Murder in the Queen's Garden

by Amanda Carmack

  She had been forced to give in to Anthony’s demand that she ride in a cart rather than on horseback, for her leg still ached like hellfire. With every painful jounce she cursed Anne Godwin, and herself, for daring to trust in friendship again. Mistress Macey and her baby slept now, curled up amid the blankets that also held Kate’s leg in place, and Anthony rode his horse alongside, telling her of what he had learned in his law ledgers.

  She was most glad of his tale, not only for the holes it filled in the story she herself had gathered, but for the distraction it gave her from the pain and fear.

  Anthony’s words were lawyerly, concise, careful, but spiced with humor. He never insulted her intelligence or assumed she could not understand something, but spoke to her as an equal. A friend. Dared she trust in that with him?

  “Indeed so,” Anthony said with a wry smile. “And it also seems Lord Marchand had even more dangerous friends than his nephew, Master Longville, does. When Thomas Culpeper was arrested for his affair with Queen Catherine Howard, Marchand was a known drinking companion of his, and in fact they were often seen carousing together late into the night at Nonsuch. Marchand was questioned deeply about this friendship, but naught could be found of his own guilt in the matter and he was released.”

  “And that was when he vanished from court?” Kate thought of the horoscope of Queen Catherine Howard. Had Marchand stolen it to protect his friend Culpeper? Was that where it had come from? Perhaps he had killed Dr. Macey as a diversion. Culpeper and his friends would never want anything to make the king cease to think of Queen Catherine as his “rose without a thorn.” Their positions, their very lives, at court depended on her. An ill-starred horoscope might have seemed reason enough to kill.

  “Wouldn’t you absent yourself, after such an event?” Anthony said with a humorless laugh. “I would be finished with the doings of kings myself after a mess like that.”

  “Such things are surely not likely to happen now,” Kate said, though in her mind she felt a tiny, cold touch of doubt. She closed her eyes and thought of all she had learned. Roland had killed to gain the favor of his lord. The queen’s enemies always surrounded her, outwardly smiling but inside always scheming. Always plotting. It had been thus in King Henry’s time; it was thus now.

  But Elizabeth saw things clearer than her father ever had. Surely she would not be blinded by false love, as he was with Queen Catherine.

  She opened her eyes to find Anthony watching her closely. She tried to read his expression, to see past the solemn concern, but she could not see anything else. Nothing but a frown he tried to hide behind a quick smile.

  “What is amiss, Anthony?” she asked, trying to smile in return. To conceal how worried she really was. “Except for the fact that we are hurrying to stop another murder in the queen’s garden, of course.”

  He shook his head. “I do worry about you, Kate.”

  Did he? She didn’t want to read more into those words than there really was. “I can look after myself well enough.”

  “You have put yourself in danger again,” he said. “After last winter . . .”

  “I must help the queen when I can,” Kate answered. “In whatever small way possible.”

  “Queen Elizabeth has no more loyal subject than I, as well,” Anthony said. “I have been most glad to help you in these searches, Kate. I confess it makes me feel—alive, as dusty law books cannot.” The smile that always warmed Kate finally did appear, briefly but long enough for hope. “But if you were seriously hurt, I could not—that is, I think . . .”

  Mistress Macey stirred awake just then, and Anthony fell silent. Kate leaned back against the pile of blankets, her confusion growing until she could barely stand it.

  She wanted to scream and throw something, just like the queen; she knew that explosive feeling, when it was all just too much.

  The gates at Nonsuch finally came into view. Kate’s gaze frantically took in the fanciful towers of the castle, where the queen’s standard fluttered, and the white sea of tents beyond glowed in the darkness. Everything seemed quiet, peaceful. No clouds of smoke hung over the ramparts; no screams split the air. It was as if nothing but joy and pleasure had ever hidden behind those walls.

  But Kate knew that so often serenity hides the worst sins.

  “The queen is at the hunt,” the gatekeeper said as he let them in. “They’ll all be in the forest hours yet.”

  Kate nodded. If Queen Elizabeth was hunting, surely Robert Dudley would be near her and she would be safe enough. But where was Master Roland? Where would he leap next in his murderous desperation? He seemed mad enough to do anything now.

  “Has one of the queen’s ladies come this way today?” Kate asked. “Lady Anne Godwin? She surely would have been ahorse, riding fast.”

  The man scratched his head. “Aye, there was a lady earlier. Said she had been on an urgent errand for Her Majesty.”

  Kate nodded grimly and gestured for the cart driver to move on. Anne had been through hours ago, more than enough time for Anne and Roland to plan their next move.

  As they rolled to a stop in the courtyard, Kate saw that the house really was very quiet. Too quiet? There were only a few servants going about their business.

  “We must find them,” she said urgently. “But there are so many hidey-holes . . .”

  “I will start with the kitchens,” Mistress Macey said stoutly, climbing down from the cart with her sleeping babe on her shoulder and determination written on her face. She had certainly proven herself to be a woman of sense on the journey—and of resolve to find her husband and take her revenge on Lady Anne. Kate was most glad of her help.

  “I will search the chambers upstairs,” Kate said. Starting with her own. Hopefully Lady Anne would be careless and leave some clue there.

  “How will you get up there?” Anthony said.

  Kate looked up at him, setting her chin stubbornly. He could not know it, but she was a Boleyn—and Boleyn women could accomplish whatever they set their minds to. That thought steeled her resolve all over again. “I will find a walking stick.”

  “Bloody-minded woman,” he muttered. Before she knew what he was about, he swung her down from the cart into his arms and carried her into the house, past the giggles of maidservants, none of whom had seen Lady Anne.

  “Which way?” he said, and Kate guided him to her own small chamber, glad of his strength against her. She could never have moved so fast without him now, even with Boleyn resolve.

  The room was empty, of course, with no sign of Lady Anne or of Violet. The beds were neatly made, the clothes chests pushed against the walls. But a dark cloak, splashed with mud, was tossed on Lady Anne’s bed.

  And in the middle of Kate’s counterpane, pierced down with a dagger, was a hastily penned note.

  I have Violet in the temple by the lake. Come fetch her alone—if you dare.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  The temple was the same one Kate had studied when she sat beside the lake with Rob Cartman after they first came to Nonsuch. Was it only a fortnight ago? It seemed a century. The classical-style building was small, round, and enclosed, and marble pillars lined the outside walkway.

  Today, the walkway, like the whole lake, was deserted. Everyone was at the queen’s hunt. The boats were moored along the shore, and the bench where she’d sat with Rob was empty. Silence like this, with sunlight spangled between the trees and swans gliding in pale serenity along the water, was eerie.

  How could such wickedness lurk there? Kate could see no sign of Violet. She leaned on her newly acquired walking stick and studied the stony silence of the temple.

  “Kate,” Anthony said warningly. “Let me fetch the queen’s guards now. This is no matter for you, for a lady.”

  Kate shook her head. She thought of Violet, of her sweet smile, her good, simple heart, her love for Master Green. Violet had been Kate’s
friend, and she had few enough of those in the world. She couldn’t abandon Violet now.

  “The note said I should come alone if I wanted to help Violet,” she said. She looked up at Anthony, and he studied her with such doubt and caution on his handsome face. “You should wait here, keep watch for me.”

  He gave her a grim smile. “If you are determined to leap from this cliff, I will go with you. I won’t let you go in there alone.”

  Kate nodded, secretly glad he was with her. That she was not indeed alone. She started slowly toward the waiting temple. Her leg still hurt with every step, but she was determined to see this to the end. Too many had been hurt by greedy schemes, by fear and panic. She couldn’t let it go any further.

  Anthony walked close behind her, a solid, warm, reassuring presence as she climbed the stone steps to the covered walkway. The door was closed and she could hear nothing beyond it. She felt the weight of the dagger at her wrist, the brass head of the stick in her other hand, and they gave her another measure of courage.

  She reached out and pushed the door open.

  A low sob echoed in the small, round space. The ceiling was high, domed, covered with buckram painted in a pattern of stars and moons on a dark azure background. It caught and distorted every sound. The only light came from a lamp set on a low table.

  Kate quickly took in the scene before her, trying to pretend it was merely a set piece in one of Rob Cartman’s plays. That the people were not real, only characters.

  She wasn’t entirely able to convince herself.

  Violet sat on a low stool beside the curved wall, her skirts spread around her like red rose petals. Her golden curls were loose and tangled, her face buried in her hands as her shoulders shook with sobs, just as Mistress Macey’s had. Kate felt a wave of burning anger that anyone should so threaten these women, should drag them down so violently into tangled plots that were none of their own doing.

  And Master Roland did this to his own sister. He stood over Violet, his sword in his hand, shouting at her as she cried. Lady Anne was there, too, her gown torn and muddied, her hands held out as if she beseeched her lover for mercy he had gone too far to give. Behind her, huddled in a heap on the floor, was Master Macey, his hands bound behind his back and his mouth gagged. So Roland had found him after all and dragged him here in some futile attempt to find that book. Macey was not unconscious, despite a bleeding cut on his brow, and his eyes widened above the gag.

  Roland spun around at the click of the heavy door, his sword raised. The fine courtier, Lord Arundel’s loyal servant in his velvet clothes, was gone, and a wild madman stood in his place, with hair tangled over his face and reddened eyes. “I told you to come alone, you stupid wench.”

  “Did you think I would allow her to face a murderer all alone?” Anthony said, his voice low and furious, though he held himself still.

  Roland gave a harsh laugh. “It matters not, I suppose.”

  “Please, Master Roland,” Kate said softly. “I have only come to see about Violet. Let me take her back to the queen. She has nothing to do with this—she is your own sister. I am sure you cannot want to hurt her.”

  Roland looked down at the crying Violet, his face gray and harsh. He laughed again, and it was not a reassuring sound.

  “Kate!” Violet cried. She did not look at her brother but directly at Kate, frantically. “He is the reason why Master Green is in gaol. He dragged me here and won’t listen to me at all. I’m so frightened! I don’t understand any of this. . . .”

  “Kate is right,” Lady Anne said, her own voice just slightly off the edge of panic. “You must let Violet go, Thomas. Come away with me now. We can run to France or Spain.”

  “France?” Master Roland growled. His face twisted in fury. “After all my work here, my sacrifices? I have been trying to build a life for us here. What use would France be?” He spun around and paced away from his crying sister, from Anne’s pleas, his sword hanging loosely in his hand. He banged it against the stone wall, making Anne cower in the corner, sobbing as if her formidable will had at last broken. “We were so very close . . .”

  “Keeping Violet and Master Macey here will only make matters worse in the eyes of Lord Arundel, or the queen,” Kate said. She struggled to stay calm despite everyone else’s panic, her thoughts racing. She had to somehow get them all out of there, safe and alive. “What has your sister to do with any of this? What can I do to persuade you to let us leave now?”

  “You are the one who has Dr. Macey’s notebook,” Roland said, rounding on her with his sword raised. “The page boy said Constable sent you a message. Where is it?”

  Kate thought of the horoscopes, the book, tucked in her trunk. At least, she hoped with all her might they were still there. “Master Constable did send me a message, but not about any notebooks. I know not of what you speak.”

  “Don’t lie to me!” Roland shouted. The sword crashed down with a clatter, and Violet sobbed even harder. “I have had enough of courtly lies, of people who think they can take my coin and double-cross me. Violet, my own sister, refuses to marry my choice for her, as a dutiful woman should. Constable took money to persuade the queen that the spirits urged her to marry Lord Arundel, and he did not. He vowed to pay me back with the book, so I could decipher Dr. Macey’s alchemical secrets for myself.”

  “I have no such book,” Kate repeated, pushing down her own growing desperation. “It was merely my horoscope Constable sent me. Surely such a book no longer exists at all.”

  “So this varlet says,” Roland said, kicking out at Master Macey with his boot.

  “Brother, you must stop this, I beg you!” Violet sobbed.

  “Be silent!” Roland roared. “I will have no more lies. I will have my due—now.”

  He suddenly charged toward Kate, the sword raised high. She instinctively ducked away, and her injured leg gave way beneath her. She fell heavily to the hard stone floor with a cry. She twisted around in time to see Anthony counter Roland’s blade thrust with one of his own, from a short sword she didn’t even know he carried.

  Kate shoved away the waves of pain that threatened to overwhelm her and pushed herself to her feet. Roland and Anthony fought in a blur of shining swords in the faint lamplight, and she could barely see who was who, who shed blood. She knew she had to move quickly.

  She shook free her own dagger and cut Master Macey’s bonds. As he disentangled himself, she spun away and grabbed Violet’s arm to pull her up from the stool. Kate pushed the hilt of her dagger into Violet’s hand and clutched at her stick as her last weapon.

  “Macey, take Violet and run,” she said, trying frantically to see what was happening in Anthony’s fight. If her friend was hurt now, because of her . . .

  “Stop this, now!” Lady Anne screamed. Before Kate could stop her, she raised the heavy oil lamp from the table and hefted it at the two struggling men. The glass shattered with a deafening crack, and flames shot up the painted curves of the walls.

  The screams and cries became overwhelming, a wild cacophony Kate couldn’t even begin to decipher.

  The small space swiftly filled with clouds of dark gray smoke, thick and choking with a sulfurous scent from the paint. Flames crackled and spit, but Kate could barely see a foot ahead of her. She choked on that nauseating smell and pressed her doublet sleeve to her nose to try to breathe.

  She reached out blindly and grabbed Violet’s hand again. Her friend held on to her tightly as they inched their way forward.

  Through the smoke, Kate heard the terrifying sounds of screams and shouts, the clang of metal.

  “Kate!” she heard Anthony shout through the darkness.

  “I’m here!” she cried back, immeasurably grateful to hear his voice. The pain in her leg, and the thick smoke, made her head swim, and she fought to stay upright. She held out her free hand, dropping her stick, and he grabbed onto her through the smoke.
He pulled her and Violet forward, and suddenly she found herself tumbling from the hellish heat into the light and air of the summer’s evening.

  The three of them fell down on the grassy rise of the lake bank, next to Master Macey, who had also made it out. For one terrible moment, Kate couldn’t see anything at all; her eyes stung and darkness swirled in front of her.

  Then she heard Violet scream, and she whirled around to see Master Roland emerging from the flames that shot out of the temple. He was scarcely recognizable at all now, so blackened and wild was he.

  The domed roof gave a creaking noise, slow at first, then louder and more horrible until it was all she could hear, all she knew. Slowly, eaten away from the inside by the fire, it caved in on itself.

  “Anne!” Roland shouted, the most agonized cry Kate had ever heard. He plunged back into the inferno. The roof crashed in, taking the stone pillars down with it, and Roland and Lady Anne were both lost in the triumphant red-orange crackle.

  Violet cried out and took one stumbling, running step toward the temple, before Anthony grabbed her arm and pulled her back to safety. She fell against his shoulder, sobbing and screaming, and Anthony looked toward Kate. His face was pale and bleak beneath the bleeding cuts and the streaks of soot.

  Kate could only stare numbly at the remains of Lord Arundel’s pretty temple, dedicated to classical love and learning. How ironic. She knew now what had happened to Master Constable, the whole sordid, ambition-centered truth. The unjustly accused Master Green would surely be freed, and Master Macey could continue his father’s work. But at what price?

  “Mistress Haywood!” she heard someone shout. She pushed herself around to find Robert Dudley running toward them, his sword unsheathed. His guards ran after him, but they all stumbled to a halt at the sight of the temple.