Murder at Hatfield House: An Elizabethan Mystery

by Carmack, Amanda

  “What nonsense.” There was a rustle of fabric and the patter of footsteps as Elizabeth came down the stairs.

  Kate and Peg ducked behind the doorway, even though there wasn’t any way she could see them from there. They heard Braceton thundering after her, but Elizabeth’s light steps didn’t slow.

  “This is my own house, my lord, and I wish to watch a play in it,” Elizabeth said. “I do not need to ask your leave for that, do I? I was under the impression Thomas Pope was still my guardian here.”

  “You have this house only by the queen’s grace!” Braceton said. “And you should be very careful what you do in it.”

  “I have this house by the terms of my father’s will,” Elizabeth replied. “And my other properties, too. Queen Mary has no more loyal subject than myself, and my household has given you every cooperation—though you have given them little reason to. Watching a play surely cannot impede you.”

  “I would have a care if I were you, my lady,” Braceton said, his sudden quiet calm far worse than any shouting. “If these so-called actors prove to be other than they appear . . .”

  “And what else could they possibly be, my lord?”

  “Come now. You cannot pretend to be so naive, madam, nor think I will be so,” Braceton said. “These people have lately been at the home of the Cecil family.”

  “My surveyor—who thought I would enjoy a bit of their merriment in these cold days,” Elizabeth said with a laugh. “Marry, my lord, but I think your suspicious nature has colored your view of all the world, which is a sad thing. A fine play will do you some good as well, I vow.”

  “My men will search them most thoroughly before they can be permitted to remain here.”

  “Of course, Lord Braceton. I would expect nothing less.”

  There was the echoing slam of the front door and a moment of deepest, reverberating silence. Then Kate heard Elizabeth’s light steps coming closer.

  Kate and Peg scrambled away from the door, back to their tasks. Just as Kate took up her lute again, the door opened and Elizabeth appeared there. She swept a quick glance over the room and smiled.

  “Hard at work, I see,” she said.

  “Of course, Your Grace,” Kate said. She jumped up to make a quick curtsy.

  “Very good. Our—esteemed guest is hard at work as well, for Lord Braceton has gone to fetch his men to go through the players’ belongings. Poor souls. I fear they will be sorry they came here.”

  “When shall they be allowed to perform, Your Grace?” Kate asked.

  “Tomorrow evening, if all goes well. In the meantime, they have asked if you would be so kind as to assist them with some music, Kate. It seems their accompanist is indisposed.”

  “Of course, Your Grace,” Kate said, feeling a tiny thrill of excitement at the thought of playing with other performers again, perhaps even learning a new song or two from London.

  But she glanced back at her father’s closed door. If he woke and she wasn’t there . . .

  Elizabeth seemed to sense her thoughts. “Peg and I will sit here with Master Haywood for a while,” she said. “It is so quiet in the rooms back here, and I will enjoy an hour or two to read in peace.”

  “Thank you very much, Your Grace,” Kate said.

  “How does he today?” Elizabeth asked, sitting down in Kate’s chair by the fire and arranging her plain dark blue skirts around her.

  “A little better, I think,” Kate said. “He took some broth earlier and is sleeping now. I hope he may work on his music later. Peg stayed with him last night while we were at Brocket, and she says he slept the night through with no bad dreams.”

  “Oh, aye, Your Grace. He was very quiet-like,” Peg said.

  “Very good,” Elizabeth said with a nod. “I will do all I can to help him, as he did for me when I was young and living with my stepmother. But run along now and play your music, Kate. I will send for you if you are needed. And hopefully you can make sure Braceton’s men do not do too much damage to the poor players’ belongings.”

  Kate doubted she could stop Braceton from doing anything at all. But for the princess she would certainly try. By the time Kate had gathered up her music, Elizabeth had her book open and was reading, her pale sharp-chinned face seemingly serene. The house was quiet enough, everyone lying low, as they had ever since Braceton arrived.

  Until she opened the door to the gallery where the players rehearsed. Noise and color burst out toward her, and she had to laugh at the sudden merriment of it all. Even Braceton’s black-clad men sorting through trunks of costumes didn’t seem to affect the actors.

  An improvised stage had been hastily built at the far end of the long, narrow room, planks added to expand the dining dais Elizabeth rarely used, except on holidays, since she preferred eating privately in her chamber to dining in state. The two women Kate had seen earlier in the cart were hanging red velvet draperies around the edges of the stage, while two young apprentices unpacked cases of props. Others sat around the margins of the carved, dark-paneled walls, reading over lines or idly chatting, as Master Cartman dashed around shouting at them, red-faced with obvious and extreme anxiety.

  The portraits hanging on the walls, of Elizabeth’s larger-than-life father, her stepmother Catherine Parr in furs and velvets, and her brother, young Edward VI, stared down at the activity as if astounded to see it all.

  And two men were sword-fighting down the makeshift aisle, the furious, metallic clash of the blunted blades ringing in the air. Their boots scuffed and pounded over the rush-covered wooden planks of the floor, as first one opponent, then the other was driven back.

  As Kate watched, mesmerized, she recognized one of the swordsmen as the handsome young Master Rob Cartman. His golden hair was darkened with sweat, and he laughed as he fought, as if the effort was nothing to him.

  Suddenly Rob drove his opponent back and back in a furious volley of blows. His blade flew so fast, so lightly, that it seemed to blur and flash in the air. The other man toppled to the floor and flung out his arms in surrender.

  “Pax, Rob!” he cried. “I yield.”

  Rob Cartman laughed and tossed his sword down. He swiped his forearm over his sweat-dotted brow, and Kate saw that his white linen shirt was damp from the exercise, clinging to his strong shoulders and the lean line of his back.

  “It must be done just thus in the play, Harry,” he said. “With a slice here and an uppercut there, a wound, a shout, until the audience is breathless with suspense of what shall happen next.”

  He helped his opponent to his feet, and as he turned he caught Kate standing there watching. That roguish grin he’d given her earlier spread over his face again.

  “Why, ’tis the fair Mistress Haywood!” he called, making several of the other actors, and even Lord Braceton’s searching men, turn from their tasks to look at her curiously. “A most welcome distraction from our labors.”

  Kate felt her cheeks turn uncomfortably warm, and her tongue seemed suddenly tied in knots. She wasn’t accustomed to feeling flustered, and she found she did not like it at all. She suddenly wondered why the Cartmans had been on the road at such a providential time. She should not be interested in someone who could very well be the murderer of Braceton’s manservant. Really, they knew nothing yet of the actors.

  Clutching her lute and the sheaf of music, she strode into the gallery. She held her head high, as Elizabeth would, and looked neither right nor left, ignoring everyone.

  “I was sent to aid you in your labors, Master Cartman, not to distract you from them,” she said. “I was told you needed assistance with the music for your play.”

  Rob still smiled at her, as if he was amused by her brisk tone. But he led her to a pair of stools set in the corner with a trunk filled with sheets covered in scribbled musical notes.

  “We are most grateful for any assistance you can give us, Mistress Haywood,” he said. “Eli over there usually plays our accompaniment, but as you can see, he is no help at the moment.”


  Rob gestured toward a lanky bearded man who sat slumped by the wall, his right arm bound in a linen sling.

  “My own skills with the lute are poor indeed,” Rob added. “And I fear we must have songs for this particular play.”

  Kate took up the papers from the trunk and studied them. They were easy enough to learn, a simple melody and consonant harmony, as many love songs were. She instantly felt calmer as she went about the familiar task of learning a new song. The suspicions of Rob and his troupe were still there, lurking at the back of her mind, but there was music, too.

  “What is the play you’re to perform for the princess?” she asked, strumming a few experimental chords on her lute.

  Rob was silent for a long moment, and she looked up at him to see a flicker of uncertainty cross his chiseled face. Which was most odd, for from what she’d seen of Master Rob thus far, he did not lack for confidence.

  “It is a new work—The Tragical History of the Princess of Carthage,” he said. “Sir William Cecil asked especially if we could present it to the Lady Elizabeth, and we have been working on it every hour during our journey.”

  “I’m sure my lady will enjoy it very much.”

  “If we present it at all,” he muttered.

  “What do you mean? If Sir William requested it . . .”

  “And my uncle agreed. But today he declares it would not be the best choice. We may have to do The Fair Maid of Cheapstowe instead.”

  “I have seen that one before, when the queen visited Hatfield. But I am sure we would all be distracted by any play in these dreary days,” Kate said. “Yet if the princess’s own surveyor declares she should see your Princess of Carthage, surely that is the best choice? He knows her taste exceedingly well.”

  “That is what I told my uncle. Sir William will not be happy if he hears we did not follow his request. But my uncle will seldom listen to me,” Rob said wryly. “He has been in a most changeable mood of late. I vow I do not understand him.”

  “Families are something few of us understand—even when we are in the midst of them,” Kate said. She played another line of the song, liking how it flowed so sweetly from one bar to the next. “How did you find Sir William and his family? Are they all well? We have not seen them since he last came to go over the princess’s accounts in the early summer.”

  “They are all in good health, though feeling a bit dull, I think, so far from the doings at court.”

  “I am sure they must be. I do not know Sir William well myself, but surely he is a man accustomed to doing rather than sitting and watching,” Kate said with a laugh. She had to find a way to ease more information from him. “Has your company played of late at court, Master Cartman?”

  “Would you not call me Rob, fair Mistress Haywood?” he asked.

  Surprised, Kate glanced up at him over her lute. She thought he would look flirtatious, teasing, ready to laugh at her. But instead he looked oddly—sad. Sincere. “I hardly know you well enough for such liberties.”

  “We needn’t be so formal here in the country, surely,” he said with a grin, that sadness vanishing in an instant. “But just as you like, mistress. I’m sure you will call me Rob soon enough. And, yes, we have performed at court, though it was before the king departed. Our sponsor, Lord Ambrose, is a favorite of the queen, or he once was. He has commissioned us to appear before the royal couple twice.”

  “But not this new play.”

  “Nay, not this one. It is apparently of too romantical a nature for the queen’s taste.”

  “And sad, I think,” Kate said, bending her head over the music again. She much preferred to concentrate on it rather than look at Master Rob’s teasing blue eyes. She didn’t know enough about him to be able to afford being interested in him. “The song is very beautiful, but the words are quite melancholy, I see.”

  “Aye, the princess of Carthage must bid farewell to her husband, who will be executed by their enemies in the morning,” Rob said. “She sees the light from his prison window and sings this to him, hoping he will hear her.”

  “It is very moving,” Kate said, and indeed it was. She could just envision the scene through the melody, the yearning and despair of the princess. “But is it truly the best choice for my lady?”

  After all, Elizabeth had herself been an imprisoned princess far too often in her life, had seen people she loved ripped away from her.

  Rob shrugged. “Sir William thought so when we performed a scene for him, as did my uncle until today. He has been most eager for us to learn it exactly right.”

  “Robert!” Master Cartman suddenly shouted.

  Kate turned her head to see the man stomping toward them. His hair was on end, as if he had been tearing at it with his hands, and his eyes were wide and strangely lit.

  “Cease flirting at once and see to the stage set,” Master Cartman said. “Let the girl practice the song. There is much work to be done.”

  Rob gave Kate another smile, his brow arched. “Duty calls, I fear. But I hope we may talk more later, Mistress Haywood.”

  Kate bent back over her lute so she wouldn’t watch him walk away. She found she did want to talk more to Master Rob, and not only because of his dashing smile and blue eyes. She wanted to hear more about court, about Lord Ambrose, about the houses Rob had visited and the people he’d talked to. The life outside Hatfield’s walls.

  She was also most curious to know why Sir William Cecil thought this play would please Elizabeth. And why now Master Cartman was in such hysterics over the playing of it. Surely there must be some hidden message within its words. She just had to decipher them.

  CHAPTER 10

  “So there are actors at Hatfield?” Anthony said, a skeptical frown on his handsome face. “How did they come to be there?”

  Kate smiled at him over the display of fine fabrics at Master Smythson’s shop. Princess Elizabeth had sent her into the village to purchase more supplies needed for the play, and she’d met Anthony in the lane outside Master Hardy’s offices.

  “Sir William Cecil sent them, it seems,” she said. “We met them on the journey back from Brocket Hall.”

  “And where did they come from before that? What was their purpose in seeking out the princess?” Anthony said, still frowning.

  Kate laughed, though secretly she agreed with him. It was suspect. “You and your suspicious lawyer’s mind. Perhaps Sir William thinks we need some diversion, which we most assuredly do, what with everything that has been happening of late.”

  “If that is all there is to it.”

  “I am sure that it is.” But in truth Kate was not sure at all. The handsome Master Robert’s uncle seemed most agitated, and Anthony was right—their appearance was most convenient. But she wasn’t sure she could even articulate those doubts to herself, let alone to her friend, in a way that made sense at all. The days seemed upside down all around her of late.

  “And the princess has you assisting them?”

  “I am to play my lute to accompany their dances. And help a bit with the costumes.”

  “You? Sewing?” Anthony said with a teasing grin.

  Kate laughed. “I am not entirely deficient in that womanly art, I would have you know. I am quite capable of mending a doublet or sewing on a length of trim. Speaking of which—do you like this gold ribbon?”

  Before Anthony could answer, a piercing scream rang through the half-open door of the shop, shattering the tense calm of the village all over again. Kate instinctively ran out the door toward the noise, her heart pounding. But Anthony grabbed her hand and held her with him, his body slightly blocking hers as they skidded to a stop in the lane.

  Kate stretched up on her tiptoes and peered past his shoulder, realizing they weren’t the only ones who came dashing out to see what the noise was. Despite the periodic appearances of Queen Mary’s soldiers of late, the village was usually a quiet enough place. People were wary and watchful always; after all, the burnings could spread to their neighborhood at any moment and care a
lways had to be taken. But true uproars had been seldom.

  Until now.

  People peeked out of doorways and through windows, and crowded the walkways. Housewives wiped their hands on their aprons and tried to hold their curious children close. Everyone craned their necks this way and that, whispering together, trying to find that fearful scream, which was dissipating on the cold wind.

  Kate knew she hadn’t imagined it. The whole village had obviously heard it. She wrapped her hand around Anthony’s arm and peered down the lane. Don’t let it be from Hatfield, she silently pleaded. Don’t let it be my father. . . .

  Then it came again: a sharp scream, then another and another, all piled one on top of the other. A young girl came racing up the middle of the muddy street, waving her arms frantically in the air as she cried out.

  Kate recognized her. She was the daughter of a maidservant to Mistress Regan, the old midwife who lived in a cottage near the church. The girl didn’t come from the direction of the cottage, though, and her face was stark white, her eyes wide and dark with fright.

  And there was a wide streak of rusty red blood on her apron.

  She stopped in the middle of the lane and looked around frantically. In that one still moment, no one dared to step forward, as if stillness could stop whatever horror it was from happening.

  Kate knew no amount of silence could stop danger from barreling over them. It would come anyway, and Elizabeth had shown her it had to be met head-on and defeated. She slid around Anthony, even as he tried to hold her back, and hurried to the girl’s side.

  “What has happened?” Kate said gently. “Is it Mistress Regan or one of her patients? Or perhaps your mother?”

  The girl swung toward her. For a second her face was rigid with fear, but then it crumpled and she covered her eyes with her trembling hands. “It—it is horrible! Blasphemy. We shall all be damned for heretics.”

  Kate heard a ripple of shocked whispers move through the crowd at that most fearsome of words. “Blasphemy.” Accusations had flown about too thick and fast since Braceton had arrived, and someone would have to pay.