Keeper of the King's Secrets (15 page)

“I would prefer not.” Wolsey gave a half bow, awaiting the King’s pleasure.

Parker murmured something in the King’s ear.

“Come, let us step a little away, then.” Henry motioned with his hand, and Wolsey shot Parker a look of triumph. It faded immediately as Wolsey realized the King meant Parker to join them.

Susanna felt a touch on her arm.

“I never would have thought to see this confrontation with my own eyes.” It was Francis Bryan, come to stand with her and his sister, and he dipped his head in a bow.

Susanna nodded, too distracted to curtsy. “I hope it is not a confrontation. I hope Parker can turn the talk to safe ground.”

Bryan watched the trio with eyes hungry for blood, for the singing whisper of steel freshly drawn. “In that, my lady, in this whole gallery, you stand alone.”

A prince ought to have no other aim or thought, nor select anything else for his study, than war and its rules and discipline.

—Machiavelli
, The Prince,
chapter 14

“Y
ou have news?” Henry inclined toward Wolsey, and Parker saw the flash of respect in the King’s face. He needed always to remember that Wolsey lifted the massive burden of administrating England from the King’s shoulders. The King had plenty to thank Wolsey for.

The Cardinal most definitely had the royal ear, and he would use that for all it was worth today.

“Disturbing information was given to me today. A diamond cutter I hired to revalue your jewels was found dead.” Wolsey flicked a look at Parker, expecting some reaction.

Parker kept his face impassive. He had not realized Wolsey did not know of Jens’s death. Perhaps the diamond cutter
had
been planning to run from Wolsey when he was cut down. Or
perhaps Wolsey was merely using the diamond cutter’s death now because it suited him.

“That is sad news, but I do not understand the urgency—”

“My pardon, Your Majesty. The matter is urgent because some days back, he mentioned there was a jewel not where it should be when he went through the inventory. He was endeavoring to find out where it was when he was killed.”

Henry glanced at Parker, a flicker of worry, and Parker narrowed his eyes. It was a cunning counterattack.

“What jewel do you speak of?” The King crossed his arms over his chest. There was a sudden tension about him, the cords in his neck and hands standing out in relief.

“The Mirror of Naples, Your Majesty.” Wolsey spoke the words so low, both Parker and the King had to lean forward to hear him.

“And did your man find where the jewel had gone?” The King’s tension thickened around him, and his words came out clipped and hard.

Wolsey shook his head cautiously, like a deer in a hunter’s sights. “He thought it must surely be mislaid, or away for cleaning. He was waiting for a reply from the Master of the King’s Jewels when he was struck down. By a bolt.” Wolsey let that sink in. “I think he was silenced.”

Henry frowned. “Who do you suspect silenced him? If you think to accuse Sir Henry Wyatt, my Master of the Jewels has never picked up a weapon in all the years I’ve known him.”

Wolsey opened his hands wide, palms out, the innocent messenger. “I suspect and accuse no one. I merely come to
inform Your Majesty that your largest diamond is missing and the man trying to find it is dead.”

“There you are wrong.” Parker held Wolsey’s gaze. “The man trying to find it is standing before you.”

Wolsey was not quick enough. The surprise and fear on his face were visible to the King, and his hands trembled against his red robes as he realized it.

“Indeed.” Henry turned to look out of the gallery to where the Fleet spilled into the Thames. “Parker came to me with this the day I returned to Bridewell, and has been looking into it.”

“Then I am sure the matter is in good hands.” Now all Wolsey wanted was to retreat. Retreat and find some new way to come at this.

Parker would not give him the chance if he were able.

“My Lord Chancellor, I have spoken with the Clerk of the King’s Jewels on this matter and he claims no knowledge of the whereabouts of the Mirror. He also claims the last person to have access to the jewel was your diamond cutter, sent there at your express request and over the protests of his father.”

Wolsey went very still. “He points a finger at me?
Me?
”

Parker shrugged. “No more than you point a finger at him.”

“Enough.” Henry turned back to the conversation. “The jewel must be found. If it truly is stolen, it must be recovered. And anyone who aided in its theft will be for the Tower.”

Wolsey did not so much as flinch at that. Perhaps he thought no matter what, he would never be for the Tower. He had made himself too valuable to the King.

“And if it is the French? If they have taken it?” Despite his threat to the Comte, Parker had no wish to see England at war. He knew full well there wasn’t the money for it.

“If the Mirror has been stolen, and if it is France, there is no choice but to war.”

Wolsey turned his head sharply. “Your Majesty, even with the grant I am trying to collect, there will not be the funds—”

“Bah.” Henry cut him off. “France’s king is a prisoner, their army in ruins. If the Emperor will support us, we cannot fail.”

Wolsey rubbed a hand on his forehead. “France is vast, and we have not the resources to equip …” His voice petered out, as if he’d already said this too many times.

Henry eyed the small feast. “I will not stand huddled in corners whispering all morning. Let us eat.”

Wolsey bowed. “If Your Majesty will excuse me, I have matters that need my attention.”

Henry lifted a hand to give him leave to go and Parker watched Wolsey hurry away.

By coming to the King with this, distancing himself from the Mirror and subtly pointing a finger of blame, the Cardinal had given himself away.

Either he still intended to give the jewel to the French, or he did not know where it was.

Either way, the Cardinal was a desperate man.

H
arry was waiting for them when they stepped out into the courtyard at Bridewell. He leaned against the cart,
chatting to Peter Jack, and Susanna could see from the way they stood together how they had once shared space under Old Swan dock as a place to sleep out of the rain.

There was an easy way to both of them now: they were less like mice and more like cats—their twitchiness had given way to focus. Peter Jack was far more dangerous now than he had been before, and Harry was more dangerous still. As he noticed her and Parker, he straightened and drew himself up.

“News?” Parker kept his voice low.

“Aye. This.” Harry held out a roll of parchment, and Parker took it with a frown.

“A message? Who delivered it?”

“A Frenchman. Stopped me in the street.”

Parker went still and Susanna’s heart began a slow, hard thump. “They have been following you, then. How else did they know who you are?” Her voice was not as steady as she would have liked.

Harry nodded. Although he was trying to appear relaxed, his shoulders were stiff, his fingers curled too tight in on themselves. He would not like to think he’d been stalked, followed, without knowing it.

Parker broke the wax seal and Susanna watched his face.

“It is from the Comte.” His attention was on the letter as he spoke, and when he lifted his gaze, Susanna saw deep worry in his eyes. “He wants to talk to me.”

“Nee.”
The word flew out of her mouth in Flemish without any bidding.

“I will do it on my own terms.” Parker rolled the parchment
as he stared off at the lane leading from the palace to Fleet Street.

He seemed to come back to himself. “Harry, call your boys.”

Harry nodded, and Peter Jack rubbed his hands on his thighs in a gesture both nervous and eager.

Susanna put a hand on Parker’s arm. “You could call on Francis Bryan.” She looked back at the palace. “And any number of those you saved last month. They could help you, too.”

He shook his head, helping her climb up into the cart with his uninjured arm, then swinging up beside her. Peter Jack scrambled to the back, and Harry pulled himself up as well.

“Parker.” Her voice was sharp with worry.

“I could.” He let Harry take the reins and the cart horse moved slowly forward. “But there will be strings attached to their help, no matter what I’ve done for them in the past. And I cannot say their hatred of Wolsey won’t jeopardize things.”

Susanna remembered Bryan’s face as they’d stood together in the gallery. “They do hate him.”

“Aye. Enough that they would plunge England into war to bring him down.”

“What will you do?”

He grinned. “I will parley with the French.”

But a man is not often found sufficiently circumspect to know how to accommodate himself to the change, both because he cannot deviate from what nature inclines him to do, and also because, having always prospered by acting in one way, he cannot be persuaded that it is well to leave it; and, therefore, the cautious man, when it is time to turn adventurous, does not know how to do it, hence he is ruined.

—Machiavelli
, The Prince,
chapter 25

P
arker watched the Comte’s house from a small stand of trees, wondering if Susanna was right.

He could have called on any number of men to help him. But so often, the problems he dealt with could not become well-known. And none of those men, not even the best, were trustworthy with a bottle of wine down their gullet and a bit of music playing in the room.

If this didn’t go to plan, if the Mirror had been stolen and there was no way to get it back—far, far better that no one knew of it, no one could talk of it, than that it become common knowledge.

With the sting of gossip lashing at him, the King would
not hesitate to go to war. As long as only a few knew of it and kept it that way, that possibility was lessended.

Norfolk and Wyatt were the problems.

Parker shifted his position, suddenly uncomfortable, as if there were eyes on him, and turned to look behind him. There was nothing but the dance of branches in the wind and the growing shadows of dusk. He turned his attention to the mansion again.

He’d been caught by surprise by Wyatt gossiping to the Boleyns and their circle. At least he hadn’t told them everything. And at least Bryan and Carew were truly loyal to the King.

They would not say anything if he explained the stakes, but Thomas Boleyn … Boleyn was like a rat crouched under a kitchen cupboard, quivering with readiness for every morsel he could take for himself. He would use this to his greatest benefit, no matter the cost to others.

A light flickered to life in the hallway, shining through the small glasswork decoration above the door, and a tingle ran down Parker’s back. The Comte was getting ready to leave.

He heard the sound of horse hooves, and as he had done the night before, a stable boy led two horses around the side of the house to the front steps.

One of the big double doors swung open and the Comte stepped out, a thick cloak about his shoulders.