Murder at Westminster Abbey

by Amanda Carmack

  They turned down a narrow corridor lit by a few flickering torches set in iron holders on the dripping stone walls and lined with barred cell doors. Pale faces pressed to the tiny grilled openings, shrill cries following them as they passed. The smell was overpowering, appalling, a mixture of damp rot, human waste, and rancid food.

  “Just keep walking, Mistress Haywood,” Harry whispered, and she nodded as she pressed the edge of her cloak hood to her nose. She couldn’t help but be most alarmed at the thought of Rob locked away in here, all his vibrant laughter and life buried in noxious odors and disease.

  To her relief, they were not taken to one of those cells but to a large, open courtyard. Surrounded by arched walkways, the patch of dirt was surmounted by what was surely the only glimpse of sky in the whole cursed place. It stretched, gray and flat and pitiless, over the scene of prisoners milling aimlessly about. Their grubby faces turned eagerly toward Kate and Harry, but the presence of the guard seemed to hold them back.

  “Over there,” the ghoulish man said, gesturing toward the high wall at the end of the courtyard. “You have ten minutes.”

  He held out his hand again, and Kate tossed him a coin before she hurried toward the man who stood with his back disdainfully to the rabble.

  Even in the gray-brown crowd, Rob could be seen. He was taller than most, his hair bright even though it was already tangled and tinged with dust.

  “Rob!” Kate called, and he turned to her with a smile breaking over his dirt-streaked face. As he took her in his arms, she could smell the tang of prison on his unfastened doublet, his rumpled shirt. He had only been there a few hours, if Harry was to be believed. She had to get him out of there soon.

  “How did you know I was here?” he said, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead.

  “Harry told me, when I came looking for you,” she answered, scanning his fine figure quickly to make sure he was not hurt. There was dried blood on his shirt, but it did not appear to be his, and a bruise above one eye.

  Rob scowled over her head at Harry, who just shrugged again. “You should not have brought her here.”

  “Could you have stopped her?” Harry said. “If I had let her go alone, she would have scoured every inch of Southwark until she found you.”

  “Never mind that now,” Kate cried impatiently. “How did you end up here?”

  Rob gave a bitter laugh and ran his hand through his hair. “I had a bit of a misunderstanding with a man in a tavern. I was looking for Bess, no one knew where she had gone, and he said something most insulting about her. I had imbibed a bit of ale by then, and well . . .” He shrugged. “Next thing I knew, I was being tossed in here. Not to worry, Kate, ’twas not the first time, nor will it be the last.”

  Kate stared up at him, sadness washing over her. She knew he lied, for Harry had told her the truth. Did he try to protect her? She held on to his sleeve, keeping him with her. “Oh, Rob. You do not know? I fear Bess is dead.”

  Rob stared down at her, his eyes bright with shock. He tried to laugh, to brush her away, but slowly she saw the truth of her words work its way into his mind. Then anger replaced the shock.

  She quickly told him of the terrible events in the queen’s garden, about how she had been desperately seeking any clue to Bess’s death. Rob tried to pull away from her, but she held him tightly, aware of all the avid listeners who were close to them. The queen would not want word of this to spread so quickly.

  “Bloody hell!” Rob groaned. “May God damn whoever did this. Bess—and Nell . . .”

  “The killer will be found,” Kate said firmly. “At least we know you could not have done this, since you were in here all night. But we must find who it was, and quickly. Did you see nothing at all last night? Hear nothing?”

  “Nay, of course I did not!” Rob shouted. “If I had, I would have—” He suddenly broke off, his eyes widening as he went very still.

  “What is it? What do you remember?” Kate asked urgently.

  “There is a man in here, a thief. He tried to talk to me in the cell last night. He was raving about the haunted shop he tried to rob before he ran off and was caught,” Rob said slowly. “I thought he was merely ale-shot and listened to him but little, since I had my own problems to think on. He said a ghost was in the attics and shouted at him, giving him a deathly fright.”

  Kate was most confused. “A ghost? How could this link us to Bess?”

  Rob gave a rough laugh. “The shop he tried to rob belonged to the goldsmith named Lucas. Lucas was said amongst the thieves to have rich pickings in his shop, as you and I know to be true from our own visit. But no one was meant to be in the attics.”

  A ghost in the attics of Master Lucas’s shop. Kate’s thoughts raced. “Can I speak with this mad thief?”

  Rob gestured toward a man who paced back and forth beneath the moldy stone arches. He didn’t look as if he could coherently describe what he saw in Master Lucas’s attics, but if something was lurking there, she needed to know about it. “If you can, Kate.”

  “I think we must,” she said decisively. “So far he is the only hint of where Henry Everley might be lurking. I will make this thief talk sense. . . .”

  CHAPTER 24

  “I will not be a prisoner in my own house!” Queen Elizabeth’s shout thundered along the crowded corridor, silencing the flock of whispering, fluttering, pale-faced courtiers. “Not now. Not again.”

  Kate elbowed her way through the crowd, her lute cradled against her. She’d returned to the palace just in time to receive the queen’s summons. She had quickly washed off the grime of her search through Southwark and changed into her new blue silk gown before dashing through the presence and privy chambers, down this corridor toward the chamber where Queen Elizabeth waited.

  The fear, that iron-tinged tang of incipient panic, hung thick in the air, greater than the flowery perfumes and the smoke from the massive marble fireplaces.

  The queen was in a sitting room, the door to her bedchamber open in the corner of the paneled wall and a flock of worried-looking ladies gathered around her. Their pretty faces looked wild and uncertain as they dashed one way and then the other, not knowing what they should be doing. The whole ordered world of the court, where everyone knew their place, be it in privy chamber or presence chamber, was upended and destroyed.

  Kate glanced around the room. The queen’s desk was set up by the fire, piled high with documents of state requiring her attention. But her cushioned chair was shoved back from it, as if she had leaped up, unable to sit still any longer. A quill lay abandoned in a little pool of ink. The hassocks and pillows where the ladies usually sat to do their embroidery and gossip were abandoned.

  In the corner was a stack of coronation gifts, gleaming bolts of silks and velvets, chests glinting with hints of gold and silver, garnets and pearls. A black-robed clerk held a scroll, as if he was trying to inventory it all, but it was clear the man could not concentrate. Guards in the queen’s livery, their swords obviously displayed at their sides, stood behind him.

  The heavy brocade draperies were drawn over the window, closing out what little daylight there was. The only illumination came from dozens of candles set around the room, which only added to the stuffy oppressiveness.

  One of the ladies’ lapdogs dashed across the floor after a tiny scurrying object that fluttered across the fine carpet. A woman screamed and clutched at her skirts.

  “Vile creatures!” she cried. “How shall we bear it?”

  “Oh, do be quiet, Lady Helen,” the queen shouted. “It is only a mouse. The palace is infested with them today.”

  “If only that was the worst of our troubles,” William Cecil muttered.

  “Aye. If only,” Elizabeth said with a sigh.

  Kate turned to find the queen standing near the fire, her white, bejeweled hand braced on the marble mantel. She wore a fine green and silver gown
, but her hair was undressed and fell over her shoulders in tangled waves. Her green velvet shoe tapped out a staccato rhythm on the floor.

  William Cecil stood across from her. He wore his usual somber garments, dark gray velvet trimmed with brown fur, his silver-streaked beard hiding his expression and a black velvet cap on his balding head. He leaned on his walking stick, the only hint of weariness about him.

  Kate thought again of her long-ago strict nursemaid, the one who had inspired her to get Lady Catherine Grey to stop screaming. Lady Catherine wasn’t among the women dashing around the chamber now, but even if she had the megrims today, she had quieted down last night.

  Kate grabbed Kat Ashley’s arm as the woman hurried past, her skirt hems held up against the mice. “Mistress Ashley, what is happening?”

  Mistress Ashley gave a deep, harried sigh. “Ah, Mistress Haywood! There you are. Perhaps a song could soothe Her Majesty. Though I doubt it.” Mistress Ashley eyed the chaos of the room uncertainly. “Sir Robert Dudley has sent his men out into the city to make inquiries, and Master Cecil has ordered the queen to stay in her chambers until the villain who left that in the garden has been found.”

  “Ordered?” Kate said in surprise. That did not seem like the best course to take with a Tudor.

  Mistress Ashley sighed again. “I know. Most unwise. You would think he would know by now, he has worked with her for so long. But men can be ever foolish.”

  Kate nodded, remembering the tales of royal courts past that Mistress Ashley had distracted her with after Durham House. “It would not be a good thing for the whole city to hear of what has happened. Everyone is celebrating the new queen. There might be a panic in the streets.”

  Mistress Ashley studied Kate’s face for a moment, then nodded. “Very true, Mistress Haywood. Nothing can blight these days, not after all the strife it took to get here.”

  So they understood each other. The queen’s coronation was a time of hope, of looking forward, of moving on from the dark days of fear. “What is meant to happen tonight?” Kate asked, even though she knew very well, for she had arranged much of the music for it.

  “A masque. The Triumph of Diana.”

  Kate nodded. “Then it must go on. Who is to play Diana?”

  “Lady Helen.” Mistress Ashley gestured toward the lady who was still shrieking about mice.

  “Take them to rehearse their songs, then, Mistress Ashley, and I will play a soothing tune for the queen.”

  Mistress Ashley nodded, and hastily set about herding the ladies out of the room like a flock of ducklings. Soon only Mary Sidney stayed, sitting on a stool with her pretty dark head bent over her embroidery in the dim light. The little dog leaped up onto her lap, as if quite satisfied he had chased the evil mouse away. The clerk went back to his inventory of the gifts, unpacking a crate of finely chased silver saltcellars and goblets, and another of fine Malmsey wine, the queen’s favorite.

  Elizabeth looked as if she didn’t even notice the sudden silence in the room, but her shoulders slumped a bit and she sighed. Her fingertips tapped on the marble mantel, the quick, unsteady rhythm of raindrops.

  Unsure of what to do now, Kate sat down on a stool in the corner closest to the queen and set her lute across her lap. She had much to tell Elizabeth about what she had learned in the gaol, but Cecil still stood with her. He scowled and stiffened, as if bracing himself for a new storm.

  For a moment the room was so silent Kate could hear the skittering sound of the terrified mice, the low whine of the dog, and Mary Sidney’s soft murmur. Then Elizabeth’s voice rang out like a whiplash.

  “Kate,” she said. “What think you of marriage?”

  “I—er . . .” Kate thought quickly. She wasn’t at all sure what the queen wanted of her, or what marriage had to do with the murderous matter at hand. “It is a necessity for many, of course, Your Majesty. But I look for it not myself.”

  “Exactly so,” Elizabeth said with a small smile for William Cecil. “Some are called for higher purposes. But my good Cecil thinks that, despite the fact that it is God Himself who has put me in this place, my seat on the throne is a mere aberration. That I must find a husband to rule for me while I get on with the task of bearing heirs to supplant me.”

  A red flush flared in Cecil’s craggy cheeks above his beard. “I only urge you to do what is right and natural, Your Majesty. You must marry, for England must have an heir if the country is not to fall into civil war.”

  “An heir.” Elizabeth gave a weary sigh and dropped down onto her abandoned chair. “The country has no shortage of possible heirs, it seems. The Grey girls, Mary of Scotland, Margaret Douglas. And I am only twenty-five. I plan to keep my crown on my living head for a long while.”

  Cecil’s fist curled around the carved head of his walking stick. “Life is most uncertain. . . .”

  “Believe me, no one knows that better than I do,” Elizabeth snapped. “I shall do as God bids me when the time comes. In the meantime, we have more urgent matters to see to than my marriage. We must first find who is trying to kill me.”

  Cecil’s eyes narrowed, but he seemed to know he was pushed back for the moment. And besides, if there was no firm Protestant Tudor on the throne, even if it was a woman Tudor, all he had worked for so hard and so long would be lost. Elizabeth had to stay alive.

  “It is clear I am not the first victim of this villain,” Elizabeth said. “There was the red-haired bawd Nell, that poor wretch in my garden wearing my stolen gown. Lady Mary also, mayhap? She had red hair.”

  Before Kate could open her mouth to tell Elizabeth what she had learned in the gaol, Cecil said, “My man returned from Everley Court this morning, Your Majesty. It seems your suspicions were correct. Lord Everley did not send Lord Henry home; in fact no one from the family has been seen there in weeks. Master Walsingham is talking to Lord Everley now, but he steadfastly claims he didn’t know where his son has gone. He says he sent him home, and if Lord Henry has instead run off, it is no fault of his.”

  “A fond father, I see. Well, Walsingham will have the truth from him soon enough,” Elizabeth said. “God’s teeth! But I will never show kindness or mercy to such families again, not if they repay me in such a vile fashion. They are worse than these mice scurrying across my carpets.”

  “I think I might know where Lord Henry has gone, Your Majesty,” Kate said quietly.

  Elizabeth and Cecil both turned to her with wide, startled eyes, as if they had forgotten she was there. Before they could say anything, a messenger stepped into the chamber and gave a low bow.

  “The Count de Feria waits without for your audience, Your Majesty,” the boy said.

  Elizabeth nodded, and a catlike smile spread over her face. “You will tell us all later, Kate. Right now I must speak to the Spanish ambassador. He has been so eager for an audience, and I have put him off too long. Who knows, my dear Cecil? Perhaps your matrimonial hopes will come true sooner rather than later.”

  Cecil’s flush flared even brighter red over his face. “Nay, Your Majesty! Not Spain, I beg you . . .”

  Elizabeth just laughed and gestured for the ambassador to be admitted. She smoothed her skirts and shook her hair back from her shoulders.

  Feria came into the room and bowed low over Elizabeth’s offered hand as Cecil retired with a muttered curse. The clerk and guards followed him. Kate half rose to follow, nervous that Feria would remember her from Durham House, but Elizabeth gestured to her to remain. Kate lowered herself to a stool, bending her head over her lute.

  “Nay, Kate, play us a pretty Spanish song,” Elizabeth said. She smiled amiably up at Feria, yet she didn’t offer him a seat. “Perhaps you would also enjoy some wine, Count? I have some fine Malmsey here as a gift, as you can see.”

  Feria smiled smoothly, but his eyes were cold. “Nay, Your Majesty, I thank you,” he said amiably. “I require nothing but assurances
that your health has quite recovered. King Philip was most distressed to hear that you had taken to your chamber so soon after your coronation.”

  “His Majesty is most kind,” Elizabeth said. “A good and true brother. As you can see, I am well. It was a trifling winter cold.”

  “I am relieved to hear it, as my master shall be.” Feria didn’t mention the other “indisposition” Elizabeth had found of late—the body in the garden. The Spanish had not been at the banquet that night, but surely he had heard all about it. “He is most concerned about you, Your Majesty.”

  “He has no need to be. I am perfectly healthy.” Elizabeth’s smile never faltered. Kate watched her carefully as she played a soft Spanish love song.

  “It is no easy matter to wear a crown, Your Majesty,” Feria said. In his stark black clothes, he looked like a large, dark crow circling over Elizabeth’s bright, small kestrel. But kestrels had dagger-sharp talons. “King Philip knows this very well, and he is eager to be of assistance to you in any way he can. He has long been very fond of you.”

  “As I said, Count—the king is a good brother, and I am happy to think we can be allies now,” Elizabeth said.

  “The king would hope to be much more to you than that, Your Majesty. If you would but listen to his proposal, he could relieve you of those labors which are only fit for men.”

  Elizabeth blinked, and that blazing light in her dark eyes that always signaled trouble flared out. “As he relieved my sister? I think not!”

  “Your Majesty . . .” Feria held out his hands as if in supplication. But his careful smile seemed to say how unreliable a female monarch truly was. How prey to emotion.

  Elizabeth rose from her chair and paced to the window in a rustling flurry of green and silver skirts. She pulled back the heavy draperies covering the glass, letting in a burst of gray-yellow light.