Murder at Fontainebleau (14 page)

“Our lives are wherever you may be, Your Majesty!” Mary Seton, the smallest and prettiest of them, cried. “We would follow you anywhere.”

“Anywhere,” Mary Beaton echoed. “Even to . . .”

She shuddered and bent her head back to her sewing. Kate wondered if she was about to say to Spain, or mayhap to Denmark, Sweden, or Bavaria, all rumored to be suitors for Mary's hand. They probably would follow; Mary's servants seemed just as devoted as Elizabeth's own.

Queen Mary hinted at returning to Scotland, and the presence of Lord James at court seemed to indicate she would do just that. But Mary also clearly loved the elegant, sophisticated, pampered yet deceptive life of France. Surely she would say nothing for certain, and Kate had little enough to write to Queen Elizabeth.

And now there was Amelia's death—and the rumors that Queen Mary had set afloat that the English must have had something to do with it themselves, that it was a bizarre scheme to blame Mary in front of Elizabeth.
Kate had been at royal courts and at Fontainebleau long enough to know the great power gossip had. Even tempered steel could not cut it once it took hold.

“What would Your Majesty like to hear today?” Kate asked.

“Oh, more of your English songs, I think. I do so love them!” Queen Mary said. “I feel as if I could know my cousin through the music. I long for the day when we meet in person. I have so very little family left, and family is the most important thing there is. Don't you think so, Mademoiselle Haywood?”

Kate started playing a lively new chaconne, one of Queen Elizabeth's favorites. It was a piece she had played many times, and she was accustomed to talking as her fingers plucked at the strings faster and faster.

“Family is indeed a fine thing in life, Your Majesty, though I fear I have none left myself,” Kate said. The song made her think of her father, and a wave of sadness washed over her.

“None at all?” Mary cried.

“My mother died when I was born, and my father, who was also a court musician, died just before Christmas,” Kate said. She kept her head bent low over the neck of her lute and blinked hard to keep back her tears. She knew better than to show anything more than artful, masquerading emotion. “I have no siblings.”

“
Pauvre
Mademoiselle Haywood,” sighed Mary. Her Maries made sympathetic murmurs. “I, too, lost a parent only months ago, my dearest
maman
. My father died when I was but a week old, of course, but my
mother was like both parents to me. She fought to keep my throne safe, even against people like my own cousin.” Queen Mary's lips tightened, and she stabbed at her cloth with her needle. “The Scottish lords were most ungrateful to her. What can a land with such rulers be like? Rough and ignorant. We must help them if we can.”

“But the people love you! They speak only of you, long for you,” Mary Seton said. “My family writes that to me so very often. You would transform Scotland.”

Mary looked pensive as she studied an embroidered flower. “Perhaps so. With my cousin Queen Elizabeth's help, of course. As two queens in one isle, we would have to work together. Do you not agree, Mademoiselle Haywood?”

“I am sure you would have much to share, Your Majesty,” Kate said carefully. “Queen Elizabeth also wishes greatly to be friends.”

Queen Mary gave a small smile. “I am sure of it. I fear it is like my dear
maman
and the treacherous lords around her. There will always be those who wish us ill, who will try to come between us, and people like poor Amelia will fall victim to such vile schemes.”

The Maries exchanged alarmed glances, but their faces quickly smoothed out to mild smiles. Kate saw the queen's message. She suspected Elizabeth, but was more than willing to blame evil forces, wrong advice, for any rift—for now.

“But the people, the
true
people, want only peace and amity,” Mary continued. “I could bring them such. With
Elizabeth's help. Perhaps you would assure her of that, Mademoiselle Haywood, when you return to England with pages of our French songs in your trunks?”

“I am only a musician, Your Majesty,” Kate said, thinking of those same trunks that had recently been searched. “But I will happily pass along any message you care to send with me.”

Queen Mary's smile widened, and it was like the sun bursting out from behind rain clouds. “
C'est bon
!
Grand matters are better left to men, I always find. Their minds are stronger, more expansive, better suited to such things as battles and treaties. I rely on the advice of my uncles and of Lord James. Yet there are a few things we females understand so well. Small, personal things. Matters of friendship.”

Kate nodded. It was the same as what Elizabeth and men like Cecil and Sir Henry Barnett—reluctantly—said. Women were good for some things: small, personal, secret matters. But she wondered if any were quite so good at secrets as Queen Mary herself.

The queen and her ladies went on to whisper about other things—a planned hawking expedition to some Guise lands, a new fashion in dagged sleeves, a shipment of plumes that had arrived from Florence. Kate played more English songs, listening to it all, letting her own thoughts organize and take shape in her mind. She still did not know what Elizabeth truly wanted from Mary, where she wanted the Scots queen to go or stay, so every scrap of information was to be remembered.

Suddenly, the double doors to Queen Mary's chamber opened, and Queen Catherine appeared, preceded by only two pages in her green-and-white livery and followed by her beautiful ladies. Kate glimpsed Celeste peeking past the much shorter queen's black-clad shoulder. Celeste looked pale, dark circles beneath her eyes, as if she had not slept well.

“Maman Queen,” Queen Mary said, her tone startled. She quickly set aside her sewing and rose to her feet, making a small, respectful curtsy. Her ladies hastened to do the same. “You honor me with your visit. If I had known you were coming, I would have sent for more wine.”

Queen Catherine waved her hand and gave a small, tight smile. “It is of no matter, daughter; I was merely passing and thought to stop and invite you to a small gathering at my little dairy, Mi Voie. We could all use a distraction,
oui
, a bit of merriment in such dark days? That is why I built my little farm. I have made many improvements to the buildings I am sure everyone would enjoy seeing.”

“Of course, Maman Queen,” Queen Mary said. “As you know, I have often expressed an interest in building a dairy of my own. It would be most healthful.”

“I hope you will one day. It does much to make any palace feel like a home.” Queen Catherine's shrewd, dark gaze swept over the gathering. It landed on Kate, and suddenly she felt as squirmy as a child. “I hope you are keeping yourself busy at such a sad time,
daughter. So many losses now, first the king and now your English friend.”

“Mademoiselle Haywood was just showing us some of the English songs,” Queen Mary said. “And telling us news of my cousin.”

“Is she? I, too, would like to hear the new music of England. It would be interesting to hear how their taste differs from that of the French or the Florentines,” Queen Catherine said with a pleasant smile.

Mary glanced at Kate, seemingly uncertain. She did seem younger, much more unsure, around her mother-in-law, though Kate had heard Mary could be rather dismissive of Catherine's lowly origins when she was not nearby.

“Of course you must send for Mademoiselle Haywood to play in your own chamber soon, Queen Maman.”

“Why not now?” Queen Catherine said. “We are going for a walk in the gardens while the sun is shining a bit. You should all join us.”

“Oh, I fear it would be too cold for me,” Queen Mary said quickly. “I have had a fainting spell only this morning.”

“Your old trouble again, daughter?” Queen Catherine said, her voice soft and full of concern. But her dark eyes did not change.

Queen Mary nodded, and Kate recalled tales of her ill health that had reached even England—stories of fainting and pains in the side that would not go away. “I am well enough now, but the doctors say I should stay by the fire for the time being.”

“You must always follow the doctors' advice,
ma chère
. Shall I send Dr. Folie to you?” Queen Catherine said. “He is most wise, I have found.”

“Thank you, Queen Maman,” Queen Mary answered with a sweet smile.

Catherine abruptly turned to Kate. “But what of you, Mademoiselle Haywood? Are you also delicate? Or has the harsh English weather made you hardy?”

Kate was startled Queen Catherine would talk to her directly and for an instant did not know what to say. “Nay, Your Majesty, I enjoy a long walk. Especially when the scenery is as beautiful as here at Fontainebleau.”

“Then perhaps you would join us now,” Queen Catherine said. “I am as anxious as my daughter-in-law to hear more of the new English styles.”

Kate nodded with a curtsy as Queen Catherine and her ladies departed as swiftly as they had arrived. As Kate moved to follow, Queen Mary suddenly reached out and caught her sleeve.

“Do not forget, Mademoiselle Haywood,” she whispered. “We females are best at small intimacies and loyal friendships. We must all rely on one another.”

Kate wasn't sure what she meant by such cryptic words, but she had time only to give Queen Mary a startled nod before she heard Celeste Renard call her name. Mary Seton took her lute with a whispered promise to return it to her chamber, and Kate hurried to catch up with Queen Catherine's party as they wound their way out to the terrace.

It had indeed become a sunny day, the sun shimmering on the lines of white marble statues along the flower beds, but it was also a chilly one, with a cold wind whistling between the carefully shaped trees. Kate shivered, for she had left her cloak in her chamber.

Celeste handed her a woolen shawl trimmed with fluffy white fur. “Here, Mademoiselle Haywood, you must take this. I have my cloak.”

“Mademoiselle Haywood,” the queen called. “Will you tell me more of your queen's Dr. Dee? He sounds like someone whose talents I could use here in France.”

Kate thought of the séance she had once observed at Nonsuch Palace, which had been quite chilling. She still preferred the measurable magic of music to the spirits, but she had heard so many rumors that the help of the spirits was what Queen Catherine sought. “I fear I have not seen Dr. Dee at work, Your Majesty. I have only read some of his writings and spoken with him once or twice at Queen Elizabeth's court. I saw one of his apprentices conduct a séance once, which I confess frightened me.”

Queen Catherine peered at Kate's face closely with her large dark eyes. Her black veil fluttered in the wind. “It can be most frightening to see the truth hidden beneath our everyday world. But I have always felt that it is better to know the truth. My dear Signor Ruggieri has many gifts, and I value his advice. Perhaps you would join us one evening to hear what he has to say? It might be of interest to your queen.” She waved her closest attendants back and started toward the steps to
the garden. “Come, walk with me for a moment, if Lady Barnett can spare you.”

Kate was most confused by Queen Catherine's request. She glanced at Celeste, who shrugged. Kate could only follow the Queen Mother as they strolled onto the pathway, the rest of the royal attendants following behind. Queen Catherine moved surprisingly fast for such a short lady, her steps quick and graceful, almost gliding.

Kate remembered hearing tales of how Queen Catherine was once an avid rider, galloping to the hunt at her husband's side. It was the only time she could be alone with King Henri without the royal mistress, Diane de Poitiers, with them.

Now Madame de Poitiers was exiled, and Queen Catherine had taken charge of the kingdom. She no longer rode to the hunt, but followed in a chariot, her eye on everything around her. They said she knew all.

Did she even know what had happened to Amelia? It had been her party at the pavilion, after all.

“Do you like the pretty avenue of trees just there, Mademoiselle Haywood?” Queen Catherine asked as she gestured to a line of silvery beech trees leading down the wide pathway away from the terrace. “Do you have such things at your English palaces?”

Kate studied the gardens, so peaceful and quiet in the winter cold. In the summer, she knew they would be bursting with emerald green life. The shores of the pond would be concealed by flowers and the marble pavilion hidden from view. “Most of Queen Elizabeth's
gardens are smaller, Your Majesty, and more compact. I am sure everyone would agree that the gardens here at Fontainebleau are beyond any compare. They are so lovely now—I can only imagine how they must be in summer.”

Queen Catherine gave a satisfied little nod. “Gardening is one of my great pleasures. But it was my father-in-law, the great King Francis, who first planted those trees for his first wife, Queen Claude. Neither of them ever saw their full flower, but he knew how it would one day be. He knew the great importance of beauty in all its forms. He was willing to have patience to make his court perfect in every way.”

The queen glanced back over her shoulder, and Kate wondered if she studied the palace or her ladies, who waited several steps away. Both of them were indeed beautiful, the pale stones of the palace in the winter light, the windows sparkling like diamonds, the ladies tall and elegant in their satin and furs, whispering together. Celeste watched the queen, her hand raised to shade her eyes from the light.

“Before my father-in-law's time there were not many ladies at court,” Queen Catherine said. “Yet King Francis saw women could be a great adornment to a civilized palace, could bring color and laughter and interest, refinement. He even had his own attendants, his
petite bande
, as he called them, who rode with him and danced for him at balls. They were of much use to him in so many ways.”