Murder at Whitehall

by Amanda Carmack

  Kate laughed at herself. S’blood, but she was surely becoming as adept at being a courtier-performer as Rob Cartman! He would laugh at that. The queen had said he would be summoned to help with the holiday revels, and she was excited and nervous to think of seeing him again. What if he regretted giving her the necklace?

  Kate pushed away the image of Rob’s smile from her mind. There was no time for such daydreaming now. There was much work to be done in preparing the masque, waiting for her father to arrive, and keeping an eye on the flighty Lady Catherine Grey for the queen. There was not a moment to be lost. And Kate still had to pick the play.

  “It will have to be only grown-up gods and goddesses, then, and they must stay earthbound,” Kate said. “And it shall have to be a tale everyone already knows, with so little time to practice. But which one?”

  “The queen always loves tales of Diana, the virgin huntress,” Violet said.

  Kate bit her lip uncertainly. The queen did like Diana, but Kate couldn’t help but recall what had happened when they were rehearsing a tale of the virgin goddess at Nonsuch Palace last summer.

  Yet Violet was right. Everyone always liked such stories, with gods and tempests and feuds and happy endings, and there would be plenty of roles for the ladies-in-waiting to show off in their goddess draperies. “I suppose we could do Diana and Niobe, two goddesses who end up living in royal amity like Queen Elizabeth and Queen Mary.”

  “And you could use that fanfare you wrote for ‘The Coronation of Juno’ last spring, when Queen Elizabeth welcomed the French ambassador,” Violet said.

  They made a list of other songs that could be refashioned and costumes that could be cobbled together. As they were finishing, there was a burst of laughter at the end of the gallery, and a group of some of the younger courtiers went tumbling past, a jumble of velvets and furs and plumes. Kate glanced up to see Lady Jane Seymour, arm in arm with another maid of honor, the two of them giggling with their handsome suitors.

  Catherine Grey trailed after them with one of her dogs in her arms and another at her heels. That was rather strange—she was usually leading them toward whatever mischief they sought. Now she followed, looking as if she would rather be somewhere else, a dark blue cloak over her black gown and a fur cap on her pale hair.

  “Mistress Haywood,” she called as she walked past and glimpsed Kate’s desk. “We are to go ice skating, since Will Percy says the river is finally frozen through. Would you care to come with us?”

  Kate sensed Violet’s astonished gaze on her, and she herself was scarcely less surprised. She had had only one chat with Lady Catherine; was it so easy to keep an eye on her for the queen, then? “It’s been so long since I’ve skated, Lady Catherine. I fear I would slow you down.”

  “Oh, nay!” Lady Catherine cried. “It is wondrous easy, I promise, and the fresh air seems much needed of late. I will help you with your work when we get back, if you like. Perhaps you would come too, Lady Violet?”

  Violet laughed. “Oh, I am in no condition to skate, Lady Catherine. But I agree you should make Kate go with you. She has been working much too hard today.”

  Kate glanced at the window. It was a gray day, but clear, no snow or ice, and she had to admit it would be nice to take some time away from the stuffy great hall and the play in the fresh air. And the queen had asked her to watch over Lady Catherine. . . .

  “Very well,” she said with a laugh. “I will go skating.”

  * * *

  The cold air snapped at Kate’s cheeks, whipping her cloak around her as she wondered if this was such a good idea, even to keep watch on Lady Catherine. Whitehall was warm, with lots of fireplaces to huddle next to, music waiting to be practiced, mending to be done. Surely if she had been sensible, she would have stayed there?

  But at the palace there wouldn’t be the fresh, powdery snow, the faint sunlight peeking through the pale gray clouds, and free, easy-sounding laughter. Here, away from the constantly watchful eyes of the court, everything felt lighter. Simpler.

  She listened to Lady Catherine and her friends laughing, watched two of the gentlemen throwing snowballs at each other, and she realized how solemn her days had become of late. Music was wonderful, but it was also work, and Whitehall was a confusing place at times. The cold wind and carefree laughter seemed like a delicious, secret little escape. They left the crowded streets of the city behind to find a quiet spot around the bend of the river.

  Lady Catherine glanced back and waved at Kate. “What think you of this spot, Mistress Haywood?”

  Kate studied the small clearing they had found, downriver from the palace and London Bridge, beyond the most crowded lanes but still full of people seeking just the same sort of winter escape. The river was a pale silvery blue, frosted with white at the edges, and she hoped it really was quite frozen through.

  She sat next to Lady Catherine and Lady Jane Seymour where they perched on a fallen log covered by an old blanket. At their feet was a hamper, filled with purloined delicacies from the palace kitchens, which Lady Catherine sorted through and laid out on a napkin.

  “Ah, marzipan!” Lady Catherine cried. “And cold beef pies, manchet bread—even wine. Very well done, Juno.”

  Lady Jane laughed nervously, and dabbed at her pinkened nose with a handkerchief. “I did feel so terrible filching them. But no one seemed to notice, so I suppose all is well.”

  “Surely they are all too busy preparing for tonight’s feast to notice one or two little things, or a few courtiers, missing,” Lady Catherine said. She popped a morsel of marzipan into her mouth. “Here, Mistress Haywood, have some wine. It will soon warm us.”

  “Thank you,” Kate said. She sipped at the goblet Lady Catherine handed her, careful not to gulp down too much. Comfortable and informal the outing might be, but it would never do to lose her head around people like Catherine Grey and her friends.

  The men had finished building the fire on the frosty riverbank, and it crackled and snapped merrily as they laughed together and slapped each other on the back before fetching their skates.

  “Hmm,” Lady Catherine scoffed, even though she smiled, “they act as if they were the first men to discover fire.”

  “Better than letting us freeze here,” Kate said with a laugh.

  “Will you skate today, Mistress Haywood?” Lord Hertford asked.

  “I think I would only be in your way, my lord,” she answered. “And besides, is our role not to watch and admire?”

  He laughed. “I will always be grateful for any scraps of admiration you ladies throw my way.” Lady Catherine blushed at his words.

  The other men called for him, and he launched himself onto the ice beside them in one long, smooth glide that Kate had to admit was rather adept. He looped around in long, lazy-seeming patterns, backward and forward again. He left smooth scores in the ice, unbroken lines and circles that showed the precision and grace of his movements.

  “Such show-offs,” Lady Jane said. She and Lady Catherine leaned against each other as they giggled. Kate definitely agreed with that—but at least today they were amusing show-offs, well away from causing trouble for the queen.

  The ladies nibbled at the pies and ginger cakes as they made bets on the men’s races, the wind still catching at their hair and hems. Kate watched them, laughing, as the passersby stopped to see who was skating on the ice in such finery.

  Kate glanced over her shoulder as one group paused on the shoveled pathway, and was startled to see a familiar face among them. Anthony Elias, whom she had not seen in many weeks, walked with them, a lady on his arm. She was very pretty, small and birdlike in her blue velvet and pale fur, with dark auburn hair and blue eyes in a freckled, dimpled face. Anthony laughed at something she said, but the sound died on his lips as he glimpsed Kate sitting there.

  For an instant, she remembered other days. Walking down country lanes near Hatfield with
Anthony; searching for clues to finding some of the queen’s enemies in dusty libraries and hidden alchemical labs. His gentle laughter. He had been such a good friend to her.

  But then she remembered the words of his employer, the lawyer Master Hardy, who had stated that the right wife was essential in building a career in the law. A wife such as Master Hardy’s own, who could run a fine London house and host gatherings that advanced her husband’s friendships. A quiet, supportive, elegant wife—a woman Kate feared she could never be, not with her new taste for usefulness to the queen and the court.

  And yet her heart still gave a pang when she saw Anthony give a gentle smile to the lady on his arm.

  “Kate,” he said as he made his way to her side to give her a bow. “How good to see you again. You are looking very well.”

  Kate stood up shakily from her place on the log, aware of Lady Catherine watching her with interest. “And you, Anthony. It has been too long.”

  “You no longer need my help, I am sure,” he answered. The lady tugged at his arm, and he smiled down at her. “Kate, this is Mistress Anne Derwood, niece to Mistress Hardy. She has come to stay with her aunt and see a bit of London. Mistress Derwood, this is Mistress Haywood, who is a musician to Queen Elizabeth.”

  “To the queen!” Mistress Derwood cried, her eyes sparkling. “How very exciting. I long to see her. They say she is most astoundingly beautiful.”

  “So she is,” Kate answered. “She is to go out to a hunt at Greenwich in a few days. I am sure she will pass the Hardys’ home in her procession, if you care to watch for her.”

  “Oh, Anthony, aye! We must,” Mistress Derwood said. “I would so love to hear more of your life at court, Mistress Haywood.”

  “We are to meet your aunt soon,” Anthony reminded her. “And Kate is obviously occupied with her—friends.” His gaze swept over Lady Catherine and her friends, the plumed and bejeweled men on the ice. “We must not take up her time.”

  “Of course not,” Mistress Derwood agreed quickly. “Good day, Mistress Haywood. I hope we shall meet again.”

  “Good day, Kate,” Anthony said. “It is wonderful to see you looking so happy.”

  Kate watched them stroll away, a bittersweet feeling falling over the brightness of the day. She had always known that only friendship was possible for Anthony and her; why would it make her feel so wistful now?

  “Is that a friend of yours, Mistress Haywood?” Lady Catherine asked as she rose from the log and moved carefully to Kate’s side. Her eyes were wide, and much too sympathetic.

  Kate made herself smile brightly. “He used to live near us at Hatfield. He is an attorney, or will be soon. The lady is a niece of his employer’s wife.”

  “He is handsome enough, but there are many men at court who would far outshine him,” Lady Catherine said. “Come, shall we make a small wager on the skating race? Then we must find a nice, warm tavern before we go back to Whitehall, I am quite longing to dry out my poor feet. . . .”

  * * *

  The public room of the Rose and Crown Inn was crowded and noisy with prosperous-looking travelers, a warm haven against the frost of the day, with a fire crackling in two grates and a large bowl of spiced wine warming over the flames.

  Lord Hertford quickly found them an empty table, or rather a table was quickly cleared for them, at the far end of the room near the warmth of the fireplace. A maidservant brought pitchers of spiced wine and platters of warm beef pies and ginger cakes, which everyone snatched up amid much laughter and declarations of how hungry they were after the exercise.

  Everyone but Kate. She slid onto a seat at the end of the bench and tried to let the cheerful fire warm her, yet the heat of it wouldn’t quite reach her numb fingers and toes. The merry scene around her couldn’t erase the image of Anthony and that pretty young lady on his arm.

  Kate took a deep drink of the wine, hoping it would wash away her foolish feelings. She hadn’t seen Anthony in months; certainly she had no claim on him, nor he on her. They had been friends once, when they both lived near Hatfield House while Elizabeth was a princess and Queen Mary on the throne, and he had often helped Kate when she needed to find documents to help the queen. His law studies took him where she could not go. Once, she had even imagined . . .

  But nay, that could not be. Anthony needed the right sort of wife to help him. Someone quiet and pretty, who knew how to run a fine house and entertain patrons. A wife like Mistress Hardy, in fact.

  Or like Mistress Hardy’s niece.

  Kate had always known she could not be that sort of wife. She liked the changing scene of the royal court, the excitement and movement, and even the intrigue. She loved her music, and the chance to play it for the queen and her courtiers, people who knew and appreciated the art of it. She had never learned how to run a household, as most ladies did. Nor did she really want to learn.

  But sometimes—just sometimes—life was lonely, and someone to laugh with next to the fire after a long day would be nice.

  She took another sip of her wine, and the warmth at last began to seep into her heart. She listened to the laughter around her, the chatter about the Christmas season at court, and it made her laugh, too. This was the life she had been raised to, the life she had chosen. She just needed to remind herself of that sometimes.

  She suddenly felt a gentle touch on her arm, and turned to find Lady Catherine smiling at her. Lady Catherine had scarcely taken her gaze from Lord Hertford since he arrived, and her eyes still glowed with a happiness she couldn’t conceal when she was with him, yet her smile was concerned.

  “Are you quite well, Mistress Haywood?” she whispered.

  “I am very well,” Kate answered. She made herself laugh again, a careless laugh she had learned from the queen, and hoped she was becoming better at courtly concealment than Lady Catherine was. “Merely cold, I think.”

  Lady Catherine frowned. “But that man we saw by the river, the one you spoke to. I thought he might be your—well, he was very handsome.”

  “I told you, Lady Catherine, he is an old friend. I knew him when I lived at Hatfield House. I haven’t seen him in a long time.”

  “Are you sure that is all?”

  Kate nodded firmly. “Quite sure, Lady Catherine.”

  Lady Catherine looked as if she wanted to say something more, but Lord Hertford claimed her attention. “I fear the wine is gone, my dear Lady Catherine,” he said. “How shall we play a game of snapdragon without it?”

  “I will go fetch more,” Kate said quickly. Her concealing smile could be held for only a few moments longer, she feared. An errand would give her a quiet moment.

  Before Lady Catherine could stop her, Kate slid away from the table and made her way through the crowded room. She heard snatches of all sorts of languages as she passed the crowded tables, German, Spanish, French, Dutch. She found the maidservant in a long narrow dark hallway leading to the stairs. The girl seemed rushed and red-faced, but she cheerfully stopped to take Kate’s order for more wine.

  “Of course, mistress, right away,” she said. “I do like it when the queen’s own courtiers come here—their clothes are always so lovely.”

  “Do they come here often?” Kate asked.

  “When the queen is at Whitehall Palace, mistress. We are near to there but not so far, especially for the gentlemen, if you know what I mean,” the maidservant said with a laugh and a wink.

  Kate nodded. The queen encouraged flirtation at court, but only if it was centered on her own royal person, and she always watched everyone around her with the keen attention of a hawk. At an inn, lords and ladies could laugh together freely—and the men could look for other distractions, as well. Kate had glimpsed such things often enough, in the darkened corners of the palace and at places like the Cardinal’s Hat in Southwark, run by her friend Mistress Celine.

  “It should make things quite intere
sting,” she murmured.

  The maid studied Kate’s fur-trimmed red cloak and fine Spanish leather boots. “But you’re from the queen’s court yourself, aren’t you, mistress?”

  “My father is a musician to the queen,” Kate answered. She often found it was much easier to say that than explain how she came to be a court musician herself.

  The maid’s eyes widened. “Music? We do love a good song here, though we don’t get to hear it as much as we like, unless you count it when the customers get ale-shot and sing bawdy chants. The Spanish gentlemen seem to like that sort of thing more than anyone.”

  Kate laughed, trying to imagine Bishop de Quadra and his black-clad retainers singing bawdy songs. She could almost picture the new secretary Senor Gomez doing that, but not his solemn friend Senor Vasquez.

  “But we do have a lady staying here now who plays the lute very finely,” the maid said. “I like to stand outside her room and listen when I can. I would get my ear twisted by the landlady if she knew, though.”

  “A lady who plays the lute?” Kate thought of the crowd she had passed in the great room, the prosperous-looking travelers with their cacophony of languages. “Is she the wife of one of those merchants I saw in the great room?”

  “Nay, that is the odd thing, mistress.” The maid glanced over her shoulder, as if to make sure the inn’s ear-twisting landlady was nowhere in sight. When she saw they were alone in the dim corridor, she leaned closer and whispered, “She is dressed very fine, but she stays all alone up there in her room. A gentleman brought her here almost a fortnight ago, and left a large purse to pay for her keep, but we haven’t seen him since.”

  “How very odd.” Kate was rather intrigued. It sounded like a poem or a play, a fine lady left in distress, waiting for a knight to ride to her rescue. Perhaps she was a kidnapped princess, spirited away from her home, or a runaway bride. Most interesting.