“This is Brigit Berry, our companion,” Lady Barnett said dismissively. “My health is not so robust, so I need her assistance at all times.”
“I am sure the voyage will revive you, Lady Barnett,” Elizabeth said.
“Oh, aye, Your Grace!” Lady Barnett cried. “We shall be forever grateful you are sending us on this important mission.”
“And this is Master Ridley and Master Throckmorton, who will be joining his kinsman, our ambassador to France,” the queen continued. “Also, my chief musician, Mistress Haywood, who is fluent in French and is to bring back to my court all the latest songs and dances. She will be assisted by my cousin Lord Hunsdon’s man, Master Cartman. Ah, good, more wine!”
As more wine was poured and dishes of venison in apricot sauce and trout dressed in cherries were passed around, Master Ridley gave Kate a wink, but no one else seemed to pay the least attention to her and Rob. All the better for them to do their tasks unnoticed.
Except for Amelia Wrightsman. Kate caught her watching Rob, her bright smile momentarily dimmed. But then she laughed again, and that fleeting expression vanished. No one else seemed to see that instant of a mask slipping, but Kate wondered if she shouldn’t keep a closer eye on Mistress Wrightsman.
“So, Sir Henry, tell us of the situation in France since King Francis’s sad demise,” the queen said.
Sir Henry shook his head. “France is in great disarray, I fear, Your Grace, as it has been ever since King Henri died. Under King Francis and Queen Mary, the Guise have reigned unchecked. They chased away Antoine de Bourbon, the King of Navarre, who should have been next in line to the throne. The public debt, thanks to their lavishness, is near forty million livres, while the royal tax revenue is only ten thousand per annum. Rebellion and religious conflict are always threatening, as it was at Amboise.”
Elizabeth and Cecil nodded solemnly. The bloodbath at Amboise was notorious, and said to have been entirely engineered by the Guise to eliminate their enemies.
Elizabeth frowned. She surely knew what it was like to have such troubles in her own kingdom. She had inherited a throne beset with debt, thanks to Queen Mary’s warfare abroad, and conflict over the religious settlement. There had been no open rebellion yet, thanks to the work of Cecil and his men.
“But the Guise have fallen now?” the queen said, popping a sugared wafer into her mouth.
Sir Henry smiled at last, and it made him look much younger, though still stout and jowly and gray. “Virtually overnight. Queen Catherine, whom everyone thought so quiet and complacent, struck quickly after King Francis died. She had herself declared regent and governor of the kingdom before anyone knew what was happening. Monsieur de L’Hôpital is her chancellor. He is said to be very wise and calm, and no friend to the Guise. She has summoned the Estates-General to help reform the royal finances, but there is no doubt she in charge. There is none now to stand in her way.”
“It is too bad she is so very unattractive!” Lady Barnett cried. Her husband gave her a disapproving glance, but she just smiled and waved her fan to summon more wine. Amelia giggled. “So short and stout, and never wearing anything but black. Queen Mary made the court so fashionable.”
“Oh, aye,” Amelia said in disappointment. “I do recall one gown she wore, cloth of silver, trimmed with sapphires and pearls, with an ermine cloak. And her hair! Such a glorious auburn. She surely will be in mourning when we return, Aunt Jane.”
“Yes—a shame,” Queen Elizabeth snapped in a cold voice. “You must take the finest of our English fashions to her. Now, Master Throckmorton, what does your kinsman at my embassy write to you about these matters?”
As Charles and the queen talked, Kate looked up to find Rob watching her, his lips twitching as if he was about to laugh. That made her long to laugh as well, and she had to look away to keep from bursting out. Platters of sweet wafers and the queen’s favorite, sticky fruit suckets, were brought in—a welcome distraction.
At least the voyage would not be dull with Rob beside her.
CHAPTER FIVE
Kate stood on the narrow walkway of Gracechurch Street, studying the house across from her. It was the home of the lawyer Master Hardy and his wife, where Anthony had worked as an apprentice. Now he was on the edge of setting up a legal practice of his own, but he had asked her to meet him there, as it was an easy distance from the palace and in a respectably prosperous area.
And it was respectable indeed. Tall and narrow, but with expensive glass in all the windows, the tiny diamond-shaped panes glinting in the light like eyes that could see out but not let anything in. The plasterwork, so bright and new the last time she saw the house, had darkened in the city’s smoke and fog, yet it was still finely done and spoke of a quiet prosperity.
Kate thought of Anthony and of how such a place suited him. When they first met, when Elizabeth was a mere princess at Hatfield and the future was so uncertain, Anthony had been a very junior law student working for Master Hardy, who, as a Protestant, was not favored by Queen Mary. After Elizabeth was crowned, all his noble clients returned and Anthony’s studies progressed quickly. Now he was on the cusp of a fine career, a well-to-do independence, and she served the queen.
But the memory of their friendship, of Anthony’s great kindness and steadiness, his lovely green eyes, never left her—even though their lives seemed destined to follow such different paths.
The black-painted front door opened as she walked the path to the house, and Anthony appeared with a market basket in hand. He wore the fine black wool garments of a young lawyer and a black-and-tawny cap on his glossy dark hair, an austere style that suited his classically carved features.
“Kate!” he called out happily. He hurried across the lane to her side. “I’m glad you could find time to meet me. It must be busy days at court.”
Kate smiled up at him. He had such a simple, quietly happy way about him. She had forgotten how reassuring it could be after the drama and tension of court. “Not so much since Christmas is past.” She gestured to his basket. “It looks as if you are on an errand, though.”
Anthony laughed. “Mistress Hardy asked if I could fetch some vegetables and cinnamon from the market, since she saw I was going out, and I hoped to persuade you to walk there with me.”
“Of course. ’Tis a fine day for marketing.” The cold wind had ceased to race around the tall buildings and the sky was clearing, though the roads were still laced with frost. Anthony offered her his arm, keeping her to the more sheltered side of the walkway. As they strolled through the marketplace, they talked of Kate’s father, of Anthony’s widowed mother, who lived back in the village near Hatfield, of the Hardys, and how Anthony was soon to move out of their household and into his own lodgings.
They did not speak of Mistress Hardy’s pretty niece, who had visited London last year, and whom Kate knew the Hardys had encouraged him to court. Anthony had not mentioned her in a long while, and Kate was not sure she really wanted to know what was happening with the matter.
After the provisions for Mistress Hardy were acquired, they turned to stroll along the river. Boats were thick on the water that day despite the chill, ferrying people from one bank to another, the boatmen and passengers calling out to each other.
“So, your note to me said you are to go to France,” Anthony said, his tone now grown more serious.
“Aye, to carry Queen Elizabeth’s messages to Queen Mary.”
Anthony nodded, though his expression was doubtful. He knew something of her secret work for the queen; indeed, he had helped her on more than one occasion. He had access to records and archives she did not, and he had a lawyer’s way of making people say things they meant to keep silent.
“My friend Tom Overbury is in Paris right now,” he said. “Perhaps you remember him?”
Kate nodded. Master Overbury had assisted Anthony with looking through the dusty court records during the
troubles at Nonsuch Palace. She remembered he had once been at school with Anthony. “He is studying to enter the Church, is he not?”
“Aye. His master, Bishop Grenfeld, sent a delegation to meet with the Huguenot King of Navarre, and Tom went with them.”
“I hope I shall see him there, then. A familiar face would be a most welcome sight.”
“I will write to him and ask him to look for you.” Anthony paused at the edge of one of the stone-and-wood bridges that crossed the river. He looked down at her, his face very solemn under the brim of his black-and-tawny cap. “You mentioned in your note that Sir Henry Barnett and his wife and niece are to go with you?”
Kate nodded. Anthony and Master Hardy knew everyone at court and worked for many of them. “I do not know them well, and thought mayhap you or Master Hardy came across their names. They have been to France before.”
“I have not done any work for them myself, but I have seen their names before. Or, rather, that of their niece. Mistress Wrightsman, is it not?”
“It is. I met her at a dinner in the queen’s apartments. She is very pretty and vivacious.”
Anthony laughed, a wry sound. “I am sure she is. When Tom Overbury was first in France last year, he sent me a letter that related the tale of a court scandal.”
Kate frowned. “A scandal involving Mistress Wrightsman?”
“It seems several French chevaliers fell in love with her, and there were rumors she might even marry a certain Monsieur d’Emours, a kinsman to the Guise family.”
“Mistress Wrightsman was to marry a Frenchman?” Kate wondered how likely that would be. Amelia’s uncle seemed a very English sort of Englishman, and surely a member of the Guise family would be expected to marry a French fortune.
“There was no official betrothal. And it seems that one night, Mistress Wrightsman danced too many voltas with a certain Monsieur Mamou, kinsman to the Constable Montmorency, enemy to the Guise.”
Kate nodded. It seemed the French court was just as complicated with alliances and betrayals as the English—probably much more so. “Then what happened?”
“Mistress Wrightsman disappeared with this fellow Mamou, and was found with him by Monsieur d’Emours in a cozy little garden alcove. D’Emours challenged Mamou to a duel.”
“A duel!” Kate cried. It was like a romantic poem. Duels were forbidden by Queen Elizabeth at her court, though, of course, many happened in secret. Was it so very different in France?
“Aye. And it seems the Queen Mother has banned dueling, on pain of execution, but this one went forward.”
“Was anyone hurt?”
“Monsieur d’Emours wounded Mamou, but he was not killed. D’Emours was declared the victor.”
“But he did not claim his prize, the fair Mistress Wrightsman?”
“Perhaps he found she was not such a prize after all. Tom said she was immediately sent back to England in the care of her aunt, and d’Emours and Mamou are friends once again, though Mamou left court when his kinsman Montmorency retired. D’Emours is said to be of a crowd that is most fond of gambling and good wine, who enjoy making mischief both among the court ladies and country maids.”
“How very strange,” Kate murmured. If Amelia Wrightsman had instigated a duel, why would the queen and Cecil send her back to France now? It was a puzzle indeed. Kate knew very well she would not be told every part of Cecil’s plan in France. Yet she hated feeling as if she were stumbling through a darkened room, unsure of what obstacles lay in wait with every step.
She and Anthony walked onward along the river. She could hear the cries of merchants selling hot cider and apple cakes, fried fish and fresh bread. The spires and roofs of London gleamed in the gray light from across the water, and London Bridge lay ahead, with its crowd of houses, its heads of traitors grinning down at the city from the pikes high overhead. London was both great and terrible, and she wondered when she would see it all again.
Anthony tossed a coin to one of the merchants, an old woman with a cart selling warm gingerbread, and he handed the treat to Kate. She nibbled at it, the warm spices and sugars familiar and reassuring, and she wondered if she should tell the queen she could not help her in France. Almost everything she knew was here. Yet France . . . it beckoned to her, with its unknown people and places, its promise of rare adventure.
“Kate,” Anthony said intently, “I know you have been at the queen’s court for many months now, and that you are a very clever lady. You know how to watch out for yourself. . . .”
She tried to give him a teasing smile. “Why, thank you, Anthony. I do try.”
He gave her a stern look, as if he faced her in a law court, but she could see his lips twitch with a smile. “But you are also kindhearted. The French court will be very different from anything you know.”
“Aye, I do see that. I have read much about it and heard tales from courtiers who have been there. Queen Mary is of constant interest to the court. But I must go where I am asked, where I can be of use.”
He reached out and took her hand. Even through their gloves his touch was warm, grounding her to that moment, that place. Warm—and safe. “You can be of much use here. To me.”
Surprised, Kate took a step back. “Anthony . . .”
“Please, Kate, hear me. We have been friends a long time now.”
She nodded. “So we have, and I am glad of it.”
“Then surely you must know my feelings for you are more than friendship. I am just starting my own law practice now, but I have many contacts. In a year or so, I know I could provide a fine home for a wife and family. You would be comfortable and protected always.”
Kate swallowed hard, trying to make sense of the feelings that were tumbling through her. She was tempted, very much so. Anthony was so kind, steady, and handsome. But there was the queen and her work at court. She owed Elizabeth so very much, and she wanted to think that what she did was important. That in some small way, she could use her skills to help keep England a bit safer in a rocky world. “Anthony, I do not know what to say now . . .”
He gave her a reassuring smile and squeezed her hand before placing it on his arm again. “You needn’t say anything now. I know you feel you must go to France for the queen. Just think about what I have said while you are there.”
Kate nodded. “I will think about it, aye.”
“And write to me, so I know you are safe.”
“Of course I will write.” She squeezed his arm. Her throat was tight with all the emotions rising in her. All the emotions that usually only found an outlet in music. “I care about you as well, Anthony. Please know that.”
He nodded. “Then I will be content with that—for now. Come. We should take Mistress Hardy her provisions, or supper will never be finished.”
He drew her close to his side again, and they pushed their way through the crowd back toward the street. He said nothing more of love or marriage or of what might wait for her in France, but they talked of inconsequential things such as the new apprentices in Master Hardy’s office and new styles at court.
When they parted at the gates of Whitehall, Anthony took her hand and bowed over it for a long moment. “Don’t forget me while you’re gone.”
Kate shook her head, her throat thick with tears she knew she could never shed. “I could not do that. I will write to you very soon.”
She spun around and hurried up the steps into the palace. In her quiet chamber, Kate laid aside her cloak and went to peer out the window at the garden below. She would miss Anthony, aye, but surely this time in France would be a good thing. She would have the space to think about her own life and where she wanted it to go now that her father was gone. Did she want to stay at court? Did she want a different home, a place of quiet and respectable comfort? She had never known that. Or would a life of adventure be best, with a man who could understand her love of music and her need of
the challenge of courtly life? A man like Rob.
Kate shook her head. If only—if only—she could somehow have both . . .
• • •
Anthony sat down at his desk in his small chamber at the top of the Hardys’ house. He meant to write to Tom Overbury in France, to ask his friend to help Kate and look after her, as he could not. But he found himself staring out over the chimneys of Gracechurch Street, unable to forget the way Kate had looked when they parted.
The Hardys had wanted him to marry Mistress Hardy’s niece, and it would have been an excellent match. She was a kind girl and a pretty one, who knew how to run a prosperous household and assist with a husband’s law career. Yet something—or someone—had held him back, and Anthony knew it was Kate. They had been friends for a long time, and at certain moments he had been sure it was more than that. Yet he knew she had work to do, just as he had, important work for the queen, and she was reluctant to leave it behind.
Just as he was reluctant to ask her. Now she was going to France, beyond where he could persuade her, and all he could do was hope she would come back to England in a different set of mind.
He took out pen and paper and sat down to write to his friend Overbury. If Kate insisted on running away on this errand, he would do all he could to help her—and would pray for her safe return.
CHAPTER SIX
Kate sat on a coil of rope in a quiet corner of the ship’s deck, watching as the very last glimpse of England’s shores faded from view. In an instant, there was only the gray sky meeting the edge of the gray water to be seen. She felt tossed out into a strange new world, unable to find her bearings, and yet there was excitement in her heart as well. Here, on the endless-seeming sea, real life was postponed for a while. Grief was left behind, and something completely new was ahead.
As the ship lurched farther out to sea, the wind grew sharper and colder. Kate drew the fur-lined hood of her cloak closer and watched the white-foamed waves surge around the prow. The sails whipped over her head, and she could smell the salt spray. She could see why most of their party had retired to their cabins, claiming seasickness. She herself didn’t feel queasy yet, but her legs did feel rather unsteady, her head light.
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