Murder in the Queen's Garden

by Amanda Carmack

  The rest of the court trailed behind her, a sea of green and gold and white and red, feathers and veils waving in the wind, laughter as bright as the sun above them.

  Violet rode past, since she had no part in the masque. Kate’s friend looked as delicate as an almond-paste sweetmeat in her pale lavender riding doublet, an embroidered and pearl-dotted cap on her blond hair. Master Green rode beside her, smiling down at her as she said something to him. It seemed he was forgiven for his brawl at the banquet, both by the queen and by Violet. Kate only hoped he would not do such a thing again, would not break Violet’s sweet heart.

  Kate remembered what Dr. Dee had said about Master Constable, that the younger man had great powers within him but could not yet control them. That seemed to be true of all young men at court, even if they possessed different powers. Charm, warrior instincts, good looks, ambition—magic. They were all dangerous.

  “It is quite astonishing,” a low, amused voice said at Kate’s shoulder.

  She glanced back to see Lady Bess Martin, a friend of Catherine Grey and of Lord Hertford’s sister Lady Jane, as well as of Anne Godwin, watching the scene out the window. Lady Bess was the daughter of a very old family, once allied to the Seymours in their highest days of power under Edward VI. She was pretty, fashionably dainty, careful in her duties to the queen, but like everyone else she seemed to always be watching. Always smiling carefully, as if she knew many secrets.

  In that she was no different from any other courtier. Yet somehow Kate did not quite like the slant of her smile now.

  “Astonishing, Lady Bess?” Kate said, careful to keep her voice most pleasant, most bland. She was meant to go unnoticed here at court. That was where her own power resided.

  “Violet Roland and Master Green,” Lady Bess said. “He is becoming one of the most sought-after gallants at court this summer, I do think. Yet he pays his greatest attentions to her.”

  Kate made herself keep smiling back. Surely Lady Bess knew that Violet was Kate’s friend, that they shared a chamber. Anne Godwin was their mutual friend. Why would Lady Bess be gossiping with her now? “Mistress Roland is most amiable company for anyone, as I’m sure everyone must agree.”

  “Oh, I do think so! She is very sweet,” Lady Bess said with a trilling laugh. “But her family . . .”

  The Rolands? Kate thought quickly but realized she knew little of them. Violet’s brother served Lord Arundel, of course, a very good position, and their parents lived quietly in the country. They were high enough for Violet to be given a much sought-after place among the queen’s ladies. She merely kept looking at Lady Bess, something she had learned from the queen. Silence made people talk to fill it.

  “The Rolands are in debt, or so I hear from my friends who live near them,” Lady Bess whispered. “We all know a place at court pays little enough. Surely her parents, and her brother, hope that Mistress Violet marries very well indeed. But Master Green has no need of such a thing. Not when he could marry so choosily—”

  “Bess! Bess, you must hear this,” Lady Catherine called out, and Kate turned to see all the ladies still clustered around Rob, giggling at whatever he was saying. Lady Catherine waved to her friend, and Lady Bess waved back and hurried toward them, already laughing herself.

  Kate looked back out the window just as the last of the hunting party vanished over the top of a hill. The trumpets and the baying of the dogs were fading, but her head ached. There were so many secrets, held by everyone around her, and she could not sort them all out. She suddenly missed her father, missed their quiet evenings by the fire talking of music, missed his smile, his gentle eyes.

  And yet he, too, had kept secrets from her.

  Kate turned resolutely away from the window and summoned everyone back to work. Once the rehearsal was over at long last, she dismissed the other musicians and made her way out of the great hall. She glimpsed Rob on the other side of the long, narrow room, still surrounded by Lady Catherine, Lady Bess, and their fluttering flock of white-clad friends. He tried to catch Kate’s eye, but she turned away. She was much too confused for him right now.

  She had much to consider.

  Her own chamber was empty. Violet would be at the queen’s hunt for hours yet, and Lady Anne was off on her own errands. She had been most secretive about her day that morning, claiming a vague “duty” she had to carry out, and Violet and Kate had been able to get no more out of her. But Kate was glad of the quiet moments now, the rare time when she could be alone.

  She opened her clothes chest and knelt down to dig beneath the kirtles and sleeves, the embroidered chemises and slippers, to find the book she had hidden at the bottom. She drew it out, half-fearful to even look at it.

  The volume did not look as if it held great secrets, secrets men like Dr. Dee would spend lifetimes traveling and studying to unearth. It was bound in plain brown leather, the spine worn, the vellum pages soft. She took a deep breath and opened it.

  And found she could read almost nothing of it. There were lines and crosses, wavy letters, words in Latin. Drawings of strange beasts.

  Boleyn witches.

  A sudden noise outside the window startled Kate. She almost dropped the book, her heart pounding. She glanced up, surprised to see that sunlight still streamed in from the day outside. There were no thunder and lightning, no ghostly voices. Whatever was written in that book was still unknowable to her.

  And perhaps she did not want to know. Not really. Yet still there was that curiosity within her that had long been her downfall. If she was told she could not know something, could not do something, it became all she wanted. Somehow she was sure this book held the answers to so many of those secrets. And there was only one place she could find them.

  She knew where she had to go now.

  Kate hid the book under her clothes again and caught up her cloak, even though the day was warm. She also hastily strapped a small, light dagger to her wrist, beneath her sleeve. There was still time before Queen Elizabeth returned from the hunt and the night’s revelry began, but she had to hurry.

  She rushed through the half-empty palace, past rooms where courtiers left behind for the day played at cards and on their lutes, talking together quietly. Servants rushed past her, intent on their own errands. She made her way through the kitchen, the only space still busy as the cooks prepared the food for that night’s banquet. The Frenchman who created the sugar subtleties stood perched on a stool, barking orders at the pages who put the final touches on a fragile crystalline creation of a ship. Kate hurried past them, ignoring the steps that led down to the underground room.

  She slipped out of the kitchen door into the warm breeze of the day, rushing down the pathways lined with fragrant herbs.

  “Kate!” someone called.

  She whirled around to find Anthony walking toward her from the knot garden at the side of the palace. He was smiling, as handsome as ever, with the wind tugging at his close-cropped dark hair and his austerely sculpted face set off by a plain dark-green doublet, but he seemed rather—wary.

  “Anthony,” she said. She felt so nervous when she looked at him, as she had ever since he arrived at Nonsuch. As if she was hiding something from him, which was absurd. He was her friend and had been for so many months, through the bleakest of times.

  Her friend. That was all. She would never make a good lawyer’s wife.

  “Good morrow to you,” she said, smiling, acting as if she was not hurrying off to anywhere.

  “You don’t join the hunt today?” he said, studying her closely, as if he could see what she was really doing. Really thinking.

  She hoped he could not.

  “Nay, I was rehearsing for a masquerade,” she answered. “But the ladies grew too weary to continue.”

  His smile flashed brighter. “Or they wouldn’t listen to direction any longer? I have seen the attention span of some of the queen’s fair l
adies. You might have more luck with some of Mary Sidney’s lapdogs.”

  Kate had to laugh, thinking of Catherine Grey’s pouts. “Aye, that is all too true. But what of you, Anthony? Is your work done for the day?”

  His smile turned serious, and he suddenly looked every inch the lawyer. The respectable professional he would soon be. “Master Hardy is in counsel with the duchess. She is most overset by that sad discovery in the garden. She wished to speak to him alone.”

  Kate nodded. She could feel the concern in her own frown before she could conceal it, and she feared he saw it too. The whole court tried to pretend like the carefree summer spun onward as if nothing had happened, but a shadow had been cast over it that would not be easily banished. Was the duchess worried about her son? What could the Seymours have to do with Dr. Macey?

  “It was most upsetting for everyone, I fear,” she said. “The queen’s summer has been very merry thus far, at Richmond and Eltham. But here at Nonsuch . . .”

  Anthony studied the palace over his shoulder, and his frown deepened. She had the sense he saw what she did as he studied the glowing windows, the fanciful stonework, the plaster statues of gods and goddesses. A beautiful facade, with dark eyes peering out from behind, always watching.

  “The sad bones in the garden would have nothing to do with why you’re rushing off so suddenly, Kate?” he said, a hint of humor in his voice.

  Kate felt her cheeks turn warm. She looked closely up into his face and remembered all the times she had confided in him, all the times he was so quietly understanding. The time he held her above the freezing river as she shivered and cried, so happy to be alive and so frightened.

  Suddenly, she was so very tired of being alone with her thoughts all the time, alone with her worries. Of groping her way forward, alone, through a world she only half understood. Of never trusting anyone, never daring to believe what they said because they had proven her wrong so many times.

  Anthony had helped her before. He had helped her discover truths buried in old law books when she wouldn’t have even known where to begin looking. He had shared her curiosity, her need to know what had happened, and he had patience and quiet sense she did not.

  She wanted to trust now. She did not want to face that cottage alone.

  She stepped closer to him, close enough to whisper. Even though it seemed no one else was near, she knew how deceptive that was. No one was ever alone at court.

  Anthony bent his head down to listen, his expression never changing.

  “It does have something to do with the bones,” she said close into his ear. “There have been some—unusual events lately that make the queen most uneasy. Perhaps this old tale has naught to do with them, of course, but . . .”

  “But you do not believe that?”

  Kate shook her head. She heard Master Constable’s words over and over in her mind, his mad wildness. Boleyn witches. That frantic look in his eyes, as if he was not really there at all.

  Dr. Macey had once been involved with just such strange arts as Master Constable. What had he discovered all those years ago that had led him to that shallow grave in the maze?

  “Kate,” Anthony said, his voice calm and steady. “Are you in danger again?”

  Danger? Everything at court was dangerous. But she shook her head. “I do not believe so, and I know now to always take care. But there is something I must do now. Can you come with me?”

  “Of course. I would never let you go alone, if you would let me. But where are we going?”

  “I must show you. I can’t—can’t really explain it.”

  Much to her relief, Anthony merely nodded as if he chased mad ladies across the countryside every day. He was always calm and steady; he would make an excellent lawyer to people such as the duchess and her ilk. He took her hand in his, and his fingers felt warm and strong.

  She led him toward the gates of Nonsuch, out to the lane that twisted away from the grandeur of the palace and toward the little village and the hidden cottage beyond. As they hurried onward, Kate glimpsed two figures standing close together in the shadow of the tall stone wall that divided the fine gardens from the forest beyond, their heads bent close and their backs stiff, almost as if they argued. But their voices were too soft to carry on the wind.

  To Kate’s surprise, she saw it was Lady Anne Godwin and Master Roland, Violet’s brother. They had not seemed to know each other well before, but now they were standing so close, speaking so intently. Kate remembered the rumors Lady Bess had told her, of the Rolands’ debts.

  She hurried onward before Anne could see her, before either of them had to make any awkward explanations. But she could not quite forget the angry, almost desperate look on Anne’s face before she turned away.

  * * *

  In the daylight, the cottage was not as fearful as it had been in the mysteries of the night. It was still remote from the village, from any other homes, set back in its own half-concealing grove of trees and an overgrown garden, but the plastered walls and steep tiled roof were ordinary enough. Yet thick wooden shutters covered most of the windows, and smoke curled in dark gray tendrils out of the chimney, despite the warmth of the sunny day.

  Kate leaned against the same tree that had shielded her that strange night, studying the cottage. It did seem ordinary, just a little, old-fashioned cottage. What had scared her so much before?

  Why was she so nervous now?

  “Tell me again who you saw here,” Anthony said quietly.

  Kate glanced over at him. He looked so intent as he studied the house, so calm and still. He steadied her, too. She had told him what she knew of the tale on their walk. Of Dr. Dee and his new pupil, Master Constable, of his search for Dr. Macey’s son. Yet she could not quite bring herself to tell him all about that night in Lady Knollys’s chamber.

  She couldn’t bear to see suspicion and coldness in his eyes, if he was to draw away from her at the mention of the Boleyns and their “witchcraft,” the old tales from when Queen Elizabeth was a toddler. Not him.

  “I followed a man here that night,” she said. “I saw him from my window, and for some reason I had to know what was happening with him. It was Master Constable. I saw Dr. Dee here that night, and Robert Dudley, too. Men such as that have many secrets, of course, but after everything that has happened . . .”

  After everything that had happened, Kate feared the queen was in danger. And the queen had to be protected at any price.

  Anthony frowned. “You must not put yourself in danger thus, Kate,” he said, almost fiercely. “After London last winter . . .”

  Kate’s fingers curled on the rough bark of the tree; she was half glad he felt protective of her, half scared that she felt glad. No one had ever worried about her before, except her father.

  “Do you think I do not remember?” she said. “I am as careful as I can be! I must learn how to make my own way through the court, with people who hide so much. I must be with the queen. She is . . .”

  The queen—who was her cousin. The queen, so young and impetuous, so intent on her pleasure and freedom after so many years of fear and danger. The queen, who was the hope of everyone who longed for a safe, peaceful England, after the fires of Queen Mary.

  Kate felt a flash of anger, yet she knew not toward what—or whom.

  Anthony laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, and she felt a calm settle over her. She thought of the queen and her temper rages, and the way they quieted when Robert Dudley took her hand. “Kate, you are the bravest person I know. The most caring, too. I worry about you; that is all. Please, let me help you now, if I can. Don’t go running about the countryside alone at night. Men like Dr. Dee—they know things, seek things, most of us dare not even think about. If you were in danger . . .”

  Kate nodded. She didn’t want to do things alone always, but she had learned that sometimes one had to jump alone into the darkness. Y
et another thing Elizabeth had taught her.

  But it was undeniably reassuring to have Anthony at her side now.

  “I will take care, Anthony, I do promise,” she said. “I have no desire to learn the secrets of the spirits.” The living had enough secrets; the dead even more. She feared she would never be able to decipher either. “But the queen cares for Sir Robert. If he is involved in all this, in whatever happened to Dr. Macey . . .”

  “Surely Robert Dudley was a child then.”

  Kate nodded. “But Dr. Dee was his tutor, and he has long shown an interest in the mathematical arts. Old loyalties are still strong.” She saw that every day at court, the family groups, the friendships, the rivalries. Old alliances still held from King Henry’s time—and some were broken and healed and broken again.

  Anthony’s jaw tightened. “Aye. I know that well enough,” he said, his voice hard, and she remembered his employer worked for the Duchess of Somerset—a Seymour, once allied with the Dudleys against the Boleyns. He redirected his gaze to the cottage. “What do you think they do here at this place?”

  Kate studied the cottage again. So ordinary. “That is what I want to find out.”

  She felt Anthony watching her again, and she did not look at him. Her caution had returned.

  “We need to find a way in,” he said.

  Kate thought of Master Hardy, of Anthony’s career. He had worked for years to become a lawyer, to build a career where he could take care of his widowed mother, rise in the world. She could never have the ruination of that on her conscience. “I can’t get you into trouble, Anthony.”

  He smiled, that sudden, almost rakish smile she so seldom saw. She could not quite trust it. “Who will ever know, if we’re careful?”

  Kate had to laugh. “It looks well secured, I fear, with all those shutters.”

  “Let us go around to the back and see if there’s a kitchen, then. Mistress Hardy is always complaining of how distracted her cooks can be.”