A Rose for the Crown (63 page)

“God’s blood!” Kate muttered, hoping no one had heard Margaret. But Jack wheeled his horse about and stared in her direction.

“By the Rood, Kate Haute!” he spluttered when he saw her. “What means this foolishness? Dismount at once, I say!”

Kate had not experienced Jack’s anger before, and she was afraid. She obeyed at once, moving away from the others, who were puzzled by the interruption. She stood slim and small in her too-large hose and cumbersome hat. Jack cantered over to her, leaned down and asked under his breath: “What are you thinking, Kate? Did you really think you would go unnoticed?”

Kate raised her tear-filled eyes. “I wanted to see Richard. He might never come back!”

Despite his exasperation, Jack had to laugh. “You have no idea how ridiculous you look, do you? But I admire your spirit, young Kate. Never fear, he will be back. Just you wait and see.”

He wheeled around and shouted to his troop, “Let us to Lynn! To the king!”

He waved to Margaret and took off at a gallop. He turned in his saddle and called to Kate, “They will be back, I swear to you. They
must
be back!”

*   *   *

A
FEW MILES FROM
B
URY
, Jack’s party overtook a storm that had come out of the north, and they took shelter for the night in the abbey. After breaking their fast, the company cantered out of the town towards the north coast of Norfolk. Late in the afternoon, the leading horsemen, with Jack at their head, clattered onto the cobblestones of Lynn harbor only to see the white sails of several ships in the far distance. On the eve of Richard’s eighteenth birthday, King Edward and his retinue had commandeered the best ships Lynn could provide and were on their way to exile in Flanders.

“God’s bones, we are too late!” Jack cried. His words were lost in the North Sea wind.

17
Suffolk and London, March to May 1471

K
ate awoke with a start. She was dreaming of George again. It seemed to her the dream always followed on the heels of a letter from Richard. She had no doubt God was reminding her of the reason for George’s untimely death. If she had told him who her lover was at the beginning, he might not have attempted to find Richard and venture into Sherwood Forest.

The dream was always the same. She was hidden in the branches of a tree. She watched her husband being attacked. She tried to scream a warning as she saw the ruffians creeping forward, but no sound left her throat. George was in full armor, his sword drawn and looking every inch the invincible knight. He was alone. As the ruffians leapt out of the underbrush and brought him crashing off his horse, her branch gave way, and she floated down as if she were a feather. Down, down, down to the violent scene below. As George cried, “Mother, Mother!” Kate hit the ground, and the impact would jolt her awake.

This time, however, she did not fall. This time, when George cried for his mother, Philippa appeared, like a vision, and held out her arms to him. Kate watched from her perch as George, bleeding from the neck,
rose calmly from the forest floor and walked into Philippa’s arms. Philippa then looked up directly into Kate’s eyes. Kate tried to cry out, this time to say she was sorry, so sorry, but mother and son turned and melted into the trees.

What made her wake this time she could not tell, but the movement disturbed Katherine beside her and the child began to whimper. She rocked the baby in her arms. “Hush, sweeting. Do not fret. All is well, go back to sleep.” She hummed a lullaby until Katherine stuck her thumb in her mouth and closed her eyes.

The singing woke John, who decided he had had enough sleep and began to fuss. Kate slipped out of bed, picked up her son and walked up and down the room with him, humming the same song. At a year, John had almost outgrown the cradle, and Kate was looking forward to having him snuggle up with her and Katherine in the tester bed. She had a fear of smothering the babe in the night, so she had bided her time. Having both children with her would be like having a small part of Richard close, she thought. She laid John on the bed, where he was content to watch her as she lit a candle from the fire embers. She set it down on the table and unfolded Richard’s letter for the second time that day. She bent close to read the even script.

“I greet you well on this day for lovers. Our host, the Seigneur de la Gruthuyse, is all kindness, Kate. Since we are here, he houses and feeds us, poor though we are. Bruges is a fair city, cultured and filled with music. I wish that I might show it to you. But I cannot lie; I long for England, my home, and you. I think of you and our children daily. I dare not hope, and yet I do. The winds are blowing fairly from the low country and will blow me back to you ere long. I kiss you all. Your own true love, Richard. Written this day, the fourteenth of February.”

“The winds are blowing fair,” Kate said aloud. She wondered if Richard was communicating something more than poetry. The letter had taken three weeks to reach her, secreted in the pouch of a wealthy merchant from Bruges who had gone to London on business. Richard had not dared use Jack as intermediary this time, for fear of casting
undue suspicion on him. Following Warwick’s rout of Edward in the autumn, the earl had taken poor King Henry from the Tower and placed him on the throne once again, though it was clear who was really ruling England. Jack was asked to continue serving as councilor in Henry’s re-adeption parliament, but Warwick kept a close eye on him. It was a winter of fragile peace.

Kate was elated at the sight of Richard’s handwriting. She had no way of answering the letter, and she just prayed he would know she was waiting for him still.

“I would have you know your father, John,” she whispered to the little boy as she took him on her lap. He smiled, revealing four teeth. She smoothed his dark hair and settled him on his back, rocking her legs from side to side until his eyelids drooped and finally shut. She yawned, tucked him into the cradle, blew out the candle and climbed back into bed. This time she hoped she would dream of Richard.

“A
LL OF
L
ONDON
is talking.” Jack’s excitement showed in his face. “’Tis rumored Edward has set sail for England.”

The ladies and gentlemen attending Lord and Lady Howard exchanged glances and nodded their approval. They hoped as much as their lord that King Edward would reclaim his throne. What was good for Jack Howard was good for them. Kate was in attendance that evening. Margaret had requested she sup with them, and Kate was happy for a break in her routine at Dog Kennel House. The Howards had returned from London after several weeks for Jack wanted to be in East Anglia if Edward chose to land there. Jack’s news set her heart to racing. So Richard had been trying to tell her something in his letter after all, she thought happily. It was fifteen months since she had last seen him, and there was so much she wanted to tell him, ask him, share with him, and she wondered if he would still want her after spending six months among the elegant ladies of Bruges.

“’Twill not be easy, mark you,” Jack was saying. “Henry is on the throne now, and Warwick guards him well. Edward cannot simply walk back in and take the crown. There will have to be bloodshed, I fear.” Jack’s sobering comments broke Kate’s happy reverie.

“Have a care, my lord,” Margaret warned. “With Oxford nearby and patrolling for Warwick, ’twould be prudent to stay at Tendring and play the farmer.”

“Aye, wife, you are right. The king—I mean Edward—will know where to find his loyal supporters.” He turned his attention to Margaret and Kate, as the other family members resumed games of backgammon and chess.

“Kate, you will be pleased to hear I have news of Richard Haute.”

“Cousin Richard!” Kate spoke his name with affection. “Is he well? And Anne, did you see Anne?”

“Nay, Anne is heavy with her second child, so I was told, and remained at Ightham. ’Twas Richard alone I saw. He was not attainted by Henry, but he wisely keeps his counsel in Kent. He was in London for his marriage to Elizabeth Darcy. An excellent match and one with which he was plainly happy. A most comely lady, I have to report. She has connections to Warwick, and Haute was to be presented to the earl that day. But he, too, hopes for Edward’s return. He sends you fond greetings and bids me tell you your brother is settled in a house in the parish where he will serve as assistant schoolmaster. I believe that is all I had to tell you. Forgive me if it is not. My mind is elsewhere, I have to admit.”

“Hovering a few leagues off the Norfolk coast, I dare swear,” Margaret teased.

“Cousin Richard married!” Kate exclaimed. “I am right glad to hear of it. I heard tell of Lady Darcy when we were at Stratford Langthorne. ’Tis happy news indeed. And Geoff now a schoolmaster. ’Tis truly hard to believe. I must write to them.”

Jack and Margaret laughed heartily at that. Kate pouted for a moment and then chuckled herself. “Shall I ever rid myself of this reputation? Jack, you will be proud of me, for I am keeping the accounts at Dog Kennel House. Not a penny goes in or out without it being noted.”

“Indeed! I am impressed, my dear. I trust more comes in than goes out.”

“Aye, Jack. Spendthrift I am not, although I must confess I am mightily pleased with the new gown I have had fashioned. ’Tis damask of murrey and blue.” Kate’s eyes twinkled. “And Katherine has one exactly like.”

“Richard’s colors!” Jack understood immediately. “A good choice.”

“Sadly, Katherine does not remember her father. And John—why, Richard has not even seen his son.”

“Nor Edward his,” Jack said, and the three pondered for a moment the birth of Edward’s heir in the sanctuary of Westminster the previous November while his father was in exile. The Yorkist faction was much relieved that its leader had finally sired a son.

Jack broke the silence, looking around the room. “And now, ladies, a game of cards?” he said loudly. “How much are you willing to wager tonight, Kate?”

A
FEW WEEKS LATER,
Edward landed on English soil, professing only to claim his Duchy of York inheritance. His men were scattered upon his arrival at Ravenspur, a small port on the Humber, but eventually, the twelve hundred English and Flemish men-at-arms were united, together with Richard of Gloucester and Lord Hastings, and they began to move. They were allowed passage as far as York, those who questioned Edward believing his story. He fooled the mayor of York with the same tale, and was allowed into the city, where he cried, “Hurrah for King Henry!” for all to hear.

Gradually, he moved south, gathering strength. Jack waited at Tendring for word from Edward, ready with a goodly number to join the fray. He was right. It could only end in bloodshed. Margaret and Kate held their breath.

K
ATE WAS PAINSTAKINGLY
making an entry in her account ledger when a loud knocking on the front door caused her to break her nib and splatter a blob of ink onto the page.

“Fiddle-faddle!” she exclaimed, using the corner of an ink-stained rag to absorb the liquid. “Who can that be? Molly! Janet! Where are you?”

The knocking continued, so Kate wiped her soiled hands on the rag, straightened her cap and went downstairs. Simon stood dusty on the doorstep.

He bowed. “Mistress Haute? I bring you a message from your father at Chelsworth.”

“Indeed, master. Come inside, I pray you.” She led him into the
kitchen and poured him some ale. She was puzzled, for she presumed Martin was with the queen in sanctuary.

“He begs you attend his wife, Dame Philippa, who is stricken with a sickness they do not understand. She took to her bed a week ago, madam, and she calls for you.”

Kate went white. “Dear God! ’Tis bad if she calls for my help. I beg of you, go into the field and find Molly. She has my babes with her. Tell her to return at once and prepare for our departure.” Simon put down his cup and left the house.

Janet returned from planting vegetables as Kate was climbing the stairs.

“Ah, Janet. I must leave here immediately and return to Haute Manor,” Kate said, propelling the slow-moving Janet into the kitchen. “Pray listen carefully and take my message to Lady Howard.”

Molly arrived on the run, one arm full of John and the other pulling Katherine. Within the hour, the small party set off for Chelsworth. Katherine rode in front of her mother, gleeful at the adventure, and John was cradled in a sling across Molly’s chest. Kate hoped Margaret would forgive her for enlisting Wat as a second escort. The wind was biting as they trotted down the hill towards Polstead village, but apart from some scurrying puffs of clouds, the sky was blue. Kate amused her daughter by pointing out various wildflowers and birds. The countryside was greening after a cold winter; and the stark branches and stalks of small trees and bushes were softened in the yellow-green of emerging buds. Kate always thought of March as yellow, she explained to Katherine, as mustard-colored catkins swung from their branches in the hedgerow. “See all the yellow flowers, my poppet. That’s coltsfoot, not dandelion. ’Tis good for a cough. There’s dandelion, and that’s daffodil. She is like a dancer, is she not?”