The Chalice (8 page)

“Do you know who I am?” Her voice was a melodic caress.

“You are the Marchioness of Exeter,” answered Mistress Brooke.

“Yes, but do you know what that means?” Gertrude took another step. A diamond twinkled on her velvet shoe.

Mistress Brooke looked sullen.

“Permit me to explain it to you.” Gertrude folded her
hands as if in prayer. “My true and loving husband, Henry Courtenay, is the grandson of King Edward the Fourth. He was raised with our King Henry and his sisters. He is the most trusted of all of the king’s relations. In fact, he is the only man who is allowed to enter the king’s private chambers without being announced by the chamberlain. You have seen the servants who attend us. They are but a portion of our staff. The king allows us to give our men arms, to issue livery. Whatever we do, in the West, in London, or here, today, in Dartford, is sanctioned by the king.”

Mistress Brooke peered back at the door to the street. She did not like this.

“This young woman, Joanna Stafford, is my husband’s cousin,” continued Gertrude. “Therefore, she is also a relation of the King’s Majesty. She is an intimate of the Lady Mary Tudor.” Geoffrey looked at me, startled. He had not been aware of my friendship with royalty. I wished Gertrude had not announced it.

“When you dishonor Joanna Stafford, you dishonor the nobility of this kingdom,” said Gertrude. Her voice was no longer melodic. “For what you have done today, I could, with just a few words, crush you, Mistress Brooke. Is that something you can understand? You, your husband, your family. Today your husband oversees the hiring of workmen for building the king’s manor house? Tomorrow he would be discharged. He’d be most fortunate to secure work lifting stone from a quarry.”

Mistress Brooke’s hands quivered at her sides as if she were struck with plague.

In truth, I felt ill, too. A fever coursed through me, but not a weakening one. I, who had been powerless, witnessed power being wielded on my behalf. A dark gloating pulsed in my blood.
Yes, crush her,
I exulted.
Make her suffer.

But hard on this excitement came another feeling: shame.

“No, please,” I said, reaching out to touch Gertrude’s shoulder. “I am not blameless. I provoked her.”

Gertrude shook her head. As before, she was unwilling to see any fault in my actions. I searched through my mind, frantically, for prayers that could guide us. “My lady, blessed are the merciful, for they shall have mercy shown to them. Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God. And blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be recognized as the children of God.”

The storm of rage that darkened Gertrude’s soul receded. With a cry, she seized both of my hands in hers and gripped them so hard I winced.

“Joanna, thank you for showing me the Christian spirit I must cleave to,” she said. “Through you I understand God’s grace anew.”

She ordered that Mistress Brooke and Gregory be sent away. Geoffrey saw them to the door, speaking in a low voice to Mistress Brooke. A moment later, there was another stirring on the street. Henry Courtenay had returned, well pleased with Holy Trinity Church.

“Father William showed me a wonderous mural painting of Saint George in one of the chapels,” he said.

I wager he didn’t tell you that the painting would be whitewashed by order of Cromwell,
I thought. So Father William was nothing but unctuous to the marquess of Exeter. It must be that way wherever Henry Courtenay went. He was fawned over by men and women who were cruel to others.

“How did Arthur fare?” I asked. I half dreaded the reply.

“Look for yourself,” said Henry.

From the window, the High Street was like I had never seen it before—transformed into a place of play for Arthur. Courtenay men had cleared a long, empty space. Henry’s son, Edward, tossed him a ball and Arthur leaped after it, laughing.

How Arthur glowed. It was as if he’d grown two inches in the last hour.

“Joanna, are you all right?” asked Henry. “You’re crying.”

I touched my damp cheeks. “It’s been difficult, just Arthur and me. I don’t know if I am doing the right things. I worry for his future.” I barely knew this cousin of mine, yet I was confiding in him fears I’d not shared with anyone, not even Brother Edmund.

“Ah. Well, for a beginning, he shouldn’t be wearing a child’s gown any longer,” said Henry. “He’s ready for the clothing of a boy, a boy of a good family.”

“Do you think so?”

“He’s five years old. He’s also ready for a tutor and for lessons in sport,” said Henry.

My face must have shown my disbelief.

“Arthur is strong and quick, Joanna. He may not be ready for a hornbook in his hand. But that is no impediment to living as a respected gentleman—or even to having a career at court. Norfolk’s said often enough that it’s book learning that ruined the nobility.” He laughed, not noticing how I stiffened to hear the name
Norfolk
. I’d never forget how the duke hounded me in the Tower of London, even striking me in the face when I didn’t submit to his questioning.

“My husband is the finest father in all of England,” said Gertrude, joining us on the front steps. She stroked her husband’s arm.

“Cousin Joanna, why not bring Arthur for a visit?” asked Henry. “Stay with us for a time. We have a host of tutors. He needs to learn to ride and dance and handle himself. It would be good for Edward, too, if a younger boy were about.”

“I’ve already invited Joanna to stay with us in London, but she said there was much for her to do here in Dartford,” said Gertrude lightly.

Henry spread his hands. “Then come for a month. We could do much for Arthur in four weeks. In November you can return.”

As I looked at them, my heart pumped faster than at any other time that day, even when I was trapped beneath my loom in the street. Could I do this—stay with the Courtenays? It would mean living in London, the city I feared, the city where I’d watched Margaret burn. But Gertrude had already assured me that she’d not go near the king’s court. They were both so eager to help. I would finally be privy to the wisdom of parents in raising a child.

“If you will pardon me for a moment,” said Geoffrey Scovill. Watching Arthur, I’d forgotten about Geoffrey, about Mistress Brooke—everything. But Geoffrey hadn’t left, and now he had something to say to me.

Henry looked him up and down. “And you are . . . ?”

“This is a friend of Joanna’s, his name is Geoffrey Scovill,” said Gertrude, with elaborate politeness. “He is a constable.”

“I see.” Henry smiled at him, but his eyes showed confusion. He probably could not imagine why a Stafford would befriend a town constable.

“I would like to speak with Mistress Stafford for a moment in private,” said Geoffrey.

Henry’s smile faded.

“Geoffrey knew my father.” At once, I regretted saying that. It sounded as if I were trying to elevate Geoffrey’s status. But it served its purpose.

Curious eyes tracked us as I led Geoffrey out of the parlor. I closed the door once we were inside the kitchen. The wooden table still bore the crumbs of Arthur’s bread and cheese from hours before. My young servant, Kitty, had never appeared. My stomach ached; I was quite hungry. And weary, too. I’d slept so little the night before.

Geoffrey grabbed me by both shoulders and pulled me toward him. We were so close I could smell the soap he’d scrubbed into his skin. It was ashy, bitter. The sort of soap that servants use because it costs next to nothing. Not the choice for a man
who attempts a fashionable haircut. Alongside my shock at his grabbing me I felt a strange tenderness at Geoffrey’s fumbling toward gentility.

“Joanna, listen to me,” Geoffrey said. “You mustn’t go with these people.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not safe for you.”

I wriggled out of his grasp. I’d felt such relief at the prospect of the Courtenays helping me with Arthur. The grinding burden of raising him would be lifted. Now Geoffrey wanted to sour the plan.

I said, “You do know that the Courtenays are one of the wealthiest families in the land? They have an army of servants. How could anyone hurt me while I am their guest?”

“That’s not the sort of danger I am thinking of.”

“Then what?” I demanded.

He did not answer me. I could see he was weighing his words, trying to decide how to frame something. Much as Gertrude Courtenay had measured her words upstairs, when telling me of the Lady Mary.

“How does Sister Beatrice know you were planning to come to Dartford, to be the town constable?” I asked.

Geoffrey frowned in surprise. “She wrote to me after the fair. I answered her letters.”

“I see.”

“I would have been only too happy to write to you, Joanna. But of course you sent me no letters.”

An awkward tension filled my kitchen. I couldn’t correspond with Geoffrey. Writing might have encouraged his hopes of more than friendship. I’d thought he no longer harbored such feelings for me, since I’d seen him only once since his declaration in the priory barn, last spring.

“At Saint Margaret’s Fair,” I began, and then faltered.

“The fair? What of it?”

“You were not . . . at ease. I don’t know why.”

There was bewilderment in Geoffrey’s face, but then it shifted to something else. He laughed. It was not the easy, boyish laugh of earlier.

“You have no notion, do you, Joanna? I’ve sometimes wondered if you were aware—I’ve thought, ‘No, she
has
to realize. She’s certainly not stupid.’ ”

“Realize what?”

“Your
effect
on men. How they respond to you, how they look at you. And then when you add Beatrice to it—God’s blood! Two beautiful young women, novices no more but unmarried, fatherless, wandering about the countryside. One dark, one fair. I may have seemed ill at ease, Joanna, because I feared that in a crowd of men who’d downed ale, I might not be able to defend you. Fortunately, no one meddled with us. But I wager that was part of the reason the town wanted to put you in the stocks today. Your looks can be . . . discomfiting.”

“This is
not
true,” I said, my voice rising. “What you’re saying is distasteful. And absurd.”

“Must I remind you under what circumstances we met?” he asked.

I winced at the memory of the ruffian who’d attacked me at Smithfield. I said, “What does this have to do with the Courtenays?”

“Nothing. But their home is not a safe place for you. Not now. It’s not anything that they’ve done—obviously they are noble people. But it is who they
are
.”

I heard Arthur laugh in the other room. He’d come inside. I wanted to return to him, and to my relations.

“I understand you have concerns for my welfare, Geoffrey,” I said. “But I must tell you that rarely has a man struck me as sounder than Henry Courtenay. I know I can trust him.”

“As you knew you could trust Sister Christina?”

I took a step back from him, then another, as regret filled his
eyes. The pain must have been written large on my face that he had said the name of the novice who had been my friend—and yet had murdered two people. He reached out, saying, “I meant only that—”

I slapped his hand away and whirled round to the kitchen door. It was stuck. I had to get out of that room.

“Joanna, I’m very sorry.” His voice was low and thick.

“I want you to leave,” I said. Using the heels of both hands, I slammed against the door so hard that it burst open.

Everyone stopped talking. I struggled to present a calm face. Arthur scrambled over to me and I ran my fingers through his silky tangled hair, felt for the top of his ears.

“Are you well, Joanna?” asked Gertrude, her eyes shifting to the left of me. Geoffrey must have appeared there, just behind.

“I am.” Thankfully, my voice had steadied. “And I wish to accept your kind offer of a visit.”

The Courtenays rejoiced; Arthur jumped up and down. In moments, servants were dispatched to pack our things. Gertrude wouldn’t hear of waiting for a day.

Sister Beatrice was halfway out the door when I caught her. She must have been trying to follow Geoffrey. He’d left my home, as I’d asked.

“Would you help me upstairs, Sister Beatrice?” I asked. “A matter requires your attention.”

In my room, she knelt next to me as I folded Arthur’s clothes. I said, “I understand now why you’ve remained in Dartford, so close to me—it was not for my friendship, I think. It has more to do with Geoffrey Scovill.”

“Yes,” she said, “I have a certain feeling for him.”

At least there would be no more deception.

Sister Beatrice handed me a wool nightdress for Arthur. “Geoffrey does not feel the same,” she said. “I know that. But he may come to.”

Such brazen calm frightened me. “What of our vows?” I asked. “We’re no longer inside priory walls, but the vows we swore to take as sisters still hold.”

“Do you mean the vow of
chastity
?” she spat.

Sister Beatrice’s face puckered like a cornered cat’s. “You know my life. I was mistress to an evil man. My body thickened with a child whom God took away, in His mercy. I was abandoned by all—by my own mother. She cursed me as a whore and drove me into the forest.”

I couldn’t help but be moved by her sufferings. “But you returned to the priory, as a lay sister,” I said. “You were brought back into the community.”

“Because of Geoffrey.” She nodded, rapidly. “He found me and I told him everything. Everything. Geoffrey did not criticize me or judge me. The only person who never has.”

And yet how Geoffrey criticized
me
. From the first, he’d argued with me, hectored me. Aloud, I said, “I do not judge you.”

“You least of all among the women, Sister Joanna. But still you do. I don’t hate you for it.” She squeezed my hand. “You’ve been a friend. I did not cleave to you only because of Geoffrey. Beneath all your storm and fury is a kind heart.”

She opened her mouth and then closed it, as if unsure.

“Tell me,” I said.

Sister Beatrice took a breath. “If we are being truthful today, then let us walk to the end of the path. I know that Geoffrey loves you. But it is
because
it is hopeless. That is the nature of his feeling for you. And you do not love him.”