Murder at Fontainebleau (7 page)

Lady Barnett let out a wail before she buried her face in her hands. Sir Henry slumped back in his chair, as if wearied by his outburst, something that seemed a common occurrence between the married couple. Everyone else went still and silent, which only made Lady Barnett's sobs sound louder.

Amelia took her aunt's arm and helped her to her feet. The two ladies limped out of the room. “I will take her to rest,” Amelia said as the door closed behind them.

“Women,” Sir Henry muttered as he raised his goblet for another long drink. “They understand naught.”

Mistress Berry scowled down at him.

Kate slipped out of the room and into the cool quiet of a narrow corridor. She could hear Lady Barnett crying from somewhere in the shadows. Mistress Berry came out of the sitting room as well, and hurried past Kate with a basin in her hands.

“Is anything the matter, Mistress Berry? Can I help?” Kate asked.

“Mistress Haywood, I did not see you there,” Mistress Berry said. “Aye, follow me, if you like. I fear Lady Barnett often has such fits. 'Tis only to be expected.”

Kate wondered what she meant by that.
Only to be expected because of the way Lady Barnett's husband dismissed her? Because things are so uncertain there in France?

“I thought Lady Barnett enjoyed her last time in France,” Kate said, watching as Mistress Berry took a vial from her valise and shook a drop into the basin.
The scent of lavender filled the air. “I suppose things have changed a great deal since then.”

“So they have, I fear,” Mistress Berry said. “In other ways, though, they haven't changed at all. The Catholics and the Huguenots have been at each other's throats for years, and men like the Guise brothers only make it worse. With King Henri's strong hand, it was different. None dared defy him. Now . . .”

“Now there is only a dead king, a sickly boy to take his place, and Queen Catherine?”

Mistress Berry shrugged. “Queen Catherine, the Duc de Guise. Who knows? Is there any difference? But Lady Barnett was quite friendly with the queen when last we were here. She would sit and embroider and whisper with Queen Catherine for hours. I daresay the Queen Mother will have no time for such things now.”

Kate nodded. “Did Mistress Wrightsman like the queen as well?”

Mistress Berry laughed. “She liked Queen
Mary
right enough. The two of them would laugh and dance together at every banquet. I daresay Queen Catherine could have found great use for Mistress Wrightsman, though, if there was a thought of more than silks and jewels in her head.”

Kate thought of that cold, still look in Amelia's eyes at the farmhouse. “What do you mean?”

Brigit gave her a strange smile. “What do you know of the French court, Mistress Haywood?”

“Not as much as I think I will soon need to,” Kate
said cautiously. “They say Queen Catherine is eager to wield her power on behalf of her children now.”

“Queen Catherine is not a pretty lady, to be sure, and never has been, in a court that prizes beauty above all else. But she is a clever woman,” Brigit said. “Almost as clever as our own Queen Elizabeth, mayhap. I am sure she learned much in her Italian youth, and one of those lessons is the great use a clever person can put beauty to, when it is needed.”

Kate frowned. “I do not quite see your meaning, Mistress Berry.”

“You will find that Queen Catherine surrounds herself with ladies who are fair indeed. And they are most loyal to her. That is all.” Brigit held out a small bottle. “Would you carry that for me, Mistress Haywood?”

“Of course.” Kate followed Brigit as she took up the basin again and made her way into a small bedchamber.

Lady Barnett lay on a narrow bedstead while Amelia knelt beside her, pressing a damp cloth to her aunt's pale brow. “I am sure my uncle is just worried, Aunt Jane,” she was saying in a beseeching voice. “He has much to concern him.”

“And his wife is not one of those matters, as always!” Lady Barnett cried. “I have worries as well. What awaits us at Fontainebleau . . .”

“I have brought your tisane, Lady Barnett,” Brigit said. “And Mistress Haywood has come to help. We shall be on our way again in no time at all.”

Lady Barnett sat up with Amelia's help. She did indeed
look pale under the edge of her lace cap, her eyes red from crying, but she tried to smile cheerfully. “Thank you, Brigit. I do not know what I would do without your help. And Mistress Haywood! What must you think of us? I promise I am not usually such a watering pot.”

“Not at all, Lady Barnett,” Kate said. “It has been a most trying day for everyone. Surely it will be better once you can rest at our destination.”

“Of course,” said Lady Barnett, sipping at the herbal tisane Brigit had mixed up for her. “There is no place more luxurious than Fontainebleau! Wait until you see it.”

She and Amelia talked on of the beauties of the palace, the rare comforts of hot water from spigots and brocade blankets on every bed, and Kate nodded. But she could not help but wonder, as Lady Barnett had,
What exactly awaits us at Fontainebleau?

K
ate shivered at the silence that wrapped around them as they made their way through the forest of Fontainebleau, hopefully in the direction of the palace. It was an eerie quiet, almost absolute, like being muffled in a feather blanket. There was no whisper of the wind through the towering trees, no call of birds—no word from the people around her, who had been quiet and tense ever since they left the inn, since the quarrel between the Barnetts.

It is probably the mist muffling every sound,
Kate thought with another shiver. It had descended on the countryside in the night, and hadn't lifted even when they mounted their horses at the innyard early that morning. Lady Barnett and Amelia had protested, but Sir Henry insisted they had to leave. So they had all ridden forth, carefully close together, launched into a half-hidden world.

The mist was thick, a shimmering white-silver that seemed to catch on the treetops and around the underbrush piled at the sides of the path. A deer suddenly
leaped past between the thick curtain of trees before vanishing, making Kate gasp.

Rob, who rode close at her side, gave her a reassuring smile. He looked at ease, making quiet jokes with her as they rode, sometimes turning to say a quiet word to Thomas at his other side, but even Rob's fine acting skills could not quite make her feel comfortable. Perhaps the forest was under an enchantment.

“Surely we will be there soon, Kate,” he said.

“I cannot wait to be next to a warm fire,” Lady Barnett, just ahead of them, said with a sob. “I vow that I shall not stir from the hearthside for a week!”

“You will change your mind soon enough, Lady Barnett, once you hear the dance music,” Mistress Berry said drily.

“I shall not! I won't feel like dancing again for a very long time after this appalling journey,” Lady Barnett protested.

“We have been on worse journeys, to be sure,” Mistress Berry muttered.

“Will there really be dancing, do you think? Even if it is just in privy chambers?” Amelia said wistfully.

“If there is, will you be my partner, Mistress Wrightsman?” Toby asked.

Kate couldn't help wincing at the sheer eagerness in his voice. Master Ridley seemed to be such a nice gentleman, always cheerful through the trials of travel, always most considerate. And, if Cecil trusted him, he had to be a loyal Englishman as well. Yet his infatuation with Amelia, who never took much notice of him
at all, was all too clear. During their voyage, he had lost no chance to be close to her, to speak to her, to bring her small comforts such a sweetmeats and cushions.

Amelia, though, would just smile at him and thank him, patting his hand as if he were a loyal lapdog, and then send him on his way. Perhaps she still thought of Monsieur d'Emours.

Kate noticed Charles Throckmorton, who rode on Toby's other side, give his friend a sad glance and a small shake of his head. He, too, seemed to wish to warn Toby away from Amelia.

“Of course I shall dance with you, Master Ridley,” Amelia said with a careless laugh. “But you may have to stand in line!”

“Or mayhap
you
shall have to wait, Mistress Wrightsman,” Brigit said. “Master Ridley will surely have his choice of Queen Catherine's lovely ladies-in-waiting.”

“What do you know of such things, Brigit?” Amelia snapped. “You are always in the corner with your nose in your herbs and tinctures! You know nothing of dance partners.”

“Very true,” Brigit said.

“Be quiet, all of you,” Sir Henry shouted. “There is no time for such nonsense now. We have a great deal of work ahead of us.”

Everyone fell silent again, and Kate glanced at Rob. He gave her another smile, but his jaw was tight, his eyes taking in the forest around them. Toby rode ahead of them, and the intricate gold embroidery of his fashionable cloak gleamed like the only beacon in the mist.

Suddenly, the narrow path widened and flowed out into a clearing. The mist was still thick and white, but with no trees to cling to, it seemed to drift in lost wisps around a graveled lane, catching on the tall spikes of a metal gate.

It was not just any gate, though. The elaborate ironwork was gilded, sparkling even in the fog, and to either side rose tall stone pillars topped with carved lions, rearing as if to roar out fiercely. It was surmounted by the coat of arms of France, fleur-de-lis in gold.

“I am Sir Henry Barnett, delegate of the Queen of England, come to join Sir Nicholas Throckmorton's embassy,” Sir Henry called to the guards in their blue-and-gold livery. They swung open the gates, and Sir Henry led them through.

When the gates shut again with a metallic clatter, Kate seemed to enter yet another new world. She was reminded of romantic poems of the fairy realm, or of masques where mortals found themselves tumbling into the kingdom of the gods. She could only stare, astonished, until Rob nudged her to move forward.

A long graveled pathway led in an arrow-straight line. Elaborately shaped trees and large square flower beds bordered the path on either side. The plants slept now for the winter, overlaid with a thin, sparkling layer of frost, but Kate could see that in summer tumbles of color would spill over green velvet grass.

To their right was a long palace wing made of mellowed red brick with white stone pillars, a steep gray slate roof, and a forest of brick chimneys looming
above, which sent plumes of thick, fragrant smoke to join with the mist. From the many windows that sparkled there, Kate thought she could see clusters of pale faces peering out curiously.

Yet it was the wing straight ahead of the path that caught her attention. It looked like a fairy castle indeed. All gleaming white stone, it stretched across the length of five symmetrical pavilions like an enchanted princess's towers. At its center, leading to carved double doors, was a gray stone staircase that swept upward in a double horseshoe shape.

At the foot of the stairs, servants hurried forward to take their horses. Rob helped Kate from the saddle, and she was glad of his arm to hold on to as she found her feet on the ground again.

Up close, Fontainebleau was even more beautiful than at first sight. It seemed all of one piece. Its white stone and brick, its pillars and towers, could have sprung up all at once under a fairy wand, instead of growing up wing by wing from a small hunting lodge. It was most unlike the jumble of Whitehall.

She thought of all the lovely châteaux they had passed on their journey, white and pale gray and elegant, and the long expanses of vineyards and orchards that in the summer would be bursting with the color and fragrance of sweet fruits. She remembered the well-dressed people who lived in those fine homes, their scarlet, lavender, and pale blue silks; snow-white lace; and pearls and diamonds. All of that had made France seem a fairy realm indeed, overseen by this enchanted palace.

But the image of the burned farmhouse suddenly appeared in Kate's mind. The suspicious innkeepers and quiet people on the sides of the lanes watched them ride by. With a country where the people were at one another's throats, surely nothing was as it seemed.

The doors opened and a lady appeared. She seemed to fit very well in this fairy poem of a palace, for she was tiny and delicate, pale brown curls piled high beneath a small lacy cap that frothed and frilled around an elfin face. She wore a plain Spanish-style surcoat of dark gray satin and black sleeves, but even those somber colors couldn't dim her smile.

“Amelia,
mon amie
!” she cried. “You have returned.”

“Celeste!” Amelia cried in return. She dashed up the curving stairs to hug the fair lady.

The rest of them followed at a slower pace, with Lady Barnett leaning on Charles's arm. Her husband seemed to take no notice of her fatigue. Kate watched everything with great curiosity.

“That is Mademoiselle Celeste Renard,” Brigit said quietly to Kate. “She once served Princess Elisabeth, until she went to Spain. Now she is lady-in-waiting to Queen Catherine. She and Mistress Wrightsman were great friends when we were here before. Two chattering magpies in the same tree.”

Kate could certainly see how happy the two ladies were to see each other again, but surely they could not be called anything as plain as magpies. Their plumage was too handsome.

Celeste held out her tiny hand to Toby and Charles
and laughed with them. Even Sir Henry smiled as she greeted him with a teasing exuberance. Kate remembered what Brigit had told her of Catherine de Medici, the plain queen who surrounded herself with beautiful ladies. For beauty had a power of its own.

“But come inside quickly, quickly,” Celeste said, clapping her hands. Kate noticed she wore a ring on her smallest finger, a black cameo set in gold, but she couldn't make out the carved image. “This fog is horribly chilling. The Queen Mother waits to greet you most eagerly. And Queen Mary,
naturellement
. She does so pine for word from her cousin queen.”

“How fares Queen Mary?” Kate heard Amelia ask. “We heard she went on retreat to her aunt's convent.”

“And so she did,” Amelia said, leading them through a small, cold stone foyer and along a corridor. “But our young dowager queen could never be happy among nuns and silence for long! Her grief for poor King Francis was so great and she fell most ill for a time, as she often does in difficult days. But her spirits are recovering.”

“Recovering enough for a dance?” Amelia said hopefully.

Celeste laughed. “Or for a play. The Christmas season was a dark one; everyone will want to laugh a bit now.” She glanced back over her shoulder and gave Kate a quick smile. Or perhaps it was a smile for Rob, who gave a small bow in answer. “We heard you were bringing actors with you.”

“Only two actors, Mademoiselle Renard,” Sir Henry
answered. “And one of Queen Elizabeth's own musicians.” He gestured toward Kate and Rob, with Thomas peeking eagerly from behind them. “This is Mistress Haywood, and Master Cartman, who is head of the queen's cousin Lord Hunsdon's troupe. And he brought an apprentice with him.”

“Mademoiselle Haywood? We have heard of you,” Celeste said. She looked at Kate again, her blue eyes wide. “Do you not compose your own music? You must be very clever.”

Celeste looked at her so intently, Kate wondered if her words held some strange message. But she could read nothing else there. “When I have time to write, which I fear is not often. Usually I organize the rest of the queen's musicians for her revels.”

“It sounds a most fearsome task! The royal musicians here would not care to be organized—they all think
they
are the finest performer at court—but they play well enough when it comes to it. Queen Catherine is most particular about her music. She is entertained now by an Italian theater troupe she brought from Florence. They are most amusing.” Celeste's gaze flickered over Rob, and her smile widened. “And you, Master Cartman. You will be
most
welcome, I am sure.”

Rob gave her a low bow. “France is full of so many beauties already. How can anyone help but be inspired in his art?”

Kate tugged hard at his arm, and he gave her an innocent look. Celeste laughed merrily, and Kate had
to push away a pang of something that felt horribly like jealousy.

They came to an imposing set of doors guarded by two men in the royal blue-and-gold livery, but Celeste did not lead them through those. She turned toward a narrow, winding staircase hidden behind a tapestry.

“I will show you to your rooms, and refreshments will be brought. There will be a reception tomorrow, but Queen Mary asks if you will dine quietly with her this evening,” Celeste said, leading them up the stairs. “As I said, she longs to hear all the news from England.”

Sir Henry and Lady Barnett exchanged a long glance. Kate had sometimes noticed on their journey that despite the Barnetts' many quarrels and very different personalities, they seemed to be able to communicate with a look or a nod. Many long-married couples did such, like the queen's cousin Lady Knollys and her husband, and even the fearsome Lady Lennox and her Scottish husband. It was an enviable thing and also a strange one.

“We would be most happy to dine with Queen Mary at any time, Mademoiselle Renard,” Sir Henry said carefully. “But should we not pay our greetings to King Charles and his mother?”

Celeste laughed, a sound like tiny silver bells. Kate wondered if she practiced it. “Oh, Sir Henry, you needn't worry about that! King Charles is still at the day's lessons with his younger siblings, and Queen Catherine will greet you at tomorrow's official reception. But she always knows all that happens within these walls.”

She turned up another staircase and along a narrow corridor lined with tapestries that muffled sound and kept out any hint of draft. “Here are your rooms,” she said. “I hope they will suit. I fear court is most crowded at the moment. You are near Sir Nicholas Throckmorton and his household, though, and Queen Mary's Scots family is just along the next gallery.”

Kate's room was most suitable indeed, she thought as Celeste showed it to her after she led the Barnetts to their spacious bedchamber and sitting room. Kate's room was a small one, more of a closet, just off Amelia's chamber, but she had it to herself, a rare luxury at court. It was slightly round, as if in a tower, and furnished with a narrow bed with plain but fine dark blue hangings and coverlet, a cushioned stool by the small fireplace, and a writing table under the tiny window. It was much like her room at Whitehall.

Her traveling cases and lute were already there, and Kate quickly searched through her belongings, sorting through the clothes and books and pages of music. It did not look as if anyone had been through them again. She carefully examined the lock on her small jewel case and reminded herself to find a new box with a stronger lock. The letters were safe enough now in her secret pocket, but they needed a better hiding spot soon.