In a Treacherous Court (7 page)

Peter Jack shrugged. “In this weather, in the dark, with the hood of his cloak over his head?” He lifted his hands at the impossibility of it.

Parker merely stared at him, the planes of his face hard and unbending, and the silence dragged out, broken only by the pop and crack of the wood burning in the fire and the occasional hiss as a drop of icy rain fell down the chimney.

“What did he ask of you?”

“Said you’d be comin’ with a lady. That I were to stab her in the heart and leg it.”

“He knew you?”

Peter Jack shrugged. “Maybe he’s seen me afore.”

Parker shifted in his chair. “How did he pay you?”

“He gave me a shilling. Said the rest would come later.”

“And how could you get it later? If you killed my lady before my eyes, did you think you could return to Old Swan? Ever?”

There was a long silence as Peter Jack seemed to grapple with the consequences of what he’d almost done.

“No, sir.” His voice was a whisper. “It was just, this winter … it’s been so cold. Cold enough you can hardly think. And Eric an’ me an’ the lads, we look out for each other. A whole sovereign he promised me. That would’ve gone a long way.”

Parker let the silence stretch out again, while Susanna fought a lump in her throat. Peter Jack had been manipulated, but he wasn’t the villain here.

It was Eric who broke. “I know him. He’s a crook from round the docks.” Eric didn’t look at Peter Jack, only at Parker.

Parker nodded, still saying nothing. Susanna was out of her depth here, treading water in the thick of it.

“How d’you know him?” Peter Jack asked his brother.

“Seen him afore, haven’t I?” Eric shrugged. “Sometimes you can get a spot o’ work at the dock, or something falls, or gets forgotten. Never know your luck there.”

“Who is he?” Parker leaned forward, but his voice was calm, unexcited.

Eric shook his head. “Never heard his name.” He cocked his head, and Susanna could see his usual cheekiness returning. “Mostly he’s working the ships coming from the Netherlands, the ones with rolls of cloth. But he’s sellin’ something on the side, too. I seen some high-ups down there, making out they’re inspecting their goods unloading from the ships, but their eyes are always moving, moving, until they find him. Then it’s a quick duck round a corner or into a warehouse, and they’re away again.”

“What do you think he’s selling?”

Eric lifted his hands, palms up. “It’s small, whatever it is. Could be anything at all.”

Parker relaxed back in his chair, a black hawk on its perch, deceptively still. He rested his elbows on the wooden arms and steepled his fingers. “So it could.”

The Chiefe Conditions and Qualities in a Courtier:
To be able to alleage good, and probable reasons upon everie matter.

Of the Chief Conditions and Qualityes in a Waytyng Gentylwoman:
To shape him that is oversaucie wyth her, or that hath small respecte in hys talke, suche an answere, that he maye well understande she is offended wyth hym.

S
usanna had gone to bed. She’d barely been able to lift her spoon from her broth to her mouth, and Parker hadn’t been surprised when she said her good nights. Mistress Greene had insisted on helping her, closing the door behind her as they left. She would soon be back to put the boys in Luke’s old room under the stairs in the kitchen, and he wanted to talk to Peter Jack without either woman present.

“It seems Mistress Greene is looking for a new groom and general helper,” he said, and watched Peter Jack turn in his seat by the fire and stare at him.

Eric was fast asleep, sitting straight up, legs crossed. His toes peeped out beneath the shirt Parker had given him.

And he’d thought he’d had it bad as a lad. These boys knew the meaning of a hard life.

He held Peter Jack’s gaze. “I need to trust the person who gets the job.”

“You can trust me, sir. Honest.” Peter Jack turned fully to face him, his eyes enormous, earnest.

“Who among your lads might have turned on you, Peter Jack?” Parker watched the boy swallow hard and look away. He hadn’t expected a test of loyalty so soon.

They both knew Eric’s man from the docks hadn’t just been lucky. Someone had told him about the boys under Old Swan, told him Parker landed there to get home. The weapon might have been a desperate boy, but another hand had pointed him in Parker’s direction.

Peter Jack opened his mouth, closed it, cleared his throat. He looked down, twining his fingers together. “Kinnock.” The word came out strangled. At last he raised his head. “Kinnock’s been actin’ strange. I thought I seen him buy a pie the other day. A pie! He laughed and asked where’d he get the money for a pie. But I know I seen him.”

“So, money from somewhere. That does point to him. They think he’s useful where he is and didn’t want him to have to disappear, so they picked someone else at random to do the job. Or Kinnock told them to choose you, because you’re his competition. No matter—they know I’d hunt down whoever tried to hurt her, with the full backing of the King.”

At Parker’s mention of the King, a full-body shiver wracked Peter Jack’s thin frame. He said nothing, but Parker saw he finally realized the trouble he’d gotten himself into.

“When did he start acting strange?”

Peter Jack frowned. “Couple o’ days back. Well, stranger’n usual.”

“And the rest of the lads?”

Peter Jack pulled himself together. “They’re all right. They’d take me over Kinnock any day.”

“Well then, we’ll have to do something about Kinnock.” Parker tapped his lips with his fingers. “And you can tell the lads I have some work for them too.”

“What kind o’ work?” Peter Jack crossed his arms over his chest and hugged himself tight.

“The King thinks I’m too straight,” Parker replied. “But we’re about to see how crooked I can be.”

P
arker was gone when Susanna woke the next morning and found Mistress Greene at work in the kitchen.

“Where are the lads?” She helped herself to the food Mistress Greene had left out for her.

“In the stables. It’s a mess in there. Luke wasn’t doing his work the last few days he was here, and then he walked off without so much as a by-your-leave.”

Susanna lowered her mug of warm cider and swallowed a mouthful of bread. “Why did he leave?”

“Lazy.” Mistress Greene punched into her dough, and kneaded it. “I expect someone to work if they’re earning good money for it. And I see they have a warm place to sleep and a full belly as well as their wages. This ain’t a bad place to lay your head.”

Susanna caught the edge of sadness in Mistress Greene’s tone. Bewilderment.

“It seems to me a lovely place to lay your head. I certainly slept well, and this bread and honey is delicious.”

“Aye?” The housekeeper appeared mollified. “Well, I do keep a good house. And we’re lucky to have the bread oven. Not many’s got one around here.”

“The journey last night was so dark and cold, I haven’t even seen the house properly.” Susanna stood and swept the crumbs she’d made on the table onto her plate. “I’d like a quick look before the weather worsens again.”

“You do that. ’Twill snow before the day is out, mark my words.”

Susanna fetched her cloak and stepped out into the yard, reluctantly closing off the heat of the kitchen behind her. The air was icy, stinging her cheeks, and she drew her cloak tighter. The clouds were tinged green, hanging low on the horizon. She felt hemmed in by them.

She made for the arch that led to the lane, wanting to get a better look at the street. She’d caught a glimpse of it from her bedroom window, and she was intrigued by the church at the top of the lane. She picked her way between the puddles and slush on the gravel-covered earth, grateful for her thick clogs.

Before stepping into the street, she turned to look back at Parker’s house. It was an old two-story gray stone building with a thatch roof. Solid. Imposing. Her new home for a while.

For just a moment, she thought with longing of her home in Ghent: tall, elegant, with its beautiful murals decorating the exterior—some of her father’s best work.

She had exiled herself from that. Or been exiled.

Her parents thought she’d given everything up for lust. But she hadn’t. She’d gambled her father would allow her the same freedom he did Lucas. Afford her the same respect. But she had lost.

Her chances of marriage were slim if she continued as an artist, and she had no plans to become a nun. She thought of Joost, and shivered. But her father had not placed her … explorations with Joost in the same category as Lucas’s affairs. Instead, he’d shipped her off to England, throwing her to the wolves.

But that wasn’t fair. None of this madness in England was her father’s fault.

With a sigh, Susanna turned toward the street. The cold was making her feet ache, and she needed to move. She stepped through the arch and turned, colliding with a man lurking just outside against the wall.

He was big in a rawboned, gangly way, his arms and legs too long for his body, his hands huge. He grunted as Susanna hit him, but kept his footing.

A cry of surprise caught in her throat. The man had a wildeyed,
unpredictable look, like a wounded animal, and she took an instinctive step back.

His cap had long sides to cover his ears and he wore gray homespun cloth, his shoes just leather soles wrapped in cloth. He lurched forward, something desperate in the movement, and Susanna turned and began to run across the yard.

His hand reached out, caught hold of her cloak, and yanked her back.

She went down with a scream, landing on her back in the wet mud of the courtyard, the wind knocked out of her. She lay gasping for breath as he loomed over her, blocking out the sky.

“Get back!” Peter Jack called out, his voice deeper somehow, fierce. “Get back from her.”

The man started, shuffled back a little, and Susanna saw Peter Jack and Eric standing at the barn door. Peter Jack had a pitchfork in his hands, and Eric wielded an axe that was half his height. They would barely reach her attacker’s midriff.

“Oi!” Mistress Greene burst from the back door, wielding a rolling pin in one hand and a saucepan in the other.

The man crouched at Susanna’s head, his breath coming faster, his eyes flicking between the boys and Mistress Greene. There was a knife in his hand. Susanna saw its dull glint as he lowered it to her throat.

“No!” Peter Jack charged, pitchfork raised, at the same moment Susanna rolled away.

The man jerked the knife sideways, catching the cord of
her cloak. He cursed in panic when the blade wouldn’t come free, and in desperation, yanked it hard, cutting the cord and nicking Susanna under her chin.

Somehow the cloak was tangled around his arm, and with a tug he pulled it out from under her and was up and running. Susanna rolled to her stomach in time to see him disappear around the corner, her cloak clutched tightly in one hand, his knife held high in the other.

She pushed herself up on her knees, wincing.

“That was fast work,” Peter Jack said, holding out a hand to help her up.

“Fast work?”

“I didn’t finish ye off last night, so they sent someone round next day to do it.”

“What on earth?” Mistress Greene arrived in her rolled-up sleeves and her apron, flour on her cheek. “What was that about?”

“Got a price on her ’ead, this one,” Eric told her, jerking his head toward Susanna.

“Go on.” Mistress Greene looked at each of them, and Susanna saw her mouth close with a snap as she realized they were serious. She looked out into the lane. “Well, we saw him off, didn’t we?”

“Course we did. What with bein’ armed to the teeth ’n’ all,” Eric said, looking at her saucepan and rolling pin as he leaned on his axe handle.

It set them all off laughing. Susanna felt tears on her
cheeks. She clutched her stomach, felt the ache of her back where she’d fallen. Saw the blood drip from her chin to mingle with the dirty water she was standing in.

That was how Parker found them, howling with laughter, near hysteria, standing without coats or cloaks in the middle of his yard.