Murder at Fontainebleau (18 page)

“I
don't like this, Kate. You are putting yourself in danger again,” Rob said with a scowl. He held tightly to her hand as they walked the empty garden pathways in the early, pinkish morning light. Kate had confided in him what she suspected, or most of it anyway.

“If Mistress Wrightsman was spying for France, Queen Elizabeth must know,” Kate answered. “And even if she was, her murderer cannot go unpunished.”

Rob still looked most doubtful, but Kate knew he would help her, as he had in the past. He shared her curiosity, if nothing else.

“So, whom do you suspect?” he asked.

Kate sighed. “There are many choices. First, perhaps someone thought Amelia was telling secrets to her lover, Monsieur d'Emours—or more likely he thought she was telling
his
secrets. He depends on the Guise, after all, and they would not like to find out he had an affair with an English spy. Or perhaps he was still jealous over Monsieur Mamou and that duel, or one of
Amelia's other admirers, though he did not seem to be the overly possessive sort. Amelia was changeable—it is very likely he feared she would become angry with him again and cast doubt on his loyalty to the Guise. Or it could have been one of those other suitors.”

“Most murders are committed to cover secrets, 'tis true,” Rob said. “And your theory makes much sense. But d'Emours was nowhere at the pavilion the night we found poor Mistress Wrightsman.”

“How do you know? I saw him at the banquet.” And after—with Amelia.

“Signorina Isabella, the actress, was boasting he was having an, er, late supper with her. She was showing the others in her troupe the gifts he bought her.”

The pretty Italian actress? Kate had thought she was interested in Rob, but it was true d'Emours would have more riches to bestow. “Did he give her a Guise badge in diamonds?”

“Nay, ruby earrings.”

Kate sighed. That was one easy clue vanished. But surely a man like d'Emours would know how to hire an assassin if needed. “And she was sure he was with her all night after the banquet?”

“Aye. I doubt she would forget if he slipped out of her chamber for an hour in the midst of their rendezvous.”

Kate had to laugh. “I suppose not. Perhaps he had an accomplice, then, one who found Amelia at the pavilion.”

“Perhaps. Who could it be?”

“Another lover of his? A servant? A hired assassin?
There are rumors that many of those reside here at the French court. I have heard such tales of Queen Catherine's Italian perfumer, Signor Ruggieri.” She thought of the liquid left in Amelia's perfume bottles and shivered. She needed to visit Dr. Folie again.

“What of Mistress Wrightsman's other suitors? Or mayhap jealous ladies whose husbands or lovers looked at her once too often.”

Kate nodded. That meant the whole court could possibly be suspect.

“There is also Master Ridley, who has already fallen under suspicion,” Rob said.

Kate did not like to think that of friendly, kind-hearted Toby. But Rob was right: Jealousy caused many otherwise sane people to behave most irrationally. “Perhaps. He did care for her greatly, I think. Yet he does not seem the angry, bad-tempered sort.”

“Would one of his friends have become angry on his behalf? Charles Throckmorton, for instance.”

“Charles has a cool head, but if he feared Amelia was somehow jeopardizing his uncle's work here, he might have done something about it. He didn't seem to like Amelia very much.”

“And what of her own family? The Barnetts? Sir Henry is friends with Sir Nicholas Throckmorton.”

Kate shook her head. “Jane Barnett was very fond of her niece, and I do not think she would be strong enough to kill her, anyway.”

“Unless she was poisoned and weakened first, as you said.”

Kate thought of Lady Barnett's tales of her youth, her girlhood in France, her French relations. The Orieux monument in the d'Emours chapel. “I still think Lady Barnett would not have hurt her niece, though I suppose it is possible she herself was spying for the French. Sir Henry, he did not care for Amelia and was often most impatient with her, but surely he would not jeopardize his position merely to be rid of her. He would be more likely to marry her off and gain some advantage in the process.”

“I fear your kind heart does not want to suspect anyone you know, dear Kate.”

“'Tis most true,” Kate said with a sigh. She had learned in her time at Queen Elizabeth's court that most people were capable of terrible things, given the right motivation, but she didn't like to truly believe it.

“Surely you have seen by now, after the queen's coronation and Nonsuch, that most people in our world are not so tenderhearted as you.”

She shook her head. She did not like to remember what had happened the night of the coronation banquet or in the gardens at Nonsuch Palace. And now it was happening again here at Fontainebleau. “So, our choices are the Barnetts, Toby Ridley, Monsieur d'Emours and his agent, another of Amelia's lovers
or
a jealous wife, or an enemy of England who saw some advantage in killing an Englishwoman who is friends with Queen Mary. Surely that could be anyone here at Fontainebleau.”

And then there were the letters she had carried to Sir Nicholas, the ones someone had tried to steal on
the ship. What had they to do with Amelia, if anything at all?

It made her want to scream with anger and frustration at the puzzle of it all. She had to content herself with kicking out at a nearby rock, which only caused her toes pain.

The sun was rising higher in the sky, casting its meager warmth over the winter gardens, and a few courtiers had emerged for morning walks, their laughter floating back to her. Distant church bells tolled the hour.

Rob squeezed her hand. “I must go now, my Kate. I promised to meet Thomas and show him part of that Italian masque, but I will not be long. Should I escort you back to your chamber?”

Kate glimpsed a lady slipping down the stone stairs of the palace, the fur-lined hood of her cloak falling back to give a glimpse of distinctive red-gold hair. Celeste Renard, Amelia's friend.

“Nay, not now,” she told Rob. “I must talk to Mademoiselle Renard for a moment.”

Rob leaned back to give her a doubtful glance. “Promise me you will be careful, Kate? These French courtiers can be most changeable.”

“More so than English courtiers?” she said with a laugh. “I will be careful—I promise. Meet me after you finish with Thomas?”

“Of course.”

Once Kate was alone in the garden, she followed Celeste along the pathway, until Mademoiselle Renard
turned and gave her a welcoming smile. Her eyes were red-rimmed, as if she had been crying, but her smile didn't falter. The light gleamed on her fox-red hair. “Mademoiselle Haywood. I hope you are well enough this morning. You have recovered from the shock of finding Amelia like that, I hope? Perhaps the day of hunting helped?”

“I am over the shock, but it is so very sad,” Kate answered. “Poor Mistress Wrightsman. But I am sorry for you, too, Mademoiselle Renard, for were you not friends for a long time?”

Celeste gave a little shrug. “Since she was in France last,
oui
. We had much in common.”

“Some of the same suitors?”

Celeste laughed. “Of course not. I certainly know better than to come close to men such as Jacques d'Emours. I spent only one night with him once. Amelia was supposed to know better as well. But she forgot our purpose here.”

Kate thought that was a most odd choice of words. “Purpose?”

Celeste laughed again. “Oh, come now, Mademoiselle Haywood. You came here with Amelia; you have met with Sir Nicholas. I know that you must know.”

Kate thought of the letters to Sir Nicholas, of Queen Catherine's pretty ladies who could go anywhere at court, charm anyone. “You do not work for Queen Catherine.” It was not a question.

“
Certainement, non
. I work for Sir William Cecil—as
you do. I have been waiting for Sir Nicholas to send you to see me since Amelia died.”

Kate was surprised—and angry with herself for being surprised. She had not expected Cecil to send her into a lion's den half-aware. But she knew deep down that he would indeed, if it kept Queen Elizabeth safe, his first and only purpose. But that was Kate's purpose as well. There was no need to hide things from her.

She swallowed her anger, her sharp feeling of betrayal, and nodded. “Sir William did not tell me all. I saw your name in a coded letter he wrote to Sir Nicholas.”

Celeste tsked. “That was most careless of Sir Nicholas to leave such things lying about. Surely we all need to work together now, for the sake of Queen Elizabeth, more than ever. But I am not so surprised. Sir Nicholas thinks we females are incapable of serious thought, of real work beyond our embroidery. He would be dismissive and careless of us, I fear.”

“That is indeed most foolish of him,” Kate said. It was not a mistake Queen Catherine shared, obviously. Celeste's words rang true, her gaze steady, but Kate was still suspicious.

Celeste smiled like a cat in the cream. “So he is, yet Sir Nicholas is also loyal, and works so closely with Cecil. They will work for Queen Elizabeth to their last breath, if needed. Anything to keep the Catholics away from the English throne.”

“As you will, even though you are French?”

“You are still suspicious of me,
naturellement
.” Celeste reached into the front of her stiffened brocade bodice and drew out a small tube of parchment. She handed it to Kate, who quickly scanned the tiny, cramped writing. It was in code, the same as on the letters.

“Why?” Kate asked simply. She glanced up to find Celeste watching her, that smile fading away into an expression of perfect stillness.

“My family were Huguenots. When I was a little girl, my parents were killed in a Guise raid on a Protestant church, and my grandmother fled with me to England. We had nothing, but the Renards are an old family and my grandmother had connections from her girlhood waiting on Queen Mary, King Henry's sister who married the French king. Another old lady-in-waiting from those days took us in and was most kind to us. We even went to court with her. I saw how things were in England, so much simpler, so kind, how we did not have to take our lives in our hands to go to church. I loved it there, but I never forgot my parents and what happened to them.”

Kate swallowed hard, thinking of how terrible it must have been to lose her parents so young and in such a vile way. “Yet you seem to very French.”

Celeste gave a startled laugh. “You are something of an actor yourself, are you not, Mademoiselle Haywood? When my grandmother was dying, she did not know what to do with me. A friend of hers who is now one of Queen Catherine's ladies found me a place with the queen's daughter, Princess Elisabeth, who is now
Queen of Spain. When she left, Queen Catherine herself took me into her household. She always needs pretty ladies to assist her in many ways, especially to find out secrets from gentlemen. She came to trust me, and I admire her in some respects. Yet I knew I could not go on in such a manner forever. I wanted to help England, as it had helped my grandmother and me—and to bring down the Guise however I could.”

“And how did you do that?”

“I met Amelia, of course. Cecil and Sir Nicholas remembered my grandmother and me from our time in England, and asked her to seek me out when she came here to France with her aunt and uncle.”

Kate's mind raced over all the suspects she had named to Rob—and all she had not deciphered. “You mean Amelia Wrightsman was an intelligencer for Cecil? Not for the French?”

“Of course. You did not think she was really as silly as she behaved?”

Kate shook her head. There had been moments when Amelia's laughter faded and she looked sad and solemn. Once or twice, Kate had even felt Amelia wanted to confide in her, something secret no one else knew. “Nay, I suppose not.”

“She did have many suitors, important gentlemen here at the French court, and she learned much from them that was of use to Sir William. But I fear she lost her reason over Jacques d'Emours.”

“Was she spying on him, then?”

“I thought she was.
Surely,
I thought,
that was all it
could
be.
She seemed so clever to find out more from him. He has such close links to the Guise. I myself was his lover for a time, but not long. I thought that was all it was for Amelia, too. Yet she truly fell in love with him and she could not stay away from him. Passion, you see, Mademoiselle Haywood, is impossible in such a situation as ours. It is often fatal. We must be so careful at every moment.”

Kate glanced back toward the palace, as if she could see Rob there, even though he had vanished. “So true indeed. Do you think d'Emours killed Amelia?”

“You do not? I warned her not to meet with him again at the pavilion, but she would not listen to me. Then she was dead.”

“Monsieur d'Emours was with Signorina Isabella, the actress, all night,” Kate said. “Of course, he could have sent an assassin. Yet I think he cannot be the only one capable of such a deed.”

Celeste leaned closer. “Whom else do you suspect?”

Kate quickly told her of the list of suspects she had made with Rob. Celeste nodded thoughtfully at each idea, sometimes whispering, “
Oui
, that could be so.”

“I fear I do not know enough of the French court to be sure of anyone else,” Kate finished. “The poison that could have made her ill, disoriented her so it was easy to push her into the water, was perhaps in her perfume. Could that have been a gift from d'Emours?”

Celeste pursed her lips in thought. “Perhaps. He did give her some gifts—jewels, furs.”

“A diamond brooch in the shape of a Guise badge?”

“I do not know. I never saw such a thing with Amelia. Why would he do that? And her perfume was a distinctive scent, one she wore last time she was in France. I suppose he could have slipped something into it, or hired a maidservant to do it.”