Lady Eaton studied him closely. “You are the princess’s true friend, I think.”
“I am, Lady Eaton. I vow it on my soul.”
Tears suddenly welled in her eyes. “I confess I have been keeping a secret that has been heavy on my heart, and I have not been sure what to do with it.”
“You can safely confide in me, if you so choose,” he said. He led her to one of the stools and helped her to sit before he knelt beside her. She laid her hand on his arm again, and her fingers trembled. “I would be most happy to help you however I can.”
“You are most kind, Sir Anthony. Truly a gallant gentleman, and I had feared there were none left in the world,” she said with a sniffle. “It all happened when Lord Ambrose was here, you see. And then there was the fire. . . .”
CHAPTER 20
O ut of breath, Kate had slid back into her place on the stage, just as the next act of the play began. As she picked up her lute, she secretly studied the gathered audience. Lord Eaton had returned to sit next to his wife, but he seemed restless, fidgeting in his chair, tapping his fingers on the carved armrest. The man she had seen him talking with stood at the back of the room, studying everything carefully. Kate knew she would have to be extra cautious and not draw attention to herself.
Lady Eaton had been gone for many long moments once Kate sat back down, but she returned with a small, secret smile on her pale face. And Anthony’s seat next to her was still empty. It was very difficult to sit still, to concentrate on the music, when all she wanted to do was find out if Anthony was any closer to finding the letter.
Rob made his exit for the scene, and from behind the curtain just beyond where Kate sat, she heard his fierce whisper.
“Did you find anything?” he said.
Kate answered through her determined smile. “Perhaps so. This seems a very strange sort of house.”
“What house is not, in these days? Do you think the Eatons had something to do with my uncle’s death?”
“I could not say yet.” Much depended on what might be in that mysterious letter. Kate saw Lord Eaton’s watchful man glance toward her, his eyes narrowed. “Go away now. You are distracting me and I can’t draw notice.”
Rob muttered a curse under his breath, and she heard the rustle of footsteps as he moved away from the curtain. She finished her song and let the actors’ lines take over. The watchful man’s attention swung back to them, and she could take a breath again. Yet she couldn’t help notice that Lady Eaton was growing restless as well, glancing at Anthony’s chair more often as if she wondered where her handsome guest had gone.
Surely he should have returned by now, Kate thought. Her chest felt tight as she considered where exactly he might be, what he had managed to find. Had he been caught by one of the Eatons’ servants? Attacked by the veiled woman? By God’s blood, but she could not bear it if she had led her friend into danger.
The moments slid past painfully slowly, that tight feeling of dread growing closer around her like a vise, until at last Anthony slipped back into the hall. Kate’s fingers faltered on the lute strings, but she quickly righted her song.
As Anthony returned to his seat, she saw that his cap was gone, his hair slightly ruffled. But Lady Eaton beamed at him.
And he lightly touched the sleeve of his doublet, where she could see a tiny bulge that should not be there. He gave Kate a quick nod. However he had done it, it seemed he had found the letter. . . .
To Lord Ambrose, My dear friend,
My motive in writing you today, so quickly and in secrecy, sending this only by the most trusted of messengers, is to warn you of the danger we are in concerning the great matter of Lady Jane Grey. We have long been bound to silence over this, along with so many others, but I fear the silence may soon break and our role in what occurred become fully known.
Take pains, my friend, to conceal all the reasons behind these doings. For if the good queen should not reign longer, and the Spanish depart, we will be at the mercy of the Greys once again. Hold fast to our purpose, which is the purpose of God and the queen, after all, and in our own best interests.
—Braceton
“Braceton was on the jury that convicted Lady Jane, along with Lord Ambrose?” Kate asked in astonishment as Anthony helped her climb over a low wall on their way home in the early-morning light. She suddenly felt rather foolish. Surely she should have realized such a thing, should have known to look into the connection. She should not have needed Anthony to charm Lady Eaton to find out the information for her. “I should have known.”
“How could you have known, Kate?” Anthony said.
They paused at the top of a hill to catch their breath, looking at the redbrick chimneys of Hatfield in the distance as they talked. From afar the house looked quiet, peaceful, with only the curls of silvery smoke rising into the sky to show anyone was there at all.
“It’s not widely known who served on the queen’s jury for that case,” he went on. “Not many would want their names associated with such a business.”
“Braceton didn’t seem the sort to back away from admitting what he’d done, or even from being proud of it,” Kate said. “He was very vocal in his hatred of ‘heretics,’ and Lady Jane was one of the chief proponents of the new religion. Is that where he and Lord Ambrose met?”
“Nay, it seems they were allies from court, from what Lady Eaton said. She is much attached to the Grey family, and after a few goblets of sweet German wine she was most happy to confide in me. She hates everyone who had a hand in Lady Jane’s death, of course, but especially Ambrose and Braceton, since they searched Leighton.”
“If Ambrose searched Leighton once and found nothing, why would Braceton go back there? When there are so many other houses of Protestants to raid?” Kate asked. Then she remembered what she had overheard Lord Eaton saying, that their first “visitor” had left in a great hurry. “Did Ambrose leave something unfinished?”
Anthony gave her a smile, a wide, dazzling grin that made him even more handsome than did his usual serious mien. It also made him look infuriatingly satisfied, as if he had a secret Kate didn’t know. “Indeed he did. And Lady Eaton very kindly let me examine Lord Ambrose’s chamber and talk to a chambermaid who cleaned after he left. ‘Powerfully untidy,’ she declared him to be, and was still most put out that he left behind such a mess. I must say, the ladies of Leighton Abbey were most kind and accommodating.”
“Because you flirted with them and they liked your pretty green eyes!” Kate cried. “Don’t tease me, Anthony. What did you discover?”
“A great deal, as it turns out. You were quite right, Kate, when you said the servants of a household knew everything that happens there. They’re also very happy to share their knowledge.”
“Of course they are. Because usually no one listens to them, much to the detriment of those who think the servants beneath them.”
“And it seems Lord Ambrose was a great one for standing on his rank. He tore apart the Leighton kitchens and tried to abuse one of the young maids. But one day he received a letter that had him much agitated. He locked himself in his chamber and would not come out. Until the fire.”
“Fire?”
“Aye. It seems one night some sparks from a hearth caught a rug afire. The flames were contained in that one chamber, but not before most of the household was sent outside into the night for safety. Lady Eaton remembers it well because she caught the ague in the damp air.”
“Is that the only reason she remembered it?”
“Nay. Also because of the theft. A small chest was taken from Lord Ambrose’s chamber, but there was no one to blame, for everyone was out in the garden—in full sight of Ambrose himself.”
Kate was fascinated by Anthony’s tale—and by how much information a handsome young man could glean from lonely ladies in an isolated house. Obviously she had been wrong to not seek his help in the matter long before.
“Could he have simply misplaced it?” she said. “Nay, that does not seem
like something a courtier like Lord Ambrose would do. Who took it?”
“The maid said everyone thought it was the ghost.”
“Ghost?”
“It seems that Leighton Abbey, like any old house, is much haunted. By long-dead monks, thwarted lovers . . .”
“A veiled lady in black?”
“Of course. There must always be a veiled lady. Bess, the maid, declares she has seen the ghost herself. And everyone is sure that is who took the chest. Though how a ghost could carry a heavy box in its spectral hands, I could not say.”
“They are scarcely spectral,” Kate murmured. Even now she could feel the strength of the push that sent her stumbling in the tower room.
“What do you mean? Have you seen the spirit yourself?”
“I have seen her.” Kate quickly told him about her two encounters with the veiled woman, at Leighton and at Hatfield.
Anthony frowned. “You should not have gone dashing into danger like that, Kate.”
“I know. I am too impulsive sometimes. But I couldn’t let her escape again. I need to find out who she is. And what she did with Lord Ambrose’s box.”
“Well, there I can help you. The box may have been carried off by a ghost, but it appeared quite safe and sound. In the chamber of the unfortunate maid Lord Ambrose tried to rape, who is friends with my new friend Bess.”
Well! He might have said that in the beginning. “What was in the box, then?” Kate demanded. “Did they give it back to Lord Ambrose?”
“Of course not. If the Leighton ghost saw fit to steal the thing from him and give it to the maid, they knew there had to be a reason. They gave it to Lady Eaton.”
“Who last night showed it to you,” Kate finished for him. “Anthony, you truly worked miracles in only a few short hours.”
Anthony grinned. “It seems Lady Eaton, despite being lady-in-waiting to one of the most educated families in England, cannot herself read beyond a few letters. She recognized the name of Lady Jane Grey in the letter that had caused Lord Ambrose such agitation, but naught else. Ambrose was predictably furious about the loss of his possessions, and out of fear, Lady Eaton hid the box and told no one about it.”
“Not even Lord Eaton?”
“She said he has such a temper, she was afraid he would use the letter to create even more trouble with Ambrose and thus with the queen. It made her all the more ill, the fear of keeping the letter and also of getting rid of it. Several times she tried to burn it and then could not.”
“Then what happened?”
“Ambrose was called back to court in a great hurry, before he could find the box, and then as we know he was sent on to France. Things were quiet at Leighton, until Braceton arrived and the searches began all over again.”
“And Braceton needed to retrieve his letter.”
“I would wager a guess that he came to Leighton only to try to retrieve it, even using the threat of seizing the whole estate to get it. But a ghost doesn’t respond to threats.”
“And neither does Lady Eaton, it seems.”
“Not when the poor lady is paralyzed with terror. She kept the papers well-hidden, intending to give them to her husband after Braceton left.”
Kate sat down on the low wall and quickly read over the words of the letter again. The ink was thick and blotted on the cheap paper, as Anthony had obviously written in a great hurry, but the story that unfurled before her was definitely a fascinating one.
As Kate reviewed the letter a third time, she glimpsed the workings behind what had happened to poor Lady Jane, thanks to men like Braceton. As Kate herself remembered from those dark winter days after Jane’s father, the Duke of Suffolk, was arrested for his part in Wyatt’s Rebellion, word had been given that Suffolk had lied about Queen Mary’s impending Spanish marriage for his own ends. He spread falsehoods about King Philip’s intentions toward England in order to set his daughter back on the throne.
At the time, it was widely believed that Mary, who pardoned Suffolk after his first rebellion and declared she meant to show mercy to Jane as well, could no longer protect her young cousin, no matter what her soft heart wanted. A second rising in Jane’s name made the queen’s advisers force Mary to sign the warrant for her own protection and that of the realm.
But this letter showed that was a lie, and the Crown knew it to be a lie all along. The way had to be smoothed for the Spanish alliance and the return of the Catholic Church to England, and Mary had to be rid of Jane. With her cousin out of the way, her troublesome sister, Elizabeth, could be next. With the help of men like Braceton and Ambrose. And word of this great concealment could ruin reputations of many high personages both in England and abroad.
Kate slowly refolded the letter and took a deep breath. “Jane Grey,” she murmured. “All roads on this strange journey lead back to her, don’t they? Jane Grey and Protestant estates. But how would that get poor Ned killed? Or Master Cartman?”
“Ned is a mystery indeed,” Anthony said. “But Master Cartman and his troupe are associated with Lord Ambrose. Surely they cannot be entirely innocent in this matter, even if your Master Robert did have a liaison at the right time.”
Kate tore the letter into tiny shreds and let them blow away on the wind. She couldn’t risk smuggling it into Hatfield, and she knew the words very well now. “I should get back to Hatfield and tell the princess what has happened. You have been such a good friend, Anthony. I can’t thank you enough.”
Anthony suddenly reached out and took her hand in his. He raised her fingers to his lips, warming her chilly skin with a kiss.
“We work well together, do we not, Kate?” he said, looking into her eyes without a hint of a smile. “I only wish you would let me help you more.”
Confused, Kate slid her hand free and looked away. A wagon was rumbling out past the gates of Hatfield, laden with beer barrels to be refilled in the village. It seemed Souza had at least somewhat lifted his strict quarantine, and she should take advantage of this moment to sneak back into the house.
“I—I must go, Anthony,” she said quickly. “I will write to you of what the princess says of all we have discovered.”
“Take care, Kate,” he said. “Don’t let your impulsive nature lead you into danger again, especially if I am not there to help you.”
Kate gave a rueful laugh as she turned away. “I fear I can hardly stop it, Anthony. But I promise I will be careful. I’m the only one who can help my father.”
She ran toward the house and slipped through the gates while they still stood open. No one was around but the porter; guards were no longer thick at the front doors, but she feared it was not a sign they were yet out of danger. Everything was too quiet.
And she had no time to sort out the confused feelings swirling through her.
As she drew closer to the house, Penelope appeared on the doorstep and waved her hurriedly inside. “Kate, there you are! Wherever have you been? Her Grace told me to look out for you. She said she sent you out on an errand, but not dressed like that.” Penelope took the white wool shawl from around her own shoulders and wrapped it around Kate, covering her boy’s doublet. Penelope led her quickly into the house.
Kate, suddenly very weary, leaned gratefully against her friend as they made their way up the back stairs. It had been such a long, strange night, and she’d had little sleep for days. “Princess Elizabeth did indeed send me out on an errand.”
“I hope she didn’t have you mucking out the stables!”
Kate had to laugh. “No, indeed. I almost wish she had. It would have been easier.”
“What were you doing, then?”
One of the guards hurried past them, his heavy boots thudding on the floor, scattering the rushes. He gave them a disdainful glance, and Kate was reminded their home had been invaded. They weren’t safe anywhere.
“We can’t talk here,” she said. “Is the princess still confined to her chamber?”
“I fear so,” Penelope answered. “She was allowed to walk in
the gardens for a few minutes this morning, after she shouted about the lack of exercise, but now she is closeted with that horrid Senor Souza. He is certainly a quieter man than Lord Braceton, but I think more difficult to deal with.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Kate murmured, thinking of the hidden letter at Leighton Abbey. True, Braceton had been all noise and bluster and threats on the surface, but he had coldly conspired to do away with a young, innocent woman and turn the blame from Queen Mary and her court. He had torn apart three houses—Leighton, Gorhambury, and Hatfield—to hide his blame.
“What do you mean?” Penelope said. She pushed open the door to Kate’s own sitting room and led her to the chair by the hearth.
Kate sat back against the cushions, struck all over again by the terrible quiet of that familiar room. Without her father there, with his usual clutter of papers and books and the sounds of his music, the space felt cold and hollow. So many families had been torn apart.
She drew Penelope’s shawl closer around her shoulders and watched as her friend coaxed a fire to kindle. Once the flames were crackling, Penelope went to the sideboard and poured out two goblets of wine and found some bread and cheese wrapped in a cloth.
Kate eagerly devoured the small repast. It seemed like such a very long time since that meal in the Leighton Abbey kitchen. Once she felt a bit stronger, she sat back and smiled at Penelope.
“Thank you so much, Penelope,” she said. “I needed that.”
“You looked pale as milk when I saw you at the door,” Penelope answered. She took a sip of her own wine. “We must all stay as close together as we can and help each other through these times. I fear we have no one else.”
There was a hard note to Penelope’s voice Kate seldom heard from her. Penelope’s violet-blue eyes were blank and flat as she stared into the fire.
“Do you never think about marrying again?” Kate asked. “I know little of your husband, but perhaps he did ease your loneliness a bit after you lost your mother.”
Murder at Hatfield House: An Elizabethan Mystery Page 19