."

  The king stared, still chewing furiously. And then he

  grinned, his red beard sticky with honey. "My

  queen! Excellent!" He reached for another

  glazed doughnut, gesturing for others to join him.

  Finally, like a precious gift, he offered the last

  one to Queen Anne.

  Englebert beamed.

  Kit began to laugh. "You made doughnuts for

  King Henry?"

  Deanie nodded. "I wanted to make

  sugar-coated, but did you know they don't have

  regular sugar here? I had to use honey instead."

  "You would fit right in with the NAAFI women."

  He chuckled, wrapping his arm briefly about her

  shoulders.

  "The what women?"

  He leaned closer. "They brought tea and

  biscuits to the pilots, ladies with aprons and

  those marvelous cigarettes."

  "Like the USO," she murmured, enjoying the

  weight and warmth of his arm. "Wait a minute:

  You said cigarettes. Do you mean to tell me that

  you made me explain what they were, making me

  feel like an absolute idiot, and all along you

  used to smoke?"

  He raised his lush eyebrows and grinned. "Like

  a chimney."

  "Kit, tell me: When will I forget about

  cigarettes? I mean, if we end up here, or

  in a time without tobacco, when will I stop thinking about

  them?"

  Just then Englebert passed a tray of

  doughnuts, and Kit took two, handing one

  to Deanie. "Please, Kit," she pleaded,

  kneading his sleeve. "When will I get over it?"

  With deliberate languor he took a bite

  of a doughnut, nodding in agreement with the king's

  appraisal. When he swallowed, his face

  became grave. "I'll tell you this much," he

  whispered. "The first ten years are the hardest."

  Her face fell tragically. And for the second

  time that evening, the great hall was filled with the

  laughter of the duke of Hamilton.

  Chapter 13

  The next day Kit and Deanie were forced to wait

  until long after the fast was broken to speak. The

  night before, she had been able to give him the gist of

  her exchange with Cromwell, noting the quietly

  puzzling change in his behavior.

  "Now he's even more dangerous," Kit

  concluded. "He knows that if the king marries

  Katherine, he's finished."

  "Why?" Deanie asked as they left the hall.

  Before speaking she made sure no one was listening,

  pressing against his arm as they walked. "She seems

  nice enough. No rocket scientist, but a

  sweet kid."

  Kit laughed then. "The very idea of Katherine

  Howard as a scientist ..." He shook his head.

  "But it's not Katherine who threatens Cromwell

  --it's her family. They're every bit as

  ambitious as your Wallis Simpson."

  "I don't have a Wallis

  Simpson."

  "You know, the divorced Yank who married our

  Edward." When she still seemed perplexed, he

  halted and coaxed her into a corner with a gentle

  nudge. "Please, Deanie. Don't tell me

  you have no idea who I'm taking about."

  "I have no idea who you're talking about," she

  confessed.

  "The famous "woman I love" speech?"