Murder at Whitehall (6 page)

Music was a lovely thing, but after hours and hours of practicing on her lute she longed for something else. Anything else. Maybe even just a new book of songs to learn.

In a small fit of rebellion, she shoved a stack of books off her table and kicked them out of her way. She
stalked to her one small window and nudged the curtain open to peer outside.

Below her was the snow-dusted courtyard of the inn, where she could see some of the servants huddling together in the cold wind in order to laugh for a moment without the landlady shouting at them. Beyond the gate she could glimpse the spires and chimneys of the city, looking golden and enchanted in the gray light of day.

When she had lived in the country, she would pore over maps and engravings of London and dream of the day when she would see the great city for herself. She would envision shops full of silks and books and ribbons, the people she would meet, even the queen herself. She had glimpsed such things on her journey, peeking out from her litter to see the sparkling shop windows, the grand palaces along the Strand, the ladies in their beautiful gowns, the handsome young men. She had even gawked at terrible sites, like the heads of traitors staring down sightlessly from the top of the bridge.

But ever since then, London had been only this room.

As she watched the courtyard below, a large group came out of the inn and hurried toward the street. They wore beautiful cloaks of fur and velvet, embroidered doublets and plumed caps. Ice skates gleamed on ribbons tossed over the men's shoulders, and they were all laughing and merry together. One of the ladies seemed to slip on the snowy ground, and her escort caught her up in his arms.

With them was the lady who had called out to Mary on the stairs, her cloak a distinctive red in the gloom of the day. How Mary had longed to answer her, to ask her questions about life at court! But she had become frightened and run away, and now the lady was gone.

The woman in the red cloak glanced up, and Mary instinctively drew back into her room, letting the curtain hide her from the world outside. She was going to have to be much more careful now. She did not want to get into trouble, not again.

K
ate heard the most wondrous sound coming from some distant place in the palace, a music that sounded almost like that of a lute, but not quite. It was lighter, higher, more resonant, almost like a summer cloud.

She followed the sound as if drawn by a magical spell. The queen was in a meeting of her privy council, so the privy and presence chambers were not as crowded as usual. But the room from where the sweet music emanated, one of the smaller sitting rooms off the waterside gallery,
was
full—mostly with ladies who had obviously gathered to watch the song's player.

It was one of Bishop de Quadra's handsome new secretaries, Senor Gomez. He balanced an instrument in his hands that looked almost similar to the Andalusian guitar Kate had seen a few times, but this instrument was smaller, with a curved body and longer neck. From its six double strings, he coaxed the most amazingly sweet sounds.

Kate lingered in the doorway, listening to the bittersweet song. It sounded like a slow, warm summer's day, and seemed to push her out of the chilly, drafty winter palace into some distant, sunny grove, filled
with the scent of oranges and a balmy, salty sea breeze. It captured what she always hoped to find in a song, a certain mood, a place, a feeling. It was ever elusive, and she longed to reach out and grab it in her hand. She closed her eyes, hoping to hold on to it.

The magical song ended in a long, curling note, and her eyes flew open. She was startled to find herself still in Whitehall, and even more to find Senor Gomez looking directly at her.

He was indeed handsome, in an almost unreal way, like a painting, or like his own song. His eyes were dark and lustrous, unreadable even as he smiled. That smile widened, and she could see why the ladies gathered around him—and why even Lady Catherine Grey, who never lacked for admirers, might enjoy his company.

“Hola, senora! ¿Cómo te va todo?” he said. “Won't you come in and join us?”

“That is Mistress Haywood, one of the queen's musicians,” Mary Howard said.

“Ah, then you definitely must join us,” Senor Gomez said, his smile sparkling. “I am very curious about your English style of music. I want to collect some new songs to take with me back to Madrid.”

Kate smiled in return. Music was something she
could
talk about, while courtly flirtation was still something she could not quite master.

“I can show you an English song or two, senor,” she said, making her way into the room. She could sense some of the others watching her curiously, but she could only see that intriguing instrument. “If in return
you will tell me about that song you were playing. It was beautiful. It took me away from the cold winter day entirely.”

“Then it has done its job, I think. It is by Luis de Milán, one of our finest Spanish composers.”

“I have a book of his compositions, but I don't think it includes that song.” Kate sat down on the stool next to his, studying the guitarlike instrument in his hands, its fine inlaid decorations of strange, pale woods.

He held it out to her. “Have you played a vihuela before?”

Kate shook her head. “A guitar once or twice, but this appears different.”

“It is, a bit. Here, I will show you.”

Senor Gomez leaned close to show her the inlaid frets, the double-strung strings. Up close, he was even more handsome, despite his somber Spanish fashions. He smelled sweetly of cloves and orange, just like the atmosphere of his song. If Lady Catherine was trying to distract herself from the capriciousness of Lord Hertford, she could certainly choose worse. But Kate found herself oddly distanced from him, that feeling of observing a painting growing even stronger.

The vihuela, though, was fascinating. She ran her fingers experimentally over the strings and tried a chord. She got lost in the song.

When she glanced up, she was surprised to see that the light beyond the room's window had turned brighter. Some of the ladies had drifted away. Senor Gomez's friend, the other secretary, Senor Vasquez, sat near that window, his head bent over a book. Despite
the music and chatter around him, he seemed completely absorbed by whatever he read.

“Does your friend not enjoy music, too, Senor Gomez?” she asked.

He laughed. “He is my cousin, senora; our mothers were sisters. But I fear he inherited a tone deafness from his father.”

She studied Senor Vasquez, whose face looked like an austere, thinner, paler version of his cousin's. He seemed very withdrawn from everything around him. “I am sure London must be very different from Madrid. But can he find nothing to distract him here?”

Senor Gomez leaned closer to say quietly, “I did think perhaps he had found a fair lady to distract him. I saw him walking with a woman by the river. He had a disappointment in romance at home, I fear.”

Kate smiled. If either of the Spanish cousins looked likely to find an English romance, it was this man. But she had learned at court that everyone could have a secret. “Queen Elizabeth does like to keep a young, lively court around her.”

Senor Gomez smiled. “So I have found, much to my delight. And when I saw Jeronimo with a lady. . . .”

“One of the queen's ladies?” Kate whispered. She thought of Lady Catherine Grey, and the queen's suspicions that her cousin kept too much Spanish company.

“A very pretty red-haired lady.”

Not the blond Lady Catherine? “Red like the queen?”

“Nay, darker red than your queen. Queen Elizabeth
is like a dawn, I think; this young lady was like a deep, rich wine. Changeable, as if someone could be lost in the depths of the color.”

“You sound as if you write music yourself, senor.”

“I do, once in a while. But I fear my cousin would never be a fit subject for the hero of a romantic madrigal.”

“And why is that?”

“When I asked him about the lady, he denied any knowledge of her. I think he would rather go home and become a priest.”

Kate studied Senor Vasquez closer, the pinched contours of his face above his high white ruff. “And then come back to England as ambassador, like the bishop?”

Senor Gomez laughed. “My cousin would make a better cloistered monk than a bishop-ambassador. But I find I would be happy to come back to England again and again.”

“And why is that, senor?”

He gave her a puzzling smile. “It seems a land where a man can make a new fortune,
sí
?”

“Mistress Haywood,” a maidservant cried as she hurried into the room. “There you are. Her Grace sent for you to meet her at the privy river stairs.”

“Her Grace?” Kate said, surprised. Had so much time passed already, that the queen was done with her privy council for the day? She reluctantly gave the beautiful vihuela back to Senor Gomez, and stood up to shake out her forest green skirts and smooth her hair beneath her cap. She had no idea why the queen would
need her at the privy stairs, but she knew she had to hurry. “Thank you for showing me the song, senor.”

He gave her a charming smile. “Perhaps we could play together again soon, Senorita Haywood? I know many Yuletide songs from my homeland you might enjoy.”

Kate nodded. If Senor Gomez was as open as he seemed, he might have interesting information from the Spanish faction. “Perhaps indeed, senor.”

As she hurried out of the room, Senor Vasquez at last glanced up from his book and nodded at her. Kate curtsied, turning her head for a glimpse of the volume's title.
Libro de musica de vihuela.
No clue to Senor Gomez's romantic life or political ambitions at all.

She made her way down the winding stairs and out the gate that led to the queen's privy stairs, where she usually boarded her own barge and greeted official guests. Elizabeth's pale-blue–and-silver gown blended into the icy river beyond, the pearls in her hair gleaming like the snowflakes that drifted around them. Robert Dudley stood next to her, also in blue and silver, whispering into her ear as she laughed and pushed him away with the ermine muff on her arm.

“You sent for me, Your Grace?” Kate said with a curtsy.

Elizabeth glanced toward her with a smile. “Ah, Kate, there you are. Good. We have a surprise for you.”

“For me?” Kate said. She looked around, but could see nothing except the stone walls of the palace, the boats slicing past on the river.

Elizabeth laughed, and pointed her gloved hand upriver. “Just coming into view there.”

Kate shielded her eyes against the gray glare of the light, and saw one of the queen's barges sliding into view. It was not the royal barge Elizabeth herself used to navigate the river, but one used to transport her court from palace to palace. It was very fine nonetheless, painted gold and white, with royal green banners snapping in the cold wind. The oars cut through the icy waters with slow, laborious movements; soon they would be too frozen for vessels to pass at all.

She glimpsed a figure standing in the prow, a tall, stooped man wrapped in a fur-trimmed cloak, leaning on the gilded railing. There was something very familiar about his posture, and Kate caught her breath, hardly daring to hope.

As the barge came closer, sliding toward the moorings of the privy steps, Kate saw that it truly was her father who stood there. She cried out with a surge of happiness, and completely forgot the dignity of palace etiquette to jump up and wave at him.

Matthew Haywood waved back, and as soon as the barge docked he hurried up the steps as quickly as his walking stick would let him. Kate ran to throw her arms around him, to hold him close enough that she knew he was really there.

“My Kate,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her cheek with his cold lips. He still smelled of parchment and ink, of dusty, fire-warmed rooms, and a hint of cinnamon from his favorite cider drink, just as she always
remembered from when she was a child and he would tuck her in as she begged for one more song.

Yet when she drew back to look up at him, she saw that he was not quite the same man he had been when she last saw him in the autumn. He was paler, his face more heavily lined beneath the edge of his velvet cap, his eyes shadowed. She knew she had to take care of him now, as he once did her.

“Oh, Father,” she said, going up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek in turn. “How wonderful it is to see you! I didn't think you would be here for days yet.”

“Her Grace sent her own barge for us, as you see, and insisted we had to be here to celebrate a royal Christmas,” Matthew answered.

Kate glanced back at Elizabeth. The queen laughed and clapped her hands, her dark eyes shining, as she did always love surprises, both ones given to her and ones she bestowed on her favorites. “I need all my best musicians around me at this time of year, especially with so many foreign ambassadors who must be impressed with the glories of the English court. There is not a moment to be lost.”

“And I longed to see my dearest girl again,” Matthew said. He laid his gloved hand gently to Kate's cheek, and to her surprise she found he trembled. She looked up into his eyes, the same grayish blue as her own, and thought she saw the shimmer of a tear. “You have become such a grand, elegant lady here at court, my Kate. Just like your mother.”

Before Kate could answer, three other passengers came down the barge steps behind Matthew, an older
couple and a gentleman in a brown woolen cloak. Kate had not seen them since she was a child, but she remembered them right away, and the sight of them brought back all her old memories of hiding under tables to hear them playing music late into the night.

“Kate, do you remember Edward and Hester Park? And Gerald Finsley? They were in Queen Catherine's household with us. You have not seen them since you were about ten years old,” Matthew said. Mistress Park, who had been golden blond then, now had whorls of luxuriant white hair beneath the hood of her cloak, and Kate recalled her exquisite voice. Her husband was still much shorter than she, with a merry smile, and Master Finsley still sported a luxuriant salt-and-pepper mustache. His eyes were pale gray, taking in everything around him with quick, darting glances.

Master Finsley and the Parks came hurrying over to make their bows to the queen, and to kiss Kate's cheek.

“Your father was quite right, my dear,” Mistress Park said, her voice still resonating like a golden bell. “You have become most elegant indeed. Why, I remember when you would steal comfits from my sweet bowl! But you were too adorable for anyone ever to be angry with you.”

“And too talented with your lute,” Master Finsley added. His eyes, bright blue under bushy silver brows, sparkled with laughter she well remembered. But he had been quick to lose his temper then, too, as she recalled. Quiet and rather puritanical, except when he
played his music. “We knew you would go far with your lute.”

“I do remember Christmases when I was a girl and you all served my dear stepmother,” Elizabeth said. “How Queen Catherine loved this time of year! I never remember it being so merry before her. I hope we can re-create something of those days this year.”

Master Finsley bowed, and held up a rolled leather case. “We have brought many of those old songs with us, Your Grace, just as you asked. We also love to talk of those days with Queen Catherine.”

“I am glad to hear it,” Elizabeth said. “Now I must go. I am to meet with the Swedish ambassador. But I hope you will all dine with me this evening, so we may talk more about the old days.”

“We would be honored, Your Grace,” Matthew said. He tried to bow again, but Elizabeth stopped him with a gentle hand on his arm and a smile. She swept back into the palace, leaving the rest of them to follow.

Kate took her father's arm with one hand and Master Finsley's with the other. She felt a sudden wave of contentment wash over her, with her father and their old friends nearby. She had not quite realized how very alone she sometimes felt until that feeling was gone. There would be glorious music now! “Come, let us find a fire where we can sit and talk. I have missed you all so very much!”