Keeper of the King's Secrets (19 page)

“Then you should come with me. But say nothing of this in the general hearing of the ladies. The Cardinal has spies among the women.”

Susanna resisted Gertrude’s tug on her sleeve. “Are you sure this will help me more than confronting Wolsey directly?”

Gertrude laughed without any trace of mirth. “Unless you have a weapon to hand, yes.”

Susanna stared at her, not looking away, and Gertrude cleared her throat. “Even if you have a weapon, my way will surely be the better one, I swear. I mean to repay the debt I
have to you for my husband’s life, and for the well-being of my family. I have a way for you to get the better of the Cardinal.”

Susanna allowed herself to be pulled down the passage, away from the Cardinal’s rooms.

She only hoped it was the right way to go.

When princes have thought more of ease than of arms they have lost their states.

—Machiavelli
, The Prince,
chapter 14

T
he Queen’s chambers were less sumptuous than the King’s, but Susanna knew it was from the Queen’s preference, rather than any lack of funds from her husband.

The antechamber was not so full as the last time Susanna had entered it, and she assumed many of the ladies were below at the reception, attending their husbands or fathers.

As soon as she stepped into the chamber, Gertrude’s manner became cooler, more distant. “Please wait a moment while I see if the Queen will receive you now.”

Susanna curtsied low. She did not doubt Wolsey had spies here. Norfolk must have some, too, although he preferred servants rather than nobility to act as his eyes and ears. They could be paid with money, rather than favors.

Gertrude slipped into the Queen’s chamber and Susanna kept her eyes on the door, her hands clenched as tight as her stomach.

“Mistress Horenbout.”

The woman who approached her looked sharp and hard. She wore fine clothes, but there was a musty smell of sweat about her. Susanna did not recognize her from her last visit to the Queen’s chambers.

“’Tis late for the Queen to need the services of the King’s painter.” Her words were bright and brittle.

“How lucky, then, that I was in attendance.” Susanna smiled, sweet as a lemon tart. “You have the better of me, my lady. You know my name, but I do not know yours.”

“I am Jane Stafford. I have heard much about you, my lady. And I am curious, what commission has the Queen for you? I look forward to seeing it.”

“A portrait of the Princess Mary,” Susanna lied. “So when the princess is away from court, in the good air of the country, the Queen may look on it and be comforted.”

“How delightful.” Jane’s words seemed to stick in her throat, thick and choking. It seemed she believed Susanna’s lie.

She had clearly been hoping for something else. Something she could take back to Norfolk or Wolsey—whoever’s pay she was in.

“The Queen will see you now.” Gertrude stood in the doorway, the door open just enough to let her through, as if shielding the occupants of the room from view. Her gaze went to Jane Stafford and her lips pursed in a thin line.

“My lady.” Susanna dipped her head in farewell and walked toward Gertrude.

“What did she want?” Gertrude whispered as she stood back to let Susanna enter.

“To know why I was here.”

Gertrude shot another look at Jane, but she had turned away and was talking with a small group of women. Gertrude pulled the door closed, shutting them out. “What did you tell her?”

“I said the Queen has commissioned me to paint a small picture of the Princess to keep beside her and give her comfort while the Princess is away.”

“That is a good idea.”

Susanna looked up, surprised, to see the Queen and one other woman only in the large chamber. They were seated by a fire and it was the Queen who had spoken.

“Your Majesty.” She curtsied low.

“Despite what we are really discussing here, Mistress Horenbout, I find the idea of a small painting of my daughter most delightful. You will paint it.”

“Of course.” Susanna curtsied low again.

“Now, what has the Cardinal put his meddling fingers into this time?”

T
he Queen was short, her shoulders round and plump. The woman with her was beautiful, a Spanish lady from the parting in her dark hair, to the tips of her wide, pink-lined sleeves.

“This is my aunt, Maria.” Gertrude went to stand beside her aunt’s chair, and Susanna could see the resemblance. “She is visiting the Queen for a few weeks.”

Susanna curtsied again. “My lady.”

It was clear these three were a close-knit group. Susanna felt fortunate to be owed a favor by Gertrude Courtenay; there was no question she was being privileged with this audience.

“I wanted to warn you tonight that Wolsey seems determined to cast John Parker in the worst possible light, but Gertrude tells me you are aware of it.” Katherine watched her with eyes filled with intelligence.

“I think Wolsey has done worse than try to tarnish Parker’s name, Your Majesty. I believe he has injured him and taken him somewhere. That somewhere, he is locked in a room, if he has not already been …” Susanna stopped, appalled at the way her voice was thickening, the way her breath was rasping in her throat. Her eyes seemed determined to shed the tears she had forbidden them to shed.

She closed them, tipped her head up, and forced herself to breathe deep. “My pardon.”

“There have been many times I have felt just as you do now.” Katherine’s voice was low, and Susanna could hear a depth to it, of sorrow and of steel. “Wolsey even now plots to push my daughter aside and raise up my husband’s bastard son in her place. There is very little I believe he would not do, and if it suited him to falsely accuse Parker, to keep him out of the way while he lays his traps, I have no doubt that is what he would do.”

“I need to know what
I
can do.” Tears leaked from the corners of Susanna’s eyes and she rubbed them away with the backs of her hands. “I had thought to confront him—”

“Bah.” Katherine chopped the air with a sharp hand. “That will accomplish nothing more than alerting him to what you know. There are other ways.”

Susanna wanted to believe her. If it was possible to save Parker without relying on the Comte and Jean, that would be the best possible outcome.

“I used to have women spies in his household.” Katherine watched her as she spoke, and Susanna realized the Queen must have told very few people that she had spies at all. She gave a little nod, to indicate approval and that she was ready to hear more.

“They have all been dismissed. Someone in my chambers either heard me talking of them, or read my private accounts and found the entries of their payment. But before they were sent away, I did learn something that may be of interest to you.”

Susanna’s heart gave a little skip.

“When Wolsey wants someone out of the way, someone whose actions or comments are inconvenient or who poses a threat to him, he has them sent to Fleet Prison. Many nobles have been sent to the Fleet by the Star Chamber or another court, but Wolsey has taken to sending people there with no due process whatsoever.”

“How do those people get out?” Susanna clenched her hands to stop them trembling.

“When Wolsey has manufactured enough evidence against
them he makes their stay more official, or if they are no longer a threat, he releases them.”

“Parker will never cease to be a threat to the Cardinal.” She felt as if she were standing in some high place, where her words were snatched from her mouth as she uttered them.

“Indeed.” The look Katherine gave her was pitying.

“There is a way into the Fleet that is not through the front gates.” Gertrude stepped away from her aunt and reached for Susanna’s hand. “The Queen’s spies discovered Wolsey uses a tunnel from St. Sepulchre’s Church to sneak the prisoners in. So there is no official record of them being admitted.”

The Queen leaned forward, intense. “My spies in Wolsey’s house heard about it one day in the kitchens. Wolsey employs two men to grab his enemies and drag them blindfolded to the Fleet through the tunnels. That way no one can report where they were held or point a finger back at him if he decides to release them.”

“There is another tunnel between St. Sepulchre’s and Newgate Prison.” Gertrude released her hand, and Susanna felt the loss of warmth. “The priests use it to walk to Newgate and ring their Execution Bell at midnight on the day someone is to be condemned to death.”

“But the passage to the Fleet is not generally known?”

The Queen leaned back in her chair, her hands gripping the arms. “We cannot say. It is impossible for any of us to go there without Wolsey knowing of it, and perhaps guessing our purpose. But my spies think this is a secret passage. It passes
under St. George’s Inn and comes out in the dungeons of the Fleet, they heard the Cardinal’s men say.”

“And you think that is where Parker is being kept?”

“If Wolsey were staying at Hampton Court, as is usual, I would say look there. But he has remained very close to the King since his return to Bridewell. He would not want Parker to be too far from him.”

“Then I need to find this passage and see if Parker is indeed in the Fleet.”

Katherine’s expression was tense. “I urge you, first ask at the prison gate, or find someone to speak with a warden. If Parker is officially a prisoner, Wolsey has much against him. If not, then Wolsey is still gathering his lies.”

Susanna nodded, and curtsied deeply. “Your Majesty, I thank you.”

“Parker has given me aid before. And he is the one courtier of my husband’s I can trust to always speak true. I will not stand by and let Wolsey bring him down.”

Susanna dipped her head gratefully to Gertrude and her aunt, and turned to the door.

If Parker was in the Fleet, she would do anything to get him out. Even walk through the bowels of London itself.

But to exercise the intellect the prince should read histories, and study there the actions of illustrious men, to see how they have borne themselves in war, to examine the causes of their victories and defeat, so as to avoid the latter and imitate the former.

—Machiavelli
, The Prince,
chapter 24

F
leet Prison loomed ominous and grim in the dark. A bell tolled—St. Sepulchre’s. It was coming to matins, and she had not yet slept.

Harry and Peter Jack accompanied her, trudging along Ludgate Hill and up Fleet Lane without a word.

The Fleet River ran to her left, a constant hiss of sound that was suddenly drowned out by a cry from beyond the prison walls. It seemed to come from a dark, desolate place in the crier’s soul, and raised the hair on the back of her neck. It cut off suddenly. And while she’d wanted badly for it to stop, now that it had, the silence was worse.

“Thanks to God that wailing has stopped,” Harry muttered.

“No one about, this time of night.” Peter Jack shivered
against the deep cold that rose from the river like fog, sneaking under cloaks and numbing faces and ears.

Susanna hugged herself and looked again at the massive, closed gates. “Perhaps there is a watchman. There must be.” She pounded on the wood. “Hello?”