A Rose for the Crown
In the solar, Kate was greeting her mother-in-law warmly and telling her all about the birth of Cat and the Howards’ kindness to her. Philippa and the children listened until Kate asked leave to go and change out of her traveling shoes and put on dry stockings.
She mounted the staircase, the third step bringing her back to earth with its ominous creak. She had returned to the twisted tangle of her marriage knot. She knew not how she would untie it but had faith that Margaret would help her find a way.
11
Suffolk, December 1467 to January 1468
The snow lingered through November, its cold and damp sending the younger children to bed with chills and runny noses. Kate did what she could to relieve their discomfort with hot possets made from the paltry pickings in Philippa’s jars of herbs. She made a note to improve the physic garden at Haute Manor in the spring; she had arrived too late in the season to be of help this year. Philippa did not have a separate dispensary, as Elinor had at Ightham, but a corner of the kitchen would suffice, provided it would accommodate a small cupboard for jars and a table for mortar and pestle. She would ask Philippa about it.
A dog barked and then another. A stranger, Kate thought, as she carried a steaming bowl of garlic and rosemary infusion to the solar. Philippa sat spinning close to the four-poster and talking to her children. They were propped up in the bed, luxuriating in the feather mattress, a change from their own straw mattress stowed on its trundle under the bed.
“Are you expecting someone, Mother? The dogs are very excited about something.” Kate balanced the bowl on Maud’s knees and covered the child’s head with a cloth, allowing her to breathe in the healing vapors.
“Nay, Kate. Martin took a ride to the Pound Field. Walter and he are assessing damage to one of the walls.” Philippa stopped her wheel to listen. The dogs were not giving up. The window faced west, the opposite side of the house from the stables, so they could not see an arrival. She sighed, stood up and smoothed her skirts. “I will see to them. There, Maud, you will feel much better now. I will be back anon.”
A draught of cold air told Kate that Philippa had opened the front door, and she heard voices. A few minutes later, Philippa called to her from the hall. Kate closed the solar door behind her, wincing at Robert’s bout of coughing. She was surprised to see Wat Smith.
“Kate, here is your escort from Tendring returned with a message from Sir John. Let us hear it. What does our good lord say?” Philippa went to the hearth and heaved another log onto it. “Pray warm yourself by the fire.” Wat bowed to Kate, grinned and slapped a flea gnawing on his neck.
“Good day to you, Mistress Haute. It is right glad I am to see you again,” he said, flicking the dead flea to the floor. He addressed Philippa, who was waiting patiently. “My master sends his greetings to your house, madam, and begs me to tell you that he left for France as envoy for the king this very morning. He wishes you to know that he has taken Master George with him. He expects to return to Tendring for the Yuletide season.”
He paused, but as he obviously had something else to say, Philippa waved him on.
“My master would be pleased if you, my lady, your esteemed husband—Master Haute—and Mistress Kate will join his family in the celebrations leading to Twelfth Night. I am also to convey to Mistress Kate Lady Margaret’s warm wishes and urgings to attend!” Wat finished with a flourish, relieved that he had remembered everything. The two women were amused by his formality and caught each other’s eye across the fireplace.
“Well, now! Such an invitation! We are honored, you may tell your mistress. I am sure we will be delighted to come, but I must wait until my”—Philippa was tempted to use “esteemed” but thought better of it—“husband returns later before I can tell you for certain.” She broke off, seeing Molly through the carved screen at the end of the hall. “Ah, Molly! Perhaps you could take our visitor to the kitchen and find him some bread and ale.”
Molly appeared from behind the screen and blushed when she saw Wat, who made her a low bow.
“That be right kind of you, mistress.” Wat rescued the tongue-tied Molly by taking her elbow and marching her back behind the screen. Philippa looked a little puzzled, but before she could ask anything awkward, Kate diverted her by clapping her hands.
“Tendring for Christmas! ’Tis wonderful, isn’t it, Mother! Why, I’ll be bound it is even grander than the season at Ightham.” Kate was delighted by the invitation.
Philippa was still wondering what had made the usually impassive Molly blush, but she was caught up in Kate’s excitement and admitted she, too, was pleased.
“Aye, ’tis wonderful indeed. You can be reunited with George, I am sure, for Sir John must know he will not be long in France if he is planning revels at Tendring.”
“Ah, yes, George. Certes.” Kate forced a smile. “It seems Sir John must have good account of him from Framlingham to want him in France. Poor George will not enjoy the voyage though, will he? I remember he was green after crossing the Thames at Gravesend. And it was calmer than a millpond.”
Philippa laughed. “I had forgotten his mal de mer. If he stays in Sir John’s service, he will have to become accustomed to the sea. But ’tis indeed good news George is trusted enough to go on a royal commission. He should be very proud. Martin will be pleased.”
Martin was pleased. He returned as the winter sky was darkening and torches and candles were being lit. The tables were set out for supper and the ale was poured when Philippa told him of Wat’s message.
“I received a letter from our kinsman Richard at Westminster yesterday telling me that Jack had been appointed envoy,” Martin said. “I understand the visit is just a formality so that he may present his credentials to King Louis. Nevertheless, ’twill be good for young George to get a view of the world outside Suffolk. His grace the king has need of a good man like Jack at the French court. It is rumored Warwick is hand in glove with Louis again. Does the earl not learn? ’Tis not wise to fool with Edward. Aye, Jack is just the person for the task.”
As for the invitation, he was surprised. “In all the years we have been connected with Howard, this is the first time we are included in festivities at Tendring. I think we have Kate to thank for that. She has endeared herself to Margaret, ’tis clear, which is not at all a bad thing. George is lucky,” he said, and Philippa nodded in agreement.
Kate was in her chamber, amused that Molly had became all thumbs in braiding her mistress’s hair. “Why, Molly Miller, I do believe you are in love,” Kate teased her. “Tell me, has he kissed you yet?”
“Mistress! How could you?” Molly said coyly. Wat had in fact kissed her several times on their way to the bakehouse. He certainly was not shy, even in front of the other servants, most of whom were male and were egging him on. Molly was torn between lustful enjoyment and fear of being caught by a member of the family and had finally pushed him onto a stool. She slapped a slab of bread into his hand and had walked off in a huff.
“Ouch, that hurt! Molly, pay attention to what you are doing,” Kate admonished her. “You have not answered my question. Did he kiss you?”
Molly smiled, winding one long braid up over Kate’s head and securing it with a few pins to form a knot.
“Aye, mistress, he did. I should have slapped him for it, but no matter. In truth, it was very pleasant,” she admitted, which reminded her: “You must miss your husband.”
“Aye.” Kate was curt. “Wat came to tell us he is gone to France with Sir John Howard on a royal commission. What do you think of that?”
Molly was not sure what it meant but said, “’Tis wondrous” and chattered on, glad the subject had turned from Wat. She wetted the braids with some rosemary water; it was too cold to wash her mistress’s hair in winter, and rosemary helped eliminate the superfluous oil. She was pleased there had been no recurrence of the lice that had plagued Kate at Draper House. Fleas could not be avoided. They knew no social bounds, and they bothered everyone. Molly’s thoughts turned from fle
as to her own pet pest, Wat Smith. She was smitten, she had to admit, and far from disliking his forwardness with her, she found she enjoyed it. She was no virgin, but the feelings she had for Wat Smith were new to her. She told Kate that no man had paid her much mind except for a quick romp until now. “I be no beauty, no catch and no man’s fool. What man would want me for wife?”
Kate’s eyebrows arched, and Molly attempted to extricate herself.
“Wife! What am I thinking?” She busied herself with tidying to cover her embarrassment. “How can I be Wat’s wife when he be in Jack Howard’s house and I be here?”
The supper bell rang and Kate went to the door. “’Tis exactly so, my girl,” she said, leaving the room.
Molly muttered, “Addle-pate! I will have to take my chances with him as I can.”
She wasted no time. When the household was asleep, she spent a pleasant night in Wat’s arms in the stable.
MARTIN RETURNED from Lavenham a few days before Christmas with letters for Kate from Richard Haute and Geoff.
“My sweet little Kate, it is with great gladness I tell you of your brother Geoff’s progress. He is well able to write and is likely to be of use as a clerk when he is older. In other news, Anne is looking forward to motherhood and I to holding my first grandchild. We shall all be at Ightham for Yuletide, would you could be there, too. Your monies from Tunbridge I will dispatch with Ralph after the season. They are safe with me now. Commend me to my kinsman and his lady wife. Your obedient servant, Richard Haute.”
No mention of George. Of course, Richard did not like him, Kate thought. And for the hundredth time she wished she had listened to him. She broke the seal on the other letter and was impressed by Geoff’s penmanship. It was neater than Richard’s and less flourishing.
“To my sister Katherine Haute season’s greetings from Ightham. I regret to tell you that our father met with an accident a fortnight ago and can no longer walk. He has taken to his bed and I fear will soon die. Johnny is now master of the farm and does well. He and Matty send greetings and love. I will write further an I know more. My dear sister, I long to see you again. With my love, your brother Geoffrey.”
Kate felt a terrible pang of guilt. She had not thought of her family for a long time. They were so far away and in a different world, and her letter-writing had petered out after leaving Tunbridge. The years at the farm had faded, leaving a few vivid pictures and warm feelings. She resolved to help them in some small way. Perhaps Richard could arrange for an amount to be paid to Johnny from her stipend. It would salve her conscience, she admitted; she did not want to forget her beginnings. Kate was relieved that Richard was pleased with Geoff and his future appeared secure.
She tucked the letters into her carved chest and locked it. She sat at the spinning wheel, pulled some wool from the basket and began running the carding comb through it. It was the time of her monthly courses, and, as was expected, she spent most of the day in her room, with Molly bringing her food and gossip from the kitchen and removing the soiled rags. Usually, she chafed at the confinement, but the timing meant that she would be free of it at Tendring. The thought of Tendring made her throw down the wool comb and go to her wardrobe chest. She had had no occasion to wear Thomas’s beautiful gowns since arriving in Suffolk, but now she had. Which shall I take? she thought, rummaging through damasks and satins that were beginning to smell musty. She pulled out a green and gold damask, with large flowers woven into the fabric and held it up against her.
“Aye, this one for certain,” she said aloud and hung it on a peg to release its creases. As she was choosing a second, she heard laughter and gleeful shrieks outside the window and went to throw open the casement to see what was happening below. Robert and Maud were astride a huge tree trunk that was being pulled across the snowy ground by four field hands.
“The Yule log!” Kate cried out, and the children looked up and waved happily. One of the field hands also carried a pack-basket stuffed with holly and ivy from the woods, and Maud was brandishing a large clump of mistletoe.
“God’s bones!” Kate muttered under her breath, borrowing Jack Howard’s favorite expletive. “I shall miss out on decorating the house this year because of this accursed cycle.”
She was about to close the casement when she heard the dogs in the stable yard barking. She craned her neck out as far as she could, but she could not see the road. She pulled the window shut more assertively than she needed and caught a few strands of hair in the process.
“Saints!” she cursed again. “I am missing all the fun.”
If she had waited a few seconds, she would have seen Robert and Maud jump off the log and call to their big brother George as he rode into the stable yard. The dogs leapt upon him as he slid off his horse, and he grinned at his young siblings cavorting in front of him.
“How now, young ’uns! You seem happy to see me. What is this you ride on?”
“’Tis the Yule log, the Yule log!” Robert and Maud chorused. George laughed and put his arms around both.
“Is that what it is? I would not have guessed! You must think me a bumbling clodpole.”
“George is a clodpole! George is a clodpole!” cried Robert, pulling himself from George’s protective arm and running to the front door. He grasped the iron ring handle and tried to turn it. George helped him and pushed wide the door.
“Mother! George has come home. Come quickly,” Robert shouted.
Kate heard George’s name when Philippa answered Robert from the solar underneath.
“George! I cannot believe it!” Philippa exclaimed. “I am coming.”
Upstairs, Kate groaned. Oh, no, not George. I am not ready to see him, she thought. Certes, I did not think to see him until Tendring. It then occurred to her that her husband was not expected to share her bed at her time of the month. She sent up a prayer of thanks to the Virgin, hoping it would make up for all the swearing she had done earlier.
George knocked at the door and waited until summoned. Kate bade him enter after she had installed herself once more at the spinning wheel.
“Well met, husband. We were not expecting you. I hope you have not deserted your master again.” Her tone was light and bantering, and George was relieved. He came forward, kissed her hand and sank down on the bed to pull off his boots.
“Do not be a tease, Kate. I would not dare conduct myself so stupidly again. Sir John has honored me greatly with his trust, and I intend to prove I am worthy. I must tell you—though I am loath to for fear of enlarging your pretty head—that my lord is very taken with you and seems to have given his approval to our union. I find I must thank you for my change in fortune.”
“Well, well. I am flattered to hear it.” Kate mimicked his condescension. “And I am pleased to know you are mending your ways.” She paused before showing her guns. “And will this ‘mending’ include our . . . our . . . problem?”
George got up and checked that the door was securely latched. He watched Kate twist wool fiber between her fingers and feed it onto the twirling spindle.
“Nothing will change that, Kate. I am sorry, but with me away so much now, it cannot be so difficult for you, can it?” He slumped back onto the bed. “You are not still seeking a way out, are you? It would not bode well for my new relations with Sir John.”
“’Tis always on my mind, George. I grant you I am no further in solving the problem, and I have no wish to displease Sir John. But you cannot be cruel enough to let me live without love and without”—the words caught in her throat—“without a child.”
He pounced on this sign of weakness in her.
“Pah! A child! There are plenty of barren women in this world. You would not be considered unusual. Why, you told me Master Draper’s wife was barren, and they were married many years. And why did you not conceive when you were his wife, answer me that. Maybe it is not I who should be blamed. Besides, you can mother Robert and Maud. I see that they dote on you already. . . .”
The spinning wheel crashin
g to the floor cut him off, and Kate stood in front of him, her eyes blazing. “I will get dispensation to unbind me from you, George, I will,” she hissed in a low voice. “And I will have children of my own, mark my words. Now go and pay your respects to your father and leave me alone!”
George pulled his boots on and stalked out of the room.
“Dear God!” Kate fell to her knees and crossed herself. “Help me. Help us. I must be free of him.”
THE WASSAIL BOWL was steaming and the Yule log crackling when Kate made her appearance in the hall for the Christmas Eve festivities. Redberried holly and trailing ivy adorned every beam and window ledge, and Maud’s bunch of mistletoe hung from the iron chandelier in the center of the room. Robert dragged Kate under it, and she bent down to his kiss amid giggles from Maud and a guffaw from Martin.
The family was gathered around the fire enjoying their cups of lambs’ wool. Philippa held out a cup for her daughter-in-law, and Kate sipped the warm liquid, inhaling the delicious bouquet of sweetened hot ale, apple pulp and spices. The smell took her back to Christmas in Kent—apple country—when she had gone out with her father and brothers to wassail the apple tree. She told the Hautes that her family would take the wassail bowl into the orchard and set it down. Then all present would fill their cups from the bowl and take a drink and then throw the remains at the base of all the trees.
“’Twas to give the roots something good to drink in the winter,” Kate said off the top of her head when Maud asked her why they would waste good wassail on a tree. “And make sure of a good crop the next year, I dare say.”