The Thorne Maze (13 page)

Jamie went to stand by Rosie and whispered to her, but Bettina stared at the doorway. Thinking Clifford was standing there yet, unsettling her, Elizabeth turned to motion him away, but only Chris waited, hat in hand.

“Sir Christopher Hatton,” the queen said, “of course, you want to offer your condolences to your teacher’s widow.”

She gestured for him to take Rosie’s chair, but evidently Bettina didn’t see that. She stood and hurried to him, her hands outstretched. “Oh, it’s been so dreadful,” Bettina cried, “and here, you’ve lost a dear friend, too.”

Bettina, the queen thought, hugged Chris a bit too hard and long, but then grieving widows could be granted some leave for overwrought emotions. She noted that Jamie Barstow, despite the fact that Rosie Radcliffe was hanging on his arm, looked angry enough at Bettina’s boldness to spit.

“All of you out now,” Elizabeth said. “I need a few moments alone with Bettina.”

They cleared the chamber, and Clifford closed the door. “Will you have a place to live—and a means of living?” Elizabeth asked the young widow as she returned to her chair. She gripped the arms of it so tightly her fingers turned stark white.

“I suppose I could stay on at Gray’s in some capacity, or go to live with my sister in Kent. Though it would tear me up to do it, I can sell Templar’s extensive library piecemeal.”

“You mustn’t do that, not to just anyone. William Cecil is ever eager to increase his library, and admired your husband, so you must speak to him, or perhaps he’ll even donate some of them for the Gray’s Inn library. Bettina, as esteemed and well-known as Templar was—do you think he had enemies, someone perhaps who hated him enough to harm him, someone who wanted him out of the way for some reason?”

She stared unblinking at the queen, as if she’d never considered such a thing or that her husband might have been murdered. Yet she did not protest or argue the queen’s implications.

“He always spoke his mind,” she whispered at last. “He was a demanding, not a coddling teacher and mentor, he said, to prepare his students for the courts and to combat the evils of the world. He often told his students, ‘The law is not made for a righteous person, but for the lawless, the ungodly, the unholy and profane, and murderers … .’”

Bettina burst into tears and buried her face in her hands. The queen put a hand to her shaking shoulder and waited until she quieted to gasps and sniffles.

“I know this is a dreadful time for you,” Elizabeth told her, “but you must immediately make a list for me of names and possible motives of those Templar may have offended. Bettina, I will pay for a fine funeral for your husband, and have him buried nearby, if I have your permission. The coroner should not keep his body long. Shall we send messengers to your family or his?”

“Oh, Your Gracious Majesty,” she choked out, “I can’t thank you enough. I—looking back now, I had so little time with him, and never was worthy of his standards, his talents.”

“I too had little time with him, but I can tell you what I observed,” the queen said. “Your bright spirit and faithful heart brought him much joy.”

Bettina burst into tears again. Seeing the woman had soaked her own handkerchief, the queen almost extended hers, until she recalled the crumbled brick inside. Templar’s murderer could well have been her attacker, someone who sneaked up from behind in the maze to maim or murder.

Hardening her resolve, while Bettina sobbed herself breathless, Elizabeth stood and fetched paper and pen from the sideboard and placed them before the poor woman.

“This is important, Bettina. You have helped me before, and I pray you will help me again.”

A half hour later, the queen opened the hall door and called Rosie to come back to spend the night with the grieving widow. She dismissed Chris and Jamie, and, trailing Clifford through the warren of corridors, took the tear-splattered list with her.

Chapter the Eighth

THE NEXT MORNING AFTER BREAKFAST, ELIZABETH MET again with her Privy Plot Council, having them use the back staircase to enter the state apartments.

Meg, Ned, Jenks, Cecil—all looked as ragged as she felt.

“While we are waiting to see what the parish officials turn up,” Elizabeth began without ado, “we must plunge ahead, assuming that Templar’s murderer is my would-be murderer, too.”

Her voice caught. Cecil shifted forward, sliding his clasped hands across the corner of the table toward her, almost as if he’d touch her. She wished Kat could be here, but it would only upset and confuse her, so Elizabeth had asked Rosie and Anne Carey to take her outside for a walk—and not near the maze.

“We will begin by reviewing evidences we were examining before Templar’s murder,” the queen continued. “Firstly, no other gowns the women wore in the masque, except for mine and, of course, Bettina’s, bore grass or dew stains on the hems. Nor did I find any hairs but mine snagged in the garters.”

She nodded to Cecil. “And I, unfortunately,” he said, “did not discover upon Templar’s body the piece of black cloth Kat saw him recover. I’m afraid we’ve been wide of the mark all round.”

“Ned,” the queen went on, “you said that the handwriting samples did not match the note I received?”

“Not the ones I have already, Your Grace, though quite a few courtiers are yet to give them to me. I could hardly make handing them over a royal command.”

“They won’t even bother now, I warrant,” she said, smacking her palm on the table. “Everyone knows the court must become even more solemn with a death among us and funeral in the offing. Besides, I will not even pretend to be promoting amusements which are not of a religious nature while the plague is still in my kingdom. The ruse of your elaborate play must be put on the shelf for now, Queen’s Master Player.

“Jenks, what of your early morning search of split places in the hedges?” she asked. Jenks looked particularly glum this morning. He had hunkered down by himself at the end of the table, away from his usual seat next to Meg.

“Oh, aye, Your Grace. The hedges are old, but big bald spots are few, what with the yew and privet patching. I checked the two thin places you mentioned at the back of the maze and found nothing snagged in them.”

“I gave the hedges a good looking over, too,” Ned put in, repeatedly tugging down his pleated linen cuffs, “just after Jenks did this morning.”

“We were supposed to go together,” Jenks muttered. “Sounds like you’re just watching what I do and crashing in after.”

“The point is,” Ned declaimed in his most erudite stage voice, “I observed no leaves or twigs broken primarily in one direction. In other words, the breaks in the hedge could just as well be exits as well as entrances for a thin intruder—or for no one.”

“Such brilliant deduction is always of use to us,” the queen said, her voice dripping sarcasm. “And this is no time for bickering among any of you.” She leveled an index finger at Ned, then Jenks. “My lord Cecil, anything else to report?”

“I believe I found the site from which the fatal brick was plucked,” he said, “though I can’t actually prove it and didn’t find it discarded anywhere.”

“Someone probably gave it a good heave-ho into the Thames or the well,” Meg murmured.

“The brick entry to the grape arbor behind the maze is crumbling a bit,” Cecil continued. “It’s the old mortar at fault—and exactly one brick is missing, chipped or lifted out.”

“Aha. And the surrounding bricks match the crumbled brick you found in Templar’s wound?” Elizabeth asked excitedly. Each time someone mentioned the grape arbor, she pictured the thin, tall Lord Darnley there, the same spoiled wretch who kicked dogs and beat horses—and who obeyed his treacherous mother’s every order.

“We could make the match now, Your Grace,” Cecil said, “as I have chipped out the brick which was next to the missing one.” He reached into his satchel under the table and fetched up a heavy rectangle swathed in a piece of burlap. While Cecil unwrapped it, from her puffed sleeve the queen drew her handkerchief and carefully opened it on the table.

“Templar’s blood?” Meg asked, gaping at the handkerchief.

“With bits of the brick in it we believe killed him,” Cecil explained.

“Looks like a match to me,” Meg whispered. “Don’t mean to brag, Your Grace, my lord, but apothecaries need a good eye to match seeds, powders, and petals, sometimes by subtle smells, too. And that reminds me, the new elixir tonic for Lady Cecil’s ready, my lord.”

Elizabeth first shot Meg a quelling look for rambling off the subject. Yet she understood Cecil’s sense of urgency. If Meg had made something special for Mildred’s melancholy moods, perhaps she’d better have her mix up something else to try on Kat, though it was hardly the same malady.

“The same, it seems to me,” Cecil was saying, “the brick’s hue, I mean. Though the rosy colors of Hampton Court’s bricks are from different kiln batches and may have weathered irregularly, I say Templar’s murderer took his weapon from what was at hand—much as those garters about your neck must have been selected nearly at the last minute, Your Grace.”

“And so,” the queen said, “are we searching for a culprit who is confident enough to know he can improvise—or one who is rash and stupid enough not to plan ahead but attacks on mere whim—or passion.”

“I’d say he—or she—is a confident criminal,” Cecil said. “I cannot fathom two crimes of passion with whatever was at hand, though, I must say, garters seem a female weapon of choice and a brick masculine.”

“Yet we shall and must proceed as if the attackers are one and the same person,” Elizabeth argued.

“At least we know we’re looking for a brick—a bloody brick,” Ned said. “And we therefore may be looking for possible bruises on hands—and scratches on the culprit from pushing through hedges.”

“Lord Darnley’s a whit scratched up,” Meg blurted. “Saw it yesterday, wrists, hands, even on his face.”

“That pretty face marred?” Ned muttered. No one else paid that comment heed, but the queen caught it.

“Before I let you go, as Lord Cecil and I have much of the kingdom’s business to see to this morning,” Elizabeth said, “I must tell you that Bettina gave me a list of those whom Templar had possibly offended. I asked for an entire list, though the names on it, of course, of people who could possibly have been in the area must be those most closely scrutinized. But, so as not to unnecessarily smear reputations, I will study the list first, then decide who of us must pursue which names. And so, with a reminder to be vigilant for scratches on skin, I dismiss you also with my thanks, all but Secretary Cecil—and Ned.”

Ned, she thought, looked pleased. Did he think she would shower him with praise for observations any of them could have made?

“You have a part for me to play to draw dose to Lord Lennox now that he is back at court?” Ned asked, jumping far afield when she just stared at him after Meg and Jenks left.

“I have a part for you to play with the ‘pretty’ Lord Darnley, as you call him. What do you know of Darnley’s practices and predilections?”

Ned gaze wavered and dropped away from her steady stare. “He’s selfish and rude,” he said, sounding not so sure of himself.

“Don’t joust with me, Ned. Darnley prefers men to ladies, does he not? And has he approached you?”

For one moment, she feared her favorite actor was at a lack for words, but he did not disappoint her. “He dared,” Ned answered, sitting up straighter, “to say he wanted play-acting lessons, not, he said, in comedy or tragedy but instruction in romance. I saw through his gambit and turned him down flat, so whatever you have in mind won’t work, Your Grace, as Darnley knows I prefer women.”

Elizabeth had never seen her principal player so much as color up before, but he blushed bright as a rose.

“Prefer,
you see,” she parried, “that is the key word. As full of himself as Darnley is, perhaps he’ll think—for him—you changed your mind. You are a fine actor, and I’d bet a throne you can convince almost anyone to anything. So you must play the part of getting close to Darnley. I am certain you can string him along and not get
too
close, if you take my meaning. You offered before to spy on my cousin Margaret, and just mentioned cozening the Earl of Lennox. But Henry Stewart, Lord Darnley, will have to do.”

“Yes, Your Grace. I can manage it, of course, and get him to sing like a canary—about his whereabouts during your attack and Templar’s murder, I assume you mean.”

“That will be a start, though you must discern if his parents have plans for him—romantic plans—with Queen Mary.”

“Oh,” he whispered. “His taste for men aside, you mean you see Darnley as an—an actor of sorts, too. He could obviously dupe and deceive Queen Mary for his own—his parents’—purposes.”

“Just do it circumspectly and quickly,” she ordered. “You wanted to write an elaborate masque for court, but now you’ve got one to act in.”

“Yes, I see. Of course, there will be naught to it, and I’ll report back soon.” He bowed himself out so only she and Cecil still sat at the table.

“Who is on Bettina’s list?” Cecil asked.

“About every colleague or student Templar ever had,” the queen told him with a sigh. “The distraught woman obviously went overboard on this, citing everyone Templar ever so much as scolded or who talked back. I will question her again and pare the list down when she is not so unhinged.”

“Then—my name is on it?”

“Templar’s berating you was evidently too far back for her to know about. No, it’s a list of people with whom Templar had any bone to pick since Bettina was his wife, stretching back about nine years—as long as you’ve been wed to Mildred—I take it.”

“Yes, I see,” he said, looking even more unsettled. “Then are Chris Hatton and Jamie Barstow on it?”

“Cecil, don’t fret. I can’t take this lengthy list seriously. Chris Hatton told me last night that Templar was even angry with me—me!—for ‘luring’ his students to serve at court. Bettina admitted she never could come up to her husband’s lofty standards either. By the way, did you hear her speak of him in the past tense last evening when she simply told us he was missing? ‘He loved this maze,’ she said.”