Murder at Fontainebleau (10 page)

A
s Kate followed Lady Barnett and Amelia into the grand gallery, she was glad Celeste had given her the French gown to wear, for the crowd gathered near the tall, gleaming windows was sparkling indeed.

Queen Elizabeth's courtiers thought themselves most fashionable, often spending the equivalent of a year's wages for a prosperous London artisan to try to impress the queen with their embroidered velvets and feathered hats, but most of them would look like mudhens beside the French. Even in their muted colors of mourning—black, gray, violet, and midnight blue—they were elegant beyond compare, their simple perfectly tailored lines and rich trimmings giving them an air of crisp, careless perfection. Though Kate was sure they must have spent hours dressing and choosing jewels, they looked as if they always woke up looking just that way.

They watched the English party as Kate and the others made their way past, their ceruse-painted lips smiling faintly, their eyes bright with curiosity. A few of the older courtiers showed their disdain plainly.
There were muted whispers behind fans of feathers and painted silk, but mostly there was only silence, strangely loud in the vast space around them.

And what an awe-inspiring space it was. Kate focused on the gallery rather than the stares of the French courtiers, and hoped she was not gaping like a country mouse. Elizabeth had some beautiful palaces—Nonsuch, Richmond, Greenwich, Whitehall—all of them filled with tapestries, portraits, porcelain, and silver plate. Yet Kate had never seen a room as perfectly proportioned, as graceful and opulent, as this one. It fit perfectly with the fairy tale she had seemed to be living in ever since they rode through the Fontainebleau gates.

From the stark vestibule where they had first entered the palace, carved doors had been thrown open to reveal a space that seemed all gleaming gilt and pure white alabaster. Beneath the sea of satin shoes and jeweled hems, the floor was of an inlaid pattern of light and dark woods in intricate triangles and diamonds, echoing the coffered ceiling above. Tall windows with deep embrasures lined the walls and were hung with brocade draperies. Interspersed between the windows were gold benches and small chairs that no one dared sit upon. Fantastical creations also adorned the wall.

The lower wall was of sculpted wood, French walnut as finely grained as marble, formed into tumbling cornucopias of fruit and flowers. The royal arms of France were everywhere, surmounted by the initial “F”—for King Francis, who had been Queen Catherine's father-in-law and had built this very gallery to reflect his glory.

Kate caught a glimpse of a painting of an elephant and she longed to stop to examine it closer. The whole scene created a song in her mind, a tumble of notes, an elaborate, elegant, lighthearted tune that hid a world of swirling danger beneath, and she wanted more than anything to write it down, to not forget it. But she stumbled a bit over the hem of her new skirt and was abruptly reminded where she was and what she was meant to be doing: watching the French court and learning what they really thought and intended toward Queen Elizabeth.

Amelia tossed her a glance over her shoulder, her eyes wide. For an instant, Amelia seemed almost frightened, yet she quickly covered that flash of fear with her usual careless smile. Kate smoothed her skirt and folded her hands carefully in front of her, staring straight ahead.

At the far end of the room, an enormous tapestry covered the wall, a scene of a royal procession in some ancient city, all gold-edged flowers and prancing horses. A small raised dais sat before it, and on a high-backed gilded chair waited a small child, dressed grandly in dark blue velvet edged in sapphires and pearls, but kicking his velvet shoes with impatience. Queen Mary sat to the other side of the dais, gently smiling in her white gown and veil, whispering to her uncle Guise, who stood behind her.

But it was the woman who sat in the center of the group on the royal dais who captured Kate's attention. In the midst of so much sparkle, she was like a shadow,
one that cast its darkness over everything, like the slow-moving encroachment of night.

Kate was sure that could only be Queen Catherine de Medici. She was seated on a gold chair cushioned with black velvet next to her son, her feet on a stool that hid how short she was rumored to be. Her seat was only a little lower than that of the bored-looking boy king, who was now fidgeting and tugging at his short satin cloak.

Queen Catherine looked anything but bored. She sat very still and straight, very solemn, yet her gaze was moving, taking in everything in the crowded gallery around her. She wore widow's black, as they said she always had since her husband died, a matte black velvet that reflected no light. A black silk veil fell from her cap. The only color in her garb was from a collar of ermine and a pair of pearl drop earrings.

Just as everyone had said, Queen Catherine was not beautiful, especially seated so near Queen Mary's statuesque, marblelike loveliness. Beneath the gold-trimmed edge of her cap, Queen Catherine's face was round and double chinned, with a long Medici nose and protruding dark eyes. Beneath her veil, the hair that was visible—parted severely and drawn straight back—was a pale brown.

Yet those eyes seemed to glow with a force of intelligence and curiosity she couldn't suppress. Her hand, adorned only with a wedding ring and a small emerald on her little finger, tapped impatiently on the arm
of her chair, as if she couldn't bear to be so still. As if at any moment a surfeit of energy would make her leap from her chair and fly out of the room.

Even though they looked nothing alike and many years separated them, Queen Catherine reminded Kate of Queen Elizabeth. There was that watchful wariness, that energy, that spark to be doing things.

Queen Catherine's dark eyes lit on each individual face as they approached her, her gaze sharp and intent as if she memorized them. Kate felt the cold touch of unease. She knew that no matter what happened here in France, she would do well to stay far beneath the Queen Mother's notice—if that was possible.

Sir Henry led his wife and niece forward, and they made their low bows. Everyone else in the English group hurried to follow their lead.

Rob held out his arm to Kate to help her rise from her curtsy, and she glanced up at him. He, too, looked most fascinated by the two queens, by the grand stage they had set up for their audience.

“Sir Henry, you are welcome back to our court,” Queen Catherine said, her voice low, almost rough, still touched faintly with the sound of her native Florence beneath the smooth French words. “I fear you will find things very different here now than when you were last in residence. We are in sad days indeed.”

“I am honored to be in France again, Your Grace,” Sir Henry said. “Queen Elizabeth sends her deepest condolences and best wishes for God's grace on your kingdom.”

“Your queen is most kind,” Queen Catherine said, her fingers still tapping at the chair. Her gaze flitted over everyone else. “I see you have brought newcomers with you as well.”

“I have, Your Grace, with Queen Elizabeth's compliments.” Sir Henry quickly introduced them all. “And this is Mistress Haywood and Master Cartman, who have entertained Queen Elizabeth at her own court, and who she hopes might brighten your own days a bit while they are here.”

Rob offered his arm again to escort Kate forward. Kate still felt that cold uncertainty and hoped she would not tremble, would not give away even a hint of nervousness. She had been at court too long for that. She forced her back to stay very straight, and smiled as she curtsied again.

As she rose, she found that disconcerting, bottomless-dark gaze of Queen Catherine directly on her.

“You must be the musician my daughter-in-law has told us about,” Queen Catherine said. “She said she enjoyed your English songs very much.”

Kate glanced at Queen Mary, who gave her an encouraging smile. “I am very glad my music pleased Queen Mary, Your Grace.”

“I also enjoy music very much, as well as plays and masques. The troubles of life can be heavy indeed, but a song can carry us out of them for a moment,” Queen Catherine said. “We can use such brightness here to remind us of God's true blessings in this world as well as his trials. You will play for us?”

“Of course, Your Grace. Whenever you wish. I would be honored.”

Queen Catherine smiled, and it transformed her plain, round face into something transcendentally intelligent. Like her daughter-in-law, she had the trick of drawing a person close, of making her feel she was the most important person even in a crowd.

It was a dangerous trick indeed.

“Excellent! I have a troupe of players from Florence here now. I am sure you would be interested in meeting them. I look forward to hearing how your style of song differs from theirs. And now I do find myself in need of a walk. We have all sat here too long, and I see the sun is out at last.”

As if her burning energy could no longer be contained, Queen Catherine pushed herself to her feet. She took the fidgety boy king's hand and led him beside her down the steps of the dais. Everyone fell into line quickly behind her, and Sir Henry led Kate and the others into another bow. She held on to Rob's arm and dipped into her lowest curtsy.

Queen Catherine's ladies moved past, including Celeste Renard. She nodded and winked at Amelia, who laughed in return. Kate noticed that the ladies were indeed an exceptionally pretty group, all much younger than the Queen Mother and clad in low-cut satin gowns and jeweled headdresses.

The large party made its way down the sweeping double stone staircase into the garden. The day was cold, the wind biting, with a touch of ice as it swept
through cloaks, but the sun had indeed come out and beamed down on them with a pale yellowish light. It danced over the white marble statues of classical gods and goddesses that lined the pathway, making them appear to move along with the richly dressed courtiers who passed between them in their furs and velvets. In the distance there was a large glass-still pond with an elegant marble pavilion on its far shore, and for an instant Kate wondered if it was a beautiful illusion.

“Mademoiselle Haywood!” Queen Catherine suddenly called.

For a moment, Kate was sure she had not heard right, until everyone turned to stare at her. Surprised and even a bit frightened, she froze for an instant, until Rob gave her a little push. She hurried to the front of the procession, where the queen walked with her son, and hastily curtsied.

“Y-your Grace,” she said, out of breath.

“Monsieur Charles Throckmorton tells me that, as well as music, you have an interest in the alchemical arts,” Queen Catherine said. “That you are acquainted with the famous Dr. Dee. Is this true?”

For a moment, Kate was almost too nervous to speak. Queen Catherine had an indomitable reputation, even in England. But when Kate looked into her dark eyes, she saw only the light of interest and intelligence.

“I have met Dr. Dee, yes, Your Grace. Queen Elizabeth relies on his wisdom a great deal. He is a learned and interesting man, though I fear I am not knowledgeable about such sciences myself.”

“They do say Queen Elizabeth relies greatly on his good counsel, and I have read some of his writings on the rules of seismography. I would like to know more about him and about the work being done in England.” Queen Catherine lifted her hand, and two men in her train hurried to her side. They were both older gentlemen, with the dark eyes and hair of Italians, but one was clad in the somber black of a scholar and one in a blue velvet doublet. “This is my own astrologer and perfumer, Signor Ruggieri, and my personal physician, Dr. Folie. They have assisted me in my studies for many years. Mademoiselle Haywood knows Queen Elizabeth's Dr. Dee, messieurs.”

The man in the doublet took Kate's hand and bowed over it. “Fascinating, mademoiselle. I am Dr. Folie, and have learned much from your Monsieur Dee's writings.”

Signor Ruggieri said nothing but gave her a small sketch of a bow. She could smell a strange cologne emanating from the folds of his black robe, like oranges and jasmine underlaid with something rougher, more raw.

“Perhaps you would join us in my chamber some evening, Mademoiselle Haywood, when we conduct one of our séances,” Queen Catherine said. “You may learn much of interest. Monarchs must be educated and kind as well as ruthless, don't you think? It is all of one pattern.”

Interest? That was undoubtedly true. Even in England, there was much talk of Queen Catherine's studies in the science of alchemy, of her powers and the rituals she had brought with her from Italy. It was
a bit frightening to think of, true, but also intriguing. Kate could not believe this bit of good fortune. “I would be honored, Your Grace.”

“Mademoiselle Renard will show you the way,” Queen Catherine said. She gave Kate a small nod and continued on her walk, her astrologer, doctor, and ladies falling in behind her, so she was soon lost to sight.

Celeste gave Kate a smile as she strolled past, but when Queen Catherine was out of sight, she leaned close and whispered, “You must be very careful of Signor Ruggieri, Mademoiselle Haywood.”

“The perfumer?”

“
Oui
. But then, I am sure you already know to be on your guard with everyone. Not everyone is as they seem.”

Kate nodded. Aye, she did know that—all too well.

T
he corridor in the far wing of the palace was quiet as Kate made her way to her chamber. It was late; the evening had gone on long, with card games, wine, and sweet delicacies in Queen Catherine's rooms, and Kate had been asked to play her English songs again, even as the Barnetts retired early. She felt weary, her mind heavy, but she felt she had learned much about French manners, French relationships.

The only light was from a few torches flickering in the shadows. The air was cold. A sound like a low, harsh sob echoed between the bare walls, and Kate thought of tales of restless ghosts roaming palace halls, touching mortals with their icy fingers. She shivered and hurried her steps toward her own door.

But it was not a spirit who was crying—unless it was a spirit who could also blow its nose and sigh. At the end of the corridor, just beyond Kate's chamber, there was a small alcove with a window set in the wall. It was half concealed by a velvet drape, yet Kate glimpsed the
embroidered hem of a pale satin gown, the toe of a velvet slipper. Another sob shivered through the air.

Kate worried that someone was ill. “Hello?” she called our carefully. “May I help?”

There was a sudden, surprised rustling, and a pale face peeked around the edge of the drape. It was Amelia Wrightsman who cried there in private. “Oh, Mistress Haywood! You did startle me. I thought everyone was abed by now. I didn't want to wake my aunt, so I came here.”

Kate hurried to Amelia's side. “Are you ill? Should I fetch Mistress Berry and her possets?”

Amelia frowned. “Nay, not her. I am not ill. I just needed a quiet moment.”

“Oh,” Kate said, embarrassed that she had intruded. Quiet moments were few and precious in palaces. She started to turn away. “I am sorry. I shall just—”

“Do stay for a moment, Mistress Haywood! Unless you are very tired and must seek your bed. It's not as comforting being alone as I thought it would be.”

Kate studied Mistress Wrightsman's face. She looked very different from when she was laughing and dancing in company. Her eyes were reddened with crying, and she seemed younger, unsure of herself. Just as Kate so often felt. “Of course I can stay.” She sat down next to Amelia on the narrow window seat and arranged her skirts around her. “Fontainebleau is beautiful, but also rather cold and lonely, I have found.”

Amelia gave a wry laugh and wiped at her eyes. Her lacy handkerchief wafted the scent of her violet
perfume. “Crowded palaces are the loneliest places of all, I think.”

“Mayhap you are right. I've found I can always lose myself in music. It can feel like an entirely different world, even in a banquet hall filled with people.”

Amelia sighed. “I do envy you such an escape.” She wiped at her eyes again, and her shoulders seemed to stiffen, as if she found her armor and wrapped it around herself. “Tell me, Mistress Haywood. Have you ever been in love?”

Kate laughed in surprise at the sudden change. “I—I am not sure.” She thought of Rob leaning close to her as they studied a piece of music, the thrill that shivered through her at his nearness. And she thought of Anthony, the steady, warm touch of his hand on hers, the feeling of safety she had in his presence. “Maybe.”

Amelia laughed. “If you truly had been, you would be sure. You are fortunate, Mistress Haywood, not to know its pain. You should always guard your heart most carefully.”

Kate studied her closely. Amelia looked fierce but also frightened. Kate thought of Queen Elizabeth and Robert Dudley, Catherine Grey and Lord Hertford, her father living without her mother for so many years—all the love affairs that ended in sorrow. “I have much work to do. There is no time to worry about love.”

Amelia nodded. “Work, yes. That is what we must do. The only way to escape.” She gave her eyes another dab with her perfumed handkerchief and smiled a brilliant, shimmering smile that Kate could see now
had always been part of that armor. She wished she could learn it for herself, but she also wished she could somehow help Amelia in her sadness.

Would her own future, after years at royal courts, be like this—false smiles and secrets?

“Work is our own to claim,” Amelia said. “Men are merely trouble.”

All men?
Kate hoped that was not true. “Even though you have so very many suitors?”

“Do I?” Amelia murmured. “Suitors, admirers. They are mostly useless. Unless one finds the right one, which is most unlikely.”

She suddenly rose to her feet and smoothed her golden hair beneath her pearl-edged headdress. “Thank you for listening to my ramblings, Mistress Haywood. I am sure you have many things to do with your evening hours.”

“I always like to talk to people. They are constantly fascinating, like a poem waiting to be set to music.”

Amelia's smile flickered. “You are so kind, Mistress Haywood. I seldom meet anyone with even a morsel of kindness left in their souls after life at court.”

Kate swallowed hard. Sadly, she knew what Amelia meant, for she saw it herself too often. A desire to serve the queen, to serve England, became twisted and selfish. She thought again of that quiet, respectable attorney's house that would one day be Anthony's. “What is the use of our courtly work, then, if not to help others when we can?”

Amelia looked startled, but then she laughed. “I am
sure my aunt and uncle would quite agree with you, Mistress Haywood! As long as the people being helped are their own family. More for someone else means less for them. But never mind that; there are surely more serious matters to worry about now. Are you coming to Queen Catherine's garden festivities tomorrow night?”

Kate found herself once again dizzy at Amelia's changes of topic. She did remember Lady Barnett mentioning a garden party, to be held near the decorative pond so Queen Catherine could show off some of her new work on the pavilion there. “Aye. But will it not be rather cold in the gardens?”

“Not for Queen Catherine! She loves to display her grand creations here at Fontainebleau, to show it is her palace now. It should be a most entertaining evening.”

“I will be there.”

“Good. Then I shall see you there. Good night, Mistress Haywood.”

Before Kate could answer, could ask if Mistress Wrightsman was sure she was well now after crying, Amelia rushed away in a rustle of satin and whiff of violet perfume. Kate found herself alone in the silence.

Kate shivered as a draft from one of the windows swept around her. It was too cold to stay in that stone alcove all alone, pondering the changeable nature of Amelia Wrightsman and her friends. She was tired and had much to think about. She turned back toward her own chamber but found she couldn't seek her bed quite yet. Mistress Berry waited outside her door, pacing back and forth.

“Mistress Berry,” she called as she hurried closer. “May I assist you with something? Is Lady Barnett ill?”

Mistress Berry swung around to face her. For an instant she looked almost worried, but that was quickly banished. Just as Amelia's smile could cover any flicker of her true thoughts, so could Mistress Berry's placidity. “Not at all, Mistress Haywood. I was putting away some of my books before I retired, and I remembered you said on the ship that you would like to learn more of my herbal work. I thought you might like to borrow this.”

She held out a slim volume, and as Kate took it she saw it was well used and bound in worn green leather. The crackling pages were filled with sketches of plants, recipes for household cures. “Thank you, Mistress Berry. This will be most helpful. But it looks as if you use it a great deal.”

Mistress Berry smiled. “Indeed I have, so much that I have it memorized. Others should learn from it now. Keep it as long as you like.”

“Then I thank you. Have Lady Barnett and Mistress Wrightsman learned from it as well?”

“My cousins? Nay, it takes too long to read a recipe when one can employ a stillroom maid for such things.” She studied Kate carefully. “You seem rather more self-sufficient.”

Self-sufficient.
Kate sighed. She would have to be that now, wouldn't she? Her father, her only family, was gone, and she was adrift in a strange country.

Except for Rob. He was there at Fontainebleau with
her. Surely Amelia was not entirely correct; not every man was useless.

“I look forward to reading it, Mistress Berry,” she said.

“Of course. I fear I am keeping you from your rest.” Mistress Berry nodded and turned to walk away. She paused for a moment and glanced back at Kate. “Was that Mistress Wrightsman I saw leaving this corridor?”

“We met on the way to retire and talked about the evening for a moment,” Kate said.

“Of course. Strange that she would be so far from her own chamber now.”

“Fontainebleau is rather confusing.”

“True. Confusing indeed. I do hope that you don't believe everything you are told here, Mistress Haywood.”

With that, Mistress Berry hurried on her way. And Kate opened her own door to find a fire crackling in the small grate. She sat down beside it to study the herbal and go over all she had heard that
night.