Murder at Whitehall (4 page)

Kate swallowed hard. Lady Catherine, who had always seemed so impetuous, so very conscious of her high rank and all it entailed, had captured so many of her own feelings about music. “You must miss your mother now, Lady Catherine.”

“I do, so very, very much. No one understood me as she did. The worst of it is, I know I shall never have
another friend as my mother was to me.” Lady Catherine's eyes shimmered brightly, and she blinked the tears back. “Tell me, Mistress Haywood, do you perchance have a sweetheart?”

And there was that surprise again. Kate had certainly not expected such a question. “I fear I am too busy for such things.”

“As are we all.” Lady Catherine's smile turned teasing, her tears dashed away. “And yet I think you must have felt a passion, for I do hear it in your songs.”

“Nay, not as yet, my lady. But all music must speak of romance, as in poems.” Kate felt her cheeks turn warm, as she thought of Anthony Elias, her friend from Hatfield days who was studying to be an attorney, and his calm, serious green eyes, and Rob and his laughter, and once again felt caught between the two men in her life. “I only imagine it all.”

“Then you must find yourself a
real
love! It is quite unlike anything else. It is what life must be for, I think. What we are all made for.” She suddenly turned away, as if she realized she had said too much. Her back stiffened, and the royal Tudor expression Lady Catherine so often shared with the queen returned.

“The queen has asked me to compose a masque to welcome a Scots delegation to court,” Kate said quickly. She could see why so many people flocked around Lady Catherine; her attention was dangerously charming. Plus Elizabeth had asked her to keep an eye on her cousin. “Perhaps you would be kind enough to assist me, Lady Catherine? It is a large task at the last
moment, I fear, but perhaps it could be a small distraction for you.”

The sunny smile returned. “Oh, yes! I would enjoy that very much. I have some poetry of my own written, only small fragments, but perhaps they would be of some use?”

“Cat?” someone called from the doorway. “There you are! We have been looking everywhere for you. You promised to play primero with us.”

Kate glanced over to see that it was Lady Jane Seymour, Lady Catherine's best friend and Lord Hertford's sister. She looked rather like him, with her sharply carved features and pale brown hair, but Lady Jane had grown thinner in the last few winter months than her robust brother, her fine gowns too large. She studied them with her dark blue eyes, also like her brother's.

“I shall be there in only a moment, Juno, dear,” Lady Catherine called back. “Shall we practice the masque tomorrow, then, Mistress Haywood? Do you need help casting the parts?”

“That would be most welcome. Thank you, Lady Catherine.”

Lady Catherine nodded, and hurried off to join her friend, her little dog leaping in her wake. Kate turned back to the fire, completely bemused. What game was Lady Catherine playing at court? Did she covet her cousin's throne—or quite the opposite?

And why was she so cozy with the Spanish? Kate couldn't help but think that once the Scots arrived, the whole balance at court would be quite overturned yet
again, and all the pieces on the chessboard would move. But where would they all end up?

“M
istress Haywood? This letter has just arrived for you.”

The page boy knocked at Kate's door just as she was preparing to return to the queen's chamber after the night's supper. Elizabeth liked to hear soothing music as she made ready to retire, but Kate's own small room, tucked up at the highest level of the palace, was so far from the royal apartments that it was a journey to get there. She felt fortunate to even have her own room, when so many courtiers had to share or even find lodgings away from court, but more than once she had become rather lost.

Even though she was late, she opened the door eagerly. A letter! Who could it be from? She thought of how she had remembered Rob and Anthony while talking to Lady Catherine, how that lady's words of romance and passion had brought them both too vividly to mind, but she pushed them both away now. There was no time for such silly thoughts!

But she was still very curious.

The boy in the queen's green-and-white livery handed her a thickly folded missive, and she saw at once it was no love poem—but no less welcome. The
shaky handwriting, the tiny lute-shaped seal pressed into the red wax, was her father's.

Kate broke the seal as she brought her candle closer, eagerly scanning the message. It had been too many weeks since she last heard from her father. As Matthew Haywood grew older and his eyesight faltered and his gout worsened, he used much of his energy on his compositions, sending Kate quick word of how he fared by the returning messengers who took him the queen's own gifts of fresh meat and sweet wines. Kate knew he was most content in his cozy cottage, with a friendly widow who lived nearby to keep him some company and his work to keep him busy, yet she missed him.

Especially after seeing Lady Catherine's sorrow for her lost mother.

My dearest daughter,
she read,

You must be so very busy at court this time of year—how I remember Yuletide in my younger days! The dancing and feasting and the glorious music. I hope to show you some of the work I have finished soon, and hear your thoughts on it. Mayhap the queen can use it at her Christmas in the coming years.

Winters of the past have been much on my mind of late, and with a very good reason. Perhaps you remember my friend Master Gerald Finsley? Or perhaps you do not, for you were very tiny when he served with us at the court of Queen Catherine Parr, of blessed memory. His sister Allison was your godmother, and most fond of you, though sadly she
has now left this world. Gerald has arrived most unexpectedly to visit me, and we have spent many an evening by my fire talking of those days. I confess, I have also boasted a wee bit about your work now, at the court of another fine and learned queen, and Gerald remembers you most fondly. He has listened to my tales of you with great interest.

Gerald Finsley. Kate closed her eyes and tried to remember. Aye, she
did
recall him, and his sister. Allison Finsley had been so pretty and patient when Kate was barely out of leading strings, teaching the little girl to play her first notes on the virginals, and Kate felt a great pang of sadness to hear of her passing. Her memories of Gerald were more hazy—a tall, handsome, stern-looking man who played for Queen Catherine Parr in her chapel.

The Finsleys had been two of a small circle of musicians she remembered surrounding her father when she was small, along with a husband and wife, the Parks, who were famous for their sweet duets. After King Henry died and they all left the royal court, her father went with the Dowager Queen to her dower house at Chelsea, and the Finsleys joined them for a time. The others scattered to new positions.

A burst of laughter from the corridor outside her chamber pulled her back from the hazy memories of the past to the present moment—a moment when she realized she needed to hurry to the queen's chamber. She quickly folded the letter and tucked it into the embroidered purse of her kirtle to finish later. She wrapped
a warm knitted shawl over her satin evening bodice, and felt the weight of Rob Cartman's lute pendant tucked away on its chain. As Kate hurried into the royal bedchamber, most of Elizabeth's ladies were leaving, among them Lady Catherine Grey and Lady Jane Seymour, the two of them whispering together. Lady Catherine gave Kate a small nod as she passed.

The queen herself sat at the virginals, her long, pale fingers skimming over the keys. She was dressed to retire, in a tawny brocade robe trimmed with sable, her red-gold hair loose over her shoulders, but she showed no signs of being tired at the late hour. Unlike everyone else at court, the queen never seemed to grow weary, despite her days of privy council meetings and hunting, meetings with ambassadors and hearing petitions. She would still be dancing while everyone else was drooping where they stood.

Elizabeth did seem pensive that night, though, playing a soft, sad song while her chamber was nearly empty. Only Mistress Ashley was still there, mending by the fire.

“You're late, Kate,” Elizabeth said, not looking up from the keys.

Kate dropped a hasty curtsy. “I am sorry, Your Grace. I just received a letter from my father, and was distracted.”

“From Matthew?” The queen glanced up, a small smile breaking through her reverie. “How does he fare? I hope he is not ill.”

“Not at all. He says an old friend has arrived to stay
with him. Perhaps you remember him from Queen Catherine Parr's household? Master Gerald Finsley?”

“Master Finsley.” Elizabeth frowned in thought. “Aye, I do recall him. A most solemn man, almost puritanical, yet he had a surprisingly deft touch with a madrigal lyric. Did he not have a sister, too, who waited on my stepmother?”

“Mistress Allison Finsley, my godmother, though my father says she is now gone. You remember more of Master Finsley than I do, Your Grace, though I do recall the black clothes.”

Elizabeth laughed. “Somber clothing can hide much, as I learned when my brother was king and praised me for my plain dress. You were very small then, Kate. But those were lovely days indeed, when my stepmother came to my father's court and transformed our lives. She acted as a mother to me in truth, which was something I had never known until then. She was a kind and sensible lady, and I learned much from her when she served as my father's regent for a time. Music was always an important part of the day with her.”

Kate moved closer, thinking of her childhood days, when she had hidden behind her father as he played for the queen. She, too, had learned much then, listening to the ladies talk of their books. Watching their courtly manners. “I do well remember Queen Catherine, though. She was so pretty, with such lovely clothes, and I had never heard a lady speak in such a learned way as she did before.”

“Indeed she did. Perhaps you will recall more of life at her home in Chelsea, after my father died?”
Elizabeth said, her tone revealing a small strain under the light words.

Kate hesitated. She had indeed grown a bit older by then, and remembered the house where Queen Catherine had retreated after she was widowed—and where she quickly remarried a few months later. It had been a pretty house, elegant redbrick and white stone, with beautiful gardens. “I was not there long. My father sent me to the country before Queen Catherine moved to Sudeley.” Before the downward spiral of Catherine's life with Thomas Seymour.

“That was wise of him. You did grow up very fair, Kate, and my stepmother's husband had a keen eye for a pretty young face, as I am sure you have heard.” Elizabeth's fingers crashed down on the keys, sending out a discordant note, and she stared out the window with a defiant frown.

“I remember Lord Thomas a bit,” Kate said carefully. “He was very large, and very well dressed, I think. I think of him always laughing.”

Elizabeth smiled. “A man of much wit and little judgment, I do fear. Though I was a girl of little judgment then, too. I learned it quickly, but I would have been better served to have followed more of my stepmother's example. She was wise and serene—until love felled her, as it does so many.”

The queen stared out the window into the black night, dotted only with the light flurries of snow falling to the garden below, and Kate wondered what she really saw there. Sunny days at Chelsea? A man who was long dead—and who had almost taken Elizabeth with
him when he was beheaded for treason? Or Queen Catherine, a beautiful, intelligent woman killed in childbed of the dreaded fever? The lost little baby daughter of Queen Catherine?

“But, aye,” Elizabeth said suddenly. “Life at court was grand for a time with my stepmother, especially at Yuletide. It was the first time I remember being at court with my brother and sister for the holidays, like a true family. And there was dancing and mummeries, just as I intend to have this year. Perhaps your father and Master Finsley would care to visit our court now, and see how our holidays compare?”

Kate almost clapped her hands in excitement at the thought of seeing her father again. To sit by the fire with him, to look over their music, to play duets on their lutes—to have him see her now, with such a fine place she was building for herself. “I am sure they would be most honored, Your Grace.”

“If it would not tire Matthew too much, of course,” Elizabeth said. “We are meant to be celebrating the festive season as they did in olden times, aye? I should love to remember what it felt like when I was a girl, and they can share their memories of Queen Catherine and my father. In fact—did your father not have other friends who played for my stepmother then? I remember them always together.”

“Yes. There was Master Finsley and his sister, who was my godmother. And the Parks.”

“Aye, I do remember them. We shall find them, and bring them all to court!” Elizabeth's earlier sadness over the thought of Thomas Seymour seemed to be
drowned out in fresh eagerness. “Yes, indeed. I want music everywhere this Christmas, and no more dark memories. What think you, Kate?”

Kate laughed, swept up in the queen's excitement. “I should dearly love to see my father again, Your Grace. And you know I like there to be music everywhere, all the time!”

Elizabeth gave her an indulgent smile. “How fortunate you are, Kate, to have a father you are so eager to see. I always prayed for a summons to court when my own father was alive, but it frightened me to tears at the same time. I shall write to Matthew, and all of our old friends, this very night. But for now, come here and play this song for me. I want to learn it to play for the Bishop de Quadra, and cannot quite decipher this section . . .”

“O
h, cupids, Kate! There must be cupids.”

Kate laughed at Violet's eager words. They were working on the queen's new masque for the Scottish visitors, and the scribbled pages of all their ideas were scattered across the table in the great gallery. “Flying cupids, Vi?”

“Of course. I am sure someone could devise a way for them to ride on the clouds above the gods and goddesses. Tiny children in white draperies and golden curls. Singing as they float across the heavens . . .”

“As delightful as that would be, I can't think which of the courtiers would loan us their babes to use as flying cupids.” Or of any who had their children at court at all. Elizabeth wanted all her nobles to have their full attention on their business—which was
her
. There was no room in the crowded, noisy palace for children underfoot. Even favorites like the queen's cousin, Lady Catherine Carey, had to leave her many babies in the country.

The thought of families made Kate remember her father's letter, and the past when she herself had lived as a child of the court. It had all been so wondrously colorful and exciting then, but she had known nothing
of the dark currents that always swirled beneath the merriment.

Violet laid her hand gently over the small swell of her belly beneath the dark green silk of her surcoat. “You are quite right, of course, Kate. Perhaps some painted cupids, then?”

“I'm sure that can be done, if the scene painters in the Office of the Revels won't scream too loudly about having yet more work pushed on them for the Yule season.” Kate scribbled a note to herself to visit Sir Thomas Benger, the new Master of the Revels, in person to ask about the new scenery and which costumes to borrow. He did seem much easier to charm into helping when confronted with a rueful, beseeching smile than with a note.

Kate laughed at herself. S'blood, but she was surely becoming as adept at being a courtier-performer as Rob Cartman! He would laugh at that. The queen had said he would be summoned to help with the holiday revels, and she was excited and nervous to think of seeing him again. What if he regretted giving her the necklace?

Kate pushed away the image of Rob's smile from her mind. There was no time for such daydreaming now. There was much work to be done in preparing the masque, waiting for her father to arrive, and keeping an eye on the flighty Lady Catherine Grey for the queen. There was not a moment to be lost. And Kate still had to pick the play.

“It will have to be only grown-up gods and goddesses, then, and they must stay earthbound,” Kate
said. “And it shall have to be a tale everyone already knows, with so little time to practice. But which one?”

“The queen always loves tales of Diana, the virgin huntress,” Violet said.

Kate bit her lip uncertainly. The queen
did
like Diana, but Kate couldn't help but recall what had happened when they were rehearsing a tale of the virgin goddess at Nonsuch Palace last summer.

Yet Violet was right. Everyone always liked such stories, with gods and tempests and feuds and happy endings, and there would be plenty of roles for the ladies-in-waiting to show off in their goddess draperies. “I suppose we could do Diana and Niobe, two goddesses who end up living in royal amity like Queen Elizabeth and Queen Mary.”

“And you could use that fanfare you wrote for ‘The Coronation of Juno' last spring, when Queen Elizabeth welcomed the French ambassador,” Violet said.

They made a list of other songs that could be refashioned and costumes that could be cobbled together. As they were finishing, there was a burst of laughter at the end of the gallery, and a group of some of the younger courtiers went tumbling past, a jumble of velvets and furs and plumes. Kate glanced up to see Lady Jane Seymour, arm in arm with another maid of honor, the two of them giggling with their handsome suitors.

Catherine Grey trailed after them with one of her dogs in her arms and another at her heels. That was rather strange—she was usually leading them toward whatever mischief they sought. Now she followed, looking as if she would rather be somewhere else, a
dark blue cloak over her black gown and a fur cap on her pale hair.

“Mistress Haywood,” she called as she walked past and glimpsed Kate's desk. “We are to go ice skating, since Will Percy says the river is finally frozen through. Would you care to come with us?”

Kate sensed Violet's astonished gaze on her, and she herself was scarcely less surprised. She had had only one chat with Lady Catherine; was it so easy to keep an eye on her for the queen, then? “It's been so long since I've skated, Lady Catherine. I fear I would slow you down.”

“Oh, nay!” Lady Catherine cried. “It is wondrous easy, I promise, and the fresh air seems much needed of late. I will help you with your work when we get back, if you like. Perhaps you would come too, Lady Violet?”

Violet laughed. “Oh, I am in no condition to skate, Lady Catherine. But I agree you should make Kate go with you. She has been working much too hard today.”

Kate glanced at the window. It was a gray day, but clear, no snow or ice, and she had to admit it would be nice to take some time away from the stuffy great hall and the play in the fresh air. And the queen
had
asked her to watch over Lady Catherine. . . .

“Very well,” she said with a laugh. “I will go skating.”

*   *   *

The cold air snapped at Kate's cheeks, whipping her cloak around her as she wondered if this was such a good idea, even to keep watch on Lady Catherine.
Whitehall was warm, with lots of fireplaces to huddle next to, music waiting to be practiced, mending to be done. Surely if she had been sensible, she would have stayed there?

But at the palace there wouldn't be the fresh, powdery snow, the faint sunlight peeking through the pale gray clouds, and free, easy-sounding laughter. Here, away from the constantly watchful eyes of the court, everything felt lighter. Simpler.

She listened to Lady Catherine and her friends laughing, watched two of the gentlemen throwing snowballs at each other, and she realized how solemn her days had become of late. Music was wonderful, but it was also work, and Whitehall was a confusing place at times. The cold wind and carefree laughter seemed like a delicious, secret little escape. They left the crowded streets of the city behind to find a quiet spot around the bend of the river.

Lady Catherine glanced back and waved at Kate. “What think you of this spot, Mistress Haywood?”

Kate studied the small clearing they had found, downriver from the palace and London Bridge, beyond the most crowded lanes but still full of people seeking just the same sort of winter escape. The river was a pale silvery blue, frosted with white at the edges, and she hoped it really was quite frozen through.

She sat next to Lady Catherine and Lady Jane Seymour where they perched on a fallen log covered by an old blanket. At their feet was a hamper, filled with
purloined delicacies from the palace kitchens, which Lady Catherine sorted through and laid out on a napkin.

“Ah, marzipan!” Lady Catherine cried. “And cold beef pies, manchet bread—even wine. Very well done, Juno.”

Lady Jane laughed nervously, and dabbed at her pinkened nose with a handkerchief. “I did feel so terrible filching them. But no one seemed to notice, so I suppose all is well.”

“Surely they are all too busy preparing for tonight's feast to notice one or two little things, or a few courtiers, missing,” Lady Catherine said. She popped a morsel of marzipan into her mouth. “Here, Mistress Haywood, have some wine. It will soon warm us.”

“Thank you,” Kate said. She sipped at the goblet Lady Catherine handed her, careful not to gulp down too much. Comfortable and informal the outing might be, but it would never do to lose her head around people like Catherine Grey and her friends.

The men had finished building the fire on the frosty riverbank, and it crackled and snapped merrily as they laughed together and slapped each other on the back before fetching their skates.

“Hmm,” Lady Catherine scoffed, even though she smiled, “they act as if they were the first men to discover fire.”

“Better than letting us freeze here,” Kate said with a laugh.

“Will you skate today, Mistress Haywood?” Lord Hertford asked.

“I think I would only be in your way, my lord,” she answered. “And besides, is our role not to watch and admire?”

He laughed. “I will always be grateful for any scraps of admiration you ladies throw my way.” Lady Catherine blushed at his words.

The other men called for him, and he launched himself onto the ice beside them in one long, smooth glide that Kate had to admit was rather adept. He looped around in long, lazy-seeming patterns, backward and forward again. He left smooth scores in the ice, unbroken lines and circles that showed the precision and grace of his movements.

“Such show-offs,” Lady Jane said. She and Lady Catherine leaned against each other as they giggled. Kate definitely agreed with that—but at least today they were
amusing
show-offs, well away from causing trouble for the queen.

The ladies nibbled at the pies and ginger cakes as they made bets on the men's races, the wind still catching at their hair and hems. Kate watched them, laughing, as the passersby stopped to see who was skating on the ice in such finery.

Kate glanced over her shoulder as one group paused on the shoveled pathway, and was startled to see a familiar face among them. Anthony Elias, whom she had not seen in many weeks, walked with them, a lady on his arm. She was very pretty, small and birdlike in her blue velvet and pale fur, with dark auburn hair and blue eyes in a freckled, dimpled face. Anthony laughed
at something she said, but the sound died on his lips as he glimpsed Kate sitting there.

For an instant, she remembered other days. Walking down country lanes near Hatfield with Anthony; searching for clues to finding some of the queen's enemies in dusty libraries and hidden alchemical labs. His gentle laughter. He had been such a good friend to her.

But then she remembered the words of his employer, the lawyer Master Hardy, who had stated that the right wife was essential in building a career in the law. A wife such as Master Hardy's own, who could run a fine London house and host gatherings that advanced her husband's friendships. A quiet, supportive, elegant wife—a woman Kate feared she could never be, not with her new taste for usefulness to the queen and the court.

And yet her heart still gave a pang when she saw Anthony give a gentle smile to the lady on his arm.

“Kate,” he said as he made his way to her side to give her a bow. “How good to see you again. You are looking very well.”

Kate stood up shakily from her place on the log, aware of Lady Catherine watching her with interest. “And you, Anthony. It has been too long.”

“You no longer need my help, I am sure,” he answered. The lady tugged at his arm, and he smiled down at her. “Kate, this is Mistress Anne Derwood, niece to Mistress Hardy. She has come to stay with her aunt and see a bit of London. Mistress Derwood, this is Mistress Haywood, who is a musician to Queen Elizabeth.”

“To the queen!” Mistress Derwood cried, her eyes sparkling. “How very exciting. I long to see her. They say she is most astoundingly beautiful.”

“So she is,” Kate answered. “She is to go out to a hunt at Greenwich in a few days. I am sure she will pass the Hardys' home in her procession, if you care to watch for her.”

“Oh, Anthony, aye! We must,” Mistress Derwood said. “I would so love to hear more of your life at court, Mistress Haywood.”

“We are to meet your aunt soon,” Anthony reminded her. “And Kate is obviously occupied with her—friends.” His gaze swept over Lady Catherine and her friends, the plumed and bejeweled men on the ice. “We must not take up her time.”

“Of course not,” Mistress Derwood agreed quickly. “Good day, Mistress Haywood. I hope we shall meet again.”

“Good day, Kate,” Anthony said. “It is wonderful to see you looking so happy.”

Kate watched them stroll away, a bittersweet feeling falling over the brightness of the day. She had always known that only friendship was possible for Anthony and her; why would it make her feel so wistful now?

“Is that a friend of yours, Mistress Haywood?” Lady Catherine asked as she rose from the log and moved carefully to Kate's side. Her eyes were wide, and much too sympathetic.

Kate made herself smile brightly. “He used to live near us at Hatfield. He is an attorney, or will be soon. The lady is a niece of his employer's wife.”

“He is handsome enough, but there are many men at court who would far outshine him,” Lady Catherine said. “Come, shall we make a small wager on the skating race? Then we must find a nice, warm tavern before we go back to Whitehall, I am quite longing to dry out my poor feet. . . .”

*   *   *

The public room of the Rose and Crown Inn was crowded and noisy with prosperous-looking travelers, a warm haven against the frost of the day, with a fire crackling in two grates and a large bowl of spiced wine warming over the flames.

Lord Hertford quickly found them an empty table, or rather a table was quickly cleared for them, at the far end of the room near the warmth of the fireplace. A maidservant brought pitchers of spiced wine and platters of warm beef pies and ginger cakes, which everyone snatched up amid much laughter and declarations of how hungry they were after the exercise.

Everyone but Kate. She slid onto a seat at the end of the bench and tried to let the cheerful fire warm her, yet the heat of it wouldn't quite reach her numb fingers and toes. The merry scene around her couldn't erase the image of Anthony and that pretty young lady on his arm.

Kate took a deep drink of the wine, hoping it would wash away her foolish feelings. She hadn't seen Anthony in months; certainly she had no claim on him, nor he on her. They had been friends once, when they both lived near Hatfield House while Elizabeth was a princess and Queen Mary on the throne, and he had
often helped Kate when she needed to find documents to help the queen. His law studies took him where she could not go. Once, she had even imagined . . .