A Rose for the Crown: A Novel

  “Brother, is this not the time for your tutoring of Geoffrey Bywood?” She kept her voice low, as she did not want Richard to be disturbed unless her suspicions were correct and Geoff had indeed neglected his lessons.

  “Aye, madam. I have searched upstairs, including the chapel, but he is not there. Maybe Alfred needed him in the kitchen.”

  Francis had been disappointed by Elinor’s behavior with the boy that morning. He had charged her to tell her beads one more time than the usual five and made her kneel on the bare floor of the chapel to discharge her penance. The boy was an apt enough pupil, but mainly the chaplain felt sympathy for the lad’s position in the house. He prayed that she would find Geoffrey toiling in the kitchen. He moved past Elinor, knocked on the office door and silently slipped into the room at Richard’s bidding. Elinor went back to the kitchens, but other than a couple of scullery boys who were grinding dried peas for a pottage, the kitchen was deserted.

  “Have you seen Master Bywood?” Elinor surprised the boys, who jumped nervously at her voice. “Answer me, have you seen Geoffrey this afternoon?”

  The servants shook their heads, looking frightened. “Last I saw him, mistress, he were out in the courtyard talking to Ralph,” one of them ventured, “but ’twere after the midday dinner, ma’am, an it please you.”

  “It does not please me, John. I’ll wager the young varmint has skipped his lessons to climb that beech tree.” She grimaced and turned on her heel, determined to find Geoff. The boys bowed their heads and rolled their eyes at each other, relieved they were not the target of Elinor’s ire.

  The weak winter sun had already set when she stomped out of the gatehouse and over the moat, passing the flower and herb gardens. The stone-hard ground now yielded withered, frostbitten stalks. She took the path along the stewpond and climbed the small slope to the upper lake towards what was unofficially known as Geoff’s beech, trying to be as quiet as her long skirts allowed. The gathering dusk would usually have deterred her from a walk alone at that hour, but she was too intent on her purpose to be prudent. Ungrateful boy, she thought as she walked. Perhaps this time Richard will take my part and believe he is naught but trouble and should be returned to his father. She did not see Geoff on either bank, but, suspecting he was skulking in the leafless branches of the beech, she made her way to where the stream emptied into the lake and the woods began.

  The twilight and absence of distinctive leaves made it hard for her to pick out individual trees, and she paused, looking around for the copper beech. She had taken a warm cloak upon leaving the house but had not bothered to remove her high jeweled headband. She did not notice the shadow behind the very beech she was looking for until it was upon her petite person, grabbing at her headdress and the necklace at her throat.

  Elinor was angry, screaming that the boy must stop or he would get a beating he would really remember. Her screams were piercing, and her antagonist panicked. He struggled with her as she tried to pull herself away, and the swaying bodies tussled closer and closer to the water’s edge. With a final violent push, the thief shoved Elinor backwards into the deepest part of the lake, her weight shattering the thin ice. He had succeeded in stealing the headband, but as Elinor’s screams for help were loud enough to raise the alarm, he took off running, forsaking the more valuable necklace.

  Elinor gasped as the icy water seeped into her heavy fur-lined cloak, long woolen dress and linen chemise. Unable to swim, she flailed around, trying to gain a foothold in the sucking mud on the bottom of the lake. But her clothes dragged her farther into its frigid depths. She fought valiantly to rid herself of her cloak, and, pumping her legs up and down, she resurfaced briefly, grasping at the flimsy ice and crying again for help. Too late she loosed the cloak from around her neck with her last gulp of air, and now like a soggy blanket it floated over her, further encumbering her efforts to lift her head above water. Her weighted arms had no more strength to pull her up, and the cold numbed her legs. Her lungs were bursting, and she could hold her breath no longer. The air rushed out of her mouth and nose and the water poured in as she frantically clawed at the mantle above her. Losing consciousness, she sank like a stone to the bottom, the floating cloak a tragic marker.

  A stable lad heard her cries, but the first one had sounded angry, not frightened, and he thought it was naught but a couple of servants having a tiff, and precious seconds were lost. The second frightened scream alerted him into action. He raced up the steps of the gatehouse and pulled on the bell rope, sounding the alarm. Several minutes passed before men with lighted torches ran out of the house and barns. A crowd gathered round the stable lad, who described the woman’s screams with a fine flair for drama. Richard commanded several of his staff to follow him with lights and a weapon or two. He held his broadsword, the closest thing to hand when he had heard the bell, and he was ready to do battle for the damsel in distress. He and his crowd of helpers hurried along the path Elinor had taken not fifteen minutes earlier. Kate and Anne, wrapped in their cloaks, followed close behind.

  When the group reached the lake, the last of the day’s light revealed a dark shape floating in the water. Richard ordered two of his burliest servants into the freezing lake to pull out the garment and then to wade in as far as they dared to try and find the unfortunate victim. The body was not far from shore. The men found it quickly and formed a human chain to pull it in. In the rush, no one had noticed Elinor’s absence, so when the eerie light of the torches flickered over her ghastly green-white face and staring black eyes wide with fear, Richard’s shock brought him to his knees. He desperately tried to slap life back into Elinor’s cheeks, and he turned her over and began to push the water from her lungs, crying out to God for help. But it was no use: Elinor was gone. Anne ran to her father’s side, her eyes full of tears and her hand over her mouth.

  “Mother! Oh, Mother! Wake up, wake up, I beseech you! Oh, mercy, whatever shall I do without you? Sweet Mary, please do not take her away!” she prayed, forgetting Elinor’s failings in her natural anguish. “Father, save her! Save her! Do it! Do it!” She screamed at Richard and urged him to push harder on Elinor’s back. There was no reaction save a trickle of water that oozed from the dead woman’s mouth.

  “Elinor! Elinor! Oh, God, what mischief is this?” Richard was distraught. He turned her again on her back and stroked the chalky cheek, willing Elinor to breathe.

  Edgar stepped forward, smoothed the lids over the glassy eyes and gently covered the inert form with his cloak. He lifted Richard to his feet. Father and daughter held each other, and Kate came forward to put her arm around Anne’s shivering shoulders. By this time, the rest of the household had arrived on the scene and were shaking their heads, doffing their caps and crossing themselves. Some of the women were weeping out of fear, some out of loyalty to their mistress.

  “Who could have done this?” Edgar’s booming voice echoed over the lake. The assembled company shuffled nervously. As they looked from one to another, the kitchen boy remembered that Elinor had been searching for Geoff.

  “Where be Geoff?” he whispered to the servants nearest him. “Mistress Elinor were looking for him.”

  A murmur of “Where’s Geoff Bywood” began to run through the crowd from person to person until it reached those standing by the corpse. Kate heard it before Richard and Anne, and a frisson of fear went through her. Where was Geoff? She had not seen him since dinner. Oh, God, she thought desperately, do not let him be the one! He could not—her mind was racing now—he is too young, too small, only one good arm. He is only a boy. Oh, God, let him be here and not be the one! Her eyes flew around the familiar faces, some in shadow, some in the full light of the torches, but Geoff was nowhere to be seen.

  “What’s this I hear?” bellowed Richard, releasing Anne and stepping towards one group. “Geoffrey Bywood, where are you?” He swung around from cluster to cluster of frightened, whimpering servants and waited for Geoff’s voice to pipe up. Silence met his query.

  “He i
s the only one of my household not present. He must be found, for I do believe he has killed my lady wife through spite after his beating today. That is the only explanation.”

  “Nay! Geoffrey would not harm a flea!” Kate cried, stepping forward.

  Anne pulled Kate aside angrily. “What are you saying? You cannot protect Geoff anymore. If ’twas he who killed my mother—” She broke off on a wail and ran to her father.

  “Of course he did not kill her.” Kate’s voice rose in indignation. “He could not kill anyone. He is just a boy—and with only one good arm. You must believe me!”

  Anne turned away.

  “Kate, say no more. This matter must be investigated. You and Geoff are my kin and are dear to me, but as Geoff is our only suspect and you are here on our charity, you would do well to hold your tongue for a change,” Richard said sternly, but he took Kate in the crook of his arm with Anne and held them close.

  Edgar organized four of the men to form a litter with his cloak and carry Elinor ceremoniously back to the Mote, motioning the rest of the household to follow at a respectful distance. Several of the servants jostled one another for a look at the pallid features of their erstwhile mistress, and many of them crossed themselves again, knowing she had met her death unshriven. They were convinced she was dancing in hellfire now. Richard and Anne followed the body hand in hand, Richard staring stoically ahead and Anne at the ground. Kate traipsed behind, her eyes searching the crowd for Geoff.

  Anne’s young heart felt drained, and only her father’s strong, loving clasp prevented her from stumbling and swooning on the path. The love she had for Elinor was dutiful, but her gentle nature had cringed at every harsh word uttered to Kate and Geoff. She was guilt-ridden by the many hateful thoughts she had had about her mother all her life, and she wondered if God would ever forgive her. Her tears increased with her despair and spilled onto the ground in great drops.

  “Sweeting, go now and warm yourself,” said Richard when they reached the house. “Kate will attend you, and I will arrange for Masses to begin this night for your mother’s soul, and I shall keep vigil tonight.”

  The men carried the litter into the great hall on their way to the chapel, and as if by some heavenly hand, the chapel bell began to toll. In the excitement of the discovery of Elinor’s body, no one had remembered it was vespers hour. Now the bell reminded them. Richard strode through the front door, calling for Brother Francis.

  The chaplain had not been at the scene of the drowning. He was in his sparse attic room, preparing for vespers. He heard the alarm bell, but as no one came up to find him, he had presumed he was not needed and had proceeded down to the chapel to light the candles. His consternation at the lack of a congregation for the evening service was turning into annoyance when he heard Richard’s loud summons. He hurried downstairs and met the litter-bearers as they came into the stairwell. His face grew pale when he saw what appeared to be a corpse under the cloak. He crossed himself.

  “What has happened?”

  Edgar lifted the cloth from Elinor’s face, and the priest recoiled in horror. “Dear Jesu, poor lady!”

  He was given a brief account, and then Richard appeared behind them in the doorway. “Move along, sirs. Brother, we must set up a bier in the chapel, and you shall begin masses for her soul as soon as supper is finished. My dear wife has been drowned—by some murderous hand. We will do everything in our power to ensure her place with God.”

  Francis was startled. “Murdered! Why think you she has been murdered? ’Tis more likely she slipped and fell into the lake.”

  “Nay! She was pushed. Young Simon heard her screams. She was fighting with someone. And we do believe it was young Geoff Bywood, who is nowhere to be found.” Richard watched the men bear his wife slowly upstairs. “Mary! Where is Mary? She must help me get Elinor out of those killing garments.”

  Mary, whose red eyes testified to her genuine sorrow at losing her mistress, hurried past Richard to the upstairs chamber.

  Richard followed her. Anne and Kate were already in their chamber, and Kate was wiping Anne’s swollen eyes with a cold, damp cloth and murmuring soothing words to her. She felt so protective of this quiet, sweet girl, and she knew the pain of losing a mother. Kate’s thoughts were a jumble of emotions: sadness for Anne’s and Richard’s pain, guilt for the many wicked thoughts she had harbored about Elinor, relief at the removal of a thorn in her side and Geoff’s, worry over Geoff’s disappearance, anger at the inference that Geoff was guilty of the murder and yet panic over his possible culpability. If Geoff were found and believed to be guilty, he could hang.

  Anne’s sobs soon quieted, and eventually she began to regain her self-control. She gently pushed Kate away, tidied her own dress, tucked a few strands of hair back under her coif, turned confidently on her heel and walked into her parents’ chamber. Kate followed her, neatening her appearance as she went. The room smelled of wet wool. Elinor, now richly clothed for her lying-in, was attended by Richard and Mary. Anne picked up the discarded dripping clothes, and as she prepared them for drying, she noticed Elinor’s headdress was missing.

  “Mary, where is Mother’s headdress? She was wearing it this afternoon. I recall seeing her with it in the dispensary. I do not see it here among the hats and coifs, and she was not wearing it when they—” She stopped, catching her underlip, not wanting to conjure up the scene again.

  Richard understood and went to her. “It may be at the bottom of the lake, Anne. ’Tis likely. The jewel was heavy. Someone will look for it in the daylight, fear not. Now, are you ready to go down to supper? In truth, you look very well composed. I am proud of you.” Richard gave her forehead a kiss and then offered her his arm. With as much dignity as they could muster, father and daughter descended the stairs and entered the great hall for the evening meal.

  Edgar sat at the head table that night, and he and Richard laid out their strategy for finding Geoff the next day. Kate’s appetite had deserted her as she listened to the elaborate plans for the search for her brother. No stone would be left unturned, and the sheriff was to be summoned so that when they did find Geoff, a swift trial could be arranged. The two men moved on to the funeral plans and how they would announce the death to the neighboring gentry. Richard turned to Kate and provided the miracle she and Anne had prayed for these past few months.

  “Kate, my child, I am heartily sorry to have to tell you this, but your nuptials cannot proceed in light of Elinor’s death. We must observe a period of mourning. Your bridegroom must needs wait for you until after the Lenten season. You do understand?”

  Kate had just taken a mouthful of ale and it was all she could do not to spew it across the table. She swallowed it so quickly that it brought tears to her eyes, making Richard believe she was sorry indeed to have to wait so long for wedded bliss.

  “I will dispatch a messenger to Thomas tomorrow and likewise to your father. Thomas will want to be with you at this sad time, and if we find Geoff, your father will want to be here to await the trial. Geoff is your father’s responsibility after all. By my troth, I am sorry now I did not listen to Elinor regarding the boy. I see she was right to discipline him. He is wild, Kate, and now he is in deep trouble, I fear.” Richard looked stern and shook his head in disbelief again.

  Kate’s heart cried in agony for Geoff. She had never felt so alone at Ightham Mote. Anne’s hand found Kate’s knee under the table, and Kate felt an encouraging squeeze from her cousin.

  I hope Anne does not really believe Geoff could have done this heinous thing, Kate thought, turning to look at Anne and searching her brown eyes. In her sadness, Anne’s face had taken on a pinched look, and Kate was startled to see how much she resembled her mother at that moment.

  She was relieved to escape to her chamber as soon as the meal was ended and the amen intoned. She was in her chemise and in a curled-up position under the bedcovers long before Anne came to join her. Her thoughts were with Geoff. Where was he? He must be cold and afraid, wherever he is.
Please, God, keep him safe, she begged. Then she fell into a troubled sleep, with dreams of wading into a pond in her new bridal gown, Thomas waiting at the other side of the pond and an arm extending from the water waving a jeweled headband.

  She woke long before dawn to find Anne snuggled against her for warmth, snoring gently. Extricating herself, Kate slipped out of bed, took care of her needs in the vessel in the corner of the room and felt around for her stockings and overdress in the darkness. She dressed quietly, being careful not to wake Mary, who was sleeping in the truckle bed at the foot of the girls’ bed. Then she tiptoed to the door, took down her warm cloak from its peg and used both hands to lift the door latch silently. The door creaked slightly as she opened it just enough to slip into Richard’s room, where his squire was sleeping alone on a pallet. She remembered Richard was keeping vigil in the chapel. The man turned over in his sleep, and Kate held her breath, hoping he had not wakened. He grunted, and then his breathing returned to its natural rhythm. She lifted the latch on the door to the passageway and crept out, shutting it slowly behind her. She could see candlelight filtering under the door of the chapel and was glad she did not have to pass it to go down the stairs. The third stair always creaked, so she bypassed it, holding fast on to the banister. At the bottom of the stairs, she threw on her cloak and put up the hood against the frigid air. She exited the house through the door by the stairwell and into her favorite garden niche behind the great hall. From there she took the servants’ bridge over the moat, unlocking the door in the outer wall with the big iron key hanging on a nail under the eaves of the kitchen house. Replacing the key, she left the door unlocked, expecting to return before anyone would notice she was gone.