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SEVEN
William Cavendish knew he had done an exemplary job in Dover. He had curbed his impatience to return to London, firmly setting duty before pleasure, because of his driving ambition. Upon his return he went immediately to Court to make his report to Treasurer Paulet and learned that his ambition had served him well.
“I have good news for you, Cavendish. King Henry is most satisfied with the work you have done at the monasteries. He has you in mind for another such post and asked to speak with you the moment you returned.”
Paulet hinted at preferment of some sort, and William was flattered and eager for an audience with the king. William did not take time to change his clothes but went directly to the Presence Chamber, where after a short wait he was ushered into the king's Privy Chamber.
He could smell Henry's ulcerated leg the moment he entered the room, in spite of the perfumed royal body, and put aside his concern for his own travel stains.
“Cavendish!” Henry beamed graciously. “We are not unmindful of the competent job you have done month after month.”
Cavendish bowed, also with grace. “Your Majesty, I thank you.”
“We have need of your services, further afield. The post we have in mind will be a shade more difficult perhaps, but we feel you have the qualities necessary to bring all to completion.”
“Your Majesty, I will do my utmost to see that it is so.” William knew the qualities Henry spoke of were energy and a certain ruthlessness.
Henry's small eyes seemed to diminish to pinholes in his fleshy face, and William held his breath as he wondered what the devil was coming.
“Ireland!” Henry spat.
Cavendish let out his breath. Christ Almighty, I will need to be a magician to deal with the bloody Irish monasteries! But nevertheless he was highly flattered that the king thought him capable of such a task. “Ireland,” William repeated. “As you say, Your Majesty, a shade more difficult, but I relish a challenge.”
“Just so, man, just so! And we will not be ungrateful in this matter. You will be amply rewarded for any results.”
Henry, truer words were never uttered!
As the king approached to take his hand, Cavendish pinched his nostrils and held his breath. Then he kissed Henry's rings.
“Thank you, Sire, you do me great honor.”
Before Cavendish went to his own residence, he stopped off at Suffolk House to share his news with his friend, Henry Grey.
“I don't know whether to congratulate you or commiserate with you,” Henry said wryly. “There are some bloody religious fanatics in Ireland, old man.”
William laughed. “The Irish are all fanatics, religious or otherwise, and since half the English orders I've dealt with were overrun with Irish monks and nuns, I don't believe I'll encounter anything I can't handle.”
“Well, better you than me. When do you go?”
“Immediately. Paulet says I'll be gone at least a year, perhaps two.”
“Two years in Ireland? That's a bloody life sentence! Let's hope there's a title in this for you.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
“Well, come to us before you leave. Frances will be beside herself.”
“Who's taking my name in vain?” Frances asked, sweeping into the salon. “If you are going to be made Sir William Cavendish, I'd better work on Henry to elevate me from a marquess to a duchess,” Frances drawled.
“She listens at keyholes,” Henry explained.
“He's telling the truth, that's how I knew it was you, Rogue. I have a letter for you.” She pulled the envelope from her ample bosom and handed it to him. “It's from your ravishing redhead, darling; obviously she missed you sorely.”
William took the letter and frowned when he noted it was postmarked Derbyshire. He felt annoyance that Bess had run home. He'd fully expected her to be here awaiting his return. Disappointment washed over him. “Thank you, Frances. I'm going to miss you both.”
“Not half so much as I shall miss you, Rogue,” Frances said, sighing heavily. “Who's going to keep my husband occupied while I go about my indiscretions?”
William clipped her close and bade them good-bye, promising to spend an evening with them before he departed for Ireland.
