“Who wants Bacon’s house?” she mused aloud. “Braceton himself?”
The cook shrugged again. “How would I know? I am no gossip for certes. But we have seen a great deal of that Spaniard lately.”
“Count de Feria?”
“Aye, he’s the one.” The cook gave Kate a long, shrewd glance. “And who is he to marry?”
“Jane Dormer,” Kate said, disbelieving. She knew little of Mistress Dormer beyond her rumored beauty and kindness, and she did come from an old, ardently Catholic family. But Jane Dormer was one of the queen’s favorite ladies and didn’t lack for fortune. “She seeks to seize Protestant lands? But what use will she have of them when she is married to a Spanish count?”
“That I could not say, mistress. But if the queen is indeed not for the world much longer”—the cook hastily crossed herself, for predicting the monarch’s death could be called treason—“Mistress Dormer and her Spaniard would have no more recourse here. But there are dozens besides her who would happily conspire to grab what’s not theirs.”
“That is all too true,” Kate murmured. The lands had been the Church’s, then the king’s, now his noblemen’s. They could easily change hands yet again. But did Braceton want them for himself? Or was he in the pay of someone else? How did bullying Elizabeth and her household help him with that?
Kate feared she was more confused than ever. But she was determined to see it all clear—no matter what she had to do.
CHAPTER 8
“God’s teeth, but you will never get the scene right! You lackwits!” The shouted words split the campfire-scented night air, and were punctuated by the sound of a boot kicking a cart wheel and a muffled curse of pain.
Rob Cartman glanced up from the script he was reading by firelight in the wooded clearing. He saw his uncle Edward Cartman, leader of the troupe of players known as Lord Ambrose’s Men, go limping past from around the edge of the cart. The two young apprentices he was no doubt shouting at went fleeing into the night.
Edward’s lean, lined face was so brilliantly red with fury that Rob had to laugh.
The sound of merriment made his uncle spin around toward him. He made as if to grab Rob by the throat, before he suddenly seemed to remember his nephew had outgrown him long ago. Instead, Edward tugged his scarlet doublet into place with a great show of wounded dignity.
“And what do you laugh at, varlet?” Edward demanded. “You, who are meant to be getting on with your work, not lazing about.”
Rob held up the sheaf of papers, smudged with crossed-out words. “I am learning the lines for the new play, Uncle. At least I am not wasting time shouting at the apprentices—again.”
“Those bacon-brains! They are good for nothing at all except drinking and wenching in taverns!” Edward shouted. There was a furious rustling in the night-dark trees, as if the hapless boys were trying to run even farther. “If their apprenticeship contracts were not already signed . . .”
“And if we did not need someone to play the fair Lady Rosamund and her maidservant . . .”
Edward gave Rob a speculative glance, and Rob laughed. “Nay, Uncle, not I. In case you had not noticed, my beard came in a long time ago. My fair maiden days are behind me.”
“Alas, aye. You were always a pretty maid indeed in your apprentice days,” Edward said, scowling. “At least now all the ladies in the audience sigh over you as the ardent young lover.”
“And pay good coin to see our plays over and over,” Rob reminded him. Wenching was surely good for something, even if it was just receipts.
“There is that. If we’re ever paid the coin for this . . .” Edward sat down heavily on the nearest props trunk and rubbed his hand wearily over his bearded face. “We would be doing well enough indeed. But I fear we won’t see a farthing of it if we land in the Tower.”
Rob sat up straight and studied his uncle with sudden concern. Edward had always been a temperamental man, filled with worries and complaints. It came with being an actor and leading a troupe of equally temperamental players in the very changeable fortunes of the theater world. Rob had seen it ever since he was a child, when his parents died of the sweating sickness and his uncle took him in and trained him in the actor’s trade.
But of late there had been something more to his uncle’s unpredictable temper. Ever since their sponsor Lord Ambrose left for France and tasked them with this tour of Hertfordshire, with all new plays to learn and country houses in which to perform them. They had been to the houses of Sir William Cecil and his brother-in-law Sir Nicholas Bacon lately, surely not two of the queen’s favorite subjects. Edward’s manners had been even rougher than usual, his temper shorter. He was even stricter about how lines were said, the blocking around the stage.
And in the last house where they performed, Edward had disappeared after the play and not reappeared for hours. Usually he was always watching what the men were doing.
“What is it about these plays that could fetch us into the Tower, Uncle?” he asked quietly. “If any of these new lines are treasonous in some way . . .” The Master of the Revels had been doubly strict since the queen returned the English Church to Rome. Plays were gone over not the once they were before, but thrice or more.
“There is no treason there, Rob,” Edward snapped. “But we must follow Lord Ambrose’s instructions before we can return to London.”
Rob was even more confused. “Have we not done that? We are learning the new plays as quickly as we can. They will be better at the next house. At Gorhambury . . .”
“Gorhambury!” Edward spat. “Aye, we did poorly enough there, that gloomy pile. At our next stop all must go perfectly, just as instructed. Do you understand me, Robert?”
“Nay!” Rob shouted in complete bafflement. “Where is this next stop? What must we do there? What will you do there—disappear as you did at Gorhambury?”
Edward’s face went white even in the firelight. He opened his mouth as if he would shout an answer, but then he just shook his head and pushed himself to his feet. “Never you mind that now. Just learn those lines and make sure those cursed apprentices learn theirs, too. We move out at first light. Pray God the rains don’t start again to slow us down.”
Rob watched his uncle stride away into the darkness, none of his questions answered. There had been something most odd about this tour from the beginning—and it grew more curious all the time.
*
“So the queen’s loyal subjects are engaged in snatching lands, are they?” Elizabeth said as they rode down the lane from Brocket to Hatfield early the morning after their strange dinner.
“It would appear that something of the sort is indeed happening, Your Grace,” Kate answered. She hadn’t ridden for some time until this sudden trip, and was struggling to keep her mare from dashing off the road into the woods. But she had to tell the princess all she’d heard from the cook while they had a quiet moment. Penelope rode behind them, and the men-at-arms were ahead to make sure the road was clear.
Elizabeth laughed. “Of course they are. It is ever thus when an old regime is fading—everyone looks to themselves and their future. I saw it with my father and my brother both. But obviously Braceton had no success at Gorhambury, whatever he seeks there. How can he think he’ll find it at Hatfield? We can have no secrets left after all this time.”
“I am not sure,” Kate said. “The cook had only those scraps of gossip from her sister at Gorhambury.”
“You did well to get her to talk thus, Kate. So—our quiet neighborhood is not so very peaceful as it seems after all,” Elizabeth mused. “I think we will see much coming and going down this road in days to come.”
“By friends or by foes, Your Grace?”
“Who can know? Braceton is foe—that much is clear enough,” Elizabeth said with a sigh. “Though who knows what he is really after. We have been searched so often for ‘heretical books’ he must know there is naught left to find.”
“Or messages hidden in lutes,” Kate said with
a laugh.
Elizabeth smiled. “Or that. Braceton does hate me, I can tell, but who can say truly why? Feria—I do not know why he came here.”
Kate thought she must know a bit. King Philip would soon lose what little he had gained in England and wanted Elizabeth’s friendship for the future. Yet like everything else, it could not be simple or at all plainspoken.
Elizabeth peered out from under her cloak’s hood, frowning as she studied the thick, dark line of trees at either side of the road. “I do wonder what lurks there, Kate. If someone points their arrows at us even now.”
“Your Grace must not think thus!” Penelope cried at those words, her voice trembling as if with fear. “Surely there would be no such attack in daylight. Not on you. It must have been merely thieves who have now fled.”
“Must it?” Elizabeth said quietly. “I used to think Hatfield was my haven, far from the prying eyes and lying tongues at court. But there can be no haven in life, not really.”
Kate felt a chill chase over her skin as she looked into the woods, imagining eyes peering out from its dark cover. Suddenly there was a burst of noise, shouts, and the ringing of bells resounding from around the bend in the road just ahead. She cried out, and heard Penelope do the same behind her.
“Alas, Your Grace spoke true!” Penelope cried. “We shall all be killed now. Murdered on the road.”
Kate wondered that Penelope, the same coolheaded friend who had led her through the Hatfield passageways, should be so panic-stricken now, but she certainly didn’t blame her. The gloom and uncertainty of the past few days had put them all on a knife’s edge. Everything was confusion as the guards surrounded the princess, their swords drawn and ready.
“Hush, Penelope,” Elizabeth snapped. “What murderer announces their approach with drums and bells?”
As Kate tightened her grip on the reins to hold her restive mount still, her heart pounded. Yet surely Elizabeth was right—this was no sneak attack. Or if it was, it was a most incompetent one—hardly the work of the stealthy archer who had attacked Braceton and his servant.
As Kate sat on her horse behind the princess, she held her breath and listened to the cacophony grow closer.
An amazing sight came around the bend in the road. It looked like a market fair on the move, full of fluttering banners of bright red, yellow, and green carried by men in equally colorful doublets and hose. Tall plumes fluttered from their beaded caps, waving as if in time to the music. They were terribly out of tune, Kate thought with a laugh, but seldom had she heard anything played with such loud enthusiasm.
She watched them marching closer, and saw they were followed by a covered, red-painted cart, drawn by horses draped in matching red and driven by a boy in a saffron-colored doublet and short cape. She realized they must be a troupe of players, perhaps come all the way from London, and the gloomy day suddenly seemed brighter. It had been many months since they had seen a play.
Elizabeth seemed to agree, for she laughed and clapped her hands at the merry sight. She edged her horse around the guards as if to get a better view.
“Madam!” the captain cried. “You should not go nearer. . . .”
“Nonsense,” Elizabeth answered. “It is merely a group of play-actors. Anyone can see that their swords are pasteboard. I wish to find out where they are going.”
“We should not dally,” the guard insisted. “You are expected back at Hatfield, and we are late as it is.”
Elizabeth ignored him. Kate watched as she drew up her horse, and the leader of the colorful band—a tall, whip-lean older man with a lush gray beard and blue-and-purple coat—approached her. He paused in the middle of the road and gave a flourishing bow. The music faded away.
“Good sir, you have already brightened this gray day considerably,” Elizabeth said. “Are you going to play at the inn yard in the village?”
“I’m glad we have brought joy to such a beauteous lady’s heart,” the man said, bowing again. The bells on his tall walking stick sang out. “Have I the honor of addressing the most fair Lady Elizabeth?”
“I am Elizabeth Tudor, aye. And who, sir, are you?”
“My name is Edward Cartman, my lady, leader of this poor troupe of players and Your Grace’s most devoted servant. We have actually come to seek you out, my lady.”
“To seek me out?” Elizabeth said. The guardsman tried to interrupt her again, but she imperiously waved him away.
“We were lately at the home of Sir William Cecil, my lady, presenting some of our poor plays. We have been traveling the roads since the summer, and he seemed to enjoy our frolics during our stay at his demesne. He hopes we may cheer my lady as well.”
As he spoke, Kate studied the group arrayed behind him. She always enjoyed a good play, as did her father, and she had seen many productions, from elaborate court masques to crudely done morality plays in inn yards. She liked them all, liked getting lost in another world for a few hours. Such an escape would be especially welcome during these bleak days, but in Elizabeth’s quest to lead a quiet, unobtrusive life of late, they hadn’t seen a play in months.
But “quiet and unobtrusive” had availed them nothing except a queen’s man like Braceton come to break their precious peace. Maybe this troupe, sent by Elizabeth’s friend and surveyor, Cecil, could bring a bit of merriment again.
“Have you a license?” the guardsman demanded. “If not, we’ll have you clapped in gaol as vagabonds.”
“Of course we have a license,” Master Cartman said indignantly. “We are the Lord Ambrose’s Men. But as he has gone to France on an errand for the queen, he has no use of our services of late and has sent us to cheer the autumn months of his friends. We must make our coin where we can—but only legally, naturally.”
As Master Cartman produced the all-important license and the guardsman snatched it up to study it closely, Kate watched the other players. Two women, one young and one older, peeked out of the cart, but the rest were men, of course, all clad in bright actors’ garments, lazily twirling their banners as they watched the proceedings.
One caught her notice. He lounged against one of the wheels of the cart, idly swirling a beribboned staff between his hands. He was as tall as Master Cartman, but where the older man was thin, he had impressively muscled shoulders beneath a tight-fitting doublet. The bright satin hugged a narrow waist and hips, and multicolored hose and tall leather boots revealed equally impressive legs. He didn’t wear a cap, and golden blond hair fell in a straight, shining tumble to his shoulders.
He was surely the most handsome man she had ever seen, a vision of some classical god like Apollo, and for a moment Kate could only stare at him in astonishment.
Then he caught her looking. He grinned, and gave her an insolent wink.
Kate sniffed and turned sharply away. What an errant rogue!
“Your Grace, may I present my nephew, Master Rob Cartman?” Master Cartman said, ushering the beautiful young man forward to give a graceful bow. “He is my late brother’s son, and my most invaluable assistant.”
Kate noticed that Elizabeth’s pale cheeks turned the merest bit pink as she nodded to young Master Rob. For all her great dignity and scholarship, Kate had noticed that Elizabeth also had a good eye for beauty in all its forms—even the male. Her old friend Robert Dudley was accounted one of the most handsome men in England, just like all his accursed tribe of brothers. But even Sir Robert was not as dazzling as this namesake of his.
“We are pleased to welcome you all to our neighborhood,” Elizabeth said. “I hope you will lodge with us at Hatfield for a few days and grace us with a few plays? We would be most grateful for the fine diversion.”
“My lady,” the guardsman sputtered. “Lord Braceton will never—”
“God’s wounds, man!” Elizabeth snapped. “Is Hatfield not my own house? If I wish to have entertainment there, I will have it. Come, Master Cartman, be so kind as to follow us back to the house.”
Elizabeth spurred her horse forward into
a gallop, forcing everyone to scramble to follow her. As Kate rode past Master Rob, she glanced down at him—only to find him watching her in return.
CHAPTER 9
“What is the meaning of this?” Braceton’s roar rang through the house, sweeping up the stairs and down the corridor like a cold wind.
Kate’s fingers fumbled on her lute strings, and Peg nearly dropped the linen she was mending. They both glanced anxiously toward the closed bedchamber door where her father slept. Fortunately he didn’t seem to stir, even when Braceton shouted yet again.
Kate and Peg exchanged a quick look before they tiptoed together toward the half-open door to the corridor. Kate was far too curious to resist.
“He must have found those actors,” Peg whispered.
Kate nodded. Lord Braceton had been gone when they arrived back at Hatfield and Elizabeth let the troupe set up their rehearsal in the long gallery. Kate had become absorbed in making sure her father ate a midday meal before putting him to rest again, and she hadn’t heard Braceton return. But he was obviously there now.
“Do you mean to say, madam, that you found these vagabonds in the lane and brought them here with you, just like that? After I was kind enough to give you permission to travel?” Braceton blustered.
“They are hardly vagabonds,” Elizabeth said coldly. “They have a license and Lord Ambrose is their sponsor. Does Lord Ambrose not serve the queen?”
“That is scarcely the point! Lord Ambrose is not here now. These—these people will only be in the way while I am trying to do the queen’s business.”
Murder at Hatfield House: An Elizabethan Mystery Page 9
