Murder at Fontainebleau (9 page)

“Now it is dull,” Brigit said shortly. “You must excuse me. I think Lady Barnett requires my services.”

She hurried away, though Kate noticed Lady Barnett still sat with Queen Mary, deep in conversation. She didn't appear to need any attendance at all.

Kate glimpsed Amelia's friend Celeste Renard making her way to them from across the room, her embroidered skirts sparkling.

“Ah, Mademoiselle Haywood! How pleased I am to see you here tonight,” Celeste said. She turned her dazzling smile onto Rob and held out her hand to him. “And you, of course, Monsieur Cartman. Amelia was telling me earlier of some of the plays you have presented for Queen Elizabeth. You did not tell me of your great fame.”

Kate pursed her lips as she watched Rob laugh and bow low over Celeste's bejeweled hand.

“I am a court performer, mademoiselle, with none who know my name at all,” he said humbly. Kate nearly snorted aloud.

“Court performer—yes, as we all are,” Celeste answered. “Yet I would certainly wager far more people know of you than you realize. Especially the ladies,
non
?”
We are all court performers indeed,
Kate thought,
some more than others.
She remembered the rumors of
Queen Catherine's beautiful ladies, and none she had seen yet at Fontainebleau were as pretty as Celeste. “You are lady-in-waiting to Queen Catherine, are you not, Mademoiselle Renard? Are your services not required by her tonight?”

“The Queen Mother bade me come to Queen Mary's rooms this evening, as she is spending the night in quiet contemplation and prayer, as she often does.” Celeste glanced around the room, her attention landing lightly on each group in turn before she smiled at Kate again. “These small gatherings are always the most interesting, don't you agree, Mademoiselle Haywood? There are fewer places for people to hide. They are all arranged like characters on a stage.”

Kate nodded. She could not quite decide whether she liked Celeste Renard or not, but she certainly did not trust her. She was pretty and charming, just like Queen Mary herself, but there was something behind her easy smile. She looked as if she expected Kate to say something in particular, but for once Kate had no idea about her own role on the stage. “I suppose if one wanted to hide in here, there would be room behind the tapestries. But only if a person were very slender indeed.”

Celeste laughed. “I do like you, Mademoiselle Haywood. We must speak more later. I have the feeling we have much in common.”

Kate was not so very sure of that. Yet she also wanted to talk more with Celeste; she had the sense there was much to learn there. The lady surely knew more about
what happened beneath the elegant surface of Fontainebleau.

Before she could answer, she felt a gentle touch on her sleeve and turned to find Claude Domville smiling down at her. She was glad to see a familiar face, especially as Celeste had engaged Rob in laughing conversation and he seemed quite distracted. Monsieur Domville had changed into his own court garb, black velvet and satin trimmed with pearls, his dark hair and beard neatly trimmed. He looked very much a part of the courtly gathering around them.

“Mademoiselle Haywood. I am so happy to see you again so soon after our arrival,” he said, bowing over her hand. “How are you finding my homeland thus far?”

Kate sensed Rob and Celeste watching them, and she smiled up at Claude. “Your descriptions of the beauties of France were entirely correct, Monsieur Domville. Fontainebleau is like a palace in a fairy story. And the fashions are exquisite. I shall need to order a new gown or two, at the least, while I am here.”

“I can assist you with that,” Celeste said. “I know all the best tailors and embroiderers, and all the milliners Queen Mary herself uses. You are so tiny, Mademoiselle Haywood—like a delicate little bird singing high in a tree. We shall soon have you looking like the most elegant Frenchwoman, just like my friend Amelia.”

Or like Queen Anne Boleyn?
Kate thought of the tales of Queen Elizabeth's mother when she returned from her own time at the French court as a girl, of the elegance
and sophistication she brought back with her. Kate's own mother might have been Queen Anne's secret half sister and passed down the dark Boleyn hair, but Kate thought she would have a great deal to learn to even begin to emulate them.

Yet she certainly wouldn't turn away a skirt cut in that new tulip-shaped fashion so many of the ladies were wearing. It was pretty indeed.

“I doubt any dressmaker would have such transformative magic, Mademoiselle Renard, but I confess I am eager to see their wares,” Kate said.

The doors to Queen Mary's chamber opened, and a large party appeared there. They froze for a moment, framed between two large gold-threaded tapestries, as if they did indeed pose for a play. And their audience obliged. The room fell silent as everyone turned to stare at them. Kate, too, found herself watching in astonishment, for they were a beautiful spectacle.

The man at their head was tall and strongly built, with wide shoulders in his white-and-silver doublet. A red-gold beard framed a face that was scarred on both cheeks, and his gray eyes were hard and cold as he took in the gathering. Beside him was a much smaller, plumper lady, smiling in dark red velvet, and gathered behind them was a train of beautifully dressed attendants.

“'Tis the Duc de Guise and his household,” Celeste whispered. “See his wife, Duchesse Anne, in the red? She is great friends with Queen Catherine, thanks to
their shared Italian families, but Queen Mary has long loved her aunt and uncle like her own parents.”

Beside Kate, Claude stiffened, and when she glanced up she caught him frowning. He quickly erased his expression and put on a bland smile like everyone else, but Kate recalled that he was kinsman to Constable Montmorency, who had been pushed from power when the Guise came in with their queenly niece. She feared she would never be able to remember who was allied to whom here at Fontainebleau.

The crowd suddenly surged into motion again, parting to let Queen Mary sweep through. She was smiling, her pale face radiant, and Lady Barnett and Amelia followed close behind her.

“Uncle, Aunt!” Queen Mary cried. “How pleased I am you could join us tonight. I have missed you so very much.” She hurried over to kiss the duc's and duchesse's cheeks.

As the rest of the Guise party made their obeisances to the queen, Kate noticed that Amelia, who stood so very near them, had gone pale as snow. She swayed a bit as if she would faint, and her aunt grabbed her arm and whispered something in her ear that made her shoulders stiffen.

Puzzled, Kate followed the direction of Amelia's attention to find a man who stood on the edges of the glittering Guise group. She saw why he would catch any lady's rapt stare: He was the most beautiful man she had ever seen. Tall and elegantly slender but with powerful
shoulders encased in silver satin, his hair and short beard were almost the same pale shade, shimmering and starlike. His eyes, though, were bright blue, almost a sky shade that seemed strangely familiar, though Kate could not quite recall why.

Yet his masculine beauty was of a distinctly wintry sort, as if he were a king in an ice palace, remote and austere. He stared back at Amelia, and for an instant Kate thought she saw shock on his face. But then it was wiped away and his chin tilted in a disdainful expression. He turned away in a slow, deliberate motion that almost made Kate shiver with its coldness.

“Who is that gentleman in the silver?” she whispered to Celeste.

Celeste glanced up and frowned. “Monsieur d'Emours. They said he would not be returning to court until the spring. What is he doing here now?
Pauvre
Amelia!”

Monsieur d'Emours—the man who had fought a duel over Amelia Wrightsman. Kate glanced back at Amelia and found she was more composed, though her hands shook. She clutched at her skirts to make them still.

Toby Ridley stepped to her side, touching her arm, but she shrugged him away and he stalked back into the crowd. Charles Throckmorton tried to speak to his friend, but Toby visibly pushed away his words of consolation. Charles shook his head sadly but did not try to speak again.

“Uncle, I have a rare treat for us tonight,” Queen Mary said, her voice bright and almost childlike, as if
she sought her uncle's praise. “A musician from my dear cousin Queen Elizabeth's court is actually here in France, and will play us some English songs before we dine. It will be almost as if my cousin has come to visit us in person!”

Before Kate could realize what was happening, Queen Mary took the duc's arm and led him toward Kate. She swiftly curtsied as low as she could, and as she rose he nodded, though he did not look very interested. Up close, his old scars were more noticeable, marring his high cheekbones and strong jaw. There were tales that he had gained them when he was young, in fierce battle with Huguenot rebels.

“English songs?” he said. “I am sure they cannot compare in beauty to our own songs of Lorraine.”

“We shall be able to compare them ourselves, Uncle,” Queen Mary said. “Please, Mademoiselle Haywood. If you would care to use my own virginals?”

Still feeling a bit nervous at having the eyes of Queen Mary and the Guise watching her, Kate seated herself carefully on the cushioned stool at the keyboard. It was a very beautiful instrument. Queen Elizabeth played a set of virginals that had belonged to her mother, Queen Anne Boleyn, but this one seemed even finer. The sleek, polished wood was inlaid with elaborate scenes of flowers and curling ribbons, and the keys gleamed a bright white.

The crowded chamber, filled with the Guise family and Queen Mary's noble attendants, seemed to melt away and there was only music. She thought about all
the songs she knew, trying to decide which ones Queen Mary might most like to hear.

Something romantic, surely. Maybe even a little sad. She seemed to be the sentimental sort. Kate nodded and launched into the opening bars of “If Love Now Reigned,” written by Queen Mary's uncle, King Henry himself. It was a song Kate knew well, so she could also study the crowd that swirled around her as she played.

To her relief, Queen Mary led her fearsome uncle the duc back to the chairs by the hearth, and her ladies flocked around them like bright birds. Servants passed trays of wine goblets and sweetmeats, and laughter was heavy in the air.

But Kate noticed that Amelia Wrightsman was not laughing. She stood near the doorway, her face as white as her gown, staring at Monsieur d'Emours as he stood behind the duc's chair. He carefully did
not
look at her, but Amelia seemed to be unable to turn away.

As Kate watched her, wondering if she should try to go to Mistress Wrightsman's side and assist her, Toby Ridley came up beside Amelia and gently touched her sleeve. She whirled on him, her cheeks turning pink, and said something to him. It must have been harsh, for he fell back a step and shook his head. Amelia rushed away and was quickly lost in the crowd.

Toby's jaw tightened, his usually kind face like a thundercloud, and he started toward d'Emours, only to be stopped by Charles. Toby tried to pull back from his friend, and Charles spoke in low tones near his ear.

Kate's shoulders grew tense, her fingers fumbling at the familiar notes, as she feared there might be some quarrel starting in the queen's own chamber. But Toby finally nodded and let Charles lead him away.

One argument diverted,
Kate thought with a sigh as she fell back into the rhythm of the song. In public, anyway. Who knew happened behind closed doors at
Fontainebleau?

K
ate was barely awake the next morning, after the long hours of music in Queen Mary's chambers, when a message came for her from Queen Elizabeth's ambassador Sir Nicholas Throckmorton. She had been summoned to meet with him after he broke his fast. Charles Throckmorton would arrive to escort her.

A maid of the French household arrived just as the winter sun peeked through the window, bringing warm water for washing. She pursed her lips at Kate's meager selection of gowns, her unfashionable English sleeves and petticoats, but Kate just had to shrug. There was little she could do about her garb at the moment, though she did wish for one of the lace-trimmed French bodices, or at least a more stylish neckline! She would have to hunt for some new fabric, she decided, and beg someone to help her sew, for she had little skill with the needle.

After she was ready, her hair dressed in a fashionable twisted braid by the French maid and her clothes as attractive as they could make them, there was little
to do but wait. Sipping at her morning ale, she went to open the window and peer out at the gardens in the fresh new light.

In the daylight, there was none of the fairylike mystery of the pathways under the stars, but it had a freshness that made her want to run outside and take it all in, every sight and smell, every lovely inch. She wondered what she would find there, if the beauty would be as blinding and deceptive as that of the courtiers in Queen Mary's chambers last night. The Guise, Monsieur d'Emours, Queen Mary, Celeste Renard—what did they hide beneath their smiles and fine fashions?

Kate shuddered as she thought of the burned farm, the people so suspicious of each other. Elizabeth was right that something was here in France, behind the smiles and music. Perhaps Queen Mary herself was planning something. Kate knew only that she had to find out, and soon.

For just an instant, she thought of Anthony and the Hardys' pretty, respectable house. What would a life like that be like? She would be mistress of a fine household—safe, quiet. There would be no confusing palace corridors, no secrets, no fears. She smiled to think of Anthony's laughter, his kind eyes as he looked down at her.

It was a tempting idea indeed, to run away from kings and palaces and their dangers, to be normal and have an ordinary life. But it would be frightening in its own way, with no adventure, no Queen Elizabeth. She had to serve the queen now, be her eyes and
ears in this palace in faraway France, no matter what dangers it brought. All other thoughts could wait.

 • • • 

“What did you think of Queen Mary, Mistress Haywood?” Charles asked as they made their way up the stairs.

“She is certainly as beautiful as they say,” Kate answered carefully. “And most welcoming.”

“Aye, her charm is renowned. It draws everyone to her, like a magical spell that only releases people when they are out of her sight.”

Was he suggesting Queen Mary used true spells? Witchcraft was a dangerous accusation to make, even in jest. Such accusations had helped lead Elizabeth's mother Queen Anne to the block. “A spell?”

“One that can make men and women alike enthralled with her.”

Kate carefully studied his expression, but as usual she could read nothing with him. He always looked most serious. Yet she knew his studies of alchemy were his particular interest. “Are you enthralled with her, Master Throckmorton?”

Charles gave a hoarse laugh. “Me? Nay, Mistress Haywood. I fear Queen Mary's feminine charms hold little attraction for me, except for a matter of interesting study. She and her friends are much too frivolous and flirtatious, even the English ladies in her circle. I look for other qualities altogether.”

“Really? Such as what?”

Charles gave her a strange little smile. “Just not one
such as Queen Mary. Or her friend Amelia Wrightsman, for that matter.”

Why would he think of Amelia in particular? Kate thought of Queen Mary's and Amelia's many admirers, and the adroit, affectionate, but rather careless way those ladies dealt with them. “There seem many who would not agree with you.”

But there was no time for him to answer. They came to a halt at a door tucked at the end of a short corridor. Two maidservants hurried past, their arms laden with clean linens, but the rest of the wing seemed deserted. Charles knocked at the door.

“Enter!” a man's voice called.

The chamber was a large one and stuffed to the paneled walls with trunks and cases, along with stacks of books. Next to the fireplace was a small table where a tall, slender man was writing. Kate could see only a long reddish beard, a dark, close-fitting cap, and ink-stained fingers flying over the paper before him.

At last he looked up with an impatient frown. “So you are the girl who brings me Sir William Cecil's letters?”

“I am, Sir Nicholas,” Kate answered with a quick curtsy, though she thought it had been several years since she could rightly be called a girl. She took the letters from her purse and passed them to him over the cluttered desk.

He glanced over them, still frowning. “I do wonder that my old friend chose a female as his messenger. Surely he has no shortage of reliable agents now?”

Kate felt her cheeks warm. She was certainly accustomed to such attitudes in England, and they actually served her well. People often underestimated a female, especially one who was rather young and petite. But sometimes they made her want to throw something and shout, just like the queen.

Before she could answer, Charles said, “Perhaps Sir William thought a lady would attract less attention on the journey. Mistress Haywood has proved herself to be a most discreet and observant traveler, Uncle. And Queen Mary did seem to like her very much last night.”

Kate flashed him a smile, surprised and grateful for such a compliment. Charles smiled in return, and she suddenly realized that was something she had never seen before. He was such a solemn man.

Sir Nicholas glanced at her with a bit more interest. “Is that so?”

“They did tell me that Queen Mary is very fond of music,” Kate answered. “I found her to be most welcoming, though still regal, as befits her station. She wishes to know a great deal about Queen Elizabeth.”

Sir Nicholas's stern expression softened. “So she does. She asks many questions of Her Grace and our English ways. A lady of great charm, though one to be wary of. Hm. Perhaps William knows a bit of what he is doing, after all.”

“Do you find Queen Mary so charming, Uncle?” Charles said. “You spoke of your great frustration that she still will not ratify the Treaty of Edinburgh,
and that she has quartered the arms of England with those of France and Scotland. I noticed it was still on her canopy last night.”

Sir Nicholas gave a deep sigh. “I am frustrated. It is my mandate from the queen to make Queen Mary ratify the treaty and explain the quartering. Without it, I have no hope of returning to England, which would be a better place for my wife's health. Anne does pine for home. But what can I do? Queen Mary insists she must have counsel from her Scots lords before she can decide, as she is now a lady alone in the world. She says it was her father-in-law's idea to quarter the arms of England, as a compliment to her cousin, and she could not say him nay. She has the soft heart of a female—content to be ruled by good counsel and wise men, as a lady should. I cannot help but feel for her.”

“And does Mary consider you and Lord Bedford wise counsel?” Charles asked.

“'Tis true Bedford has no patience for diplomatic work,” Sir Nicholas said. “He grows too angry. But Queen Mary has the company of her brother, Lord James Stewart, now. We shall see good results soon, I am sure.”

Kate was not so sure of that. Lord James was in contact with Cecil, but also with the Guise. If Queen Mary returned to Scotland, he would lose his preeminent position. Which would Queen Elizabeth truly prefer: Mary in France or just over Elizabeth's own border?

“I must tell you, Sir Nicholas, that there may have been an attempt to steal those letters on our journey from England,” Kate said.

Sir Nicholas gave her a startled glance. “What do you mean, Mistress Haywood?”

Kate quickly told him of how she was pushed overboard on the ship, her purse taken. “I have nothing else anyone could want,” she said.

“Why did you not say something then, Mistress Haywood?” Charles asked. “We were told you merely lost your footing on the slippery deck.”

“I did not want whoever it was to know I guessed what they were after,” she said. “And I was not sure whom to fully trust.”

She still did not. The more people she met at Fontainebleau, the more complicated things became. The letters seemed to be only a tiny part of matters she could not yet piece together. Yet Charles looked so shocked. If he were the thief, then he had missed his true calling as an actor.

“Do you know what is in these letters, Mistress Haywood?” Sir Nicholas said.

“Nay,” Kate answered. “My skills with codes are not great enough yet, and Sir William entrusted them to me on behalf of Queen Elizabeth.”

“Have you any idea who would want them?”

“I do not know who could read them if they are in code. The Barnetts were aboard, but they would not have to steal them, I am sure. And there was a French party who had just transferred to the ship to return home, led by Monsieur Domville.”

“Perhaps there were French spies among the crew,” Sir Nicholas said. “The Guise have eyes everywhere,
I fear. I will have my men decipher these this very morning. In the meantime, Mistress Haywood, just keep a watch among the ladies. They are far more likely to let careless words slip, even if they don't understand their true meaning.” He sat back in his chair and rubbed wearily at his brow.

“Ah,” Sir Nicholas sighed. “If only one of these two queens in the isle of Britain were a man, and could make a happy marriage to unite the countries into one. But that is beyond even Sir William's work. We can only hope Queen Elizabeth shall marry soon and have sons. Now, Mistress Haywood, if you would excuse Charles and myself, we have business to discuss which I am sure would not interest you.”

Interest me?
What, then, was the purpose of her coming all the way to France? Kate felt a burst of anger but she pushed it away. Her work there was secret; it was the only way she could discover any little tidbit that might help Queen Elizabeth. A man like Sir Nicholas would never understand. She curtsied and hurried out of the small office and made her way back to her own room, getting lost only twice.

To Kate's surprise, when she opened her door she did not find her chamber empty. Celeste Renard was there, piling a gleaming heap of silks and satins onto the bed.

“Mademoiselle Renard,” Kate cried. “What are you doing here?”

Celeste looked up with one of her dazzling smiles. She sat on the edge of the bed, swinging her legs carelessly beneath her velvet skirts. “Mademoiselle
Haywood, there you are! Queen Mary sent these to you. She thought you might like to wear some French fashions to the reception in the grand gallery later today.”

“Queen Mary sent
me
clothes?” Kate said, amazed.

“Indeed. She is always most thoughtful.” Celeste held up a satin bodice. “What do you think? I think this blue will suit you. Perhaps with these black-and-silver sleeves? The ribbons are the newest style . . .”

Kate studied the lustrous fabrics, the narrow-cut sleeves and lace-trimmed bodices. “They are very pretty indeed. I shall not feel at all like myself wearing them!”

Celeste laughed. “That is the point of fine fashions, is it not? An armor for us ladies to hide behind.”

Kate glanced at Celeste's own gown, violet velvet and cream silk stripes with embroidered flowers. “Your own gown is the loveliest I have seen.”

Celeste gave a little twirl. “Do you like it? My aunt sent me the fabric. She lives in Burgundy, where my family is from, and they have weavers renowned for their silks.”

“Burgundy? How did you come to court?”

“My aunt once served Queen Eleanor, very long ago. When she heard Queen Catherine required new ladies, she got me the post through some of her old friends.” Celeste's glance fell. It was merely a blink, but Kate had the sense that there was more to the story. Or perhaps a different story indeed. But she knew Celeste would not tell her anything yet.

“And you are friends with Queen Mary as well?”

“Queen Mary is the kindest of souls, as well as very
merry.” Celeste held up a length of blue ribbon against Kate's hair. “Until she lost her husband, anyway, poor little queen. Now she has nothing.”

“Nothing? Except palaces and servants . . .”

“Her power here in France is gone. Queen Catherine will see to that.”

“Does she not care for her daughter-in-law? Everyone says Queen Mary came here so young, she remembers no other parents.”

“Queen Catherine has her own children to see to now, and she will let nothing get in the way of those ambitions. Her children are everything to her. She was powerless for so many years, but now she is in charge.” Celeste frowned. “And we all must remember that.”

Kate feared she would never keep all the alliances and enemies at Fontainebleau straight. How could she know whom to trust? What was real? “Will Queen Catherine deal well with Elizabeth, then?”

Celeste laughed. “How could I know such a thing, Mademoiselle Haywood? I am merely a lady-in-waiting. Now, what do you think of this petticoat for tonight? The embroidery is so exquisite. You will be thought a true Frenchwoman.”