here of late.”
“That must be a tremendous amount of work for you,” Kate said as she followed the cook into the small herb pantry. Bunches of fragrant greenery hung from the rafters over stone-topped tables, filling the air with their sweet scent. Bottles of fragrant oils were brewing on a ledge and baskets of fresh flowers sat on the floor. “But the princess did enjoy the meal so very much. She said she had never tasted such a prune tart before.”
A reluctant smile broke across the cook’s face. She plucked down some peppermint leaves and a sprig of lavender and dropped them into a mortar and pestle to grind them together. “Ah, well, I’m glad she liked it then. Appreciates good English cooking and hard work, I’m sure.”
“Indeed she does,” Kate said. “Has there been more work than usual here at Brocket Hall of late? We haven’t been as quiet at Hatfield as we’re accustomed to, either.”
The cook shook her head, scowling again. “Usually when my lord is at court, it’s only Lady Clinton to serve, and she gives us much notice if guests are coming. Lately it seems strangers are always thundering up the drive, demanding refreshments.”
“Are they sent from Lord Clinton?”
The cook shrugged. She poured in a measure of sweet red wine and a splash of milk, stirring them vigorously with the herbs. “Who knows where they come from. Luckily they soon go galloping off again. But they are up to no good—that I can tell you.”
“Are they not?” Kate asked in a shocked voice, hoping to encourage more confidences. “Why, mistress, is there something awry in the neighborhood? Some danger we should all be aware of?”
The cook peered at her with narrowed eyes. “You serve the princess, do you not? You are her lady?”
“Aye, I do serve her. As my parents did before me.”
“And you were at the dinner with the Spaniard tonight.”
“I was. But I heard nothing of any danger there. The count merely presented King Philip’s compliments to his sister-in-law.”
“Compliments!” the cook snorted. “Of course he would say naught of anything else. But my sister works at Gorhambury House. You know it?”
“Sir Nicholas Bacon’s house,” Kate said.
“That’s the one. And a good, generous master he is, if a bit eccentric, what with all those books and stargazing and whatnots.”
Kate nodded. Sir Nicholas was well-known for his studies of astronomy and astrology. “He is a good friend to the princess.”
“Then you know how he came by his house.”
“In the Dissolution of the Monasteries,” Kate said. As so many noblemen’s dwellings were these days, Bacon’s home had once been a religious house.
“Aye.” The cook studied Kate closely for a long, silent moment, as if she tried to gauge her trustworthiness just by looking. Finally, the old lady nodded. “My sister tells me Sir Nicholas had a visitor from the queen, a most unpleasant sort who tore the house nearly asunder. He claimed he was looking for heretical tracts and books.”
“Lord Braceton,” Kate said. “I fear he is at Hatfield now.”
“Then you must tell the princess to have a great care in all her doings with him!”
“Princess Elizabeth knows nothing of heresy about her person.”
“Perhaps not. But my sister at Gorhambury heard a most interesting bit of news about Lord Braceton from her friend at a house he visited in Kent in the summer.”
Ah. Now she was getting somewhere. Elizabeth was quite right when she said the servants of great houses always knew what was really happening there. Kate nodded and leaned forward confidentially. “Indeed?”
“Indeed.” The cook glanced around uncertainly. “I should not gossip, of a certes, not in these days. But we do all love the princess here, and she should know.”
“I will tell only her. If she is in danger . . .”
“She is always in danger, is she not? And her friends with her. But Lord Braceton’s errand involves
“That must be a tremendous amount of work for you,” Kate said as she followed the cook into the small herb pantry. Bunches of fragrant greenery hung from the rafters over stone-topped tables, filling the air with their sweet scent. Bottles of fragrant oils were brewing on a ledge and baskets of fresh flowers sat on the floor. “But the princess did enjoy the meal so very much. She said she had never tasted such a prune tart before.”
A reluctant smile broke across the cook’s face. She plucked down some peppermint leaves and a sprig of lavender and dropped them into a mortar and pestle to grind them together. “Ah, well, I’m glad she liked it then. Appreciates good English cooking and hard work, I’m sure.”
“Indeed she does,” Kate said. “Has there been more work than usual here at Brocket Hall of late? We haven’t been as quiet at Hatfield as we’re accustomed to, either.”
The cook shook her head, scowling again. “Usually when my lord is at court, it’s only Lady Clinton to serve, and she gives us much notice if guests are coming. Lately it seems strangers are always thundering up the drive, demanding refreshments.”
“Are they sent from Lord Clinton?”
The cook shrugged. She poured in a measure of sweet red wine and a splash of milk, stirring them vigorously with the herbs. “Who knows where they come from. Luckily they soon go galloping off again. But they are up to no good—that I can tell you.”
“Are they not?” Kate asked in a shocked voice, hoping to encourage more confidences. “Why, mistress, is there something awry in the neighborhood? Some danger we should all be aware of?”
The cook peered at her with narrowed eyes. “You serve the princess, do you not? You are her lady?”
“Aye, I do serve her. As my parents did before me.”
“And you were at the dinner with the Spaniard tonight.”
“I was. But I heard nothing of any danger there. The count merely presented King Philip’s compliments to his sister-in-law.”
“Compliments!” the cook snorted. “Of course he would say naught of anything else. But my sister works at Gorhambury House. You know it?”
“Sir Nicholas Bacon’s house,” Kate said.
“That’s the one. And a good, generous master he is, if a bit eccentric, what with all those books and stargazing and whatnots.”
Kate nodded. Sir Nicholas was well-known for his studies of astronomy and astrology. “He is a good friend to the princess.”
“Then you know how he came by his house.”
“In the Dissolution of the Monasteries,” Kate said. As so many noblemen’s dwellings were these days, Bacon’s home had once been a religious house.
“Aye.” The cook studied Kate closely for a long, silent moment, as if she tried to gauge her trustworthiness just by looking. Finally, the old lady nodded. “My sister tells me Sir Nicholas had a visitor from the queen, a most unpleasant sort who tore the house nearly asunder. He claimed he was looking for heretical tracts and books.”
“Lord Braceton,” Kate said. “I fear he is at Hatfield now.”
“Then you must tell the princess to have a great care in all her doings with him!”
“Princess Elizabeth knows nothing of heresy about her person.”
“Perhaps not. But my sister at Gorhambury heard a most interesting bit of news about Lord Braceton from her friend at a house he visited in Kent in the summer.”
Ah. Now she was getting somewhere. Elizabeth was quite right when she said the servants of great houses always knew what was really happening there. Kate nodded and leaned forward confidentially. “Indeed?”
“Indeed.” The cook glanced around uncertainly. “I should not gossip, of a certes, not in these days. But we do all love the princess here, and she should know.”
“I will tell only her. If she is in danger . . .”
“She is always in danger, is she not? And her friends with her. But Lord Braceton’s errand involves
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