Murder at Whitehall (19 page)

“When Queen Catherine was married to Thomas Seymour. And Thomas Seymour's child would not be a princess,” Rob pointed out.

Mistress Bouchard gave a helpless shrug. “All I know, my dears, is that Queen Catherine asked me to keep this safe, so I have. I only wish I could have kept her own baby, her wee Lady Mary, safe, too. Such a pretty babe, red hair and a little rosebud mouth, just like her mother.” She closed the box with a snap and held it out to Kate. “You take it to Queen Elizabeth now, Mistress Haywood, and tell her to remember all Queen Catherine did to keep
her
safe.”

Kate thought of the music Queen Catherine had entrusted to her own father when Catherine's life was in peril, and was sad to realize that a queen could only trust a very few of the people who served her. Could the doll fit with the music? It felt almost as if Queen Catherine was reaching out to help her stepdaughter one more time.

She took the box carefully from Mistress Bouchard's shaking hands. “I will guard it most carefully. I promise.”

Mistress Bouchard nodded, and sat back in her chair, as if satisfied that she had kept her long-ago promise.

“What happened to the baby? To little Mary Seymour?” Rob asked.

“I never saw her after Sir Thomas sent her away with the duchess. For all that the duchess was Queen
Catherine's great friend, I heard tell she had her own little ones to worry about in those uncertain days and didn't want the bother of another, especially one who had to be kept in state as the daughter of a queen. Then Lady Mary died when she was still just a babe.”

“How very sad for Queen Catherine,” Kate murmured. To wait so long for a child, only to lose the faith of her husband, her life, and her precious baby.

“Aye. If they had let
me
go with her, along with the others, I would have looked after her better. The poor little child . . .”

*   *   *

Master Orrens's workshop, where the maid had said he worked on his creations before bringing them to his shop, was one of a long row of plain, whitewashed buildings not far from the manor, near the river where deliveries could easily be made. Smoke rose from the chimneys of all the nearest buildings, but none from the low, squat space of the tiremaker.

Kate went up on tiptoe to try and peer through one of the windows, but the glass was too dirty and she could glimpse nothing of the room beyond.

“Shall I boost you up into the window?” Rob asked.

Kate had to laugh at the memory of the last time she had tried to get into a deserted building near Nonsuch Palace, when she had landed with a most ungraceful tumble on the floor. “Nay, I think we can try the door first. Though it does appear no one is here. I wonder where Master Orrens really has gone? Do you think he could have returned to France, as the maidservant suggested?”

Rob shrugged. “If he is a Hugenot, France should surely be the last place where he would want to go. Especially after he has built up a prosperous business here over so many years. Few men would throw away a fine career such as that.”

Kate nodded. Few men would. Many spoke often of high moral ideals, but when it came to it their careers, whether courtly or mercantile, would prevail in the end.

The front door suddenly swung open, startling her. She fell back from the window, and turned to see a young man standing in the doorway. He was tall and thin as a wheat sheaf, his dark hair rumpled, an apron covering his plain russet doublet. He held a length of velvet in his hand, which was surely better than a dagger, but Kate could see the flash of fear in his eyes.

“Who are you?” he demanded. “What do you seek here?”

Rob stepped forward, but Kate took his hand to hold him back. “I am sorry, but we mean no harm. I assure you,” she said softly. “We are merely looking for Master Orrens.”

“He ain't here,” the boy said. “What do you want of him?”

“I am Mistress Haywood, musician to the queen. She has seen some of Master Orrens's work from the
past, and may wish to commission more for her courtly masquerades.”

“Truly?” The boy looked as if he very much wanted to believe her, yet the suspicion was still there. “You aren't the first to come looking for him of late.”

“Am I not?” Kate said. “I understood he has not done work for the court for some time now. Has he retired?”

“He went away a few days ago, said he had to go abroad to find some supplies, but we haven't heard from him since. I've been trying to make some hats we could sell in the shop.”

“Abroad?” Kate said. “To France, mayhap?”

The boy scowled. “Where would you hear that?”

“From Mary, at Master Orrens's house. She knows not where he went, too, and that was what she imagined might have happened. She said he came from Lille.”

The boy's frown flickered just a bit. “You talked to Mary?”

“I did. She was most helpful. Do you know her?”

“She's my sister. If she thought it was well to talk to you . . .” The boy glanced back over his shoulder, before he carefully closed the door and stepped nearer to Kate and Rob. “'Tis true I know not where he has gone. But I can tell you one thing.”

“Anything you could tell us would be most appreciated, especially by the queen,” Kate said.

The boy swallowed hard. “A man came to visit Master Orrens a few days ago, said he was looking for
something the master made many years ago, a small crown.”

Kate thought of the finely wrought silver-and-gold piece that sat upon the poppet's head. “Who was this man?”

The boy shrugged. His expression had gone from one of suspicion to fear. “He wore a long cloak with a hood, and Master Orrens took him to the back room before anyone could see him. And I didn't see him leave, either. But later that afternoon, the master seemed most worried about something. It was after that he decided to leave. I do wonder . . .”

“Aye?” Rob asked gently. “Where do
you
think he has gone?”

“I wondered if it was that crown. Maybe he went to find it?”

Kate wondered if that could be true—surely Master Orrens had made many such objects? Would he even remember one piece out of so many? Or perhaps the mysterious visitor had threatened him in some way. But it seemed that until he returned from wherever he had gone, she would be able to find out little else.

She gave the boy her name and direction, as she had with her sister, and asked him to send her word if Master Orrens returned. But it felt like searching for a shred of that crown's gold thread among a field of daffodils.

L
ater that night, Kate laid out the two pieces of music side by side on her desk, along with the coded poem Rob gave her. The ink was rather faded on the old song Queen Catherine had given her father, but she could still clearly read the notes.

Each of these marks stands in for something else—a feeling or an idea,
she remembered Allison Finsley telling her, as she guided Kate's childish fingers over a sheet of music. Each of the marks stood in for something else—could that be the key now? What were the odds that two coded pieces of music would fall into Kate's lap at the same time? Kate had to at least find out if there was a connection.

Kate reached for a blank paper and her quill and ink, and started to line up the document from the Spaniards' room with the words of Queen Catherine's poem. It was a very slow process, and her eyes began to water from trying to see a pattern. Nothing seemed to match up, and she began to feel foolish for even entertaining such an idea.

But then the letters she scribbled on her own paper suddenly came into focus and she could pick out a pattern, matching the letters of the poem to some of the
strange numbers. She reached for the volume of Plato she had been studying, the guide to musical codes in
The Republic
, and quickly compared them. The letters snapped into place when she looked at them as matching bars of music and letters.

Melville Village, Scotland—February 1559—The Lady Mary—church of St. Saviour—in the church porch . . .

The Lady Mary. Mary Stuart? Surely not. She was queen of two countries, and from what Kate had heard was most careful of her high position. She had also not been in Scotland since she was a toddler. But why was there a coded letter between a Spaniard and possibly a Scotsman, both of whom were from countries stated to be Queen Mary's foe?

Kate closed her eyes with a groan, sure that there was something just beyond her vision, some glimmering speck that would make everything click into place like a song. Who betrayed his country in such an alliance—the Scot or the Spaniard? Or perhaps they both played an elaborate double game, as everyone at court so often did. But whatever the game was, it had cost Senor Vasquez his life.

And where did Queen Catherine Parr's work come into the scheme?

Kate thought of everything she remembered of Queen Catherine. An educated woman of great intellect and conviction in the new faith, a center of learning at her own glittering court—and a woman caught in marriage four times, the last two to King Henry and then to Thomas Seymour. Tom Seymour—who also played a dangerous game with the loneliness of a
young princess. A wicked game that threatened Elizabeth still, and thus all of England.

What was it that bound all these people together, the past and the present—Queen Mary, Queen Elizabeth, Queen Catherine? Kingdoms, thrones, families . . .

Children.

It was said Queen Mary of Scots was sure she would be pregnant by her French husband at any time, bringing Scotland and France even closer, giving her even more reason to claim the English throne. Queen Elizabeth had no child, no husband even, and Cecil and the rest of the privy council, not to mention the queen's many suitors, grew more frantic every day to change that. Queen Catherine had longed for a child more than anything.

Yet there had been no child with the king. And when she
did
have her own child, it killed her, as it had Kate's own mother. But Eleanor Haywood had never seemed truly far from Kate's side, had left her an inheritance with her music. Had Queen Catherine tried to do the same? Had she made her baby dolls and crowns? A little baby with her mother's dark red hair . . .

Mary.

Kate's eyes flew open as she remembered Queen Catherine's face in her own hazy memory. The heart-shaped pale face, soft gray eyes, waves of dark red hair. A kind smile. And the girl on the stairs at the Rose and Crown. She looked much like a very young Queen Catherine, but also somewhat resembled Queen Elizabeth, with the pointed chin, the perfect posture. Pale skin, red hair. And Kate hadn't come across anyone
who'd witnessed Queen Catherine's daughter's death. What if Mary hadn't died after all?

Kate scanned the rest of the document, and managed to read a few more words, though she could make little sense of them. Mary could be any lady, of course, there were so many Marys about. Almost as many as there were Catherines. But who would someone like Senor Vasquez care about enough to keep a paper coded by a song of Queen Catherine's composing? Was it used in something else?

“Kate!” someone shouted, and there was a pounding knock at her door. “Kate, you must help us!”

Startled, she leaped up from her table, nearly toppling her inkwell. She quickly folded the music and stuffed it into the purse tied at her belt before she hurried to the door.

It was Violet Green who stood there in the corridor, her blond curls falling from her cap, her eyes wild. She held tight to the hand of Lady Jane Seymour, who looked as if she longed to just pull free and run away. But Vi's grasp was too strong on the girl's thin wrist.

“Whatever is amiss?” Kate demanded. “What's happened?”

“Oh, Kate, I do not know where else to go,” Violet said. “You will surely know what to do—how to tell the queen.”

“How to tell the queen what?”

“I was sent to find Lady Catherine Grey and bid her wait on the queen for her walk in the gardens, but all I could find was this minx.” Violet shook Lady Jane by the hand, and deftly dodged away when Lady Jane in
turn tried to kick her. “She says Lady Catherine has run away!”

“Run away!” Kate cried. She had seen Lady Catherine's unhappiness, of course—everyone did—but she would not have thought her so rash as that.

Lady Jane set her dimpled jaw at a mutinous angle that made her look much like her brother, Lord Hertford, but her pale blue eyes shimmered with tears. “They are in love! It is not right to force them apart, surely.”

“They . . .” Kate said. “So Lady Catherine has gone somewhere with your brother?”

“I . . .” Lady Jane bit her lip and glanced away, but her hand had gone limp and resigned in Violet's grasp. “I do not know for certain. I haven't seen Ned today. She had a note from him, and she just said she had to go to him.”

“Where is the meeting place?” Kate said. Perhaps if she could find Lady Catherine before she did something truly foolish, the queen would not even have to know what happened.

Lady Jane shook her head. “Tell us!” Violet cried. “You will see your friend and your brother in the Tower if they are caught.”

“Nay!” Lady Jane wailed.

“She is right,” Kate said firmly. “We must find Lady
Catherine and help her. Please, Lady Jane, tell me where she has gone. If we can bring her back here before the queen realizes what has happened . . .”

Lady Jane broke down in weeping. “She went to the Rose and Crown.”

“The inn?” Kate said, remembering the day they had gone ice-skating, the girl on the stairs.

“They have met there before,” Lady Jane sobbed. “I don't want them to be found out. They only want some time to be together!”

“They will be together with their heads on a block if they are not more careful,” Kate muttered. She reached for her cloak and swirled it over her shoulders, pulling up the hood. “I will go after her.”

“Shall we come with you?” Violet asked. Lady Jane just sobbed.

“Nay, we must have a care, Vi,” Kate said. “And you should try to make Lady Jane calm herself. She will give it all away.”

Violet nodded grimly. “You must have a care as well, Kate. I am sorry to have brought you this trouble. I just don't know who else to turn to . . .”

Kate gave her friend a quick smile. “You did the right thing. I shall be back anon.” She wanted to help Lady Catherine, the silly, romantic, strangely sweet lady. But even more so she wanted to know what was happening at the Rose and Crown.

She ran down the stairs toward a door that led onto a kitchen garden and out to the Strand. For a moment, she was tempted to go back and find Rob, to ask him to go with her, but there was no time. He could be
anywhere in the vast corridors of the palace, and she had to hurry if she was to help Lady Catherine.

And if she wanted to find the red-haired girl with the face of Catherine Parr.