Murder at Westminster Abbey

by Amanda Carmack

  “Playing music at the queen’s bidding, of course.”

  “Playing music in the servants’ corridors?”

  Kate lifted her chin. “I was trying to find the jakes, if you must know, and took a wrong turn somewhere. Most ungallant of you to ask, Anthony.”

  He made a strangled sound, as if he held back a laugh. “I have missed you, Kate. But I fear for what you are not saying. After Hatfield . . .”

  Aye, Hatfield. Where she had nearly died, and would have without the help of friends like him. “I am merely helping the queen, if I can. I seem to be doing a poor job of it tonight. But I have missed you, too, Anthony. You must have a great deal of work to do, and for grand people like the Seymours as well. Your fortunes are rising.”

  Anthony glanced ahead of them to where Master Hardy walked. “Very busy. If I want my own law office one day, I have a long way to go. But I am still your friend, Kate. If you need my help . . .”

  Her friend? Was that all? She knew that was all they could be, of course. She had her work at court, and Elizabeth disliked any of her household marrying. And Anthony needed a wife to keep his house and bring him a fortune and contacts for his career. But the word still stung a bit. “I know I can call on you if I need to, Anthony.”

  “Can you meet me one day next week? I think we have much to talk about.”

  Kate nodded. “Send me word of where you will be. I do have something you could help me with, since you have access to many legal records.”

  “Of course. Anything.”

  They went through a doorway and turned from the muffled, narrow warren of corridors into a wider hall hung with tapestries. She could hear voices ahead, and she knew they hadn’t much more time.

  “I need to find out all I can about a family named Everley,” she whispered quickly. “The Earl of Everley, and his son—Lord Henry—and nephew, a man called Richard St. Long.”

  Anthony nodded. “What sort of matters concerning them?”

  “I am not sure yet. Anything out of the ordinary. Quarrels, suits, marriages, land grants.”

  It was a great deal, she knew that, and rather like trying to find a gold ring in a ripe hay wain. But Anthony just nodded again.

  “I will see what I can find,” he said, “if you will tell me what trouble you are in now.”

  Kate felt again the hard shove against her shoulder, the freezing flash of panic when her feet slid from under her and she fell into nothingness.

  “I am not in trouble,” she said. “But I fear I have friends who are.”

  Anthony gave a doubtful frown, but he could say nothing more, for they had reached a hall full of people. The doors that led through the gardens to the river were just ahead.

  “My lute!” Kate cried, remembering the precious instrument she had left under her stool in the gallery.

  “I will fetch it,” Anthony said, and hurried away.

  Master Hardy took Kate’s arm and walked with her from the house, as calmly as if they took such strolls all the time. “It is very good to see you again, Mistress Haywood, even if it must be in such strange circumstances. My wife often asks of you and your father. You must come see us at our new home sometime.”

  “I would like that,” Kate answered, still dazed by her fall.

  “Mistress Hardy is much enjoying her new home, though I fear I keep Anthony and my new apprentices too busy to savor it much myself,” he said with a laugh. “Anthony is almost done with his studies, you know, and shows much promise. He will go far in his career, if he makes no missteps now. You see what I mean, Mistress Haywood, I am sure. You are making your own court career, I think.”

  Kate gave him a puzzled glance, but he just smiled back at her. “I think Anthony is too intelligent a young man to make any missteps at all, Master Hardy. He will make a fine lawyer.”

  “So he will, with a fine list of noble clients to his name. Just as I did when I was his age. My dear wife helped me much then, you know. She was the daughter of my own master lawyer, and knew much about running such a household with such an office. I am sure Anthony will do the same.”

  Kate suddenly realized what he was telling her. Anthony would soon need to seek a fine wife to help him in his career—and a court musician with no dowry and no knowledge of running a prosperous house could not do that. She suddenly felt as if someone had pushed her down the stairs all over again.

  “I—yes, I am sure he will do the same, Master Hardy,” she stammered.

  “Then I am glad we understand each other, Mistress Haywood. Ah, here are the boats at last.”

  By the time Master Hardy led Kate to the river steps below the elaborate formal gardens of Durham House and found a boat, Anthony was back with her lute and her cloak. He carefully wrapped it around her against the cold evening and helped her onto the hard wooden seat.

  Holding tight to her lute as they slipped out onto the river, Kate half listened to Master Hardy talk of his family and watched the city slide past.

  So late on a cold winter’s night, most Londoners were tucked away by their fires, but there was still a great deal of life swirling around in the city. The waves of the river rocked the boats that beat against them, and made the queen’s sleeping swans bob past in white blurs. Kate could hear the lap of the water against their boatman’s oars, the creak of timbers, the calls and shrieks of birds wheeling overhead. From an open window of a dockside inn there was an out-of-tune song. Beyond the bridge she could see the tall masts of the oceangoing vessels where they bobbed at anchor in the tidal Thames, waiting to voyage to faraway lands.

  Kate knew that when the tide was high, the water raced through those arches of the bridge like a waterfall, and the waves could bank up several feet higher on one side than the other. The openings were treacherous then, sometimes with a clearance of no more than eight feet, and even experienced wherrymen were reluctant to shoot the bridge then. But at that hour all was quiet and placid—on the river at least.

  As they glided under the bridge, Kate heard the bleating of a flock of sheep waiting to cross over from Bankside. Torches flickered from the walls of the Tower, their curls of gray smoke winding into the night sky. She was grateful for the peaceful moment, for not battling the deadly swirling high tides that wrecked boats and people on the stone pilings of the bridge.

  “’Tis a different life here than it was in Hertfordshire,” Anthony said quietly.

  Kate turned her head to smile up at him. “So it is. Do you like living in London, Anthony?”

  He smiled ruefully. “I have been too busy since I arrived here to know if I like it or not. My lodgings are comfortable and my work interesting. It seems you are in far more danger than I ever could be.”

  Kate laughed, then winced as her ribs reminded her painfully of their battered condition. “It has followed me from Hatfield, it seems. But I’m happy to be at court. Queen Elizabeth’s court.”

  “You took part in the coronation festivities.”

  “Aye, some,” Kate said, looking at him in surprise. How did he know what she did?

  “I saw you in the procession. Master Hardy has a house in Cheapside now, and I watched from the windows.”

  What did he think when he saw her in the procession, a brown wren among the peacocks of the courtly ladies? “My father composed much of the music, but he felt too ill to attend the coronation himself. I had to make certain the queen’s new musicians performed it correctly.”

  “But I would wager that isn’t all you do for the queen.”

  “Nay. Not all,” Kate said, thinking of her errand that night to Durham House. She wanted to curse herself for being so careless.

  The boat bumped at the foot of the stone steps leading up from the river to the queen’s gardens, cutting short anything else Anthony had to say to her. Kate let him help her out of her seat, his touch most gentle as he made sure she had her footing on the
jetty.

  “I will send you word as soon as I can about the Everley matter,” he whispered quickly in her ear. “In the meantime, Kate, I beseech you to be most careful! Go nowhere alone.”

  Kate feared that would be a promise she would soon have to break. But she didn’t want to make the worry in his green eyes any deeper. “I will be careful, Anthony.”

  “Come dine with us soon, Mistress Haywood,” Master Hardy called as the boat pushed out onto the water again. “My wife would love to see you.”

  “I will, Master Hardy, thank you,” she called back. She watched them slip back over the blue-black waves until they vanished amid the other vessels, and then she turned to make her careful way through the gardens.

  She wrapped her cloak tighter against the cold wind and went over all she had heard on that strange night. She was tired and aching, longing only for her bed, but as soon as she slipped from the kitchens into the corridor that led to the ladies’ chambers, she knew something was amiss. Too many candles were lit for so late at night; too many people dashed around aimlessly.

  Kate had the sudden terrible, flashing memory of red hair and blood spilled on a stone floor.

  She caught the arm of the first person who ran past her, which turned out to be Kat Ashley. Shockingly, the older woman wore her fur-trimmed night-robe out of her own chamber, and her graying hair trailed from beneath her nightcap.

  “Is the queen hurt?” Kate demanded.

  “Oh, Mistress Haywood, ’tis you!” Mistress Ashley cried. “And just in time, too. Nay, Her Majesty isn’t hurt, but this ague has made her sleepless. She wants music and card games, and after everyone was already abed. . . .”

  Kate remembered at Hatfield House all the long, tense nights Elizabeth could not sleep for fear of the bad dreams. For fear of waking up to be dragged to a Tower cell. What did she fear now?

  “What can I do?” Kate asked.

  “Kat Ashley! Where have you gone?” The queen herself suddenly appeared at the top of the stairs. Her red-gold hair fell loose over the shoulders of her crimson brocade robe, and her cold-ridden nose was almost as red as the fine fabric. She waved the lace-edge handkerchief in her hand impatiently.

  “Kate!” Elizabeth said, hurrying down the stairs. Her cheeks were a fevered pink in her pale face. “So you return at last. What news? What hear you of—”

  Elizabeth reached Kate’s side and touched her shoulder. Kate automatically drew back at the flash of pain, her breath escaping in a hiss, and Elizabeth’s frown deepened. She gently turned Kate’s arm over and eased back her torn sleeve to reveal a livid blue bruise.

  “Oh, Kate,” Elizabeth said. She had suddenly gone very still, her eyes flat and dark, and somehow that was more fearsome than her fevered temper. “But it is late, and you cannot amuse me now. Let me see you back to your bed.”

  “But, lovey, you said you needed music to sleep—,” Mistress Ashley began, only to be cut off by a quick wave of Elizabeth’s hand. The pearl and ruby ring on her finger sparkled.

  “Not now, Kat,” the queen said. “Help me see Mistress Haywood to her chamber. Here, take her lute. Hold on to my arm, Mistress Haywood.”

  Kate let the queen lead her up the stairs, watched by the bemused servants who had been so suddenly roused from their beds to amuse the queen only to be quickly cut off. Mistress Ashley scurried after them with Kate’s lute. The queen paid them all no mind. Still perfectly, coldly calm, she led Kate to her chamber and helped her sit on the edge of her high, narrow bed.

  After Mary’s death, Kate was moved from the ladies’ chamber to a little room of her own at the back of the corridor. It was a rare favor in a crowded court where every inch of space was fought over, and she was even more grateful for the quiet now.

  “Kat, fetch some hot water, and a posset of spiced wine,” Elizabeth ordered. Mistress Ashley looked very much as if she wanted to argue, but the queen shoved her out of the room and firmly closed the door behind her.

  “Your Majesty . . . ,” Kate began. She shrugged off her cloak and winced.

  “Here, Kate, let me help you.” Elizabeth quickly helped Kate out of her fine, now-rumpled blue and silver gown until she wore only her linen smock. The queen examined her bruises, frowning fiercely. “Oh, Kate. Whatever happened? Tell me quickly, before Kat comes back.”

  As Elizabeth helped her lie back on the bolsters, Kate hastily told her most of what had happened that night at Durham House. The dour Spanish mood, what she overheard Feria and his friends talk of, being pushed down the stairs, and being rescued by Master Hardy, who was there on an errand for Edward Seymour’s mother.

  “The Seymours,” Elizabeth muttered. “Of course they would be mixed up in all this somehow. They are as pestilential as the Greys. Always turning their colors.”

  “Your Majesty?” Kate said. Could it really be the Seymours and the Greys who had done this? Who conspired with the Spanish? But then of course they could. Courtly families were capable of anything to secure their own advancement—she had seen that time and again. But something told her there was more to what happened at Durham House, something swimming just below the surface, like the swirling eddies of the river that hid all kinds of nasty muck.

  Elizabeth paced the length of the chamber, her expression most thoughtful. “They once used their pale-faced sister Jane to take what was my mother’s, you know. Who knows what they scheme now? And with the Spanish.”

  “I have heard Edward Seymour’s mother has some kind of secret business,” Kate said. “If he had a gathering of some sort, I could go there as I did to Durham House. . . .”

  “Ah, Kate, you cannot think of this now!” Elizabeth suddenly whirled around to kneel beside Kate’s bed and tucked the soft bedclothes around her. “You have been cruelly injured again doing me this great service, and now you must rest. You have found out most valuable information tonight already.”

  “Nay, Your Majesty!” Kate cried. Found valuable information? No, she had failed, caught off her guard in that stairwell. She would not be so foolish again. “I have much more I can do. I am quite sure I can . . .” She struggled to sit up on the bed.

  “Not tonight.” Elizabeth pressed her back down just as Mistress Ashley returned with a goblet in her wrinkled hands. A maidservant followed with a ewer of steaming water and clean toweling.

  “Oh, Kat,” Elizabeth said as she stood up straight. “I fear Mistress Haywood does not feel well. I count on you to take care of her tonight.”

  Mistress Ashley’s eyes widened. “But, lovey,” she cried. “You are ill yourself, you need me.”

  “I feel much better,” Elizabeth declared. “I will retire now. Mary Sidney can see to me. You take care of Mistress Haywood, as I have commanded. Do not let her leave this chamber until she has rested.”

  “Your Majesty . . . ,” Kate cried.

  Elizabeth shook her head. “We will talk tomorrow, my good Kate. Just sleep now.”

  Elizabeth swept out of the room, and Kate saw she couldn’t follow even if she managed to rise from her bed. It was obvious Mistress Ashley was going to strictly follow Elizabeth’s orders and “take care” of Kate. She stood over her until Kate finished every drop of her spiced wine, then helped her wash with the warm water. She said nothing about the bruises on Kate’s arms. Mistress Ashley had been at court for many years, and was unlikely to be surprised by much at all.

  The wine and the heat of the fire in her little grate, along with Mistress Ashley’s efficient presence, soon made her feel much better. She sat back in her bed and watched as Mistress Ashley smoothed and folded her gown, clucking over its wrinkled state. Just as she must have done over Princess Elizabeth’s garments when the now queen was a child.

  “You have been with the queen a very long time, Mistress Ashley,” she said.

  Mistress Ashley gave a rusty laugh. “Aye, that I have. Since she was a babe barely walkin
g. Poor motherless mite, we couldn’t even get enough new clothes and good food for her then. But she was such a proud, determined little girl!”

  “You have seen so very much all these years,” Kate murmured, the wine flooding through her veins and making her thoughts hazy. But something still hovered at the edge of her mind, something she couldn’t quite grasp yet.

  “No more than your own father, Mistress Haywood. He has been at court a long time as well.” Mistress Ashley told her a few stories of life at court when she and Matthew Haywood were young, which made Kate laugh. Her father seldom spoke of his life before Kate was old enough to remember for herself, and the stories made her forget her aches for a moment.

  “Do you know Lady Gertrude Howard as well?” Kate asked. “She seems to remember my parents, though she is most confused. I think she believes I am my mother.”

  Mistress Ashley gave her head a sad shake. “Lady Gertrude is of a goodly age indeed. She is even older than me, though I would wager a mite like you could scarce believe that possible! She lived with the queen’s grandmother Elizabeth Boleyn, who was the Duke of Norfolk’s sister, when she was a girl. Sometimes Lady Gertrude thinks she’s back there again, at Hever. You shouldn’t pay mind to her ramblings, Mistress Haywood.”

  Kate frowned as she remembered Lady Gertrude’s joyful cry—Eleanor. “I won’t. I just enjoy hearing tales of the old times.”

  “So do we all. But the best of times is now, Mistress Haywood, with our Queen Elizabeth.”

  Kate agreed with that most wholeheartedly. After all the years of fear and uncertainty under the reign of Queen Mary, always looking over their shoulders for terror of the stake, it felt like the summer sun had come out again and they could all walk free under its light. That was why the queen had to be protected at all costs. “I think you are right, Mistress Ashley. This is the best of times.”

  “You just sleep now. The queen will be wanting her music again tomorrow.” Kate let Mistress Ashley tuck the bedclothes around her, and, left alone with just the smoldering light in the grate, she drifted down to a dark, drowsy world where images of her strange night slipped in and out of her mind.