Chapter Five

 

among the ministers of princes, there are none that are not so wise as to need no assistance, or at least, that do not think themselves so wise that they imagine they need none; and if they court any, it is only those for whom the prince has much personal favour, whom by their fawning and flatteries they endeavour to fix to their own interests;

Utopia by Thomas More (translated by H. Morley)

 

The Queen would not see them. Parker stared at Gertrude Courtenay, and she shifted uncomfortably under his gaze.

“I’m sorry, Parker, but she is not feeling well and she retired early this evening.”

“We had hoped to see her.” Susanna’s voice was soft, and Gertrude looked between them.

“It is important?”

“Aye.” Hope flared, and Parker stepped closer, but Gertrude was already shaking her head.

“Not now. She truly is asleep. But tomorrow. Come early, and I will make sure you gain admittance, if she is well enough.”

It was all they could hope for.

The other ladies-in-waiting watched them, the few who were not downstairs taking part in a revel organized by the King. He wondered which of the women in the chamber were spies, and for who. Cardinal Wolsey would have a few in his employ, as would the Duke of Norfolk. The Emperor Charles would have at least one, if he was worthy of his title.

News of this visit would reach all of their ears, or in the case of Charles, his spymaster in England, and because they had not succeeded in seeing the Queen, the danger to Susanna had increased. He tried to look as if he was merely disappointed, when he wanted nothing more than to push Gertrude Courtenay aside and force his way into the Queen’s chamber.

“Until the morrow.” Susanna dipped into a curtsy, and drew him away, to the door. He realized belatedly he was dragging his feet.

When they stepped out into the passage, she closed her eyes, her fists clenched at her side. “What now?”

Parker took her arm, and they walked to the stairs. “I think we should speak with the King.”

She glanced at him, and a shiver shook her. “Is that wise?”

“I would rather know if he has any inkling of what is happening or not. He must have spies in Margaret’s court. The question is, do they know what she’s up to? I don’t think any agent of the King shot at us tonight, but that doesn’t mean they don’t know something.”

Her steps faltered, and then she nodded. “Aye. It would be better to know.”

He squeezed her arm, and let his thumb brush her open palm. “Then into the pit, my love.”

* * *

Elizabeth Carew stood just within the doorway of the Privy Chamber.

Susanna let go of Parker’s arm as he went to greet a friend and stepped up to her side, followed her gaze.

The King was dancing.

Susanna watched him dip and bow, and stamp on the boards to a merry tune.

She looked towards the small band of musicians, but the Flemish flautist she knew was not playing tonight.

The King’s partner laughed as he swung her, her colour high.

“He has grown tired of me.”

Susanna flicked her gaze to Elizabeth, standing with her eyes still on the King.

“I’m sorry.” What else could she say to that? Elizabeth had thought the King had grown tired of her before, thought Susanna had been her replacement, but the fierce heat and jealousy on that occasion was missing from the King’s mistress now. She was calm.

At last, she turned her head to Susanna. Her face was utterly beautiful, completely serene. “I am relieved, truth be told.”

Again, Susanna did not know what to say. She looked out across the dance floor. “Who is he dancing with?”

Elizabeth shrugged. “The youngest daughter of a minor noble. If he takes her to his bed, it will not be for long. But between him and I, it is over. No doubt my husband will get a new landholding as a parting gift. For lending the King my services.”

Susanna stilled. Turned to her again. There had been a thread of steel, and of bitterness, in Elizabeth’s voice. “And you? What will you get?”

She smiled, but it was merely a tug of her cheeks, her eyes were cold. “I get a rest. And perhaps, with time, some of the Queen’s ladies will begin talking to me again.”

The dance came to an end, and the King bowed low, with a flourish, to his partner. She giggled and blushed.

Parker came up beside Susanna and touched her arm. “Better you stay here.”

She nodded, watched him move through the crowd towards the King.

Elizabeth seemed incapable of moving and she took her arm. Steered her to the chairs that were set along the wall.

“Where is your husband, my lady?” She searched the room, but Nicholas Carew was nowhere in sight.

The King clapped his hands enthusiastically, and the musicians started a new, faster, piece. Henry grabbed his partner again, and pulled her onto the floor.

Susanna saw Parker halt, then begin on a new path that would bring him closer to the swirling monarch.

Elizabeth moved, jerky as a puppet, to adjust her skirts. “My husband injured himself in the lists today.” Her voice was quite without intonation. “His ribs are painful.”

Susanna swallowed, her eyes tracking Parker as he side-stepped the twirling dancers. “Perhaps a stay at your country estate will do you both good?”

Life finally flickered in Elizabeth’s eyes. She gazed at Susanna coolly. “Perhaps.”

“Did your mother like the pencil sketch I made of you?” Susanna held her gaze, and did not flinch, and eventually Elizabeth Carew looked away.

“Aye. She liked it very well, thank you.”

“I would still paint you, my lady.”

Elizabeth made a face, as if she could no longer imagine a reason for Susanna’s interest.

“I am just finished working on a painting of the Princess Mary, so I can start whenever you give me the word.”

Elizabeth hesitated. “I do not think my husband would care for what you have in mind.” She slanted a look at Susanna. “You still wish to paint me rising from a forest stream?”

Susanna nodded.

Elizabeth watched the dancing in silence a little longer. Drew herself up straighter. “Aye.” She stood, her eyes on the King one last time. “You may call on me when you are ready, Mistress Horenbout, and I will sit for you.”

She walked out of the room. Susanna watched her straight, stiff back, her raised head—pain held together with pride—and memorized the line of her shoulders, the curve of her cheek. Her fingers curled into her palms, and she could already see the scene on canvas.

She started when Parker’s hand touched her shoulder.

“The King is slippery as an eel tonight. I cannot pin him down alone. He has started a game of tables. If I’m to talk to him, we will need to watch or play.”

Susanna lifted her eyes to his. “You play tables?”

Parker quirked a grin. “I’m a gentleman, aren’t I?”

She smiled back. “Ah, you are so much more than that.”