In Defense of the Queen

by Michelle Diener

  In Defense of the Queen

  Michelle Diener

  Copyright © 2013 Michelle Diener

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9874176-3-3

  No part of this work may be copied or distributed in any way without written permission of the copyright holder.

  This is a work of fiction and all names, people, places and incidents are either used fictitiously or are a product of the author’s imagination.

  DEDICATION

  Much thanks and love to Jo.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  My thanks as always to Laura Morrigan for the amazing cover design, and to Edie & Liz—critique partners extraordinaire. To beta readers Jules, Bridget & Jo, you rock!

  Previous books in the Susanna Horenbout and John Parker series:

  In a Treacherous Court

  Keeper of the King’s Secrets

  Chapter One

  I do not mean that you should be a slave to any king, but only that you should assist them and be useful to them.

  Utopia by Thomas More (translated by H. Morley)

  The houses in Lombard Street leant against each other like a crowd of drunks, propping each other up. Parker moved across the street, away from the shadow they cast, to catch the afternoon light.

  He slowed, pretending to concentrate on avoiding an open drain, and flicked a glance to the right.

  There was someone waiting up ahead, in the darkness of the alleyway.

  A shape moved, small and rounded, and a hand reached out of the shadows, wrapped strangely in cloth, like a body dressed for burial.

  “Mistress Goodnight?” Parker stopped.

  She stepped a little further out of the gloom, and gave him a smile, showing the browned stumps of her teeth.

  “Aye.”

  “News?” He moved a little closer, feeling for his purse.

  “Perhaps.” Her eyes followed his hand as it dug deep into the leather pouch at his waist.

  “Well?” He stopped when he was still a man’s length away from her. He’d learned long ago to keep a good space between them. Her instinct to run was so strong after her years on the streets of London, she sometimes did it even when she knew there was nothing to fear.

  “There was talk last night. Along the river.”

  He made no sound, kept still as she looked around, furtive and beady-eyed as a mouse.

  She jerked, as if remembering where she was, and blinked. “Frenchman. Someone said they had seen your Frenchman.”

  Something cold and dark twisted in Parker’s gut, sent a web-fine chill along his limbs. “The Frenchman who jumped into the river?”

  There was no other, but he wanted to be absolutely sure.

  She sniffed, as if insulted by his question, and ignored it. “Story is he’s back.”

  “From where?”

  “From the dead, way I hear it. Washed under London Bridge, wasn’t he?”

  “Where can this ghost be found?” He clinked the coins in his bag together.

  Gladys Goodnight looked up, her eyes startling in her wrinkled face. There was a sharpness there, much as a mother would have for a child misbehaving.

  “You know I’ll tell you all, no matter what you give me. Don’t get too high and mighty wi’ me, John Parker.”

  Parker acknowledged her with a nod. Lifted his hand from his purse.

  “Don’t know where to find him. Just heard he was back to settle a score.”

  Parker had no need to ask who the score was against. He’d wanted to believe Jean had drowned when he’d leapt into the Thames a few months ago, but there had never been a body, and he had always known Jean would not die quite so conveniently.

  “The warning is much appreciated.” Parker held out his hand, and hesitantly, Gladys extended hers. Parker dropped the coins into her filthy, rag-covered palm.

  “So I see.” She looked at the coins, glee lighting her wrinkled face. “My thanks, Parker.” She withdrew into the alley again, disappearing into the dark.

  “Take care, mistress. You don’t want to come to the Frenchman’s attention.”

  Her cackle wafted out of the narrow space, echoing and eerie. “Not likely. He’s too busy looking your way, Parker, to worry about the likes o’ me.”

  Parker stood a moment in the failing light, staring into the impenetrable darkness of the alley. If only it were true. But Jean was not after him.

  The only reason a professional assassin came back to kill, without payment, was because it was personal.

  And that meant he’d come back for Susanna.

  * * *

  “There is someone come for you.”

  Susanna looked up from the fine drawing of Princess Mary she was working on. Her vision swam as she adjusted it from the minute, intricate work to the housekeeper in the doorway, plump cheeks flushed from the climb up the stairs.

  Susanna blinked. “For me?”

  Mistress Greene shuffled her feet, agitated and nervous. “Aye. Says he’s your brother. Looks like your brother, right enough. Suppose I’d best make up the spare room.” The housekeeper turned and disappeared back down the stairs.

  Susanna stood slowly and laid down her brush, the movement automatic. Lucas was here?

  She lifted her shoulders to ease the ache of sitting tense over her painting for so long and rubbed the back of her neck. Shock kept her feet in place. Shock, and . . . disappointment.

  It was hard to admit it, even to herself, but while she was happy to see her brother again, she was equally sorry he’d come, because there could be only one reason for it. He was taking her job from her.

  She made her way to the dim landing and started down the stairs.

  Lucas stood with his back to her, looking from the hallway into Parker’s study. He was just the same, tall and thin, with hair the same red-brown as her own.

  He turned when he heard the stairs creak behind him.

  “There you are.” Lucas smiled, the old grin that was so exactly him.

  She smiled, or tried to. She thought she’d have months more, at least, until he came to usurp her. But she couldn’t deny it was good to see her brother’s face.

  “I am so happy to see you.” She took the rest of the stairs down to him, and kissed him on each cheek. “Overcome with surprise, but happy.”

  He kissed her in return, then held her a little away from him to look at her face. “So. You are about to be married.”

  “Yes.” She held his gaze. “But not for a few months yet. I thought you would come with Father and Mother closer to the time.”

  He shrugged. “It was a surprise to me, as well, this trip.” He looked away without explaining his words. Then he gestured around him at the hallway and the rooms beyond. “I congratulate you. Your betrothed seems a wealthy man.”

  She didn’t know what to say to that. It was rude, and usually, Lucas was charm itself.

  Then he pulled her back into his arms, a crushing embrace that seemed a little desperate. “It is good to see you safe and well, Susie.”

  She submitted to the tight, suffocating hold for a few moments, then tried to pull back. He loosened his grip and let her go as the front door swung open.

  She turned, shoulders relaxing, as Parker stepped inside. His gaze went straight to her, as if he was worried.

  “What is it?” she asked, reaching a hand to his, but his attention had moved to Lucas.

  “Who are you?”

  Lucas swallowed, the sound audible, and he fell back a step. “My lord, I am Lucas Horenbout. Soon to be your brother-in-law.” His English came out stilted to her ear. She had been speaking it so long, she could hear how she must have sounded when she first arrived.

  Parker did not relax. “You did not
let us know you were coming.” At last he took her hand, and drew her closer to him.

  “I arrived back from Nuremburg but two weeks ago, and my father put me on the next ship to England.”

  “But why?” Susanna noticed, for the first time, a pile of bags just inside the door. “What was his reason for such haste?”

  Lucas looked away, the movement guilty. “He wanted me to establish myself, find a house and so forth, so he and mother could join me in time for your wedding.”

  Susanna opened her mouth. Closed it.

  She hadn’t spent most of her life listening to Lucas talk his way out of trouble with their father not to know when he was telling the truth. And when he wasn’t.

  And this time, her brother was lying.

  Chapter Two

  Now I live as I will, to which I believe, few courtiers can pretend; and there are so many that court the favour of great men, that there will be no great loss if they are not troubled either with me or with others of my temper.

  Utopia by Thomas More (translated by H. Morley)

  He could hear the sounds of Horenbout above, in the spare room that sat directly above the study. The artist’s striking resemblance to Susanna was in the shade of his hair, and the shape of his eyes. But where Susanna was calm and serene, he was sulky and difficult. And irritating.

  Susanna stood at the open window, looking out into the garden. A light breeze blew in and scooped out the heat of the day.

  He went to her and gently drew her away. If Jean was back, she could not stand outlined in windows until the Frenchman was dead.

  She frowned. “What is it? I could see something was wrong when you came home.” Her hand came up and cupped his cheek, and he wondered what he would do if she were taken from him.

  “Gladys Goodnight heard some whispers on the street. That Jean is back.”

  She looked to the window, and understanding lit her face. “Ah.” She took a step deeper into the room. “And you think there is something to them?”

  He shrugged. “Jean would not have died so conveniently. And if he were alive, and had the means, he would come back.”

  “Back for me?” She shook her head. “I don’t understand why he would hold a grudge against me more than you, or even the Comte.”

  “He sees the Comte and myself as his equals. You were supposed to be easy.” Parker smiled with deep satisfaction. “You were not.”

  “And my brother?”

  Parker frowned. “What about him?”

  “It seems strange he would return the same day we hear Jean is back.”

  Parker hesitated a moment, shook his head. “We knew your brother was coming sooner or later. I can’t see how this can be anything but a coincidence.”

  “Perhaps.” She spoke more quietly, tilting her face to the ceiling. “I would agree, if he hadn’t lied about why he was here.”

  “He lied?” Parker stilled. Lifted his face upwards as well, as if he could see through the sturdy wood of the ceiling to the room above. A room which was now quiet.

  “I know him too well. He wasn’t telling the truth. I thought perhaps he feared I could persuade my father against the plan to give him my position, and rushed here to establish himself before I could do it, but there is something more to it than that. He would be comfortable with that lie, because he believes my job as painter to the king to be his due, but he’s nervous. My brother is afraid of something.”

  “Perhaps it is me who makes him nervous?” Parker drew her close, and let the fragrant air of lavender and rosemary from the garden brush over them.

  She gave a small laugh, the delight in it spearing his heart. “You do. But he doesn’t know you well enough yet to fear for his life with you.” He could feel her smile against his chest.

  “You think his fear is linked to his lie.”

  “Aye. It makes me curious. Lucas has always done, and been allowed to do, what he pleases. Yet he is here against his will. My father would have had to make a significant threat to get him to agree.”

  A thought occurred to Parker. “Do you think he will act as your father’s proxy while he’s here?”

  She lifted her head, and laughter still danced in her eyes. “He will notice if I do not sleep in my own room, if that is your meaning.”

  Parker swore, moved her even deeper into the shadows of the room to kiss her.

  He felt a tug against his sleeve and he jerked up his head. In time to see a bolt slam into the door opposite the window with a thud.

  * * *

  Parker leapt straight through the window into the garden.

  Susanna watched him fly over the sill, then threw herself against the wall. She looked across the room at the bolt, and the cider they had just drunk with Lucas rose in her throat.

  If anyone knew to the second how long it would take Jean to crank in a second bolt, it was Parker, and she understood he’d gone on the attack before they could be pinned down. But it made it no easier to accept.

  She moved until she was directly beside the window, then froze at the sound of footsteps in the hall. The door swung open.

  Lucas stood in the doorway, and her heart leapt in her chest.

  “Down. For pity’s sake, get down.” She crouched as she spoke, showing him, so he would do it quicker.

  “What are you about, Susanna?” He frowned, the look on his face so like Father’s when he thought her behaviour unbecoming. He stepped into the room.

  “Get down. Someone is shooting bolts at us.”

  He looked at her, his eyes wide, and at last, he crouched. Scuttled to join her at the wall.

  She could see his hands were shaking.

  “Where is Parker?”

  “Gone after them.” She could not help but compare her lover, leaping after the attacker like a wolf on the hunt, with her brother, cowering with her against the wall.

  It made her stand up, and lean across for a quick look into the garden. Dusk had turned to evening, and it was impossible to see anything.

  “Who . . . who would shoot at you?”

  The false notes in his question were like poor colour mixes on a painting, like an obvious patch-up on a torn inlay of gold leaf. She had thought it was Jean, of course Parker and her both had, but what if it wasn’t?

  “I don’t know.” She kept her voice steady. “It comes very close on the heels of your arrival.”

  He made a sound, a croak from the back of his throat.

  Her temper spiked. “If someone you have brought to our door has harmed Parker . . .” She peered out of the window again, listening. But there was nothing to hear. “Why are you really here? And don’t say it is to set up house.”

  He hesitated, and she thought he was weighing up telling her at all. He looked at the bolt sticking into the door for a long moment, before he drew in a deep breath, his face set. “I couldn’t say with your betrothed beside you. He is the King’s man, and what I need to give you is not for the King.”

  “What you need to give me?” She lowered her voice, and saw he was plucking at something inside his jacket.

  “Margaret of Austria bade Father give you this to pass to Queen Katherine. It seems the word is the English queen is pleased with you, and so Margaret decided you would be the perfect way to get something to her.”

  “Get what to her?” She waited for him to show her what he had in his jacket, but his hand stayed were it was, as if simply resting over his heart. Like he was swearing fealty.

  “A secret letter. The English queen’s correspondence is checked, these days, according to Margaret’s spies, and all suspicious correspondence is passed to the King or his cardinal.”

  “Margaret wants me to smuggle a letter past the King and Wolsey to the Queen. And Father agreed to that?” She was breathless.

  “Father works for Margaret.” He shrugged, as if this explained everything. “But no. They don’t mean for you to smuggle in the letter. There is too much risk with that. They would have you read it, and pass the message on. Whisper
it in the Queen’s ear.”

  “Father isn’t going to be working for Margaret much longer, he’s coming to work in London in a few months. And I work for the King. If I follow Father’s rule, I owe my loyalty to him.”

  “You’re still your father’s daughter, Susanna. You obey him above all others.” Lucas took out the letter at last, and lifted it up for her to take.

  She didn’t touch it. She wanted to climb out of the window, and see if Parker was all right. Her hand trembled as she set it on the sill, wondering if she should leap into the garden as Parker had. “I’m soon to be the wife of a courtier of the Privy Chamber. A man who is the Keeper of Westminster Palace and the King’s private purse. He’s also the King’s Yeoman of the Robes. And Father would have me commit treason, despite this?”

  “Who will ever know?” Lucas’s face was in complete shadow in the now-dark room. “Visit the Queen, give her the message, and there is no way to say how she came to know.”

  “Except the Queen herself, Margaret, Father, you, me,” she lifted a finger with each name, and then waved her free hand, “and whoever else at Margaret’s court is involved.” Susanna dropped her voice so low, it was barely a whisper. “And if the person firing bolts through the window is to do with this, someone else knows, too.”

  Lucas turned the letter over and over in his hands. “I don’t know how anyone here could know of this.” He looked up at her, what little light there was glinting off his eyes. “I am no good at this skulduggery. But I warn you, whether we’re discovered in this or not, if you don’t take the message to Katherine, Margaret has told Father she will not pay him for his work this last year. She will ruin him.”

  “If we are discovered,” she spoke slow and clear, so he could not mistake her meaning, “no matter if Father is ruined or not, we are dead.”

  Chapter Three

  for the springs both of good and evil flow from the prince over a whole nation, as from a lasting fountain