The Boleyn Deceit by Laura Andersen Page B

you will soon restore her some measure of autonomy?”
    William looked at the Earl of Surrey, sitting stiffly where once his grandfather had sat and entirely mute until now. “What think you, Surrey?” he asked curtly.
    “I think her imprisonment is a mistake, Your Majesty.” He had a strong, clear voice that was more remarkable than his other, somewhat forgettable, features.
    William indicated that he should continue. Surrey’s voice strengthened as he spoke. “Your Catholic subjects are still that—your subjects. Including the Lady Mary. It is my understanding that you have no certain evidence to doubt her loyalty. When you punish where there is no fault, resentment breeds. And you cannot afford resentment.”
    William raised a single eyebrow. Despite his own recent imprisonment, Surrey was not afraid to be direct, even offensive. But he was honest, and William had ever respected honesty. “What would you do?”
    “Continue your course of moderation. Don’t confuse matters of state with matters of conscience. There will always be agitators on both sides, Your Majesty, but the bulk of your people understand and admire your tolerance.”
    Northumberland grunted and finally broke his silence. “Tolerance is earned. And it isn’t Protestants threatening the throne.”
    “It isn’t me, either,” Surrey retorted. “By all means, punish treason wherever it threatens. But don’t confuse the security of the state with personal prejudice.”
    “Says the man not long out of the Tower,” Northumberland muttered, almost but not quite under his breath.
    “I would think you would agree with Surrey’s call for tolerance, my lord duke,” William said with deceptive mildness. “After all, there’s more than one way to undermine the throne.”
    It was the first time William had publicly touched upon the matter of the still-absent Guildford since the day he’d sent Margaret Clifford into Lady Suffolk’s care. He felt everyone’s attention sharpen—except Dominic, whose attention was always pitched to an extreme. Oxford and Pembroke looked almost greedy as they leaned into the table, eager to watch the arrogant Northumberland be taken down a notch. William wondered if there was a single man at that table who truly cared for anything more than his own position. Other than Dominic, of course.
    William also leaned forward, and clasped his hands loosely on the table in front of him while focusing on Northumberland’s uneasy face. “I wonder, is your son still in England, or has he been spirited away to the Continent? Not very gallant of Guildford to abandon his girl-bride.”
    “He knows Your Majesty would not harm her,” Rochford interposed in his measured way. Like so much his uncle did, the intervention irritated William.
    Harm his young cousin? No, he would not do that. But thechit of a girl was hardly an innocent—Margaret had admitted to being a wife in all ways to Guildford Dudley and had the belly to prove it. Time to bring pressure to bear before it was said that Northumberland could get away with anything. Let it be seen, William thought, that he could punish Protestant as well as Catholic.
    “My Lord Chancellor,” he said—for this was a task for Rochford, not for Dominic’s more sensitive conscience—“have Margaret Clifford—excuse me, Margaret
Dudley
—arrested. Bring her to the Tower, that we might question her more closely about her husband’s whereabouts and … intentions.” He considered Northumberland for the space of four slow breaths, letting the tension build. “I find it difficult to believe that young Guildford would have been so rash of his own accord. To bed the girl—yes, he would easily do that. But to wed her? A girl in line to my throne? I wonder where your son got the courage to do that?”
    He took pleasure in having rattled the normally undaunted Northumberland. “Your Majesty, I assure you—”
    “You’re excused, my lord Northumberland. I have no further need of