A Rose for the Crown (60 page)

“’Tis a boy child, Molly,” Kate told her exhausted servant. To the midwife she whispered, “Tell Wat to fetch the priest quickly. ’Tis a puling babe and not long for this world, I fear.”

Molly held out her arms for the baby. Kate placed the swaddled bundle into them and watched anxiously over the pair until the priest arrived. After drinking an infusion, Molly fell into a deep sleep, and even the priest’s prayers and the baby’s mewling at being splashed with water did not rouse her. The baby slept fitfully, and Kate sat there willing him to live. Molly was a strong woman, and with several hours’ sleep, she recovered sufficiently to attempt to feed the child, who seemed not to have the sucking reflex. The premature labor had been preceded by wracking
pains and bleeding, which had not boded well for the birth. The tiny child did not have the resistance to fight for his life.

Molly looked to Kate for help. “Why does he not take my breast, mistress? What be wrong with him?”

“I know not, Molly. He seems to want to sleep. Perhaps his journey here has exhausted him. Give him a chance.” Kate tried to sound cheerful. “Wat wants to see you. Shall I fetch him?”

“Oh, aye, mistress! He will be so happy he has a son. He be wanting to name him Wat, like himself. ’Tis well by me.”

Wat peeked in and with a heavy heart looked down on his wife and child. He gave Molly a lopsided grin and scratched his head.

“I be right proud to have a son, Molly. And I shall always remember this day.” He faltered, not knowing what to tell Molly. “You slept so long, you did not know we were able to baptize the child, did you?”

Molly was surprised and suspicious. “Why did you not wake me? And why did the priest come so soon?” Then her face registered understanding. She stared up at Wat, who shifted from one leg to the other awkwardly and avoided her gaze.

“Will he die?” She began to cry, clutching at the baby desperately.

Wat knelt down beside her and wiped her tears away with a dirty thumb. “’Tis thought he is not long for this world, Molly. So hold him and comfort him, but if he goes . . . ’twill be to heaven. I be sorry, Molly, I be truly sorry.”

The light began to fade into the wintry night, and Kate tiptoed into the room to light the candles and bring Molly a posset.

“God does not love me, mistress,” Molly said in a flat voice. “Why will He take my babe from me? He gave me this hideous mark and now He punishes me anew. Why?”

“Hold, Molly!” Wat put his finger to her cracked lips, silencing her. “He also punishes me. ’Tis my son, too, don’t forget.”

“’Tis punishment for our fornication!” said the distraught Molly, pushing him away.

Kate kneeled on the other side of the bed. “Nay, Molly. God has more important things to worry over than your fornication. You and Wat conceived your child in wedlock. ’Tis I He should punish for conceiving in
adultery, not you. ’Tis God’s will that He take your child. Not to punish you but to show His love by taking little Wat to heaven to be with Him.”

Wat nodded in agreement, and it seemed to calm Molly. Kate offered Molly the hot drink, which she took with reluctance.

“Try and feed him again, Molly.” Kate hoped to take the new mother’s mind off the incomprehensible workings of the Almighty. “It may be he is ready now.”

Kate took the baby while Molly prepared to feed him. She put the crook of her little finger in its tiny mouth, hoping to tempt him to suck. It was then she knew the little mite had stopped breathing and was quite cold. She caught Wat’s eye, looked down at the baby and shook her head. He drew in a sharp breath that alerted Molly.

“What be wrong?” Her voice was tinged with anger. “Tell me, Wat! Tell me!”

Kate took charge, for Wat could not bring himself to acknowledge the truth. “God has taken little Wat, Molly. I am sorry. But see how peaceful he seems.”

She held the baby out to Molly, who gave an anguished cry and snatched the limp bundle from Kate’s hands. Frantically she began to untie the swaddling bands.

“They be too tight! The bands, they be too tight! You did suffocate my precious baby,” she screamed. “Help me, Wat! Help me to untie them. Mebbe there’s hope yet.”

Wat gently took the baby from her and carefully unwrapped the infant. His calm had an effect on Molly. She did not resist him but watched while tears rolled down her cheeks and sorrow engulfed her. Kate reached for her hand, squeezing it tightly. “I am so sorry, Molly, so sorry,” she whispered as her own tears fell. “Try and drink a little more and rest. Wat and I will pray for the child.”

Molly closed her eyes so that she would not have to see her baby, and only then did Kate notice that Wat’s hands were trembling.

J
ACK AND
M
ARGARET
were in London for the Christmas season, and Tendring Hall was quiet. Molly recovered her strength within a few days of the birth and kept herself occupied with Katherine. Kate noticed Molly’s affection for the little girl grew daily, and it was as though she
transferred the love she had saved for her own child onto Katherine. Indeed, Katherine was having trouble knowing which of the two women was her mother.

A few days before Twelfth Night, two horsemen cantered up to Dog Kennel House. Wat was at the Hall, helping the smith forge new horseshoes, and no one greeted the two men. They dismounted and tethered their horses to the gatepost. Kate and Molly were exclaiming at Katherine’s determined steps from one pair of outstretched arms to another. They laughed as the child imitated them, holding her arms out in front of her like a sleepwalker as she tottered across the floor. Richard stood unnoticed on the threshold, watching this domestic scene, a proud smile on his face. It was Katherine who saw him first. She was so surprised that she plumped down on her bottom and stared at the stranger. Before Kate had registered who it was, Richard crossed the room and swept the child up in his arms, smothering her face with kisses.

“Richard!” Kate’s exclamation was drowned by Katherine’s howl of terror at being picked up by a man—an unfamiliar man at that. She twisted around to seek her mother. Her screams were deafening. Richard laughed and gave her to Kate, who in turn handed her off to Molly and ran into Richard’s arms. Molly discreetly withdrew, Katherine still wailing.

“God’s bones, Kate! Has the child never seen a man before? You would think I had taken the stick to her,” Richard said between kisses. He tried to pull her closer. “Why are you so difficult to reach—”

“Did you not receive my letter?” Kate interrupted. “I sent you one in the autumn.”

Richard shook his head. “Nay, Kate. Not since you wrote to tell me of George’s death. What was your news? A letter from you is always treasured, because it is so rare.” He grinned at her and then saw the swell of her gown. “Sweet Mary! Is this your news? You are with child again?” His excitement was genuine. “When? Wait . . . I think must know!”

Kate arched one eyebrow and waited.

“Ha! Certes, ’twas our watery tryst! ’Twas peculiarly sweet loving, was it not?”

Kate beamed. “Aye, Richard. This Gloucester bastard, as Jack would call it, must have been conceived in the river. But I am forgetting myself. You must be weary. Sit, love, and I will call for wine.”

“Nay, we can have wine later,” he said, stroking her cheek.

The fireglow cast shadows on the wall beside the bed. Kate was fascinated to watch herself and Richard in silhouette as they made love. She thought how practiced they had become after the first few times. She wondered if she was overly bold, but she had no one with whom to talk and compare. She knew now what excited Richard and was able to pleasure him more in a mere turn of her hip or pressure of her hand. They stifled their satisfied moans for the benefit of those in the kitchen below, but there was nothing they could do to prevent the floorboards creaking and dust seeping down through the cracks from the wobbling bed. Kate giggled, and Richard stopped her mouth with his hand. She pulled it off and placed it on her stomach. He stroked the stretched skin and was bending to kiss it when a faint fluttering came from within. His eyes were wide, and he left his hand there, hoping the sensation would be repeated.

“He’s a quiet one,” Kate told him. “You were fortunate to feel him, in truth. Though ’tis early days yet, sometimes I wonder if he is really alive in there. Unlike Katherine, who gave me no peace.”

“Ah, then this must be a boy and will be like me.” Richard rolled off her and nestled into her side. “My mother did have a difficult birth with me, you know. So difficult that she was warned she would not be able to bear another after me. She did, but the baby died. I was small and not strong, so I have been told. But Mother said I had a quiet determination that is with me still.”

“Our Katherine has determination, Richard, but there is nothing quiet about her. In that she is like me. In truth, I feel this is a boy. And if it be your pleasure, sir, I should still like to name him for my dear father.”

“So you shall, my love. John is a good English name.”

They lay for some time talking. Kate told him of George’s death in more detail, and Richard was dismayed to hear what had taken George out of his way and through the forest to his death.

“How do you know he found my letter, Kate? Might another have discovered it?”

“Nay, love, no one in my household would break open my box. The letter was not on his person, and so went with the thieves in George’s saddlebag.”

Richard fumed inwardly at the dead George. His cool logic could not imagine what the foolish man had hoped to accomplish by stealing Kate’s letter. He suppressed his anger and said, “Have you received the annuity yet, Kate?”

Kate nodded, kissing him gratefully. Richard in turn told her of the turmoil in the months after they had parted, and Kate listened, fascinated. She interrupted him on occasion to ask a pertinent question, and she was rewarded by his admiration for her grasp of the difficult situation. When he had finished, she remarked: “Each time I see you, you have had more responsibility thrust upon you. ’Tis telling on your brow, my love.” She stroked his forehead, and Richard smiled.

“After Twelfth Night I shall go into Wales again and hold that country strong for Edward.” Richard got up and put on his undershirt. “Now that all is well again, I predict a less troublesome year than this last.” He threw her chemise at her. “Come, my love, I smell something delicious, and my strenuous exercise has given me an appetite only a horse will satisfy. Ho! John!”

Richard’s squire appeared at the door moments later to help his master dress, and Kate slipped past him and down the stairs to supervise the evening meal.

B
Y THE END OF
his short visit, Richard had gained little Katherine’s absolute confidence. She squealed with glee when he picked her up and turned her upside down. Soon, it was Richard’s lap she was seeking in preference to any other, and when there she amused them all by unknowingly flirting with him. Richard could not take his eyes off her, called her “my rosebud,” and his face wore a perpetual smile the entire visit. It gladdened Kate’s heart to see him so taken with the child. A bastard, after all, could so easily have been put aside.

“I must tell you that Molly’s babe did not survive, Richard,” Kate remembered to inform him privately before Molly served them supper.

“I am right sorry to hear about your child, Molly,” Richard said. “But like Kate, you are strong and young and will bear other children, ’tis certain.”

Molly curtsied and thanked him. She knew there would be other
chances for her and Wat; it was because the child was their first that made it hard to bear. She picked up the empty wine pitcher and left the room.

“I must leave on the morrow, Kate. Edward commands that all be present at the betrothal of my niece Elizabeth to John Neville’s son. Elizabeth is a sweet girl, in truth, and I promised her I would be there.”

Richard reached across and took Kate’s hand. She lifted his to her lips and kissed the palm, sighing, “Aye, you must go, this I know. But when shall I see you again if you go into Wales? How shall I get word to you when this child is born?”

“Jack will know where to find me, have no fear. I am truly sorry you must bear these burdens alone, but you know the way of it now, and I can do no more than to promise you and the children my protection. You may count on my loyalty always.”

“I ask for nothing more, Richard, and you, too, may count on mine.”

T
HOUSANDS OF DAFFODILS
clothed the field next to the house. The mad March wind played havoc among them, bending them this way and that. Scudding gray clouds sent forth a patter of rain that stung Kate’s face as she struggled back from the Hall. She had become so large that her cloak barely met in the middle and billowed out around her feet, making her appear grotesque. She had been invited to the Hall that day to toast Edward’s newest baron: John, Lord Howard.

“Lord Howard!” The name had echoed around the Hall when the household stood and honored their master at dinner. “God save your lordship!”

Now it was late in the afternoon, and Kate hurried as best she could back to the warmth of her house. She was anxious to be brought to bed of this boy. Aye, Lord, she thought, I am certain this is a boy. But let it be soon. I am weary of the load. A gust of wind nearly knocked her off her feet a few yards from her door, and some cabbage leaves tumbled past from the rubbish heap next to the house. Oh, no, she grumbled, must I piss yet again? She visited the latrine behind the house and held her nose as she heaved her bulk onto the plank. The door banged on its hinges in the wind, giving her staccato glimpses of the yellow field in front.