Murder at Fontainebleau Read Online Free

Ashley, knowing her great influence. She waved Kate ahead when she stopped to talk with one of them, through the Presence Chamber and the small dining closet, to the queen’s sanctum, the bedchamber.
    It was crowded, as it always was, but the atmosphere was lighter, the chatter free of the strained quality in the rooms outside, where no one was guaranteed a moment in the royal presence. Ladies-in-waiting and maids of honor in their pale shimmering silks gathered on cushions and low stools scattered over the floor and around the warmth of the large fireplace, giggling over their sewing, feeding tidbits to their little dogs.
    Queen Elizabeth sat by herself next to the single window, at a table covered with documents and books. The grayish sunlight filtered hazily through the panes of glass, turning the red-gold loops of her braided hair into a fiery halo and making her pale skin glow. She wore a loose robe of crimson figured velvet trimmed with white fur, with rubies adorning her long fingers and a band of creamy pearls around her hair.
    She looked every inch the Queen of the Sun that had been the subject of her most recent masque, a role she grew into more with each passing month of her reign. Yet Kate could see the shadows beneath Elizabeth’sdark eyes, which always meant the queen was not sleeping well, and her narrow lips were set in a tight line. Kate thought of the courtly gossip Rob had told her, of the scandals and worries that plagued the queen.
    But Elizabeth smiled when she glanced up to find Kate waiting. “Mistress Haywood! You have returned at last.”
    Kate curtsied and made her way closer to the window. Elizabeth tapped her long, pale fingers on the papers, her rings sparkling. There was an ink smudge on her thumb.
    â€œI am glad to see you again,” the queen said. “I trust your father had a dignified and proper funeral?”
    â€œHe did indeed, Your Grace, and I thank you for sending mourners and the wreath. My father would have been most honored.”
    â€œTo lose a parent is a sad thing. But you must know always he loved you and was proud of you, aye?”
    Kate couldn’t help but think that the queen had no such reassurances about her own father. Kate felt a cold touch of sadness. “I will always know that. My father will surely always be with me in that way. But I am glad to be back at court, Your Grace.”
    â€œYou may not be so happy when you hear my task for you, Kate,” Elizabeth said. “Please, sit. Talk with me quietly for a moment.”
    A page leaped forward with a stool at the queen’s gesture, and Kate sank down onto it gratefully. She found she was still tired from the ride, yet her nerves hummed with curiosity.
    Elizabeth glanced across the room as if to be sure her ladies were otherwise occupied before she said quietly, “As you surely know, Kate, my cousin Mary of Scotland was widowed in November.”
    Kate nodded. Rob had said that was the main subject of courtly gossip over Christmas, and she had heard talk of it even in her quiet country days. Mary had been Queen of France for only a little over a year when the young King Francis died of an infected ear after hunting in a winter storm. Queen Mary—and her influential, fanatically Catholic Guise uncles—had been a great thorn in Elizabeth’s side ever since her own ascension to the throne.
    It was said that Mary and her late husband, while always loudly proclaiming a great affection for their dearest cousin and sister-queen, still quartered the arms of England with those of Scotland and France, thus declaring themselves the
real
rulers of England.
    â€œI had heard that, Your Grace,” Kate answered. “They say Queen Mary has gone on retreat to a convent to mourn, yes? A time away from the French court and her mother-in-law, Queen Catherine?”
    â€œMourn?” Elizabeth said with a humorless little laugh. “She went into isolation for forty days