Feud (6 page)

“In the meantime, Mr. Durdon shall let a little blood from your left arm, to relieve your body of any excess of the sanguine humour,” my uncle went on.

Carmina frowned unhappily. We all have our blood let at Eastertide, just as the Queen does, to keep us healthy. But nobody likes it, of course.

“A quarter pint only, Mr. Durdon,” said my uncle quietly. “Since she is so pale.”

Mr. Durdon nodded and Uncle Cavendish gave place to him. Once he had put the strap on Carmina's bare arm and raised the vein, he opened it neatly with his little scalpel and let just a quarter pint of her blood into his silver bowl, before stopping it with a cloth and bandaging it. There was not even a spatter on the bedclothes or the rushes. Carmina looked even paler afterwards, I have to say, but I'm sure it will help guard against infection.

“Now,” said my uncle, once Mr. Durdon had wiped and packed up his instruments and covered the bowl. “I want you to stay quiet in bed, Carmina. Eat whatever you have a stomach to, but drink only mild ale or wine well watered. And we shall see how we go. If you are not better soon, I shall advise the Queen to send a message to your mother,
for I am sure she will wish to come and nurse you herself.”

Carmina nodded, looking even more worried. “She's very busy looking after my father and the estate, too,” she said anxiously.

Uncle Cavendish patted her hand. “Of course, of course, we will not trouble her yet, my dear.”

Then he got up and gave me a kiss on the cheek and left, followed by Mr. Durdon who lifted his hat to me. I sat down again and asked if Carmina wanted me to do anything. I felt sorry for her, looking so wan after being bled. I did hope she'd say she didn't, so I could write in my daybooke, but alas, she asked me to read her the translation of some of Ovid's pretty tales.

And Carmina's sickness remains a mystery. Usually with illnesses, the patient gets sicker and sicker, till he gets a fever. Then either he starts getting better or he dies. But Carmina has been indisposed for nearly three days now, and before that she was perfectly healthy. She has suffered headaches, sleepiness, lack of appetite—and now belly cramps and a flux.

If only she would eat something more. Mrs. Champernowne came in just before all the other Maids arrived, bringing a tisane of comfrey. But
Carmina couldn't even drink that, for she said it tasted of metal.…

Hell's teeth! I've just had the most horrible thought. Carmina's symptoms—sleepiness, dizziness, a metal taste in the mouth, then sickness and stomach cramps—are exactly the things Nick Hilliard told me would happen if I ate poisonous orpiment!

I don't know how, but perchance Carmina has swallowed some poison, just like my poor mother did when she drank the poisoned wine meant for the Queen. Only it is slower-acting on Carmina, of course.

God's blood! How awful! But who would want to poison a Maid of Honour? Or—worse—could it have been meant for the Queen?

My heart is pounding so fast I can scarcely think. I will not mention my suspicion to anyone here. After all, I might be wrong, and besides, if I did, there would be the most tremendous fuss. Sir William Cecil's pursuivants and the Gentlemen of the Guard would be searching the palace, and the Court would be thrown into chaos. In all the disorder, of course, a poisoner could probably slip away.

I simply
must
tell the Queen. But, first, I think I'll go and talk to Mrs. Teerlinc and get a proper
account of what happens if you eat a poison like orpiment—just to be sure. Mayhap Nick Hilliard was merely trying to impress me earlier by curdling my blood with his hideous description of the symptoms.

Well, that was exciting! Carmina woke up, blinked a couple of times, and then threw up. She did it very neatly, I must say, just like a cat. Luckily, most of it went in the rushes or the pot she was aiming at, and not in the bed. But some of it splattered.

Lady Jane was just leaning over to pat Carmina's hand. She leaped back with a terrible scream and shrieked at Carmina that her kirtle was quite ruined with the spatters. Now Mary Shelton is trying to help Lady Jane with a kerchief dipped in white wine. But Lady Jane is still shrieking, flapping her hands about and everyone is saying, “Ew!” at the smell.

“What is all this noise and commotion and rowdiness?”

That was Mrs. Champernowne, sweeping in to find Lady Jane in tears over her favourite French kirtle—which has two invisible spots on it—and Lady Sarah giggling because she was well away from the bed and didn't get spattered. Mary is trying to dab the spots on Jane's kirtle, and poor Carmina is
bright red with embarrassment and whispering how sorry she is.

“Well, for goodness' sake,” Mrs. Champernowne has just snapped. “There's no need to squeal like stuck pigs. Lady Jane, stand still so Mary can help you. Lady Sarah and Penelope, go and change ready for supper with the Queen—and be sure you do not prattle, for she is in a terrible mood what with the Scots and all. And Lady Grace, tear yourself away from your scribbling for five seconds, and fetch your uncle back. I will call a Chamberer to sweep up the mess.”

I am sitting on the bed, writing away, with my inkpot carefully stowed on the little shelf in the bedhead which usually holds a watch candle. I have no idea how even more ink stains came upon the bedlinen, but I am taking no more chances.

After Carmina was sick, I ran for my Uncle Cavendish and asked him to attend upon her— though I know not how much good he will do, since he had clearly been drinking aqua vitae since he left us.

I escorted him to Carmina's chamber. Then, in
order to visit Mrs. Teerlinc to confirm my suspicions, I hid my embroidery bag and told Mrs. Champernowne I had left it at the Workroom.

Mrs. Teerlinc is also in charge of the design of the Queen's clothes, and the decorations and wallhangings for the palace, and many other things besides. When I arrived at the Workroom, she was approving sketches for some tapestries that are to be woven in Flanders.

“Now, my Lady Grace,” she said. “What can I do for you?”

I don't think she was too pleased to see me, because she looked very busy and had a queue of people waiting to see her.

“Please,” said I, dropping a curtsey to be on the safe side, “I just wanted to know what really happens if you eat orpiment.”

Her eyebrows went up and I could see she was about to question me. “Um, only I am worried that, er, one of the Queen's dogs might have eaten some,” I added quickly.

“Well, he will be very sick and sleepy. And he'll have pains in his belly and a great deal of saliva,” Mrs. Teerlinc replied.

Carmina had dribbled on her pillow! I swallowed
hard. “Um, might he have a taste of metal in his mouth?”

“Yes,” she said. “And he might seem dizzy and confused.”

“Oh my goodness!” I gasped, hoping she wouldn't ask how I knew that a dog had a metal taste in his mouth. “What can I do? Will she … I mean, will he die?”

“See if you can get him to eat charcoal, and most certainly prevent him from eating any more of the poison, and then wait. In three days he will be well again—if he has not eaten enough to kill him. How did it happen? Did he find arsenic poison meant for rats?”

“Arsenic has orpiment in it?” I asked quickly.

“Yes, indeed, arsenic is made from orpiment,” said Mrs. Teerlinc, turning back to the tailor who was hopping from leg to leg with impatience. “Yellow orpiment comes from Mount Etna, where the Italians find it lying about the volcano in lumps. If an alchemist works upon it, then it may be made into a poisonous white powder, arsenic, which they lay in rat bait. Now, my lady, I must attend to my work.”

“Yes, of course,” I said, curtseying like mad. “Thank you so much.” And I ran out of the room.

So that is confirmed—Nick was not really exaggerating at all. Who would have thought that a pretty yellow paint could be so poisonous? And what Mrs. Teerlinc said about the symptoms certainly sounds like Carmina's mysterious illness. But how on earth is Carmina getting arsenic? She could not be eating it by accident, for she has not been up to the Workroom at all—it would make more sense if I were sickening. Carmina isn't really eating anything very much.

It seems I have stumbled upon a riddle that is quite definitely—and most unexpectedly—a matter for Her Majesty's Lady Pursuivant. I must tell the Queen. I'll try and speak to her after supper.

Her Majesty is such a wonderful person. She supped late with my Lord of Leicester and Mr. Hatton and two of the Ladies-in-Waiting. Then she was going to play cards to distract her mind from all the foreign problems, but I simply had to talk to her. I spoke to the Gentleman of the Guard who was at the door to her Withdrawing Chamber, and said that Her Majesty had particularly ordered me to give her an
account of Carmina, so she could decide whether to send for Carmina's mother.

It took me ages to persuade him, but at last he sighed and said he would enquire.

I heard him speak softly to the Queen.

“Hm? News of Carmina?” she replied. “Oh, is it my Lady Grace Cavendish? Yes, I shall see her.”

So the gentleman held the door for me. I went in and curtseyed to Mr. Hatton and my Lord of Leicester, who scowled down his nose at me for interrupting his private evening with the Queen. He is famously proud, and everyone hates him because he is still the Queen's favourite, even though they can never marry. I don't mind him being haughty with me, because I know that he truly cares about the Queen. Mr. Hatton is nicer but not at all interested in Maids of Honour, nor Ladies-in-Waiting, nor seemingly inclined to marry, although he is a famously good dancer and very elegant and witty.

I went to the Queen and sank to my knees before her. She gave me her hand to get up again and I whispered, “Your Majesty, I must speak to you privily.”

She raised her eyebrows and gave me one of those looks that make me feel she can see right through
me and out the other side. Just for a moment, she hesitated, looking at her cards, which were face down. She was playing Primero and there was quite a big pot of money in the middle of the table. “What is it about?” she asked.

“Carmina, Your Majesty, but it must be private,” I replied.

She stood with a rustle of silk, frowning slightly, and of course everyone else stood too. We went off to her Privy Chamber, which was empty for the moment.

“Now, Grace, I hope you are not troubling me with anything trivial or scandalous?” the Queen said warningly.

“Oh no, Your Majesty,” I told her. “I would never do that. This is a matter of great importance, only I may be mistaken, so I would speak with you privately.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Well?”

“You know Carmina's sickness?”

She nodded a little impatiently.

I took a deep breath. “Well, I don't think she is naturally sick. I think she might have eaten poison— perhaps arsenic.” And I told her as quickly as I could what the symptoms of arsenic poisoning are, and how Carmina's symptoms are exactly the same.

“Why would anyone want to poison Carmina?” demanded the Queen, dubiously, when I had finished.

“I do not know, Your Majesty,” I replied. “I cannot think of a reason. Perchance it has happened accidentally, though I do not know how that could occur.…” I trailed off because the whole idea wasso upsetting.

The Queen was frowning and thinking hard. “To whom else have you spoken of this?” she asked.

“No one, Your Majesty. I knew what a fuss there would be if poison was suspected.”

“Then how did you ask Mrs. Teerlinc about it?” the Queen wanted to know.

“I said I thought one of the dogs might have eaten rat poison,” I explained.

Her Majesty smiled. “And one of them might, as well,” she said, nodding. “Well done, Grace. As usual I am delighted by your discretion. You did right to speak to me alone and first. I doubt it could be a deliberate poisoning, and yet it is hard to see how it could occur by chance. Will you make enquiries for me, as my privy Lady Pursuivant? Continuing to be very discreet?”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” I murmured, curtseying and feeling proud. “Your Majesty does me great honour.”

“But no mad escapades, Grace,” she added. “Come to me with anything you find. Simply say that you have news of Carmina and I will see you whenever you wish, since I know I can trust you not to din my ears with begging for offices and pensions.”

I felt even more proud. Most of the time, it is difficult to speak directly with the Queen, because she is always very busy. “Your Majesty, is there anything we can do to protect Carmina, even without knowing the source of the poison?” I asked anxiously.

“Certainly there is,” the Queen replied. “I will take measures to protect Carmina, and to foil any poisoner's attempts to harm me. Do not be alarmed by anything you may hear about me: I think my stomach is about to become very delicate.” And she smiled and winked.

I kissed her hand and we went back to the Withdrawing Chamber—where I thought both Mr. Hatton and my Lord of Leicester looked suspiciously innocent. Neither of them is above cheating to make sure they lose to the Queen—who, as they both know, very much likes to win.

The Gentleman of the Guard showed me out. I came back to our bedchamber to find Lady Sarah arguing with Mary Shelton on the subject of another
remedy for spots. Mary says that Sarah should use diluted aqua vitae to remove her face paint completely, and then rinse with rose water. Sarah insists that a decoction of nettle leaves, followed by ashes of honeybees in goose fat, is much better. I think that if Sarah swore off face paint completely, she would not have half so many spots, but she won't listen to me.

So now I am on the trail of a mysterious poisoner, though I know not where to look first. And I wonder how I can get Carmina to eat charcoal.…