A Rose for the Crown: A Novel, Page 3

  “Hush, Elinor. Not here, my dear,” Richard insisted and turned to John. “She is tired from our long journey today. We left at first light and stopped only once to break our fast.”

  Elinor brushed down her skirts and sat down at the table. She glared at her husband but knew she should push him no further.

  “You had business in Dover, Richard?” asked John, trying to smooth the waters. He caught Kate’s eye and jerked his head in the direction of the boys. She extricated herself from Richard’s hold and skipped back to her place, pulling a face at her brothers. They both stuck their tongue out at her.

  “Aye, John, a shipment of tapestry I was expecting—for the great hall. Elinor traveled with me to be sure it is as she desires.”

  Richard’s reply was delivered with a nonchalance that concealed his rapid pulse and heightened anxiety. He had, in fact, been meeting secretly with a messenger from the earl of Warwick, who was Captain of Calais and aligned with the Yorkists. There were messages flying back and forth between this powerful warlord and Yorkist supporters in England, and Richard knew it would not be long before the duke of York asserted his influence on the country once again.

  John accepted his explanation without question, and the conversation turned to more mundane topics. Ralph came back with the bottle of perfume, and Richard was able to deliver on his promise to Kate by sprinkling the pungent potion on her bodice and sleeves. The boys wrinkled their noses in disgust, but Kate breathed in deeply and savored the exotic smell that made her feel so grown up. She had never been singled out before and certainly not by one of Richard’s rank. She smiled happily at him.

  The visitors did not stay long but took their leave to catch the last of the daylight and reach the inn a little more than a mile from the farm.

  “I thank you for a fine supper, dear Martha,” Richard said, embracing her. “It is right good to see you again. And someday maybe young Kate can come to Ightham and get acquainted with her cousin.” He turned to Kate, who was holding her scented sleeve to her nostrils and savoring the spicy smell. “Would you like that, sweetheart?”

  “Aye, sir. I thank you kindly.”

  “We shall arrange it, we shall arrange it, never fear,” he said, cupping her chin in his hand and giving her a kiss on the forehead. “Come, Elinor, ’tis time for us to leave.”

  Elinor gave a polite nod of thanks to her hosts, took her husband’s arm and swept out of the house, followed by the two servants, the exuberant boys and the gamboling hound. The room seemed suddenly dull, robbed of the wealthy visitors’ bright colors and Richard’s cheery voice. John put his arm around his wife and complimented her on the success of the meal.

  “And what of her ladyship?” Martha looked at him enquiringly. “She be comely enough, but her nature be sour, in truth. I be sorry if I spoke out of turn, husband, but she did provoke me as a stick stirring a wasp’s nest.”

  “I think she be hateful,” pronounced Kate. The adults exchanged a look that expressed their agreement. “I pray I never set eyes on her again. Except . . .”

  “Except what, Kate?” asked her mother.

  “Except I do truly want to see the great hall at Ightham!” she cried.

  2

  Kent, September 1460

  It was Matty’s first birthday, but only Kate bothered to spoil her baby sister on what seemed to her to be an important occasion. The boys were agreeable to an outdoor feast near the river, especially as they had watched Kate raid the larder for anything she thought her mother would not miss.

  Martha was preparing some herbs for drying in the kitchen and had told Kate to watch her siblings until suppertime. And yes, she could take them for a walk in the woods, but no, not down by the river. The river was no more than a stream, a gentle stretch of the Medway that flowed through the adjacent farmland to the Bywood property and on to Maidstone. But to the children, who had never ventured farther than a few miles from the farm, it was a mighty river. And it was Kate’s goal to reach it that crisp September day—with or without permission.

  Carrying Matty in her arms, she marched confidently through the woods in her wooden pattens, followed by Johnny, proudly holding the basket of food. Martha had insisted that Matty should be swaddled for the walk, and in truth it made her easier to carry, though Kate hated to see the baby so confined all day. Martha explained that in a busy household babies are safer lying swaddled in their cradle. When Kate had permission to play with the baby before bedtime, she would free Matty and watch with delight as the infant kicked and squirmed on the floor or tried to flex her strengthening legs as she was held on Kate’s knees, struggling to stand. It was Kate who noticed all the changes in Matty as she grew from infant to toddler, her motherly instincts already in place at the age of ten.

  Geoff trailed along behind, his face already grimy from wrestling in the garden with Fenris earlier that day, droning, “How-long-’til-we-be-there?” incessantly as he walked.

  “Geoff, in truth you be a nuisance,” Kate called over her shoulder. “Do you want a piece of that rabbit pie or not?” Her brother grunted his assent and plodded on, the faithful Fenris frolicking around him, sniffing at the weeds. Kate began naming plants and trees along the path to her siblings, lovingly touching the gnarled trunk of her favorite oak, the smooth, silky bark of a birch, and hushed the children to listen to a thrush, a wood pigeon or a finch. She knew all their songs and where they nested every spring. Geoff got bored with the nature lecture, picked up a long stick and poked Johnny in the rump, causing Johnny to bellow in protest and almost to drop the basket. Kate’s patience came to an abrupt halt. She put the baby down and moved threateningly in Geoff’s direction. He did not wait for the cuff to the ear he knew he was about to receive but took off at a run into the field above the river. Fenris raced at his heels, barking joyfully, enjoying the excuse to stretch his long legs.

  Kate was in a quandary and she had to think fast. If she ran after Geoff and punished him by taking him home, their feast by the river would be spoiled. It would also mean abandoning Matty in Johnny’s unreliable hands, and she did not trust him alone with all that food. She could see Geoff’s head emerging from the overripe wheat from time to time. She gasped as she realized he would soon reach the riverbank—and danger. And so she went into action.

  “Johnny, you be a good boy and watch your sister. And if there be one thing missing from the basket when I return, you will rue the day, I promise you.” She wagged her finger at the boy. “I fear Geoff has not the sense to mind the river. Now, sit here with Matty until I give you a sign.”

  Johnny felt a thrill of fear run through him. His sister looked scared, and if the truth were told, he was, too. He was more scared of his father’s wrath if they were discovered than of his brother falling into the river, but he did as he was told and sat next to Matty with the basket between his knees.

  “I promise,” he called after Kate, who was already running through the spiky wheat in pursuit of Geoff.

  “Stop, Geoff, stop!” she cried, lifting her cumbersome skirts up to her waist to move faster. She could no longer see her brother, though where he had ploughed through the field was perfectly obvious. The field ended at a steep bank on the other side of which was the river. She had made so much noise in the wheat that she could not have heard a splash. Her heart was beating faster and faster as she topped the riverbank and expected to see the worst. Fenris had waded through the reeds and was up to his underside in the muddy stream, lapping the water with his oversized tongue. There was no sign of Geoff. Kate panicked.

  “Geoff, Geoff! Say you be safe,” she screamed, running along the bank. “Blessed Jesu, please say he be safe!”

  She did not get far before a half-buried tree branch tripped her, and she tumbled headlong down the bank and landed facedown in the reeds and murky water.

  “Ha, ha, ha!” laughed Geoff, as he stepped out of his hiding place in the reeds. His face was a picture of glee as he watched his sister pick herself up and attempt to effect
a dignified retreat from the sucking mud. Kate forgot all prudence, all ladylike behavior and rushed at her brother, pushing him backwards into the stream. The glee was instantly wiped off his face, much to her satisfaction until she realized the implication of her act. Now both of them were wet and filthy, and she had lost one of her pattens in the mud.

  “Blessed Jesu,” she said, using the adult expression for the second time in three minutes. “I fear we be undone.”

  She helped Geoff out of the water, and they both clambered up the bank and began wringing the water and slime out of their clothes. Fenris bounded up the bank, carrying Kate’s missing shoe, and proceeded to shower them with a shake from head to tail. Kate was glad to have her shoe back and hugged the dog gratefully.

  “I be sorry, Kate,” whimpered Geoff, beginning to shiver half with cold, half with fear. “I just thought to hide from you. ’Tis the truth, and I will not do it again.”

  Kate’s sunny nature could not be dampened by a dip in the stream, and her frown soon turned into a smile and then a laugh at the sight of them both. She put her arm around her brother.

  “’Twill teach us both a lesson, Geoff,” she said. “We must stop being deceitful. Acting in secret can bring naught but trouble. And you must not feign drowning again—for you see the consequences. Now we must tell our mother why we are wet, and I fear she will not trust me to take care of you again.”

  “Can we still have our feast?” ventured Geoff, not having listened too closely to this philosophizing. “Look, the sun be coming out again, and I warrant we shall soon dry. Maybe mother’ll not notice our clothes if they be dry.”

  “Halloooo!” echoed over the field to the two bedraggled children on the bank.

  “Johnny! Matty! I quite forgot them.” Kate jumped to her feet and ran down into the field, waving and shouting. “We be here. Wait there for me.”

  Johnny giggled when he saw his sister soaking wet, with mud and wheat stuck to her skirt and hair. Kate glared at him and then explained what had happened. “But don’t you dare tell on us,” she warned. “I will think of something.” She wrapped cheerful Matty up in the food cloth, to protect her from the wet gown, and the three of them made their way through the wheat to where Geoff and Fenris sat sunning themselves against the bank. There was not much joy for Kate in their clandestine feast as she pondered a plausible story to tell Martha. The boys squabbled over the food, and Matty, whose special day they all had been bent on celebrating, fell fast asleep.

  KATE SUFFERED THE WORST PUNISHMENT. The responsibility she had been given for the safety of her siblings was rescinded, at least for the time being, and wise Martha, knowing that being nursemaid to Matty was one of the joys in Kate’s life, took away that privilege for a week, even though it would put an extra burden on her own shoulders. Instead, Kate was to help pick the apples that were being harvested, and, until the light was gone, she was to mend the family’s clothes without Martha’s help.

  Ugh! thought Kate, to whom sewing was tantamount to purgatory. “Yes, Mother,” was all she said aloud.

  The two boys were chastised but not punished. Kate had fabricated an elaborate tale about Fenris being caught in an otter trap in the stream and his yowls forcing her to disobey her mother and go to the river with Geoff to help the dog. Unfortunately, instead of trusting her luck and stopping there, Kate blithely continued in her lie, inventing Geoff’s heroism in the incident as the reason for his wet clothes. “If it hadn’t been for him, Fenris might have drowned. . . .”

  John’s fist crashed down on the table. “Enough!” he shouted at her. The whole family jumped. “Enough of your lies, girl! Go to bed immediately!”

  Kate fled up the stairs in tears. She got under the blanket fully clothed and listened as her parents spoke sternly to the boys before they, too, clambered into bed beside her. They whispered their prayers in unison, and soon Kate could hear them lightly snoring. She thought guiltily of the ease with which she had told the lie and offered an extra prayer to the infant Jesus to forgive her. She finally fell asleep and dreamed of sitting beside a stream, surrounded by mounds of clothes, her finger bleeding so profusely from carelessly plying the needle and her tears of frustration so free-flowing that her gown was soaked through.

  The next day, as Kate churned the butter alone in the corner of the kitchen, she was dismayed to see her father at the door. He would usually be out in the field at this time of day. He pulled up a stool and told her to stop what she was doing. She held her breath.

  “Why did you lie to your mother?” John asked sternly. “Have we not taught you right from wrong? Good from bad? Lying is wrong, Kate, and you shamed us with it last night.”

  Kate reddened and hung her head. “Aye, Father, I know.”

  “Lying begets more lying until a body cannot even remember the truth. God teaches us not to bear false witness, my child, and you must learn to obey His laws.”

  “I be sorry, Father.”

  “That be what I wanted to hear, child. Now go and apologize to your mam. When you have said your piece, come to the orchard.”

  Kate bowed her head, wiped her hands on her apron and went to find her mother.

  WHEN THE SUN WAS SETTING, Kate found her father enjoying a quiet moment at the foot of a gnarled apple tree after toiling all day. She sat down beside him. His face was impassive, but when she curled her hand into his, she was rewarded with a smile.

  “Do you hate me, Father?”

  “Don’t be daft, child. Of course, I don’t. I know you for a good girl, but you needed to learn a lesson.” He paused. “Are you ready to learn another?”

  “Aye, Father,” Kate said, with some trepidation.

  “This one be not as simple, but I think I can make you understand. I believe your lie was confused with loyalty.”

  “Loyalty? What be loyalty?” Kate asked eagerly, relieved that she was not to be punished again.

  “’Tis when you stand by someone you love or honor and do not desert him even in the bad times. You lied for Geoff, didn’t you? I be certain ’twas that young rascal got into trouble and you rescued him with a lie so he would not take any blame. You believed you were being loyal, because you love him so dear, but lying is not the way, Kate.”

  “I don’t think I understand, Father.” John noted Kate did not deny his excellent deduction. “How could I be loyal without lying?” she asked.

  “By owning up that the whole adventure was your idea, that you disobeyed your mam and that Geoff be too young to know better. Instead, you blamed poor Fenris, who be too clever to fall into an otter trap, in truth. I saw through your lie like through crystal.”

  Huge tears of remorse rolled down Kate’s cheeks. John was so sorry for her that he pulled her onto his knee and comforted her.

  “Mayhap explaining what not being loyal is the way. Peter denied Our Lord three times, remember?” Kate nodded. John went on, “Three times he said he did not know Jesus, because he was afraid. ’Twas a lie. ’Twas also disloyal to a man he had sworn to follow. Do you see?”

  “I think so, Father.”

  Then John took something out of the lining of his jerkin. “I think this may help.”

  She had not seen the coin before and looked puzzled as she turned it over in her hand.

  “It be an écu—French,” he said. “I carry it with me always, for it reminds me of a comrade who admitted to our commander that he had stolen it from a dead French man-at-arms.”

  “Why would he do that? Why did he not just keep it?” She held the coin up and squinted through the hole.

  “It was expressly forbidden to steal from the dead on the battlefield, though many a man did. He hid it inside his glove. The next day, I picked up his glove by mistake, and the coin fell out in front of the company. I stood staring at the coin, knowing I could be hanged from the nearest tree.”

  Kate lowered the coin quickly, aghast. “Did you not tell them ’tweren’t your glove?”

  “I said nothing, for he was my friend.
As my hands were being tied, he stepped forward and told the truth.”

  “Did he hang, Father?” Kate whispered fearfully.

  Her father nodded grimly, remembering the awful scene. “Our captain commended us for our loyalty to each other and then gave me the coin to keep. My friend could have lied to save his own skin, but he chose the truth. You see, a few days earlier, he had been wounded in the thick of battle, and I had shielded him from further harm until I could take him to safety.”

  “You were loyal to him then and so he repaid it. Be that the way of it, Father?”

  “Aye, Kate,” John replied, as he carefully placed the écu back in its hiding place. “He did.” He rose, satisfied. “Come, it be getting dark.”

  He walked off, leaving Kate with an indelible picture of the soldier jerking at the end of a rope.

  MARTHA WAS NOT WELL these days. Her fifth pregnancy did not feel the same as the others, and she put it down to her twenty-nine years. Her best childbearing years were past. If the truth were told, she had been dismayed to find she was pregnant again so soon after bearing Matty, whose birth had tired her beyond imagination. Matty had been a big baby and had caused Martha a long and painful labor. She had bled for several weeks following. It was only through the tender nursing of Kate and John that she had gained the strength back to bear the winter’s cold.

  Despite her misgivings, she could not deny John’s advances on the night of conception. She presumed women everywhere performed their wifely duty with the same ambivalence and that women’s pleasure must come from the babies. Hers certainly did. She knew of the existence of harlots, who performed the act for money, and could not imagine allowing strange men to heave upon her in order to make a living.

  Soon it would be time to tell Kate of womanly matters. The girl was maturing fast; her breasts had begun to bud, and her childlike prettiness was turning into beauty. Martha often wondered how she and John had produced such a jewel, and she glowed with pride every time she looked at her daughter. Matty had her mother’s coloring, but it was too soon to tell whether she would be as lovely as Kate.