“Mademoiselle Haywood. I am so happy to see you again so soon after our arrival,” he said, bowing over her hand. “How are you finding my homeland thus far?”
Kate sensed Rob and Celeste watching them, and she smiled up at Claude. “Your descriptions of the beauties of France were entirely correct, Monsieur Domville. Fontainebleau is like a palace in a fairy story. And the fashions are exquisite. I shall need to order a new gown or two, at the least, while I am here.”
“I can assist you with that,” Celeste said. “I know all the best tailors and embroiderers, and all the milliners Queen Mary herself uses. You are so tiny, Mademoiselle Haywood—like a delicate little bird singing high in a tree. We shall soon have you looking like the most elegant Frenchwoman, just like my friend Amelia.”
Or like Queen Anne Boleyn? Kate thought of the tales of Queen Elizabeth’s mother when she returned from her own time at the French court as a girl, of the elegance and sophistication she brought back with her. Kate’s own mother might have been Queen Anne’s secret half sister and passed down the dark Boleyn hair, but Kate thought she would have a great deal to learn to even begin to emulate them.
Yet she certainly wouldn’t turn away a skirt cut in that new tulip-shaped fashion so many of the ladies were wearing. It was pretty indeed.
“I doubt any dressmaker would have such transformative magic, Mademoiselle Renard, but I confess I am eager to see their wares,” Kate said.
The doors to Queen Mary’s chamber opened, and a large party appeared there. They froze for a moment, framed between two large gold-threaded tapestries, as if they did indeed pose for a play. And their audience obliged. The room fell silent as everyone turned to stare at them. Kate, too, found herself watching in astonishment, for they were a beautiful spectacle.
The man at their head was tall and strongly built, with wide shoulders in his white-and-silver doublet. A red-gold beard framed a face that was scarred on both cheeks, and his gray eyes were hard and cold as he took in the gathering. Beside him was a much smaller, plumper lady, smiling in dark red velvet, and gathered behind them was a train of beautifully dressed attendants.
“’Tis the Duc de Guise and his household,” Celeste whispered. “See his wife, Duchesse Anne, in the red? She is great friends with Queen Catherine, thanks to their shared Italian families, but Queen Mary has long loved her aunt and uncle like her own parents.”
Beside Kate, Claude stiffened, and when she glanced up she caught him frowning. He quickly erased his expression and put on a bland smile like everyone else, but Kate recalled that he was kinsman to Constable Montmorency, who had been pushed from power when the Guise came in with their queenly niece. She feared she would never be able to remember who was allied to whom here at Fontainebleau.
The crowd suddenly surged into motion again, parting to let Queen Mary sweep through. She was smiling, her pale face radiant, and Lady Barnett and Amelia followed close behind her.
“Uncle, Aunt!” Queen Mary cried. “How pleased I am you could join us tonight. I have missed you so very much.” She hurried over to kiss the duc’s and duchesse’s cheeks.
As the rest of the Guise party made their obeisances to the queen, Kate noticed that Amelia, who stood so very near them, had gone pale as snow. She swayed a bit as if she would faint, and her aunt grabbed her arm and whispered something in her ear that made her shoulders stiffen.
Puzzled, Kate followed the direction of Amelia’s attention to find a man who stood on the edges of the glittering Guise group. She saw why he would catch any lady’s rapt stare: He was the most beautiful man she had ever seen. Tall and elegantly slender but with powerful shoulders encased in silver satin, his hair and short beard were almost the same pale shade, shimmering and starlike. His eyes, though, were bright blue, almost a sky shade that seemed strangely familiar, though Kate could not quite recall why.
Yet his masculine beauty was of a distinctly wintry sort, as if he were a king in an ice palace, remote and austere. He stared back at Amelia, and for an instant Kate thought she saw shock on his face. But then it was wiped away and his chin tilted in a disdainful expression. He turned away in a slow, deliberate motion that almost made Kate shiver with its coldness.
“Who is that gentleman in the silver?” she whispered to Celeste.
Celeste glanced up and frowned. “Monsieur d’Emours. They said he would not be returning to court until the spring. What is he doing here now? Pauvre Amelia!”
Monsieur d’Emours—the man who had fought a duel over Amelia Wrightsman. Kate glanced back at Amelia and found she was more composed, though her hands shook. She clutched at her skirts to make them still.
Toby Ridley stepped to her side, touching her arm, but she shrugged him away and he stalked back into the crowd. Charles Throckmorton tried to speak to his friend, but Toby visibly pushed away his words of consolation. Charles shook his head sadly but did not try to speak again.
“Uncle, I have a rare treat for us tonight,” Queen Mary said, her voice bright and almost childlike, as if she sought her uncle’s praise. “A musician from my dear cousin Queen Elizabeth’s court is actually here in France, and will play us some English songs before we dine. It will be almost as if my cousin has come to visit us in person!”
Before Kate could realize what was happening, Queen Mary took the duc’s arm and led him toward Kate. She swiftly curtsied as low as she could, and as she rose he nodded, though he did not look very interested. Up close, his old scars were more noticeable, marring his high cheekbones and strong jaw. There were tales that he had gained them when he was young, in fierce battle with Huguenot rebels.
“English songs?” he said. “I am sure they cannot compare in beauty to our own songs of Lorraine.”
“We shall be able to compare them ourselves, Uncle,” Queen Mary said. “Please, Mademoiselle Haywood. If you would care to use my own virginals?”
Still feeling a bit nervous at having the eyes of Queen Mary and the Guise watching her, Kate seated herself carefully on the cushioned stool at the keyboard. It was a very beautiful instrument. Queen Elizabeth played a set of virginals that had belonged to her mother, Queen Anne Boleyn, but this one seemed even finer. The sleek, polished wood was inlaid with elaborate scenes of flowers and curling ribbons, and the keys gleamed a bright white.
The crowded chamber, filled with the Guise family and Queen Mary’s noble attendants, seemed to melt away and there was only music. She thought about all the songs she knew, trying to decide which ones Queen Mary might most like to hear.
Something romantic, surely. Maybe even a little sad. She seemed to be the sentimental sort. Kate nodded and launched into the opening bars of “If Love Now Reigned,” written by Queen Mary’s uncle, King Henry himself. It was a song Kate knew well, so she could also study the crowd that swirled around her as she played.
To her relief, Queen Mary led her fearsome uncle the duc back to the chairs by the hearth, and her ladies flocked around them like bright birds. Servants passed trays of wine goblets and sweetmeats, and laughter was heavy in the air.
But Kate noticed that Amelia Wrightsman was not laughing. She stood near the doorway, her face as white as her gown, staring at Monsieur d’Emours as he stood behind the duc’s chair. He carefully did not look at her, but Amelia seemed to be unable to turn away.
As Kate watched her, wondering if she should try to go to Mistress Wrightsman’s side and assist her, Toby Ridley came up beside Amelia and gently touched her sleeve. She whirled on him, her cheeks turning pink, and said something to him. It must have been harsh, for he fell back a step and shook his head. Amelia rushed away and was quickly lost in the crowd.
Toby’s jaw tightened, his usually kind face like a thundercloud, and he started toward d’Emours, only to be stopped by Charles. Toby tried to pull back from his friend, and Charles spoke in low tones near his ear.
Kate’s shoulders grew tense, her finger
s fumbling at the familiar notes, as she feared there might be some quarrel starting in the queen’s own chamber. But Toby finally nodded and let Charles lead him away.
One argument diverted, Kate thought with a sigh as she fell back into the rhythm of the song. In public, anyway. Who knew happened behind closed doors at Fontainebleau?
CHAPTER TEN
Kate was barely awake the next morning, after the long hours of music in Queen Mary’s chambers, when a message came for her from Queen Elizabeth’s ambassador Sir Nicholas Throckmorton. She had been summoned to meet with him after he broke his fast. Charles Throckmorton would arrive to escort her.
A maid of the French household arrived just as the winter sun peeked through the window, bringing warm water for washing. She pursed her lips at Kate’s meager selection of gowns, her unfashionable English sleeves and petticoats, but Kate just had to shrug. There was little she could do about her garb at the moment, though she did wish for one of the lace-trimmed French bodices, or at least a more stylish neckline! She would have to hunt for some new fabric, she decided, and beg someone to help her sew, for she had little skill with the needle.
After she was ready, her hair dressed in a fashionable twisted braid by the French maid and her clothes as attractive as they could make them, there was little to do but wait. Sipping at her morning ale, she went to open the window and peer out at the gardens in the fresh new light.
In the daylight, there was none of the fairylike mystery of the pathways under the stars, but it had a freshness that made her want to run outside and take it all in, every sight and smell, every lovely inch. She wondered what she would find there, if the beauty would be as blinding and deceptive as that of the courtiers in Queen Mary’s chambers last night. The Guise, Monsieur d’Emours, Queen Mary, Celeste Renard—what did they hide beneath their smiles and fine fashions?
Kate shuddered as she thought of the burned farm, the people so suspicious of each other. Elizabeth was right that something was here in France, behind the smiles and music. Perhaps Queen Mary herself was planning something. Kate knew only that she had to find out, and soon.
For just an instant, she thought of Anthony and the Hardys’ pretty, respectable house. What would a life like that be like? She would be mistress of a fine household—safe, quiet. There would be no confusing palace corridors, no secrets, no fears. She smiled to think of Anthony’s laughter, his kind eyes as he looked down at her.
It was a tempting idea indeed, to run away from kings and palaces and their dangers, to be normal and have an ordinary life. But it would be frightening in its own way, with no adventure, no Queen Elizabeth. She had to serve the queen now, be her eyes and ears in this palace in faraway France, no matter what dangers it brought. All other thoughts could wait.
• • •
“What did you think of Queen Mary, Mistress Haywood?” Charles asked as they made their way up the stairs.
“She is certainly as beautiful as they say,” Kate answered carefully. “And most welcoming.”
“Aye, her charm is renowned. It draws everyone to her, like a magical spell that only releases people when they are out of her sight.”
Was he suggesting Queen Mary used true spells? Witchcraft was a dangerous accusation to make, even in jest. Such accusations had helped lead Elizabeth’s mother Queen Anne to the block. “A spell?”
“One that can make men and women alike enthralled with her.”
Kate carefully studied his expression, but as usual she could read nothing with him. He always looked most serious. Yet she knew his studies of alchemy were his particular interest. “Are you enthralled with her, Master Throckmorton?”
Charles gave a hoarse laugh. “Me? Nay, Mistress Haywood. I fear Queen Mary’s feminine charms hold little attraction for me, except for a matter of interesting study. She and her friends are much too frivolous and flirtatious, even the English ladies in her circle. I look for other qualities altogether.”
“Really? Such as what?”
Charles gave her a strange little smile. “Just not one such as Queen Mary. Or her friend Amelia Wrightsman, for that matter.”
Why would he think of Amelia in particular? Kate thought of Queen Mary’s and Amelia’s many admirers, and the adroit, affectionate, but rather careless way those ladies dealt with them. “There seem many who would not agree with you.”
But there was no time for him to answer. They came to a halt at a door tucked at the end of a short corridor. Two maidservants hurried past, their arms laden with clean linens, but the rest of the wing seemed deserted. Charles knocked at the door.
“Enter!” a man’s voice called.
The chamber was a large one and stuffed to the paneled walls with trunks and cases, along with stacks of books. Next to the fireplace was a small table where a tall, slender man was writing. Kate could see only a long reddish beard, a dark, close-fitting cap, and ink-stained fingers flying over the paper before him.
At last he looked up with an impatient frown. “So you are the girl who brings me Sir William Cecil’s letters?”
“I am, Sir Nicholas,” Kate answered with a quick curtsy, though she thought it had been several years since she could rightly be called a girl. She took the letters from her purse and passed them to him over the cluttered desk.
He glanced over them, still frowning. “I do wonder that my old friend chose a female as his messenger. Surely he has no shortage of reliable agents now?”
Kate felt her cheeks warm. She was certainly accustomed to such attitudes in England, and they actually served her well. People often underestimated a female, especially one who was rather young and petite. But sometimes they made her want to throw something and shout, just like the queen.
Before she could answer, Charles said, “Perhaps Sir William thought a lady would attract less attention on the journey. Mistress Haywood has proved herself to be a most discreet and observant traveler, Uncle. And Queen Mary did seem to like her very much last night.”
Kate flashed him a smile, surprised and grateful for such a compliment. Charles smiled in return, and she suddenly realized that was something she had never seen before. He was such a solemn man.
Sir Nicholas glanced at her with a bit more interest. “Is that so?”
“They did tell me that Queen Mary is very fond of music,” Kate answered. “I found her to be most welcoming, though still regal, as befits her station. She wishes to know a great deal about Queen Elizabeth.”
Sir Nicholas’s stern expression softened. “So she does. She asks many questions of Her Grace and our English ways. A lady of great charm, though one to be wary of. Hm. Perhaps William knows a bit of what he is doing, after all.”
“Do you find Queen Mary so charming, Uncle?” Charles said. “You spoke of your great frustration that she still will not ratify the Treaty of Edinburgh, and that she has quartered the arms of England with those of France and Scotland. I noticed it was still on her canopy last night.”
Sir Nicholas gave a deep sigh. “I am frustrated. It is my mandate from the queen to make Queen Mary ratify the treaty and explain the quartering. Without it, I have no hope of returning to England, which would be a better place for my wife’s health. Anne does pine for home. But what can I do? Queen Mary insists she must have counsel from her Scots lords before she can decide, as she is now a lady alone in the world. She says it was her father-in-law’s idea to quarter the arms of England, as a compliment to her cousin, and she could not say him nay. She has the soft heart of a female—content to be ruled by good counsel and wise men, as a lady should. I cannot help but feel for her.”
“And does Mary consider you and Lord Bedford wise counsel?” Charles asked.
“’Tis true Bedford has no patience for diplomatic work,” Sir Nicholas said. “He grows too angry. But Queen Mary has the company of her brother, Lord James Stewart, now. We shall see good results soon, I am sure.”
“I must tell you, Sir Nicholas, that there may have been an attempt to steal those letters on our journey from England,” Kate said.
Sir Nicholas gave her a startled glance. “What do you mean, Mistress Haywood?”
Kate quickly told him of how she was pushed overboard on the ship, her purse taken. “I have nothing else anyone could want,” she said.
“Why did you not say something then, Mistress Haywood?” Charles asked. “We were told you merely lost your footing on the slippery deck.”
“I did not want whoever it was to know I guessed what they were after,” she said. “And I was not sure whom to fully trust.”
She still did not. The more people she met at Fontainebleau, the more complicated things became. The letters seemed to be only a tiny part of matters she could not yet piece together. Yet Charles looked so shocked. If he were the thief, then he had missed his true calling as an actor.
“Do you know what is in these letters, Mistress Haywood?” Sir Nicholas said.
“Nay,” Kate answered. “My skills with codes are not great enough yet, and Sir William entrusted them to me on behalf of Queen Elizabeth.”
“Have you any idea who would want them?”
“I do not know who could read them if they are in code. The Barnetts were aboard, but they would not have to steal them, I am sure. And there was a French party who had just transferred to the ship to return home, led by Monsieur Domville.”
“Perhaps there were French spies among the crew,” Sir Nicholas said. “The Guise have eyes everywhere, I fear. I will have my men decipher these this very morning. In the meantime, Mistress Haywood, just keep a watch among the ladies. They are far more likely to let careless words slip, even if they don’t understand their true meaning.” He sat back in his chair and rubbed wearily at his brow.
Murder at Fontainebleau Page 10
