Feud

by Lady Grace Cavendish

  I smiled. I really love how clever the Queen is— somebody whose family has been cooking for the Crown so long would rather die than put anything bad in the food. I was glad she had made certain to protect Carmina. That confirmed that whatever is poisoning her, it isn't coming from the kitchens.

  “Somebody has been stealing paint from the Workroom,” I told Ellie and Masou.

  “So what?” asked Masou.

  I explained to him about yellow orpiment and how it is used to make arsenic. “And I really need someone to keep a watch on the Workroom,” I said, “in case the poisoner comes and steals some more, before Mrs. Teerlinc gets the lock to the colour closet changed.”

  “I could climb the old oak tree in the orchard behind the Lesser Courtyard—you can see the limners working from there,” said Masou thoughtfully. “I know because one of the gentlemen was up there the other day watching Lady Sarah. He's lovesick for her, but she says she doesn't like him because he is too short.”

  “You won't get in trouble for not teaching the players, will you?” I asked anxiously.

  Masou shook his head. “No, Mr. Somers says if I can't keep a straight face when the players make a mistake, I should stay away. I don't know how he doesn't laugh, though; they are such fools—especially that Richard Fitzgrey.”

  “He wouldn't dismiss you?” I pressed.

  Masou puffed out his chest and looked insulted. “I am the best boy acrobat in his company,” he said, proudly. “He won't.”

  So that was all arranged, and I left Masou to climb his tree and Ellie to go back to the laundry while I went to visit Carmina again.

  She was very cross with me. “You put nasty crumbs of charcoal all over my favourite sugared apricots and I had to throw them out!” she accused.

  “Well … it was to strengthen your stomach,” I explained.

  “I'm feeling much better, so I don't see why you're trying to poison me!” Carmina exclaimed.

  That upset me so much that I nearly lost my temper and told her I thought someone was poisoning her, and it certainly wasn't me. But I managed not to because I didn't want to frighten her. She does seem better now—she has some colour in her face again and is less sleepy—so I promised I wouldn't do it again and went to my chamber.

  And that is where I am now, busy scribbling in my daybooke, while Lady Sarah and Mary Shelton chatter on about—guess who?—Richard Fitzgrey.

  About mid-day

  I am worried about Carmina again, for Mary Shelton has been to see her and says she has taken a turn for the worse this morning. Lots of Ladies-in-Waiting have visited, with custards and sweetmeats to tempt her to eat, but Carmina will eat next to nothing— which is a very good thing, in my opinion, because we cannot be sure what foods are safe. She is pale and sweating, though there's still no fever. My Uncle Cavendish said he thought it could be a tertian fever, but Mary says that is nonsense because then there'd be a fever, wouldn't there? I must hurry and find the poisoner before it is too late. But how?

  All this morning I had to attend the Queen while she received the French Ambassador in the Presence Chamber, which means standing behind her on the dais to attend to the train of her gown, and trying not to yawn while she talks in French and the Ambassador tries to answer her tactfully. The French are trying to convince her to allow one of their Princes of the blood to make suit for her hand in marriage, and so there's a great deal of flattery going on—you can tell from the Ambassador's tone of voice—which the Queen always enjoys greatly. Lady Sarah was there, too, but she enjoyed it, for she was pleased not to have to sit still in the Workroom wearing hot, heavy robes. And I had no chance to write in my daybooke, of course—I had to wear the white damask with no apron and look very attentive and serious and not fall asleep.

  At last the Queen gave me leave to go, and I came back to the bedchamber to change into my hunting kirtle ready to walk the dogs and—

  Evening, in my bedchamber

  I had to stop because Masou was knocking quietly on the door, looking mysterious and excited. I was about to tell him off for taking the risk of coming to the chamber of a Maid of Honour—he has no good excuse, unlike Ellie, and if he were caught, a beating would be certain and they might dismiss even the best boy acrobat in the troupe—but he did not give me the chance.

  “Come quick!” he said. “I've been in the oak tree, watching the Workroom for you all morning, and you'll never guess who I saw sneaking something into his belt pouch.”

  I immediately left my chamber and hurried with him to the Workroom. On the way we saw Ellie with a bundle of washing, and she had to come with us, of course.

  “Who was it?” I asked as we hid behind one of the trees in the orchard behind the Lesser Courtyard.

  “That long-legged young limner, Nick Hilliard,” said Masou triumphantly.

  “No!” I exclaimed. I found it hard to believe he was the poisoner. He doesn't even know Carmina.

  “It was,” insisted Masou. “I saw him. While the bony lady was bringing old, blind Ned one of her tisanes and Mrs. Teerlinc was busy with a tailor, Nick Hilliard took a lump of something, wrapped it in a bit of paper, and put it in his pouch. I saw it clear as day.”

  “Lord above,” I said, thinking hard. I knew Nick was short of money because of his love of card games and drinking. “Mayhap the real poisoner is paying him,” I told Masou and Ellie. “In any case, we must find out what he does with what he's got.”

  “Here he comes!” whispered Ellie, who was keeping watch.

  It certainly was Nick Hilliard. He was whistling as he came out the back door of the Workroom and headed along the side of the orchard towards the New Buildings. It was lucky we weren't at Whitehall because then he might have had lodgings in Westminster, or even in the City of London, which would have made it much more complicated to follow him, because it's always hard for me to leave the palace without the other Maids of Honour.

  Nick hurried down a little alley and into an open square where some chickens were pecking about in the mud. We followed him cautiously, trying not to get so close that he'd notice us, but not wanting to risk losing track of him, either. He took a winding path, twisting and turning through the New Buildings until he reached a low doorway and a staircase. We watched as he ran up the steps. We were stuck! If we tried to follow him upstairs he'd be sure to see us, but we couldn't possibly see what he was up to from the ground. We looked around frantically for a handy tree, but there was none.

  Then Masou spotted a balcony being repaired on the building opposite. We climbed up one of the ladders—of course, Masou had to show off by shinning up a scaffolding pole—and found we could see across to the room opposite quite clearly. It was a large room with big windows, and it was full of wood panels and pieces of canvas stretched on wooden frames. All of them were in different stages of being painted.

  We heard the door bang and had to duck down quickly as Nick entered the room and glanced out of a window.

  “Ooer!” gasped Ellie, suddenly.

  I looked where she was pointing and saw Richard Fitzgrey striding along the alley, looking a little furtive.

  We peeked over the poles of the scaffolding, expecting him to go straight past. But to our surprise, he went in at the same low doorway Nick Hilliard had used, and we heard his feet on the stairs.

  Ellie looked at me in dismay. “Oh no,” she said. “I can't believe that lovely Richard Fitzgrey is involved in a poisoning.”

  I didn't know what to say to her. I was utterly confused. Whoever I had been expecting to buy the poisonous orpiment from Nick Hilliard, it had surely not been Richard Fitzgrey. My mind was racing as I tried to fathom what Richard could possibly have against poor Carmina. I could think of nothing. Perchance he was here in error, or mayhap Richard was selling the poison on, or perhaps he was here for some other reason entirely, I thought. It was certainly a puzzle, and we could do nothing but sit and wait and watch.

  We heard the door open and voices, and we saw Richard enter Nick's room and
sit down. But we couldn't see Nick properly through the windows. The men were talking but we couldn't hear their words clearly—it was terribly frustrating.

  Richard sat there for a long time. Eventually, Ellie was worried about getting back to the laundry, Masou was anxious that Mr. Somers would miss him and I was wondering if I would be in trouble with Mrs. Champernowne. We had just decided to give up and climb down, when Richard stood up and a moment later we saw him coming back down the stairs. He emerged from the doorway and headed back towards the main part of Nonsuch Palace again.

  “I must return to Mr. Somers,” said Masou, looking extremely smug. “But I told you it must be the posing players, and now here is the proof.” He swung himself down one of the poles and dropped to the ground.

  “Masou!” I called, scrambling down a ladder in a hurry. “Wait, I really need to talk to you.”

  “Why?” he asked. “We've found the poisoner. Obviously Richard Fitzgrey is paying Nick Hilliard to take poisonous paint from the Workroom so Richard can use it to poison your friend. It's exactly what I would expect of a player.”

  “That's manure,” said Ellie—well, she almost said that, I've changed it to make it more respectable.

  “Ellie's right, Masou,” I put in. “We can't know that's the case. We didn't see Nick hand over the poison. And why would Mr. Fitzgrey want to poison anybody, leave alone a Maid of Honour he does not know at all?”

  Masou shrugged. “He's a player so he's half Bedlamite anyway,” he said. “Maybe he thinks he's in a play, or maybe he just thinks it would be entertaining—”

  “Lady Grace!” interrupted a voice behind us. “What on earth are you doing here?”

  I spun round. There was Nick Hilliard standing in the entrance to the stairway, with his jerkin half on and hanging from one shoulder.

  “Um, I … ,” I began, nervously.

  Masou and Ellie moved closer to me. I was actually quite scared. If Nick was stealing poison for Richard Fitzgrey, he wouldn't want me to tattle tale about it so who knows what he might do? He could get violent, or maybe even kidnap me—though that would be dangerous in broad daylight, so close to the palace. And though Nick has long legs, I think Masou could certainly outrun him to raise the alarm. Still, it was quite frightening.

  However, I wasn't going to let Nick know I was afraid, so I took a step forward and pointed at him. “We saw you stealing from the Workroom!” I said loudly. “What were you going to do with all the poison you took?”

  For a moment I thought he might try and brazen it out, but then he looked down and sighed. “I need paint,” he said quietly. “I must have it. And I cannot afford to buy it—or not enough of it, anyway.”

  I narrowed my eyes and stared at him suspiciously. Was it possible he was stealing poisonous paint … to paint with?

  “Come and see,” he said. “I'll show you what I'm doing with it.”

  For a moment I hesitated. Ellie stepped forwards and I could see she'd quietly picked up a rock, which she was hiding in the folds of her old blue kirtle.

  “What'll you do to m'lady if she comes into your lodgings with you?” she demanded rudely.

  Nick stepped back a fraction and spread his hands. “Nothing, I swear,” he replied. “I just want to show her what I need the paint for.” There was a pause while Ellie glowered at him suspiciously. “Look,” he said, “the only thing I care about is my painting. I would not risk my position at Court for anything else.”

  “Masou,” I said, quietly, “would you wait five minutes until we come down?”

  Masou nodded, folded his arms, and leaned against the wall, staring at Nick threateningly through narrowed eyes.

  Nick turned and led the way up the stairs. Ellie and I followed. We went in through a small door at the top where Nick had to duck his head.

  Inside, a straw pallet and some blankets lay on the paint-splattered wooden floor. The rest of the room was filled with canvases and panels, all half-finished, as we had seen from the scaffolding. There were some miniatures, painted on vellum backed with a playing card, and I saw one, nearly finished, of the Queen herself in the robes Sarah had been wearing in the Workroom—he must have done it from memory.

  In the centre of the room was an easel with a truly enormous canvas upon it. Brightly coloured warriors fought across the canvas, and a big wooden horse towered over everything.

  “While I am working for Mrs. Teerlinc at the Workroom, I have no time to seek a patron,” he explained. “And so I must … borrow for my art. See, this picture has a Classical theme—the Sack of Troy!” He gestured at the big canvas and looked proud of himself.

  “So why was Richard Fitzgrey here?” I asked.

  “He was modelling for me, in exchange for a miniature I am making of him,” Nick told me. “I needed a well-looking man for the face of Paris. Look—here are a few chalk and graphite studies I have done of him.”

  It was very odd—when I looked at the big canvas I could see that the figures and colours were good, but somehow the picture didn't fit together properly. It looked rather jumbled. But the small studies of Richard Fitzgrey were marvellous—it was just as if he were looking out of the paper at us.

  “What do you think?” Nick asked, with a funny, nervous expression on his face.

  “Well … ,” I began, slowly, not wanting to hurt his feelings.

  “I think the limnings you've done of Mr. Fitzgrey are beautiful,” breathed Ellie. “I wish I could have one. They make him look even more handsome than he is already!”

  “But the big painting? The Classical theme, my lady?” Nick pressed.

  “Well,” I said. “It's just that, there's so much happening, and it's all a bit mixed up.”

  “That's the Italian style!” he told me, sounding annoyed.

  “Hmf !” said Ellie. “I dunno why you want to go wasting your time making huge great canvases when you can draw a picture of someone what could be breathing, it's so good.”

  I couldn't have put it better myself. Nick blinked at her for a moment.

  “I mean,” continued Ellie, waving a skinny arm at the Sack of Troy, “who'd want that on their chamber wall? It'd give 'em nightmares for sure. But if I had any money—which I don't, mind—I'd give you all of it just for one of these here limnings of Richard to keep after 'e's gone away.” And she sighed a bit.

  “But with my gift, I … I should be painting important subjects,” stammered Nick.

  “Why?” demanded Ellie. “And what's more important than people? I'd do anything to have a limning of myself as good as that one of Richard, so my children could know what I looked like when I was young.” And she wiped her nose on the back of her hand and crossed her arms.

  Nick looked at me, confused. “What do you think, Lady Grace?”

  “I think Ellie's right,” I said frankly. “Everybody wants a picture of their love—or their mother, father, or child—for themselves and to show to their friends. If you can do these little paintings so beautifully, why not?”

  Nick was staring at us thoughtfully, and I didn't really want to interrupt his musings, but I had to ask. “You don't seem to be using a lot of yellow, so why did you steal more orpiment today?” I demanded.

  He looked confused. “But I didn't.”

  “Yes, you did. Masou saw you sneak it into your belt pouch. It's why we followed you.”

  Nick laughed. “It wasn't orpiment I stole,” he said. “I don't need orpiment yellow for what I'm painting. Look!”

  And he felt in his belt pouch, pulled out a bit of paper, and unscrewed it to reveal a lovely bright lump of …

  Blue lapis lazuli.

  “Oh!” I exclaimed, starting to feel annoyed with Masou for bringing us on a wild goose chase. But then I hadn't told him what colour orpiment is, and when he saw Nick stealing, he must have assumed that Nick was taking orpiment.

  “Lapis lazuli is terribly expensive,” Nick was saying. “And I need a lot of it for the sky above Troy. I just can't afford to buy enough pain
t. Please don't tell Mrs. Teerlinc. She might have me dismissed.”

  “Hmm,” I murmured.

  Ellie was wandering about the room, being careful not to step in the wet paint spots, and looking at the smaller studies Nick had done of other people from Court. There were some studies of the Queen—one of her laughing, which was very undignified and not like her usual portraits, but so real you could practically hear the roar of it.

  “All right,” I said finally. “But only if you promise not to steal any more paint. Couldn't you paint some more of those little portraits for a while, and sell them and get money that way?”

  He smiled. “Perhaps I could,” he said eagerly. “Mrs. Teerlinc thinks so. I will certainly think again about struggling to finish my masterpiece of Troy after your friend's comments.” He looked across at Ellie, who was gazing soulfully at the study of Richard again. “You can have that,” he said, “in thanks for your wise advice.”

  Ellie turned to him with her eyes shining. “Can I?” she breathed. “Can I really? I never had anything so beautiful before.”

  “You can,” he told her, and took down the piece of paper very carefully, pinned it to a small piece of wood, and then wrapped it around with another piece of paper to protect it.

  Ellie put it reverently into her petticoat pocket and curtseyed her thanks and then we clattered back down the stairs.

  Masou sprinted away to his tumbling as soon as we'd told him everything. Ellie and I went a little more slowly back to the garden, where she then disappeared to the laundry, and I went to find the other Maids of Honour.

  I found them all whispering outside Carmina's bedchamber. Even Lady Jane was looking worried. There was an awful sound of somebody groaning and being sick within, and then we heard my Uncle Cavendish's voice. He was talking very softly to Mr. Durdon.

  “They're bleeding her some more,” said Mary Shelton. “I don't think they know what to do—she's so much worse. She has terrible cramps in her belly.”