Murder in the Queen's Garden

by Amanda Carmack

  Rob reached into the small leather pouch tied at his belt and took out a small object wrapped in a scrap of silk. He unfolded it and stared down at the object, which glittered in the sun.

  He’d had a goldsmith create it for him and had even persuaded the man to take his payment in installments. It had meant scribbling out even more penny sonnets for the printer, but at last it was done. A tiny lute, made of colored enamels and set in gold. It was set with the smallest, most intricate set of diamonds, meant to mimic the inlaid pattern of Kate’s own instrument. Rob had sketched it out from memory, and he hoped it was right.

  Rob closed his fist around the delicate bauble. He wouldn’t give it to Kate until his secret aim here at Nonsuch was achieved. He hadn’t even spoken to his troupe about it, not in full. They knew only that they sought “a patron” from among the nobility.

  They didn’t know he had one particular patron in mind. Lord Hunsdon, the queen’s own cousin.

  Lord Hunsdon loved the theater and was said to be eager to find his own troupe to serve him and his family in their newly elevated place at court. He had seen Rob play at a tavern courtyard in the springtime and had asked about his work. If Lord Hunsdon became their patron . . .

  Then Rob’s wandering days could be done. His troupe could think about their own theater, and he could afford a home, in London or in some village nearby. Mayhap even a wife, a family. Things he had never considered before.

  He looked across the lake at the fanciful palace, where Kate had disappeared. It shimmered in the bright day, like a fairy realm with its carved towers. Kate had seemed to know Lord Hunsdon and his family, yet another reason to hide from her his true purpose here, at least for now. He never wanted her to think he used her only for her connections, her place at court. He wanted her to know he had changed, that he could take care of her.

  Soon, God willing, that would be the truth, and he could tell her everything. Everything he had kept locked up in his heart for months.

  Rob put the precious lute pendant away once more and hoped that soon enough he would see it shining against Kate’s white skin.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “. . . And the hellish phantom carriage rolled silently to a halt, and the damned Lord Blickling saw by the glow of lightning that the coachman was—headless! And the devil himself stepped out in a cloud of brimstone to claim his soul forever.”

  Lady Anne Godwin ended with a great flourish, raising her arms in their pure white chemise sleeves and leaping up onto the edge of the mattress. The dark blue bed curtains swayed wildly, casting fluttering shadows on the whitewashed walls and making the candles gutter in their sconces.

  Violet shrieked and dived beneath her blanket. Kate laughed, but she had to admit her heart, too, was beating a bit faster at Anne’s ghostly tale.

  Outside their window, the fine, clear night had turned to a chill and windy one, and the cold breeze beat at the casement and whined down their chimney. The polished wood floor creaked and groaned, almost as if ghosts truly did fly about in the enchanted night.

  Kate drew her knitted shawl closer over her linen chemise. She was not quite sure she really believed in ghosts, not outside a masquerade, but tonight it felt almost as if secrets buried too long beneath the slumberous beauties of Nonsuch struggled to escape.

  Lady Anne flopped down onto a cushioned stool next to their small fireplace and reached for a plate of sweet fruit suckets they had stolen from the remains of the banquet. “Every word is completely true. I vow it.”

  Violet peeked out from beneath her blanket. “It cannot be. I don’t believe you.”

  “It certainly is! I heard it from Lady Bess Martin, who heard it from Beatriz Gómez, who was once servant to Queen Mary’s own astrologer, Senor Fernández, who came from Spain with King Philip.”

  “I thought Dr. Dee once served Queen Mary thus, as he does Queen Elizabeth,” Kate said. She tried to remember all she had learned of the famous doctor, the tangled threads of old gossip that had tossed everyone about in the turbulent years between King Edward, Queen Mary, and Queen Elizabeth. The twists and turns of religion and complicated loyalties.

  Lady Anne shook her head, smugly happy she had the whole tale to relate. “Surely you remember the story of when Dr. Dee was once arrested under Queen Mary. He was accused of drawing up the horoscopes of the queen and King Philip in secret and was even questioned by the Star Chamber, though they let him go. He went abroad after that, and it’s said he spied for Queen Elizabeth in Europe, though I believe it not. And years before that, there is the tale of his own teacher from Cambridge vanishing here at Nonsuch. It was years ago when Dee was accused of spying. I was just a girl, but my father was at court then, and he was sure Dr. Dee was quite doomed, and that it must have something to do with all that old business.”

  Kate frowned as she reached for a sweetmeat. The candied cherry melted on her tongue, and she nodded as the details came back to her. She, too, had been collecting stories of late, though not of the ghostly variety. “Was Dr. Dee not quickly released back then?”

  Lady Anne gave a knowing little smile. “Aye, but why was he released? No one knows for sure. Yet Queen Elizabeth trusts him now, enough to have him cast her horoscope for her own coronation date. And he is here at Nonsuch.”

  “Master Green says—,” Violet declared, only to break off on a blush.

  “Oho, Master Green, is it!” Lady Anne answered, so teasingly that Violet’s cheeks turned even more violently red. “You have been spending a great deal of time with that young man. You are quite the envy of all the ladies, I declare. Master Longville is quite downcast now.”

  “He is a friend of my brother; that is all,” Violet muttered. She tossed a cushion at Anne’s head.

  Kate laughed as her friends teased and quarreled with each other, but the old tale of Dr. Dee, of his long-ago arrest and of the strange disappearance of his old teacher here at Nonsuch, lingered at the back of her mind. When Anne and Violet at last fell asleep, she slipped out of her own bed and tiptoed over to peer out the window.

  They were fortunate to have a room for only three of them, even though it faced the back courtyard and kitchen gardens and not the grand front drive. They had privacy compared to the packs of maids of honor in their rows of pallets, and they were nowhere near the smell of the jakes.

  The moon peeked from behind a lacy bank of clouds, casting a silver glow over the low stone walls and rolling fields. The wind trembled in the treetops, and the leaves sounded almost like a chorus of wordless whispers.

  Kate shivered and pulled her warm shawl even closer. She could believe in spirits on a night like this. Could almost imagine King Henry and beautiful Queen Catherine Howard riding over the lanes again, chased by spectral hounds and courtiers long since dead. If magic such as Dr. Dee spoke of was real, what could not be conjured on such a night?

  She stared up at the moon, so beautiful and pale, so far away, and she thought of her mother. She had never known Eleanor Haywood, who had died a few hours after her birth, but her mother seemed close to her of late. Seemed to be reaching out to her. If only Eleanor could help her, advise her . . .

  The memory of Rob Cartman by the lake flashed in Kate’s mind, the solemnity in his eyes, the roughness of his manner. Nonsuch was meant to be a place for joy and romance, yet instead it seemed to set everyone quite on edge. What was amiss with him, with everyone? She wished she could decipher it all.

  Suddenly, something shimmered below her in the garden, a flash of light that broke the perfect solitude of the night. Kate gasped, half-afraid maybe it really was King Henry returned to his pleasure palace to wreak some ghostly vengeance.

  “Don’t be such a goose,” she whispered sternly to herself. Ghosts were not real, surely. Were they not?

  Yet it was most strange that anyone would be outside on such a night, after the long hours of feasting and music. Once the queen retired
to her bedchamber, none dared stay out after her.

  Kate went up on tiptoe, peering past the thick, wavy glass of the window to the endless night outside. There was indeed someone there, and surely not a ghost. Ghosts did not carry lanterns. And this figure was too solid, clad in a plain dark cloak that jerked and swayed in the fitful wind. A spirit would glide, unaffected by the weather, and would certainly not have to push open a gate to move through a wall.

  Much like when she glimpsed Catherine Grey earlier, Kate was not entirely sure what she should do. Wake a guard? But what if this person was set on some secret mission, and the villain interrupted them before they could discover what it was?

  She glanced over at Violet and Anne. Both of them now slept peacefully under their bedclothes. Kate knew she couldn’t wake them, couldn’t let them know what she was doing, if indeed there really was anything to discover. It could very possibly be just another romantic assignation. Anne would gossip about it, and Violet would shriek with fright to go out in the night. But if something was really happening, and the queen knew naught about it . . .

  Kate was scared to venture out after so much talk of ghosts, but she knew she had to. It would surely be nothing, and she could be back in her warm bed before none were any wiser.

  She quickly pulled on a plain dark wool skirt and a bodice that laced up the front, as well as her sturdiest leather boots. No velvet-heeled shoes tonight. She strapped one of her new daggers—she’d soon learned she needed them in the queen’s court—beneath the loose sleeve of her chemise, where she could quickly grasp the reassuringly solid steel hilt if needed, and wrapped her shawl over her head and shoulders before she slipped out of the chamber door.

  The tapestry-hung alcove where Lady Catherine Grey had so unwisely embraced Edward Seymour was now empty. The whole corridor was silent, no laughter or whispers echoing from the maids’ rooms, no fall of furtive footsteps. The palace seemed to slumber under an enchanted spell, yet something hovered deep in Kate’s senses, telling her the night was not quite so empty as it seemed.

  She hurried lightly down the back stairs and through the kitchens to an unguarded side door. The vast stone space was just as quiet as the warren of royal rooms above, but the banked fires made it seem warmer, not as eerie, sending out the reassuring scents of woodsmoke and freshly baked bread. A cat sat on the ledge of one of the high windows, blinking at her sleepily as she rushed past.

  Out in the garden, cast in the shadows again as the clouds slid over the moon, she found the gate where the cloaked figure had disappeared. It was still ajar, and when she pushed it open she found herself in an open pathway, exactly the sort of place where a ghostly King Henry would lead his hunt. Beyond it, past a low stone wall, was a narrow lane that she knew would eventually lead to the nearest village.

  She glanced up at the sky, half-afraid it would start to rain again, half-afraid of what lurked in the darkness. She pushed the fear away and plunged ahead.

  In the distance, at the crest of a low, softly rolling grassy hill, she caught a glimpse of the cloaked figure’s lantern bobbing in the night. The flutter of a cloak. Then it was gone. She ran after him, glad of her sturdy boots on the damp, soft ground. She followed her quarry at a distance, until the smoke from the chimneys of another house nearby blended with the wispy, rushing clouds.

  Suddenly, the cloaked figure stopped at the gate of a small cottage set back from the lane beyond a shallow ditch and a low wall. Kate ducked behind a tree and watched carefully as the person knocked at the door and slipped inside. He glanced back for only an instant, but she clearly saw his face, his wispy pale hair escaping from a dark cap, in the glow of candlelight behind him.

  It was Master Constable, Dr. Dee’s apprentice, who had been lurking around the queen’s privy chamber only that afternoon. Master Constable, who had been drawing up Catherine Grey’s horoscope, among others. What was he doing here now, creeping about away from the palace?

  Kate was quite sure this could not be another romantic assignation.

  She carefully studied the cottage. It looked most ordinary, with whitewashed walls and a steep thatched roof behind a small overgrown garden. But all the windows were concealed with thick wooden shutters, so securely latched that only tiny chinks of light escaped, like pinpoints in the night.

  Smoke curled from the chimney, and when Kate drew in a deep breath she realized it did not smell like ordinary woodsmoke. It had a strange metallic tinge she could not quite decipher, something like biting down on a coin and feeling it catch at the back of the throat.

  She listened closely, yet it seemed there was naught behind those walls at all. Even the cries of night birds were silent here. All she knew for sure was the rough bark of the tree under her hands, the cold wind through her skirts.

  As she watched, waiting for something to happen that would tell her more about this strange little place, guarded by Master Constable of all people, she felt the faint tremor of the ground beneath her feet that warned of a horse galloping by swiftly. She tucked herself further behind the tree and glanced back along the lane.

  It was a fine black horse, almost one with the night with such a dark, glossy coat. A groom on a smaller mount followed close behind. The rider drew up at the gate and swung down from the saddle, tossing the reins to the servant. As he strode up to the door, the groom led the horse away, and Kate gasped. She recognized that tall figure, that confident stride. Robert Dudley.

  The door swung open once more, and it was not Master Constable this time. It was Dr. John Dee, his spare figure draped in fur-trimmed black robes, his bearded face smiling in welcome. The two men clasped hands in greeting, and Sir Robert vanished inside.

  If Robert Dudley was here, surely the queen already knew of it? Yet what if she did not? Confused, Kate spun around and ran back the way she’d come. She couldn’t help but feel that the night was chasing her, full of things she could not hope to understand. Something strange was happening in that place, something she feared she could not yet begin to fathom.

  But she would find out what it was, very soon indeed.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “Your thoughts seem far away today, Kate. Do we not have enough to divert you here at Nonsuch?” Queen Elizabeth asked. She stood on a low stool as her ladies dressed her for the banquet, fluttering around her as they tied on the sleeves of her black-and-gold gown, fastened her necklace, held out caps for her approval.

  The queen’s words snapped Kate out of her brooding thoughts. She sat in the window seat of the royal bedchamber, playing a madrigal on her lute that was meant to entertain Elizabeth as she went through the tedium of being dressed, but in truth Kate’s mind was far away from her task. She was wandering down a dark, moonlit lane to a strange cottage, in fact, and cursing the way she had run away in such a cowardly fashion before she could discover what was really happening there.

  Had she struck a sour note in the song? She sat up straight, her fingers falling from the strings. As one of the queen’s few female musicians, she was the only one allowed to play in the royal bedchamber. She could not ruin that privilege.

  “I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” she said hastily. “Is the song not to your liking?”

  “Nay, the song is fine. But you are my own musician, and yet you look as if our festivities are not diverting you.” Elizabeth held out her hand to let one of the ladies slide rings onto her fingers, and shook her head at the third cap offered.

  “I was merely thinking of the night ahead, Your Majesty,” Kate said.

  “You have no duties tonight, Kate. You must enjoy yourself for once. Nonsuch is meant for pleasure, is it not?” Elizabeth glanced down at a goblet Lady Catherine Grey held out, and she impatiently pushed it away. A drop of dark crimson wine splashed on the shoulder of Lady Catherine’s white gown. “Not the port wine, cousin! You know I do not care for it. What could you be thinking?”

  For an instant, Kate saw ra
w fury flash across Lady Catherine’s face, distorting her delicate features. But she quickly composed herself and stepped back with her head dipped in a show of deference.

  Kate remembered the angry words Lady Catherine had thrown at Lord Hertford when they were hidden behind the tapestry, the Tudor temper that lurked beneath her beauty.

  “Forgive me, Your Majesty,” Lady Catherine said, her voice as sweet as the sugar wafers Elizabeth loved. “I will fetch whatever you like right away.”

  “Let me find some sack wine, Your Majesty,” Kate said, suddenly eager to escape that overly warm chamber filled with too many mingled perfumes, too many barking lapdogs. She had barely been able to sit still all afternoon; even music hadn’t carried her completely out of herself, as it usually did. Now she seized on the chance to perform some errand, any errand.

  Elizabeth nodded, distracted by Mary Sidney fastening a collar of pearls around her neck. Kate carefully set aside her lute and hurried from the bedchamber.

  The privy chamber outside was scarcely less crowded, with courtiers lingering around the door in hopes of catching the queen’s attention as she left. They played cards, gathered around a lady playing at the virginals, and stood by the windows to catch a stray breeze, always talking in low voices, always watching. It made her feel closed in. But the farther she went from the royal apartments, the quieter it became, and she was finally able to breathe.

  She found a footman to take the wine to the queen, but she didn’t want to return just yet, so she slowed her steps down the corridor. The light that flooded through the windows was a beautiful golden pink, bright and warm, yet she seemed caught in the night, watching that strange cottage. Nonsuch had been built for pleasure, aye, but she could sense little of that in its air. Something strange had her spellbound, it seemed, and she had to brush it away if she was to be of use to the queen.

  She turned through an arched doorway, still lost in her own thoughts, and almost collided with the solid bulk of a man rushing in the other direction.