Dangerous Sanctuary (4 page)

St. Paul’s Cathedral dominates London’s skyline today with its massive dome, but in 1525 it looked very different (see image here:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Old_St_Paul’s_Cathedral_photographic_reconstruction.jpg
).

Its spire was one of the highest in Europe. Because much of the roof was made of wood, the cathedral burned down during the fire of London in 1666, after which plans were drawn up for the cathedral as we know it today.

When I was researching
In a Treacherous Court
—the first book in my series featuring Susanna Horenbout and John Parker—I learned about the ceremony Henry VIII arranged after the death of Richard de la Pole and the capture of King Francis I of France in battle at Pavia. The story of
In a Treacherous Court
ends before the ceremony, and the action starts again in
Keeper of the King’s Secrets
afterward. So choosing the St. Paul’s celebration was perfect for a short story that bridges the two books.

Geoffrey Pole seems to be a man who was very emotional, even unstable. When his brother Reginald verbally attacked Henry VIII for seeking to divorce Katherine of Aragon, and Henry reacted by lashing out at the Pole family, it was Geoffrey who was questioned in the Tower of London and asked to give information on his family that would help to convict them. During this time, in October and November of 1538, Geoffrey seemed to teeter on the verge of mental collapse, and the testimony that was either forced or coerced
from him convicted and led to the execution of most of his family. He was the only one released, and seems to have lived the rest of his life a broken man.

When thinking of someone who would be rash enough and hot-headed enough to want to strike out at the King over the celebration of his cousin Richard’s death, Geoffrey Pole sprang readily to mind.

The beauty of eBooks is the added little extras you can include, and so for those interested in hearing a version of the Te Deum, which is sung by the choir in this story (and it really was sung at the Mass Henry attended in St. Paul’s Cathedral), you can click on this link:
http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/d/db/Te.Deum.ogg
. The recording is seven minutes long.

—Michelle Diener

. . . a man who wishes to act entirely up to his professions of virtue soon meets with what destroys him among so much that is evil.

—Machiavelli,
The Prince,
chapter 15

Maggie was the first sign that something was wrong. The healer was coming out of Crooked Lane, and Parker frowned at the sight of her.

She looked up, and pity or concern flashed in her eyes. There could be only one reason for it—only one thing meant anything to him.

He ran toward her.

“She was lucky.” Maggie looked straight at him, one of the few who had the nerve to do so when he felt like this, like an icy storm raged inside him. “Just a scratch really, and her knees aren’t bad. She’d get as much from slipping in this cursed mud.”

He had enough civility in him to lift a hand in salute, but he could feel it unraveling as he raced for his front door, leaving nothing but the wild core of him exposed.

The door opened before he reached it and Mistress Greene jerked her head toward the study.

“She wouldn’t go to bed, but she’s resting by the fire.”

He gave a nod and moved past her, something easing a little within him. If Susanna was refusing bed, she wasn’t at death’s door.

He stepped into the room and stared at her, curled in her usual
chair. His betrothed’s hair was always dressed and under a cap, but now the cap had been removed and the heavy, dark mass was piled almost on top of her head, to keep it away from her neck.

Away from the deep, angry gash in her pale skin.

“Who did this, did you see them?” He held himself back from her, afraid to touch her with the rage burning so hot inside him. His hands were white-knuckled fists.

“I stabbed him.” She drew in a shaky breath, her eyes wide as she looked at him. “With the knife you gave me. It was still stuck in his chest when he ran off.”

He blinked. “Good.”

“Parker, I cannot believe he would do this. I cannot believe it even happened. If this wasn’t here”—she lifted fingers to her neck—“if I didn’t still have the chisel he stabbed me with, I would be trying to convince myself it was a nightmare.”

“You
know
who did this?”

Susanna nodded. “Master Jens of Antwerp. He’s a
diamantaire
, a diamond cutter. He’s been my father’s friend since they were apprentices.”

Parker fell to his knees beside her, took her hands in his. Whatever he’d thought, whatever he’d expected, this was not it. “Why would he attack you?”

She shook her head. “He pretended not to see me, and ducked into an alley. As if he didn’t want me drawing attention to him.” She stroked her thumbs along the sides of his palms.

“Perhaps he didn’t want to be recognized.” Parker frowned. “He may have been afraid you would write home and mention you had seen him here.”

Susanna laced her fingers with his. “If he were here in secret,
my seeing him would have ruined his plans. But what secret is so big, he’d kill the daughter of one of his oldest friends to keep it that way?”

Parker thought back to Pettigrew, to how trouble from the Low Countries seemed to follow in his wake. Parker had followed him straight back to the Duke of Norfolk’s quarters, and knew where to start his inquiries.

He smoothed his hand down the back of her neck, careful not to hurt her, then kissed her forehead. “We’ll find out. But there is something I have to do before I go out and ask questions.” He rose, and she tipped her head back to look at him.

“What?”

“Get you another knife.”

There was a deep eave over Norfolk’s door, and Susanna shivered in the cold gloom, pulling her cape tighter about her.

Parker leaned forward and hammered on the door again.

At last they heard the shuffle of footsteps, and the clink and rattle of keys.

As the door swung inward, Parker gave it a shove and Norfolk’s man stumbled back. He looked more like a stablehand than a servant. No wonder there had been a delay in opening the door. When Norfolk had realized who was knocking, he’d gone to find one of his thugs to welcome them.

Susanna saw the servant’s eyes flick from Parker’s chain of office, a mark of how high he stood in favor with the King, to his face. The servant took a step back, his gaze moving to the right.

“Parker.” Norfolk stepped from the shadows of a passageway with a cold smile. He appeared relaxed, leaning against a door frame,
but Susanna noticed his hand gripped the wood instead of resting against it.

She hadn’t seen him since the service at St. Paul’s. The King had arranged the ceremony to give thanks to God for the death of his rival for the throne, Richard de la Pole. The fact that Norfolk had been conspiring with de la Pole, and that she and Parker had uncovered that conspiracy, even though their hands were tied over exposing the Duke, had made that meeting colder than the freezing air of the cathedral.

The atmosphere was no warmer now.

Parker took a step forward, and the color drained from Norfolk’s face. His smile wavered, then he gathered himself and gave a curt nod.

“We’ll talk in my study.” He made a motion to the servant, and the man melted back into the shadows of the hall.

Norfolk preceded them down the passage a little way and turned into a room. Susanna knew it must have cost him to turn his back on Parker.

Parker closed the door behind them, and Norfolk spun as it thumped shut, then sank slowly into his chair. “What is it you think I’ve done?” He forced his hands still by laying them on his desk.

“Draw back your cape,” Parker commanded.

Susanna lifted the heavy velvet hood off her head, and untied her cloak at the neck to reveal her wound.

Norfolk started, and Susanna had the feeling it was in relief. “That wasn’t me.” Norfolk’s eyes did not leave her.

“I’m not suggesting you did this with your own hands.” Parker had not raised his voice, but Norfolk’s gaze moved to him.

“It was not on my orders, either.”

“Sometimes your orders are rather . . . vague.” Parker drew her cloak closed. “And we know you tried to kill my lady before.”

Norfolk’s nostrils pinched as he drew in a breath. He tilted his head. “I tell you, I had no part in this.”

Susanna looked at him, at the deep lines of discontent and arrogance defining his face, and believed him. “Do you know a diamond cutter, Jens of Antwerp?”

He seemed startled that she’d spoken.

“Diamonds?” Norfolk asked slowly, drawing the word out as if stalling.

“We are not talking about diamonds.” Parker’s voice betrayed no hint he had noticed Norfolk’s reaction. “We are talking about diamond cutters. And whether you have one in your employ named Jens of Antwerp.”

“I do not.” Norfolk had hold of himself again, and he stroked his chin. “Was that who attacked Mistress Horenbout?”

Parker didn’t answer the question. He stepped back and opened the door, holding his arm out for Susanna to take.

She didn’t curtsy to Norfolk or even nod farewell, despite his being the highest-ranking nobleman in England aside from the King.

“I see the good doctor Pettigrew is in town,” Parker said, and she froze mid-step across the threshold, glad Norfolk couldn’t see the surprise on her face. Pettigrew was back?

Norfolk spluttered and she glanced over her shoulder, and saw he had gone pale for the second time since they’d arrived.

“You can tell him, especially after the attack on Susanna today, that if he sets foot in Cheapside again, he will not come out alive.” Parker did not wait for Norfolk’s response as he stepped into the hall
with her.

“Parker, that business is finished. You, your lady, and I, we have an agreement. I will abide by my end, you by yours. Pettigrew is no longer a danger to either of you.”

Parker gave him one last look. “Pettigrew may be no danger to me, or to Mistress Horenbout, but you can be sure if he comes to my side of London again, I will be a danger to him.”