Murder at Fontainebleau Read Free Page A

feet.
    She
was
very glad to be in London again, to leave the sad quiet and loneliness of the village cottage behind and slip into the stream of life once more. Strangely, away from her father’s last home, his absence felt less sharp. It was as if she carried him with her into a new adventure.
    And while the journey had passed swiftly, with Rob teaching her some new songs and telling her tales ofhis acting troupe, she was glad to see the gates of the city. Curiosity over the queen’s letter had her about to burst.
    She peered out at the gray day from beneath the narrow brim of her velvet riding hat. The hours on the road had indeed brought them into a different world. The crowded, bustling, noisy life of London surrounded them. As she and Rob passed through the gate, they joined the vast, flowing river of humanity, everyone in a hurry, intent on their own important business. Carts jolted over the muddy ruts of the lane, along with horses, mules, and people on foot with their parcels and market baskets. Even a few rare, expensive coaches rumbled past.
    The random shouts and cries amid the clang of the wheels hitting cobblestones sounded like a rare song to her ears.
    Rob reached out and caught her lead rein so they wouldn’t be parted by the crowd. Their progress was slow through the narrow streets, the grayish winter light turned even dimmer by the press of the tall close-packed buildings. The peaked rooflines nearly touched high above their heads, as if they would fall if they didn’t have each other’s walls to hold them up.
    The shop windows, at eye level, were still open, counters spread with an enticing array of bright ribbons and embroidered gloves, finely wrought gold brooches and silver rings, and leather-bound books. Their color and glimmer flashed through the frosty light as she hurried forward.
    She had quite forgotten the city smell, though, after weeks in the country. Usually she didn’t notice the London perfume at all, she had grown so used to it, but now it made her eyes water. The cold wind helped; it was nothing like the heavy, warm air when the queen and her court fled Whitehall for Greenwich or Richmond in the spring. The latrine ditch along the middle of the lane was almost frozen over, a noxious stew of frost, ice, and human waste from the buckets dumped from upper windows. It was nearly covered by the smells of roasted meats, apple cider, the sugary scents of a nearby bakery, and the smoke of dozens of chimneys.
    Eventually, they left the thickest of the crowds behind and turned toward the queen’s palace at Whitehall. It was much quieter there; the press of beggars vanished, and the road widened as it passed the gates of fine mansions.
    Most of the vast, winding puzzle of the palace complex, where Kate had lost her way many a time, was hidden from view, tucked away behind thick walls and long, plain-fronted galleries that gave away nothing of what lay behind them. Kate knew what was beyond: grand banquet halls, all carved and gilded and draped in gold-threaded tapestries; palatial chambers where courtiers would play cards and music and whisper together in masked desperation as they waited to catch the queen’s attention; beautiful gardens of mazes, fountains, and flower beds.
    It was the royal court. Her only real home now.
    She drew in a deep breath, suddenly nervous even when faced with a place she knew so well. She felt as if she floated free, anchorless in the world.
    She opened her eyes to find Rob watching her, his bright blue eyes dark, the lines around his mouth tight. “Are you well, Kate?” he asked gently.
    Kate made herself smile brightly. “Very well indeed. I can’t wait to start working again.”
    Rob said nothing, but in his smile she could see the same twinge of sadness she felt in her own heart. He urged the horses forward again, and they made their way to the foot of a stone staircase that led from the narrow lane in St. James’s