Murder at Fontainebleau (11 page)

K
ate had never seen anything like the gardens at Fontainebleau before, all lit up for Queen Catherine's party. For an instant, as they stepped out from beneath the covered terrace landing from the gallery to the
jardin anglais
, she was so dazzled that she froze in her tracks, causing the ladies behind her to bump into her. She stood in awe of the artful jumble that was such a contrast to the usual careful symmetry of English gardens, and the ladies giggled over her English manners.

Kate had to laugh at herself, too, for she felt like the smallest mouse from the countryside, gawking at the lavishness of royalty. Yet surely the gardens were meant to dazzle in just such a way. Even a hardened, lifelong courtier would be arrested by just such a display.

Arrested—and distracted from any conflicts and woes that beset the reign of the new young king and his warring factions.

Brigit Berry came to her side, and Kate turned to see
the older lady smiling wryly as she studied the lavish garden scene.

“Beautiful, is it not?” Mistress Berry said as she smoothed the white ruffled trim of her black sleeves. She wore her usual serviceable garments, which made her stand out amid the shining satins and lustrous furs of the others.

“I have never seen anything like it,” Kate answered truthfully.

“Of course you have not,” Mistress Berry said. “We are in a world apart here, are we not? None can judge us by everyday rules now.”

“Hurry along, Brigit!” Lady Barnett called from the pathway ahead. She was arm in arm with two of Queen Catherine's ladies, laughing with them. Amelia was nowhere to be seen.

Brigit nodded and followed her kinswoman as Lady Barnett and her friends vanished through a thick stand of pine trees toward the carp pond, where the party was to be held. The darkness of the night was gathering fast, a thick, heavy blue-black curtain, with only the swirl of stars overhead and the flickering lanterns to light their way. The pale fur of the ladies' cloaks made them look like ghosts as they drifted between the trees, appearing and disappearing again.

Kate followed them, drawing her hood up over her hair. It was a cold night but very still, no wind brushing through the trees. Everything had a glasslike, frozen quality to it. Even the laughter that hung in the air seemed to belong to spirits. She shivered and had the
sudden feeling that she certainly didn't want to be caught alone in those dark shadows.

She hurried down the path, following the sound of voices as they grew louder and were joined by the strains of music, a melancholy, sweet song she had never heard before. She found herself by the edge of the pond, which looked like a fine flat sheet of Venetian glass under the light of the hundreds of lanterns.

It was exactly like the scenes Queen Elizabeth wished to conjure through her royal masquerades—otherworldly in its beauty. On the far side of the water stood a octagonal pale marble pavilion, its windows glowing with amber light. On its steps Kate glimpsed a small figure in black: the Queen Mother surrounded by her beautiful ladies in white, her hand raised as if to summon people into her fairy realm.

To get to the pavilion, boats festooned with wreaths of greenery and fluttering ribbons waited to ferry everyone across. Kate saw Toby Ridley help Amelia into one as she laughed at something he said to her. She wore white-figured brocade with his black velvet cloak draped carelessly over her shoulders. He looked up into her face with eagerness written large in his expression.

Lady Barnett and Brigit were already gone, and Kate couldn't see anyone else she knew nearby. She studied the faces of the gentlemen, hoping to find Rob, but he was nowhere among them.

“How much coin do you think was spent on this nuisance?” someone behind her grumbled.

She glanced back to see two Guise kinsmen waiting for a boat, their faces scowling above the lace collars of their finery.

“The Queen Mother should listen to the advice of the duc,” the other one answered. “Instead she gives too much to these Huguenots, and look where that has gotten us!”

“She should heed King Philip's example,” said the first one. “Just as the duc has. The Spanish know how to deal with heretics.”

“Mistress Haywood?” she heard Charles Throckmorton call, and she turned away from the discontented Guise. She stood on tiptoe to see over the shoulders of the people gathered in front of her and glimpsed him waving at her.

“Pardon, messieurs,” she murmured, squeezing through the crowd. She smelled wine and strong perfumes as she tried to make her way through the press, felt elbows catch her in the side. She stumbled, and instinctively held out her hand to catch herself.

She found herself clutching at a smooth satin sleeve, and a strong hand set her upright again. She glanced up, muttering apologies, and found herself looking up into the eyes of Jacques d'Emours, Amelia's erstwhile lover. He gave her an abrupt nod, his blue eyes icy, before he let her go. He
was
handsome with those unusual eyes—Kate would give Amelia that—but so very distant and cold, she wondered he did not freeze everyone around him. Perhaps he was one of the Guise angry about Queen Catherine's “lenient” behavior?

She spun away and stumbled out of the crowd at the edge of the pond. Charles was there to find her and caught her arm to lead her to one of the boats. She sank down onto the velvet cushions of the narrow seat with a relieved sigh.

As they pushed out onto the water, leaving the crowd behind, the music grew louder. It seemed to be rising from the depths of the pond itself, as if sung by mermaids, and Kate was enchanted by the sound. She couldn't help herself and leaned over to peer into the dark waves. A sudden splash made her fall back with a startled laugh.

A large boat shaped like a golden chariot floated past, and she saw that was where the music came from. A man dressed as Neptune in filmy blue and green draperies, with a golden crown and trident, sat high up in the prow of the boat while nymphs in thin white silk fluttered around him, singing.

Smaller boats followed, each one shaped like a gilded seashell and steered by mermaids in green satin with flowing waves of hair, each of them adding their own clear, high voice to the song.

Kate was amazed. “I have not seen such a thing in England.”

Charles gave her a weary-looking smile. “Not even by the queen's ardent suitors, each of them seeking to impress her more than any other?”

Kate laughed, and remembered the classical tableaux of the Earl of Arundel at Nonsuch, the whimsical gifts of Robert Dudley, the gilded and painted coaches
of Eric of Sweden. “I have seen much that amazes from them, aye, but no sea pageants such as this.”

“I am sure once word of entertainments of this sort make their way back to England, as they are designed to do, you will see many like it. Probably you will even be asked to arrange one, once everyone knows you have seen the French court and its splendors in person.”

Kate watched a gilded sea horse float past. She lowered her voice to ask, “How are such things possible? Is the court not still in mourning for Queen Mary's husband? Yet Queen Catherine speaks of hunts and parties at her play dairy . . .” Not to mention the financial troubles and religious squabbles that led to so much despair, so many burned homes and deaths. Not that money meant a great deal to courtly splendor—Queen Elizabeth had inherited an empty treasury from her sister, which made it more important than ever that the English court look splendid.

For France, the pinnacle of European culture, surely that was even more important. The turmoil that bubbled beneath the surface had to be kept hidden.

“Queen Catherine has a kingdom to build on the shoulders of a ten-year-old boy,” Charles answered. “She stands between the Guise and the Huguenots, neither of whom will give up power easily. She must keep the peace now at all costs, and distractions can be one way to help with such a task.”

Kate nodded. Surely distractions would paint a
rosy picture of Paris for other monarchs as well. “And where does Queen Mary fit in all of this?”

“Queen Mary? She does not. Queen Catherine will not countenance the Duc de Guise's proposal that Mary wed her brother-in-law King Charles. Lord James Stewart will lose power if his sister returns to Scotland, and the grand marriage scheme to Don Carlos of Spain looks less and less likely,” Charles said. “My uncle says she should stay here and live comfortably on her French estates, but she does not seem like the quiet, comfortable sort, does she?”

Kate frowned, wondering again what Elizabeth really wanted from her Scottish cousin. What Kate herself should encourage here in France. She had written down all she had seen and heard thus far at Queen Catherine's court and carefully coded it, but she could make little sense yet of what was real and important and what was mere courtly subterfuge.

Their boat bumped against the shore, and one of Neptune's acolytes in white-and-gold classical draperies leaped forward to help her alight. The crowd made their way from the boats, twisting up the pathway to the pavilion, while tritons at either side blew their shell horns. Charles vanished into the gathering, and Kate looked about in confusion.

One of the tritons, in white chiton and golden half mask, caught her arm and spun her in a circle. At first her heart leaped with startled fear, as it had on the ship. She instinctively raised her hand to slap him, but then
she recognized the bright blue eyes sparkling from behind the mask, the mischievous smile. Even though his short golden hair was covered by a curled, blue-tinted wig, it was undoubtedly Rob.

“What are you doing?” she whispered.

He laughed merrily. “I am to take a role tonight, fair Kate. Signorina Isabella arranged it.”

“Signorina Isabella?” Kate remembered the woman who was singing for Queen Catherine, her bright red hair, her eyes that seemed to see everything.

“Aye. I am learning some of the Italian techniques to take to our plays in England. You must meet with these actors more—they are fascinating.”

“Rob, I think . . .” Before she could say anything else, Rob quickly kissed her hand and whirled away into the crowd of tritons. “We must be careful of everyone here,” she whispered. Dizzy, Kate made her way with the rest of the partygoers into the pavilions. They all lined up to make their bows to Queen Catherine and slipped past her into yet another room of the fairy world.

The domed ceiling high above their heads was painted with goddesses in white and red, with swans flying among them, touched with sparkling edges of gold leaf. The stone walls between the golden glass windows were hung with tapestries whose matching gold threads caught the torchlight and sparkled. At the far end, a red velvet-draped dais waited with gilded chairs and footstools.

A cluster of shepherdesses dressed in clouds of
pink-and-white silk with beribboned crooks danced in the center of the room to a lively tune of tambours and flutes. Just as on the water, Kate could see no source for the music; it seemed to ring out as if by magic. Shepherds passed around trays of silver goblets to laughing courtiers in brocades and velvets, the air warm after the cold night beyond, the rich scents of jasmine and rose lulling them closer to the festivities.

She glimpsed Amelia nearby, giggling with two of Queen Mary's ladies. The last time Kate saw her she had been tearful, but now her cheeks were bright red, her usually perfectly dressed hair escaping from its pearl pins as she waved her hands and her laughter grew louder. She seemed to forget she held a goblet, for some of the wine spilled scarlet droplets onto her pale brocade sleeve.

Amelia laughed and wiped at the wine with the silver fur muff she held on her other arm. A diamond brooch nestled in the fur sparkled, and Kate noticed it was a lion—a badge of the Guise family. She glanced across the room and caught a glimpse of Monsieur d'Emours looking like a god himself in white and gold. He seemed to be looking at Amelia, watching her laugh, but he quickly vanished into the crowd.

She felt a touch on her arm and turned to find Celeste Renard standing behind her. Celeste's bright hair was bound up with a chain of bloodred rubies, but her gown was a somber dove gray, and her smile was smaller than usual.

“It seems our friend Mademoiselle Wrightsman has been much enjoying Queen Catherine's fine wine of Burgundy,” Celeste said.

Kate nodded cautiously, unsure about Celeste. She and Amelia had always appeared to be good friends, but friendship here at Fontainebleau, like so many other things, was illusory. “I am sure it cannot be an easy thing for her to encounter Monsieur d'Emours at every turn.”

“So you have heard of their famous
amour
and the duel that ended it?” Celeste said. A page in Queen Catherine's blue-and-gold livery passed by with a tray laden with more silver and gold goblets, and Celeste took two.

She handed one to Kate, and Kate automatically took a sip. It was indeed a very delicious wine, rich, complex, but beneath lay a heavy taste of spice. Over the braided silver rim, she caught a glimpse of Queen Catherine's perfumer and astrologer, Signor Ruggieri, across the room with Monsieur d'Emours and other Guise retainers.

“Has not everyone heard of the duel?” Kate said. “It seems to be a very romantic tale.”

“Romantic?” Celeste said with a scoffing laugh. “Monsieur d'Emours is only in love with his own estates, his position. They say he cannot maintain his château. If the Guise fall here at court, so will he. It was folly to bring such scandalous attention on himself now.”

Kate studied Monsieur d'Emours. He listened to the other men but said nothing himself, giving away nothing by the marble expression on his handsome
face. She glanced back to the laughing Amelia, who had turned away from her former lover and held out her hand to Toby instead. “Then surely he must have some passion for her, to have behaved so?”

Celeste shrugged. “The d'Emours name is an old one, filled with a history of courtiers who have behaved far worse. Perhaps he thought that would protect him. But times have changed greatly in France.”