Feud (7 page)

I have had a very busy morning so far, and this is the first time I have had a moment in my chamber to sit and write. I only had time to nibble my bread and small beer at breakfast, before I was sent on an errand for Mrs. Champernowne. I was to fetch kerchiefs from the laundry for Carmina—which was lucky, because it meant I could ask Ellie to help me with my investigation.

Ellie came with me to Carmina's chamber. I carried the kerchiefs, while she carried a huge basket of bedclothes balanced on her head. She says it is much easier on her back that way.

We had to go through the Lesser Courtyard, where the players were rehearsing a scene full of falling over and rolling. Masou was there, too, on
the other side of the courtyard where the players could all see him, standing on his hands and practising juggling with his bare feet. His face was funny because it was such a mixture of sulkiness and concentration. I think he was trying to impress the players with how well he can stand on his hands, unlike Richard Fitzgrey.

Ellie and I stood to watch, where no one would see us, behind one of the very elaborate buttresses for the chapel.

“So, now,” said Ellie, putting the basket down and sitting on it, just as Masou walked over on his hands to join us, still juggling. “I know that expression, my lady—what are you up to?” she demanded.

I swore both Ellie and Masou to secrecy, and then I told them about Carmina and how I suspected that she might have eaten poison.

Ellie narrowed her eyes. “Cor,” she said enthusiastically. “It'll be them Scots, trying to poison our Queen. It's just the sort of thing they'd do. Everyone knows they're always killing their own kings and queens, and rebelling and suchlike. It's shocking.”

“Perhaps,” I said, doubtfully. “But why would the Scots aim at the Queen and get Carmina instead? If it were in our food, we'd all be ill. I think it must be
someone who wants only to poison Carmina. But who could that be?”

“One of them wicked Scots,
practising
for poisoning the Queen,” said Ellie darkly.

“An evil djinn released by a powerful enemy of hers,” suggested Masou, stopping his juggling because he was interested now.

“I don't know,” I said. “I'm not sure Carmina has got any enemies.” But then I remembered something Lady Jane had said. “Lady Jane mentioned Carmina's recent inheritance,” I muttered to myself. “Maybe somebody else wants it and stands to inherit if Carmina dies! I must talk to Lady Sarah as soon as I can and see if she knows who Carmina's property would go to. And Ellie,” I went on quickly, “could you find out tactfully which of the kitchens makes the food for the Maids of Honour? And see if there's anyone new or suspicious—or with a grudge against Carmina—who might be poisoning her food.”

Ellie nodded.

“How long has Carmina been unwell?” Masou asked.

“About three days,” I told him.

“Aha!” shouted Masou. “Of course! It's the pigeating players. They've been here four days—first in
the village and now pestering the Court—and you said that your friend first took sick three days ago. So that's proof !”

I do not think it is proof, though it certainly is interesting.

Masou was now scowling at the players across the courtyard. “Maybe that Greyfitz thinks—”

“Fitzgrey,” corrected Ellie.

“Ptui! Fitzgrey, then. Maybe he thinks Carmina's inheritance should be his,” Masou suggested.

I'd never heard such nonsense. “Why on earth would he? He's not related to her in any way,” I pointed out.

“Mayhap the true villain paid him,” Masou pressed, refusing to give up, “or enchanted him, or—”

“Anyway, how could he do it?” I demanded. “He's not allowed anywhere near Carmina—or the kitchens.”

Masou shrugged. “Isn't he supposed to be an actor? Maybe he disguised himself as a ratcatcher.”

“Hmf,” Ellie said. “I'm sure someone as kind as Mr. Fitzgrey would never—”

“Kind?” I interrupted Ellie.

“
Mr.
Fitzgrey?” sneered Masou.

Ellie went pink. “Well, he wanted bread and cheese
fetched from the Hall Kitchen, so I went and got them for 'im, di'n't I?” she muttered. “Very polite he was, too,
and
he gave me a groat for my trouble.”

Masou scowled and looked even more put out. “You never fetch bread and cheese for me!” he accused Ellie.

“Why should I? You can go to the kitchen for yourself,” snapped Ellie. “Nor you wouldn't give me a groat, neither.”

“Why should I?” began Masou hotly.

“Stop it, both of you!” I said. “None of the players is being poisoned—”

“More's the pity,” muttered Masou.

“—or I'd know
exactly
where to look,” I told him severely. “I can't believe you're being so jealous. They'll be gone at the end of the week.”

“Hmf,” said Masou, starting to juggle again.

It occurred to me that the poisoner had to be getting the poison from somewhere. The painters' Workroom was one possibility—I knew there was orpiment there—but the ratcatcher was another.

“I really need you to ask about the ratcatcher for me, Masou,” I said. “Find out if he's been called in recently, or if anyone knows him well. I can't do it because I can't talk to the right people.”

“All right,” grunted Masou, still juggling as he
wandered off to annoy the players with more tumbling tricks.

Ellie and I took the kerchiefs and the clean bedlinen up to Carmina's chamber. Then Ellie hurried back to the laundry while I went in search of Lady Sarah, who is the best source of gossip I know.

I first tried our bedchamber, which turned out to be empty. So here I am seizing the opportunity to write in my daybooke. But now that is done, so I shall stop writing and continue my search for Sarah. I am hopeful that she will be able to tell me all about Carmina's possible heirs.

I found Lady Sarah sitting on a bench in the Lesser Courtyard with Penelope. They were both working on their embroidery and said they needed the bright daylight to see clearly. Coincidentally, the players were rehearsing their lines nearby, and I noticed that Sarah's eyes were more often on Richard Fitzgrey than on her embroidery.

“And how is Carmina today?” Sarah asked, knowing that I had been to her chamber. “Mrs. Champernowne wouldn't let me go and see her this
morning, even though I needed to borrow some of her rouge. Apparently, she needs to rest.”

“She was sick many times in the night, poor dear,” Penelope said. “I think she must be very tired.”

“Yes, she was sleeping when I saw her,” I agreed. And then I saw the perfect opportunity to find out what I needed to know. “Poor thing, and she was so pleased about her inheritance,” I remarked. “I wonder who it came from?”

“Oh, from a great-aunt nobody liked very much, except Carmina,” declared Sarah authoritatively. “She was famously mean and strict but was fond of Carmina when she was a little girl.”

“How do you know?” I asked, a little breathless because my plan was working so brilliantly.

“My mother is friends with her mother because they were at Court together in the train of Queen Catherine Parr, way back under King Henry,” explained Sarah with a toss of her head.

“So who gets the inheritance if Carmina should die?” I asked, then thought that that was a bit bald and tactless and I didn't want to start any more wild rumours. So I added, “I mean, I'm sure she won't, but …”

“I think it would all go to her cousin, Frederick
Bates,” said Sarah. “At least, I think he's a cousin, though he's quite a distant one.”

I tried not to show my excitement; maybe this Frederick was the villainous poisoner! “Have I seen him?” I asked. “Is he here at Court?”

“No, he's in the Netherlands at the moment, I think,” replied Sarah, wrinkling her brow in an effort to remember. “I've only met him once myself, ages ago, when he was a boy. And he was the dullest boy you can imagine.” She sighed as she caught sight of Richard Fitzgrey rehearsing a duel. “Not like Richard Fitzgrey.”

“You mean the
player
?” asked Lady Jane, who had just arrived.

Lady Sarah gave her an annoyed look as she sat down on the other side of Penelope. At that moment, Penelope remembered she had a music lesson so she hurried away, leaving Lady Sarah and Lady Jane sitting next to each other. I decided to back off and watch the fun from a safe distance. If they had been cats, their fur would have been standing up and their tails bottled. Both ladies were edging their bums towards the end of the bench nearest the players, while pretending that they weren't, of course.

“Tut,” said Lady Jane. “I fear me that if you sit in the sunlight so much, dear Sarah, you will find even more freckles fighting the spots on your nose. Prithee, move here where 'tis more shady.”

“You are so kind, sweet Jane,” sneered Lady Sarah, staying exactly where she was. “But are you not affrighted that the sunlight will make your hair even drier? I understand that bleached hair is
so
delicate.”

“How considerate!” trilled Lady Jane. “Of course you would know far more than me about coloured hair, Sarah.”

“About most things, I should think,” snapped Sarah. “Except, of course, Frenchmen …”

And they glared at each other, looking quite ready to scratch each other's eyes out.

“What in heaven's name are you two doing here, now?” Mrs. Champernowne came bustling up behind the bench. “Do you not know better than to sit in full sunlight without your hats? Get away with you, now! Go and sit in the shade.”

“I was just warning Lady Sarah about it,” Lady Jane said haughtily.

“Then follow your own advice,” snapped Mrs. Champernowne, and frowned until both of them stood up and huffed off in different directions. Then
she sat herself down on the bench at the end nearest the players, despite all that dangerous sunlight, took out her blackwork, and started humming.

Luckily she hadn't spotted me, and I quietly moved further away, behind a piece of castle scenery. I didn't want her to notice I had no hat, either.

Behind the castle scenery, I came upon the oldest of the players, who was making a big yellow sun on a piece of canvas, with the pot of yellow paint beside him. I wondered if it was the poisonous orpiment yellow, or perhaps the yellow made of cow's pee. Perhaps this could be the source of the poison affecting Carmina! I decided I would ask Nick Hilliard and Mrs. Teerlinc about it next time I was in the Workroom.

For now, I was intending to visit Carmina and learn all I could about her cousin, Frederick, but first I wanted to find some charcoal. I was determined to persuade Carmina to eat a little, in the hope that it would help her feel better. Mrs. Teerlinc had mentioned it as a cure for arsenic poisoning.

Besides, I thought, if Carmina got better after eating it, it would prove that she
was
being poisoned with arsenic.

I headed for Lady Horsley's confectionery kitchen in the hopes of taking a few bits of charcoal out of
the sack she has there. Most ladies can distil strong flower waters and make comfits, but Lady Horsley is quite famous for her skills. She sometimes makes subtleties of marchpane for the Queen's own banquet, though of course there is a Royal Confectioner as well.

The Queen has given her leave to use the old stillroom that was the Royal Confectioner's in King Harry's time. I love it, for it is a high-ceilinged room, with narrow shelves up one wall for drying the sweetmeats. There is no great fireplace like in a proper kitchen, just a row of small grills over charcoal fires, many chafing dishes, and a supply of best charcoal.

When I arrived, the windows were all open to let the fumes out. But where was that supply of best charcoal? I had hoped I would see a sack of it somewhere, waiting for me to borrow a few lumps. But no, there was no sign of it. Perhaps it was stored in one of the cupboards.

Lady Horsley was wearing a plain white cap and apron over an old velvet gown. Her bony, pale face was quite pink with stirring an earthenware pot on a chafing dish full of hot charcoals. I knew at once what she was making—you can't mistake that wonderful smell of oranges from Spain—it was marmelada
sweetmeats, one of my favourite treats. On the wall shelves were wafers, and sweet chestnuts soaking in sugar syrup, and apricots and plums waiting for their frosty white sugar coats to harden. Lady Seymour, Lady Horsley's friend, was mixing a big bowl of pounded sugar loaf—just the white sugar, not the sticky brown sugar from the pointed end of the loaf—and Mary Shelton had just arrived as well.

“Mary, my dear, how is poor Carmina?” asked Lady Horsley in her kind, soft voice.

“Not well,” said Mary Shelton, shaking her head. “She says her stomach is sore, and she won't eat anything but sweetmeats. Everyone has been so kind—she has had kissing comfits from Mrs. Champernowne, and sugared violets and marchpanes from Lady Sarah, and even some Turkey sweetmeats. Olwen is making her sweet wafers on a waferiron, too.”

“Do you like sweetmeats, Grace?” asked Lady Horsley, stirring the marmelada mixture briskly.

“Oh yes,” I said. “Sugar is my favourite spice of all. I like the sugar ribbons—and marmeladas, of course.”

“I am making some more ribbons,” put in Lady Seymour. “See, there's the gumdragon soaking, ready to bind the sugar together. Here, have one
from yesterday.” She handed me a long ribbon in the shape of a bow, from one of the drying shelves. It was coloured yellow and blue to look like marble, and it was quite beautiful. When they make sugar goblets and plates for banquets, I can never decide whether to eat them or keep them to look at.

I crunched up some of the ribbon.

“Have the broken ones,” said Lady Horsley, giving Mary and me two big handfuls. “I dropped a whole tray this morning.”

I put them in my petticoat pocket to give to Ellie later.

“Would you fetch me some nibbed almonds, my dear?” Lady Horsley asked. She was talking to Mary Shelton, but I pretended I thought it was me, so I could have an excuse to open all the cupboards and look for charcoal.

I found big sugar loaves waiting to be broken up and pounded, jars of almonds and gumdragon and eggs, and even more jars of orange flower water and rose water, but no charcoal! I pretended I hadn't seen the almonds and kept opening cupboards.