Murder at Hatfield House (22 page)

“Not family visitors, then?”

“Nay. ’Twas a man sent from Queen Mary to question my lord and lady about their religious practices. A very rude and loud sort. He tore things up something fierce.”

“And his servant was a great lout,” one of the maids said. “Always down here pinching our bottoms.”

The cook poured out a mug of ale and gulped it down. “Such people came here before, of course, when the queen came to the throne, and then after that Wyatt business. They questioned Lady Eaton over and over about the Suffolks, and it made her so ill. The last one left in a great hurry, much to the relief of us all. We thought it was over until this new one arrived. He was much worse than any of the others.”

“Was this man called Lord Braceton, by any chance?” Rob asked.

“How do you know?” the cook said, surprised. “Have you encountered him yourself?”

“Sadly, I have,” Rob said. “Before we came here, we performed at Hatfield House.”

“For the Lady Elizabeth?” The cook gasped. “May God bless her.”

“Aye, for the Lady Elizabeth. Much like your master, she was in need of some merriment. Lord Braceton and his men were likewise examining her household. But he is dead now.”

“Dead!” one of the maids squealed.

“Foully murdered,” Rob said, and told them something of what happened to Braceton and his bottom-pinching manservant. “We heard tell he also visited the Bacons at Gorhambury.”

“God protect us,” the cook whispered. “What’s to become of us all? Surely the queen will send even more men after us now.”

“Did Lord Braceton find anything here at all?” Kate asked, still keeping her voice low.

The cook shook her head, obviously distracted. “I shouldn’t think so, or he would have hauled my lord off to the Tower. But he tore things up something terrible, and one of the maids said she saw him hide a letter somewhere before he left, though I won’t have anyone doing anything so stupid as search for it. We did think perhaps he was looking for that strange man who came here to sermonize once or twice, that Master Payne. Full of fire and brimstone, that one was.”

Kate sat up straight in surprise. Master Payne had been at Leighton? To what purpose? And Braceton had left a letter here somewhere?

Before she could ask anything more, a footman appeared on the stairs and called down, “The hall is prepared now, Master Cartman, and my lord and lady are finishing their supper.”

“Then I must go and make sure all is ready for the play,” Rob said. He put aside his mug and stood up, gesturing for Kate to follow. “Shall you all come watch the play?”

As they made their way to the great hall, Kate examined the house around them. Traces of the old ecclesiastical structure remained in the pointed arches and cold stone walls, but the Eatons had added grand secular touches as well, in new mullioned window glass, fine tapestries, and cushioned chairs. The new furnishings did little to banish the worn, disused air of the place, though.

The house had a strange hush about it, as if it stood still and waited for something. Patches of the paneled and plastered walls were bare and there was little furniture or plate. These days were indeed difficult for families like the Eatons, with fortunes low. Surely it was all they could do to cling to their estates. If a man like Lord Braceton went after them . . .

What lengths would they go to in order to protect themselves?

She followed Rob as he slipped into a small chamber just off the great hall, where the other actors were putting the last touches to their costumes and running through their lines. They gave Kate curious glances, but they said nothing to her. They seemed too wrapped up in their preparations.

Rob led her to a stool in a quiet corner and handed her a sheet printed with a ballad. “If you sing this at the beginning, while the shepherd is asleep and dreaming of his love, you can stand to the side of the stage and examine the audience with no one to notice you.”

Kate nodded and quickly scanned the song. It seemed easy enough to follow, a sweet, simple pastoral with a repetitive lyric pattern. As she studied the words, she noticed that Rob seemed most distracted. He paced in front of her, running his fingers through the blond strands of his hair, and he frequently stopped to study the other actors.

“Shall you tell them about your uncle?” she asked quietly.

Rob shook his head, still watching his friends. “Not tonight. I need their concentration for the play—it would be a disaster if they were weeping and confused. With my uncle gone, I must lead them now. I will tell them tomorrow, after we leave this place.”

“Will they have to look for new places in other troupes?”

“Not if I can help it. I am my uncle’s heir. I’ll have to negotiate with Lord Ambrose, or find another noble patron, to keep everyone together. My uncle had his faults, but thanks to him, we had begun to build a reputation for our plays. Writers want to sell their work to us, and noble families begin to engage us for their celebrations. We shouldn’t squander it.”

Kate saw a shadow of something like fear and doubt flicker in his eyes before he covered it with a quick flash of a smile. She was reminded again of the terrible toll these events had taken on so many people. And of how much else could happen if they didn’t find the villain soon.

“Was your uncle your only family?” she asked softly.

Rob nodded. “My parents died when I was a boy, and my uncle took me in. His brother, my father, was a farmer, and I’d never left our home before that. Thanks to my uncle, I’ve seen cities and great estates, met many people.”

“Found that you have a talent for the stage?”

“And that. I love the theater. As much as I grieved my good parents, I would have been a terrible farmer. My uncle, despite his gambling and some of his bad habits, gave me this life.” Rob shook his head, a spasm of grief passing over his face before he quickly smiled again. “I can’t believe he is gone, so quickly and so terribly. What shall I do now?”

Kate remembered Penelope telling the tale of how she lost her mother and was cast into the world alone. She thought of her own lost mother, of Queen Anne Boleyn, and of her own dear father, locked up so unjustly. So many losses. Her heart ached for Rob now, despite her previous suspicions of his motives.

*

“Who do you think the other man was?” she said.

“What other man?” Rob said, his attention turning from the actors back to her.

“The cook said men had come from the queen before to examine Leighton Abbey, including one who left in a great hurry before Braceton arrived to tear the place apart. Who could it have been?”

Rob shrugged. “Any one of dozens of the queen’s men, I suppose. She’s been sending them out ever since she took the throne, especially to places like this. Examining people’s religious practices, their loyalties.”

Kate nodded. He was right, of course. It could be anyone. Many families like the Eatons had fled abroad, and those who stayed had to be very careful. They could be searched at any time. Yet something about that worried at her. If he was a queen’s man, why would he have left so quickly, without finding what he came for?

Word arrived that the audience was ready for the play. Kate followed the actors out of the antechamber and onto the stage. As at Hatfield, it was a makeshift space of a dais hung with draperies. Some pasteboard trees and painted boulders created the shepherd’s sylvan landscape. Beyond the curtains could be heard the muffled murmurings and shufflings of the audience.

Kate stood in the shadows behind one of the trees and watched as Rob, playing the shepherd, took his place lounging against the boulder. The young apprentice, in a long blond wig and pale pink skirts, waited to make his entrance.

At Rob’s gesture, the servants swept open the draperies and Kate launched into her song.

As she sang, she studied the people gathered on benches and chairs below the dais. Lord and Lady Eaton sat at the front. He was stout and sturdy in his dark red doublet sewn with rows of gold buttons, his graying hair and beard fashionably trimmed. He didn’t seem much interested in the play, tapping his booted foot and glancing around distractedly, but it was clear Lady Eaton was entranced. Unlike her husband, she was small and delicate, pale as snow, in a saffron-colored gown that had once been the height of fashion. She studied the stage with shining eyes.

Kate wondered how such a frail lady had once served the Duchess of Suffolk, who was reputed to be very fond of the hunt and dancing. But maybe it was exile that had made Lady Eaton delicate.

Next to her sat Anthony, who appeared to be doing an excellent job pretending to be a gentleman traveler in need of lodging for the night. His good looks and fine manners made it a role he could easily play, and Lady Eaton turned to smile at him. Hopefully he also had gathered some useful information, yet somehow Kate wished he hadn’t used his chivalrous ways to get it.

Behind them sat the Leighton Abbey household, in rows by their rank. It wasn’t a large staff, and Kate remembered the cook said many had left, but there were still several young maidservants and footmen whose wages would not be as high as veteran staff. Kate carefully examined each one.

Suddenly a movement in the shifting darkness at the back of the room caught her attention. She scanned the paneled and carved walls, and for a moment could see nothing. Had she imagined it?

But no, the shadows moved again, and in the gloom she saw a woman standing near the doorway. She wore a plain black gown to blend in, and a veil covered her face completely.

An image flashed through Kate’s mind, of the veiled woman fleeing through the corridors at Hatfield. Of Ned cowering in fear at the sight of her. The woman looked the same: not very tall, of slim build, the opaque veil concealing all her features. Surely there wasn’t more than one dramatically veiled woman roaming about Hertfordshire?

Kate quickly finished the song, rushing so much through the final bars that the apprentice seemed most confused about making his entrance. Rob sat up and gave her a concerned look, but Kate knew there was no time to waste. She knew a musician was not needed for the first few acts, so as the play began, she crept off the side of the stage and made her way around the edge of the long, narrow hall, careful not to be noticed.

But despite her haste, the woman had vanished. There was no one standing at the back of the room at all. The door was open a crack.

Kate slipped through the door and closed it behind her. She found herself in a long, narrow, empty corridor. A scent of violets hung in the air, and as she stood very still and listened, she heard the brush of light footsteps on the floor.

She ran toward the sound, following it around a corner and up a narrow flight of stairs. The farther up she went, the more she left behind the lights of the house and the quieter the corridor became. She had no time for fear, though, no thought to turn back. She had to find the woman, talk to her, make her see she meant no harm. The woman surely held some important clue to what was happening.

Kate followed the sound of the steps around a sharp turn in the steps and found herself at the foot of an even narrower, twisting set of stairs. They seemed to lead up into a turret of some sort. She glimpsed a flash of swaying skirts above, and peered up to see the woman dashing up the narrow steps. Despite the tiny, sharply twisting staircase and the faint light, the woman ran with a sure step.

“Wait, please!” Kate called. “I mean you no harm. I only want to talk, I beg you.”

Her only answer was the sound of a door swinging open. Kate ran up the stairs, glad of her boy’s breeches and sturdy boots, which allowed her to move freely. To either side of her were cold stone walls, old arrow slits letting in the moonlight. A faint amber candle flame burned somewhere in the gloom above her.

At the top was a circular sort of foyer, with stoutly iron-bound closed doors all around. One door was half-open, and that was where the light emanated from. Kate dashed toward it to push it all the way open.

She glimpsed a narrow bed, a clothes chest, a small table that held the candle. But no veiled woman.

Suddenly she felt a hard blow land between her shoulders and shove her forward. She stumbled and fell painfully on her hands, the jolt going all up her arms and making her cry out.

Before she could push herself up, she heard the door slam behind her and a bolt fall into place. The candle sputtered, and a surge of cold panic rushed through her. She jumped to her feet, ignoring the pain in her hands, and ran to twist at the door latch.

Just as she feared. She was locked in.

“So foolish,” she muttered. She pounded her fists on the door, even though she knew very well everyone was much too far away to hear. She should never have run after the woman like that. She needed to be back to the play before the next song was to happen, before anyone could miss her. But her fear that the woman would disappear once again had clouded her judgment.

Trying to breathe deeply and stay calm, Kate leaned back against the door to examine the room. It was such a small space, with rounded walls and meager furnishings, but tapestries hung over the cold stone and embroidered blankets were piled on the narrow bed. It was a comfortable hidden nest, high up here in this tower.

Who was it who took refuge here?

Kate hurried over to open the clothes chest at the foot of the bed. As long as she was trapped, she might as well look for clues.

More dark-colored clothes and clean smocks decorated with blackwork embroidery were neatly folded in the chest, amid violet sachets. They were good quality, wools and velvets, cut for a slim figure, but they weren’t marked with any initials. There were caps and veils, shawls, but no books or papers. No paintings or letters. The veiled woman remained a mystery.

Kate sat back on her heels and studied the tapestries. The Marriage at Cana, not of the very best quality, but fine enough. She remembered such scenes in the rooms of Queen Catherine Parr. On the table was one book, a Bible in English, illegal since Mary became queen. Yet that was not really a clue to the woman’s identity. The Eatons were known to be a family of the new religion. Perhaps they harbored the woman as a fugitive for her faith.