Murder at Hatfield House (2 page)

The only solution to such a dirty, dangerous place was to destroy it and clean it out. That was why he was here. To crush out the treason—and get back to the civilization of London as fast as he could.

He glanced over his shoulder at his manservant. Wat slumped in his saddle, his hood drawn close over his head. The man had been more of nuisance than an aid on this journey, whining and miserable every step of the way. But he was from a good, loyal Catholic family, servants to Queen Mary for a long time, and that was essential to Braceton’s task. Plus, Wat was young and strong, able to carry all the baggage.

“Sit up straight, man!” Braceton shouted. “The faster we ride, the sooner we’ll be safe by a fire with a pitcher of ale.”

“If you can call it safe, your lordship,” Wat shouted back. “There’s been no safe place this whole journey. One cesspit after the other.”

And Wat had failed at his task in almost every “cesspit”—he had been told to make friends with the servants and listen to their gossip. Braceton himself had gotten nowhere with the stony-eyed landowners; no threats or promises could move them to do their duty to the queen. But servants were chattier, freer with their words, and they saw everything that happened in their houses. They could have been an excellent source of information, if Wat hadn’t behaved like such a pouting fool.

But Braceton couldn’t argue with Wat’s assessment of those houses. Dark cesspits of stinking treason, all of them.

And now he was on his way to the greatest pit of all. Hatfield House, the lair of the heretic serpent Princess Elizabeth.

“You’d better be of more use to me in this pit,” Braceton shouted above the wind. “Or the queen herself will hear of your piss-poor behavior.”

The horses swung around a sharp curve in the road, and in the distance Braceton could see the faint flicker of golden lamplight, the dark outline of a roof and chimneys beyond. The gates of Hatfield at last.

But suddenly a sharp, high buzzing sound cut the silence of the night. Braceton twisted around in his saddle just in time to see an arrow arc out of the forest. It glinted silver in the darkness, like a shooting star.

With a cry, Braceton yanked his horse to the side and the creature reared up in the air with a terrified scream. It stumbled in one of the deep ruts and sent Braceton flying off into the mud.

There was a thud on the ground, not far from where he lay in a stunned state, and he pushed himself up. His head was spinning from the fall, and bright spots danced in front of his eyes, but he could see clearly enough to make out the body of Wat sprawled in the road. The servant’s horse was galloping back the way they had just come.

The arrow had landed squarely in Wat’s chest. His eyes were wide and shocked, glowing glassily in the moonlight, and his mouth was wide-open in a silent scream. He had died before he could make any sound at all.

Braceton’s horse followed Wat’s down the lane, leaving him alone with the dead body—and with whoever lurked in the woods. Two more arrows flew out from the cover of the trees, landing in the tree trunk over Braceton’s head and vibrating with the force of the impact.

They could very well have landed in his chest, Braceton realized with horror. And then fury swept over his fear. He was an agent of the queen, curse it! He was here to root out the evils of treason and heresy, and those filthy beasts dared attack him for it!

He lurched to his feet and barreled into the woods as he drew his short sword. He could only see by the moonlight filtering through the branches, and it seemed as if laughing creatures lurked behind every tree and boulder. He slashed out at them, catching only leaves with his blade. Birds took flight from the treetops with terrified shrieks.

At last he saw a flash in the darkness, a whirl of a cloak as someone ran silently away. Braceton ran after that flicker of movement, crashing through the underbrush.

By the time he reached the jagged line where the trees gave way to the park of Hatfield, silent and serene beyond the low rock wall, the person had vanished. If it
was
a person, and not a demon or a ghost. Braceton’s bearded face stung with sweat, blood dripped from the tiny cuts inflicted by the branches, and his lungs felt close to bursting with the labor of his breath. Golden light shimmered in the mullioned windows of the distant house, as if to mock him.

But he caught a glimpse of something shining stuck on the rough edge of the wall. He snatched at it and found it was the torn, feathered bits of an arrow’s fletching. Whoever had shot at him had fled to Hatfield.

Braceton crushed the feather in his gauntleted fist. That witch Princess Elizabeth would pay for this—and pay very dearly.

CHAPTER 2

“C
urses on it all, Kate! This leg is going to be the death of me.”

Kate Haywood smiled at her father as she helped him lower himself into his favorite chair by the fire. The red-gold flames crackled and snapped merrily, valiantly trying to drive the chill away from the small rooms at the back of Hatfield House. The wind moaned outside the window and stirred at the faded tapestries on the wall, and the ghostlike sound of it made her shiver.

“Poor Father,” she said as she tucked a blanket around his legs. “Is your gout horrible tonight? I shouldn’t wonder, with this damp, cold weather.”

“It’s bothersome all the time now, rain or shine,” Matthew Haywood answered. “Ah, Kate, it is a terrible thing to be old. Enjoy being eighteen, my dear, before your youth is done and aches and pains beset you. I am falling to pieces.”

Kate laughed and kissed her father’s gray-bearded cheek. “You are not very old, I vow. You just claim you are so you can sit here by the fire and work on your musical compositions with no one to interrupt you.”

“Would that were so.”

“It
is
so. You cannot fool me.” Kate turned to the sideboard, where their meager plate was stored, and poured out a goblet of rich red wine. “Here, Father, this will soon warm you. The princess sent it to you herself. She says the physicians claim it will strengthen the blood.”

“Mustn’t refuse the princess, then,” Matthew said. He took the wine from her hand and swallowed a long sip. “It’s quite good. You should have some, too. We all need strong blood to survive the winter.”

“We need more than that, I fear,” Kate murmured. She thought of four years before, when Princess Elizabeth and several members of her household were dragged away from Hatfield and tossed in the Tower on suspicion of treason in Wyatt’s Rebellion against the queen. Matthew and Kate had fled and taken refuge at a friend’s house, waiting in daily fear for word of Elizabeth’s fate. Matthew was only the princess’s chief musician, but everyone associated with her was always in danger. The queen hated her young half sister, the Protestant daughter of Anne Boleyn, and would do anything to see her downfall.

But at last there could be no evidence found, and so Elizabeth was released to come home, under the strict watch of Queen Mary’s gaoler, Sir Thomas Pope, and his lemon-faced wife. Matthew and Kate came back to serve her, to bring what merriment they could to the silent house. But every day felt fraught with peril, as if they all waited with their breaths held to see what would happen next.

“What did you say, my dear?” Matthew asked.

Kate gave him her brightest smile, which felt tight and false on her face, and went to kneel beside his chair. Her father had enough to trouble him without knowing
she
worried too.

“I said I won’t have some wine before I go to bed,” she said. “It makes me sleepy, and I want to work on the new madrigal before I retire.”

Matthew gently patted her cheek. “You work much too hard, Kate.”

“On the contrary, Father.” Kate carefully lifted his leg onto a cushioned stool and slid the slipper from his swollen foot. She reached for the basket that held clean bandages and the jar of herbal salve. It sometimes helped the ache. “I have to find things to do to distract me. Otherwise I am too idle.”

“It is very quiet here, I know,” Matthew said sadly. He groaned as Kate unwound the old bandages, but he let her do her nursing task. “Most unlike when you were a child and we were with Queen Catherine Parr. But we must not draw attention to ourselves. God willing, very soon . . .”

Very soon they would once again be part of a
queen’s
household, that of Queen Elizabeth, and life would be extremely busy indeed. But those dangerous words could not be spoken aloud, despite the rumors that sometimes flew to them from London. Queen Mary was ill—her pregnancy had proved to be a phantom one, with no child but a tumor swelling her belly—and her Spanish husband, the hated King Philip, had left her again to war with France. Her people were angry with all the persecutions and burnings, the bad harvests and lack of work and food.

But Mary was still the monarch, and she would love nothing more than to see the end of her troublesome half sister. Kate’s father was right—they had to be quiet and stay out of sight. For now.

“The princess will surely want some sort of revel for Christmas,” Kate said. “We could all use some holiday cheer, even if it must be of a small nature.” Elizabeth’s allowance had been curtailed so much, she could barely feed and clothe her small household, let alone order elaborate masques. “I want to have the new madrigals done before then, and you must finish the church music you are working on.”

“I’m sure Her Grace will appreciate the music very much,” Matthew said. “But you still need your sleep.”

“I will sleep, Father. I promise.”

“Good. Now, are you quite done torturing me?”

Kate laughed and tied off the ends of the fresh bandage. “I am. You can drink your wine in peace.”

She kissed his cheek and noted the gray that flecked his beard and his dark brown hair, the same color as her own thick, heavy tresses. He had lost weight of late, and his face was pale and creased; his green eyes, also like hers in color, were rimmed with dark circles.

He
did
grow older in their exile, and it pained her to see that. Her mother, Eleanor, had died when she was born, and for all Kate’s life it had been only her father and herself, a cozy little family. He had worked as a court musician ever since he was a boy, and when Kate was young he was appointed to the household of King Henry’s last wife, Catherine Parr, a high and prestigious position where he also came to know Princess Elizabeth.

Matthew had taught Kate his art and trade, and she loved music with all her heart. When she sat down to create a new song, the sounds in her head drove away the fears and dangers of the real world and lifted her up into her own, secret place. One where she was free.

But there were some things even music could not banish.

The wind suddenly rattled violently at the window, making Kate jump. She hurried over to secure the latch on the old glass, and a cold gust swept between the cracks and tugged at her loose hair. For an instant, she saw her own reflection there, her round face and wide green eyes fractured and wavering, ghostly in appearance.

Kate laughed at her silly fancy and reached for the old velvet drapery to drag it closed. But then she saw something else, a flash in the kitchen gardens outside. It was very late—surely no one had any errand out there now? The cook and her maids would be asleep now. Kate peered closer but could see nothing.

There was a knock at the door, and Kate yanked the draperies shut to close out the night and all its dangers. She had enough to concern her inside the house without imagining garden ghosts.

“What can it be at this hour?” her father grumbled. He reached for his walking stick, but Kate hurried over to press him back down into his chair.

“I will go see what it is, Father,” she said. “You finish your wine.”

It was Peg, one of Princess Elizabeth’s serving maids, who stood outside the door. Like Kate, Peg was still fully dressed, a shawl wrapped warmly over her gray wool dress and her silvery hair straggling from its cap.

“Begging your pardon, Mistress Haywood, but Her Grace cannot sleep.”

Kate nodded with a sigh. This had been happening ever since the princess returned from the Tower. Sleepless nights and bad dreams. Only music seemed to help soothe her.

“I will go,” Matthew said. Kate looked back to find him struggling to rise from his chair.

“No, Father,” she cried, and hurried over to press him back down again. “I can go tonight. You need to stay off your feet and rest.”

Matthew looked as if he was going to protest, but Kate grabbed up her faded and mended cloak and her precious lute, which had once belonged to her mother, and followed Peg into the corridor before he could say a word. She needed the cloak whenever she wandered away from the fire at Hatfield—the old halls were narrow and chilly. Wind whistled through the windows and along the wooden floors.

At least it was better than Woodstock, Kate thought as she and Peg dashed up the stairs. That house, the first prison Queen Mary sent Elizabeth to after the Tower, had literally been falling down around their ears. Chunks of the roof would land at their feet as they walked in the garden and rain would leak through into the rooms. Hatfield was a smaller, more comfortable manor house of pretty red brick and many chimneys, but it was still cold and lonely.

And the shadows that seemed to lurk in the corners were just as fearsome. Torches and candles were expensive and to be used sparingly. Nights were dark and quiet.

But the princess’s bedchamber glowed with light. Candles were set on every table and atop every clothes chest, and lined up on the fireplace mantel. A fire roared in the grate, and the draperies were drawn back to let in the night’s meager moonlight. No shadows were allowed to lurk there.

The bed, set up on a dais and draped in faded red hangings, was turned back to reveal the pale sheets and bolsters, but it was not occupied. Princess Elizabeth paced back and forth in front of the fireplace, the furred hem of her robe stirring the rushes scattered on the floor with every turn. Her red-gold hair spilled down her back, and she held a book in her long, elegant white hands, though it wasn’t open. Even study couldn’t distract her tonight.