A Rose for the Crown

  SHE WOKE TO SEE ROSE and Janet bending over her, the Frenchwoman’s round brown eyes looking at her anxiously. A dimple dented her right cheek when she saw Kate’s eyes open.

  “Vous êtes bien, madame? Are you good? All ze house is ennuyé, you understand? Troubled, à cause de your maladie,” she ventured. “Voilà, Jeannette, she is réveillée. Zanks be to le bon Dieu!”

  “What is the hour? How long have I slept?” Kate raised herself up, pushing sleep out of her eyes and yawning widely. “Dear God, it must be past matins!” She did not remember coming into this room the night before, the heavy oak paneling, the tiny leaded casement windows. Surely she would have noticed the silkiness of the bedsheets she luxuriated in now? She was puzzled but unconcerned. All she knew was that she felt rested and ravenous.

  The anxious looks of the two waiting women disappeared when they observed Kate’s healthy color and cheerful voice. Janet gave Kate a plateful of food and some ale to wash it down and watched with satisfaction as her charge left not a morsel.

  “My thanks, Janet,” Kate called after her as the servant left the room. “Rose, will you help me to dress now?” Kate spoke slowly, for she had taken the measure of Rose’s lack of English in the birthing chamber, and Kate knew no French other than the songs she had learned. “Why am I here? What of your mistress and the baby? Is everything in order? And Master Haute, he must wonder what has become of me.” She clambered out of bed as she talked.

  Rose nodded, helping Kate into her gown. “Oui, oui, madame. Ma maîtresse is very ’appy, but she call for you. You go quick, non? Et, after a little while, you eat. It is tard—late. Your father wish to see you. He go soon.” Rose was expertly twining Kate’s heavy hair into a tidy pile to cover with her cap. “You are not malade, alors? Not eel, madame?”

  “Ill? No, of course I am not ill. Do I look ill?”

  Kate looked around for a mirror but did not see one. She tied the chin straps and pushed some errant hairs under the linen bonnet.

  “Oh, do tell me what happened, Rose. How came I to be here in this room? I cannot remember.”

  Rose did not bother to understand Kate’s questions but steered her out of the room to Margaret’s chamber. There she knocked, opened the door without ceremony and ushered Kate inside. Margaret was sitting up in bed, her light brown hair a river on the cushions that propped her up, and the baby was nursing greedily. Kate had now attended two healthy births to counteract the horror of her mother’s final agony. She ran across to the bed and sat down on it as if she had known Margaret all her life. Margaret reached out her free hand and patted Kate’s. “My child, they tell me you were ill last night. You look the picture of health today, but I hope you are not ailing? I hope you were comfortable in Grandmother Tendring’s chamber.”

  “Aye, most comfortable, thank you, madam. I know not what happened. The last thing I can remember is giving Sir John the good news about your little daughter, and then I woke to find Rose and Janet peering into my face. I confess I was mightily tired last night. ’Twas exhaustion, nothing more.”

  Margaret persisted. “Could it be you are with child, Kate? Tiredness is indeed a part of early pregnancy.” Margaret looked into Kate’s eyes and caught the flash of pain and sadness. “Is there something amiss? I beg you to tell me. You have helped me bring this sweet child into the world. I want to repay your kindness.” She brightened. “Oh, and I must not forget to tell you that Jack and I have named her Catherine, partly for his departed wife and partly for you, my dear. What do you think of that?”

  “I am flattered beyond words, madam! ’Tis a name I have been proud to bear.”

  “Do not feel you must answer my questions, Kate. ’Tis not my business, I dare swear. But I am so happy with Jack that I cannot bear to see a discontented bride.”

  Margaret smiled encouragingly at her young visitor, who sighed and began fidgeting with her belt. Kate was surprised that Margaret had been so observant and even more surprised by her frankness, but these were qualities she took pride in herself, so she was inclined to trust her new friend. Besides, telling somebody would be such a relief.

  At the end of her tale, Kate’s eyes were filled with tears. “It grieves me deeply that I shall never feel a babe at my pap as you do now, Mistress Howard. Never help my child to walk or talk. Never see one grow into a healthy man, a healthy woman. Aye, it breaks my heart.”

  Catherine had finished feeding by this time and was fast asleep in her mother’s arms, her little fists curled under her chin, her mouth continuing to purse and suck in her sleep. Margaret held the child out to Kate, her blue eyes never wavering from Kate’s sad ones. Catherine did not notice the change in caress and snuggled contentedly in the crook of Kate’s arm. A smile replaced the tears. Margaret let her enjoy holding the baby for a few minutes while she gathered her thoughts and addressed Kate’s problem.

  “You poor child. I cannot find a solution so quickly, but I shall ask Sir John if you may stay here with us awhile. If Mistress Haute has need of you at the house, we can send Edith back with Martin to help. We cannot have you pine away, now, can we?”

  Margaret was persuasive, and Kate longed to say aye. But loyalty to her mother-in-law was uppermost in her mind. She lowered her voice, not wanting to disturb the bundle in her arms. “I must talk to my father on this. But you are most kind, and I should be glad to stay for a few days. I thank you, dear madam.”

  It was thus that Jack found them a few minutes later when he came to see how his wife and new daughter fared. In no time at all, he agreed to Margaret’s request to keep Kate with her. He held out his arm to Kate as a bell clanged in the courtyard to announce the midday meal.

  “Come, Kate. Martin will leave after dinner, and we must tell him you are to remain here,” Jack said.

  Kate placed Catherine in the elaborately carved cradle next to Margaret’s bed and again whispered her thanks to the drowsy mother.

  “Go, go, both of you. Do not fret, I shall be asleep in no time.” Margaret watched Kate shyly take Jack’s arm and settled back to sleep.

  DINNER WAS A LIVELY AFFAIR, with several of Jack’s older servants coming to the table to wish good health to the new baby. Kate was astonished at the size of the household. Four long tables ran the length of the hall, only just accommodating more than a hundred people seated at them. Pages ran up and down the tables, pouring ale and offering more food. The noise was deafening. She sat between Martin and Nicholas, who blushed each time she addressed him. Also at the table sat Howard’s two wards, Edmund and John Gorge, and Margaret’s children.

  The new father was generous with his thanks and in turn had a kind word for all. Kate admired the easy manner in which Sir John dealt with gentleman and yeoman alike. She caught sight of Wat the groom at the lower end of a table; he was busy with his food and never raised his eyes to the high table.

  Jack Howard was a great lover of music, she was to learn. Kate was happy to see a harper take his place at the top of the stairs, ready to play when Jack called for him. At the end of the meal, John Braham shuffled into the middle of the hall and kicked a Talbot out of his way as it pissed in the rushes. He cleared his throat and in a loud voice called for the household to raise their cups.

  “My lord”—he bowed to Howard, who waved him on jovially—“we lift our cups to you and Mistress Howard and felicitate you on the birth of your daughter. God grant her and her mother good health and fortune!”

  The servants rose and cheered loudly and then quaffed their ale in salute. Jack rose slowly from his seat, and Kate could see his eyes were moist. He lifted his bonnet and waved it in response.

  “I am right pleased with my new daughter, who is to be called Catherine to honor the memory of your former mistress. Each of you shall receive a mark to celebrate the new addition to the Howard name.” A roar of approval erupted from below the salt.

  Jack called out to his harper, “And now, Thomas, delight our ears!”

  When the room was cleared and the family s
at to listen to the music, the conversation turned to the growing problem of the powerful earl of Warwick’s fall from the king’s grace. After Warwick’s futile attempt to arrange a contract between Edward and Louis the Eleventh of France’s daughter, he took it upon himself to angle for another catch for one of the York family: Louis’ brother-in-law, Philip of Savoy, for Edward’s sister Margaret. Edward, however, was looking to Burgundy for his beautiful sister and seemed eager to thwart the earl’s plans once again.

  “Warwick thinks he is a maker of kings and will always have Edward’s ear,” Jack told Martin and Nicholas. “But we hear that he likes not the Woodville family and has made an enemy of Lord Rivers, the queen’s father, and the king is growing suspicious of his champion. He is turning to his councilors, such as William Hastings, for advice, and Warwick is snubbed.”

  “But Warwick is an honorable man, I have heard tell. He fought nobly at St. Albans, albeit in vain, and he was wounded at Towton, was he not?” Martin asked.

  Jack gave the earl his due. “Aye, he is a valiant fighter and a generous man—I hear he allows his servants to take away a daggerful of meat each day after dinner. But in matters of government, methinks he becomes overly greedy. Edward is no fool, despite his inclination to indulge himself much with wine and women. It was with good reason he sent my lord of Warwick to the French for a spell, though King Louis is no stranger to conspiracy and is as canny as a fox on the prowl. Having Warwick out of the country will give Edward time to ponder the man’s intentions.”

  Jack enjoyed regaling his family with these intrigues. Then he told them of his latest appointment. “And speaking of France, the king has accorded me the rank of envoy. I am to visit and present my credentials to Louis. Just a formality, you understand.”

  Martin and Nicholas congratulated him warmly, and, capitalizing on the convivial atmosphere, Martin ventured a query about George’s future.

  “I am afraid your son will never prove your like as a soldier, Haute. He has not the stomach for it. He would do better to serve some knight as clerk than squire.” He speared a piece of venison as he gave his verdict.

  Martin looked pensive but slowly nodded in agreement. Philippa had told him of her misgivings about George and that he spent most of his nights drinking and gambling in Lavenham’s seedier taverns. She appeared to have no control over him, and even a new and comely bride had not changed him, she said. Running Haute Manor and the estate in her husband’s absence had been more than enough to occupy Philippa, and she had not thought to question George’s lengthy leave from Framlingham. She believed his story that he had been given permission by Howard. Martin could not fault her and did not chide her for it. He told her there must be something deeper troubling George, but they could not guess its dark roots.

  “Aye, Jack, you may be right. George does not have the temperament to follow in my footsteps, so perhaps a spell under Mowbray’s wing would give the lad a taste of what it is to be squire to a man such as you.” Martin was thinking out loud. “’Tis good of you to trust him again. Will you find him a position? You have pull at court.”

  “We shall see. If he comports himself well these next months, I will see if Norfolk will have him. I am not promising anything, you understand.” Jack was firm. He closed the subject by turning to Kate.

  “How like you our harper, Kate? I think he is the finest in Suffolk. Can you match him do you think?”

  “Nay, Sir John, he is very fine, finer than Richard’s at Ightham, in truth.” The wine was making her float away on the sensual music, and she wished she could get up and move to it.

  “I will be the judge of that, mistress. Let us go to Margaret. If she be willing, you may entertain us. Thomas, your music is welcome, but you must allow our guest the use of your harp.”

  Jack beckoned the page carrying the finger bowl, and when all at the table had cleansed their hands, he led the little procession upstairs. Kate whispered her thanks to Thomas as he handed her his harp, but he did not smile. He was annoyed that he had been interrupted in the middle of a particularly difficult song and assumed Kate was the instigator. He did not believe a woman was able to produce music as well as a man. He was surprised a few minutes later when a practiced hand swept across the strings of his instrument and a near-perfect voice filled the upstairs hall. He grudgingly went to the open door of the bedchamber and listened with the rest.

  A MANTLE OF SNOW draped the trees and dead grasses on Kate’s homeward journey. The rain had turned to snow two days after little Catherine’s birth, the sodden ground absorbing the first fall until it could no longer accept the heavy flakes and allowed them to settle and pile. An icy wind whistled down the tunnels made by the high hedgerows, and the horses’ hoofs broke the ice in the ford at Kersey. Kate huddled into her fur-lined cloak, on loan from Margaret for the ride home, and was glad her hands were warm inside her muff. The change in season was so marked that she could not believe she had been gone only a week.

  Wat the groom was chosen as her escort home, and she found him an amiable companion. As soon as she saw his warm smile, she knew she was in for a pleasant ride. They exchanged a few words about the snow, and Wat cautioned her to follow him in the icier spots. The nagging feeling that she had seen him before returned.

  “Aye, mistress, you be right. ’Twas up Lavenham way not a month gone. ’Twas me your maidservant slapped for pinching her ar—, her um—well, you know what. I told her I was sorry,” he added hastily, giving Kate a sideways look.

  “Certes! Molly did seem taken with you, Wat. She said you called her beautiful. That is the nicest thing anyone has said to her since we came into Suffolk.” She gave him an appraising look. It was not customary for servants to marry into a different household, but Kate was intrigued by a romance for Molly, and practicalities could be eased aside.

  “I do think she is beautiful, mistress. Will I see her, do you suppose?”

  Kate was amused by his honesty. “Aye, Wat. You will see her, have no fear. She will be surprised to see you, to be sure. Now, concentrate on the road and get us to Chelsworth safely, I beg of you.”

  Both fell silent with their thoughts, Kate’s returning to the warmth of the Howard household and her new friendship with Margaret, and Wat’s to practicing what he would say to Molly when he saw her again.

  Kate was besotted with baby Cat, as the Howards had nicknamed their daughter, and she loved the times Margaret allowed her to hold the infant. The willful child in her was drowned in a wave of maternal instinct that surfaced from her depths. It was a long time since she had first felt those feelings with Matty, and those were immature compared with the tenderness that enveloped her when she rocked Cat in her arms. How she longed for a child of her own! Tears froze on her cheeks as she thought about her prospects of being a mother. Wat noticed the tears and asked if she was ailing.

  “’Tis naught but the wind, Wat, I thank you for your concern.” She kicked Cornflower into a trot.

  In a little more than two hours, they crested snowy Clay Hill and could see the church tower through the leafless trees by the river. Haute Manor and reality lay a stone’s throw beyond. Cornflower sensed they were home and began to snicker and strain at the bit. The village dogs set up a barking as Kate and Wat picked their way across the icy bridge, and within a few minutes they were at the stable. Wat jumped off his mount and helped Kate down. Simon appeared and gave a cursory greeting, taking Cornflower’s reins. Wat gave him a friendly slap on the arm and introduced himself, and Simon cheered up. The two grooms took the horses to be rubbed down, while Kate dodged her way through the crusty puddles and chicken dirt to the front door.

  Molly was escorting Robert and Maud into the solar when Kate stepped into the house. The children squealed with glee and fell upon her, which gladdened Kate’s heart. She had not expected to be missed that much. Molly bobbed a curtsy, took her cloak and rescued her from Maud’s stranglehold. Kate brushed the residual snow from her dress and stamped her frozen feet.

 
“Fie, now, sweetings, be you good young ’uns and mind your manners,” Molly admonished them without much conviction. Kate chuckled. She kissed the children and motioned to Molly to come closer. The children ran off to tell their mother of Kate’s arrival.

  “You would never guess who escorted me home today, Molly. Never in a month of Sundays.”

  “Sir John Howard himself?” Molly’s eyes were wide. “Nay, it cannot be him. He would have entered with you. Oh, I do not know, mistress. I pray you tell me!”

  “Wat Smith! And he still thinks you are beautiful.”

  Kate watched with satisfaction as Molly’s birthmark went several shades darker and the maid tried to hide her confusion by lowering her head.

  “Truly, mistress? Be it really Wat? And he remembers me?” Molly was clearly overcome.

  Kate moved toward the solar, where she could hear the children chattering to Philippa. She gave her maid a broad wink. “Aye, Molly. Maybe you should run out to the stable and retrieve my saddlebag, so you can see for yourself.”

  Molly hung Kate’s cloak on a peg, smoothed her skirts and her cap, and walked out into the cold air. She wanted to run, but she controlled the urge. She did not want to look too eager, but her heart was beating fast, and she had a pleasurable feeling in her stomach. Wat, his back to her as he unsaddled his horse, did not see her as she entered the stable. She called to Simon, which made Wat swivel round.

  “Molly! Molly Miller. So you really do exist out of my dreams.” Wat grinned at her, turning an unmanly shade of pink as he spoke.

  “Pshaw, Wat Smith, of course I exist! Here, feel me if you do not believe me.” Molly nonchalantly put out her hand. Wat touched it as if it were made of the finest glass.

  “Aye, you be real, all right, and I am glad to see you again.” He dropped her hand. “But now I must tend to my horse before he catches cold. Will I see you before I return to Tendring?”

  “Come to the bakehouse when you’re done, and I will make sure you are fed before you go.” Molly cradled to her chest the hand he had touched. She called again to Simon, who emerged from Cornflower’s stall carrying Kate’s bag. Without taking her eyes off Wat, smiling happily, she held out her hand for the bag and backed out of the door. Once she was out of view, Wat let out a whoop that rang in Molly’s ears as she raced back to the house.