Murder at Whitehall by Amanda Carmack

while. But I fear my cousin would never be a fit subject for the hero of a romantic madrigal.”
    â€œAnd why is that?”
    â€œWhen I asked him about the lady, he denied any knowledge of her. I think he would rather go home and become a priest.”
    Kate studied Senor Vasquez closer, the pinched contours of his face above his high white ruff. “And then come back to England as ambassador, like the bishop?”
    Senor Gomez laughed. “My cousin would make a better cloistered monk than a bishop-ambassador. But I find I would be happy to come back to England again and again.”
    â€œAnd why is that, senor?”
    He gave her a puzzling smile. “It seems a land where a man can make a new fortune,
sí
?”
    â€œMistress Haywood,” a maidservant cried as she hurried into the room. “There you are. Her Grace sent for you to meet her at the privy river stairs.”
    â€œHer Grace?” Kate said, surprised. Had so much time passed already, that the queen was done with her privy council for the day? She reluctantly gave the beautiful vihuela back to Senor Gomez, and stood up to shake out her forest green skirts and smooth her hair beneath her cap. She had no idea why the queen wouldneed her at the privy stairs, but she knew she had to hurry. “Thank you for showing me the song, senor.”
    He gave her a charming smile. “Perhaps we could play together again soon, Senorita Haywood? I know many Yuletide songs from my homeland you might enjoy.”
    Kate nodded. If Senor Gomez was as open as he seemed, he might have interesting information from the Spanish faction. “Perhaps indeed, senor.”
    As she hurried out of the room, Senor Vasquez at last glanced up from his book and nodded at her. Kate curtsied, turning her head for a glimpse of the volume’s title.
Libro de musica de vihuela.
No clue to Senor Gomez’s romantic life or political ambitions at all.
    She made her way down the winding stairs and out the gate that led to the queen’s privy stairs, where she usually boarded her own barge and greeted official guests. Elizabeth’s pale-blue–and-silver gown blended into the icy river beyond, the pearls in her hair gleaming like the snowflakes that drifted around them. Robert Dudley stood next to her, also in blue and silver, whispering into her ear as she laughed and pushed him away with the ermine muff on her arm.
    â€œYou sent for me, Your Grace?” Kate said with a curtsy.
    Elizabeth glanced toward her with a smile. “Ah, Kate, there you are. Good. We have a surprise for you.”
    â€œFor me?” Kate said. She looked around, but could see nothing except the stone walls of the palace, the boats slicing past on the river.
    Elizabeth laughed, and pointed her gloved hand upriver. “Just coming into view there.”
    Kate shielded her eyes against the gray glare of the light, and saw one of the queen’s barges sliding into view. It was not the royal barge Elizabeth herself used to navigate the river, but one used to transport her court from palace to palace. It was very fine nonetheless, painted gold and white, with royal green banners snapping in the cold wind. The oars cut through the icy waters with slow, laborious movements; soon they would be too frozen for vessels to pass at all.
    She glimpsed a figure standing in the prow, a tall, stooped man wrapped in a fur-trimmed cloak, leaning on the gilded railing. There was something very familiar about his posture, and Kate caught her breath, hardly daring to hope.
    As the barge came closer, sliding toward the moorings of the privy steps, Kate saw that it truly was her father who stood there. She cried out with a surge of happiness, and completely forgot the dignity of palace etiquette to jump up and wave at him.
    Matthew Haywood waved back, and as soon as the barge docked he hurried up the steps as quickly as his walking stick would let him. Kate ran to throw her arms around him,