Free Murder by Misrule: A Francis Bacon Mystery (The Francis Bacon Mystery Series Book 1) by Anna Castle Page A

are. I've a specialty in foliage, I do, since I was a wee slip. I sewed leaves for Queen Catherine's wedding masque, I did."
    Tom racked his brains to remember who Queen Catherine was. Trumpet got it first. "You don't mean Great Harry's last wife?"
    "That's her." She clapped her hands, pleased with her surprise.
    Tom blinked at her, both repelled and bemused. This tiny sorceress had survived three monarchs.
    Ben said, "Goodwife, we want to ask you a question or two about the events in the lane below on Queen's Day."
    "First another song, good sirs. You promised." She folded her hands across her apron and tilted her head, ready to listen.
    The boys consulted together in whispers. They decided to give her a round of "The Holly and the Ivy." Everyone liked it and they might as well practice since it was bound to be called for during the coming Christmas season.
    The old woman listened raptly. When they finished, she loosed a long, gargling sigh. "Beeyoootiful!"
    Ben returned to the matter at hand. "Did you see anyone in the lane that day?"
    She cackled. "I saw you. And you and you and you." She pointed at each of the boys in turn. "I saw Captain Ralegh and the one with the suns. Which one is he?"
    "The Earl of Cumberland," Tom said. "The Celestial Knight."
    "That's him. He don't get his garb from us."
    "We mean before, Goodwife," Trumpet said. "Before the barrister was murdered."
    "Hmm." The crone's gaze shot to the window with a sharp gleam of malice. Tom felt a stab of fear for his angel. Had they drawn a witch's envy toward her?
    She trotted to the window and clambered up on a high stool. She settled herself in what was obviously her accustomed position to show them how well she could see the lane below. The boys moved to stand around her so they could follow her gaze. She reached out a wizened hand and squeezed Tom's buttock. She clucked her tongue wickedly as he shifted back a step.
    "I saw a barrister," she told them. "Them's the ones with the velvet stripes on their sleeves. Two welts: that's a barrister. I know my robes. Whether 't was the one as was killed, I couldn't say. He was up at the top of the lane, see there? Coming through the arch."
    Tom twisted to look without placing his body within reach of her hands.
    "Was he alone?" Trumpet asked.
    She nodded. "Alone, alone-oh. Running as fast as he could with his arms a-pumping and his gown a-flapping."
    "Why was he running?"
    "Why? To escape the Wild Men, of course."
    "Who?"
    "The Wild Men." She cackled at their confusion. "Two of 'em. From the pageant, good sirs. Wearing my leaves. I'd know 'em a mile away."
    "Essex's pageant," Stephen said. "They'll be his men, then."
    "Why were they chasing the barrister?" Tom asked.
    "I don't know, good sirs." She sniffed. "You might ask that girl you was a-singing to."
    "How—"
    "What did I say? I saw you leering up at her. I can put one and one together and come up with two, old as I am. She was a-standing in the winder where she worked when you found her. Watching the street like she shouldn't 'a been." Never mind that she'd been doing the same.
    "Where she worked? What sort of work?" Tom feared the worst. Had he fallen in love with a strumpet? Again?
    "She's a limner, good sir. Didn't you know?"
    A limner was a painter of the miniature portraits that were so fashionable these days. She was a craftswoman, then; not noble at all. She was beneath him now that he was a member of the Inns of Court. He would have the advantage in wooing her. Something about her elfin smile told him he would need every advantage he could muster.
    "Do you know her name, Goodwife?" Tom asked.
    "Nor I don't," the old witch said. "How could I? We never spoke. I only ever saw her working by the window, for the light, the same as me."
    "Does she live there, too?"
    Another long peal of cackles. "Live there, her? That house is for the rich. Fine lords and ladies that come to see the queen."
    "Whose portrait was she painting?" Ben asked. "Did you ever see the