“They say it is better to ask forgiveness than to ask permission and be denied.” Wyatt’s voice was as soft as Parker’s had been. “Percy has learned that the hard way. If he’d had the courage, he could have married Anne and there would have been nothing his father or Wolsey could have done.”
“But then Anne would not be free.” Susanna spoke just as softly.
“I cannot have her anyway. She is determined to marry well, not become some married man’s mistress.”
And Wyatt had had his share of mistresses.
Parker liked him, had felt faintly sorry for him. His wife was habitually unfaithful, matching him conquest for conquest, and Parker always thought Wyatt rather tragic. More handsome than any man had a right to be, yet trapped with a woman not of his choosing who reacted to his lack of love by cuckolding him at every opportunity. They had but one child together, a very young boy.
Something rose out of his memory. “How is your son?”
Wyatt blinked. “He is well, last I saw him, which was two weeks ago, before I left London.”
“Norfolk is the boy’s godfather, is he not?”
Wyatt went still. “Aye. A very generous godfather.”
“And he is your patron, too, I recall.”
Wyatt swallowed. “What has this to do with the missing jewel?”
“The Mirror of Naples isn’t just a jewel.” Parker kept his eyes on Wyatt’s face. “To the King, it is a badge of honor. He wears it, and everyone remembers that it should be with the crown jewels of France. Yet there it sits, on his robes. And it reminds all who see it that Henry calls himself King of France, as well as England. That he considers it his by right.”
Wyatt was silent.
“So when did you discover the Mirror of Naples was missing, Wyatt?” Parker slammed the cask lid down with a crack, and Wyatt jumped. “And when did you go running to Norfolk about it, instead of telling the King?”
Wyatt sat slumped on a cask, his head in his hands, and Susanna wished she could paint him just so. He was the perfect model for a tragic hero.
She realized her thoughts were coldhearted, but his friendship with the Boleyns had cooled her liking for him, although she knew friendships formed in youth were very forgiving, almost blind, as one grew older.
He would see George as he was in his childhood, not what he’d become.
If her thoughts were coldhearted, the way Parker was looking at Wyatt was positively icy. Wyatt caught his gaze and flinched away.
“This is a mess.” Wyatt spoke as if from the bottom of a pit. “When I found the Mirror was missing, I told Norfolk because I wanted revenge on Wolsey. I never thought it would drag on this long. I never counted on someone discovering the jewel was missing before Norfolk had gathered his evidence against Wolsey.”
“You suspect Wolsey of taking the jewel?” Parker crouched down in front of Wyatt and Susanna thought he was going to take him by the shoulders and shake the answers out of him.
“Aye. He is responsible, I am sure of it. But there is no direct path back to him.” Wyatt closed his eyes in misery.
“And the indirect path?” Susanna sat on a cask herself.
“He claimed to be updating the inventory.” Wyatt flicked his head in the direction of the scroll Susanna held in her hands. “Which was my father’s and my responsibility. It was a slight to my father and he was outraged. Wolsey said it was to readjust the values recorded. He brought in a diamond cutter from Antwerp to make the assessments. To evaluate the clarity and the number of carats of each piece.”
“Jens of Antwerp?” Parker looked across to Susanna.
“No.” Wyatt looked up at last, surprised. “He gave us the name of Pieter Diamantaire. He spent every day for two weeks here. This was three weeks ago. I didn’t trust anyone sent by Wolsey and kept coming in to watch him work. My father did the same. But he appeared to know his business.”
“Did he have a blue cloak?” Susanna nervously turned the inventory in her hands, and then made her fingers still. The worst had already happened.
“Aye. A fine blue cloak. I complimented him upon it.”
“And when did you notice the Mirror was gone?” Parker’s voice was cool as the air blowing in at the windows.
“The day he left. I checked the boxes as soon as he was gone. I could have started anywhere, but the Mirror was the first box I opened.” He patted his heart, remembering. “For one terrible moment, I thought perhaps every box would be empty. But it was the only one.”
“And you ran to Norfolk.” The chill again. “And then ran and hid in the country.”
“I knew Wolsey was behind it. I knew it. And I wanted the bastard to pay. I was in more of a temper with him than usual because of sending Anne away, and Norfolk, it seems, is in more of a temper with him than usual because of some grant he’s issued. He bypassed Parliament and simply sent it out, as if there is no law in England but his own.”
“And then there is the fact the King’s most prized jewel went missing under your nose.” Susanna didn’t know why she threw that barb, but the Boleyns and Norfolk had that effect on her. Even though she had no love for Wolsey, they had done her more wrong than he.
Wyatt raised his head, and there was surprise and hurt in his eyes. “Aye. It went missing under my nose. But Wolsey was responsible. I was not careless. I know that will not save me with the King, but I was not negligent. Wolsey will make sure I look so when he speaks to the King against me. I went to Norfolk, trusted him, and he has delayed it too long. He has not found the Mirror and he has found no evidence against Wolsey. So I cannot go to the King now without looking guilty. Without perhaps being considered a traitor to the Crown.”
Susanna studied the inventory again, a little shamed. She traced a note, written in French next to one of the pieces listed, with the tip of her finger. Jens had written this, nervous in his subterfuge, going by a false name. He must have truly thought no one he knew would see him, recognize him. He could return to Antwerp and none would even know where he’d been.
She saw that he had marked figures, prices, weights, and clarity next to a large number of the items on the list. He had written a note only next to the one, though.
Had he truly done the job Wolsey claimed he’d been brought here to do? If she knew Jens, even if it were a pretense, he would not have lied in the inventory. The carats and values he’d written would be correct.
But this had all been three weeks ago. Why had he stayed in London?
Perhaps Jens had decided to come clean and tell the truth, had threatened to expose the Cardinal?
Susanna dismissed the idea. The Mirror had already been taken. Jens had only to get on a boat to the Netherlands and be free.
Even with his clumsy attempt to kill her, he could have gotten away with it. She lived in London now. He would be able to avoid her for the rest of his life, and probably still keep the friendship of her father if he swore it hadn’t been him, that she had confused him with someone else.
“Whatever you have done, nothing can change it.” Parker’s tone to Wyatt was softer than it had been. “But from now on, if you hear anything, notice anything, you come to me. Not Norfolk. If I hear of you approaching him, I’ll throw you to the King and watch him tear you up.”
Wyatt dragged fine, long-fingered hands through his beautiful hair. “You always were a bastard, Parker.” He stood.
“I wouldn’t forget that, if I were you.” Parker stood beside him, a dark angel to Wyatt’s light.
Although there was a place inside Parker as dark as his outer shell, there was also a purity to him, an ability to be happy, that Susanna thought Wyatt might lack.
Again, she wished for her paints. She could see it in her mind’s eye: the dark as steady, a sure, solid color. The light as flickering, wavering, inconsistent.
Wyatt held out his hand for the inventory.
“As I am here, I will see to some duties that have been neglected these last two weeks.”
Parker gave a s
hallow bow. “You know where to find me, if you have anything to say.”
Wyatt nodded and Parker held out his arm for Susanna to take.
The door closed behind them as if Wyatt had kicked it shut, and she smiled at Parker. “You always make so many friends.”
He smiled back, lifted her hand, and kissed it. “A man can never have too many.”
“What do you think Wolsey is up to?”
“I think he knew what we scrambled to uncover a month ago, all along. He knew about de la Pole’s army planning its invasion of England, and about the secret alliance France signed with the current pope, giving the King of France more influence in Rome.
So I believe Cardinal Wolsey’s plan was to exchange the Mirror of Naples for the French king’s promise of the highest seat in the Church. He would become pope.”
17
Those who solely by good fortune become princes from being private citizens have little trouble in rising, but much in keeping atop; they have not any difficulties on the way up, because they fly, but they have many when they reach the summit.
—Machiavelli, The Prince, chapter 7
Parker wanted to find some deep, dark cave to hide Susanna.
The house would have to do.
He polished the crossbow set between his knees, rubbing oil into the fine-grained wood. He couldn’t protect her until he’d killed the assassin. And he didn’t even know to whom the man answered.
Not Norfolk, unless the Duke was playing an even more twisted game than usual. It might be Wolsey—but the way he’d come undone at the mention of the Frenchman, Parker thought not.
The emissaries of the French court were a possibility. If this was an official bargain between Wolsey and King Francis, then the assassin might have been sent by the French to make sure no word of the plan got out.
Nothing would bring Henry to war faster than knowledge of a plot to steal the Mirror of Naples. No matter what reason Henry gave officially, it would be a matter of pride with him.
There was a sound at the door and Susanna stepped into the room, her hair unbound and spilling over her shoulders, her eyes shadowed.
“You are going out?” She looked at the crossbow, and he could see the weight on her shoulders increase.
“Not until much later.”
She frowned. “It is already late.”
“Aye, but I wish to wake men up, not visit them while they are feasting and making merry.”
He set aside the crossbow and held out a hand to her.
She came to him as she always did, without hesitation.
“I worry about you.” She slid onto his lap and whispered the words into his ear as he pulled her close.
He brushed a hand through her hair, smoothing it back and then tangling his fingers deep in it, relishing the fragrance of rosemary that rose up. “It isn’t safe for you to go outside until I’ve killed him.”
Susanna shook her head. “He knows we won’t keep whatever Jens or the merchant said to ourselves. If he has spies, or if he followed us, he’ll know we’ve been to the King. He won’t waste his time on us now.”
“Perhaps. But I will not risk you on that gamble.” And if Susanna was right, if he thought the King had enough information to move on him, the assassin might be about to flee the country.
Parker didn’t want to give him a chance to run.
“I’ve been thinking—” Susanna shifted in his arms, laid her head against his shoulder. “Why was the assassin on the banks of the Thames this afternoon looking to kill either me or the merchant, if the Mirror has already been stolen?”
Parker began to stroke her neck. “Because until someone raises the alarm, it is merely not where it should be. Jens was only killed two days ago. Wolsey must have kept Jens in London to be able to produce him should any finger be pointed back to himself, yet surely Jens would only agree to that if the jewel could be to hand at a moment’s notice. He would face execution if the jewel was gone and he was the only suspect.”
“You think the gem has been hidden, awaiting arrangements?” She leaned back into his hand and he increased the pressure of his fingers, felt the stiffness in her shoulders loosen a little.
“Wolsey would not risk stealing from his only protector without an ironclad guarantee from the French.”
“But something happened,” Susanna said.
“Yes, something happened. It must have taken Wolsey months to arrange for Jens to come to London, for everything to fall into place. And then, the King of France was captured. The alliance with the Pope abandoned.”
“Perhaps he went ahead with it anyway? Still hoping?”
“It’s possible he couldn’t abandon it. It was the path to his life’s ambition.” Parker played with the ties at Susanna’s neck.
“And the French, knowing the jewel is ready for them, are pushing for it.” She made a humming noise in the back of her throat. It rubbed against his skin like velvet. “They have spent so long arranging for its return, they can’t leave the prize when it’s so close.”
“And Jens would not divulge where he had hidden the Mirror to the assassin. He may not have known where it was.” Parker undid a tie.
“And Wolsey?” She glanced at him as he slid his fingers inside her dress.
“They are intimidating him. Perhaps threatening to blackmail him.” Parker thought of what Gittens had told him. “I’m sure he’s receiving visits from the assassin himself. They are squeezing him, pounding him down, to get the Mirror back.” His voice trailed away as the softness of her skin distracted him.
She brought her lips to his, a whisper away. “I thought you were going out.”
“I will.” He slid his hand deeper inside her gown. “Later.”
18
Therefore it is unnecessary for a prince to have all the good qualities I have enumerated, but it is very necessary to appear to have them.
—Machiavelli, The Prince, chapter 18
The nobleman who conducted business on behalf of the French king lived well, Parker observed, as he stood outside the count’s massive stone house.
Like a flickering candle stub, a party fought for life in the large dining room, its window too high off the ground for Parker to look through without the aid of a crate or step. He could hear a few shouts of laughter, followed by long silences, and guessed the guests who remained were holding on to the bitter end at this late hour.
A stablehand brought two bays from the back, their shoes clicking on the gray stone path, and Parker edged deeper into shadows. Perhaps the last of them were leaving, if they’d called for their horses.
The stablehand shivered in the cold, and the horses blew and fidgeted, annoyed with being taken from a warm stable. The boy whispered to them, rubbing their necks and calming them.
Parker wondered if the last guests had passed out, to keep their horses waiting. He lost patience and stepped to the front door. It swung open with a creak and the stable boy’s head jerked up.
Parker gave him a salute before he slipped inside.
The hall was dark and just outside the dining room, an exhausted servant tried to lift a guest up from a pool of vomit. Through the half-open door, voices were raised in heated conversation.
Parker watched the servant lift the man’s head, then drop it back in the puddle of sick. He seemed unaware of Parker, his eyes deeply shadowed. He turned and shuffled down the passage, small and stooped.
The smell in the hallway was choking, and Parker stepped over the prone man, angled through the door, and entered the room beyond.
Two men turned in his direction. Another guest lay sprawled across the long table, his cheek nestled in a dish.
“Which of you owns the horses outside?” Parker saw their eyes widen at the question. It was not what they were expecting.
One of the men standing moved slightly, as if in confirmation.
“They are taking a chill.” Parker pointed in the direction of the courtyard. “I wouldn’t want to keep such fine horses waitin
g; it isn’t good for them.”
The man held a hand over one eye, as if to see Parker better, then sidled toward the door, muttering under his breath as he weaved his way out.
Parker turned to the one who was left. “Are you the Comte, or is he?” Parker pointed to the man passed out on the table.
“C’est moi.” The man pulled himself up, then staggered to the side. “I am he.”
“You have someone working for you. A man who favors a crossbow.”
The Comte put out a hand and grasped the back of a chair, his knuckles white with effort. “Non.”
“Yes. In the last three days he has killed a man, and tried to kill a few more. My betrothed is on his list.”
The Comte shook his head, the movement making him dizzy enough to need a second hand on the chair to steady himself. His lips worked as if he were trying to find the words to deny it, but he said nothing.
“I would have a word with your man. Immediately.”
The Comte shook his head again, winced, and began to edge away.
Parker moved, adder-quick. He still had the feel of Susanna on his skin, the deep green scent of rosemary, the smooth curves of her body. He would not have her threatened another moment.
In two steps he had the Comte lying across the table, his head resting on the lip of a plate of roast pheasant.
“Where is he?”
“He is dangerous, monsieur. You do not want to find this man.”
“You are wrong. I want to find him very badly.”
The Comte looked up with flat eyes. “I cannot tell you. I know him. He will kill you, then he will kill me. And if by some miracle you manage to kill him first, then my king will kill me when I return.”
“I will make this easy for you.” Parker lifted his knife and placed it just below the Comte’s right eye, so he could see it if he looked down.
“You will not get the Mirror back. You do not wish for a war with England while your king is a prisoner of the Emperor. But you will get one if you continue this madness.”
Keeper of the King’s Secrets Page 8
