Murder at Hatfield House (25 page)

“And neither does Lady Eaton, it seems.”

“Not when the poor lady is paralyzed with terror. She kept the papers well-hidden, intending to give them to her husband after Braceton left.”

Kate sat down on the low wall and quickly read over the words of the letter again. The ink was thick and blotted on the cheap paper, as Anthony had obviously written in a great hurry, but the story that unfurled before her was definitely a fascinating one.

As Kate reviewed the letter a third time, she glimpsed the workings behind what had happened to poor Lady Jane, thanks to men like Braceton. As Kate herself remembered from those dark winter days after Jane’s father, the Duke of Suffolk, was arrested for his part in Wyatt’s Rebellion, word had been given that Suffolk had lied about Queen Mary’s impending Spanish marriage for his own ends. He spread falsehoods about King Philip’s intentions toward England in order to set his daughter back on the throne.

At the time, it was widely believed that Mary, who pardoned Suffolk after his first rebellion and declared she meant to show mercy to Jane as well, could no longer protect her young cousin, no matter what her soft heart wanted. A second rising in Jane’s name made the queen’s advisers force Mary to sign the warrant for her own protection and that of the realm.

But this letter showed that was a lie, and the Crown knew it to be a lie all along. The way had to be smoothed for the Spanish alliance and the return of the Catholic Church to England, and Mary had to be rid of Jane. With her cousin out of the way, her troublesome sister, Elizabeth, could be next. With the help of men like Braceton and Ambrose. And word of this great concealment could ruin reputations of many high personages both in England and abroad.

Kate slowly refolded the letter and took a deep breath. “Jane Grey,” she murmured. “All roads on this strange journey lead back to her, don’t they? Jane Grey and Protestant estates. But how would that get poor Ned killed? Or Master Cartman?”

“Ned is a mystery indeed,” Anthony said. “But Master Cartman and his troupe are associated with Lord Ambrose. Surely they cannot be entirely innocent in this matter, even if your Master Robert did have a liaison at the right time.”

Kate tore the letter into tiny shreds and let them blow away on the wind. She couldn’t risk smuggling it into Hatfield, and she knew the words very well now. “I should get back to Hatfield and tell the princess what has happened. You have been such a good friend, Anthony. I can’t thank you enough.”

Anthony suddenly reached out and took her hand in his. He raised her fingers to his lips, warming her chilly skin with a kiss.

“We work well together, do we not, Kate?” he said, looking into her eyes without a hint of a smile. “I only wish you would let me help you more.”

Confused, Kate slid her hand free and looked away. A wagon was rumbling out past the gates of Hatfield, laden with beer barrels to be refilled in the village. It seemed Souza had at least somewhat lifted his strict quarantine, and she should take advantage of this moment to sneak back into the house.

“I—I must go, Anthony,” she said quickly. “I will write to you of what the princess says of all we have discovered.”

“Take care, Kate,” he said. “Don’t let your impulsive nature lead you into danger again, especially if I am not there to help you.”

Kate gave a rueful laugh as she turned away. “I fear I can hardly stop it, Anthony. But I promise I will be careful. I’m the only one who can help my father.”

She ran toward the house and slipped through the gates while they still stood open. No one was around but the porter; guards were no longer thick at the front doors, but she feared it was not a sign they were yet out of danger. Everything was
too
quiet.

And she had no time to sort out the confused feelings swirling through her.

As she drew closer to the house, Penelope appeared on the doorstep and waved her hurriedly inside. “Kate, there you are! Wherever have you been? Her Grace told me to look out for you. She said she sent you out on an errand, but not dressed like that.” Penelope took the white wool shawl from around her own shoulders and wrapped it around Kate, covering her boy’s doublet. Penelope led her quickly into the house.

Kate, suddenly very weary, leaned gratefully against her friend as they made their way up the back stairs. It had been such a long, strange night, and she’d had little sleep for days. “Princess Elizabeth did indeed send me out on an errand.”

“I hope she didn’t have you mucking out the stables!”

Kate had to laugh. “No, indeed. I almost wish she had. It would have been easier.”

“What
were
you doing, then?”

One of the guards hurried past them, his heavy boots thudding on the floor, scattering the rushes. He gave them a disdainful glance, and Kate was reminded their home had been invaded. They weren’t safe anywhere.

“We can’t talk here,” she said. “Is the princess still confined to her chamber?”

“I fear so,” Penelope answered. “She was allowed to walk in the gardens for a few minutes this morning, after she shouted about the lack of exercise, but now she is closeted with that horrid Senor Souza. He is certainly a quieter man than Lord Braceton, but I think more difficult to deal with.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Kate murmured, thinking of the hidden letter at Leighton Abbey. True, Braceton had been all noise and bluster and threats on the surface, but he had coldly conspired to do away with a young, innocent woman and turn the blame from Queen Mary and her court. He had torn apart three houses—Leighton, Gorhambury, and Hatfield—to hide his blame.

“What do you mean?” Penelope said. She pushed open the door to Kate’s own sitting room and led her to the chair by the hearth.

Kate sat back against the cushions, struck all over again by the terrible quiet of that familiar room. Without her father there, with his usual clutter of papers and books and the sounds of his music, the space felt cold and hollow. So many families had been torn apart.

She drew Penelope’s shawl closer around her shoulders and watched as her friend coaxed a fire to kindle. Once the flames were crackling, Penelope went to the sideboard and poured out two goblets of wine and found some bread and cheese wrapped in a cloth.

Kate eagerly devoured the small repast. It seemed like such a very long time since that meal in the Leighton Abbey kitchen. Once she felt a bit stronger, she sat back and smiled at Penelope.

“Thank you so much, Penelope,” she said. “I needed that.”

“You looked pale as milk when I saw you at the door,” Penelope answered. She took a sip of her own wine. “We must all stay as close together as we can and help each other through these times. I fear we have no one else.”

There was a hard note to Penelope’s voice Kate seldom heard from her. Penelope’s violet-blue eyes were blank and flat as she stared into the fire.

“Do you never think about marrying again?” Kate asked. “I know little of your husband, but perhaps he did ease your loneliness a bit after you lost your mother.”

Penelope laughed. “Dear Kate. Nay, I don’t think to marry again. I don’t speak of my husband because there is little to say. I married him too young out of desperation, before I knew him or myself very well. It was a mistake. But luckily he died before much harm could be done.”

Kate didn’t know what to say to that, just as she was left speechless when Elizabeth warned against the perils of marriage. She had so little experience with such matters, she felt foolish.

“Perhaps you think of getting married yourself, Kate,” Penelope said, refilling their goblets. “What of your friend from the village? The lawyer?”

Kate thought of Anthony, of his green eyes, the way his hand felt on hers, and she felt even more foolish. Despite his help at Leighton, there were still insurmountable barriers to their ever making a match. “We are only friends. He needs someone to help him in his future career, someone happy to keep a fine house and raise children without being distracted by the music in her head all the time.” Someone with a good dowry.

“Just as you will. It is very true that sometimes we have other, more important matters to attend to than romance.” Penelope flashed a smile. “But it doesn’t mean we can’t have fun sometimes. Even Princess Elizabeth thinks once in a while of matters of the heart.”

Kate laughed. “Does she indeed? And who here, pray tell, would any of us have to think on? The stable boys?”

“You know who I mean,” Penelope said with a wink. Of course Kate knew who she meant—Robert Dudley, whom Elizabeth had known for years. They were in the Tower together after Wyatt’s Rebellion. But his name could not be mentioned these days. “The way he used to look at Elizabeth when they met at court—it’s rather like the way your handsome lawyer looks at you.”

Kate could feel her cheeks turn warm, and it wasn’t from the fire. She looked away and shrugged.

“As you will, then,” Penelope repeated. “As I said, these are no days for romance. Or surely you would be gone from here all night on an assignation, and not on some royal errand.”

“I would rather have been on a romantic assignation,” Kate said. She shifted in her chair, her body still sore from all the running and falling and chasing. “I wish this was all over and done, and all of us safe.”

“Oh, Kate, my dear. I fear we will never be safe. Not living so near royalty as we do. Surely you’ve learned that, wherever you were last night.”

Kate studied her friend. Penelope was a smart woman, one who had been at court as long as Kate or even longer. She had experience of people Kate did not. Perhaps Penelope could be of assistance, could help Kate sort everything out in her mind.

“I was sent to Leighton Abbey,” she said. She gave Penelope a quick summary of the events of the night, of the journey to Leighton Abbey, the play, the letter, the veiled woman. Penelope listened in quiet thoughtfulness, turning the goblet around in her hand.

“It all sounds like a dramatic sonnet, I know,” Kate said. “I wouldn’t have believed it all if I wasn’t there.”

“So Lord Braceton was even worse than we thought,” Penelope said. “He deserved his fate for trying to steal people’s estates, when all the time he was conspiring to have innocents unjustly murdered.”

“But the people who are caught up in this matter do not deserve it! My father, the princess, Anthony’s employer, poor Ned—”

“Quite right,” Penelope said. “One injustice should not lead to another. You say the letter is still at Leighton? I think—”

The door suddenly flew open, making Kate sit up straight, startled. The wine sloshed in her goblet. A frown flickered over Penelope’s face as she turned to see who had burst in on them.

It was Peg, breathing heavily from running, her plump cheeks red and her hair falling from under her askew cap.

“What is it, Peg?” Kate said, nervous. “Is someone ill? Has word come about my father?”

Peg shook her head. “Nay, ’tis the princess. She has a visitor.”

“God’s teeth, but not another one,” Kate cried. “An officer of the queen? Are we all to be arrested?”

“Come see for yourself.” Peg spun around and ran off again, leaving Kate and Penelope to follow.

They made their way upstairs to one of the windows overlooking the courtyard. Peg pushed it open, and they leaned out to peer down at the arrivals.

It was a woman on a fine white mare, accompanied only by two grooms who wore no livery. Her garb was plain but very fine, a black velvet doublet and riding skirt of black wool trimmed with gold braid. Her face was hidden by a black plumed hat, but as one of the grooms helped her from the saddle she glanced up, and the light gleamed on golden curls.

Kate heard Penelope gasp, a sound that matched her own surprise. They looked at each other and cried, at the same time, “Jane Dormer!”

Kate glanced back to see the lady take a small case from her saddlebag and turn toward the house. It was indeed Jane Dormer, Queen Mary’s favorite lady-in-waiting and the fiancée of the Count de Feria. What was she doing at Hatfield?

Kate had the sinking feeling it could be nothing good.

CHAPTER 21

“H
ow are you feeling today, Father?” Kate tucked a blanket around her father’s shoulders and pulled her own cloak closer around her. It was the fine red cloak Elizabeth had given her, but even it couldn’t keep out the damp chill of the small cell.

“I am quite well, Kate dearest. You needn’t worry,” he answered, patting her hand. “I daresay it’s quieter here than at Hatfield, and I can concentrate on my work. And the gaoler is not such a bad man. Of an evening we play a bit of primero, and he tells me about his son, who is taking an interest in singing.”

He gestured to the small table, spread with his music, inkpots, and quills. And to the cot piled with blankets and bolsters Kate had brought from Hatfield. A brazier glowed at his feet, but it didn’t warm much of the space.

Kate studied her father carefully. He looked thinner, his skin grayish under his silvery beard, and his eyes were bloodshot. When she changed the bandage on his gouty foot, it looked even more swollen. He stared up at her, and as he tried to smile it faded into a sharp cough.

“We must get you out of here very soon,” she insisted. She poured him a goblet of the wine Elizabeth had sent for him and stirred in a measure of Cora’s special cough syrup concoction.

“I daresay I am better off here for the time being,” he said again. “Is Her Grace still confined to her chamber?”

“She is allowed to take a bit of exercise, but she is much restricted. Queen Mary sent one of her husband’s Spanish officers to look into Braceton’s death.”

“But you are allowed to leave?”

Kate shrugged. She wouldn’t tell him of how she had crept out of the house when no one was looking, or about her adventures at Leighton Abbey. He had enough to worry about. And as Jane Dormer was still with the princess, not even Elizabeth knew Kate had gone. Penelope had gone off into the secret passageways to see what she could overhear.

“I am quite insignificant, Father,” she said. “No one bothers with me.” And that was a good thing. It meant she could go places most young ladies could not.