In Defense of the Queen

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)

T
he 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)

H
e 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.”