In a Treacherous Court

by Michelle Diener

  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.

  “The one whose arm she nearly chopped off,” Eric explained, pointing to the cleaver on the counter.

  There was a moment of perfect silence.

  “He’ll be more worried’n you, most like,” Will said, and bit down on a piece of bread.

  Marcus’s skin was the pale gray of dishwater, and he was sweating, his eyes feverish. It was clear he should not be out of his bed, but Susanna could summon no sympathy for him.

  He’d forced her to maim him, to protect herself and the others, and she was as angry at him for that as for his attack on the boys and Mistress Greene. What she’d done to him would haunt her until she died, and she could not forgive him.

  He leaned back against the plush seat inside the covered carriage and glared at her with what little strength he had. Susanna looked him in the eye and felt his hatred like a physical blow. She drew in a little breath, and then narrowed her eyes.

  They stared each other down for one beat, two; then Marcus closed his eyes. He lifted a trembling hand to his forehead and blotted the perspiration with a cloth.

  “Never thought I’d see the inside o’ one o’ these,” Will said in delight, oblivious to the atmosphere, and ran his hand over the black velvet seats. He fingered the curtains, parting them slightly, and Parker’s hand shot out, his long fingers curling around Will’s thin wrist.

  Will grinned, slipped his wrist free, and began to admire his new clothes instead, holding out his arms and twisting them this way and that. He lifted his feet one at a time and gazed at his shoes. Though not new, they were well made, and likely the finest he’d ever had.

  Susanna slipped out a piece of paper, grateful for the cunning windows cut in narrow rectangles around the roof of the carriage, giving those within natural light without compromising the anonymity the thick drapes provided.

  She began to sketch Will, trying to capture the delight brimming from him at being warm and well clothed.

  “Everyone seems right interested in us.” Will turned to look out the window through the thin gap in the drapes, suddenly shy of being her focus.

  Susanna had also noticed more than a few interested stares as men made their way to the main doors of the palace.

  “They think the Queen or the Princess could be inside. This carriage is for their use.” Parker edged the curtains a little farther apart. “Time to fulfill your end of the bargain.” He tapped Marcus on the knee, and with an effort the dockhand opened his eyes and leaned forward.

  “What if none I recognize come this way?” Marcus spoke with a tremble in his voice, and Susanna thought it was not all to do with his state of health. He feared Parker.

  Parker smiled, and Susann
a could see the wolf in it. “It would be useful to know who I can trust, as well as who I can’t.” He stared out the window again. “What about that one?”

  He pointed to a short man, thin and pinched. He was dressed somberly but well and had a heavy gold collar of office over his cloak. He stared at the carriage for some moments, until Susanna was sure he would approach them. The way he set his lips and narrowed his eyes spoke of hardness and cruelty, and she felt a shudder of relief when at last he turned away.

  Marcus shook his head. “Never seen him.”

  Parker looked after the man’s narrow back and tapped his lips. “Norfolk would never have met you himself anyway. Were some who sought you out secretaries or men of affairs?”

  Marcus nodded. “Some had ink-stained fingers. And their clothes weren’t as fine.”

  “So you still won’t know who you can trust,” Susanna said, shading in the velvet seat behind Will on her sketch.

  “Nothing I’m not used to.” Parker’s words were casual, his focus on those outside.

  No wonder a cold wind howled behind his eyes. Parker was completely alone. Susanna lifted her charcoal from the paper and thought again of the painting she would do of him, leaning against the door frame of the kitchen in his fine blue doublet with saffron yellow embroidery on the collar. Big, wary, a look in his startling eyes that spoke of longing and resolve.

  As if he knew she thought of him, he turned to her, and Susanna let herself fall into his bright blue gaze.

  “There’s one.” Marcus’s hiss made them both blink. He pointed at someone, tall and well-padded, with a crooked nose that looked too long in his face, coming down the palace steps.

  “You’re sure?” Parker’s voice was clipped.

  “I told you, I never forget a face,” Marcus said.

  “I can scarce credit—”

  “There’s the cove from the monastery.” Will had insinuated himself between Marcus and Parker for a better look, and now he pointed to a stocky, compact man in a black doublet. Will’s man seemed to be following the courtier Marcus had pointed out. He dodged behind a crowd leaving the palace as Marcus’s man stopped and turned to look back. He stood for a moment, then shrugged and ran down the steps.

  He moved well, Susanna noted, with the grace of a natural dancer. He carried himself well too, his shoulders straight and square despite the wobble in his belly.

  She found herself liking the look of him, hoping he was not involved in this. She clamped down on the feeling.

  Someone was responsible for the deaths that had dogged her path since she’d left Ghent, and this was the closest they had come to finding out who.

  She saw Parker’s lips form a thin line. This man was known to him, she could see. And Parker liked him well.

  Once again he would have to confront his enemy, but this time it would be with the bitter taste of betrayal on his tongue.

  16

  The Chiefe Conditions and Qualities in a Courtier: To be partly and amiable in countenance unto who so beehouldeth him.

  Of the Chief Conditions and Qualityes in a Waytyng Gentylwoman: To be heedefull and remembre that men may with lesse jeopardy show to be in love, then women.

  Would this day never end? Parker stood with Susanna at the door of Francis Bryan’s London rooms, and wondered what new twist this tale would take.

  Bryan was one of the very few who amused the King in everything—at the jousts, in the hunt, and at play. He could joke, sing, dance, and fight—all the qualities His Majesty expected from those of his courtiers who didn’t perform an actual service for him. But Bryan outdazzled most others.

  Unlike himself, Parker thought with a wry twist of amusement. He had no singing voice, did not like dancing, and had seen enough violence to eschew playing at it in the jousts. The King seemed to like Parker all the more for this. He was an oddity, the exception that proved the rule. And of course, he was very, very useful.

  With a brief glance at Susanna, Parker lifted the heavy knocker and smacked it down hard.

  The crack summoned hurried footsteps, and the door was opened cautiously by a thin, nervous manservant.

  Parker narrowed his eyes. So Bryan did have something to be nervous about?

  “Tell Sir Francis that John Parker is here to see him.” Parker stepped forward, Susanna on his arm, forcing the servant back.

  The man darted a look at Susanna, as if expecting her name as well, but Parker merely stared at him, he sketched a hasty bow and hurried up a gloomy staircase.

  “We are not even shown a seat?” Susanna asked quietly. “And he looked frightened enough to faint if you were to say boo.”

  “Aye. It looks as if Marcus spoke true. Bryan has something to hide, no question. But the servant’s fright, the way Bryan looked on the palace steps …” Parker shook his head slowly. “If he is involved, it is not deeply. Whoever is behind this would be cooler. But Bryan knows something—”

  “Ho, Parker.” Bryan hailed them from the stairs as he made his way down, his face merry and bright. But the truth was in his eyes and the way his lips pursed.

  “Bryan.” Parker neither extended his hand nor bowed. A grave insult.

  Bryan’s eyes narrowed, then Parker saw him decide to let it go. To ascribe it to the cold, or to ill-humor, anything other than what he feared: disrespect.

  “I need to speak with you. In private.” Parker kept his voice smooth.

  Bryan tore his gaze away from Parker, his face a study in confusion and panic. He fixed his attention on Susanna.

  “Did I not see you the other day, mistress? Waiting for a close council with the King? We were all most curious indeed as to your business with him.” His voice was breathless.

  “Your curiosity will not be satisfied, Bryan. And unless you would like me to discuss your treason against the King in your open hallway, you will invite us into one of your rooms. Now.” Parker took a step forward, and Bryan all but flinched back.

  The paragon of the jousts, with a sword arm second to none, cowered before him.

  This was too deep a game for him, Parker decided in disgust. He wished for the quiet life of his Hertfordshire holdings. Even Fulham, despite its proximity to London, must be better than this.

  “The King truly has sent you?” Bryan whispered.

  Parker leaned closer. “I don’t think you heard me, Bryan. I said now.”

  Something in Parker’s imperious command at last stirred the man within Bryan’s breast. He stood taller and did not flinch away. “Come with me, sir.” His voice was cold and distant.

  Perhaps it would have been better if he’d kept Bryan cowering, but Parker was glad the man had rediscovered his backbone. The world was topsy-turvy enough without Bryan acting like a milksop. It made Parker nervous.

  He lost his temper when he was nervous.

  And with Susanna Horenbout on his arm, he would prefer to remain in perfect control.

  Bryan opened the door to a small, cold sitting room. A fire had been built in the hearth but not lit, and Bryan stared at it bemused, as if unsure what to do.

  God save him from helpless nobles, Parker thought viciously. He let go of Susanna and stepped past Bryan, grabbing a small stick from the pile in the fireplace. He lit it from the candle on the table and within moments had the fire crackling.

  “You are a man of many talents, Parker.” Bryan spoke in a dry voice that teetered between contempt and admiration.

  Parker was certain most of the King’s courtiers felt the same way about him. He smiled. “The King certainly thinks so.” He let that statement hang in the air, and motioned to Susanna to take a seat.

  It was a testament to Bryan’s distraction that he’d forgotten his manners to such an extent. As Susanna lowered herself into the plush velvet chair, Parker saw laughter and admiration in her eyes. He grinned back openly, and bent over her hand.

  “Enough.” Bryan’s tone had gone from sardonic to nearly hysterical in moments. Parker turned slowly, an eyebrow raised. “Court y
our mysterious lady on your own time, Parker. Why are you here?”

  “You know why I’m here, Bryan. When you began corresponding with de la Pole, you must have understood the risks.” Parker leaned against Susanna’s chair, his knife hand ready.

  Bryan’s face tried to remain outraged, and failed. “No,” he whispered. “Who told you such a lie?”

  “You in particular must know how easily some can be bought.” Parker kept his voice even. “Perhaps when you were out in the streets of Paris with the King of France all those years ago, lobbing stones and eggs at the peasants, you were offered something you couldn’t refuse? Did King Francis buy your loyalty that day?”

  “That bastard Wolsey!” Bryan’s throat worked and tendons stood out on his neck. “That he had spies watching me that day in Paris was bad enough. But to tell King Henry … to use that indiscretion as a way to remove me from the King …”

  “Ah, come now, Bryan. Wolsey wasn’t spying on you. You aren’t important enough. It was the King of France who was of interest. And His Majesty invited you back to court soon after, didn’t he? He finds you too merry and companionable to do without.” Parker straightened up. “I wonder what he’ll think of you now?”

  The reality of that loss of patronage or, worse, the accusation of treason, hit Bryan full force. Parker watched his high color subside and an ashen white tint his skin.

  “Parker,” he whispered. “It is not what you think it is, I swear.”

  Parker perched on the arm of Susanna’s chair. “It seldom is.”

  Although he could not be trusted, Susanna liked Francis Bryan. He would not lack for the company of women, nor the company of friends to drink with.

  There was something about him. It was in the way he looked at a person, as if he was truly interested in them. If she were to paint him, she would have to find a way to capture the intensity of his gaze.

  But Parker had disrupted his equilibrium. And he had done it like the master he was.

  “The King is thinking of ending his marriage to the Queen.” Bryan spoke quickly, as if saying it fast would make it sound better somehow. His eyes went nervously to Susanna. “I don’t say this lightly, especially not with someone unknown to me in the room, but it’s the truth.”