A Rose for the Crown (39 page)

12
Suffolk, February 1468

K
ate and Molly sat astride Cornflower while Wat, once again their escort, tightened the straps that held the bundles of Kate’s belongings onto his sturdier mount. He talked to the horse as he worked, reassuring it and patting its rump from time to time. He had been brought up in the stables. His father was a groom at Tendring until a new courser cornered him in the stall and kicked him dead with one violent motion. Wat was ten. He learned his trade quickly and well to survive. Horses responded instinctively to him. John Howard remarked one day, after catching Wat kissing one of the washerwomen behind the bakehouse, “He has a certain success with all manner of fillies.”

The day was gray and damp. A thaw had melted the snow and left the landscape drab and uninviting with limp cornstalks and deadened grasses. The February doldrums had settled on Haute Manor, and with young Robert still sickly with his persistent cough, it was a good time for a change of scene.

Kate waved good-bye to Philippa and Maud at the portal. She felt a little guilty for leaving when Philippa could use her medicinal expertise,
but the summons from Tendring had been so strongly worded that the family thought it better she obey.

The trio set off along the road, crossed over the Brett at the bridge and waved to a few peasants cutting osiers along the riverbanks. Frozen snow lying in the hollows of the furrowed earth striped the fields. The hard ground allowed a carter to drive his load of dung along the edge of the field while his assistant dragged the fetid manure off the back of the cart with his long-handled fork. Kate held her breath as she trotted past.

Molly spent most of the journey swiveled round to look at Wat and keeping up a conversation of sorts. Kate sank into the sanctuary of her coney-lined hood and wondered why she was being called to Tendring. She hoped Margaret and the baby were not ill, but she thought Sir John would have written so in his short missive. No, he had asked her to come within the week, to bring a change of garment in the event of an entertainment and not to forget her harp.

“’Twould be to your advantage to arrive no later than Tuesday at Tendring, and to plan for several days. My respects to Dame Philippa.”
The letter had left both women curious.

Martin had been unexpectedly summoned to the queen’s court, leaving Philippa to make the decision. “You must go, dear Kate. Sir John cannot be denied. He is our lord, and Martin would wish it. I am surprised he is home so soon from Coventry. Perchance he has news of George for you. But why not write of it in the letter?”

It would seem that one of the entertainments was to be musical, and as she rode, Kate went over the words of the new song Thomas Harper had taught her at Yuletide. It was a mystical story of two daughters of a lord who lived
“by the bonny, bonny banks of London.”
The elder sister was evil and the younger good. They both loved the same man,
“sweet William,”
who gave the elder sister
“a brooch and a glove”
but who loved the younger
“above anything.”
One day, the evil sister invited the younger
“to the water’s brim, to see our father’s ships come in.”
And with a push, sealed her sister’s fate.

“Sometimes she sank and sometimes she swam,
Hey with a gay and a grinding
Until she came to a miller’s dam.
By the bonny, bonny banks of London.”

Kate was pleased she remembered so much, for it was a long song. She thought she would have no trouble with the rest because the story took a bizarre twist that intrigued her.

“Pardon, mistress, did you hear me?” Wat’s question startled her, and she inadvertently kicked Cornflower’s flanks. The horse jerked forward and almost lost Molly off her back.

“Have a care, mistress, I nearly fell,” Molly grumbled good-naturedly. Wat laughed and Molly put her tongue out at him.

“I am sorry, Molly. I was trying to recall the words to a song I learned at Tendring. It is a magical tale and you would love it. There were two—” She broke off, seeing Wat’s face. “Oh, but I forgot. Wat, you asked me a question?”

“Do you care where we enter Tendring, madam? The fastest is by the back gate through the grove. Or should we ride through the village and the park?”

Kate was surprised they were already approaching the hill to Nayland village. “I have no need to make a grand entrance. Let us go the faster way. But before we do,” she reined in Cornflower and addressed the servants, “I must warn you both that I shall not countenance any lying together while I am a guest at Tendring. I would not want Sir John or his lady wife to think I have encouraged such behavior under his roof.”

Wat was taken aback. Molly’s face turned such a color as to conceal her blemish, giving herself away.

“However, what you do elsewhere is your own business.” Her eyes twinkled. “But for sweet Jesu’s sake—and my own—do not get caught.”

Wat’s sheepish look turned into a wide grin. “Aye, madam. Not under Sir John’s roof,” he repeated.

Ten minutes later, they dismounted at the stables, where several new horses were being groomed. Wat called to a young lad brushing a proud black palfrey, “Edmund, who is here? These are not our horses.”

The boy shrugged his shoulders and went on currying the horse’s gleaming flank. Wat told the women he would see to the baggage, gave
Molly a smack on the cheek and led the horses away. Kate rescued her precious harp and gave it to Molly to carry across the yard and round to the front portal. She pushed her hood back, tidied a few errant tendrils under her caul and smoothed her skirts before putting her hand on the heavy iron knocker. Before she could use it, however, the door opened and Tom Moleyns greeted her with a smile.

“Well met, Dame Haute! I trust you had an uneventful ride. Sir John and Lady Margaret are expecting you.” He offered her his arm. In a conspiratorial undertone, he said, “We have a royal visitor!”

“Royalty? By all that is holy, I am not prepared to meet royalty!” Kate stopped in her tracks. She absentmindedly gave her cloak to a servant and stared at Tom in a panic.

“Why, if it isn’t Mistress Lackseat! And not before time, my dear Kate. Welcome, welcome!” Jack’s familiar voice came from above them, and she looked up to see his bulky frame leaning over the banister. A wide grin creased his face, and still limping, he made his way down the staircase, took her face in his hands and soundly kissed her on the lips.

“Has Tom told you? Has he given my surprise away? Tom?” He arched his black brows at the squire, who shook his head, gave Jack a small bow and hurried away.

“He said you have a royal visitor, Sir John. And I am afraid I am not worthy and must surely not be welcome.” Kate was stammering. “I am not prepared . . . what shall I say? . . .” She stopped, looking at him anxiously.

Jack laughed. “Why, this is the first time I have seen you at a loss for words, my dear. ’Tis quite fetching for a change. Although I confess I like your boldness, too.”

“Oh, fiddle-faddle!” Kate was flattered and felt more at ease. “And now, as I appear to have no choice but to stay, I would know who your visitor is, Sir John.”

“Have you not guessed, my clever Kate? ’Tis Richard of Gloucester? I promised I would invite you the next time he came to Tendring, and I am keeping my promise. He is upstairs in the solar with Margaret.” He was gratified by Kate’s expression of awe. “He was anxious to leave the court at Coventry after so many weary weeks of Woodvilles—ah, pardon me, they are your kinsmen, are they not?”

“Many times removed, my lord, I can assure you,” Kate demurred, not understanding the implication.

“Who is your guest, Jack? May I be introduced, or do I interrupt something?” Richard of Gloucester’s pleasant voice reached them from the top of the stairs. Jack swung round and lifted his arms in welcome, the enormous sleeves of his surcote hiding Kate from Richard as he made his way down the stairs.

“I believe the two of you have already met, my lord Richard.” Jack put a fatherly arm about him and led him to Kate, who curtsied low.

“My lord.”

“Why, ’tis the lady of the forest!” Richard was clearly delighted, and his tone reassured Kate enough for her to raise her head and smile at him. “I am right glad to see you again, Dame . . .”

He looked helplessly at Jack, who rescued him with aplomb.

“Haute, my lord. Katherine Haute of Chelsworth. She is wed to the son of my neighbor, Martin Haute. Perhaps you saw him at Coventry last week. He is kinsman to her grace, the queen. Margaret and I are indebted to Kate for her friendship and help at the time of our baby’s birthing. She and Margaret have become fast friends.”

“Forgive me, madam. Rob and I dubbed you the lady of the forest, and that is how I remember you.” Richard reached for her hand. Kate gave it readily and sank into another curtsy. “Rob will be envious when I tell him,” he said.

“I am flattered you have spoken of me since our last meeting, my lord.”

Richard lightly pressed her hand to his lips, not taking his eyes off her, just as he had done upon their parting at Chelsworth. He seemed to want to linger over her hand, but Kate withdrew it gently and smiled at him.

“I am happy to see you again, my lord. What brings you into Suffolk at this dreary time of year?” Kate saw no reason to stand on ceremony. Amused, Jack stood by.

“In truth, madam, my brother’s court is tiresome to me. I am so long in Yorkshire, I am unaccustomed to people with airs—the only air there is fresh and sweet—therefore I have no taste for playing the popinjay among so many others. Sir John has kindly offered me respite from the
politics and games. I had no idea that I would meet with you again, Katherine Haute, but it gives me pleasure to see you again.”

Cock’s bones, there looks to be something between these two, Jack thought, as he watched the young people and hoped Richard would remember Kate was married. They are but children, he mused, especially Gloucester. I doubt he has poked his stick anywhere yet. Warwick will have kept a strict eye on his royal charge, I’ll wager a boatful of oysters. The dinner bell broke off his train of thought, and Jack offered Richard the place of honor at the high table, excusing himself to fetch Margaret. The children came scampering down the stairs and chased each other in and out of the tables before an exasperated and out-of-breath Rose reached the hall and shooed them to their places. The Howard household slowly filled the empty benches and glanced with interest at the distinguished guest in the master’s seat. One of Richard’s retinue enlightened those nearest him as to his importance, and soon the news was whispered around the hall.

“’Tis the king’s youngest brother! ’Tis George of Clarence,” said one.

“Don’t be daft, Davy. Richard of Gloucester is the youngest,” his neighbor replied.

“He is not very big,” whispered someone else. “I thought the king was a giant. This be but a puling boy.”

Edith stared at Richard. “He is quite handsome, I will say.”

Agnes nodded and then noticed Kate, who was not sure of her place. “There is Dame Katherine. My lady did tell me she was expected. It seems our mistress is much taken with her. ’Tis strange we never see the husband.”

“Aye. But have you not heard the rumor? Tom Moleyns has known George Haute these three years at Framlingham, and ’tis said the young husband is . . .” The rest came out in hushed tones.

“Certes! That poor young mistress. No wonder she is looking for friendship. And no wonder she is not yet with child. When did she marry? Before the Feast of St. Bartholomew, so my lady told me.”

Agnes fell silent as the Howards appeared and processed to their seats on either side of Richard. Margaret’s chaplain, William Bele, said the grace, and the meal began.

*  *  *

J
ACK
, R
ICHARD
AND
HIS
small retinue spent the afternoon competing at the archery butts in the field below the house. Kate could see their breath in the cold air from her perch on the window seat in Margaret’s warm solar. Agnes, Edith and Rose sat grouped with Margaret and the baby, Cat, swaddled tightly and asleep in her cradle in their midst.

The women chattered as they plied their needles in and out of a large piece of needlework in a frame, each working on a corner. Kate had her own work on her lap, her legs curled under her and her back against the wall, so that she could monitor what was happening outside the house as well as in. She dawdled over a few stitches but then realized she needed thread of a different color and was too comfortable to get up and find it in the basket. She wished she could be shooting with the men instead of doing needlework. She really was not good at being a gentlewoman, she knew.

“He seems an amiable young man, my lady,” Edith said to Margaret, and Kate pricked up her ears. “Not at all arrogant for the brother of a king.”

“And good to look at,” Agnes added, twittering. “A little young for all of us, I fear.”

Margaret laughed. “Aye, Agnes, we are all too long in the tooth for young Dickon. Although”—she turned to look at Kate, who was still gazing out of the window—“not too young for Dame Katherine.”