Kate burst out laughing. She couldn’t help herself; he looked so mischievous. “I have the feeling you need little help on that errand, Master Ridley. But I am always happy to bring more acolytes to Euterpe.”
“Ah, I knew you two would work together well,” Cecil said. “Now take yourselves off to walk in the garden and speak more of these French matters. I must finish my work here.”
Master Ridley offered his arm to Kate and led her out of Cecil’s office and through the gallery. Courtiers still gathered there, gossiping and laughing together, and Toby Ridley stopped to greet several of them. Kate noticed everyone seemed glad to see him, and he had an easy, convivial way of speaking to them.
“It must be very interesting to visit so many foreign lands,” Kate said as they went down the stone steps of the gallery.
His open, merry face turned more somber of expression when they were out in the quiet garden. It was too cold for very many people to be outside as they would be on warmer afternoons. The trees were bare, their brown branches stark against the gray sky, and the gravel paths wound past sleeping flower beds. “You have not been to France before, have you, Mistress Haywood?”
“Nay, I have never been farther from London than Nonsuch,” she answered. “I have scarcely had time to become accustomed to the idea of such a journey, but I confess I’m rather excited by the prospect. They say France is most beautiful.”
“And so it is. The palaces are beyond compare, decorated by the finest artists from Florence and Venice, with the most exquisite gardens. The fashions are as beautiful as the ladies who wear them. Everything has a lightness and grace to it we do not see so often in England.”
Kate was intrigued. “You have been to France many times, then, Master Ridley?”
“Aye, but not since before I was in Venice. At my last visit, for the marriage of Princess Elisabeth by proxy to King Philip of Spain, I saw the joust where King Henri was killed.”
His voice was quiet, but Kate saw the tightness of his jaw as he said those words, the way he closed his eyes for a moment. She could only imagine the horror of that scene, when the late French king—Mary, Queen of Scots’ father-in-law—was killed when a lance splintered and pierced his brain, with all his family and courtiers watching.
“I am sorry, Master Ridley,” she said.
He nodded. “And now the boy who became king on that day is dead himself. King Francis was surely never destined to be a great king. He was ill and feverish all the time, obsessed with hunting, never attending his own council meetings. And he was much shorter than his wife, Queen Mary.”
“But now France has a king who is only nine years old.”
“And the Guise brothers competing with the Bourbons for power. They are all ruthless and will not give up even a shred of authority without a very fierce fight.” He stopped on the graveled path and turned to face her. He looked like a different person than the one who had laughed with the courtiers in the gallery, his plain face older. “Never forget, Mistress Haywood. The beauty of France conceals naught but a vipers’ pit. No one is ever what they seem.”
Kate thought surely the same could be said of the English court. She had learned long ago to look deeper, look beyond charming smiles and sweet words, for so many people had proved false to her in the past. Yet Master Ridley looked so intent, so eager to make sure she understood his warning, she could only nod. “I will be most careful—I promise, Master Ridley.”
His taut expression relaxed into a smile. “I know Sir William would never send you to France if he did not know that to be true. He is never wrong about people.”
Kate hoped that was true, for she was trusting Cecil—and the queen—to send her off on a long voyage with a party of people she barely knew.
“Master Throckmorton!” Toby suddenly called, turning from Kate to wave to a man who was passing them on a parallel path. “I understand you are to travel with us to France.”
The man paused and made his way over to them. She studied him curiously, for he was surely Charles Throckmorton, whom Cecil said was also to be sent to France. He was handsome, with a dark, hawkish face, his hair and short-trimmed beard also dark. He was dressed more quietly than Toby, in brown velvet and wool, his cap unadorned with any beads or plumes. He did not glance at her, his gaze intent on Toby.
“I am to join my kinsman Sir Nicholas at his embassy,” Master Throckmorton said. “I would prefer to stay here with my studies, but royal orders must be obeyed. I am happy you are going, Toby. At least there shall be one person to converse with on this journey.”
“More than one, I am sure.” Toby reached for Kate’s arm and gently drew her forward. “This is Mistress Haywood, the queen’s musician, who is also to journey to France. Sir William says she is fluent in French and will surely entertain Queen Mary. Mistress Haywood, may I present Master Charles Throckmorton? We have known each other since we were lads; we shared tutors and were pages in Sir William’s household.”
“I am glad to meet you, Mistress Haywood.” Master Throckmorton gave her a bow, but he still did not look directly at her or seem very interested.
“What are your studies, Master Throckmorton?” Kate asked.
“I am interested in alchemy and astronomy.”
“Indeed? I have had the honor of meeting Dr. John Dee at the queen’s court. His studies are quite fascinating. Alchemy can be much like music, can it not? A means of exploring the interactions of the celestial forces,” Kate said. She thought of that summer at Nonsuch Palace, of all the things she had seen there that could not be explained.
“Truly? How fascinating,” Master Throckmorton said. “I have been reading his work on the Monas, the possibility that astronomical symbols, and maybe even musical notes, could be the keys to a lost universal language. . . .”
The sound of bells tolling from the royal chapel made her look up in surprise. The sky was darkening and the windows of the palace began glowing with new amber candlelight, one by one. Soon it would be time for the court to go to their supper, and for her own dinner with the queen.
“Perhaps we could more speak of this later, Mistress Haywood,” Charles Throckmorton said. He looked livelier now, his thin features more animated.
“I shall look forward to it,” Kate answered.
Master Ridley offered his arm to lead her back to the warmth of the palace. “Charles likes you as well, Mistress Haywood—I can tell. At least we shall all be able to trust one another in Paris.”
Kate nodded, but she was not entirely sure she agreed. She did not yet know these men so well, and surely they carried secrets like everyone else at court.
In the corridor, she parted from Toby and made her way up to her chamber. The tiny space gave her a precious moment of quiet and privacy. The fire had been built up and the trunks and chests from her father’s cottage had been delivered. Her precious lute, which had once been her mother’s, lay in its stand, yet there was no time to pick it up now, to find her usual comfort in the feel of its strings under her fingers, the flow of notes through her mind.
She took the letters from her purse and locked Cecil’s messages away beneath the false bottom of her small jewel case. Her own letter she opened, and was pleased to see she had indeed recognized the handwriting—it was from her friend Anthony Elias.
My dear Kate—
I have heard that you are at Whitehall with the queen, and I have also found myself in London for the time being. I am finishing my studies with Master Hardy and will soon be seeking my own clients, hopefully finding a home of my own one day. I hope you will have a few moments to say hello to an old friend, and allow him to tell you in person how very sorry he is for the loss of your honorable father. It has been too long since I saw you, and I have so many things I would like to say to you. Send me word, and I will meet you whenever you are able.
Your friend, Anthony E.
Kate smiled a
nd sat down to pen a reply, telling Anthony she would be happy to see him before she departed for France. She longed to hear more about his planned life, his hopes, and to ask him about what he or Master Hardy might know about the situation in France.
But what could she write to him now? She would have to think about it most carefully. For a time, she had been alone in the country, lost in memories of her father, but now she had to think about the present. Rob and Anthony had both made appearances in her life again, and she found she needed both of them, in their own very different ways.
She went to her small window, pushed it open, and looked down at the garden below. It was not one of the grand royal promenades, but a simple kitchen garden. In the summer it would provide perfumed herbs for the queen’s table. Now it seemed to slumber under a thin, pale layer of frost.
Yet it was not entirely deserted. A couple walked slowly along the narrow path, their heads together as if they whispered secrets. Kate was surprised to see Master Ridley’s elaborate gold-embroidered cloak.
Next to him walked a lady with lovely silver-blond hair, bound with a twist of pearls and sapphires that matched her blue gown. He whispered in her ear, his face tense, not as open and merry as it had been when he’d talked with Kate and Charles Throckmorton. The lady shook her head and laughed. She turned as if to leave, but Master Ridley caught her arm. She merely shook him off and hurried away as he stared after her.
So Master Ridley was thwarted in romance, as so many at Elizabeth’s court were? Kate couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. It would be a long journey to France, but mayhap it could help him forget, as she hoped it would do for her. Her father was gone, and she had to learn to live her life on her own terms. Perhaps that would be easier in a completely new place.
CHAPTER FOUR
When Kate made her way to the queen’s small privy dining chamber later that evening, she found several people already gathered there. They stood around the oblong table, which was already spread with gleaming silver plate and goblets. Master Ridley was there, talking with Charles Throckmorton, and they both gave her bows. An older gentleman stood near the fireplace, half-turned away from her, and she assumed he must be Sir Henry Barnett. He was a stout man in a fine velvet robe of subdued gray, which matched his beard. Rob waved at her as she lingered in the doorway. Everyone was silent, gazing around with slightly confused expressions.
Kate shared their puzzlement. The queen’s dining chamber was usually used only by Elizabeth herself, on evenings when there was no grand banquet or masque. She would be served by her senior ladies-in-waiting, taking the small portions of vegetables and broiled game she preferred. Sometimes she would dine with a favored courtier, such as Robert Dudley. Tonight, they seemed a motley collection whose chief connection was the upcoming voyage to France.
The queen was not there yet, nor were Sir Henry’s wife and niece. Kate found a quiet corner and surreptitiously smoothed her hair beneath her small embroidered cap and adjusted the skirt of her blue silk gown. She had feared she would be late and had rushed through her toilette, but luckily she seemed rather early.
Rob came to stand beside her. Unlike her, he did not seem to have rushed through his change of clothes, for he looked almost gleaming in his scarlet satin and black velvet in the torchlight.
“Well, Kate,” he said quietly in her ear. “Are you looking forward to our voyage?”
“Mayhap not the voyage itself,” she admitted. “I have heard little encouraging about a Channel crossing in winter. But to see France—aye, I do look forward to that. They say it is most beautiful, and surely Queen Catherine de Medici has brought the newest Italian plays and songs there, long before they will appear in London.”
Rob smiled. “They say there is an Italian troupe at the Queen Mother’s court that allows a woman on their stage.”
“Nay!” Kate gasped, shocked.
“Aye. I suppose we shall see for ourselves. Mayhap you will even run off to join them?”
She laughed. “It does sound tempting. I look forward to seeing it.”
Rob crossed his arms, studying the room in a seemingly casual way. “Did you know Thomas is also to go with us?”
“Your apprentice?” Kate was surprised. Out of all the men in Rob’s troupe, men who had traveled much and performed many roles for many different types of people, Thomas seemed an odd choice. He was young and in the past had been susceptible to romantic misadventures.
But those things could also work in his favor. Robust, and handsome, he was surely eager for adventure. He was loyal to Rob, who had given him a good place in his acting troupe. And they did say Queen Mary had a keen eye for a fine-faced young man.
She will have a good many choices of faces among this little group, Kate thought as she studied the gathering around her. Master Ridley and Master Throckmorton were both appealing in their very different ways, and Rob was one of the most handsome men she had met.
“Someone must assist with the entertainments, and Lord Hunsdon says Thomas has no family or sweetheart here to pine for,” Rob said. “Thomas does seem excited by the prospect. Do you think he will elope with a pretty mademoiselle as soon as we arrive?”
“He very well might,” Kate said with a laugh. “He does seem to enjoy swooning for love at every opportunity, and a whole new kingdom full of ladies seems a rare opportunity.”
The door to the dining chamber flew open and three ladies rushed inside, a blur of bright satins, jewels, and fluttering ribbons.
Kate studied them carefully. Sir Henry Barnett took the arm of the eldest lady and whispered in her ear, his bearded, lined face thunderous. Kate thought the woman must be Lady Barnett, and she did not seem in the slightest abashed by her husband’s scolding. She laughed and tapped his sleeve with the peacock feather fan that dangled from the silver-and-pearl chain at her waist.
She must have once been a rare beauty, and she was still lovely and delicate, with an oval face painted lightly with white lead and cerise, and bright blue eyes echoed by the blue-and-green-satin gown trimmed with silver ribbon. The hair swept up in elaborate curls and braids beneath a silver headdress was still sunny blond, barely touched with gray.
The young lady who stood beside her had to be her niece, Amelia Wrightsman, Kate thought, for they looked as near alike as sisters. If Lady Barnett was beginning to fade, Mistress Wrightsman was like the sunrise. Her cheeks glowed a natural peachy color against her pink silk dress and the loops of her pearl necklace. More pearls wound through her pale hair, which smelled of sweet violet perfume.
Toby Ridley drifted to her side as if pulled there by an invisible chain, his plain, expressive face written with an infatuated smile. For a man of Cecil’s, Master Ridley seemed shockingly poor at dissembling.
Mayhap too poor? Kate wondered. The man she had talked with in the garden seemed most sensible. But she suddenly realized she was not the only lady he walked with in the twilight. It was Mistress Wrightsman’s blond head that had been close to Toby’s as Kate watched them from her window.
As he whispered now to Mistress Wrightsman, who blushed the same pink as her bodice and giggled behind her beringed fingers, Kate studied the third woman. Perhaps she was a servant of sorts, for she was much more plainly dressed, in a black overskirt and bodice with tawny-striped sleeves and skirt forepart. The bit of hair that could be seen at the front of her old-fashioned headdress was plain brown, liberally frosted with gray. Her face was heavy, lined, but her eyes were bright blue.
She leaned toward Mistress Wrightsman and said something quietly, intently, to her, much as Sir Henry had done with his wife. Mistress Wrightsman took as little notice as her aunt, brushing the woman away and taking Master Ridley’s arm. He led her across the room, where they could talk quietly together in the corner opposite Kate’s.
Kate noticed that Charles Throckmorton did not look happy at this progress of events. He watched Toby and Mistress Wr
ightsman with a frown.
But there was no time to puzzle over the people around her any further, for the door that led to the queen’s bedchamber opened, and Elizabeth appeared with Cecil at her side, followed by Mistress Ashley. The queen had changed from her loose robe into a gown of black-and-white velvet trimmed with ermine, not as elaborate a garb as she would have worn at a banquet, where her courtiers and foreign ambassadors would see her.
She swept to her seat, the only armchair at the table, and gathered everyone else to the stools around her. Cecil sat beside her as Mistress Ashley hurried to place a cushion beneath Elizabeth’s velvet slippers and behind her back.
“I am glad all of you are here,” Elizabeth said merrily, obviously in one of her good moods. “You must be eager to hear all the details of your journey. Have you all met?”
As servants brought in the first course of stews and salads and poured fine malmsey wine into the silver goblets, Cecil said, “Sir Henry Barnett and his wife, Lady Barnett . . .”
“Oh, I am to be Jane, surely!” Lady Barnett said with a laugh. She took a long drink of her wine and waved for more, even as her husband tried to catch her hand. She neatly evaded him. “We shall all be spending so much time together. Isn’t that right, Amy, my dear? Oh, and this is my niece, Mistress Amelia Wrightsman, naturellement.”
“We are so looking forward to seeing France again,” Amelia chirped brightly. She really did seem like a little bird, bright and fluttering, alighting here and there on her cloud of violet perfume.
Sir Henry did not look quite as enthusiastic as his kinswomen. “We shall do our duty wherever we are sent.”
“And you have served me very well, Sir Henry,” Elizabeth said. “This lady is . . .” She gestured toward the woman in black and tawny with a puzzled frown.
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