A Rose for the Crown (83 page)

Martin allowed Simon to help him down, and the young man was surprised at how light the six-foot man was. When he was standing, Simon saw why. The old man’s clothes were hanging on him, and his neck was as scrawny as a chicken’s. Martin walked slowly around the back of the stable and towards the orchard. Wat ran past him to herald his arrival back from the dead.

“Master Haute! He be alive! He be here!” he shouted to the pickers. Molly almost fell off the ladder, and Kate let drop her apronful of apples as the news sank in.

“Alive!
Deo gratias.”
She fell to her knees and sent a prayer of thanks heavenward. Magdalena crossed herself several times and mumbled in Flemish.

What are you doing on your knees? Kate chided herself. She got to her feet and ran helter-skelter into Martin’s arms. As she held him, she, too, realized he was but a scarecrow. “Father, dear Father. You are well—at least, I hope you are well.”

“Aye, Kate. I am now. I would not like to have wagered on that possibility a week ago. But I have sad news. Both Adam and Amelia suffered cruelly at God’s hands and died a fortnight or more since. I was ill by this time, but I could see they were not long for this world and arranged for them to be buried at St. Peter’s. Lavenham saw several deaths, but ’tis thought the worst is over. Somehow, the rains washed away the pestilence. No one here was infected, I hope?” he asked, taking Magdalena’s hand and drawing her to him to kiss. Molly ran up with the two children.

“Grandsire! Mama told us you were dead,” little Philippa announced with the tact of a child. She frowned and put her hands on her hips. “You do not look dead to me.”

Martin bent to try to lift her, but he was too weak. He knelt down beside her and took the girl and her brother into his arms.

Supper was a happy occasion that night, and Magdalena was able to tell Martin that she was again with child and that his son would be returning in a few days.

Martin smiled at her. “’Tis strange how news of a death often brings
news of a new child. Remember when your father died, Kate, and you found you were expecting Katherine? I am happy for you, Magdalena. Why, Kate, your sister has outdone you. Three children!”

Kate bit her tongue. She had never brought herself to tell Martin about Dickon. What the eye does not see, the heart will not grieve over, she told herself. ’Twould serve no purpose now.

M
ARTIN NEVER REGAINED
his strength. By the spring of 1482, his eyesight had failed, and Kate became his full-time nurse. When his mind eventually unraveled, he called her Philippa and would hold her hand for hours if she let him, muttering gibberish. She had acquired two new books, a gift from Jack Howard, printed on William Caxton’s printing press. One was the story of King Arthur by Malory, and Martin’s face would light up when Kate offered to read from it. She imagined it took him back to his days of soldiering and would read it as dramatically as she could, glad that at Margaret’s insistence she had become more adept at reading. Then after supper, she would sing for him. His eyes would droop and he would nod off, but as soon as she put aside her harp, he would come awake and call, “More, Philippa. Another!”

One morning, Kate knocked on the solar door and went in to find him lying peacefully as if in a deep sleep. But when she attempted to wake him, she saw that he was dead. She gave a moan of despair and covered his face with kisses. Weeping, she ran from the room and called for Gareth to fetch the priest. Then she ran into the herb garden. It was full summer, and all the flowers were in bloom, sending their heavy perfume into the air. She heard a blackbird warble, and its beautiful song added to the poignancy of her grief.

Now she truly felt orphaned—if one could feel orphaned at the age of thirty-two.

“Our brother Johnny was loath to part with Dickon, Kate. It seems the boy has a talent with his hands and amuses Margery and Joanna with his wood-carvings of animals. But none of us forgets he is a duke’s son and at ten years needs to be taught his lessons as you have prescribed. Therefore, he is here with me now at the schoolhouse and has settled down well with the other boys. Dickon is a clever boy, and he will catch up.

“The most difficult question arose when he asked why he had been singled out to come to me. I told him that he was my godchild—which is true—and ’twas his parents’ wish he have a start in life as you and I had. He knows he has an aunt in Suffolk, and he accepts this but does not seem overly curious.

“I hope you will be happy with my own news. The youngest daughter of Master Cooke of Ightham parish has consented to be my wife.”
Kate let out a whoop.
“Jane and I will be wed next month. She will be a sweet companion and gentle mother for the boys here. Fear not, I will not break your trust. She will not know of Dickon’s true heritage. I will send you word of Dickon from time to time. I think of you often. Your loyal brother, Geoff.”

Kate found Geoff’s formal writing style amusing, although she envied him his vocabulary and his neat script. She knew her response would only cover a few lines, and those would be labored.

“My dearly beloved brother, I cannot thank you more for your kindness to Dickon. I was happy to have news of him. I was even happier to hear of your betrothal—by now you will be wed. Felicitations. Your Jane is a lucky woman.

“John writes to me from Pontefract where he is now a squire. The people in the north call him John of Pomfret. Here in the south, he is John of Gloucester. Jack Howard has seen him on his travels to Scotland where Richard has been fighting and tells me John is handsomer than Richard and at twelve is almost as tall as Richard. Katherine is now with Richard at Middleham, and by all accounts a beauty. Richard is looking for a suitable husband.

“As for my news, I shall go back to Dog Kennel House in a few weeks. Young Martin and his wife have been kind to let me stay, but I long for my own hearth and Margaret’s company. ’Tis time for Magdalena to have charge of Haute Manor. God bless you, Geoff. Dickon is in good hands and I shall arrange a stipend. Your loving sister, Kate.”

She folded the parchment, warmed some wax and sealed it with Richard’s ring. Sitting by the window of her chamber, she stared out at the familiar fields now under the plough. She tried to imagine Dickon poring over a book, but in her fancy she could only see him working a piece of wood with his hands. How she longed to touch those hands, look into the unknown face of her child and hear his voice. The customary
pain that accompanied thoughts of any of her children, especially Dickon, gripped her heart now, but she refused to give in to self-pity. She slammed the window shut and went to deliver her letter to Wat for dispatch.

“Ah, Kate. I have been hoping to see you.” Young Martin stopped her. He was at the solar door, and she followed him in. Magdalena was seated in Philippa’s old chair, her face alight with excitement.

“Magdalena and the children are going to visit her parents in Calais for a few weeks. She wants to know if you would go with them before you return to Tendring Park. I have told her I need you here to run the household, but if you wish to go, I shall not gainsay you.”

Kate smiled at Magdalena. “’Tis indeed kind of you to invite me, dear sister, but my place is here. I do not speak your language, and you should go to your family without worrying about me. I have much work to do before I leave.”

“If you are sure, Kate?” Magdalena was disappointed but not crushed by Kate’s refusal. If the truth were known, she always felt a plain little mouse in Kate’s presence. When Kate announced her intention of returning to Tendring, Magdalena had been secretly relieved. Since they had moved back to Haute Manor, Martin increasingly sought Kate’s opinion and advice, leaving Magdalena overlooked and underappreciated. Kate felt compassion for her and knew it was time to go.

“I am certain, Magdalena,” Kate reassured her.

O
NCE AGAIN
, her possessions sat atop a cart, with heavy sacking protecting them from the drizzle that began after dawn. Kate solemnly wished the servants farewell and gave them each a silver penny. She gave Gareth a groat for his good service to Martin and George. Then Martin dismissed them, and Kate was left with the family.

“Come, kiss your Aunt Kate, girls.” She held out her arms to Philippa and Amelia, who ran into them with a tearful “Farewell, Aunt.”

Magdalena wept as she embraced Kate, for despite her wish to be mistress at Haute Manor, there was so much she still had to learn about running a large house. Amelia Jacob had ruled with an iron rod in Lavenham and had left Magdalena to be a mother. Besides, Magdalena had come to regard Kate as an older sister.

“Farewell, sweet sister,” Kate whispered into Magdalena’s ear. “Look after Martin. He has great need of you.”

Magdalena nodded and smiled through her tears. “God be with you, Kate.”

Martin took Kate’s arm and walked her out to her horse. Wat and Molly were already on the cart seat, with Wat’s horse tied behind. Sweet Jesu, but this looks familiar, Kate said to herself. “Go on,” she called to Wat. “I shall be there directly.”

The lumbering vehicle inched its way out of the mud in the yard and towards the village road. The cart-horse picked up a little speed and turned out of the gate.

Kate turned to Martin and saw that he was close to tears. “For shame, brother,” she chided him. “I shall only be nine miles hence. You are all welcome at any time, in truth.”

Martin cupped his hands for her foot and propelled her lightly into the saddle. She reached into her pouch and threw Simon a penny. She had never been comfortable with the man, but he was a hard worker and gave the family good service. He grinned and bit the coin. She kicked the horse’s flanks, turned to wave at Martin and trotted after Wat and Molly. She twisted round one more time before she reached the road to look back at the house she had called home for so long. She caught her lower lip between her teeth, took a deep breath and urged Cornflower faster.

“I
AM BEHOLDEN
to my lord of Gloucester for these players,” Jack told the assembly at Tendring Hall after the Christmas feast. “Pray clear the tables, draw near and listen.”

His family, all present for the celebration of the birth of Christ this year, surrounded him. It was a merry group, Kate thought. Jack had been absent the Christmas of 1481, campaigning against the Scots as admiral of the fleet. He had successfully raided Berwick just as Richard had successfully defeated the land armies on the border, and Richard’s confidence in Jack’s loyalty had doubled. Jack had been delighted to receive Richard’s personal players for the season as a token of the younger man’s respect.

“Richard is a force to be recognized, Kate,” Jack said one evening after she had settled back into Dog Kennel House. “He is feared by the Scots
and loved by almost all of those stout-hearted Northerners. The king is fortunate in his young brother, for Richard has united most of them.”

He did not mention the exception. The earl of Northumberland, Lord Percy, would always resent a stronger arm than his in his native country. But ’twas naught to fret over, he decided. Instead, he told her of his encounter with John and Katherine, which interested her far more than Richard’s exploits in the field.

“Richard is well pleased with both, in truth. John is strong and learns well from the master at arms. He is also fond of singing, and Richard assures me his mother’s talent for music has not been lost on her son. As for Katherine, she has already broken many of the henchmen’s hearts, and I regret to tell you that she has lost none of her spirit despite Duchess Elizabeth’s years of guidance. ’Tis remarkable how like her mother she is.”

At the feast, Margaret persuaded Kate to sing for the company, and her song was warmly received. Thomas Harper even lent his accompaniment, and she thrilled to the experience of sharing her music with such an accomplished player.

“Ecce mundi gaudium
ecce solus gentium
Virgo parit filium
Sine violentio
Lo, the joy of the world,
Lo, the salvation of the people
The virgin has borne a son,
With no impropriety;
Hail, queenly virgin, full of grace.”

“Our Kate is certainly full of grace these days, do you not think, my love?” Jack leaned over to Margaret and nuzzled her cheek. “Do you know if she is happy alone?”

“Certes, she is as happy as she can be without her love and her children.”

“Aye, I suppose. ’Twould be hard to give up one’s children.” He looked fondly around at his large family. Thomas and Elizabeth sat on Jack’s left,
their three sons squabbling behind them, bored now that the food had been taken away. Elizabeth reprimanded them once again and threatened bed if they did not behave.

“Boys!” Jack grinned with pride.

He was happier than he had been earlier that week when he heard the sad news of little Anne Mowbray’s death. This left Prince Richard with the disputed dukedom of Norfolk, which would—should the boy remarry and have a child—remove every chance Jack had of the title. However, he was not thinking of titles when he rose to greet the players. They entertained the company with a farce about a sly lawyer who defrauds a mercer of a length of cloth and pretends to be dying when the shopkeeper arrives to collect his money. Boos accompanied the lawyer’s antics to avoid payment, and a roar of laughter erupted when the shopkeeper pushed past the lawyer’s indignant wife, flung back the bedclothes and revealed the rascally miscreant fully clothed, and then chased him three times round the hall. The talented troupe then turned their skills to juggling, acrobatics and magic. Jack rewarded them generously. Musicians struck up a merry country dance, and several young couples formed a circle. Jack was tired by this time and whispered to Margaret that he was ready for some quiet conversation in the tower solar. A few of the family followed him out, and Margaret beckoned to Kate to join them. She was enjoying the music, but she had no partner for the dance and so was content to leave.