In a Treacherous Court (14 page)

“You did not know of your uncle’s death?” Susanna felt a frisson of shock.

“He was not overpleased when my mother appealed to him for help upon my father’s death, and my brother and I resolved to make a living without him. Once allied to the King, overnight I found myself with land holdings in Fulham, and soon after that I inherited a distant cousin’s property in Hertfordshire.”

“And your brother?” Susanna was intrigued. She had not thought Parker had any family.

“He and his wife and my mother live on my estates in Hertfordshire. My brother manages the property for me.” His thumb began to stroke the top of her hand, back and forth.

Susanna relaxed into her chair. Parker could excite her
with nothing more than a look, but this gentle stroking was calming. Soothing and protective. “These attacks on us are to stop us from talking of the letter?”

“I don’t know.” Parker’s eyes glittered with frustration. “There is more than one plot in play here. The letter is one, de la Pole’s connivance against the King another. Both contain more treachery than I can believe.” He rubbed his brow. “It could be that Brandon wishes to silence us, because he spoke out of turn to Harvey or to one of Harvey’s informants. With either plot, disloyalty to the King takes on a new significance.”

Parker released her hand, rose, and walked to the door. “The real mystery is the letter itself. I saw it destroyed with my own eyes by the King, the afternoon I gave it to him. He threw it in the fire.” Parker lifted his money purse, his mouth a grim line. “And yet, despite the evidence of my own eyes, once more I find it in my possession.”

M
ay I see it?”

Susanna held out her hand, and Parker hesitated. Wasn’t he risking her enough as it was, just telling her his secrets?

“I am an illuminator, Parker. Paper, letters, books—they are my lifeblood.” Her hand held steady, and he dropped the letter into her palm.

He paced, agitated, as she smoothed it open, then looked at it for what felt like long minutes.

“This is not the original letter, I think.” Susanna flicked a finger against the paper.

“It was long ago that I read it, but the wording sounds the same.” Parker came to stand at her shoulder, looking more closely at the paper.

“This is a draft, perhaps. The wording is uncertain; mistakes have been made.” Susanna pointed to two words that had been heavily blotted out, and the lines scored through others. “There is no seal on this either.” She rubbed the paper between finger and thumb. “The paper is high-quality, but perhaps the King never uses less expensive paper for his drafts?”

Parker laughed. “No. Probably not.” He thought the implications through for a moment, and felt a slight easing of the tension that had gripped him since Mistress Harvey had handed him the letter.

“What is it?”

It startled him that she could feel the change in him without his saying a word.

“This means Brandon might not be behind this after all. A clerk, a page boy, anyone could have stolen the draft. It widens our list of suspects.”

A huge weight lifted from him. Pointing a finger at Brandon would have tested his friendship and service to the King to its limits.

Susanna turned her head to look up at him, and he was struck dumb for a moment. In the fire’s glow, she was all hazel eyes and cream skin, the luster of her hair and the clarity of her gaze almost shocking in their purity. “This is a good thing?”

He barely registered her question, until he saw the thin, dark line where Gripper’s knife had cut under her chin. It
focused him despite the heat of her body, inches from his own.

“This is the best news possible.” Had he falsely accused Brandon, he would have been buried alive.

Susanna leaned into him, giving support, not taking it. His arms began to lift to draw her closer, then froze as he saw Peter Jack in the doorway, a cheeky grin on his bruised face.

“Are ye ready for me?”

Despite himself, Parker grinned back. He’d like to close that door and forget everything in Susanna’s touch and heat. But that luxury would have to wait.

“Aye. Sit yourself down.” He stepped back and pulled his chair closer to the fire for Peter Jack. “We need to call in our troops.”

Peter Jack sat, wincing like an old man.

“Troops?” Susanna looked between them, curious.

“My lads,” Peter Jack explained. “We put them to work.”

“I sent one to keep an eye on the archer we left at Black-friars,” Parker said. “One is watching Father Haden’s, and the rest have become my eyes and ears on the street.”

“When did you do all this?” Susanna sounded stunned.

“Yesterday morning, before you were attacked in the yard,” Peter Jack answered. “Before the war really got going.”

“A lifetime ago.” Susanna sank back into her chair.

“Aye. Feels like it to me too.” Peter Jack stretched thin legs out toward the leaping flames.

“Get used to it.” Parker made sure they were both looking at him before he continued. “Things are going to get worse.”

The Chiefe Conditions and Qualities in a Courtier:
To speake alwaies of matters likely, least he be counted a lyer in reporting of wonders and straunge miracles.

Of the Chief Conditions and Qualityes in a Waytyng Gentylwoman:
To take the lovynge communication of a sober Gentylman in an other signifycatyon, seeking to straye from that pourpose.

A
more ragtag, tattered unit he had never seen. The boys were painfully thin and feral, and their clothes were filthy. They needed to be one level up, Parker thought. Apprentices or messengers. They must become part of the crowd of rascal boys who plagued the palace.

They stood huddled in his courtyard, shivering, and he remembered just how sharply the damp winter air could bite through a rough wool vest.

“Come with me,” he told them, and saw the collective look of surprise as they realized he meant them to follow him indoors.

That was the difference between them and the boy he had been. He had been used to entering fine houses. And he now
owned some of the ones he’d visited. These boys had only ever known the gutter.

“We’re none too clean, sir.” The boy who spoke was Harry, the de facto leader of the group now that Peter Jack had moved on to greener pastures.

“That is why you need to come inside. You need a wash and better clothes if you’re to be of any use to me.”

Parker continued up the back steps, aware of the horrified silence behind him.

“Wash?” It was one of the younger ones. If Parker was any judge, the only water he’d ever had on him was from standing in the rain.

“And eat.”

Parker waited a beat, heard them start up the stairs after him.

In the kitchen, his strange new family was at the table. Somehow Susanna had united them, unlikely though they were.

She stood as he entered, and took in the six ragamuffins behind him.

There was a shout of joy from Eric, and he leaped from his chair to wrestle with the lads as they crowded in. He looked completely recovered.

Peter Jack hauled himself up as well, and the boys stopped their horseplay as soon as they noticed him. It was the quiet of respect.

“Been in a fight?” Harry asked.

“Aye.” Peter Jack said nothing more, but he drew himself up straighter.

“He was helping Master Parker protect me,” Susanna said, and reached out a hand to touch Peter Jack’s shoulder. He ducked away, but not before Parker saw the flash of pride in his eyes.

“Right, lads. You need food and a bath.” Mistress Greene rose from the table, and the boys’ eyes widened at the sight of her. With the bandage around her head, the bruising on her left cheek already green and purple, she looked formidable.

She lifted a bucket of water from beside the stove and poured it into a large kettle over the fire.

“Don’t ye want our report first?” Harry sidled out of her reach.

“Why don’t you have a bite while you talk?” Mistress Greene bent to take bowls from a cupboard, set them on the table, and began ladling meaty broth to the brim.

“Couple o’ Lord Mucks, ain’t ya?” Harry said around a mouthful to Peter Jack and Eric. He hadn’t even waited to sit.

“You could be too, Harry. If you and the boys have a bath, disguise yourselves for me, and make yourselves useful, we could come to some arrangement.” Parker closed the back door and leaned against it. “I’ll deal fairly with you.”

Harry eyed him nervously, and Parker realized he was blocking their only escape. He straightened from the door-jamb and moved to the fire, leaving the way out clear.

“You’ll need to come up with the goods for the job we just done,” Harry told him, a little more relaxed.

Parker nodded, pulled out his money pouch, and counted out the sum they’d agreed on earlier.

The other lads elbowed each other gleefully at the sight of the coins, but Harry kept a straight face. It must have cost him, but he was determined to be all business.

“First up, what about Kinnock?” Peter Jack leaned forward on his elbows, his eyes sharp on Harry’s face.

“Kinnock?” Susanna frowned.

“One o’ the lads,” Eric explained to her. “Least, he
was
. Seems he’s the one set Peter Jack on ya. Took the money and left us all high and dry.”

Peter Jack’s face hardened, and Parker felt a part of him tighten in understanding. The pain of betrayal by someone you trusted. He was sorry Peter Jack had to know that so young.

But someone had already betrayed him, all of them, for them to be living under a riverside quay in winter.

Harry lifted his bowl and gulped down the last of his broth. He started in surprise as Mistress Greene handed him a hunk of bread to wipe the bowl clean. He swallowed it in a single bite. “Kinnock’s nowheres to be seen. I went to all the places I could think of. He’s gone.”

“You know all his hidey-holes?” Parker asked.

“Thought I knew
him
. Now …” Harry shrugged, trying for nonchalance and almost carrying it off. Another one Kinnock had hurt by selling his crew down the river.

“And the other jobs?” Parker crossed his arms over his chest.

“The archer at Blackfriars is dead.” The boy who spoke up looked about seven years old. He spoke of death without a hitch in his voice.

“Murdered?” Susanna asked sharply, and Parker recalled it was at her insistence they had saved the archer at all.

The boy shook his head. “That monk you told me to give the message to, he said his blood got poisoned. They couldn’t save him.”

“Was anyone hovering there? Anyone looking for a chance to get to him?” Parker wished he could have been there himself.

“One.” The boy nodded. “Said as he were there to speak to a monk, but he was lying.”

Parker didn’t ask him how he knew; these boys could spot a liar at fifty paces. They wouldn’t be alive long on the streets otherwise.

“You followed him?” It’s what Parker would have done. The boy nodded, and sat up straighter as Parker gave him a closer look. “What’s your name?”

“Will, m’lord.”

“Where did he go, Will?”

“Well …” Clearly uncomfortable, Will looked down at his empty bowl as if he could wish another helping into it. “He went across the bridge from the monastery into the palace, sir. They wouldn’t let me in after him.”

He shouldn’t be surprised. Hadn’t Marcus told him the men he’d dealt with were from the highest echelons? Any one of the courtiers could have sent a servant to finish off the archer—but there was only so much loyalty one could expect from a servant. If he knew who it was, perhaps he could get them to talk.

“Will, I am going to watch the palace later today. I want you with me, to see if you can point out this man.”

Will nodded uncertainly. “I c’n try, sir.”

“You are taking Marcus to watch the palace? To see if he recognizes any of the courtiers?” Susanna asked him.

“
We
are, yes.” Parker stood. “Until this business is resolved, you go where I go, my lady.”

Susanna’s eyes widened. “But that means …” She was clearly unhappy.

“What?” Parker was at a loss.

“I’ll have to sit in a carriage with that man.”

“What man?” Will asked, leaning forward with interest.