Feud (9 page)

So I didn't say anything at all about the packet of sweetmeats he had sent Carmina. I mean to investigate them thoroughly and prove whether they are really poisoned. I am certain that they are!

Carmina has dozed off now and I can think of no more to write for the moment, so I shall continue my investigations at once.

Jove blast it! That was disappointing. And I must scribble quickly, for I am in my chamber, supposed to be changing my raiment again—this time for supper.

I went to find Masou and Ellie to enquire whether they had learned anything of the ratcatcher as they circulated about the kitchens. They were in the den in the coppice again, and Masou was looking a little less sulky this time.

“We are to help the players with their comedy,” he explained. “So we will not have to sit and watch those idiots prancing around thinking that they are Princes and Pashas.”

Ellie snickered. “I never heard the like,” she said. “You're just jealous, isn't he, Grace?”

“Yes, but I don't know why,” I said. “You're not in love with any of the Maids of Honour, Masou, so you needn't mind if they make idiots of themselves over a player. Unless you're really after Mrs. Champernowne …”

That made Ellie giggle, but Masou looked extremely haughty. “When the time comes for me to wed,” he told us with great dignity, “I shall take a ship painted in red and gold with silken sails. It shall be full of great warriors and, together, we shall sail southwards to the land of the Barbary Corsairs, where we will cannonade and raid them until their Bey surrenders to me. And then I shall marry his daughters.”

“His
daughters
!” hooted Ellie. “You have to choose, you know. You can't have all of them.”

“I can,” said Masou. “I am a Mussulman and I may have four wives if I am rich enough.” He was juggling twigs and stones. “Which I shall be,” he added.

“Cor,” said Ellie very dubiously. “The way Cook Parsons talks, he reckons one wife is too many— seeing she's always on at him to feed every one of her greedy relations from the kitchen stores.”

That finally reminded me of why I was there. “Did you hear anything in the kitchens?” I asked.

“Well,” said Ellie, “I went to all four of them—the Hall Kitchen, the Great Kitchen, the Lesser Kitchen, and the Queen's Privy Kitchen—and they've none of them got new staff or new purveyors. And nobody that works there has took sick from any of the Court's food—which they would have if it was poisoned because most of 'em are eating the Court's food all the time, along with their families, cousins, friends, and neighbours! It's a scandal—worse than what happens with the laundry soap—but there's nobody suspicious nor nothing!”

I nodded, not too disappointed because I hadn't really expected anything else. If you wanted to poison just one person, you could not do it through the kitchens, because we all share the dishes out among us and we would all get sick and die.

“You know,” I said, “the Queen has certainly ordered special food for Carmina now. Do you think you could find out who's preparing it?”

“Course!” Ellie grinned mischievously. “If they'll let me in again.” And she pulled a big lump of bacon and egg pie out of her pocket and offered me some. I hadn't the heart to take it from her since she so rarely has any spare food to offer, but Masou did.
Since he is a Mussulman, I know he's not supposed to eat pork, but I don't know why not, and he often does, anyway.

“What about the ratcatcher?” I asked Masou.

Masou shrugged and answered with his mouth full. “He put down poison against the rats before the Queen came, but he's not allowed to do it when she is in residence in case one of her dogs eats the bait and dies. So he's been using terriers and traps recently instead. He said I could come and watch the next ratting contest if I liked. But I think I will not, for I take no sport in seeing such things as a dog killing live rats. He said some of the young gents bet whole manors on it when they can't go to the cockpit at Westminster.”

I shook my head. I really hate it when animals are made to fight so people can bet on them; it doesn't seem fair. All the young gentlemen love things like that and talk endlessly about the latest cockfighting champion—and even the Queen enjoys the bearbaiting—but I always say I have a megrim so I don't have to go and watch. I was pleased Masou didn't like ratting.

Then I remembered the package of sweetmeats from Sampson Childs. Since the poisoner couldn't be working through the kitchens, sending sweetmeats
seemed an ideal way to poison Carmina. I took it out carefully and opened it. Inside was a little wooden box with a very expensive kind of sweetmeat from Turkey—a kind of pink jelly, embellished with gold leaf and fine-pounded sugar. Ellie was eager to try it, but I explained where it had come from and told her and Masou of my suspicions.

“Where is the ratcatcher now?” I asked Masou.

“Down by the New Buildings at the bottom of the orchard,” Masou replied, gallantly letting Ellie have the best bit of pie with the egg in it, since after all she had filched it. “You know, the ones good King Edward built near the palace.”

“Yes. Could we go and see him, do you think?” I asked. “We must test these sweetmeats to prove whether they are poisoned.”

Ellie frowned. “I'd have to come with you, my lady,” she said. “And save your reputation, what would be in tatters by now, if it weren't for me.”

So, we all went, and found the ratcatcher, who was sitting in the little yard by one of the rows of rickety New Buildings, eating bread and cheese. He stood up hastily when he saw me and took off his cap and bowed.

“My lady desires to see a rat,” said Masou, with his nose in the air, as if he were a Pasha himself.

I smiled when the ratcatcher looked from Masou to me and back in bewilderment. “I am not afeared of them,” I explained. “Only I have an experiment I want to try.”

Masou gave the ratcatcher the sixpence I had given him for the purpose, and the ratcatcher grunted and went inside the house. He returned with a wooden cage containing a young grey rat.

“My lady don't believe rats will eat everything,” put in Ellie.

“Oh, they will, my lady,” said the ratcatcher. “They'd eat you, if they could.” He grinned and I think he was expecting me to say “Eek!” and “Ew!”, but I was too busy feeling guilty about offering the poor rat in the cage something that might well kill it.

Ellie caught me looking anxiously at the poor thing. “I know,” she whispered. “Why don't we try it on that old cow, Mrs. Fadget, instead?”

I laughed. Mrs. Fadget is the Deputy Laundress and Ellie hates her. But I had to find out if Sampson Childs was really trying to poison Carmina, so I took out a little square of pink jelly and pushed it through the bars.

The rat sniffed it suspiciously, nibbled it even more suspiciously, and then seemed to get very excited. I was feeling peculiar: all tense and sorry for
the rat, as well as hopeful that it would show me I had found the poisoner.

Well, the rat sat up with its whiskers twitching and started nibbling through the sweetmeat very quickly indeed, as if it thought we might change our minds about giving it something so lovely, and take it back.

We watched for a while, but the rat simply finished the jelly square and looked around hopefully for more. Then it went and drank some water and washed its paws.

I couldn't help it. I said, “Ahh!” at the sight of the little animal washing its paws. Both Ellie and Masou looked at me as if I were mad.

“There, my lady,” said the ratcatcher. “See? They'll eat anything, they will.”

“I suppose that's why it's possible to poison them,” I said, thoughtfully. I was trying to find a way of asking the ratcatcher how long it might take a poisoned rat to die, without letting him know that I was actually testing the sweetmeats for poison. I didn't want him gossiping to anyone about that. “When you put down poison for the rats, how long does it take for them all to be gone?” I asked at last.

“They sicken within the day and usually die within two, though it depends a little on how strong they are and how much they've eaten,” he replied, giving
me a very odd look indeed. “I dunno why everyone's asking about poison. I 'ad that there Mr. Hatton asking me if I had sold any or lost any yesterday.”

The Queen must have asked Mr. Hatton to make some discreet enquiries.

“And have you?” I asked.

“No, I'm very careful with it,” he said, looking highly insulted. “I don't even keep it at the palace. You think I want to end up hanged, drawn, and quartered if the Queen should find my ratbait in her food?”

I decided I would have to send Masou back tomorrow to see if the rat was sickening. Certainly the little furry animal seemed perfectly happy and healthy so far, with no cramps, no vomitus, and no flux—as far as one can tell with rats—which suggests that Sampson Childs may be innocent after all.

Oh, lord, I must stop writing now, for I am late to attend upon the Queen.

First thing this morning, Ellie came to collect the dirty laundry from our chamber, and she brought a message from Masou. He had been back to see the ratcatcher and reported that the rat which had eaten the sweetmeat was still looking hale and hearty and not the least bit sick! So there seems to be no doubt at all that the Turkey sweetmeats were quite innocent, which means that Sampson Childs is not a poisoner.

Of course I was pleased for the rat—and for the old player—but once again, I found myself without a suspect. Since Mr. Hatton's questions had proved it very unlikely that the poisoner was getting his arsenic from the ratcatcher, I decided to investigate
the only other place where I knew arsenic could be found—the painters' Workroom.

I had planned to ask Mrs. Teerlinc whether any of her paint supplies had gone missing or whether— even if Sampson Childs was innocent—his yellow paint could be the source of the arsenic, but in the end I didn't need to, for I could hear her shouting from the bottom of the Workroom stairs!

“By my faith!” she was shouting. “This is beyond a jest.”

As I entered the Workroom, I saw Nick Hilliard standing with the other limners, and they were all looking very hangdog.

“Only last month I had a large order come from the apothecary,” Mrs. Teerlinc continued, “viz ceruse—white and red—white lead, orpiment, malachite, lapis lazuli, and crimson. And now you tell me we are near at the end of our stocks again! How is it possible, gentlemen? Certainly, we paint a great deal, but not that much. Has any one of you a secret commission to paint the walls of your brother's dining chamber? Hmm? Or are you selling paint that the Queen has paid for?” She was scowling because she obviously thought that was exactly what was happening. “Well?” she demanded.

Nobody said a word, they were all staring at their boots and the floor and the ceiling.

“By God, I shall have the locks changed upon the colour closet. I shall not have the Queen cheated in her own house!” Mrs. Teerlinc declared.

I was so excited I could hardly breathe. Orpiment was missing! So it seemed that I had found out where the poisoner was getting his arsenic. I decided I must set a watch upon the Workroom to see if any more paint is taken, and, if so, by whom. I suspect that the thief is taking all kinds of paint to conceal the fact that he is after the poisonous orpiment. Of course Mrs. Teerlinc locks the whole place after sunset, so there need only be a watch during the less busy times of the day.

I was about to go when Mrs. Teerlinc spotted me and came bustling over. “Now, my dear,” she said. “I have cancelled Lady Sarah's sitting for today because we have not sufficient paint. Did she not tell you?”

In truth, I had forgotten there was to be a sitting. “I'm sure she would have, but I haven't really seen her today,” I answered.

“And is the Queen's little dog any better?” enquired Mrs. Teerlinc.

For a moment I couldn't think what she was talking about, and then I remembered my excuse for asking about orpiment poisoning. “Oh, um, yes, he's much better. I must have been wrong about what he ate. Doubtless it was some bit of rubbish or an old sweetmeat he found.”

She smiled kindly at me. “I am surprised you are here and not down there sighing over young Fitzgrey like most of the Queen's women,” she said, nodding at the windows that gave onto the Lesser Courtyard.

I looked and it was like a flower garden for the bright kirtles of the ladies. And there were the players, trying to make a pyramid in the centre. “No,” I told her. “For my part I think he likes his own looks far too much to need anyone else's admiration.”

“Go to,” said Mrs. Teerlinc, laughing. “At least one young woman has sense.”

I had spotted Masou and Ellie down in the courtyard, so I thought I would join them down there. I curtseyed and hurried away.

Out in the courtyard, I sat down casually near the spot where Ellie was hanging about, gazing lovingly at Richard Fitzgrey and looking like a calf with the belly ache. Masou was helping Will Somers instruct the players in the right way to build a pyramid of their own bodies, with the strong men along the
bottom and then the boy players on top. For a wonder, they had it up, tottering slightly. And then Masou climbed his way to the top, where he stood carefully on the shoulders of the smallest boy actor.