Keeper of the King's Secrets (11 page)

Henry stared at him, openmouthed. “They would steal the Mirror of Naples? From me?”

Parker turned his gaze to the fire. “Some may say they were simply stealing it back.”

Henry let out a laugh. “Some may. They may even be right, but they’d better not say it in my hearing.” He tapped a fist on his thigh. “If they succeed, we would look foolish. Even with their king captured, they would have bested us.”

“Aye.” Parker rose up. “With your permission I would see the jewel, see where it is kept and what can be done to safeguard it.”

“Speak to Wyatt. He’s the Master of the King’s Jewels.” Henry rose as well. “What alerted you to this, Parker?”

“An assassin, Your Majesty.”

“An assassin?” Henry’s eyes widened.

“A man who has killed one of the most important witnesses
to the plot and has dogged my heels, trying to silence the others.”

“A marksman?”

“The best I have ever encountered.” Parker went to the door.

Henry watched him from the fire, and there was a new awareness in his eyes. This was no longer a distraction from his succession troubles. “Watch your back, then.”

“I intend to.”

A wise prince should establish himself on that which is in his own control and not in that of others.

—Machiavelli
, The Prince,
chapter 17

S
usanna flexed her fingers and rued her lack of charcoal and paper.

Somers and his monkey were watching her, looming over her seat in the passageway outside the King’s chambers, and she wondered what he would say if she asked to draw him. His cheekbones were as prominent as the haunches of a starving cow, and he had the tall, stooped appearance of Death itself.

Parker had been unwilling to leave her, but even he conceded the King was not likely to welcome a woman into his bedchamber while he was dressing.

“I will let no harm befall her,” Somers had offered before Parker could even make the request, and he’d given a sharp nod and gone through the doors, as if not to waste a minute.

“What delights have you been up to today, my lady?”

Susanna laughed. “The delights of watching some boating on the Thames.”

“Ah, there is a story there, I can tell.” Somers rubbed his hands together, but Susanna shook her head.

“Not one that can be repeated.”

Somers turned his mouth and eyes down at the corners as if to cry. “It is a good thing most courtiers are not so mean with the details, my lady. I would have nothing to occupy me.”

Susanna smiled. “I’m sure you have enough, without ours.”

“I get by.” Somers spoke deadpan, and Susanna smiled again.

She was sure he did more than get by in the viper pit that was the court. She had never met him before today, but now she understood how he’d become the King’s favorite so quickly. He seemed to take excitement with him—the promise of laughter clung to him as tightly as his monkey on his shoulder. Something Henry would find infinitely appealing.

“Ho, Somers.” A man walked toward them, his eyes bright and intelligent. And curious.

She saw him look at her sidelong, as if he were embarrassed to acknowledge her directly.

She had no such qualms herself. He was magnificent; handsome enough to make girls swoon. His hair curled over his shoulders in a fair wave, and she didn’t doubt he had but to crook a finger to have a lady on each arm.

Somers clicked his tongue like an admonishing mother. “Do you have no courtly manners, Wyatt? I’m sure I’ve seen
you bow prettily to the ladies a time or two. Why do you not do so to the beauty beside me?”

Wyatt blushed, and Susanna liked him immediately.

“I beg your pardon, madame, I thought …” His words trailed off and his blush seemed to deepen.

“He thought you were perhaps waiting for an audience with our half-clothed Majesty, eh?” Somers rolled his eyes and Susanna blushed herself.

This was not the first time she had been mistaken for one of the King’s mistresses. Most of the Queen’s ladies in waiting had taken her for such only a month ago. Even the King’s current mistress had taken her for a rival.

Somers took pity on them. “My lady, this mannerless cur is the poet and layabout Thomas Wyatt. Wyatt, I present the King’s painter, Mistress Horenbout. My lady is Parker’s betrothed.”

Wyatt bowed very low. “Forgive me, my lady. I have been away from court for a time, and though I had heard the King had a beautiful and talented painter, and that Parker had swooped like the hawk he is and snatched her for himself, I have not had the pleasure of seeing you before.”

Somers rolled his eyes again and Susanna dipped her head in acknowledgment.

“I heard you were away, trying to make a certain lady of the court happier about her banishment to the country.” Somers’s voice was sly, yet light and teasing at the same time. It was difficult to dislike him.

Wyatt looked at him with annoyance. “You have the ears
of an elephant, Fool. Where do you come by your information?”

“Oh, there is plenty of talk, especially since Lady Anne almost got Percy to break his betrothal in order to marry her.”

“Anne Boleyn is no schemer.” Wyatt seemed outraged at the suggestion. “She was in love with Percy. She’s fuming that Wolsey had her sent away from court for following her heart.”

Susanna stiffened at the mention of the name Boleyn, and she caught Somers watching her with a knowing expression.

“Mistress Horenbout does not like the Boleyn family. Am I right?”

In this one thing, when it came to the Boleyns, Susanna was not prepared to play the courtly game of courtesy and denial. “I do not. As you must know why, I’m sure you don’t blame me.”

“What wrong has Anne done to you?” Wyatt gaped at her, aghast.

“None. It is her brother I do not like.”

Wyatt frowned. “What has George done—”

He cut off suddenly at the look on her face, and flushed.

“I know he is sometimes less … genteel than he should be when it comes to women.”

“He sees”—Somers lifted an open palm level with his eyes—“and he takes.” He threw his hand forward, closing it into a fist.

“He will not attempt to take my betrothed again.” Parker was suddenly beside them. “Unless he wishes to die by my hand.”

“Or mine.” Susanna spoke quietly, but all three men heard her. Somers looked interested; Wyatt’s eyes widened in shock.

“Wyatt, you have saved me some time. Come with me.” Although Parker spoke to Wyatt, he looked only at her. He put out a hand to her and Susanna took it, heart thundering, as he pulled her to her feet. He had a way of looking at her, intense and exciting, that could make the rest of the room fade to nothing.

“I’m afraid I need to speak with the King, Parker, about a matter—”

“The King is taking no audience now, Wyatt. And his orders are that your father assist me.” There was not the smallest bend in Parker’s tone, and Wyatt took a step back.

“Aye? Then of course I am your man.”

“Good. Let us discuss our business elsewhere.”

Somers’s gaze darted between them with growing delight. “Now what could this be?”

Parker looked at him steadily, and the Fool rose to his feet and laughed. “I’m leaving, Parker; I’m leaving.” He minced away, his monkey’s tail swishing irritably from his shoulder, and just before he turned down the passageway, he gave a little wave.

“What is afoot?” Wyatt cocked his head.

“I need to see one of the King’s jewels.”

Wyatt moved uncomfortably. “To have it reset?”

Parker shook his head. “To make sure it’s still there.”

… and men are so simple, and so subject to present necessities, that he who seeks to deceive will always find someone who will allow himself to be deceived.

—Machiavelli
, The Prince,
chapter 18

T
he Mirror of Naples was gone.

Wyatt stared down at the empty cask in the jewel house at Westminster, his face ashen. “Perhaps my father is having it cleaned, or has put it elsewhere.”

Parker reached out a hand and fingered the untampered lock. “You are the Clerk of the King’s Jewels; your father is the Master. You would know if a jewel of this importance was out of its cask for any reason, as part of your duties.”

Wyatt hesitated a moment. “My father and I are not always in the best of humors with each other. He thinks I should try harder with my marriage, that I should behave more chastely with other women because of my marriage vows.” Wyatt fiddled with the sleeves of his doublet. “He was furious with me
for leaving London two weeks ago to return to our country estate. It is possible he made arrangements for the jewel without my knowledge.”

Wyatt was lying. The tremble of his hands, the fine line of perspiration on his lip, gave him away.

Parker tapped his lips. “Why did you leave London two weeks ago?”

Wyatt started. “Anne Boleyn, whose family estate neighbors my own family holdings, was sent home by Wolsey some weeks ago. I went to keep company with her, cheer her up.”

“Why did Wolsey have her sent away?” Perhaps he should try harder to listen to court gossip, but he never had the patience for it.

Wyatt clenched a fist and turned away. “She formed an attachment to a young courtier, Percy, but he was already betrothed. When he asked his father to break the betrothal to marry Anne, Wolsey had Anne sent home, and his father married him to his betrothed before the week was out.” His voice was bitter as chicory, and Parker thought Wyatt a man who was made for ripe peaches.

“You are fond of Mistress Boleyn.” Susanna spoke as if stating a fact. She held a piece of parchment, the inventory, if Parker was any judge, and had rolled it open.

Wyatt nodded. “If I could have chosen whom to wed …” He looked out the window.

“What does the jewel look like?” Susanna ran a finger down the list in her hand.

“It is a diamond as long as a man’s middle finger, with a massive pearl dangling from it.” Wyatt spoke tonelessly.

“And His Majesty somehow took it from the King of France?” Susanna frowned. “How could that be?”

Parker exchanged a look with Wyatt. “His sister, Mary, received it as part of her bridal gifts when she became Queen of France. When she was widowed, she took it, although it was part of the French crown jewels and not hers to take. She gave it to Henry as a way to make things right with him.”

“Make things right? What did she do?”

There was a moment of silence. This was not a story told in public. It could land the teller in trouble. Parker leaned back against the wall, and when he spoke, his voice was low. “The King sent his best friend, Charles Brandon, to fetch Mary back to England when Louis died. Mary had long been in love with Brandon, and she insisted that they marry in France without her brother’s permission, before Henry could use her in another diplomatic marriage. To avoid Henry’s fury at their outrageous behavior, she presented him with the Mirror of Naples. The nobles were calling for Brandon’s head on the block, but Henry was mollified enough by the payment of a hefty fine, and the diamond, to forgive them.”

“They say it is better to ask forgiveness than to ask permission and be denied.” Wyatt’s voice was as soft as Parker’s had been. “Percy has learned that the hard way. If he’d had the courage, he could have married Anne and there would have been nothing his father or Wolsey could have done.”

“But then Anne would not be free.” Susanna spoke just as softly.

“I cannot have her anyway. She is determined to marry well, not become some married man’s mistress.”

And Wyatt had had his share of mistresses.

Parker liked him, had felt faintly sorry for him. His wife was habitually unfaithful, matching him conquest for conquest, and Parker always thought Wyatt rather tragic. More handsome than any man had a right to be, yet trapped with a woman not of his choosing who reacted to his lack of love by cuckolding him at every opportunity. They had but one child together, a very young boy.

Something rose out of his memory. “How is your son?”

Wyatt blinked. “He is well, last I saw him, which was two weeks ago, before I left London.”