Keeper of the King's Secrets (14 page)

“I am safe and well.” He slid his arms around her, wincing as the movement caused ripples of pain up his neck and down his arm.

She said nothing, shaking in the circle of his arms without making a sound. His left hand stroked her back, and at last she breathed in deeply and lifted her head.

“This cannot go on. It needs to end.” She spoke in a whisper.

“I drew blood from him tonight. He will not easily lift a crossbow for a few days. It will give us some time.”

She sighed and rested her head against his left shoulder. “What is Norfolk’s role in this, do you think?”

Parker let the feel of her, the heat and flexible strength, seep into his tired body. “When Wyatt went to him about the Mirror, it was surely the best day of Norfolk’s life. If he could expose Wolsey to the King, catch him out with the Mirror of Naples …” Parker thought of the humiliation, the absolute disgrace that would come down on Wolsey. “It would be the triumph of Norfolk’s life at court.”

“Norfolk must have had Jens followed, and through that, found the cloth merchant Jens had asked to provide passage out of England.” Susanna eased away and led him like a child back to his chair.

“Aye.” Parker sank down gratefully. “Jens was either charged by Wolsey to be the courier of the Mirror to France, and was arranging passage with the merchant, or he had some other plan afoot. Perhaps he had even decided to flee without Wolsey’s knowledge.”

Susanna rubbed her temples. “And Norfolk was either paying or blackmailing the merchant to give him information. To betray Jens.”

“To catch Wolsey.” Parker closed his eyes. “Norfolk would not care who he ruined if it meant having Wolsey thrown from court. Or better yet, beheaded.”

“So what happens now?” Susanna knelt beside him and took his hand in hers.

“The French don’t have the Mirror. The Comte would have left with it already if they did. So either Wolsey has it, or he knows where it is. I’ll have to talk with him again.”

“What happens if he won’t tell you?” She traced the back of his hand with her fingertips.

Parker opened his eyes. “He will.”

W
olsey’s red cardinal’s hat stood high and proud on his head. When it had been sent from Rome more than ten years earlier, Parker had heard it was received at Dover like royalty and accompanied to London in the same way. There had been a procession through the streets with it.

Now it dipped and swayed as Wolsey stood at the altar in the chapel at Blackfriars. If rumor was right, the Queen had insisted on this ceremony to thank God for sparing the King’s life after his fall into the ditch.

Her motives were no doubt sincere, but Parker knew the King did not want any reminders to the nobility that he could have died without a legitimate male heir. The only way to
mitigate the damage was to keep it private and quiet. So though the Queen had wanted it held at St. Paul’s or Westminster, the King had persuaded her he would prefer a more personal, heartfelt ceremony among friends.

Parker and Susanna’s invitation now gave Parker access to Wolsey, if he could get the Cardinal alone.

Quiet ceremony or no, Wolsey had made use of the occasion to wear his red robes, to remind those present that he was the highest-ranking official of Rome in England.

And you want to be higher.
Parker watched Wolsey perform the rituals and wondered if he would ever attain his ambition. He was one of the King’s new men; like Parker himself, raised up from obscurity because of his ambition, intelligence, and hard work. They could have been natural allies, but Wolsey’s ego would suffer no rival. Parker had learned long ago that every honor that went to someone else, Wolsey considered stolen from him. He would have it all, even control of the Christian realm itself.

Wolsey came to the end of his liturgy, and the congregation rose.

The King and Queen led the procession out of the chapel, and as he followed, Parker saw tables had been laid in the gallery that connected Bridewell to Blackfriars over the Fleet River. Dishes of small tarts and pies, confectionery and fruit, gleamed in the mid-morning light.

Parker winced as he was jostled in the crowd leaving the chapel and Susanna’s hand tightened on his arm. “Is your wound troubling you?”

He dipped his head, keeping his voice for her ear alone. “I would rather no one know of it. Say nothing.”

He stumbled as a hand landed heavily on his shoulder, right over his injury.

For a moment he thought he would faint. He saw Susanna’s eyes widen and she stepped close into him, her arms going about him as if in embrace. Holding him up.

“I am not sure how things are done in foreign courts, but in England, we behave with decorum in the King’s company.” The speaker was Thomas Boleyn. Even with spots dancing before his eyes, Parker felt Susanna stiffen against him. As the sharp pain ebbed, he stepped back a little from her. Her nostrils were flared in challenge.

“Is that so?” She could have breathed icy patterns on the gallery’s fine glass windows, so cold was her voice. “I am from the court of Margaret of Austria, my lord, and you can draw what conclusions you will from that.”

It was Boleyn’s turn to stiffen. His face grew flushed, the color rising up from his neck and staining his cheeks red.

Susanna could have let it go there, but she was too furious. Perhaps because it had been Boleyn’s hand on Parker that had caused him pain, as well as Boleyn’s son who had twice tried to rape her. She drew herself up. “Both your daughter and your son were at court with me there, of course, although your son was sent away for unbecoming behavior, and your daughter—”

“Parker.” Boleyn’s voice cut Susanna off with the finality of a headman’s ax. “I would have an urgent word.” He gave a
shallow bow in Susanna’s direction, devoid of any emotion. “Excuse us, madame.”

Parker bowed deeply to her and raised her hand to his lips. Her expression showed clearly what she thought of Boleyn. His mouth twitched as he straightened to join Boleyn to the side of the gathering.

They found a spot a little away from the others, next to a window where the river below them masked their voices.

“What is it?”

Boleyn stepped in close. “There is a rumor you can bring down Wolsey.”

Parker stared at him, his mind working. Boleyn was no close friend of Norfolk’s. How had he caught wind of this?

Then he remembered where Wyatt had run after he’d found the Mirror was missing: to Anne Boleyn.

To appear merciful, faithful, humane, religious, upright, and to be so, but with a mind so framed that should you require not to be so, you may be able and know how to change to the opposite.

—Machiavelli
, The Prince,
chapter 18

W
hatever Boleyn was saying to Parker, Parker did not look happy to hear it. Susanna watched the two men in the alcove, their heads together.

“My lady. I have not seen you these many weeks.”

Susanna turned and came face-to-face with Elizabeth Carew. She curtsied, and as she sank down, she wondered if the beauty was still the King’s current mistress.

“I have been able to do the King’s work mostly in my own rooms, not in the palace.” She rose up and found herself again captivated by the woman. “I would like to paint you, my lady, when you have time to sit for me.”

The request had sprung from her unbidden, and from the way Elizabeth Carew’s mouth fell open, it was the last thing she expected to hear.

“Paint me?”

“Aye.” There was no sense going back now. “The scene I have in mind is a stream, deep in a forest, with you rising from the waters.”

Elizabeth seemed more startled still. “Not a portrait, then?”

Susanna shook her head.

“I … don’t know. I will speak with my husband about it.”

“That would be most kind.”

Elizabeth shifted uncomfortably. “I had hoped … that is, I came to ask if you might draw me as you drew Lady Browne in the Queen’s chambers last month. I would send the picture to my mother.” She clasped her hands in front of her, and Susanna realized Elizabeth had not expected a friendly welcome.

She recalled the way Elizabeth Carew had first treated her, when she’d thought Susanna was the King’s new mistress, come to replace her. And felt sorry for her.

“I would be happy to make such a drawing.”

“My thanks. Perhaps we can arrange for it next week?” There was a strain to Elizabeth, a brittleness about her that made Susanna think of a fine piece of porcelain. She would shatter if she so much as stumbled.

This court seemed to grab hold of beauties and suck the life from them until their bones lay too close to the surface.

“I am sorry I do not have my charcoals and parchment with me right now.” Sunlight streamed into the gallery; it was a good place to draw.

The crowds parted a little, and she saw that Wolsey stood
at the King’s shoulder. Henry must have seen him there, but ignored him as he spoke with the Queen and some of her ladies.

Despite the King’s clear message, Wolsey remained where he was, swaying from side to side. Susanna thought the movement unconscious. Wolsey was beside himself with agitation or nerves.

“That man.” Elizabeth’s eyes flared at the sight of the Cardinal. “He tries to oust my brother and husband from the King’s circle at every opportunity. He wants only his own men around the King.”

Susanna watched Henry clap Elizabeth’s brother, Francis Bryan, warmly on the shoulder as he joined the group. “The King does not heed him, it seems.”

“No. But it does not stop that red-clad devil trying.”

“He does the same with Parker.” Susanna looked at Elizabeth’s taut face.

“Aye, I’m sure he does.” Elizabeth did not smile. “There is a rumor that Parker knows something that can bring him down. Perhaps that is why Wolsey hops from foot to foot like a bird on a branch. He wishes to get in first and turn the tale to his advantage.”

Susanna went still. “What rumor is this?”

Elizabeth gave her a measured look. “Thomas Wyatt told my brother, my husband, and George Boleyn that Parker has information that could be the end of Wolsey.”

No doubt that was why Thomas Boleyn had Parker cornered.

Susanna took a deep breath. “Did he mention what this information was?”

Elizabeth shook her head. “I hope it’s true. Is it?”

Susanna did not answer. She moved toward Parker and he saw her coming, saw her face, and cut Boleyn off.

They met halfway.

“Wyatt—”

“I know.”

“And Wolsey waits anxiously to speak to the King, even though the King ignores him. I think he’s heard the rumor as well. I think he plans to lie, to cast another as the villain. Perhaps even you.”

Parker nodded, his eyes narrowing. He strode forward and bowed deeply to the Queen. “Your Majesty.” He bowed to the King, and then nodded to Wolsey.

Susanna followed behind him and curtsied deeply. The Queen looked at her, round and sharp-eyed as a bird, and Susanna’s stomach sank. Those eyes looked as if she would pierce her through like a worm.

The Queen did not know her. They had never been introduced. Susanna repressed a sigh. Would her father ever have sent her here, if he had known that all thought her the King’s mistress, simply because she was young and often seen leaving His Majesty’s chambers?

Parker was occupied with the King and Wolsey, unable to introduce her to the Queen, and it was unthinkable that she introduce herself. She moved back to stand again at Elizabeth Carew’s side, and turned to the tableau of king, courtier, and cardinal.

Wolsey seemed to stumble as her gaze clashed with his, and he had to jerk himself away to avoid jostling the King. Henry turned to him, his brow creased in annoyance.

“My pardon, Your Majesty.” In the wrong, having almost toppled onto the King, Wolsey bowed low. When he lifted his head, his eyes were hot and bitter.

“Parker. That matter …” Henry swung away from the others and Parker moved to stand beside him, cutting Wolsey off.

“My lord, I have something to say that cannot wait.” Wolsey’s voice rang too loud in the confines of the gallery, and all conversation stopped.

The King turned. “And would you say it now, before all who stand with us?”