Murder at Whitehall (8 page)

“Besides, I do tire of this endless waiting,” Lord Hertford said. “Come, we must finish our business here and be gone.”

Kate slid the panel shut and went back to the window. She could see now why the queen liked to take her meals in this little room. Perhaps there were even more hidden doors scattered around, where unwary words could be overheard? But Kate found that she didn't always want to know such sordid truths that lurked behind bejeweled smiles. It made it difficult sometimes to sing romantic madrigals with much conviction.

The wry thought of songs reminded her of Queen Catherine's music, which her father had shown her after keeping it in such secrecy for years. It seemed far from romantic, of course, being a prayer and statement of the queen's strong conviction in the new faith, but surely it had to conceal something?

Kate frowned as she thought about the secrets of
courtly life, layers and layers of them, folded back and tucked in on themselves. Everyone who clustered around the queen had them; some had held on to them for years. Nothing was ever as buried as people would like to think.

Who would know what was concealed in the queen's song? Who would want decades-old secrets to stay hidden?

The chamber door opened, and Queen Elizabeth appeared, a flash of bright green satin springtime against the dark walls, topaz ropes threaded through her red-gold hair. Kate's father was on her arm. She matched her always quick steps to Matthew's slower pace, and Master Finsley and the Parks trailed behind them.

“Ah, Kate, good—you are here already,” Elizabeth said. “I have left orders we will serve ourselves, so we can get lost in memories of the old days. Matthew, shall I pour you some wine? It is a very fine sort from Burgundy. Queen Mary sent it herself through her ambassador. Monsieur de Castelnau, though wretchedly closemouthed about so many things, does know a good wine.”

“Your Grace, you must not serve us yourself!” Matthew protested.

“Of course I shall,” Elizabeth merrily. She was obviously in one of her happier moods. “Now, Mistress Park, tell me what you and your husband do now! I remember your lovely voice from when I was a child. I do hope you have all brought new music to perform for us at our Christmas revels.”

Kate helped her father find a footstool for his leg,
and passed around a plate of the queen's favorite candied fruit suckets as Elizabeth herself poured out goblets of wine. She laughed as Mistress Park told tales of Christmases when Elizabeth was young, and Queen Catherine arranged all the lavish feasts and mummers' plays. Soon they were all laughing at memories of Queen Catherine and King Henry, and the pranks his favorite fool, Will Somers, would always play on holiday merrymakers.

And Kate realized that if anyone would remember Queen Catherine's secrets, especially secrets hidden in music, surely it might be her father and his friends. . . .

“L
a Virgen a solas piensa qué hará cuando al Rey de luz inmenso parirá . . . ,” Senor Gomez sang, his voice low and sweet. He was teaching the ladies some of the Spanish songs of the Yule season as they worked on finishing the queen's masque. The long table in the great gallery was littered with papers and quills, bits of ribbon and tinsel and silk, and ladies hurriedly sewing or writing.

“That is a beautiful song, Senor Gomez,” Lady Catherine said with one of her gleaming, silvery laughs. “What is it called?”

“‘No la devemos dormir la noche sancta,'” he answered, smiling at her as most men did with Lady Catherine, as if he could see only her. “Perhaps you could use it for your masquerade? It is a song everyone sings at this time of year where I am from.”

“If only ancient goddesses could sing of Christmas,” Kate said.

“Can they not? Surely even goddesses, even
English
goddesses, do enjoy the Yule season,” Senor Gomez said. “What is your scene about, then? What are you writing?”

Before anyone could answer, the door to their
chamber opened and Queen Elizabeth swept inside like a cloud of white-and-silver satin shimmering with pearls. To her right was her constant escort, Robert Dudley, also clad in bright white that set off his dark good looks, and on her left . . .

On her left was Rob Cartman.

For an instant, Kate thought she was imagining him. It had been so long since she had seen him, months since the summer warmth of Nonsuch Palace, and yet he looked just the same. Possibly even more handsome, with a new beard the same sunny gold as his hair, tall and lean, his smile glinting like that lost sun. He was fashionably dressed, as befitted the leader of Lord Hunsdon's Men, in gray and black silk, with a white cloak embroidered with exotic birds and fanciful trees.

His attention fell on Kate, and he gave her a dazzling smile.

Everyone jumped up from the work-table to bow and curtsy. Elizabeth nodded graciously, but she frowned a bit as his gaze swept over Lady Catherine.

“Everyone is hard at work, I see,” Elizabeth said.

“The masque should be completed in plenty of time, Your Grace,” Kate said, gesturing to the papers scattered over the table.

“I am glad to hear it. But perhaps now it can be finished even faster, Kate, for Master Cartman has come to assist you,” Elizabeth said. She laid her hand lightly on Rob's silk sleeve and smiled up at him, making Robert Dudley scowl. “I hereby declare Master Cartman shall be our Lord of Misrule for this royal holiday!”

Rob laughed, his golden beauty dazzling. Even the
queen had to smile back, flirtatiously tapping his arm with her fan. “Lord of Misrule, Your Grace?”

“Aye, 'tis an old role, one I remember from Christmases when I was a girl,” Elizabeth said. “My father's favorite fool, Will Somers, took it on at the Christmas season, directing the revels. The custom fell out of favor at my brother's court, he was so austere in his celebrations. But I do like the idea of it. Someone must lead us in our merriment.”

“I should be most honored indeed to be your Lord of Misrule, Your Grace,” Rob said with an elegant bow.

“If Your Grace wishes to revive such a custom,” Robert Dudley said, his tone underlaid with strain through his smile, “should it not be taken on by your Master of the Revels?”

“Or mayhap by my Master of the Horse?” Elizabeth said teasingly. She tapped Sir Robert's hand with her fan, and laughed when he scowled. “Nay, I have seen Master Cartman's antics onstage many times. He is most capable of such a task. And since my cousin Lord Hunsdon was kind enough to lend us Master Cartman's services for Christmas, we must make the most of them.”

“When should I begin my duties, Your Grace?” Rob asked.

“When we bring in the Yule log tonight,” the queen said. “But for now you must help Mistress Haywood with her music. I'm sure that is one duty you will not mind at all.”

Kate felt her cheeks turn warm, despite the distance
from the fireplace, and she ducked her head as Rob bowed again.

“Show me what you have done so far, Kate,” Elizabeth said, sweeping toward the table that was scattered with papers, ink pots, and quills. Violet, Lady Jane Seymour, and Lady Catherine stepped back with curtsies, watching with wide eyes as the queen studied their notes.

Kate glimpsed Lady Catherine's glance back at Senor Gomez, who gave her a strained smile.

“What is the subject of the masque?” Elizabeth asked.

“'Tis the tale of Diana the huntress goddess and Niobe,” Kate said.

Elizabeth's smile turned catlike, her dark eyes shining. “Very good. One goddess teaches another her true place in the hierarchy of the gods.”

Kate felt a tiny touch of cold disquiet in her stomach. “The theme is meant to be of two goddesses living in amity in their two kingdoms, Your Grace.”

Elizabeth looked startled to be contradicted, even mildly so. Kate quickly curtsied.

“If one ruler is in the wrong, as Niobe is, is it not the duty of the wiser goddess to counsel her to correct her course?” Elizabeth said. “I am quite sure our Scots visitors would find such a theme most edifying. As would their queen and her French mother.”

The queen reached for a quill and ink pot and quickly marked out a few of the notes Lady Catherine had written, scribbling over them with new ones.
“Aye,” she whispered as she worked. “Even goddesses must learn well not to o'erstep their own borders.”

The queen wrote a few more lines, then stepped back from the table with a satisfied smile. Not even the tiniest splotch of ink marred her pale gown. “Now I must go. I leave you all to your work. It shall be a fine masque, Kate, and everyone will exclaim over the great talent I harbor at my court.”

Elizabeth took Robert Dudley's arm and sailed out of the room, the courtiers who had been waiting outside the door falling into a long, sparkling line behind her.

Kate stared down at the altered pages. Elizabeth was surely right; even Mary, Queen of Scots, safe in her luxurious French nest, could not mistake the English queen's meaning. But everyone would think Kate had written the words making one queen dominant over the other—Elizabeth clearly the superior goddess in all eyes.

“The joys of patronage, eh, Kate?” Rob murmured in her ear.

She had to laugh, even as she worried. If the Scots and the French thought
she
was the one who interpreted the masque thus, as a rebuke to France and Scotland, and if Elizabeth denied the message in one of her labyrinthine conversations . . .

She shivered.

“'Tis not so very bad,” Rob said. “We can fix it so the royal message is more—subtle.”

“Oh, Rob,” Kate said with another choked laugh. “When were you ever subtle?”

He pressed his hand over his heart. “Ah, Kate, you do wound me. I thought you had a higher opinion of my acting skills.”

Kate gave in to her laughter. “I am very glad to see you again, truly. Shall we walk outside for a little while? There is so much we need to talk about. . . .”

*   *   *

Snow was drifting in small, fine white strands as Kate met Rob by the garden door, but it didn't seem to deter them or the queen's other courtiers from making their escapes from the stuffy corridors of the palace into the cold, clear air. She glimpsed Lord Hertford and his sister, Lady Catherine's best friend, Lady Jane, playing at a game of quoits with their friends in the snow, and the Spanish ambassador de Quadra went on his stately evening progress with his servants.

Kate drew the hood of her cloak closer around her cheeks, and smiled as she took in a deep breath. She had much work to do, many Christmas festivities to prepare for, but she had to admit that she, like the noisy quoits players, was glad to be outside for a time.

She glimpsed Rob hurrying toward her down one of the graveled pathways, his violet velvet doublet and emerald green short cloak vivid against the evening grays and browns of the winter garden. He held his plumed cap in one hand, and his golden hair gleamed like a new guinea. Someone called out a joke to him, and he burst out laughing.

Kate touched the tiny lute pendant that was concealed beneath her blue wool bodice. She had always known Rob was handsome, of course; they had flirted
and laughed many times, and he had helped her out of many puzzles. But now she was struck by the warmth he seemed to trail behind him, spreading its golden glow to everyone in his path.

Could he help her charm some answers out of people now?

“Kate, lovely one,” he cried merrily as he saw her standing there. “I'm so happy you could walk with me this evening.”

Kate laughed. “I am glad of a moment's respite. The queen does keep a most merry Christmas.”

“As does Lord Hunsdon. There have been new plays at Eastwick every week since November. He also insists on new music for when he comes to court next week.”

Kate took Rob's proffered arm and they walked together deeper into the garden. He led her not toward the quoits players and their applauding audience, but into a quieter herbal maze, where the laughter was just a distant murmur. “How is your work with Lord Hunsdon, really?”

“I am most grateful to his lordship for giving us employment,” Rob answered carefully. After his uncle, the former leader of the acting troupe, had been killed at Hatfield, Rob had become responsible for them, and without a patron they could have been arrested as vagabonds. Lord Hunsdon, the queen's cousin, was one of the greatest patrons of all. “He knows much about the theater, and is an appreciative audience. He also wants to help the queen in any way he can. I like to be a part of that, as you know.”

Kate nodded. “I do know, and you have come far in your work. I wish you only the finest things in life, Rob. Tell me—what sort of plays does Lord Hunsdon enjoy the most? Which of your roles is his favorite?”

“I had thought at first it would be plays about great heroics in battle, but it turns out he likes a pastoral romance with plenty of songs the best,” Rob said with a laugh. “You could help me with that, for I do the battle scenes better. But remember our play of shepherds and shepherdesses at Hatfield?”

“I do indeed. We worked well together then, I think.” She glanced over her shoulder to make sure no one could hear their conversation. They were almost alone, the wind being too sharp for most of the courtiers. “You say you would like to serve the queen however you can?”

Rob gave her a sharp glance. “Indeed I would.”

“Then perhaps you would help me with something? The queen has asked me to help her watch Lady Catherine Grey,” she whispered.

Rob burst out with a surprised laugh. “Lady Catherine!”

Kate nodded wryly. “She is not always easy to find, you know. There are so many people who bear closer watch at court right now. But the queen fears that Lady Catherine, as a possible heir to the throne, might be thinking of contracting a romantic attachment without permission of the council. You know that a party from Scotland is expected any day now?”

He nodded, his laughter fading. “I have heard they come to seek a Protestant queen's assistance to
overthrow their Catholic queen regent. Is it known how long they will stay to guarantee their success?”

“I do not know yet. The queen often keeps her own counsel on such matters, even from ministers like Cecil, much to his chagrin. She won't reveal her plans in the midst of her Christmas revels, at least.”

“Lord Hunsdon takes much interest in the work of everyone around him,” Rob said, leading her onto the pathway of another twist of herbal shrubs. “He has asked if I would write a tableau of the ancient Scottish kings to perform before the queen when he comes to court. Surely there is a good reason for that.”

“Does he wish to influence the queen toward interfering in Scotland, then?” Kate said, her thoughts whirling.

Rob shrugged. “Lord Hunsdon, too, keeps his own counsel. He claims he wants only to entertain his cousin, and my task is to help him with that.”

“As mine is to entertain the queen,” Kate answered.

Rob stopped walking, and drew her to a halt with him. Kate glanced up at him in the fading light, and saw that he suddenly looked rather older, his merry face turned solemn. “But we both know that is not all there is to our life's work,” he said quietly.

Kate bit her lip. “Nay.”

“And we wouldn't really have it any other way, would we, my bonny Kate?” He smiled again, the quick glimpse of the shadow-Rob gone.

She shook her head ruefully. “I suppose I would not, not now.”

“I am the same. So tell me—how can I help you in your task now?”

“I do not think you should seduce Lady Catherine to find out her secrets,” Kate teased him.

“Nay? Ah, Kate, you do wound me again! Flirting with fair maidens is not my only skill, you know.”

Kate
did
know that, only too well. “I doubt Lady Catherine would flirt with you in return, anyway. She does seem most intent on Lord Hertford.” No matter how unworthy of such devotion the young lord seemed to be.

“It would not be worth the danger. Unless you think she might conspire with some of the queen's enemies to achieve her aims?”

Kate thought of the way Lady Catherine had been seen in conversation with the Spanish—and of the lady's tearstained face when she declared that all she wanted was her love. “I do not think that is her aim, though certainly I have been wrong before. She seems to have far simpler goals now than advancement at court.” She caught a glimpse of Lord Hertford in the distance, taking a breath after his game. He talked with Senor Gomez of the Spanish ambassador's party, the two men laughing together over some joke. “But I know there is one place you can go where I cannot.”

“And where is that?”

“Wherever men go for their pleasures, of course. Men like Senor Gomez and his dour cousin, or even the Scots, who they say relish earthly pleasures despite their Protestant ways. Perhaps you could join them in a card game, invite them to some revel?”