Lady Gertrude was right. She could come to know herself.
“Does my father know?” she said.
Lady Gertrude shrugged. “I know not, my dear. I know Thomas Boleyn gave her a dowry of sorts, though it was after the Boleyns’ disgrace, so it could not have been much. But I saw your parents together when they first met, Kate, and you must know how very much in love they always were. It was never arranged in any way; he never took her for her connections, which at that time could only have done him ill in his career. I never saw two people more adoring of each other.”
Kate thought of those few times her father spoke of her mother. His eyes would grow soft, faraway, as if he saw only things that happened long ago, faces that were vanished. He spoke of Eleanor’s beauty, her sweet smile, her rare musical talent. Once, he even told her of how Eleanor had sung to Kate before she was born, as she grew larger and larger in her mother’s belly. Of how Eleanor had blessed Kate with her music.
But he never spoke of where Eleanor came from, where he met her, even what her surname was. Surely he had known. If all he and Lady Gertrude said was true, the Haywoods were a couple with a rare love. Yet he kept her secret, even now when she had been dead nigh on twenty years.
“What was her name?” Kate asked. “Before she married my father.”
“She was called Eleanor Thomasin,” Lady Gertrude said. “You are not angry with her, are you, my dear? Or with your father?”
Kate shook her head. She was not yet entirely sure how she felt, but it was not angry. “Nay, I cannot be angry with them. I only wish they thought they could trust me to keep their secrets. But now, as you said, I can know them better.”
Lady Gertrude smiled. “And I can have my friend Eleanor back in you. I will tell you everything I remember of her, when you are strong enough to walk in the garden with me. You really are very like her, you know. You have her kind nature. But you also have some of her sister’s vinegary spirit.” The old lady suddenly laughed. “Oh, aye, you do have some of that!”
Kate had so many questions tumbling over in her mind she hardly knew where to begin. Before she could open her mouth to demand to know everything about her mother, there was a soft knock at the door. The sound of it was startling so deep in the night, and Kate sat up straight.
But it was no enemy. It was the queen herself who pushed open the door.
Elizabeth wore a sable-trimmed green brocade bed robe, her hair in a long, loosely woven braid down her back. The candle she held in her hand turned her marble white skin a pale gold, and the ruby and pearl ring on her finger, the ring that once belonged to Queen Anne, sparkled.
She was alone, but for Kat Ashley, who hovered just beyond her shoulder with a worried look on her face. Elizabeth waved her away.
The queen stepped slowly into the chamber, and seemed to notice that Kate was not alone for the first time.
“Lady Gertrude,” Elizabeth said. “It was kind of you to sit with Mistress Haywood as she recovers.” Her tone seemed to say, Lady Gertrude, do you really know where you are?
Lady Gertrude bobbed a wobbling curtsy, which Elizabeth quickly stopped before the lady could fall. “I wanted to make sure she drank her posset, Your Majesty. The freezing wind can bring on an ague so quickly.”
“Quite so. But you need your rest as well, Lady Gertrude. Mistress Ashley will see you to your chamber,” Elizabeth said, leading Lady Gertrude to the door. “I will look after Mistress Haywood now.”
Lady Gertrude let Kat Ashley lead her away. At the threshold, she glanced back at Kate and gave her one more secret smile. Then she was gone, the door closed behind them, and Kate was alone with the queen. Her cousin.
Elizabeth poured out more wine into the goblet and held it out to Kate. “Lady Gertrude is quite right. You must take care with your health, Kate. I could not do without you.”
Kate took the goblet and sipped at the sweet, rich wine even though she could feel drowsiness slipping over her again. She didn’t want to sleep, not yet. “I will take care to not have any more midnight swims in the river, Your Majesty, I promise.”
Elizabeth laughed. “I should hope not. Robert Dudley and his men have been searching for Master St. Long’s body for three days now, but it isn’t likely to be found at this point. The river is greedy, Kate. I am grateful it did not claim you.”
Kate remembered the freezing black water closing over her head, sucking her down, and she shivered. “As am I, assuredly. Did you know of his supposed parentage?”
Elizabeth shook her head. She poured herself a goblet of the wine and took Lady Gertrude’s seat by the fire. She looked impossibly rich and remote as she sat there, all green and gold, a pagan goddess of the forest. “I do not remember him or his mother at all, but then I was seldom at court myself until my father married Catherine Parr. She was the one who wanted us to be as a family. By then my father was too ill to take mistresses as he once did, but before that . . .”
Kate thought of Richard’s words, of how King Henry’s children had poisoned the king’s mind against his mother until he sent her away and let her and her children rot. It seemed that could not be true at all.
Elizabeth took a long sip of her wine and stared down into the goblet. “It could be so, of course, but I knew naught of it. If Master St. Long had come directly to me with his tale . . .”
“He had too long nursed his grievance, and planned his revenge, to do that,” Kate said. “I fear he was quite mad.”
Elizabeth gave a bitter laugh. “Then mayhap he really was of my father’s getting. All us Tudors are a little mad, I fear. I am only sorry you almost paid the price for that, Kate. You must concentrate only on your music now.”
“I will, for a time. I have a score that is only half-done, and I am eager to finish it.” But Kate knew now that music could never be her whole life. Men like Dudley and Cecil were sure the queen could never be truly safe, not with the Greys and Mary of Scotland, and unknown enemies like Richard St. Long, in the world. And the peace and security of England rested on Elizabeth. Kate had to do what she could to protect the queen and country she loved, the new life that was just beginning for all of them.
“You must take of yourself, Kate,” Elizabeth said. “You have so many friends. Including, it seems, the Howards.”
“Lady Gertrude? She was telling me about my mother.”
Elizabeth’s dark eyes narrowed as she studied Kate over the rim of her goblet. “Was she indeed? Well, Eleanor Haywood was a remarkable lady.”
Perhaps it was the darkness, the firelight, the wine, the strange feeling of being caught in a moment set apart out of time, but Kate felt bold. “Did you know about her? My mother?” she said abruptly.
Elizabeth drained the last of her wine. “Did I know who her father was? Aye, I knew. My aunt Mary Boleyn knew, and she told her children, my cousins Lord Hunsdon and Catherine Carey. We all try to look out for you, you know, Kate. But you do not make it easy for us when you do things like chase villains down frozen rivers.”
Kate felt suddenly angry. “But you did not tell me!”
Elizabeth’s own Tudor temper flared in her eyes. She suddenly rose and put the empty goblet down on the table with a sharp click. “’Twas not my secret to tell. Nor was it Lady Gertrude’s, but she is old and forgetful.”
“I can be forgetful, too,” Kate said quietly, her anger burning down as fast as it came. “If that is what you want.”
Elizabeth laughed. “You may well wish to forget you are a Boleyn, Kate. We are a wild lot, prone to tempers and scandals. But we are loyal, too, and you have certainly proven yourself to be that. What I want is your presence here at court, to play your music for my banquets and keep watch for me on my court. You see things from where you are that other people cannot, Kate, and I need that. Will you stay?”
There had never been any question of that. Kate had had a taste of what it meant to
be useful, to have excitement in her life, and she was not going to let that go. “Of course, Your Majesty. Always.”
Elizabeth nodded, and her stiff shoulders relaxed under the fine brocade of her robe. “Then know that I will never allow your mother’s name to be sullied, just as I will not allow that of my own mother. They are safe in their graves, as are their secrets. And now you must rest. Tomorrow you must go back to your father and work on your music, regain your strength. You shall need it.”
Then the queen was gone, the door closing quietly behind her, and Kate was alone again. She slid deeper under the bedclothes, watching the shifting glow of the dying firelight, wondering what the world would reveal to her next.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
When I started writing Murder at Westminster Abbey, I had lots of fun digging through boxes looking for photos and scrapbooks of my trips to England, and I got to revisit my very first tour of Westminster Abbey! It was a rainy, stormy day, and I had just arrived in London after a long overnight flight. The hotel room wasn’t yet ready, and I was jet-lagged and a bit silly with lack of sleep and too much Chardonnay (I am a terrible flier!). So what could be better than a few hours wandering around in the cool darkness of Westminster Abbey, out of the rain?
For a lifelong history geek like me, the Abbey was a magical place. I spent hours at Poets’ Corner, visiting Chaucer and Browning. I stumbled across Anne of Cleves, Margaret Beaufort, and Aphra Behn, and stood atop where Oliver Cromwell once lay, before the Restoration came and he was dug up again. Best of all, I found myself nearly alone for a few precious minutes at the tomb Elizabeth I shares with Mary I. I think I worried the security guard with my sobbing, but no matter—I was “meeting” one of my heroines at last!
(I also cried on that trip at the Chapel of St. Peter ad Vincula at the Tower, but that was a few days later and I couldn’t blame jet lag. . . .)
It was wonderful to revisit my memories of that trip (and rewatch a DVD of William and Kate’s wedding, just for research on cathedral details, of course!). It was also a lot of fun to delve deeply into the events surrounding Elizabeth I’s coronation—I almost feel like I could have been there now, and met all the historical figures who played a part in the glittering events. (Especially Lady Catherine Grey—her story is not done yet!) For more historical background on the events of January 1559, and some great resources I came across in my research, you can visit me anytime at http://www.amandacarmack.com. . . .
Read on for a sneak peek
at the next Elizabethan Mystery
from Amanda Carmack,
MURDER IN THE QUEEN’S GARDEN
Available from Obsidian in February 2015.
CHAPTER 1
August 1559
“Make way, you varlets! Make way for the queen!”
The guards in Queen Elizabeth’s green-and-white livery galloped along the dusty, rutted lane, pushing back the eager crowds who gathered to watch the queen ride by.
Along the road, the royal cavalcade seemed to stretch for miles. Hundreds of people rode with Queen Elizabeth on her summer progress, an endless stream of horses, wagons, and coaches. Baggage carts were piled high with chests and furniture, maidservants and pages clinging to them precariously as they bounced along. The courtiers on their fine horses were a kaleidoscope of bright velvets and feathers, a brilliant burst of color emerging from the brown dust of the hard, dry summer pathways.
None was more glorious than the queen herself. She rode in her finest coach, a gift from one of her suitors, the prince of Sweden. It was an elaborate conveyance, painted deep crimson and trimmed with gilt paint, lined with green satin cushions. Six white horses drew it along, the green ribbons braided in their manes and tails fluttering in the wind. Queen Elizabeth, resplendent in white-and-silver brocade, her red-gold hair piled atop her head and twined with pearls, waved her gloved hand at the crowds who clamored to see her.
“God save our queen!” they shouted, falling over one another, tears shining on their faces. Parents held their children up on their shoulders to glimpse a real queen.
“And God bless all of you, my good people!” Elizabeth called back.
Sir Robert Dudley rode beside her on his grand, prancing black horse, seeming to be a part of the powerful beast himself in his black-and-gold doublet, a plumed black hat trimmed with pearls and rubies on his glossy, curling dark hair. He laughed as he caught some of the bouquets tossed to the queen, and he leaned into the carriage to drop them in her lap. Elizabeth smiled up at him radiantly, the very image of a summer queen, full of heat and light and pure, giddy happiness.
Kate Haywood could barely glimpse the queen’s coach from her own wagon farther down the lane, but even she could see the sunburst of the queen’s smile. It had been thus all summer, from Greenwich to Eltham, a procession of dances, banquets, and fireworks over gardens in full, fragrant bloom. After so many years of danger and fear, it seemed summer had truly returned to England at last, and everyone was determined to enjoy it to the hilt. Especially the queen.
Kate looked down at her lute, carefully packed into its case and propped at her feet. She had let her clothes chest, filled with her new fine gowns and ruffs, be loaded into the baggage carts, but never this, her most prized possession. It had once belonged her mother, who had died during Kate’s birth, and Kate had grown up learning to play her music on it. It was her most trusted companion, and now that she was a full member of the queen’s musical consort, it was her way of earning her own bread as well. It had seen much activity in the past few weeks, with Kate playing deep into the night as Queen Elizabeth danced on and on—mostly with Robert Dudley.
Kate flexed her fingers in her new kid gloves. They, too, had seen much work lately, and she couldn’t afford for them to grow stiff. Once the royal cavalcade reached Nonsuch Palace, there would be much dancing again. It was said that Lord Arundel, the palace’s owner, was much set on wooing the queen and had planned many elaborate pageants to advance his pursuit.
For a moment, Kate thought of her father, content in retirement at his new cottage near Windsor. She received letters from him on this progress, full of his news as he finally had time to work on the grand Christmas service cycle he had longed to finish. He also had words to say about a kindly widow who lived nearby who brought him fresh milk and new-baked bread. He seemed happy, but Kate often missed him a great deal. They had been each other’s only family for so long.
And yet, he had kept her mother’s secret from Kate all her life. And she hadn’t yet been able to bring herself to confront him about that. She didn’t know if she ever would. It made her feel so very lonely.
Kate leaned forward to study the coach in front of her wagon through the choking clouds of dust. Catherine Carey, Lady Knollys, the daughter of the queen’s aunt Mary Boleyn, rode there with her beautiful daughter, Lettice, the fine new conveyance a sign of their high favor with the queen. Beside them, talking to the ladies through the open window was her brother Lord Hunsdon.
He threw back his head and laughed, his red beard glinting in the sunlight, and his sister peeked out the window to laugh with him. She caught her plumed hat just before the wind would have snatched it from her dark hair.
Whenever Kate saw Lady Knollys, she wondered if her own mother had looked something like her, with her delicate face and shining black hair—“Boleyn hair,” they called it. For Kate’s own mother, Eleanor, was the illegitimate half sister of Anne and Mary Boleyn. A fact Kate had discovered in a most shocking way only a few months before.
Not that the Careys, or anyone, ever spoke of that fact or acknowledged it, though sometimes Kate thought she saw Lord Hunsdon looking at her. . . .
The convoy suddenly lurched to a halt, startling Kate from her brooding thoughts. She clutched at the wooden side of the wagon to keep from tumbling to the floor.
“Are we stopping again?” Lady Anne Godwin, one of the queen’s new maids-
of-honor who sat across from Kate, cried. “We shall never get to Nonsuch at this pace! I vow we could walk faster.”
Mistress Violet Melville, from her perch on the bench next to Kate, smiled and said, “Of course Queen Elizabeth will wish to stop and talk to the people whenever she can. Most of them will never see such a sight again.”
Kate smiled at her. She had come to like Violet very much on their travels, for they often found themselves in the same conveyances and sharing lodgings in the palaces and manors of the summer progress. She was one of the queen’s newest maids-of-honor, small and pretty, with blond curls and a quick smile. She enjoyed music and could help while away dull hours on the road, talking of the newest songs from Italy and Spain. She was also a fine source of gossip about the court, conveyed through quick whispers and giggles. Who was in love with whom. Who was seen speaking to whom.
Information that seemed most frivolous but could prove deadly useful—as Kate had often discovered lately.
Violet seemed especially excited today, for her brother served as a secretary to Lord Arundel, and she would get to see him at Nonsuch.
“And it is such a lovely, warm day,” Violet said. “Who can grumble about being out in the sunshine?”
“I can,” Lady Anne muttered, readjusting her silk skirts around her. Unlike Violet, she was not often very merry. “My backside is aching from this infernal jolting wagon. And your nose will grumble, too, Violet, when you get hideous freckles.”
Violet just laughed and leaned out to see what was happening. Kate peeked over her shoulder to see that the queen had halted her carriage to call forth a man with a little girl in his arms. The child shyly held out a bouquet to Queen Elizabeth, who accepted it under Dudley’s protective watch.
Kate felt a pang of strange wistfulness as she watched. It had been many weeks since she had seen her friend Anthony Elias, who was working to become an attorney in London. Yet she thought far too often of his smile, his beautiful green eyes. The safety she had found in his arms when she nearly died on the frozen Thames. If he ever looked at her as Sir Robert looked at the queen . . .
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