Murder in the Queen's Garden

by Amanda Carmack

  She glanced over at a group who sat near the open doors to the hall. Violet was with Longville today, yet she seemed most distracted when he tried to talk to her. Green was nowhere to be found. But she knew she should not concern herself with romances now. The queen was upset, and Kate found herself nervous about making her way around the palace alone. Every corner seemed to hold some shadow, dark places that could hide an unseen villain ready to hit her over the head. The mysterious symbols on those unreadable horoscopes kept flashing through her mind.

  She needed to find time to speak to Master Constable.

  She looked back to the large crescent moon that hung over the stage, the shimmery silver symbol of the goddess Diana and her virginity. The carpenters of the Office of the Master of the Revels had done a splendid job with it. It was large and smooth, glowing as if lit from within.

  Kate frowned as she glimpsed a small flaw in the glossy silver surface. A dark smear along the curve of the crescent, making the perfect line of it uneven. She kept on with her playing as the ladies danced, half listening to Lady Catherine, and told herself to remember to have the carpenters lower the moon and fix it.

  Yet when she looked again, the dark mark had become even larger. It spread slowly over the bright silver, like a lurking shadow or a slithering snake.

  A terrible memory flashed through Kate’s mind as she stared up at the moon, a vision of Rob Cartman’s uncle sprawled dead in a grassy meadow at Hatfield before Elizabeth was queen. The dark crimson, almost black, blood that had oozed from his arrow wound. Slow, steady, and horrible.

  Almost as if time itself had seized and slowed, the room around Kate turned blurry. She didn’t hear the song, only a faint, distant humming sound, and the colors of the people around her and the elaborate scenery of the stage all swirled together. But that spreading line of red was vivid and clear. As she stared at it, her whole body felt as if it was turned to ice. As cold as the bones of old Dr. Macey.

  And slowly, slowly, a scarlet drop slid from the tip of the moon and dripped down onto the stage below.

  Then, like a shot from a cannon shattering a stone wall, everything sped up. More of the red flowed down from the moon and splashed over the draped white muslin and satin gown of Lady Bess Martin. Lady Bess shrieked and frantically shook her arm, making everyone spin toward her.

  Lady Catherine Grey’s delicate face contorted with anger. “How dare you interrupt my song, Bess!” she shouted, only to break off on a shriek of her own when she saw the stain on her friend’s sleeve.

  All the other ladies broke into screams, the scene onstage descending into madness as they pushed and tripped over one another, toppling painted trees and ripping down swaths of cheesecloth meant to be meadow mist. Even the watchers outside the windows, who didn’t know what was happening, were shouting.

  Lord Arundel, who saw his glorious masque crumbling around him just like his hopes for a royal match, jumped up from his seat in the gallery overhead, yelling incoherent words.

  “It’s the moon,” Kate said. She could have sworn she screamed the words, that they were torn from her throat, but in reality they barely escaped her lips.

  Her lute hung from her limp hand, and someone grabbed her arm, yet she couldn’t turn away from that awful moon. It was like something from one of Mistress Ashley’s posset-induced fever dreams, too fast and too slow all at the same time, unreal. She longed to escape, to open her eyes, leap up from bed, free herself. But this was real. Too real.

  “What is happening, Kate?” Violet screamed, and Kate realized it was Violet who held on to her arm. Violet who shivered so hard her trembling whipped through Kate like a winter storm wind. Kate took Violet’s hand, but she still couldn’t look away from the stage.

  The moon began to sway, slowly at first, then faster, faster, whirling on the heavy chain that suspended it from the ceiling.

  Sir Robert Dudley leaped onto the stage, closely followed by his ever-present guardsmen. “Move, everyone, now!” he shouted. He scooped Lady Catherine into his arms and practically tossed her to one of his men. The other ladies jumped down onto the floor, just in time.

  The moon broke free from the chain that held it to the beamed, gilded ceiling and crashed onto the stage. The planks of the temporary dais splintered, the false trees shattering.

  And caught just behind the edge of the crescent, in the raw wood hidden by the coat of silver paint, was a crumpled, red-stained doll.

  Nay, Kate thought numbly as she stared at the horrible scene being enacted right in front of her. Not a doll. A body, stiff with death, splashed with blood. Real blood, not stagecraft.

  A cold, clammy, sick feeling seized her, and she clutched at her stomach. She forced herself to swallow back that sour, sick taste and peer closer. She had learned much in the last few months, first at Hatfield and then at the queen’s coronation, and one thing she remembered was to always, always notice details, even if they were most trivial.

  Even when what she really wanted to do was flee, screaming, as everyone else was.

  The body was that of a man, clad in a crimson-stained shirt and dark hose, the hair tangled and matted over a face turned away. The clothes were what blinded her for a moment, made her fail to recognize him at first, for she had seen him only in astrologer’s black robes before.

  But as she made herself look at the face, at the twisted features, the eyes frozen wide with fear, she saw it was Master Constable. She would never be able to speak to him now.

  And surely it was not the spirits who had killed him and stuffed him inside that wooden moon, but someone all too human.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “He did not do this, Kate! I am sure of it. He never would,” Violet sobbed against Kate’s shoulder.

  “Hush, now. All will be well,” Kate murmured, wrapping her arms around her friend. She was far from believing her own words, though. After the terrifying scene in Nonsuch’s great hall, someone would have to pay for this crime so order could be restored to the queen’s court—soon. She had to hold Violet up now, but she also needed to find out more about this horrible murder. She couldn’t do that locked away in the palace with the queen’s hysterical ladies.

  And Master Green had certainly been seen to quarrel with Master Constable, in front of everyone. Who better to blame for the man’s murder?

  That was why she stood in the village lane with Violet now, watching as Lord Arundel himself locked Master Green away in the gaol. Nonsuch was too small and built for pleasure, not for dungeons, so Green was to be kept there until he could be hauled to London. Arundel’s jowled face was red and furious at having his wondrous house thus befouled and his marital chances with the queen spoiled.

  Master Roland stood beside his employer, his face granite hard and unreadable as he watched his friend being accused of a heinous crime. The houses along the narrow lanes were locked up tight, as they had been ever since the royal retinue arrived with the prisoner, though Kate could see curious eyes behind shutters.

  “Violet, you need to go back to the palace,” Master Roland told his sister, not looking at her. “Now.”

  “Nay, I will not!” Violet cried. “He is your friend, brother. Surely you cannot believe this of him.”

  It was Lord Arundel who answered. “He brawled with Master Constable in front of everyone, Mistress Roland. Surely he had some deep grudge against the man. Who else could it have been?”

  Who else indeed? Kate remembered everyone at that scene in Lady Knollys’s chamber, the fury and fear. All the people whose horoscopes he had drawn up. Who knew what was in those? What the man had done in London, or before he had come under the tutelage of Dr. Dee?

  But Lord Arundel was right. Master Green was known to have a bit of a temper, and he had shown his hatred for Master Constable, though no one seemed to know what the quarrel was about.

  “Surely you believe me, Kate?” Violet sai
d. She spun back to Kate, her hand surprisingly strong as she clutched at Kate’s arm. Violet’s face was wet with tears, her eyes frantic as she searched Kate’s face for confirmation.

  Kate remembered Violet’s confidences, her love for Green, her determination not to be parted from him, not to marry Master Longville. Now it seemed something much more terrible than marriage to another man would come between them, and Kate’s heart ached for her friend.

  “He was seen arguing with the . . .” The victim. Kate couldn’t bear to say the word, and she shuddered to think of that hideous sight, of Master Constable’s bloodied body stuffed behind that moon. She had not liked the man, but surely he had done nothing so hideous as to deserve that.

  Had he? She thought again of the shouts and fear of that séance, his wild words, and of that day she saw him creeping around the queen’s empty bedchamber. Of that strange cottage full of secrets. Who knew what secrets a man like that held inside?

  Yet only Master Green had been foolish enough, ale-shot enough, to show his anger in front of everyone.

  “Arguing with Master Constable,” she finished weakly.

  “But he was only angry! He forgot about it quickly, as men always do, and thought no more about it,” Violet said, hope and fear warring on her face.

  “What was the quarrel about, then?” Kate asked.

  “It was—” Violet broke off, her expression turning confused. “I—I know not, but it was over and done. I am sure of it.”

  “Vi.” Master Roland came to his sister and gently took her hand in his. Kate saw how tender his eyes were as he looked down at her. “He is my friend, but I also know he is a man of most uncertain temper. That was why I warned you against marrying him when I saw how serious your intent was becoming. I would not wish such a husband for my sister. And now it seems I was right.”

  “Nay!” Violet cried. She shoved her brother’s chest hard, sending him stumbling away. She looked most wild, her eyes wide, her hair escaping its caul, while her brother looked resigned. “You have turned against him now because it is easy for you, but I will not.”

  “Violet, be reasonable—,” Master Roland began. He was interrupted by the loud rumble of a coach making its way down the narrow, rutted lane, accompanied by the thunder of many horses’ hooves.

  Everyone in the small village, the hamlet that had replaced old Cuddington after King Henry tore it down to make way for his palace, had taken refuge behind their closed doors when Lord Arundel and his retinue appeared. Word that something terrible had happened at court seemed to have spread quickly there. But now they peeked out, cautious eyes between shutters and door cracks, to see who appeared so grandly in their midst.

  The coach lurched to a halt. It was not the queen’s luxurious conveyance of gold, white, and silver, but a dark-painted, solemn vehicle. It was as if it meant to be unobtrusive, but no carriage so costly and rare could ever be so. Especially not when accompanied by a half dozen liveried outriders, their swords on display.

  It was William Cecil who climbed down from the coach, his face contorted with discomfort at the bumpy ride, his walking stick clutched in his ink-stained fingers. Kate was most surprised to see him, as he did not like to travel even a short distance when he did not have to.

  “Lord Arundel, you have handled this unfortunate matter masterfully, but Her Majesty has requested that I speak to the prisoner myself,” Cecil said.

  Lord Arundel scowled, but everyone knew that Cecil was the queen’s chief adviser. “Of course. Shall I accompany you inside? My men are assisting the village gaoler with guard duties until Green can be moved to London for further questioning and proper punishment.”

  “Nay!” Violet screamed. “He is innocent, I tell you. He would never have done this.”

  “Master Roland, perhaps you would take your sister back to the palace and calm her,” Cecil said, his voice weary. “Her Majesty needs all her ladies around her now.”

  “Of course, Sir William,” Master Roland said quickly. He took Violet’s arm and led her away from the gaol. She tried to resist at first, but then her whole body seemed to wilt, and she followed her brother toward their waiting horses.

  As he lifted her into the saddle, she suddenly spun around to look at Kate. Her expression was fierce and pleading all at the same time.

  “You believe me, don’t you, Kate?” she said. “Someone must believe me!”

  Kate could only nod. She found she couldn’t bear to add to her friend’s sorrow at all. It did look very bad for Master Green. Too bad? Was it all simply too easy?

  Violet and her brother rode away, and Cecil turned back to Lord Arundel.

  “There is no need for your lordship to stay,” Cecil said. “You surely have much to attend to now at your house.”

  “But this varlet had the temerity to commit his foul crime in my house!” Lord Arundel argued. “I should question him myself.”

  “The queen will certainly wish for a diversion this evening,” Cecil said. “You must surely be the one to provide it.”

  Cecil spoke calmly but most firmly, and Arundel nodded. The queen would need to be entertained, distracted, and Arundel would have another chance to impress her—if he could. He departed with much of his retinue, leaving the street slightly less crowded.

  Cecil sighed and rubbed his hand over his bearded jaw. “I thought that would get rid of the man. Mistress Haywood, perhaps you would accompany me inside? A village gaol is no place for a fine lady, true, as my wife, Mildred, would remind me. But I would like your thoughts on what this Green has to say.”

  Kate laughed. “I am no fine lady, Sir William.” And she had seen foul gaols before.

  “Ah, but you are. Even the queen sees that.” He offered her his arm, and she took it as he led her inside, his guards following, their swords clanking and boots thudding on the packed mud of the lane.

  Cecil leaned slightly on her arm, something she was sure he would not want his own men to see—or for any rumors of weakness to get back to the ears of people like Robert Dudley. Kate was sure the weight of his tasks, such as persuading the queen to marry and making sure her many enemies did not come close, weighed on him. A murder, in addition to all that, could surely make him long for retirement.

  But the queen, and the country, needed him.

  The village gaoler—a thin, hollow-eyed, gray-bearded man who had surely not dealt with such serious matters, and important people, in a very long time—bowed low as Cecil ducked his head past the low doorframe and stepped into the small antechamber.

  “I fear we have but a small space here, my lord,” he said in a whining tone. “We have our own matters to consider, and the queen’s safety—”

  “I assure you, my good man, that you need not worry about these matters much longer,” Cecil told him. “I wish to speak to the prisoner, alone, for a few moments.”

  “Sir William, are you certain?” one of his men said cautiously. “Green could be of a dangerous temper now.”

  “I doubt that very much,” Cecil answered wryly. “And if he is, you are just here outside the door. Mistress Haywood will accompany me.”

  Cecil gestured to the gaoler to open the cell door, which he hastened to do, his heavy keys clanking. Cecil stepped inside, Kate still on his arm, and the door closed heavily behind them.

  The man who sat on the roughly hewn bench against the damp stone wall didn’t even look like the Master Green Kate knew from court. The handsome, flirtatious gentleman who charmed all the ladies with his music had vanished.

  In his place sat a slumped figure, his elbows on his knees and his face hidden in his hands. His hair was tangled, darkened, his fine embroidered doublet unlaced and his white shirt streaked with dirt.

  Kate couldn’t help but feel a pang of pity for him, and for Violet, too. Matters here did appear hopeless indeed.

  He glanced up at the sound of the doo
r and leaped to his feet when he saw it was Cecil who stood there.

  “Have they come to take me away already?” Green asked hoarsely. He laughed, a half-wild sound Kate had heard from others before, people who were backed into desperate corners and liable to leap any way at all.

  “We have only come to talk to you for a moment, young man. I am sure your employer, Lord Hunsdon, will have much to say before you are sent away,” Cecil said. “A few moments is all these old bones can bear of this place. But we must find out what happened to Master Constable, and you are one of the only ones who can help us.”

  “I know not what happened to the man, and I vow that is the truth,” Green said. “I have not spoken with him since the queen’s banquet.”

  The banquet where he had drunkenly quarreled with Constable. Kate studied Master Green’s face, but she only saw deeply etched lines of confusion and fear. Fear that he had been falsely accused—or that he had been caught? For she knew that was not the last time he had spoken to Constable.

  “Yet you did argue with him,” Cecil said, still so calm. So affable. “We all saw you there at the banquet.”

  Green slumped back down onto the bench, shaking his head. “I had too much strong wine that night. I should never have gone near him. But this thought in my mind had been eating at me . . .”

  “Was it about Violet Roland?” Kate asked.

  He glanced up, his lovely blue eyes, now rimmed with red, wide with surprise. It was as if he hadn’t noticed she was there until that moment. “You are Violet’s friend Mistress Haywood.”

  “Aye, I am. And she said that when Master Constable cast her horoscope, he said she should not marry a sign that would render her more melancholic. Is that you?”

  Master Green laughed harshly. “She had been fretting about it, afraid that it meant we should never marry. I told her that was arrant nonsense, that Master Constable was no true astrologer, but still she worried.” That was why they had brawled.