Murder at Fontainebleau (3 page)

What changes would a Catholic queen bring to England's northern borders? Elizabeth and above all Cecil had worked so hard to further England's own interests there, sending aid to the Protestant lords. “What of the Treaty of Edinburgh, Your Grace?”

Elizabeth frowned. “She has still not ratified the terms, and Throckmorton writes that she says she will not until she can consult with her Scottish lords, since she is now sadly deprived of her husband's counsel and she followed him in all things.” Her scoffing tone said what she thought of
that
excuse. “This displeases me greatly. She must be made to ratify the treaty before anything else can go forward.”

Elizabeth suddenly slammed her hand down on the table, rattling the ink pots and sending books clattering to the floor. Her ladies went silent and glanced her way, wide-eyed at the fear of another Tudor temper storm.

Kate knew to just sit and wait, for Elizabeth's mood would change again in a moment. She thought of what little she knew of the Treaty of Edinburgh, which had been signed after Elizabeth's forces defeated those of the Queen Regent, Queen Mary's mother, Marie of Guise, many months before. It had been mostly Cecil's work, a way to bring Queen Mary's pretensions to the
English throne to an end, and Kate knew Sir William considered it of vital importance. France was forced to recognize Elizabeth as the rightful Queen of England; Mary and Francis's claims were to be dropped immediately and the quartering of the arms to cease. French forces were to be removed from Scotland. A council of Protestant nobles under Lord James Stewart, Mary's illegitimate half brother, was to rule Scotland in Mary's absence. If Mary and Francis did not ratify the terms, England had the right to intervene in Scotland whenever it was thought necessary to protect Protestant interests.

Yet Queen Mary had long brushed aside the treaty, claiming she had no part in the negotiations at all.

“This is why I have called you back to court, Kate,” Elizabeth said, calm once again. The ladies went back to their whispering.

Kate was puzzled. Queen Mary was an intriguing topic indeed, but she couldn't see where her part could be in the Scots queen's tale. “Am I to force Queen Mary to ratify the treaty at the point of my lute?”

Elizabeth laughed. “I wager if anyone at my court could do such a thing, it would be you. Your quiet sweetness can lull people into confessing much.”

Kate was secretly pleased at the queen's words. She did not mean to convey quiet sweetness. She often wished she were more skilled at changing masks at will, as so many courtiers were, putting on the appropriate character for every situation, changing in a lightning flash. She was quiet because that was the way to
learn the most. When people forgot someone was there, they spoke more freely, let their masks slip.

As for “sweet”—she knew her father would have laughed at such an idea, for she had often been a willful child. Yet she knew her heart was sometimes too soft for courtly life. Her mother had secretly been a Boleyn, but everyone who knew Eleanor Haywood said she had been calm and serene. Not very Boleyn-like at all.

“Nay, don't look so uncertain, Kate,” Elizabeth said. “You have often served me well, and you know it. You can go where most ladies cannot, and you know the art of waiting and listening. You know people, as if they were characters in a play. And, for so many reasons, I know you are loyal to me. Loyal to England.”

Kate nodded. She was indeed loyal to Elizabeth. Not only were they secretly family, but Kate knew that Elizabeth was the only hope for a peaceful, united kingdom. She had seen too many storms, too much danger growing up under King Edward and Queen Mary to think otherwise. “I will always serve Your Grace however I can.”

“Good. Because I need you to go to France as soon as possible.”

Kate had heard some rather strange requests from Elizabeth before, but she had not expected
that
. To go to France—she, who had never been farther from London than Nonsuch?

It was frightening, the thought of venturing across the sea to a new land. Yet also most intriguing. Kate
had read so much of France, but she had never thought to see it for herself.

“You will not go alone, of course,” Elizabeth said. “I am sending a small party to offer condolences to my cousin, and perhaps bring some small cheer to her in such a doleful time. I will leave the hard-hearted politics to Cecil. Or so it will appear. I need someone I can trust there, someone who knows how to watch and listen, who knows the workings of people's hearts. A musician, mayhap.”

Knew people's hearts? Kate often wished she did know such things. But she would do anything for the queen. “Whom would I travel with, Your Grace?”

“I have not assembled everyone yet, but Sir Henry Barnett has agreed to go, along with his wife, Jane, who was once a Percy. Perhaps you know them?”

Kate nodded. She had met the Barnetts, though she did not know them well. Sir Henry had long worked in royal diplomatic circles and was known to be a hard but fair man, and much liked by his servants. Lady Barnett was pretty, and said to be proud of her maiden name, though she had come from an impoverished branch of that ancient family. Kate knew little else.

“Lady Barnett once served at the French court, at the same time as my mother, when they were only girls,” Elizabeth said. The words were spoken casually, carelessly, but her tone sharpened when she mentioned her mother. Kate nodded, remembering that Anne Boleyn had spent many years at the French court when she was young, acquiring the Parisian polish and style that
made her so distinctive. “I think that might have been where she met Sir Henry, for they married very young. They have no children, but Lady Barnett's niece, Amelia Wrightsman, will go with them. Mistress Wrightsman was recently in France herself. Sir Henry is dull but steady. You will be able to rely on him for help.”

Kate nodded. “Who else, Your Grace?”

“A kinsman to Ambassador Throckmorton, Master Charles Throckmorton, is going to join Sir Nicholas's household. He will travel with you. Cecil will add others.” She glanced down at the papers on her desk, seeming to hesitate. “Also, our cousin Lord Hunsdon has agreed to send some of his company of actors to assist you in creating entertainments for Queen Mary. Your friend Master Cartman will be one of them.”

Kate was surprised again—and pleased. Surely France could not be so frightening with Rob to share it with her! To make her laugh. “Rob Cartman, Your Grace?”

“Aye. Rob, as you say. I have heard that Queen Mary much enjoys the company of handsome young men, and plays and music give her much pleasure. The game of courtly love is strong at the French court.” Elizabeth frowned disapprovingly, as if she herself did not fully take advantage of such courtly-love masquerades, playing her suitors against one another, reveling in poetry and gifts. “Though they also say that young men are even more susceptible to
her
. That she is very beautiful indeed.”

“Rob is most loyal to you, Your Grace, and to England.”

“So Lord Hunsdon says, and I do trust both of you.
If this Master Cartman will be of help to you, then he may go.” She paused and leveled a stern glance at Kate, one that made her cheeks turn warm, though she did not know why. “Kate, you know I caution my ladies against any thoughts of marriage.”

Kate nodded slowly. She did indeed know that. Was not Lady Catherine Grey pining away for love? She had been sent to the Tower for marrying Lord Hertford in secret and bearing his child. More ladies than her had been banished for the crime of wishing to marry and have their own families. The queen had to be the center of all her courtiers' lives. “I know.”

“Very well, then, Kate. You may go now. Rest for now; you have your old room, and warm water and refreshments will be delivered there. I will also send my tailor to you; you will need new gowns for the French court. Tonight I will dine with you and the others who are to go to France.”

“Thank you, Your Grace. I shall do my best for you,” Kate said. She rose from her stool and curtsied as the queen waved her away and turned back to her papers.

“I know you will, Kate,” Elizabeth whispered. “I also know you will be most careful. The French court is not like my own. You must be ever vigilant there.”

Kate nodded and made her way out of the royal apartments. Her own room was along a distant corridor, far from the grand royal apartments and the lodgings of favored courtiers, but she was glad of the quiet there, the moment to think. A fire was laid in the grate, and her familiar bed and chair were waiting. Her box
of books was already laid on her small table, along with a tray of wine and cakes.
I am to go to France!
She could hardly absorb the thought. What would it be like there? Not like England, certainly, but Elizabeth was wrong if she thought vigilance was something that would only be needed in Paris. Watching and listening constantly was the only way to even hope to stay out of danger in any royal court. Kate knew she had much to learn, but she had also come a long way since her days at Hatfield with Princess Elizabeth.

She reached for the box of books, thinking to start studying right away, only to find a note tucked on its lid.
Mistress Haywood, welcome back to Whitehall. If you would please to attend me as soon as possible? Sir W. Cecil.

Kate laughed. It seemed there were to be few quiet moments after
all.

T
he chamber Sir William Cecil used for his office was not a large one, and every table and chest was covered with documents. The papers seemed to teeter and lean precariously, but Kate knew each one was carefully noted and placed. Three clerks sat near the window, using the waning light to decipher the letters before them. The only sound was the scratch of their quill pens across parchment, the slight rustle of their black clerks' robes. The air, warmed by a crackling fire occasionally fed by more papers, smelled of dust and ink.

Sir William sat by the fire, next to a small writing table. Like his secretaries, he wore black, but his was glossy silk trimmed with fur. He was not an old man, merely in his early forties, but his task of guiding the often-stubborn queen and keeping England secure had aged him. His shoulders seemed stooped from constantly looking over papers, his eyes red-rimmed, his brown beard flecked with gray.

Kate had come to respect him greatly. He worked
even longer hours than the queen, got little sleep, and would never give up when it came to ensuring the queen's safety. She was grateful to him for the lessons he gave her as well, having some of his men help her with code breaking, lock picking, and even a bit of swordplay.

“Ah, Mistress Haywood, there you are,” Cecil said, not even looking up from his writing. “'Tis good to see you at court again.”

“'Tis good to be back, Sir William,” she answered.

“Of course it is. There is no need for your fine music in the country, I would warrant.” He waved her to a stool across from him and offered a silver pitcher of wine. “And I do not have enough people to help me here these days.”

Kate took a sip of the wine and studied the secretaries bent over their papers. “Does not half the court work for you, Sir William?”

“Ha! That they do—unless they work for that fool Dudley. And they will see the light soon enough.” Cecil laid down his pen and sat back in his cushioned chair. “I would wager you do not work for either of us, Mistress Haywood.”

“I serve Queen Elizabeth however I can.”

“As do we all. Without her we are all lost.” Cecil sighed. “If I could just persuade her to do what she must, to marry and give England a son at last . . .”

“If only there was the right bridegroom to father that son . . .” Kate said with a laugh, and thought of
Elizabeth's attitude toward marriage. She thought Cecil would be waiting long for a king consort.

“Only that would put an end to the Queen of Scots' demands to be acknowledged as heir,” Cecil said severely. “She must be brought into place. She and her plague of Guise uncles have paraded their arrogance before the world long enough.”

“Thus this journey to France?”

Cecil nodded. “My friend Nicholas Throckmorton, the ambassador to France, wishes greatly to return to England, but Queen Elizabeth insists he shall not leave Paris until Queen Mary has ratified the Treaty of Edinburgh. Nick is a fine man, a loyal one, but even he seems susceptible to Mary's reputed charms. He needs some assistance in this endeavor.”

“Queen Elizabeth says Mary will not ratify because she insists she needs counsel from her Scots lords, that she was not consulted in the terms.”

A flash of anger, a rare show of emotion, crossed Cecil's bearded face. “Queen Mary is a viper, waiting to strike at England at every opportunity. She thinks the English throne will fall into her hands. This refusal is yet another of her hostile acts. It is a refusal to recognize Elizabeth as rightful Queen of England, and no honeyed words will disguise that. She will always conspire to overthrow her cousin and bring Catholicism back to England. She must be watched most carefully at all times.”

It sounded like an enormous task, and for an
instant Kate felt lost. How could she be of any help in a scheme so big? She drank the last of her wine. “And you think I can be of assistance in such a matter?”

“I know you can, Mistress Haywood. Queen Mary loves her entertainments above all, music and dance and such.” His tone clearly showed his doubt in such a thing. Cecil would attend royal plays and masques if needed, but he much preferred his own desk to amusements. But he would always utilize whatever might get the task done. “She is always on her guard with Throckmorton, always dissembling. My friend the Earl of Bedford, too, has gone to France to deliver Queen Elizabeth's condolence letters to Mary, but I fear he lacks a certain . . . patience. He presses Queen Mary too insistently, and she will not give him an audience. A young lady who can bring music to Queen Mary in her more private moments, who speaks fluent French and knows the art of watchfulness—aye, you can be of much assistance.”

“What must I do?”

“Only what you do already. Play music, watch the dancing. Listen to Queen Mary speak in private to her ladies and her family. If you could persuade her that Queen Elizabeth is truly her friend and ally, that ratifying the treaty would be the only thing that could ensure her a place in the English succession, all the better.”

Kate nodded. She could indeed do that, at least the music and listening part. She had learned how to notice so many things in the last months. But to persuade a queen . . .

That she would certainly have to practice.

“I also need you to deliver these.” Cecil handed her a small bundle of letters carefully sealed with plain wax. “For Nicholas Throckmorton and Lord Bedford, as well as a few other friends. They are in cipher, of course, but it would be best if they did not fall into Guise hands. Or into those of Lord James Stewart, for that matter.”

“Queen Mary's illegitimate half brother?”

“Aye. He poses as our ally, writing me asking for support for the Lords of the Congregation if his sister returns to Scotland, declaring his staunch adherence to the Protestant church. But I know he plays a double game. He has also written to the King of Navarre in France and to Spain. He is with his sister in France now, no doubt giving her the same honeyed words of support. He was regent of Scotland with her gone from her kingdom. He wants only to keep that power in his own hands.”

“I will guard these letters most carefully, Sir William.” Kate carefully tucked the letters into the purse at her waist.

“I know you shall. These also came for you while you were away.” He passed her more letters, his expression impassive.

The seals appeared unbroken, but Kate knew that was no sign of privacy. She had been taught how to steam them open and reseal them, making them look perfectly intact. Before she could study them, the door opened and a young man entered the chamber. She slid the letters into her purse with the others.

“Ah, Toby. There you are,” Cecil said. “Come and meet Mistress Haywood, who will be accompanying you and the Barnetts to France. Mistress Haywood, you know Master Toby Ridley? He is recently returned from a journey on the queen's business to Venice, and was in Paris before that.”

Kate gave him a smile. She knew him by sight, though she had never actually met him. He was one of those young men who hovered at the edges of the royal court, though she had heard that many of the ladies liked him.

Master Ridley gave a bow, and when he faced them again, Kate saw he had a wide, merry smile, one that surely made everyone else want to smile as well. Though he was too plain-faced to be really handsome, with freckles across a flat nose and curling brown hair to match his brown eyes, that smile was one of rare charm.

He was also very fashionably dressed, which set him aside from the somber Cecil and his secretaries. Master Ridley's purple velvet doublet, the sleeves slashed and pinked in gold, and the gold embroidery on his short satin cloak shimmered.

“I am glad to see you have given me a much more beauteous travel companion this time, Sir William,” Master Ridley said teasingly. “All those hatchet-faced Puritans have made for some dull journeys.”

Much to Kate's surprise, Cecil actually chuckled. Surely no one else dared speak to the dour chief secretary like that! Except for his wife, Mildred, everyone was most careful and circumspect around him. She studied Master Ridley with even more interest.

“Do you care for music, Master Ridley?” she asked.

“I fear I have an ear of lead, Mistress Haywood,” he answered cheerfully. “Perhaps you could give me lessons on the lute during our voyage? I have heard you play for the queen's dancing, and it is like hearing angels' songs. Such a talent might be of much use in wooing the fair ladies.”

Kate burst out laughing. She couldn't help herself; he looked so mischievous. “I have the feeling you need little help on
that
errand, Master Ridley. But I am always happy to bring more acolytes to Euterpe.”

“Ah, I knew you two would work together well,” Cecil said. “Now take yourselves off to walk in the garden and speak more of these French matters. I must finish my work here.”

Master Ridley offered his arm to Kate and led her out of Cecil's office and through the gallery. Courtiers still gathered there, gossiping and laughing together, and Toby Ridley stopped to greet several of them. Kate noticed everyone seemed glad to see him, and he had an easy, convivial way of speaking to them.

“It must be very interesting to visit so many foreign lands,” Kate said as they went down the stone steps of the gallery.

His open, merry face turned more somber of expression when they were out in the quiet garden. It was too cold for very many people to be outside as they would be on warmer afternoons. The trees were bare, their brown branches stark against the gray sky, and the gravel paths wound past sleeping flower beds.
“You have not been to France before, have you, Mistress Haywood?”

“Nay, I have never been farther from London than Nonsuch,” she answered. “I have scarcely had time to become accustomed to the idea of such a journey, but I confess I'm rather excited by the prospect. They say France is most beautiful.”

“And so it is. The palaces are beyond compare, decorated by the finest artists from Florence and Venice, with the most exquisite gardens. The fashions are as beautiful as the ladies who wear them. Everything has a lightness and grace to it we do not see so often in England.”

Kate was intrigued. “You have been to France many times, then, Master Ridley?”

“Aye, but not since before I was in Venice. At my last visit, for the marriage of Princess Elisabeth by proxy to King Philip of Spain, I saw the joust where King Henri was killed.”

His voice was quiet, but Kate saw the tightness of his jaw as he said those words, the way he closed his eyes for a moment. She could only imagine the horror of that scene, when the late French king—Mary, Queen of Scots' father-in-law—was killed when a lance splintered and pierced his brain, with all his family and courtiers watching.

“I am sorry, Master Ridley,” she said.

He nodded. “And now the boy who became king on that day is dead himself. King Francis was surely never destined to be a great king. He was ill and feverish all
the time, obsessed with hunting, never attending his own council meetings. And he was much shorter than his wife, Queen Mary.”

“But now France has a king who is only nine years old.”

“And the Guise brothers competing with the Bourbons for power. They are all ruthless and will not give up even a shred of authority without a very fierce fight.” He stopped on the graveled path and turned to face her. He looked like a different person than the one who had laughed with the courtiers in the gallery, his plain face older. “Never forget, Mistress Haywood. The beauty of France conceals naught but a vipers' pit. No one is ever what they seem.”

Kate thought surely the same could be said of the English court. She had learned long ago to look deeper, look beyond charming smiles and sweet words, for so many people had proved false to her in the past. Yet Master Ridley looked so intent, so eager to make sure she understood his warning, she could only nod. “I will be most careful—I promise, Master Ridley.”

His taut expression relaxed into a smile. “I know Sir William would never send you to France if he did not know that to be true. He is never wrong about people.”

Kate hoped that was true, for she was trusting Cecil—and the queen—to send her off on a long voyage with a party of people she barely knew.

“Master Throckmorton!” Toby suddenly called, turning from Kate to wave to a man who was passing them
on a parallel path. “I understand you are to travel with us to France.”

The man paused and made his way over to them. She studied him curiously, for he was surely Charles Throckmorton, whom Cecil said was also to be sent to France. He was handsome, with a dark, hawkish face, his hair and short-trimmed beard also dark. He was dressed more quietly than Toby, in brown velvet and wool, his cap unadorned with any beads or plumes. He did not glance at her, his gaze intent on Toby.

“I am to join my kinsman Sir Nicholas at his embassy,” Master Throckmorton said. “I would prefer to stay here with my studies, but royal orders must be obeyed. I am happy
you
are going, Toby. At least there shall be one person to converse with on this journey.”

“More than one, I am sure.” Toby reached for Kate's arm and gently drew her forward. “This is Mistress Haywood, the queen's musician, who is also to journey to France. Sir William says she is fluent in French and will surely entertain Queen Mary. Mistress Haywood, may I present Master Charles Throckmorton? We have known each other since we were lads; we shared tutors and were pages in Sir William's household.”

“I am glad to meet you, Mistress Haywood.” Master Throckmorton gave her a bow, but he still did not look directly at her or seem very interested.

“What are your studies, Master Throckmorton?” Kate asked.

“I am interested in alchemy and astronomy.”

“Indeed? I have had the honor of meeting Dr. John Dee at the queen's court. His studies are quite fascinating. Alchemy can be much like music, can it not? A means of exploring the interactions of the celestial forces,” Kate said. She thought of that summer at Nonsuch Palace, of all the things she had seen there that could not be explained.