Murder at Whitehall (10 page)

“Your Grace,” he said quickly. “What is this about midnight threats?”

Kate curtsied, and went to question the guards as Elizabeth told her chief secretary what had happened. The guards had seen nothing untoward all evening. Everyone had been in the great hall to see the Yule log brought in. Only a few servants had passed by on their errands, and none had even stopped, let alone tried to get into the royal bedchamber. The guards had heard nothing at all from inside; perhaps they'd heard a dog barking outside.

Kate examined the empty privy chamber and the corridor, and even went outside to the cold garden, but could find nothing else to show her how anyone got inside to leave the drawing. At last, achingly weary, she made her way up the stairs and along the corridors toward her own small room. One of the other doors opened before she could reach its shelter, and Hester Park peeked out.

Her round, rosy face was framed by the frill of her cap, but she frowned. “Is aught amiss, Kate?”

Kate remembered that once Mistress Park, too, had worked at the court of Queen Catherine, and she wondered if the woman remembered the scandal of Tom Seymour. She wondered if she should ask her about it, about her memories of that time, but something held her back. Something vague and insistent, yet hazy, about the past, something that lingered at the back of her mind amid childish memories. “Nothing at all,
Mistress Park. The queen sometimes has trouble sleeping and likes a song at night.”

Mistress Park nodded. “Aye, I think she was like that even as a girl. The nights can surely be long in winter, even in a palace. Don't you think so, my dear?”

“Aye,” Kate said softly. “I do think so indeed.”

A
cold wind swept around the royal party as they emerged from the palace gate and arrayed themselves around the water steps along the Thames, waiting for the Scots' barge to appear. Despite the cold day and the heavy, leaden skies that threatened more snow, crowds waited to cheer their queen along the riverbanks and walkways.

Elizabeth waved at them, smiling, the dark circles under her eyes from the sleepless night covered in powder, concealed by her sparkling gown. Everyone else around her, including Cecil and Dudley, who studied each other warily, seemed to want only to get inside away from the cold.

Or away from the complications that the Protestant Scots lords brought with them.

Kate stood near the back of the company, behind the queen's attending ladies, to keep an eye on the proceedings. She watched as at last the barge surged into view along the frost-choked river, docking at the queen's steps.

A clutch of men clambered onto land, their plain dark cloaks solemn next to the bright silks of the English courtiers, and of the queen herself, who stepped
forward to greet them with an outstretched hand. “Welcome to our court!”

The man at their head, an older, portly gentleman with gray liberally streaking his pale red beard, swept into a bow. “Your Grace does us much honor in receiving us. I am Lord Halton, and these are my secretaries, Reverend Donnelton and Lord Macintosh.”

“Secretaries, aye? This court does seem rich in them these days,” Elizabeth said, but she received the men graciously with offers of her hand and smiles. The reverend had a dour, pinched, lemonlike face, but Lord Macintosh was handsome and young, with dark hair and an elaborately curling beard, bright yellow feathers in his fashionable hat. Elizabeth smiled at him a bit longer than the others. “You are all most welcome. You have come at a very merry time for my court, as we celebrate the Christmas season. I hope you shall all dance with us.”

“I fear my dancing days are quite behind me, Your Grace,” Lord Halton said. “But we are happy to be here. Shall we have a meeting with your privy council soon?”

“
I
do care for dancing, Your Grace,” Lord Macintosh interjected quickly.

Elizabeth took them all in with a sweeping glance and a gesture of her peacock feather fan, as if she waved Lord Halton's serious and pressing question aside. The emeralds set in the ivory handle sparkled, as bright and vivid as her blue-and-silver-satin gown, her stiffened ruff of silver lace, and the strands of sapphires and pearls threaded through the elaborate braids of her
bright hair. She looked like a peacock herself, all bright plumage and sparkling smiles, not at all like the frightened, furious woman who had crumpled the threatening drawing in her hand only the night before.

The queen was surely a greater actor than any that Rob Cartman employed in his troupe.

“How very kind you are, Lord Halton, and you, Lord Macintosh, to leave your home and travel so far to relieve our gray winter with your company!” Elizabeth said merrily, as if the Scots' visit was only to dance at parties, and not a petition to help fund their Protestant rebellion against the government of Mary, Queen of Scots.

She held out her hand, sparkling with more sapphires and emeralds, for the handsome Lord Macintosh to kiss, then laced her fingers around his arm. Macintosh looked dazzled, as everyone did when they first met the queen; Robert Dudley scowled darkly. “We do have a great many Yuletide festivities planned for your visit.”

“We do thank Your Grace most heartily for your welcome,” Lord Macintosh answered, his Scots burr as hearty and bracing as a sharp green whiff of thistle on a cold breeze. Several of the queen's ladies were already smiling at him from behind their own feathered fans. “Our two nations on one island are surely united, as ever, in the warmest bonds of friendship.”

Kate thought Marie of Guise might not think so, especially after word of their masque traveled back to Edinburgh. And she was sure that Monsieur de Castelnau, who watched the scene from the back of the crowd
with a small smile on his face, would have a messenger galloping to Paris within the hour.

After a few more pleasantries as the cold river wind swept around them, catching at the visitors' plaid cloaks, Elizabeth tightened her clasp on Macintosh's arm and led them all back into the palace. “There will be a feast tonight, Lord Macintosh, with all our English Yuletide favorites, followed by a masque that my own musicians have composed, just for you and your party. I hope you will enjoy it. . . .”

Kate looked around for Rob, reminded that they still had work to do in putting the finishing touches on the stage. She didn't see him anywhere, and hoped he was not off flirting with one of the ladies.

For the sake of finishing their work, of course.

“May I escort you, Senorita Haywood?” a quiet voice asked at her shoulder, startling her from her search. She spun around to find Senor Vasquez, his arm in a dark blue velvet sleeve held out to her. He looked reluctant, solemn, and Kate was surprised. He didn't seem to enjoy being around people as his friend Senor Gomez did. Yet still he offered his arm to her, frowning as she just looked at him.

“Thank you, Senor Vasquez,” she said, and placed her hand lightly on his midnight blue sleeve. Under her touch, his arm was more solidly muscled than she would have expected from a secretary, and it twitched as if he wasn't sure how to stay still for the courtly contact. She wondered why he had asked her to walk with him, then. Perhaps because no one else was nearby? His left hand opened and closed, and she noticed it
seemed stronger than his right, larger, as if he was used to using his left hand more in exercise. He glanced around nervously at everyone they passed, and gave a visible start at the sound of the Scottish accents.

But she had little time to ponder the oddities of the Spaniard. The narrow corridor opened to the chamber set up for the queen's Scottish feast. Kate hadn't seen it before it was decorated, as she had been leading the masque rehearsal in an adjoining room, and it was dazzling how much had been achieved by the queen's efficient servants in a short time. It seemed the queen was indeed intent on impressing—but was it for Lord Macintosh and his Scots, or for someone else? A secret message?

The dark-paneled walls were covered with dark blue cloths woven with English roses and Scottish thistles, all red and purple and green, shimmering with silver thread, while the floors were covered with priceless rugs over the lavender rushes. Tiered buffets displayed a vast amount of gold plate and silver salt cellars, as if every sparkling serving piece had been polished up to add to the richness.

The queen's courtiers also contributed to the bright dazzlement. Bishop de Quadra and his Spaniards were somber, as usual, all black and deep green, especially against the shimmering white and gold of the Swedes. Monsieur Castelnau and the French had vanished. Elizabeth's ladies were like a bouquet of purple and gold and pale green. The whole scene was like a shifting scene of stained glass.

At the end of the room rose an arch painted with a
hunting scene, horses and their riders arrayed in vividly depicted velvets and feathers, hawks swirling overhead and a pack of hands running ahead. The queen was at their head, her painted red hair even brighter than in real life. Yet in the sky above the riders rose a plume of smoke, as if there was a battle in the distance, a reminder of all that was at stake in these meetings.

The courtly richness was also very much on display at the long tables that ran along either side of the room, spread with snowy-white damask cloths, and gold velvet cushions on the benches, even at the lower end of the room where Kate sat. The dais where the queen sat with the Scots leaders was draped with gold satin, the table covered in violet figured silk.

“Shall you sit here, Senorita Haywood?” Senor Vasquez asked, stopping next to a table near the center of the room, Kate's accustomed place when she ate with the court. She wondered how he knew that.

“Thank you,” she said, sliding onto the bench. The chamber was filling up now with the courtiers, and she had no time to ask him all she wanted to know. Instead, she studied the table before her. Each place was set with its own small loaf of fine white manchet bread wrapped in a cloth embroidered with an
E
surrounded with roses, along with a silver goblet filled with rich red wine. Servants appeared bearing gold platters of venison, capons, partridges stuffed with spices, eels in lemons, and game pie with fragrant, rare Spanish oranges. Bowls of herb salads dressed in wine and ginger-pickled vegetables followed.

Violet sat down next to Kate, moving carefully with her swollen belly under her loose velvet gown, and to Kate's surprise Senor Vasquez stayed with them, sitting at Kate's other side. His kinsman Senor Gomez joined them as well, his light chatter about the banquet arrangements and the fashions around them covering Senor Vasquez's silence. There was music from a gallery hidden behind the tapestries, and Kate listened to the tune carefully as she nibbled at a bit of gingerbread covered in gold leaf.

“So, Senorita Haywood, there is to be a masquerade later, is there not?” Senor Gomez asked. “Are you to play a part?”

“I am only to help with the music tonight,” she answered. “I fear I am no actor.”

“Are you not?” he said. “But I would have thought you would have graced the royal stage.”

Kate laughed. “Nay, not me. I would forget my lines with so many people watching me.”

“And so many trying to guess the meanings behind every word?” Senor Vasquez suddenly said, with a scowl.

“I—nay, of course not,” Kate managed to answer. “Her Grace wishes only to entertain her guests.”

“And she does so with surpassingly fine style,” Senor Gomez said soothingly. He shot an unreadable glance at his kinsman, who snorted and turned away.

“I have had roles in masquerades before. It is such great fun,” Violet said. “But alas, the only part I could play now is surely a barge on the river!”

“You would grace any scene, Lady Violet,” Senor
Gomez said with a laugh. “There are so very many lovely ladies at the English court. It has been a remarkable surprise. I am glad to hear they can all be seen in such masques, I look forward to seeing it. Who takes the lead part in this one?”

“It is Kate who has organized them all, as she does so well,” Violet said. “I believe Mary Radcliffe has taken a large role in this one. It is usually Lady Catherine Grey, who is so gifted at theatricals, but she is in mourning now, of course.”

“Such a pity,” Senor Gomez murmured. “Her rare beauty is spoken of even in Spain. But tell me more—what is usually the subject of such masques? At home, we see them only on feast days. . . .”

*   *   *

Kate peered between two draperies of silver silk, meant to be the clouds of the goddess's celestial realm, her fingers automatically moving over her lute strings to play the dance of Leto's handmaidens. The scene on the stage was just as it should be, the ladies in their white gowns moving through their steps as the pages moved the clouds overhead with their levers.

Lady Catherine Grey joined the other ladies through the dance with smooth, gliding steps, small gestures that told them where to fall into line so that everything appeared uniform and perfect, a swirl of white. She was a good dancer, when she concentrated on her role—and with Lord Hertford in the audience, Lady Catherine was sure to be at her best. Queen Elizabeth had asked Kate to watch Lady Catherine, and she knew Lady Catherine had thrown caution to the winds
before, but today she seemed to be on good behavior. Kate couldn't help but feel sorry for the lady, always being watched, always being judged.

The song changed as the goddess Niobe made her entrance from a staircase hidden among the satin clouds, and Rob took over the tune from the other side of the stage. Like Kate, he performed the music rather than taking a part at the front of the stage, which surely disappointed the ladies. Kate rested her lute across her knees, and watched him. He looked absorbed in the music, guiding the tune of the singers with nods, lost in the world they created. Kate wished she could do the same, but she couldn't afford to lose herself in the music that night. There was too much to watch.

She glimpsed her father sitting with Master Finsley and the Parks, and her heart warmed to see him smiling as he watched the lavish masque. He had not seen such splendor since their days at Queen Catherine's court, and she had worried it would tire him, but he laughed with Mistress Park, nodding when she pointed out something on the stage.

The queen sat on a raised dais with her Scots guests, her high-backed chair between Lord Halton and Lord Macintosh. She leaned toward Lord Halton and whispered something in his ear, making him smile. Yet the French ambassador, sitting just on the other side of Lord Halton, did not seem amused by the two goddesses and their battle for supremacy. Monsieur de Castelnau was too sophisticated to show any reaction, but he did not smile, as he usually did, and when Kate
looked for him again a few minutes later he and his men were gone.

She looked for the Spanish, and found Senor Gomez and his fidgety cousin with the bishop on the other side of the queen's dais. Senor Vasquez still seemed distracted by something, tapping his hand on the edge of his stool, his gaze darting around the room, and Kate wondered what it was that made him look like that. What did he watch for there? Senor Gomez touched his sleeve, as if to distract him, and Kate noticed that Senor Vasquez automatically reached for the jewel-hilted dagger at his belt, again with his left hand. He nodded to his kinsman, and went very still as the masque moved into song.

Lady Jane Seymour, Lady Catherine's best friend, sat with some of her crowd at the back of the room, and like Senor Vasquez she seemed much too distracted to pay attention to the masquerade. She looked around, fed morsels to her lapdog, and laughed, but all the time she had to fight to keep a smile on her face. And Lord Hertford was nowhere to be seen.