Murder at Whitehall (5 page)

But nay, that could not be. Anthony needed the right sort of wife to help him. Someone quiet and pretty, who knew how to run a fine house and entertain patrons. A wife like Mistress Hardy, in fact.

Or like Mistress Hardy's niece.

Kate had always known
she
could not be that sort of wife. She liked the changing scene of the royal court, the excitement and movement, and even the intrigue. She loved her music, and the chance to play it for the queen and her courtiers, people who knew and appreciated the art of it. She had never learned how to run a household, as most ladies did. Nor did she really want to learn.

But sometimes—just sometimes—life was lonely, and someone to laugh with next to the fire after a long day would be nice.

She took another sip of her wine, and the warmth at last began to seep into her heart. She listened to the laughter around her, the chatter about the Christmas season at court, and it made her laugh, too. This was the life she had been raised to, the life she had chosen. She just needed to remind herself of that sometimes.

She suddenly felt a gentle touch on her arm, and turned to find Lady Catherine smiling at her. Lady Catherine had scarcely taken her gaze from Lord Hertford since he arrived, and her eyes still glowed with a happiness she couldn't conceal when she was with him, yet her smile was concerned.

“Are you quite well, Mistress Haywood?” she whispered.

“I am very well,” Kate answered. She made herself laugh again, a careless laugh she had learned from the queen, and hoped she was becoming better at courtly concealment than Lady Catherine was. “Merely cold, I think.”

Lady Catherine frowned. “But that man we saw by the river, the one you spoke to. I thought he might be your—well, he was very handsome.”

“I told you, Lady Catherine, he is an old friend. I knew him when I lived at Hatfield House. I haven't seen him in a long time.”

“Are you sure that is all?”

Kate nodded firmly. “Quite sure, Lady Catherine.”

Lady Catherine looked as if she wanted to say something more, but Lord Hertford claimed her attention. “I fear the wine is gone, my dear Lady Catherine,” he said. “How shall we play a game of snapdragon without it?”

“I will go fetch more,” Kate said quickly. Her concealing smile could be held for only a few moments longer, she feared. An errand would give her a quiet moment.

Before Lady Catherine could stop her, Kate slid away from the table and made her way through the crowded room. She heard snatches of all sorts of languages as she passed the crowded tables, German, Spanish, French, Dutch. She found the maidservant in a long narrow dark hallway leading to the stairs. The
girl seemed rushed and red-faced, but she cheerfully stopped to take Kate's order for more wine.

“Of course, mistress, right away,” she said. “I do like it when the queen's own courtiers come here—their clothes are always so lovely.”

“Do they come here often?” Kate asked.

“When the queen is at Whitehall Palace, mistress. We are near to there but not so far, especially for the gentlemen, if you know what I mean,” the maidservant said with a laugh and a wink.

Kate nodded. The queen encouraged flirtation at court, but only if it was centered on her own royal person, and she always watched everyone around her with the keen attention of a hawk. At an inn, lords and ladies could laugh together freely—and the men could look for other distractions, as well. Kate had glimpsed such things often enough, in the darkened corners of the palace and at places like the Cardinal's Hat in Southwark, run by her friend Mistress Celine.

“It should make things quite interesting,” she murmured.

The maid studied Kate's fur-trimmed red cloak and fine Spanish leather boots. “But you're from the queen's court yourself, aren't you, mistress?”

“My father is a musician to the queen,” Kate answered. She often found it was much easier to say that than explain how she came to be a court musician herself.

The maid's eyes widened. “Music? We do love a good song here, though we don't get to hear it as much as we like, unless you count it when the customers get
ale-shot and sing bawdy chants. The Spanish gentlemen seem to like that sort of thing more than anyone.”

Kate laughed, trying to imagine Bishop de Quadra and his black-clad retainers singing bawdy songs. She could almost picture the new secretary Senor Gomez doing that, but not his solemn friend Senor Vasquez.

“But we do have a lady staying here now who plays the lute very finely,” the maid said. “I like to stand outside her room and listen when I can. I would get my ear twisted by the landlady if she knew, though.”

“A lady who plays the lute?” Kate thought of the crowd she had passed in the great room, the prosperous-looking travelers with their cacophony of languages. “Is she the wife of one of those merchants I saw in the great room?”

“Nay, that is the odd thing, mistress.” The maid glanced over her shoulder, as if to make sure the inn's ear-twisting landlady was nowhere in sight. When she saw they were alone in the dim corridor, she leaned closer and whispered, “She is dressed very fine, but she stays all alone up there in her room. A gentleman brought her here almost a fortnight ago, and left a large purse to pay for her keep, but we haven't seen him since.”

“How very odd.” Kate was rather intrigued. It sounded like a poem or a play, a fine lady left in distress, waiting for a knight to ride to her rescue. Perhaps she was a kidnapped princess, spirited away from her home, or a runaway bride. Most interesting.

“We do have the wives of lots of foreign merchants stay here, since the palace is so near. Dutch, and French
Hugenots, people of that sort. But this lady is
English
. We take her meals up to her, and she says very little. All I know is that she is called Mary. I think it must get lonely there.”

“I daresay it must be,” Kate murmured. She wondered who she could be, an English lady called Mary who played music all day. It would be interesting to meet her. Kate was with people all the time at court, and everyone there had to play music to one degree or another to please the queen. But there were few she could speak to freely, and fewer still whose secrets were quite so intriguing.

“Hester! There you are,” a woman shrieked. She was a portly, red-faced lady dressed in fine green wool and a lace-trimmed cap, but she was scowling under its frill as she rushed toward the maid and grabbed her arm. “What are you doing standing about here when we have so many customers? Take the wine out immediately!”

“Of course, Mistress Fawlkes. Right away.” The maid gave Kate a quick smile and hurried off, closely followed by the landlady. Kate was left alone in the corridor. She could hear the echo of the laughter from the great room, and she knew she should go back as well, but somehow she couldn't quite make herself move. The quiet was so welcome for a moment. She leaned back against the plastered wall and thought of the lady hidden in her room. What would it be like to run away for a while, to lock a door behind her, pick up her lute, and not have to move? It would be lovely for a day or two, but maybe not for a whole fortnight.

The sound of a door closing at the top of the stairs startled her. She pushed herself away from the wall and glanced up the narrow staircase. A girl stood on the landing above, and even in the dim, dusty light Kate could see that she was pretty, with a pale oval face crowned with a wealth of dark auburn hair worn loose over her shoulders. She was rather tall for a woman, but coltishly slender, a girl on the cusp of being a lady.

She wore a fine gown of peach-colored taffeta trimmed with gold ribbons, and Kate realized she must be the mysterious lute-playing lady. She looked rather familiar, with that burnished hair and pointed chin, but Kate couldn't be sure she'd seen her before.

The girl, like the maid, looked back over her shoulder uncertainly, as if she feared someone followed her. One of her delicate hands hovered at her throat uncertainly. To Kate's surprise, a narrow gold wedding band circled her finger. She seemed rather young for such things. Lords and ladies at court, especially the ones who commanded large estates, often married in childhood, but most people did not.

“Are you Mistress Mary?” Kate called.

The girl gasped, and her attention shot to Kate. There was only a glimpse of wide, bright green eyes, and then the girl spun around and fled. There was the sound of the door slamming and the click of a lock sliding back into place.

Kate laughed ruefully. “I didn't realize I was so very fearsome,” she whispered. She turned to make her way back toward the great room. It would soon be time to return to Whitehall to prepare for the night's dancing.

Before she could get there, she glimpsed the white fur-trimmed hem of a dark blue cloak rounding the corner of the corridor that led down into the kitchens and vanishing into the warren of rooms behind. It looked like Lady Catherine's cloak, and Kate could hear the soft, musical murmur of her voice.

Kate tiptoed to the corner, careful not to be seen. What was Lady Catherine doing there? Surely she was not going to the kitchens for a bit of cookery advice.

But Lady Catherine was not there alone. Kate heard a deeper voice answer hers—Lord Hertford's voice.

“Can we not wait until we return to the palace to talk, my sweeting?” he said. “A public inn is far too crowded.”

“Not as crowded as Whitehall would be! There are ears in every wall there, I vow,” Lady Catherine cried. Her voice sounded thick, gasping, as if she was on the verge of tears. “And we have not truly spoken since you came to Sheen to see my mother before she died.”

“There has been no chance to speak, as you well know,” Lord Hertford said impatiently. There was a rustle of cloth, the sounds of a kiss.

“Nay,” Lady Catherine said after a long moment. “I must know what is happening, Ned. I can wait no longer.”

“Happening, my sweet?”

“I know my mother gave you permission for us to wed, that it was her dearest wish. Yet you have not spoken to the queen.”

“You know that matters are not so simple as that.”

“Are they not?”

“Of course not. You are no mere maid, but the queen's cousin. Perhaps one day you will be her declared heir. We must tread softly.”

“I am sick unto death of treading softly!” Lady Catherine cried. “We have been in love for so long. I want us, need us, to be truly together.”

“And so we shall be,” Lord Hertford murmured soothingly. It didn't seem to work, as Lady Catherine gave a choked sob. There was thud, as if she hit him on the shoulder. “Your stepfather advised me to wait to approach the queen until I can gain the support of the privy council. I think he is right.”

“That will surely take ages.”

“But it would be worth it, if we could be properly wed. We must preserve your station, for our children's sake.”

“It is always thus with you, Ned,” Lady Catherine said fiercely. “So cautious. Station and rank. But what of our love? The days are just slipping away, days when we could be starting our own family. Yet now you must curry favor with every peacock on the privy council!”

“I am not the only one seeking favor,” Lord Hertford said, his tone hardening. “You spend all your time whispering with de Quadra and his so-called secretaries.”

“I must talk to those who would pay me some heed,” Lady Catherine hissed. “You say yourself we must preserve my rank, but the queen cares nothing for it. She dislikes me and my sister, and wastes no
opportunity to make that clear. The Spanish ambassador treats me as my family name deserves. And his friends are amusing.”

“They do say all the ladies at court find the new Spaniards, Senors Gomez and Vasquez, most handsome.”

“Why, Ned,” Lady Catherine said with a laugh, “are you jealous?”

“Certainly not. A Seymour jealous of a Spanish lackey?”

“I declare you
are
jealous. Just as you once were of Lord Herbert.”

“You were married to Herbert.”

“Not really. I was but twelve when my father arranged the match, and not much older when it was annulled. I never cared for him, or anyone, as I do you. But I must be wed soon! I refuse to molder away my youth, as the queen does.”

“And mayhap if we cannot wed soon, you will encourage a Spanish match?”

“I never said that. I merely enjoy their conversation. If they presume more, I cannot help that.”

“And do they presume more?”

Lady Catherine laughed. “Ned, how can I know? I have no interest in politics, you know that. Look where politics got my father and my sister, Jane. To the block. And if we have so little time together, we should not waste it arguing.”

“Now that I truly agree with, sweeting.”

Lady Catherine giggled, and their words were lost in the sound of kisses, the rustle of fabric. Kate
carefully backed away and made her way toward the great room again, hardly daring to breathe. Lady Catherine's marriage, as the queen's cousin, was subject to the permission of the queen and her privy council, or it could be treasonous. Elizabeth was obviously right to be keep watch on the Greys.

And yet—Kate could not help feeling sorry for Lady Catherine. Nothing there could possibly end happily for everyone involved.

*   *   *

Mary leaned back against her locked chamber door, and pressed her hand to the nervous flutter of her stomach. She had been seen. If he found out, he would be so angry.

You must speak to no one but the servants, Mary, and let no one into your chamber. It is of the most vital importance that you listen to me now.

She
did
listen. What choice did she have? But it grew so lonely sometimes! Her room was so small, so stuffy with the smoke from its one tiny fireplace and the candles that did so little to pierce the wintertime gloom. She could hear the laughter from the great room below, and she longed to join in. It had been so long since she had talked to anyone.