Keeper of the King's Secrets (24 page)

“To bring down Wolsey.”

“That is unfortunate.” Jean shrugged, but Susanna thought there was a trace of glee in the movement.

“More than unfortunate.” The Comte spoke sharply. “If Norfolk watches her too closely, he watches us.”

“His spies
are
watching me. They may have followed me here.”

“Then Jean will have to make sure they do not report back to their master. We also do not want any interference.” The Comte stood by the door, but did not open it. “Perhaps we can take the side door, madame? Jean, make sure the Duke’s men do not follow. By any means.”

Jean flicked an angry look at her. “You are sure there is danger from Norfolk?”

“I know there is.” She felt a tug of guilt at the fate of the men the Duke would have sent after her, even though she’d had more than one unpleasant encounter with his servants.

Jean turned toward the back of the house. He seemed to slice the darkness and slip through the hole, disappearing in one swallow of the shadows.

The Comte watched him go, and kept watching the darkened passageway until the last of his footsteps faded. Only then did he relax.

“You put him on edge.” He gestured in bewilderment. “There is something about you that enrages him. He is not his collected self when you are present.”

“You think it is safer for me that he does not accompany us?”

The Comte started down the passage, stopping in front of the side door. “If you have made an enemy of Jean, nowhere is safe for you anymore.”

T
he softness and the scent that cocooned Parker were of home, and as he fought his way to wakefulness, he reveled in the simple comfort.

He had never taken what he had gained for himself lightly. Wealth, fine clothes and lodgings, servants. But he felt an even deeper appreciation for them since his stay in the foul chambers beneath Fleet Prison.

As he surfaced, he was content to keep his eyes closed and listen to the sounds of the house around him. The soft creak of the roof in the wind. The buzz of vibration as the gale forced itself between the wooden shutters.

He could hear Mistress Greene in the kitchen, banging pans, and the slam of the back door as it was caught by the wind.

There was another clatter, and he frowned. He had never known Mistress Greene to be so noisy, not even when he was in perfect health. And if any of them were laid up for any reason, she was always obsessively quiet.

The back door slammed again and Parker sat up in a swift movement, his heart suddenly thundering.

Susanna.

That was what woke him.

He could not hear her. Could not sense her.

She was not in the house.

There were many men at court whose wives would not sit beside them in illness. Some even socialized while their husbands lay sick and dying.

But she was not one of them.

If she was in the house, she would be here in this room.

And she wasn’t.

It sounded as if Mistress Greene threw a copper pot at the wall. He heard the crash and then the ting as it bounced on the stone floor of the kitchen, the rumble as it spun and slowly came to a stop.

Parker swung his feet to the floor, and closed his eyes against the wave of dizziness that pushed him back onto the bed.

He aimed himself at the door, staggered through it, and grabbed hold of the banister at the top of the landing.

He looked down the stairs straight into the desperate, wild eyes of Mistress Greene, holding a copper bowl over her head, ready to throw.

She lowered the bowl. “Thank the heavens.”

“Where is Susanna?” He couldn’t believe his voice sounded so calm.

“She’s gone and thrown herself to the wolves, sir. To get back those boys.”

For my part I consider that it is better to be adventurous than cautious, because fortune is a woman, and if you wish to keep her under it is necessary to beat and ill-use her; and it is seen that she allows herself to be mastered by the adventurous rather than by those who go to work more coldly.

—Machiavelli
, The Prince,
chapter 25

S
usanna saw Westminster up around the bend, and her stomach pitched along with the small barge she was in.

She suddenly knew where the jewel was. Knew down to the very room.

She closed her eyes and recalled the numbers and notes on the inventory. It was possible she even knew exactly where to look, down to the precise box.

The wind hit them full force, slicing at her face and ears. It carried a hint of ice and snow, and a shiver ran through her.

She glanced at the Comte, who had wrapped his cloak tighter about him, his eyes on the spires of Westminster Abbey. Did he know the precise location, too?

She gripped her cloak in her fists. How should she play this out?

She’d hoped to be able to say truthfully that she could not find the Mirror.

She looked behind her and saw Harry’s eyes, fury and frustration distilled in their gray.

The man the Comte had brought with him to manage the boys raised his brows at her, but she ignored him.

Harry and Peter Jack lay bound and gagged at the bottom of the boat. Peter Jack moved a little, turning toward her, and his watcher placed a heavy boot on his throat. Clicked his tongue.

Susanna faced forward again before she stirred up trouble.

The boys had not gone quietly. Their knuckles were scraped and raw, their faces bruised. But they seemed otherwise all right, and she held the bargaining chip when it came to their release.

She knew the Comte could send his men after them once they were set free, but at least they would have a chance.

“Where in Westminster do you think the Mirror is hidden?” She asked the question as if she were passing the time of day.

The Comte turned eyes watery with the cold wind to her. “I will tell you when we are there.”

She shrugged and forced her hands to relax on her lap.

When the barge scraped against the dock, she got up with relief and took the hand offered by the Comte’s boatman.

The boys’ minder untied them and they sat up slowly, rubbing
their wrists and ankles to get the blood circulating. They filed off the boat, shaky and quiet.

“You can both be home with Parker in half an hour, if you’re quick.” She spoke softly and without emphasis, trying not to draw attention to what she was saying.

But Harry and Peter Jack both understood. The light returned to Harry’s eyes at the thought of Parker being safe and home, and Peter Jack stared at her.

“You foun—”

“I would start running if I were you.” The Comte waved them off as if they were flies and turned Susanna away from them, making her face Westminster.

She stiffened and turned back. “No. I will see that they are safely away.” The boys hobbled toward the road, looking over their shoulders, as if to keep her in sight until the very last.

“They are safe enough.” The Comte took her by the arm and she could feel his anger and frustration as he spun her back.

“What would you have me do?” She relaxed her body, and his grip fell away.

“I would have you find Jens’s quarters.”

“Jens stayed here?” Susanna could not keep the surprise from her voice.

“He did.” There was rich satisfaction in the Comte’s tone. “And I think he hid the Mirror somewhere in his room, or near it.”

“If he was staying here, why could he not get the Mirror whenever he wanted?”

“Because,” the Comte said, “in all his wisdom, the Cardinal had him thrown out and refused to let him back in.”

“And what makes you think I will have access to his chambers?” Susanna braced against another gust of wind.

The Comte laughed. “Your betrothed is the Keeper of this palace. There is nowhere here you cannot go.”

It was true. She had been here enough in Parker’s company that the guards would recognize her and let her through.

“Am I going alone?”

A smile played on the Comte’s face. “You think, after all the times you have reneged on us, I would trust you to look properly?”

Susanna shrugged and said nothing.

“You will have a page with you. He will meet you when you gain entrance.”

“If you have someone inside the palace already, why do you need me?”

“He is only kitchen staff, and cannot go anywhere else.”

“How long have you had a spy in Westminster?” Susanna began moving forward to get out of the wind.

The Comte’s voice dripped bitterness. “Since the Mirror of Naples was stolen from France.”

“H
i! Sir!”

Parker stopped the cart as he turned out of the yard into Crooked Lane, and waited for the small boy to catch up.

“Thought you were in your sickbed?” The lad swung up onto the bench, his cheeks stung red by the wind.

Parker shook his head. “What news?”

“I’m to watch the house, and if Harry and Peter Jack come back, I’m to pass the message on.”

“Where is Eric?”

“Don’t know.” The lad pointed down to Fish Hill. “Will is waiting down there; he’s part of the chain.”

“The chain?”

“There’s a string of us, sir. Eric’s at the pointy end.” The boy jumped down. “Need to get back to my post.”

He ran back up to the house, and Parker sped up, trying to spot Will at the junction of Crooked Lane and Fish Hill.

He saw him immediately, standing beside a tavern, giving a good impression of a page waiting while his master went in for a drink.

Parker caught his eye and he ran across, hunching against the wind.

“Thought you was hurt?”

Parker grimaced. “Where’s Mistress Horenbout, Will?”

He shrugged. “Eric’s watching her back.”

“Which way?”

Will pointed up Fish Hill. “The Comte’s house. That’s where they went first. Not sure where they are now.”

Parker nodded his thanks and forced the horse into a trot up the hill. It was already dark and the wind had culled the usual market crowds, so he made good progress.

He pushed all thoughts of pain away, despite the sharp
stabs of agony in both shoulders, and turned left toward the Comte’s mansion.

Susanna had gone back on her bargain with Jean once before, and Parker knew she would try anything in her power to do it again.

Jean must know it, too.

She would be under guard. The thought of Jean having any power over her made him flick the reins again, even though the horse could go no faster.

He was almost there.

A dart of movement ahead caught his attention. It was panicked, the movement of a mouse with a cat after it, and he slowed the cart.

He had not seen who it was, and they had gone to ground in the deep shadows.

“Eric?” The gate to the Comte’s residence was directly to his right. The panic in the moment he’d seen was not a good sign.

Down the long drive to the Comte’s mansion, someone screamed, and Parker jumped from the cart, leaving it in the middle of the street.

He palmed his knife and slipped between the trees. It was the way he’d come the day Wolsey’s men had taken him while he watched the Comte’s front door. He had no intention of being taken by surprise again.

Whoever had run between the Comte’s drive and the next stand of houses was behind him, and although he’d gotten the impression of a boy, he kept a careful watch.