Lord Henry scowled, the coldness cracking the merest bit. He still stood close to her, tense, as if he would snatch at her at any moment. “Mistress Haywood. The musician. What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you, of course, Lord Henry. The queen is most interested in your whereabouts, after everything that has happened.”
“Everything?” He frowned as if puzzled, and Kate had the sudden thought that, for all his bluster, Lord Henry was perhaps not the brightest man in the world. But he was still tall and powerfully built. If he became angry with her, felt threatened . . .
“All the red-haired women,” Kate said quietly.
He looked even more confused, almost like an overgrown boy. Without his minions behind him, he was not so swaggering. “Nay, I—I know only about Mary. Is she not why you’re here? Why you have come for me? I would rather be at the queen’s mercy than that of Walter Dennis.”
Kate studied him carefully, searching for any sign his confusion was mere playacting. She could find none, but she knew she couldn’t let down her guard. “You are hiding here from Walter Dennis?” Mistress Lucas went on sobbing, and Kate had to force herself not to shout at the woman to be quiet at once.
Lord Henry shook his head and ran a trembling hand over his bearded jaw. “Being drawn and quartered by the queen’s men would be better than what he would do. He fought in France with the Spanish, and surely learned many methods of torture from them. After all I have done . . .”
Kate’s thoughts raced. Walter Dennis must be a formidable man indeed, for Lord Henry to be so frightened of him. Or mayhap Lord Henry was merely a rank coward. “You mean killing the woman Walter Dennis loved, after murdering his cousin in a duel? Aye, I would say you should be wary of him.”
Mistress Lucas shrieked again, and Lord Henry turned to her with a gentle smile that Kate would never have thought he even possessed.
“Go now, Mistress Lucas,” he said. “You have been a good friend to me, but I can impose on you no longer.”
Mistress Lucas, still sobbing, ran back down the stairs. Kate was left alone with Henry Everley—a murderer.
She curled her fingers tightly around the hilt of the dagger at her waist. She could feel the cold touch of fear, but she forced it down again. She could hear the voices from below and knew Sir Robert and his men were a shout away. Perhaps Lord Henry would tell her more with no one else nearby. She was a mere woman, after all, as delicate as his sister had been.
“So you knew about Oliver Dennis?” he said. His tone was musing, careless, but she didn’t trust the overly bright sheen of his eyes. She had seen mad panic like that before. She knew she had to press him for all the answers soon.
“I know you killed him in a duel, that you are a murderer. That will not look good for a queen’s jury,” Kate said carefully, keeping her distance from him on the landing. “And that you were freed on the orders of Queen Mary herself. A great kindness, considering your family’s friendship with the Seymours.”
A strange, humorless smile touched Lord Henry’s lips. “She was glad enough to be rid of one of the friends of the foul Boleyns. But Oliver Dennis was the one who found me in that tavern. His family had hated ours for years, had attempted to take land that was rightfully ours, but we tried to live with them in peace.”
Somehow Kate much doubted that. She had seen the many columns of legal records for the Everleys’ habit of bringing suit against all who crossed them. Bastard queen Elizabeth Tudor—bastard Boleyn spawn, hated by the Everleys?
“It is a hard thing to be so persecuted by near neighbors,” she said, carefully sympathetic.
“So it is. I was merely drinking an ale with some friends when Oliver Dennis swaggered in and confronted me. He was ale-shot, he wouldn’t be calmed. When I tried to leave, he attacked me from behind like the coward all Dennises are. I had no choice but to defend myself.”
His words had the ring of truth, but of course they would. Henry Everley was exactly the sort of man who thought himself always the injured party. “It must have been a great blow when your own sister eloped with a foul Dennis.”
His eyes narrowed. They glittered like those of a wild animal trapped in a menagerie cage. “So you knew about that, too? Of a certes you do. You were Mary’s friend. Perhaps you knew she was still meeting with that hedgepig and you kept her secret?”
“I was Mary’s friend, aye, but she didn’t confide in me. She kept her secrets close.”
Henry laughed. Suddenly he spun around on his bootheel and went back into his hiding chamber. Kate heard the sound of objects being carelessly tipped to the floor, as if he searched for something. A weapon, mayhap? She stiffened, bracing herself to flee.
But he was back before she could run, and he held a letter in his hand rather than a sword. He had pulled on a doublet over his shirt and pushed his hair back from his face.
“I found this in Mary’s possession, the day of the procession from the Tower,” he said. His tone had a pleading sound to it, almost as if he were a schoolboy beseeching for mercy after some prank. Most strange for a hardened duelist. Kate didn’t trust it.
He held out the letter, and she took a small step back. That mad glitter was back in his eyes, and she did not like it.
“It’s from the Spanish embassy,” he said. He stared down at the paper he clutched as if he couldn’t quite believe that his sister, a mere woman, had outsmarted him. “She was in the pay of the Spanish. My own sister!”
“But if you were allies of Queen Mary, close enough for her to pardon you, surely that is not so very unheard of,” Kate said calmly, even as she could feel the cold stab of disappointment. True, she had suspected her friend of consorting with the Spanish. But to have it confirmed shattered all hope that she could be wrong. Especially if Mary’s beloved Walter had once fought for the Spanish.
“Queen Mary is dead!” Lord Henry shouted. “We must make our way in the world of Queen Elizabeth now, and my father and I put all that’s left of our fortune at her service in hopes of rising again. Mary was even given a place as one of the queen’s ladies, which took a great deal of coin. And this was how she repaid us! Meeting in secret with a Dennis. Taking Spanish money to spy.”
Kate couldn’t tell which of these offenses he found worse—eloping or treason. “So she had to be shown the error of her ways. That was why you followed her back to the Abbey from the banquet.”
Lord Henry’s face twisted in rage. Kate hadn’t been completely sure he killed his sister before, but now she was beyond doubt. He crumpled the letter into his fist and took another sudden step toward her, as if he was eager to have someone hear his tale now.
“Why should I kill my own sister?” he said. “She was only a woman. She could have been silenced. . . .”
Kate felt her own anger flare up, anger that he thought his sister so disposable when she did not do as he wished. “And you did silence her, did you not? Perhaps you hoped to blame her lover. Perhaps you thought the queen would not mind losing one more lady-in-waiting. But I am sure Robert Dudley and his men can get the answers from you speedily enough. The rack, mayhap? The spike?”
Henry crumpled at the mention of instruments of torture, of how easily Sir Robert could break a patent coward like him.
“She had to be stopped, before she ruined us all,” he growled. “I only meant to find her, to see that she was locked up until she could be sent back to Everley Court. When I found out she was writing to Feria . . .”
He shook his head and went silent, as if the remembered fury choked him.
“You lost your temper,” Kate said quietly.
“She was my sister! An Everley,” he roared. “Yet she cared nothing for our honor. She laughed, and said how else could she get a dowry to bring to her lover, since Father would give her naught. She turned away from me, and I . . .”
Kate shivered. “You killed her.”
&n
bsp; “I never meant to!” Lord Henry’s face went bright red, and he clutched at a handful of his hair, making it stand on end like Master Lucas’s. “I reached out to bring her back, and she fought me. She fell and hit her head on the stone pillar, and she—she was so still. I could do naught to help her then.”
Kate was overcome with another surge of anger, like a red mist before her eyes. “She was your sister! And you just left her there. Is that what you did to the others as well? Did they fight you, too, and you couldn’t bear that?”
His face, crimson and creased with fury, crumpled even more. “Others? What are you talking about? I am no killer of women!”
“Only your own sister!” Kate cried. It would be so easy to blame all the murders on him, but even in her anger she feared she could see why he was right. Why would he kill Nell and Bess? What connection did they have with the whole matter? Her head was spinning with it all.
“She was a traitor! She deserved it.” Lord Henry suddenly lunged for her, like a bear maddened by the pit dogs. He grabbed her sleeve and she tottered off-balance, the same cold rush of panic she felt at Durham House flooding through her. She knew she was perilously on the edge of tumbling down the stairs and meeting her own demise on those hard wooden boards. Lord Henry’s hand snatched at her arm, pushing her backward even harder.
She screamed, and instinctively pulled the dagger from her belt. She drove the blade into his arm and felt it sink sickeningly through fabric and skin, hitting bone. Lord Henry roared, and Kate was sure she was about to tumble down the stairs—again.
Through a strange, misty haze, time seemed to slow down and she saw that Lord Henry’s sleeve was decorated with silver buttons, but these had no fine braided edge. They were plain.
“Mistress Haywood!” Robert Dudley shouted, and at last she heard him running up the stairs behind her. He caught her by the waist just as she swayed backward, and set her on her feet again. “What happened?”
“He tried to attack me, so I stabbed him,” Kate said. Her breath seemed caught somewhere deep in her chest, but other than that, she felt strangely calm. Almost as if she watched a scene on a stage, distant and apart from her.
Lord Henry reared up, as if he would come at her again, but Sir Robert kicked him down and one of his men held him there with the point of his sword. Master Lucas looked on in horror from the lower landing, his wife sobbing out of sight.
Aye, Kate thought. Very dramatic. She would have to tell Rob Cartman about it; he might want to write a scene just like this.
“He killed Lady Mary, though he claims it was an accident,” she said quietly. “I suspect he killed the others as well.”
“Nay!” Lord Henry roared, even as he bled onto Mistress Lucas’s scrubbed floor and the guard’s sword pressed to his chest. “There were no others, I vow. I don’t even know what you speak of, you vile she-wolf.”
“We’ll soon have you in the Tower, Lord Henry, and then we’ll see what you have to say,” Sir Robert said grimly.
Lord Henry was still shouting as Sir Robert’s men dragged him down the stairs. Through that strange haze, Kate could hear the commotion, even Mistress Lucas’s sobs and Master Lucas berating her about where her “infatuation” had gotten them, but she felt removed from it all. There was something about what Lord Henry said, the way he disavowed any knowledge of any other woman. . . .
Something about his appearance?
“Are you well, Mistress Haywood?” Sir Robert asked.
“Aye. I am not hurt.” Kate stared at the dagger on the floor. Bright red blood gleamed at its tip. “I’ve never stabbed anyone before.”
“’Twas neatly done,” Sir Robert said admiringly. “It went right through. And you made him confess as well. The queen can sleep better tonight knowing the vile killer of red-haired women is gone.”
Kate slowly shook her head. “I am not sure he is gone.”
“What do you mean?”
Kate spun around and ran down the stairs. If it wasn’t Lord Henry who killed Bess and Nell, who was hunting down red-haired women, then the person who threatened the queen was surely still out there. She reached the shop just as the guards were shoving the villain out the door. Mistress Lucas wailed behind the counter as her husband went on berating her for daring to hide a fugitive from the queen’s law under his very roof.
“Lord Henry,” Kate cried frantically. “Where is your best doublet, the one with the silver buttons with the braided edge?”
He went suddenly still, looking at her as if she were the mad one. Even the burly guards seemed bewildered.
“I gave it to Richard—it had a wine stain, and was no use to me,” Lord Henry snarled, so startled he actually answered her.
He gave it to Richard St. Long? But when was the last time he wore it? “Your cousin?”
Lord Henry gave a hard, humorless bark of laughter. “He is no cousin of mine. The son of an old whore of my father. But he was useful for a time.”
Useful? Kate opened her mouth to demand he tell her what he meant, but the guards were pushing him out the door again. She started after him, stopped by a firm hand on her arm. She whirled around to see Sir Robert holding her back.
“God’s teeth, but he is getting away without telling me . . . ,” she cried. She wanted to kick something, throw something! Suddenly she knew how the queen must feel when the frustrated rage came over her. She wondered that Queen Elizabeth had been able to restrain herself sufficiently to stay alive long enough to gain her throne.
“Never fear, Mistress Haywood, he will tell us all he knows,” Sir Robert said. He grinned, and Kate realized how very good-looking he truly was, with his white teeth and dark eyes. No wonder the queen liked his company so much. “You looked so very much like another warrior-lady I know, just then.”
“Who?” Kate said, puzzled.
“The queen, of course. You were truly splendid tonight, Mistress Haywood. Indeed, you could have been her very sister. . . .”
CHAPTER 26
“Back again, are you?” Mad Henry said. He sounded fierce, but his eyes sparkled as if Kate amused him as she ran toward the Cardinal’s Hat. At least she knew not to be afraid of him anymore.
“They’re busy tonight,” he went on. “No time for you to be lurking around here.”
Kate shook her head. She stopped for a moment to brace her hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath. She hadn’t stopped running ever since she crept away from Sir Robert at the palace gates and set out for Southwark on her own. Something urged her that there was no time to lose, not now.
Obviously, she was going to have to start joining the queen on more of her brisk walks if there was going to be much dashing around London. Sitting over music scores for hours was no help in getting into running condition.
“I need to see Mistress Celine, right away,” she gasped. Celine seemed to be the only one who might hold the key to the murders. Richard St. Long had lurked in the background for too long. Kate had no time to go to Everley Court itself, so Celine it had to be.
Mad Henry crossed his beefy arms over his chest and shook his head. “I told you, ’tis busy tonight. More than my skin is worth to bother Celine when she’s trying to manage things.”
“But don’t you care what happened to Nell and Bess?” Kate cried in frustration.
A frown flickered over Mad Henry’s scarred face, but he looked away. “Aye, ’tis sad. But such happens every day here. We couldn’t make a living if we took to wailing over it all.”
“I’m not talking about wailing! I’m talking about justice!” Kate shouted. She was jostled by a drunken group making their loud, laughing, shoving way into the house.
Kate stepped back and studied the Cardinal’s Hat. Mad Henry was right—it was a busy night. Despite the icy chill in the air, the windows were thrown open to let out light and noise. Shrill laughter, shrieks, growls, and the loud
click of tossed dice flowed out into the darkness.
Where other parts of London were tucking themselves up safe by the firesides for the long night, Southwark was just coming to life. The lanes were crowded, full of people hurrying past looking for their own brand of pleasure. Ale-shot men tumbled into the gutters while brightly clad women howled with laughter. It was the perfect place to go unnoticed. To slip through the teeming, heaving crowds and commit foul murder.
Kate just didn’t yet know to what purpose those murders had happened, but she was determined to find out.
One of the newcomers was arguing with Mad Henry, weaving wildly on his feet as the burly guard stood firm against him. Kate took advantage of the distracted moment to slip into the house.
The corridors and winding chambers of the Cardinal’s Hat were packed so full that there was not a hint of the night’s chill in the stuffy air. It smelled of cheap tallow candles, ale, flowery perfumes, and sweat, and the laughter was deafening. Through the haze of smoke, Kate could barely see faces, only a blur of reddened cheeks and kohled eyes, bright gowns, hands reaching, and wine pouring.
She tugged at a yellow satin sleeve. “Where is Celine?” she gasped.
The bawd shrugged and pointed up the stairs with a cackling laugh. “She don’t do the actual work on her back no more, lad. You’d best be staying here with us.”
One of the other women giggled and reached out to grab Kate, but Kate evaded her and ran up the stairs. She found herself in the long, narrow hall that once led to the chamber of Nell and Bess. Shouts and cries echoed from behind closed doors, along with the slap of a leather flog on flesh and broken, excited pleading.
Kate decided not to risk peeking behind any of those doors, not yet. Luckily she found one door open. Celine sat behind a writing table, muttering to herself as she scribbled notes in an open ledger. Her hair, the brilliant orange-red of a sunset, gleamed in the light of a sputtering torch. Her silver and amethyst ring flashed as she wrote.
Kate slipped into the chamber and closed the door behind her. Celine looked up with a gasp.
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