It was work she was proud to do, and hoped to continue long into the future.
As they turned into Cheapside, the path took them past the tall, quiet, prosperous-looking house of the attorney Master Hardy, Anthony Elias’s employer. Kate tried not to look, tried not to imagine that Anthony might be at the window with Mistress Derwood, but she couldn’t help but take a peek. The shutters were drawn over the house, not even a servant looking out for a glimpse of the queen, as if the household was away. Kate sighed, half relieved, half disappointed.
She shook her head to clear it, taking in a deep breath of the cold air. It smelled of woodsmoke from dozens of chimneys, spiced cider from the vendor’s cart near the walkway, fresh greenery, and the distant, sour tang that always hung over the city. She couldn’t think about Anthony now, with her energetic horse frisking about and crowds pressing close on all sides. She had to keep her place in the procession, where she could keep watch on the queen, and not fall behind.
On the vast edifice of London Bridge, lined with looming, half-timbered structures of houses and shops that rose against the sky, Elizabeth stopped to listen to a children’s chorus sing a Yuletide song for their queen. They stood on a dais, rows of tiny figures in white robes, silhouetted against the river as Elizabeth leaned closer to listen.
“Blessed be that maid Marie, born was He of her body! Very God ere time began, born in the time of Son of Man.” Their sweet, high voices rang out in the cold air, like glass bells soaring over the earth. Their round little faces, scrubbed clean for this important moment, shone with nervousness, joy, terror, and giddy pleasure.
Kate smiled to see them, for she knew something of what they felt. When she was their age, her father had handed her a lute, specially made for her small hands, and bade her play for Queen Catherine Parr, who had smiled down at her indulgently. In that moment had been born her love of music, of sharing the joy of it with other people. She suddenly wondered if one day she might have a child to teach music to as well, just like those cherubs in their white draperies.
She glanced downriver, toward the chimneys and high walls of Whitehall, and thought of her father there, sitting around the fire with his old friends. How had he felt to see her play for a queen when she was a child? Protective, proud—afraid?
She turned back and found Rob watching her from his horse a few riders down in the procession. He was frowning, as if deep in thought, and then suddenly it turned to a smile when their eyes met. It felt like a touch of golden sun in that gray day, and she couldn’t help but smile back—even as she hoped he did not know what she was thinking about.
She faced ahead again as the children’s song ended, and a little girl with bright red curls stepped forward to shyly hand a bouquet of green herbs to the queen. Lord Macintosh leaned down to take the bouquet and hand it to Elizabeth, who smiled at the girl and murmured a few words that made the child giggle.
In the midst of the lovely scene, Kate’s gaze caught on the heads displayed on pikes high over the entrance to the bridge, a gruesome contrast to the sweet music and joyful cheers. Those empty, dark eye sockets declared silently that all was not entirely merry in the queen’s realm, even at Christmas. Everyone had their secrets, and some led to pikes on the bridge. Kate thought of the drawing left on the queen’s bed, of Queen Catherine’s music pressed into Matthew Haywood’s hands and hidden all these years.
They moved forward again, the long train of horses snaking over the bridge and out of London proper. As they skirted past the twisting lanes of Southwark, Kate glimpsed a tall woman with improbably red hair and a bright green gown standing on the riverbank with a group of other ladies in vivid gowns, and she recognized Mistress Celine from the Cardinal’s Hat brothel. Kate happily waved at them before they were lost to sight in the crowds.
The narrow streets flowed off into snow-dusted fields and hedgerows, with the stone chimneys of farmhouses and fine manors in the distance. The tightly packed procession, so carefully lined up at Whitehall, fanned out as couples and groups found each other for laughing conversations and quick whispers. Kate saw Lady Catherine Grey whispering with Lord Hertford and his sister, though the queen seemed to take no notice as she laughed with Lord Macintosh.
Rob drew his horse alongside hers, and Kate smiled at him. His hunting clothes were more somber than his usual garb, dark red velvet and black leather, but they fit him just as well as his courtly doublets and hose. Yet his eyes seemed to have sleepless dark shadows under them.
“How do you fare today, Rob?” she said, and he cringed at her hearty tone. He had stayed up later than the whole court after the dancing, vanishing somewhere with his new Spanish “friends.” Kate thought it best not to inquire too closely yet.
He managed to rally and gave her a smile. “Better now that I see you, bonny Kate. There is much I need to tell you. Your Spanish acquaintances are an interesting lot.”
Kate’s curiosity was piqued, but there was no time at that moment for him to tell her more. The gates of Greenwich Palace stood open for them as they turned down a wide graveled lane. In the distance, the palace’s redbrick towers loomed against the pearl gray sky. But they turned away from the castle itself, which would be closed and shuttered until the queen’s next residence there in the spring, and rode toward the wide meadows and woods of the Great Park. The winding, sloping fields, so vividly green in the summer, were brown and gray now, streaked with veins of snow. The bare trees stood like black skeletons, frosted with sparkling diamond ice. It would surely be the last hunt for a while.
But Kate found she didn’t mind the bleak landscape at all. The rush of cold, fresh wind against her cheeks, the crisp country smells, and the open space felt wondrous after long days indoors. It felt free, and made a new song start in her mind.
“Are you thinking of music, Kate?” Rob asked as they all came to halt outside the gamekeeper’s cottage. The Greenwich stewards had to give their formal greeting to the queen before the St. Stephen’s Day fox and the pack of hounds were released.
Kate laughed. “However did you know? The wind sounds like a madrigal. Just listen!”
The fox streaked away across the gray field in a russet blur, and the hounds let out great howls. Elizabeth and Dudley spurred their horses in pursuit, and everyone else galloped behind them. The court became a bright stream of velvets and plumes, darting over the fields and between the trees. The horses’ hooves were like thunder over the frozen ground, and they tossed their glossy manes, as if they were as thrilled as their riders to be set free into the world.
Even Kate, the least enthusiastic rider, had to laugh as she let her horse have its head. The wind caught at her cap and tugged strands of her dark hair from its net. The drawing in the queen’s bedchamber, Queen Catherine’s music, the Spanish and the Scots—they seemed to vanish with the earth that flew away beneath her.
“I’ll race you!” she shouted to Rob, though she was quite sure she could never best him in a ride. He laughed, too, the warm, golden sound carried away on the wind. Their horses neck and neck, they followed the queen to leap over a shallow ravine and skitter around a sharp corner into the Greenwich woods.
The hounds howled in the distance, and the riders turned to follow the beckoning sound. Kate swung her horse around, with Rob close behind her. They galloped deeper into the woods, leaping lightly over fallen logs and ditches, veering between the stark branches of the winter trees. Other riders brushed past, and behind one of the trees Kate caught a glimpse of blue wool trimmed with white fir, golden hair—Lady Catherine, her horse standing still, drawn close to Lord Hertford’s as the two of them talked.
Then they, too, were gone, left behind in a flash of movement.
Suddenly a scream pierced the air, long and high, higher than the wind and the pounding of hooves. Kate almost tumbled from her horse at the shock of the sound. Her heart pounded, but it also felt as if an icy calm lowered over her, and she saw the
woods around them sharper, brighter. That strange calm had come upon her before, in moments of danger.
Another cry rang out, echoing from somewhere in the woods around them, followed by a man’s shout. The other riders nearby pulled up their mounts as they looked around in confusion. Kate’s horse laid back its ears, and she tightened her hold on the reins as she feared it might bolt.
Rob leaned over, even as he drew in his own horse, and grasped her reins to help her slow down and regain her balance in the saddle. He held her protectively close, his lean, athletic body taut as he raised his head to listen carefully.
Kate, too, held her breath as she listened. She tried to decipher where the cries came from, but in the woods sound seemed both very distant and impossibly close.
The men around them drew their daggers and short swords, staying close to the ladies. Kate was glad of the weight of her own blade at her belt, its weight greater than a mere eating knife would be but still light enough to fit her palm. The lessons in using a dagger she had learned from one of Cecil’s guards reassured her.
“What could it be?” she asked Rob quietly. In her mind, she saw again that drawing left in the queen’s chamber.
“Stay close to me, Kate,” Rob answered, his actor’s gaze, trained to miss nothing, sweeping over the confused courtiers around them.
Kate hoped the queen was already sheltered and safe inside Greenwich Palace. Elizabeth had been close to Robert Dudley at the start of the hunt, and surely he would not let the merest hint of harm touch her. Would he?
But what if it was the queen who had screamed?
Kate shook her head, enveloped in a haze of confusion. Everything felt most unreal, as if she were caught in a bad dream, or a masque gone horribly awry. The woods, so full of freedom and adventure only a moment ago, were suddenly dark and menacing.
Kate’s throat felt dry, aching so she could barely swallow, and she nodded. Rob set out on the nearest pathway back to the palace, and Kate spurred her horse to follow him, listening to the distant clamor. The wind tore at her hat, sweeping through the thick velvet of her jacket, and she shivered.
They emerged from the shelter of the woods to find a cluster of courtiers gathered near a low stone wall by a stand of old oak trees. At first glance, it could have been the capture of the hunted fox, but Kate could see the pale fear on the ladies’ faces—and the fury on the men’s, the flash of gray sunlight on their swords. Their horses snorted and tossed their heads restlessly.
Rob grasped Kate’s horse’s bridle again, holding her close as they edged cautiously nearer. They came to a halt just beyond the tangled edge of the crowd.
For a moment, Kate could see nothing—the knot of frightened people and horses was too close. But then it parted, and she glimpsed Elizabeth and Dudley, their horses drawn up beneath one of the bare winter trees. Dudley held his dagger aloft, unsheathed, and was shouting something in furious tones, but Queen Elizabeth just stared straight ahead as if frozen, her face stark white.
Kate followed her stare—and a cry escaped before she could catch it. Hanging from one of the branches was a poppet, with bright red silk yarn hair crowned with an elaborate gold wire diadem, and wearing a fine white satin gown streaked with what looked like blood. In the crook of one arm, the doll held a baby, also with red hair.
Pinned to the bodice was a piece of parchment, written in stark black letters, the same as on the drawing that was found in the queen’s chamber—The Lady Beth.
Dudley rose up in his stirrups, slashing out with his dagger to cut the horrible thing down. It tumbled to the frosty ground, landing in a red-and-white jumble. The hounds crept closer to it, baying and snuffling, but even they wouldn’t touch it. Surely it reeked of evil, of some traitorous intent.
More guards in the queen’s livery came galloping over the crest of the hill from Greenwich. As they surrounded Elizabeth in an impenetrable wall, she rode away, leaving one of the men to scoop up the poppet and wrap it in a rag.
Kate glimpsed Senor Vasquez at the edge of the crowd, his face ashen beneath his beard. To her surprise, Lord Macintosh of the Scots delegation was beside him, and leaned toward him to say something. Senor Vasquez scowled.
Catherine Grey edged her horse close to Kate’s. “Kate, are you ill?” she cried. “Your cheeks are so pale.”
And Lady Catherine’s were too pink. Because of Lord Hertford? Or something worse?
Kate shook her head. “I just fell behind in the hunt, and then caught up to find—this.” She gestured to the ground where the crumpled doll had fallen.
Lady Catherine shuddered. “My cousin does have many enemies indeed. It’s easy to forget how many still hate the Tudors on a fine day like this. One sees a tiny glimpse of freedom, and then . . .”
Lady Catherine bit her lip, and Kate wondered what freedom she sought. She shivered, and realized the wind had turned even colder. She had forgotten what dangers were out there for a moment, and she should not have.
Rob seemed to see her shiver, and he reached out to cover her gloved hand with his for a moment.
Lord Hertford drew near to them, his gaze never leaving Lady Catherine’s face. “Come, ladies, let me see you to Greenwich Palace,” he said. “The queen has been taken to her privy chamber, and the steward is preparing a fire in one of the rooms for her ladies until you can be taken back to Whitehall.”
“You do seem rather knowledgeable about our change in arrangements,” Lady Catherine said tartly, not looking at him. Had they had some quarrel? But she followed him toward the waiting palace, the other ladies hurrying after them. Kate glanced back to see Rob riding off with the guards, and she followed the ladies into the palace.
* * *
“I am no shivering coward!” Queen Elizabeth shouted. “I will not let some ridiculous mischief ruin my Christmas.”
As her ladies looked on, Elizabeth slammed her fist down on the table that had been hastily prepared for her in the Greenwich sitting room. A pitcher of wine crashed over, spilling a horrible, bloodlike splash of dark red onto the bare floorboards. The ladies cried out, and a maidservant scrambled to mop it up.
Cecil leaned on his walking stick, a look of long-suffering patience on his prematurely lined face. He knew to let Elizabeth burn out her temper.
Kate hoped she could be as patient as he was. He would surely prevail upon the queen to have more care now, even if he couldn’t persuade her to his argument of curtailing the elaborate Christmas festivities to see to her safety. At least until the threatening villain, who seemed capable of creeping into the queen’s own palaces—even into her chambers—was caught.
Which Elizabeth had said would surely not be long, since Robert Dudley and his men were tearing the Greenwich fields up even at that very moment. Dudley had organized the hunt himself; he would let no one ruin it.
“Your Grace,” Cecil said softly, “none could ever accuse you of being a shivering coward. But it is not wise to go among crowds when there is some plot at work so close to you.”
“Plot!” Elizabeth scoffed. “It was hardly a plot, I am sure. Just a bit of holiday mischief, perhaps directed at Robin and his carefully planned hunt. He could certainly stand to be taken down a peg or two.”
“I cannot disagree with Your Grace about that,” Cecil said wryly. His antipathy toward the flamboyant and obviously ambitious Dudley had long been well known, and anything that removed him from the queen’s close favor for even a short time would be welcome to Cecil. “Yet we cannot be sure this was merely a prank. The fact that they have managed to infiltrate the gates of one of the royal palaces is most alarming. With the Spanish, and the French with the Queen of Scots all so close . . .”
“Do not speak to me yet again of the Queen of Scots! I am sick of her name. She is all anyone thinks of. Can I not enjoy my Christmas at least without her interfering?”
“I fear we cannot stop her interferi
ng,” Cecil said. “She is a constant threat. And surely she knows you have received the Scots rebels by now.”
Elizabeth shot a glance toward her ladies, who were listening most avidly. “We will speak of this later, Cecil. In the meantime, we must bide our time until Robin tells us it is safe to ride back to Whitehall. Ladies, shall we play a hand of primero? And Kate, mayhap you will fetch more wine?”
“Of course, Your Grace,” Kate said quickly. As she hurried out the door, she saw Lady Catherine sit down with the queen, shuffling the cards between her pale hands.
She didn’t know Greenwich very well, though its halls and chambers were not as labyrinthine as those of Whitehall, and most of the rooms were empty of furniture until the queen’s next official visit. It took her a while to find the kitchens and send a servant with more wine and refreshments to the queen. On her own way back to the sitting room, she found a small table by one of the doors to the garden, its cloth blown about by a breeze from the half-open portal.
She rushed to close and lock it, remembering Cecil’s concern that whoever the note-leaving culprit was, he had found a way to creep into the queen’s own palaces and chambers. Before she swung the window shut, she glimpsed Sir Robert Dudley and a few of his men on horseback, outlined at the crest of a hill against the gray sky. Sir Robert gestured angrily, his men nodding, before he spurred his horse forward. It seemed they had not yet found whoever left the note.
As she turned away, she saw there was a small basket on the table, halfway covered by the cloth. Inside, she caught a glimpse of a silvery shimmer, a flash of red, and she shivered when she realized it was the poppet that had been hanging from the tree. It seemed someone had left it there, half-forgotten, as if no one wanted to be near it for very long.
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