Murder at Whitehall by Amanda Carmack Read Free Book Online

she brought her candle closer, eagerly scanning the message. It had been too many weeks since she last heard from her father. As Matthew Haywood grew older and his eyesight faltered and his gout worsened, he used much of his energy on his compositions, sending Kate quick word of how he fared by the returning messengers who took him the queen’s own gifts of fresh meat and sweet wines. Kate knew he was most content in his cozy cottage, with a friendly widow who lived nearby to keep him some company and his work to keep him busy, yet she missed him.
    Especially after seeing Lady Catherine’s sorrow for her lost mother.
    My dearest daughter,
she read,
    You must be so very busy at court this time of year—how I remember Yuletide in my younger days! The dancing and feasting and the glorious music. I hope to show you some of the work I have finished soon, and hear your thoughts on it. Mayhap the queen can use it at her Christmas in the coming years.
    Winters of the past have been much on my mind of late, and with a very good reason. Perhaps you remember my friend Master Gerald Finsley? Or perhaps you do not, for you were very tiny when he served with us at the court of Queen Catherine Parr, of blessed memory. His sister Allison was your godmother, and most fond of you, though sadly shehas now left this world. Gerald has arrived most unexpectedly to visit me, and we have spent many an evening by my fire talking of those days. I confess, I have also boasted a wee bit about your work now, at the court of another fine and learned queen, and Gerald remembers you most fondly. He has listened to my tales of you with great interest.
    Gerald Finsley. Kate closed her eyes and tried to remember. Aye, she
did
recall him, and his sister. Allison Finsley had been so pretty and patient when Kate was barely out of leading strings, teaching the little girl to play her first notes on the virginals, and Kate felt a great pang of sadness to hear of her passing. Her memories of Gerald were more hazy—a tall, handsome, stern-looking man who played for Queen Catherine Parr in her chapel.
    The Finsleys had been two of a small circle of musicians she remembered surrounding her father when she was small, along with a husband and wife, the Parks, who were famous for their sweet duets. After King Henry died and they all left the royal court, her father went with the Dowager Queen to her dower house at Chelsea, and the Finsleys joined them for a time. The others scattered to new positions.
    A burst of laughter from the corridor outside her chamber pulled her back from the hazy memories of the past to the present moment—a moment when she realized she needed to hurry to the queen’s chamber. She quickly folded the letter and tucked it into the embroidered purse of her kirtle to finish later. She wrappeda warm knitted shawl over her satin evening bodice, and felt the weight of Rob Cartman’s lute pendant tucked away on its chain. As Kate hurried into the royal bedchamber, most of Elizabeth’s ladies were leaving, among them Lady Catherine Grey and Lady Jane Seymour, the two of them whispering together. Lady Catherine gave Kate a small nod as she passed.
    The queen herself sat at the virginals, her long, pale fingers skimming over the keys. She was dressed to retire, in a tawny brocade robe trimmed with sable, her red-gold hair loose over her shoulders, but she showed no signs of being tired at the late hour. Unlike everyone else at court, the queen never seemed to grow weary, despite her days of privy council meetings and hunting, meetings with ambassadors and hearing petitions. She would still be dancing while everyone else was drooping where they stood.
    Elizabeth did seem pensive that night, though, playing a soft, sad song while her chamber was nearly empty. Only Mistress Ashley was still there, mending by the fire.
    â€œYou’re late, Kate,” Elizabeth said, not looking up from the keys.
    Kate dropped a hasty curtsy.