Suddenly an image struck her memory, and she sat straight up. The sleeve of the arm that pushed her had been dark but decorated with a line of buttons. Silver buttons. Something like the one hidden in her clothes chest, but without that fine braided edge.
It seemed she definitely needed to pay a visit to Master Lucas the goldsmith.
CHAPTER 17
Mad Henry was at his post again as Kate approached the Cardinal’s Hat. Even though it was the middle of the day, the quiet time for Southwark, he vigilantly watched the passersby with impassive eyes, his arms crossed over his leather jerkin.
“Good morrow, Master Henry,” Kate greeted him. “I trust all has been well here of late?”
“’Tis you again, is it, mistress?” he said, with not a flicker of surprise to see her. She had worn her boy’s garb again, to move more easily around Southwark. If she had shown up in a court gown, mayhap he wouldn’t even have known her! “Aye, things have been quiet enough. Just the usual trouble. We hear tell that hasn’t been so at the queen’s fine court.”
“Aye, a lady was killed the night of the coronation banquet, I fear. I had a few more questions for Bess, if she is not, er, occupied.”
There was finally a spark of something in Mad Henry’s flat eyes. He shifted on his massive booted feet. “You think poor Nellie and this court lady are connected?”
“I am not sure,” Kate answered. “Probably not. But she and Nell did share a certain look about them. I just want to be sure before anyone else gets hurt.”
Mad Henry nodded. “Bess is in her room with that actor fellow. He’s always hanging about now, the bastard. Go around up the outside stairs, no one will bother you.”
“Thank you, Master Henry.” Kate hurried around to the back of the house. The stairs were rickety wood, hastily built against the plastered wall and facing the yard with its midden heap. But it was indeed private, with no one to watch her hurry past but the chickens scratching about in the dirt.
She ran up the creaking stairs, quick in her boy’s garb, and knocked on the door. Bess pulled it open. Her bright red hair spilled in tangled waves over her shoulders, and she wore a yellow satin dressing gown, which she quickly drew up over her shoulders.
“Mistress Haywood,” she said in surprise. “What has happened?”
“I’m sorry to come without sending a message, Bess, but so much has happened in the last few days and time is getting away from us,” Kate said. “I only have a few questions. I won’t take up much of your time.”
“You’d best come in, then.” Bess opened the door wider and let Kate slip into the chamber.
Rob sat by the fireplace, tugging on his linen shirt. Kate had a quick glimpse of his bare chest, gleaming smooth and gold in the firelight, and she could feel her cheeks turning warm despite the cold day outside. She wasn’t quite sure where to look, and she turned away to study the room.
The narrow bed was rumpled, the blankets tossed back, and the remains of a meal sat on the one table. Before she looked elsewhere, Kate noticed that Rob wore only a pair of loose breeches, no boots, and she saw the muddy footwear was kicked under the edge of the bed. The dirt was dried, so he hadn’t been anywhere for a while. A doublet hung on a hook next to Bess’s red satin gown. It was plain purple-black cloth, no decorative buttons.
“Kate,” Rob said. “Is aught amiss? Have you discovered anything yet?”
“Not very much,” Kate admitted. “You have heard of Lady Mary Everley at court? She was killed in Westminster Abbey during the coronation banquet.”
“We did hear tell of it,” Rob said. “But surely it can have nothing to do with me? I have been nowhere near court, and never met the lady!”
“Perhaps not,” Kate said. “But Lady Mary was a small, slender redhead, much like Nell.”
“A redhead?” Bess cried, startled in the act of pouring out some wine. The dark red liquid spilled over her hand. “Was Nell killed because she was mistaken for this woman?”
“I don’t know. Probably it is just a coincidence. But I fear I am quite confused by everything,” Kate admitted. And her near-disastrous visit to Durham House had only confused her more. Music she could understand; if done in a logical, proper manner, the notes would come together and yield a harmonious whole. The violence of politics, though, refused to make any sense. And it changed with every instant.
“Perhaps Nell and Lady Mary knew some of the same people,” Kate continued. “I just wanted to ask you more about Nell’s, er, friends.”
Bess frowned as if concentrating, or worried. She perched on the arm of Rob’s chair, her hand placed casually on his shoulder as if they were easily intimate. Kate pushed down on an emotion that felt suspiciously like—jealousy at the sight. Which was absurd. She didn’t care in the least what an actor like Rob did with his own time.
“Perhaps,” Bess said slowly. “But I told you, Mistress Haywood, we don’t usually know their names, even those that come around regular. And I didn’t know all Nellie’s favorites. We shared some of them, but not all.”
“Did you see a man named Henry, mayhap?” Kate dug around in the pouch at her belt and came up with the miniature portrait she had “borrowed” from Lord Everley. She handed it to Bess, who held it up to the grayish light from the window to squint at it. “He was Lady Mary’s brother, and he vanished from court soon after her death. His father says he sent Lord Henry to woo a rich heiress in the country, but ’tis all most suspicious. He was arguing with his sister at the coronation.”
“Aye, I do think I recognize him,” Bess cried. “Likes his wine, he does, and he likes to hear the sound of his own voice. A braggart if there ever was one.”
Kate thought of Henry Everley, and had to agree he was a braggart. But she hadn’t seen him with Edward Seymour and Master St. Long the night she first came to the Cardinal’s Hat. “That does sound like Lord Henry. Has he been here recently?”
Bess shook her head. “I haven’t seen him since Christmastide. He only visited me once or twice anyway, which was fine with me. A bit too rough for my taste. Preferred Meggie, she likes that sort of thing. Killed his own sister, did he? Nasty.”
“But he hasn’t been seen around the Cardinal’s Hat in the last few days?”
“Nay. You could ask Mad Henry, but I ain’t seen him. Have you, Robbie?”
Rob studied the painting. “Not me, but I know the face. He and some of his ruffian friends used to come watch us play sometimes, when we were near Everley Court. Bess is right, he’s fond of his wine. Never even shut up long enough to hear my speech as Prince Hector, which is one of my best.”
“You haven’t seen him since Everley Court, then?” Kate asked. She took back the portrait and carefully tucked it away to slip it back to Lord Everley.
Rob gave a rueful laugh. “Not grand enough for nobility yet, am I? I need a rich new patron now that Lord Ambrose is banished from court.”
“But your troupe played for the queen,” Kate reminded him.
Rob’s handsome face twisted into a scowl. “Without me. I had to hide like a fox.”
Bess kissed the top of his head. “Only till we find out who did this for Nellie,” she said gently. “Then I vow your troupe will be called the Queen’s Men, and too grand for us here at the Cardinal’s Hat.”
“But you can’t perform your plays swinging from a gallows,” Kate said. Though it seemed most unlikely Rob was involved in either Nell’s or Mary’s death, one could never be too careful. The authorities would seize on the easiest, quickest solution, just as the royal coroner had with Mary. Better safe than sorry. And Bess was right—Rob had too great a talent to waste, even if he was a wastrel.
And he was too handsome as well.
“Did Lord Henry’s cousin ever come here, too?” Kate asked. “His name is Richard St. Long, though I don’t have his portrait.”
Bess thought again, her brow creas
ed a bit under the tangled swoop of her dyed hair. Kate was surprised to see that, in the light of day, dressed more simply and with her face paint gone, Bess was quite young and pretty. She couldn’t be much older than Kate’s own nineteen, and she’d said Nell was even younger. The harsh unfairness of it all made Kate angry, and even more determined to find who had done this.
Even if it meant she had to find two murderers now, Nell’s and Mary’s.
“He has his friends he likes to go roistering about with—most of them do,” Bess said. “What is he like?”
“Middling height, strong but not stout,” Kate said. “Dark hair, a bit longer than fashion. Very blue-gray eyes. He doesn’t dress as elaborately as many of the court gentlemen.”
“Poor relation, is he?” Bess said. “Mayhap. This man Lord Henry has sometimes paid for a friend or two as well as himself, and he ain’t stingy with the wine for anyone. I couldn’t say for certain, though. They liked Nell, but they liked the rest of us, too.”
Kate nodded. So Richard St. Long may or may not have come to the Cardinal’s Hat with Henry Everley. Master St. Long seemed most comfortable “roistering about” in Southwark with Edward Seymour, so she would think he had been there. But if she couldn’t yet prove he knew Nell . . .
“What of a tall, lean man with very distinctive gold-colored eyes?” Kate asked. “I think his name might be Walter. He may have favored red-haired ladies.”
“I don’t think so. I would remember eyes like that,” Bess said. “I like blue eyes, anyway, don’t I, Robbie, love?”
Rob laughed as Bess ruffled his golden hair, but he looked thoughtful. “Golden eyes, you say?”
“Aye,” Kate said, suddenly feeling a spark of hope. “Do you know a man like that?”
“Possibly. We played at a country manor once, a place that belonged to a family called Dennis. They had once been allied with the Boleyns, and had fallen on difficult times with Queen Mary. The house was tumbling down, and the lady was quite ill, but she much enjoyed our play. She must have been a beauty once, and she had eyes the color of amber. Cat’s eyes.”
“Did she have a son? What of her lord?”
“Her lord was fat and gouty, Kate, and that was two years ago,” Rob said with a laugh. “He can’t be running around London bashing ladies over the head. And we met no one else there but the servants. I think one of the maids said there was a son who had gone to live abroad or some such thing. Many of the followers of the new faith did back then, you know.”
“Especially if they were allies of the Boleyns,” Kate murmured. “Do you remember anything else? Where was the Dennis manor?”
“Not far from Hanworth, where the Duchess of Somerset lives now. I remember because we also played for her that week. She wasn’t as appreciative of our art as Lady Dennis. Other than that, I remember little, I fear. It was long ago, and we’ve played for many families since then. I wouldn’t have remembered if not for Lady Dennis’s eyes.”
Near Hanworth—and the Dennis family was friends with the Boleyns. “Most interesting. Let me know if you ever remember anything else about them at all, Rob.”
Rob sat forward in his chair, his hands curling into fists. “Do you think the Dennises have something to do with this, Kate?”
Kate shook her head. She wasn’t even sure yet that Mary’s Walter was the same as the Dennis heir, or how they were tied to the Everleys. “It does seem unlikely, doesn’t it? But the Seymours do keep coming around in this matter.”
Bess snorted. “Like a bad guinea, they are. Especially that Lord Hertford.”
Kate looked at her, and almost laughed at the smirk on Bess’s face. “Does Seymour come here often?”
“He’s known at every bawdy house and bear pit in Bankside,” Bess said. “He comes sometimes here to the Cardinal’s Hat, but he doesn’t play favorites between the houses. He’s like your Lord Henry, I think—more in love with himself and his own high place than anything else. I say he should have a care. Look what happened to his uncle Thomas. Got his head on a pike for flirting with royalty.”
Kate remembered Edward Seymour’s handsome dark head bent close to Catherine Grey’s golden one. She would say Bess was right. But the Seymours weren’t known for their great caution. “Does Edward Seymour consider himself to be royalty, too?”
“When he is cup-shot, mayhap. Likes to talk about his aunt the late queen.” Bess laughed harshly. “Queen Jane Seymour was long dead before he came whining into the world, I’d think. Not that it matters to his self-regard. He never swived my Nellie, though. He likes the blondes.”
Blondes like the royal Lady Catherine? “I see. Most interesting.”
“Anyone else you need to know about?”
Kate thought of her other errands, of the evening at Durham House, the ride on the river with Anthony. “Do you have many Spanish customers?”
“We used to have crowds of them,” Bess said. “When King Philip was in England. Couldn’t understand a word any of ’em said, but they paid well enough. Good-looking, too, some of them. Not so many of them around now.”
“Did any of them visit Nell often?”
Bess thought again before she shook her head. “Not especially. There was one man who came sometimes—fair hair he had, and a beard. He always wore a mask. One of the girls said he was King Philip himself in disguise, silly cow. Nell liked that idea, though.”
Kate remembered wild rumors of the Spanish king’s lusty nature, while poor, sad Queen Mary pined for love of him, and let Spanish wickedness spread via the smoke of the Smithfield fires. “Perhaps it was him. But I doubt King Philip has crept back to England to murder ladies.”
“This bearded man, though, he did bring friends with him. One was very handsome indeed, dark—he seldom came near the ladies. Mostly he drank wine and kept a watch on the fair man.”
Could it be Feria? It was said he was the king’s closest confidant. But all that would have been long ago. Kate sighed, deeply discouraged. It seemed the more she examined the tangled skein of this terrible matter, the more opaque it all became. She had to most carefully pick it apart, strand by strand.
“It could be almost anyone, I fear,” she said. “I will come back when I can. In the meantime, Bess, you will talk to the other women and see if they remember any unusual customers of late?”
“Of course I will,” Bess said. “But I think it would be stranger to hear of a man who was not unusual. I’ll do anything to find who did this to my Nellie.”
She suddenly stood up and hurried across the room to rattle at the washbowl, as if to cover a spasm of emotion. Rob looked after with a concerned frown.
“Where do you go now, Kate?” he asked. “Back to court?”
“Soon. First I must visit a goldsmith in Cheapside called Master Lucas,” Kate said. She had the silver button tucked into her pouch with Lord Henry’s portrait.
“I will walk with you,” Rob said. He pushed himself to his feet and reached for his dusty boots.
“Nay, Robbie, ’tis not safe!” Bess cried. She spun around from the washstand, and her face was indeed splotched with tears.
“I need some fresh air, my Bess,” he said. He shrugged into his doublet and raked his tumbled golden hair back from his face. “No one will attack me in daylight in a respectable street like Cheapside. I have to help Kate, if I can. Not cower indoors like the veriest knave.”
Kate looked between Rob and Bess, feeling strangely as if she were in the playhouse, watching a scene. She didn’t want to know what was between Rob and Bess, how many women had fallen violently in love with him. She only knew she could never let herself be one of them.
“Fine, go, then!” Bess said. “Get a dagger between the ribs and see if I care one farthing for it.”
Rob went to her and kissed her cheek. “You won’t lose me as you lost Nell, Bess, I vow it. I must do something now, though. I’ll b
e back for supper, bring some pies or something.”
Bess sniffed. “I might be here and I might not. Some of us have to earn our coin, you know.”
Rob kissed her again, and left the room with Kate. They went down the main corridor rather than the outside staircase, past groups of women standing around whispering and laughing, their bright satin gowns falling from their shoulders, their hair tangled down their backs. Any one of them could be Nell. All of them deserved to make their own lives.
A plump woman laced tightly into a faded green silk gown stood in the small front hall talking with Mad Henry. She had hair of an even brighter red than Bess’s, piled high atop her head and fastened with fine Spanish ebony combs. But her lined face, heavily rouged, showed her to be at least two decades Bess’s senior. Her blue-gray, slightly slanted eyes, rimmed with kohl, must have once been her great beauty. Now they were bloodshot, dull, hard with all she must have seen in so many years in Southwark.
Those eyes flickered over Kate, not giving any indication besides the tiniest of smiles that she saw past her boy’s disguise.
“Brought a friend to visit us, eh, Rob?” she said. Her voice, unlike most of the other bawds’, sounded sharp and refined at the edges.
Rob shrugged, a half smile tugging at his lips. “Apprentices must be shown the way of the world, Mistress Celine.”
“So they must. Just remember, the ways of the world don’t come free. Bess and poor Nell might have a weakness for your pretty face, but I still have debts to pay. This house doesn’t run itself, you know.”
Rob caught up the woman’s plump, reddened hand and kissed it. A finely wrought silver ring set with an amethyst winked on her finger. “You shall have my rent on time, never fear, Celine. Never you fear.”
“I’d better.” Mistress Celine turned back to her conversation with Mad Henry, but Kate could feel those pale blue eyes watching her back as Rob led her away.
Murder at Westminster Abbey Page 15
