Keeper of the King's Secrets Read Online Free PDF Page A

cast a shadow on her work. It would do nicely.
    It was past midday, but she would have a good few hours of daylight left.
    She held out her hand to Simon for her satchel, then hefted it onto the table.
    The Cardinal flicked the back of his hand at Simon. “Be gone.”
    With a regretful quirk of his lips, Simon backed out of the room. As he closed the door, Susanna saw Peter Jack peering in for a quick look at the Cardinal’s chambers.
    She smiled. The thick, luxurious carpets from Turkey, the jewel-colored wall hangings, and the gleaming wood furniture would not have disappointed him. She had been in the King’s closet in this same palace, and she would say the Cardinal’s had cost more to furnish than the King’s.
    She set about lining her pigments along the top of the desk, setting out her clean mussel shells for mixing, then took out her pencils, pens, and scrapers. She looked across at the Cardinal expectantly.
    He picked the missive up, and then set it down again as if changing his mind about giving it to her.
    She kept her face impassive.
    He looked across at her, and then slowly lifted the thick roll of parchment again and held it out to her. “Here.”
    She rose and took it before he could snatch it back; then she sat down and rolled it out carefully. The writing was in the King’s hand, and he had left her a good amount of space for her illumination, about a third of the width of the parchment.
    She began to read.
    “What are you doing?” Wolsey’s shout made her jerk.
    She stared at him. “Reading the first paragraph.”
    His eyes widened, surprised, no doubt, that she could read. “For what reason?”
    Susanna frowned. “So I have a sense of the contents. The painting needs to reflect the document.”
    “It is merely a congratulatory letter to the Emperor Charles on his victory over the French king. That is all you need to know.”
    Susanna met his gaze and then dipped her head. “As you wish, Your Grace.” Her hand smoothed the parchment, trembling a little. She was to illuminate a missive for the Holy Roman Emperor. The man who ruled most of Europe.
    She focused on the parchment, blocking out the space the King had left for the first letter of the missive, the D in Deus , and planning a short border that ran across the top and a little way down both sides of the document.
    She loved the scratch of the charcoal on the parchment as she designed the border decoration—Tudor roses and the pomegranate of Katherine of Aragon on twisting, climbing vines, intertwined with birds, hunting hounds, and a cat whose paw she placed between the lines of writing, as if it were about to walk across the page.
    Then she went to work on the D and the image she’d decided to include inside the letter—a miniature portrait of the King himself. She had drawn him twice before, and her charcoal moved with sure, swift strokes.
    When she had done the rough sketches, she looked longingly at the gold leaf, but there wasn’t time to mix the gesso.Instead she would have to use powdered gold mixed with gum arabic, and that would wait until last.
    She heard the door open, heard a murmured exchange, and vaguely registered that someone had placed a cup and a jug on the windowsill for her.
    She carefully began inking the portrait, adding the first color, purple, for Henry’s doublet. She frowned when she realized she couldn’t see as well now, lifted her head, and blinked. The sun was setting and she could see herself reflected in the fine, expensive glass of the window. She rubbed her eyes and arched her back, lifting her shoulders and wincing at their stiffness.
    A small movement caught her eye, and she turned to find Wolsey staring at her. The back of her neck pricked, and she found herself hunching over, as if to force his gaze away from her breasts.
    “I need more light.” Her voice was rough, her throat parched, and she reached for the watered wine that had been left for her.
    Wolsey cleared his throat as she sipped and