Murder at Hatfield House (23 page)

Kate went to open the book, checking for any inscriptions or notes. On the back page was written, in careful letters,
I remember. From your faithful daughter.
There were no names or dates.

As she set aside the volume, she felt a small rush of cool air touch her ankles, a fresh breeze in the small, stuffy room. She followed it to see that one of the tapestries stirred slightly at the floorboards. She pulled the stiff, heavy cloth back to find a narrow doorway cut into the stone.

Dizzy with relief, she tugged it open. The latch was stiff, as if it wasn’t much used, but she set her booted feet and pulled hard until it squealed on its hinges and she could slip outside.

She found herself on a narrow walkway, held back from the night beyond by a low, crenellated stone wall. She peered past it to see a courtyard far below, deserted and dark. Past that she glimpsed the gardens of Leighton Abbey, the low, quiet roofs of the old monastic outbuildings. There was no sight of the veiled woman.

Kate followed the walkway around the wall, hoping to find another doorway or perhaps a window large enough to climb through. At last she discovered a stone stairway that wound its way down the outside of the tower. Breathless with relief to be free, she ran down it and hurried through a half-open door at the tower’s base. Now she just had to find Rob and Anthony, and tell them about the veiled woman.

She was in a corridor, probably near the kitchens, she thought, as she examined the roughly plastered walls and flagstone floor. Buckets and muddy boots lined the baseboards. She couldn’t hear any voices or catch a glimpse of anyone, but she dashed into the house.

She turned a corner, and found herself in a pantry of some sort—a small room lined with tall shelves laden with pottery pitchers and thick glass bottles, baskets of fruit—kept cool to preserve the food. At the other end was another door, half-open to reveal a bar of light. As she crept carefully closer, she heard a man’s deep voice, answered by another man, higher and younger.

“. . . when these benighted actors leave. I never should have let them in the house.”

“Why did you? Things have been going well of late. Quiet, since the queen’s last emissary departed.”

“Lady Eaton wanted to see the play. She misses the court life, I fear, being in the thick of things. But we need the quiet if we are to make what we so devoutly wish come to pass. Yet I fear this quiet will not last.”

Kate carefully peeked around the door and saw it was Lord Eaton talking, along with a slim, dark young man she didn’t recognize. Their faces looked most solemn. They were walking toward her little pantry, and she feared they would find her there. She knew she should show herself, claim she was lost, but something held her back. She wanted to know what the event they “devoutly wished for” was.

The Eatons harbored the veiled woman. What if they were not to be trusted? What if they threatened Elizabeth’s well-being?

As their footsteps came closer, Kate ducked behind one of the shelves and crouched down as low as she could, praying she would not be seen. She held her breath as the door slowly opened.

CHAPTER 18

“A
ye, the actors seem harmless enough, I think,” Kate heard Lord Eaton say as the men stepped into the room. Bottles on the shelf rattled, as if he searched for something. “My lady wife has been down in spirits ever since she was sent away from Bradgate Manor. She and Frances Grey were great friends, and she was much fond of the girls, especially Lady Katherine. She misses the liveliness of that life. Mayhap a play can remind her of those days.”

“And actors do travel to many households. They might have news we do not.”

The rattling abruptly ceased, and Lord Eaton sighed heavily. “They did bring word that Lord Braceton is dead. Murdered.”

“Murdered!” the younger man cried. “But—surely blame will be somehow attached to us. Everyone knows the man was here.”

“We must pray not. He went to Gorhambury after Leighton, and it’s well-known the Bacons are more suspected than we are by the queen. We live quietly here and have for some time, ever since . . .” Lord Eaton’s voice trailed off, and then he went on more quietly. “We have to, after the last visitor from the queen. No evidence was found against us then either.”

“Because he left in such a hurry. What is to be done now?”

“What
can
we do? It’s too late to flee, as others have done. With luck, Braceton can’t be connected to us.”

“Better that Hatfield should be blamed?”

Lord Eaton was silent for a long moment. When he spoke, he sounded deeply weary. “The Lady Elizabeth will surely not be blamed either. She cannot be; she’s our best hope, since sadly the Greys are a spent force.”

“Everyone knows the queen’s hatred of her sister.”

“And everyone also knows Queen Mary is ill. The Lady Elizabeth is clever. She has removed herself from tighter corners before. The Tom Seymour business, Wyatt, Dudley. Surely the death of a bullying functionary can be as nothing to her.”

“Do you truly think that’s all Braceton was?”

“Nay. He had the power to cause us trouble enough. But he is dead now. Hopefully anything he knew died with him.”

Kate’s legs were cramping where they were tucked up beneath her, and she bit her lip to hold back a groan as she tried to stay still. What had Braceton come to know here at Leighton?

There was the sound of a door slamming down the corridor, and running footsteps. Someone called out, answered by a shout of laughter.

“What was that?” the younger man said nervously.

“Naught but the servants, I’m sure,” Lord Eaton answered. “They are overly excited to have those actors in the house, just as their mistress is.”

“Was it truly a good idea to let them in? They could be spies.”

“Spies for whom? We have nothing to find any longer, not by either side. And I told you, Lady Eaton needed the amusement.”

“What about your—guest in the old bell tower? What if they came across
her
?”

The veiled lady?
Kate leaned closer to the shelf, holding her breath as she waited to learn more about the mysterious woman. Who was she to be here at Leighton? To be creeping about Hatfield?

Lord Eaton paused again, and the bottles rattled as he seemed to sort through them. “How could they see her? She keeps to herself and never speaks to anyone. I’m not sure she
can
speak. And if someone saw her—well, everyone has a strange relative or two lurking about.”

“You should have turned her out long ago. You can’t afford reminders of past alliances. Not if you want to keep this estate. You know why Braceton and his ilk were scouring the countryside now of all times.”

Ah—so it
was
true some courtiers like Braceton were taking advantage of the queen’s piety to enrich themselves. And surely Leighton Abbey would be a prime target. The house was filled with possible culprits. And she remembered the cook’s words about a letter of some sort Braceton left behind. Where could such a thing be? How could she find it, especially since she needed to be involved in the play and affect a servant’s humble demeanor?

Kate’s leg accidentally slipped, knocking lightly against the shelf. Her heart pounded and she held her breath. The men didn’t seem to hear her, though. Lord Eaton took down some bottles and they turned toward the door.

“Lady Eaton would never send her away,” he said. “Not after what they saw together. We must wait and bide our time. It has saved us thus far.”

“For how long?” the younger man said impatiently, fiercely. “It has been years! It could be years more. We won’t be so lucky forever. Braceton came so close—”

“Hush!” Lord Eaton hissed. Their voices grew fainter as they moved away, and Kate strained to hear them. “’Twas just such hotheaded nonsense that got men like Suffolk killed. He knew not when to leave well enough alone.”

The door shut behind them, and for a moment Kate feared she would be locked in again, with no escape route this time. But she didn’t hear the click of a lock or the thunk of a bolt, and once she was sure no one else was coming, she unfolded her legs and held on to the shelf to pull herself to her feet. Pins and needles shot through her skin, and she gasped.

I could be cozy at home with my music
, she thought. What was she doing sneaking through strange houses, listening to half-understood conversations, and chasing veiled women up towers?

Yet deep inside, she felt a thrill to be doing something, anything, to help Princess Elizabeth, who had done so much for Kate and her father. True, she did not have the answers yet, but she was sure she was very close. So close she could nearly reach out and touch them.

She needed to find the veiled woman. And that letter.

Once the pain in her legs subsided, Kate tiptoed to the door and carefully pulled it open. She peeked out and found the corridor empty. She let out an impatient sigh as she felt a pang of disappointment. What had she expected? That the woman would be lurking about, waiting, when she’d already gone to such lengths to hide herself? It would be no easy task to find her at all.

Yet she had been at Hatfield. Not a terribly far journey, but surely not an easy one for a woman all muffled in black. Someone must have noticed her. And why was she at Hatfield, if she lived here at Leighton? Who was she there to see?

Kate made her way back toward the great hall. It was silent but for the buzz of low conversation, so it seemed there was an interval in the play and she was not quite as late as she feared. She needed to find Anthony and see if he had discovered anything from Lady Eaton, who seemed so happy with his company. And she had to beg his help in looking for that letter. He was disguised as an aristocrat and she as a servant; he would have much more freedom to wander the house.

She glimpsed Anthony near the doorway, talking to Lady Eaton, who was obviously trying to flirt with him. Kate carefully gestured to him, waiting just outside the doorway until he noticed her. He made his excuses to the disappointed-looking lady.

“What is it?” he asked quickly in a low voice.

She hurriedly told him about the mysterious letter, obtaining his agreement to search for it, and just in time, for as she stepped back into the small antechamber, someone grabbed her arm.

Kate gasped, cursing herself for her distraction. She whirled around to find Rob standing there, half-clad in his shepherd’s costume and half in his own clothes. “Where on earth have you been, Kate?” he demanded. “We are in the midst of a play! The interval will not be long, and you need to know the song for the second part. . . .”

CHAPTER 19

“W
on’t you join me for a goblet of wine, Sir Anthony?” Lady Eaton said in her low, breathy murmur as she took Anthony’s arm and led him from the hall during the interlude of the play. Behind the makeshift curtains, the clatter of changing scenery could be heard, and the audience was talking together in a low rise and fall of voices.

Lord Eaton had disappeared during the first act and had not yet returned, but Lady Eaton was most hospitable, Anthony thought as he studied her flirtatious smile.
Find the letter for me, please,
he remembered Kate whispering, her eyes wide and beseeching as she touched his hand.

Anthony couldn’t deny her any help he could give. He feared it would be very difficult for him to deny her anything at all; it had been thus ever since he met her.

He had to admit that under normal circumstances, talking with Lady Eaton would be no great hardship. She was still a pretty woman, despite the trials her family had been through of late, albeit too pale and too thin under her dark brown velvet and brocade gown. A sort of quiet sadness lurked around her faded blue eyes, and he was a man who couldn’t bear female sorrow.

God’s toe, but he would do anything to help Kate, his sweet friend. But Kate had rushed off to hurl herself into even more danger with that damnable actor, and all Anthony could do was find the information that might stop her.

“My husband has a very fine Rhenish wine he recently received,” Lady Eaton said. Her pale cheeks were flushed pink from the pleasure of seeing a play, and her fingers curled tightly, eagerly around his arm as she led him into a small library off the hall. “I am sure you would enjoy trying some.”

Anthony carefully studied the chamber as Lady Eaton shut the door behind them and hurried over to unlock a cabinet against the tapestry-hung wall. Draperies were drawn tight over the small windows, keeping the room warm and stuffy despite the lack of a fire in the grate. There was little furniture beyond the cabinet, a writing table, and a couple of stools, and there were very few books on the shelves.

Had most of the shelves held forbidden books that were hidden away? The Eatons were, after all, a Protestant family, friends of the Greys. Anthony was sure that was one of the keys to getting into Lady Eaton’s confidences.

“I would indeed most appreciate a goblet of your husband’s new wine,” he answered. “It has been some time since we’ve seen any wines from the German states, I fear.”

“Many of our dear friends have been forced to make their homes there, sadly,” Lady Eaton said. She took a pottery bottle from the cabinet and poured out a generous measure of the pale golden wine into two goblets. “We send them news of home and aid when we can, and they send us small gifts in return.”

Anthony took the goblet she handed him and held it up in a salute. “To absent friends, then, Lady Eaton. May they return home very soon.”

Lady Eaton gave him a tentative smile over the rim of her goblet. “I wonder, Sir Anthony, if perhaps we share some of the same friends? Your estate is near Hatfield House, I believe you said.”

Anthony remembered the tale he and Kate had concocted to tell the Eatons. He was a Protestant knight, somewhat dispossessed under Queen Mary’s reign, but still of good breeding, who had met with the actors on his way to London and decided to pay his respects at Leighton Abbey.

“Indeed it is,” he answered. He took a sip of the wine. It was very good, sweet and strong, and he knew he would have to go slowly with it if he wanted to keep a steady head at this vital moment.