Feud

by Lady Grace Cavendish

  Well, that was exciting! Carmina woke up, blinked a couple of times, and then threw up. She did it very neatly, I must say, just like a cat. Luckily, most of it went in the rushes or the pot she was aiming at, and not in the bed. But some of it splattered.

  Lady Jane was just leaning over to pat Carmina's hand. She leaped back with a terrible scream and shrieked at Carmina that her kirtle was quite ruined with the spatters. Now Mary Shelton is trying to help Lady Jane with a kerchief dipped in white wine. But Lady Jane is still shrieking, flapping her hands about and everyone is saying, “Ew!” at the smell.

  “What is all this noise and commotion and rowdiness?”

  That was Mrs. Champernowne, sweeping in to find Lady Jane in tears over her favourite French kirtle—which has two invisible spots on it—and Lady Sarah giggling because she was well away from the bed and didn't get spattered. Mary is trying to dab the spots on Jane's kirtle, and poor Carmina is bright red with embarrassment and whispering how sorry she is.

  “Well, for goodness' sake,” Mrs. Champernowne has just snapped. “There's no need to squeal like stuck pigs. Lady Jane, stand still so Mary can help you. Lady Sarah and Penelope, go and change ready for supper with the Queen—and be sure you do not prattle, for she is in a terrible mood what with the Scots and all. And Lady Grace, tear yourself away from your scribbling for five seconds, and fetch your uncle back. I will call a Chamberer to sweep up the mess.”

  Eventide

  I am sitting on the bed, writing away, with my inkpot carefully stowed on the little shelf in the bedhead which usually holds a watch candle. I have no idea how even more ink stains came upon the bedlinen, but I am taking no more chances.

  After Carmina was sick, I ran for my Uncle Cavendish and asked him to attend upon her— though I know not how much good he will do, since he had clearly been drinking aqua vitae since he left us.

  I escorted him to Carmina's chamber. Then, in order to visit Mrs. Teerlinc to confirm my suspicions, I hid my embroidery bag and told Mrs. Champernowne I had left it at the Workroom.

  Mrs. Teerlinc is also in charge of the design of the Queen's clothes, and the decorations and wallhangings for the palace, and many other things besides. When I arrived at the Workroom, she was approving sketches for some tapestries that are to be woven in Flanders.

  “Now, my Lady Grace,” she said. “What can I do for you?”

  I don't think she was too pleased to see me, because she looked very busy and had a queue of people waiting to see her.

  “Please,” said I, dropping a curtsey to be on the safe side, “I just wanted to know what really happens if you eat orpiment.”

  Her eyebrows went up and I could see she was about to question me. “Um, only I am worried that, er, one of the Queen's dogs might have eaten some,” I added quickly.

  “Well, he will be very sick and sleepy. And he'll have pains in his belly and a great deal of saliva,” Mrs. Teerlinc replied.

  Carmina had dribbled on her pillow! I swallowed hard. “Um, might he have a taste of metal in his mouth?”

  “Yes,” she said. “And he might seem dizzy and confused.”

  “Oh my goodness!” I gasped, hoping she wouldn't ask how I knew that a dog had a metal taste in his mouth. “What can I do? Will she … I mean, will he die?”

  “See if you can get him to eat charcoal, and most certainly prevent him from eating any more of the poison, and then wait. In three days he will be well again—if he has not eaten enough to kill him. How did it happen? Did he find arsenic poison meant for rats?”

  “Arsenic has orpiment in it?” I asked quickly.

  “Yes, indeed, arsenic is made from orpiment,” said Mrs. Teerlinc, turning back to the tailor who was hopping from leg to leg with impatience. “Yellow orpiment comes from Mount Etna, where the Italians find it lying about the volcano in lumps. If an alchemist works upon it, then it may be made into a poisonous white powder, arsenic, which they lay in rat bait. Now, my lady, I must attend to my work.”

  “Yes, of course,” I said, curtseying like mad. “Thank you so much.” And I ran out of the room.

  So that is confirmed—Nick was not really exaggerating at all. Who would have thought that a pretty yellow paint could be so poisonous? And what Mrs. Teerlinc said about the symptoms certainly sounds like Carmina's mysterious illness. But how on earth is Carmina getting arsenic? She could not be eating it by accident, for she has not been up to the Workroom at all—it would make more sense if I were sickening. Carmina isn't really eating anything very much.

  It seems I have stumbled upon a riddle that is quite definitely—and most unexpectedly—a matter for Her Majesty's Lady Pursuivant. I must tell the Queen. I'll try and speak to her after supper.

  Last thing at night

  Her Majesty is such a wonderful person. She supped late with my Lord of Leicester and Mr. Hatton and two of the Ladies-in-Waiting. Then she was going to play cards to distract her mind from all the foreign problems, but I simply had to talk to her. I spoke to the Gentleman of the Guard who was at the door to her Withdrawing Chamber, and said that Her Majesty had particularly ordered me to give her an account of Carmina, so she could decide whether to send for Carmina's mother.

  It took me ages to persuade him, but at last he sighed and said he would enquire.

  I heard him speak softly to the Queen.

  “Hm? News of Carmina?” she replied. “Oh, is it my Lady Grace Cavendish? Yes, I shall see her.”

  So the gentleman held the door for me. I went in and curtseyed to Mr. Hatton and my Lord of Leicester, who scowled down his nose at me for interrupting his private evening with the Queen. He is famously proud, and everyone hates him because he is still the Queen's favourite, even though they can never marry. I don't mind him being haughty with me, because I know that he truly cares about the Queen. Mr. Hatton is nicer but not at all interested in Maids of Honour, nor Ladies-in-Waiting, nor seemingly inclined to marry, although he is a famously good dancer and very elegant and witty.

  I went to the Queen and sank to my knees before her. She gave me her hand to get up again and I whispered, “Your Majesty, I must speak to you privily.”

  She raised her eyebrows and gave me one of those looks that make me feel she can see right through me and out the other side. Just for a moment, she hesitated, looking at her cards, which were face down. She was playing Primero and there was quite a big pot of money in the middle of the table. “What is it about?” she asked.

  “Carmina, Your Majesty, but it must be private,” I replied.

  She stood with a rustle of silk, frowning slightly, and of course everyone else stood too. We went off to her Privy Chamber, which was empty for the moment.

  “Now, Grace, I hope you are not troubling me with anything trivial or scandalous?” the Queen said warningly.

  “Oh no, Your Majesty,” I told her. “I would never do that. This is a matter of great importance, only I may be mistaken, so I would speak with you privately.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Well?”

  “You know Carmina's sickness?”

  She nodded a little impatiently.

  I took a deep breath. “Well, I don't think she is naturally sick. I think she might have eaten poison— perhaps arsenic.” And I told her as quickly as I could what the symptoms of arsenic poisoning are, and how Carmina's symptoms are exactly the same.

  “Why would anyone want to poison Carmina?” demanded the Queen, dubiously, when I had finished.

  “I do not know, Your Majesty,” I replied. “I cannot think of a reason. Perchance it has happened accidentally, though I do not know how that could occur.…” I trailed off because the whole idea wasso upsetting.

  The Queen was frowning and thinking hard. “To whom else have you spoken of this?” she asked.

  “No one, Your Majesty. I knew what a fuss there would be if poison was suspected.”

  “Then how did you ask Mrs. Teerlinc about it?” the Queen wanted to know.

  “I said I thought one of the
dogs might have eaten rat poison,” I explained.

  Her Majesty smiled. “And one of them might, as well,” she said, nodding. “Well done, Grace. As usual I am delighted by your discretion. You did right to speak to me alone and first. I doubt it could be a deliberate poisoning, and yet it is hard to see how it could occur by chance. Will you make enquiries for me, as my privy Lady Pursuivant? Continuing to be very discreet?”

  “Of course, Your Majesty,” I murmured, curtseying and feeling proud. “Your Majesty does me great honour.”

  “But no mad escapades, Grace,” she added. “Come to me with anything you find. Simply say that you have news of Carmina and I will see you whenever you wish, since I know I can trust you not to din my ears with begging for offices and pensions.”

  I felt even more proud. Most of the time, it is difficult to speak directly with the Queen, because she is always very busy. “Your Majesty, is there anything we can do to protect Carmina, even without knowing the source of the poison?” I asked anxiously.

  “Certainly there is,” the Queen replied. “I will take measures to protect Carmina, and to foil any poisoner's attempts to harm me. Do not be alarmed by anything you may hear about me: I think my stomach is about to become very delicate.” And she smiled and winked.

  I kissed her hand and we went back to the Withdrawing Chamber—where I thought both Mr. Hatton and my Lord of Leicester looked suspiciously innocent. Neither of them is above cheating to make sure they lose to the Queen—who, as they both know, very much likes to win.

  The Gentleman of the Guard showed me out. I came back to our bedchamber to find Lady Sarah arguing with Mary Shelton on the subject of another remedy for spots. Mary says that Sarah should use diluted aqua vitae to remove her face paint completely, and then rinse with rose water. Sarah insists that a decoction of nettle leaves, followed by ashes of honeybees in goose fat, is much better. I think that if Sarah swore off face paint completely, she would not have half so many spots, but she won't listen to me.

  So now I am on the trail of a mysterious poisoner, though I know not where to look first. And I wonder how I can get Carmina to eat charcoal.…

  About mid-morning

  I have had a very busy morning so far, and this is the first time I have had a moment in my chamber to sit and write. I only had time to nibble my bread and small beer at breakfast, before I was sent on an errand for Mrs. Champernowne. I was to fetch kerchiefs from the laundry for Carmina—which was lucky, because it meant I could ask Ellie to help me with my investigation.

  Ellie came with me to Carmina's chamber. I carried the kerchiefs, while she carried a huge basket of bedclothes balanced on her head. She says it is much easier on her back that way.

  We had to go through the Lesser Courtyard, where the players were rehearsing a scene full of falling over and rolling. Masou was there, too, on the other side of the courtyard where the players could all see him, standing on his hands and practising juggling with his bare feet. His face was funny because it was such a mixture of sulkiness and concentration. I think he was trying to impress the players with how well he can stand on his hands, unlike Richard Fitzgrey.

  Ellie and I stood to watch, where no one would see us, behind one of the very elaborate buttresses for the chapel.

  “So, now,” said Ellie, putting the basket down and sitting on it, just as Masou walked over on his hands to join us, still juggling. “I know that expression, my lady—what are you up to?” she demanded.

  I swore both Ellie and Masou to secrecy, and then I told them about Carmina and how I suspected that she might have eaten poison.

  Ellie narrowed her eyes. “Cor,” she said enthusiastically. “It'll be them Scots, trying to poison our Queen. It's just the sort of thing they'd do. Everyone knows they're always killing their own kings and queens, and rebelling and suchlike. It's shocking.”

  “Perhaps,” I said, doubtfully. “But why would the Scots aim at the Queen and get Carmina instead? If it were in our food, we'd all be ill. I think it must be someone who wants only to poison Carmina. But who could that be?”

  “One of them wicked Scots, practising for poisoning the Queen,” said Ellie darkly.

  “An evil djinn released by a powerful enemy of hers,” suggested Masou, stopping his juggling because he was interested now.

  “I don't know,” I said. “I'm not sure Carmina has got any enemies.” But then I remembered something Lady Jane had said. “Lady Jane mentioned Carmina's recent inheritance,” I muttered to myself. “Maybe somebody else wants it and stands to inherit if Carmina dies! I must talk to Lady Sarah as soon as I can and see if she knows who Carmina's property would go to. And Ellie,” I went on quickly, “could you find out tactfully which of the kitchens makes the food for the Maids of Honour? And see if there's anyone new or suspicious—or with a grudge against Carmina—who might be poisoning her food.”

  Ellie nodded.

  “How long has Carmina been unwell?” Masou asked.

  “About three days,” I told him.

  “Aha!” shouted Masou. “Of course! It's the pigeating players. They've been here four days—first in the village and now pestering the Court—and you said that your friend first took sick three days ago. So that's proof !”

  I do not think it is proof, though it certainly is interesting.

  Masou was now scowling at the players across the courtyard. “Maybe that Greyfitz thinks—”

  “Fitzgrey,” corrected Ellie.

  “Ptui! Fitzgrey, then. Maybe he thinks Carmina's inheritance should be his,” Masou suggested.

  I'd never heard such nonsense. “Why on earth would he? He's not related to her in any way,” I pointed out.

  “Mayhap the true villain paid him,” Masou pressed, refusing to give up, “or enchanted him, or—”

  “Anyway, how could he do it?” I demanded. “He's not allowed anywhere near Carmina—or the kitchens.”

  Masou shrugged. “Isn't he supposed to be an actor? Maybe he disguised himself as a ratcatcher.”

  “Hmf,” Ellie said. “I'm sure someone as kind as Mr. Fitzgrey would never—”

  “Kind?” I interrupted Ellie.

  “Mr. Fitzgrey?” sneered Masou.

  Ellie went pink. “Well, he wanted bread and cheese fetched from the Hall Kitchen, so I went and got them for 'im, di'n't I?” she muttered. “Very polite he was, too, and he gave me a groat for my trouble.”

  Masou scowled and looked even more put out. “You never fetch bread and cheese for me!” he accused Ellie.

  “Why should I? You can go to the kitchen for yourself,” snapped Ellie. “Nor you wouldn't give me a groat, neither.”

  “Why should I?” began Masou hotly.

  “Stop it, both of you!” I said. “None of the players is being poisoned—”

  “More's the pity,” muttered Masou.

  “—or I'd know exactly where to look,” I told him severely. “I can't believe you're being so jealous. They'll be gone at the end of the week.”

  “Hmf,” said Masou, starting to juggle again.

  It occurred to me that the poisoner had to be getting the poison from somewhere. The painters' Workroom was one possibility—I knew there was orpiment there—but the ratcatcher was another.

  “I really need you to ask about the ratcatcher for me, Masou,” I said. “Find out if he's been called in recently, or if anyone knows him well. I can't do it because I can't talk to the right people.”

  “All right,” grunted Masou, still juggling as he wandered off to annoy the players with more tumbling tricks.

  Ellie and I took the kerchiefs and the clean bedlinen up to Carmina's chamber. Then Ellie hurried back to the laundry while I went in search of Lady Sarah, who is the best source of gossip I know.

  I first tried our bedchamber, which turned out to be empty. So here I am seizing the opportunity to write in my daybooke. But now that is done, so I shall stop writing and continue my search for Sarah. I am hopeful that she will be able to tell me all about Ca
rmina's possible heirs.

  Later, after dinner, with Carmina in her chamber

  I found Lady Sarah sitting on a bench in the Lesser Courtyard with Penelope. They were both working on their embroidery and said they needed the bright daylight to see clearly. Coincidentally, the players were rehearsing their lines nearby, and I noticed that Sarah's eyes were more often on Richard Fitzgrey than on her embroidery.

  “And how is Carmina today?” Sarah asked, knowing that I had been to her chamber. “Mrs. Champernowne wouldn't let me go and see her this morning, even though I needed to borrow some of her rouge. Apparently, she needs to rest.”

  “She was sick many times in the night, poor dear,” Penelope said. “I think she must be very tired.”

  “Yes, she was sleeping when I saw her,” I agreed. And then I saw the perfect opportunity to find out what I needed to know. “Poor thing, and she was so pleased about her inheritance,” I remarked. “I wonder who it came from?”

  “Oh, from a great-aunt nobody liked very much, except Carmina,” declared Sarah authoritatively. “She was famously mean and strict but was fond of Carmina when she was a little girl.”

  “How do you know?” I asked, a little breathless because my plan was working so brilliantly.

  “My mother is friends with her mother because they were at Court together in the train of Queen Catherine Parr, way back under King Henry,” explained Sarah with a toss of her head.

  “So who gets the inheritance if Carmina should die?” I asked, then thought that that was a bit bald and tactless and I didn't want to start any more wild rumours. So I added, “I mean, I'm sure she won't, but …”

  “I think it would all go to her cousin, Frederick Bates,” said Sarah. “At least, I think he's a cousin, though he's quite a distant one.”

  I tried not to show my excitement; maybe this Frederick was the villainous poisoner! “Have I seen him?” I asked. “Is he here at Court?”