A Rose for the Crown

  Jack came to look the house over and told her he had grand plans for its improvement. “I have a mind to put in a central chimney. ’Tis common in France and keeps a house of this size warm all through. And we will fit it with better windows.” He rattled open a casement and several horn panes fell out.

  “Sir John, I have money, and I would dearly like to put in glass windows, if you think it is practical.” Kate picked up one of the horn panes and studied it.

  “Aye, Kate, ’tis possible. I will tell the master builder, and he will give me an accounting. We cannot have Gloucester’s bastard growing up in the dark, can we?”

  Kate laughed. Jack could not take his eyes off her and could not blame the young duke’s passion, for pregnancy agreed with her; her skin glowed and her fuller figure gave her the ripeness of a plum. Jack’s respect for Richard had grown over the summer, he told Kate. As treasurer of the king’s household and one of the great shipowners in the country, Jack had been tasked to prepare and victual a fleet that was to take an expeditionary force to France under Lord Mountjoy. However, Edward was forced to retire, and the army never landed. But Howard had carried out his duties to Edward’s satisfaction, and he wanted Jack to spend much of the autumn in London serving him. The earl of Warwick was also much in London, and Richard remained under his auspices, despite the continued rumblings of dissension between the earl and the king. During that time, Richard and Jack had several opportunities to have discourse, and they talked of Kate and the progress on the house. Richard stayed away from talking politics with Jack and never tipped his hand one way or the other with respect to his opinion of Warwick. Jack admired his prudence, and his trust in the young man grew.

  Jack helped Kate down the steep staircase, as her condition made it difficult to negotiate the narrow turns, and they stood together outside the door, looking across the meadow to the flintstone church.

  “’Tis peaceful here, Kate. But I hope you will be happy at Stoke. I have marked the place where the house is to stand, and you will have a field at your disposal. I recommend you hire a hand or two, and of course you shall have Molly to help you with the child. Margaret has found you an excellent cook, so your little household will be complete. George will soon return from Framlingham, as you know, but I will want him with me in London. I will deprive you of his company as much as you need.”

  Kate smiled her understanding. “If I have not properly thanked you enough for this kindness”—her gesture encompassed the house—“then I am remiss. I am not unhappy in my present situation, please understand, but to have my own household again is more than I dreamed of.”

  “Nay, Kate, ’tis I must thank you for bringing such happiness to Margaret. She misses you more each time you leave.” He took her hand and kissed it fondly. “Now I must be off, or Margaret will accuse me of seducing you.”

  She feigned shock. “In my condition, Sir John. I think not. Pray convey my fondest greetings to Margaret.”

  Wat, who had accompanied Jack from Tendring, gripped his hands together to give his master a step up onto his horse and then scrambled into his own saddle. Seeing Wat reminded Jack of a promise. “God’s bones, I nearly forgot. Tell that wench of yours I am allowing Wat to wed her, if she will have him. We do not need to encourage whoring now, do we, Kate?”

  With the noise of the two horses cantering away, she could not be sure that she heard his whinnying laugh float back on the wind. She felt herself blush.

  “Nay, Sir John,” she said under her breath, her hands spread across the evidence of hers. “Whoring is most certainly not to be encouraged.”

  JUST BEFORE ADVENT, Molly and Wat were wed with a small gathering of the Haute staff and Kate in attendance. Kate gave the couple ten nobles and Molly a beautifully carved comb. Molly burst into tears, and Kate had to lend her a kerchief.

  “Sir John has given you permission to be absent until tomorrow evening, Wat,” Kate said to the young groom, who could not stop grinning.

  “Thank ye, mistress, you be very kind.” As he bowed, a louse dropped out of his hair, which he quickly squashed with his foot. “Molly and me be beholden.”

  “Certes, I know you are, Wat.” Kate eyed the crushed insect and felt an itch on her own head. She hoped it was only a coincidence.

  During the festivities at the manor, Philippa put her head around the kitchen door at one point but, not wanting to spoil the servants’ rare entertainment, quietly disappeared. Kate stayed for a while and, though she was tired, was persuaded to sing a song for the occasion. She chose a ballad she had heard at Margaret and Jack’s and had taught herself; it was about a brave young woman dressing as a squire and following her love into battle. Molly looked at Wat and laughed. “Don’t look to me to do anything so addle-pated, husband.”

  Kate was indignant. “Addle-pated, Molly? In truth, ’tis a most romantic gesture!”

  “Aye, madam, no doubt that be right for some, but not for me. I thank you for the song, though. Perhaps we can now persuade Ned to play his pipe for dancing.” She smiled sweetly at a young kitchen boy. Soon everyone was dancing, including Maud, who was having the time of her life. One by one the servants romped with her to the chirping of the pipe. The music seemed to invigorate Kate’s baby, who jumped and writhed inside her until she laughed and softly rubbed her belly.

  IT WAS THE FEAST OF ST. CATHERINE, Kate’s own holy day, and she and George had walked to the house site after Mass. The first signs of labor were mild, and she said nothing as they inspected the rubble that marked out the former foundations of their house. Nevertheless, a gush of warm liquid down Kate’s thighs surprised her, and she stopped in her tracks, drawing in a sharp breath.

  “What is it, Kate?” George sounded impatient. His return to Haute Manor had opened old wounds. Kate’s advanced pregnancy made him painfully aware of her infidelity, and it had taken much self-control not to betray their secret to Martin and Philippa, so great was his curiosity as to who had cuckolded him. Kate took charge, giving him knowing looks or kicking him under the table when she sensed his anger boiling over into betrayal.

  “I think my time is come,” she replied more calmly than she felt. A pain made her grip his arm, and she bent double until the contraction subsided. “We should return to the manor. Will you help me, husband?”

  He grudgingly supported her back to the house. Before they arrived, another searing pain forced a little scream from her.

  “Mother, Molly, come quickly!” George cried, opening the door and pushing Kate through. He called a little more frantically, “Kate needs you! Mother, where are you?”

  He was helping Kate up the stairs when Molly ran into the hall to see her mistress on the landing, gripping the rail as she weathered another spasm.

  “Tell them in the kitchen to boil water—and in haste!” Molly ordered the motionless George. “If it please you, sir,” she remembered to add as she ran up the stairs to help Kate into her chamber. “And have someone fetch the midwife.”

  George slithered back down the stairs and did as he was told, glad to be out of view of Kate. Philippa was supervising the last-minute preparations for the dinner and had not heard George’s initial summons. She looked up from the pie she was inspecting and saw his ashen face.

  “What is it, George? What ails you?”

  “Water! Boil water!” was all he could think to say.

  “What? What are you saying? George. Sweet Jesu, you would try the patience of the Virgin herself.”

  “Kate . . . the babe . . . boil water!” he repeated, and sat down heavily on a stool.

  Then Philippa understood and went into action without a beat. A cauldron was set on the coals; the kitchen boy was sent running to the village to fetch the midwife. Philippa ran into the solar to get the rags she and Kate had prepared for the occasion. Maud was looking bemused, and Philippa told her to go and help the cook in the kitchen until Martin returned from his ride.

  “Tell your father Kate’s babe is coming. Can you do that, sweeting? Y
ou must all dine without us. Do you understand?”

  “Aye, Mother. But why must I stay downstairs. Why can I not see the babe? You know, I am the baby’s aunt.”

  Philippa laughed and gave her a swift kiss. “There are many of us to help, Maud. But only you can give your father that important message and oversee the dinner in my place.”

  Maud took this in for a moment, then nodded and stalked haughtily to the door.

  KATE’S LABOR LASTED only four short hours.

  “Just one more push, mistress, and it be done,” the midwife encouraged Kate, who was squatting on the birthing chair. “You be fortunate, this ’un is eager to be born. Unusual for a first child.”

  Philippa agreed, telling the women how Young Martin had taken fourteen hours to arrive. Kate smiled wanly. Four hours was bad enough, she thought. She did not think she could have endured fourteen. She looked up gratefully at Molly, who was wiping her brow with a damp cloth.

  “Just you wait, Molly Smith!” she grimaced, and before Molly could reply, Kate’s face contorted again as the urge to push took over. “God have mercy! This must be the last.”

  “There, I was right!” The triumphant midwife scooped up the expelled baby and smacked its upturned rump. “You have a girl, madam, a beautiful redheaded girl!”

  “Katherine,” Kate said, smiling, as Philippa gently cleaned the child.

  Philippa looked up in surprise but chose not to comment. Kate was helped into bed after the afterbirth was expelled, and Philippa waited to lay the fussing infant in the crook of Kate’s arm.

  “There, Kate. She is indeed beautiful, and I am a proud granddam!” She smiled at her daughter-in-law.

  Kate was overcome with emotion. She stared at the tiny form, taking in every minute feature, the waving hands, button nose and matted red hair. Then she looked from one woman to the next, all smiling and nodding their approval.

  “She is beautiful, is she not?” Kate whispered, tears welling. “Thank you all. I could not have done this without you.”

  “I cannot remember one easier, madam.” The toothless midwife grinned down at her. “Wish all my births were like this, in truth. Now, we just need to finish up the birthing process, if you don’t mind, mistress. Molly, take the babe and wash her well, then we will see if she is able to suckle.”

  Later, when Philippa was alone with Kate, she could not resist asking, “Did you say ‘Katherine,’ Kate? Is that the name you and George have chosen?”

  Fiddle-faddle, Kate thought. Addle-pate! I never discussed the names with George. Now what do I say? “Nay, we have not talked about names, Mother,” she admitted.

  Philippa frowned, but Kate plunged on. “In truth, you may think me vain, but when I saw her red hair and waving fists, it did put me in mind of me so much, I had to call her the same,” she lied, mentally crossing herself. Another black mark against her in heaven, she thought; confession was in order as soon as her churching was done. She smiled benignly up at Philippa, who nodded and seemed to accept this break with tradition.

  “I will tell him, if you like, Kate. I am sure he will be agreeable. Now, here is little Katherine looking for mother’s milk, I warrant.”

  Indeed, the tiny mouth was working hard, and the smacking noises were beginning to turn into cries when the child was offered her mother’s breast. Katherine clamped down hungrily, and Kate squeaked as she felt the unfamiliar suction of a nursing child. The sensation was pleasurable, the joy immeasurable.

  GEORGE DID HIS BEST to act the part of a new father. He was appropriately pleased when his parents congratulated him, and he spent a few minutes of each day with Kate and the baby, who were confined to their chamber until Kate felt the need for a change of scenery. A few times, when Philippa was present, he was obliged to hold the infant while his mother looked adoringly on, but inside he seethed with anger against the innocent child and his not-so-innocent wife.

  “I shall know the truth, wife, fear not. Even if I have to wring it out of you,” he threatened one day. “I wish the babe no harm, but I will know who the father is.”

  “’Tis not a good idea, George. You would regret it, believe me. What would you do if you knew? Murder the man? And then the whole truth would come tumbling out. Not only would you be hanged, but your family’s reputation would be ruined. Do be sensible.”

  “I know not what I would do, but the adulterer would feel my wrath!” Kate took no notice of his threat and prepared her breast for Katherine’s next feeding. She knew George did not care to watch and would leave. He did not disappoint her.

  “I am for Lavenham tonight. Do not expect me back.”

  “You are going whoring with your boys, I suppose. How you do shame me, George,” she said icily.

  “Who is the whore here, Kate?” he retorted and slammed the door behind him.

  Kate stroked Katherine’s soft hair and ran her finger down the plump cheek. The baby raised her gray-blue unfocused eyes to her mother’s face as she worked away at the breast. Kate smiled down at her and rocked gently back and forth, humming a lullaby. She thought that George might have made her lose her temper at another time in her life, but the birth of Katherine had brought a peace into her heart she could not describe. All the mothering instincts fostered by time with Matty and the Haute young ones were now centered on the precious bundle that lay in her arms. She felt she could not love another living soul as she did this child.

  Except for Richard.

  HE HAD SENT A LETTER through Margaret, which she kept locked in her little chest.

  “My dearest love, ’Tis with great joy I hear of the birth of Katherine from Martin Haute, who proclaims to all he is a proud grandfather. I am ashamed to deceive him, certes, but ’tis well he believes this. I will come to you when you are at Tendring. I cannot wait to hold both Kates in my arms. Your loving Richard.”

  Snow had closed the road to Stoke during much of January, and it gave Kate time to regain her strength before the move to Tendring. The house was completed by Christmas because of the clement weather, and Jack sent word she could take possession at any time.

  Margaret had wanted to come to Chelsworth to see Katherine, but the snow arrived in tandem with Twelfth Night, and traveling was nigh impossible. Day after day the skies had loosed snowfall upon snowfall over the barren landscape, burying sheep that had strayed from the flocks now snugged into barns and farmyards. Hedges disappeared under drifts, and it was hard to tell where one field started and another left off. When the sun came out, the snowbanks sparkled like so many diamonds.

  “’Tis beautiful, is it not, Mother?” Kate leaned out of the open casement. “’Tis nature’s way of slowing us down, I think.”

  “Aye, ’tis beautiful, Kate. But you must shut the window before the child catches cold!” Philippa rocked the tightly bundled Katherine in her cradle. She flicked a flea from the coverlet and gazed lovingly at her drowsy granddaughter. She is the image of her mother, she thought. But those eyes—they are unusual.

  Kate was also thinking about gray eyes. Richard was never far from her thoughts, and she knew she would not see him until winter melted.

  IT WAS MARCH before Kate was able to move to Tendring Park. A carter was hired to take her furniture and other belongings from Chelsworth, and Kate was a little perturbed that the man had not cleaned the dung-smeared cart thoroughly. She made the man throw a few buckets of water into the cart and used a besom broom herself to sweep it clean. Three of the field hands carried out her bed, table, chests and Thomas Draper’s chair, and Gareth staggered out with a bench. Philippa followed him with two stools and a trestle for Kate’s kitchen, and Molly appeared with a bundle of clothes. A few pots, two platters and some earthenware cups were added to the pile, and Kate reappeared with another bundle of linens. Last to be loaded was the oak cradle that had been in the Haute family for two generations and for which Philippa assured Kate she had no more use.

  “’Tis for your children, Kate, our Haute grandchildren. Certes, you should have i
t,” she insisted as Kate tried to refuse it. Kate’s guilt sat heavily with her, for she loved the older woman dearly now. But she murmured her thanks and found a safe spot for it wedged behind the driving seat. Next to the cart, Maud was holding Katherine as if the baby were a piece of Venetian glass, and Katherine was crowing at her and blowing bubbles.

  Maud laughed. “See how I can make her laugh, Kate! Oh, must you take her?”

  The two women smiled, and Kate thanked the little girl for being such a good nursemaid while they had prepared for the move. Maud held Katherine out and Kate bent and took her child and kissed Maud farewell. Then she turned to Philippa, who was pulling at her nose or trying to hide her tears, Kate could not decide which. The women embraced, the baby between them, and Philippa lavished loud kisses on Katherine. The carter helped Kate up beside him, and Molly jumped up easily onto the back of the cart, her legs swinging jauntily.

  “Farewell, Mother. Farewell, Maud.” Kate waved to them as the two oxen moved the heavy cart out of the courtyard and onto the road.

  “Farewell, Kate! We shall come and see you soon! God speed!” Philippa called, suddenly feeling very alone with only her youngest child left.

  IT WAS A SHORT WALK to Tendring Hall from Kate’s new house at the bottom of Dog Kennel Field. She had been concerned that the noise of the hounds would disturb baby Katherine’s sleep, but in the pitch black of night, the dogs were quiet. Jack had promptly named her new home Dog Kennel House, and she had not the heart to say she thought it was an ugly name. The south road to Stoke passed close to her house, and she made her way along to the tree-lined driveway of the Hall. The April sun was high, and a flock of starlings passed overhead like a black cloud across the blue sky. She had come to admire the fine proportions of Tendring Hall, and even though it was not as imposing a property as Ightham Mote, it was more pleasantly situated, with fine views over Howard’s southern fields and an impressive stand of timber in the grove to the northeast. Behind the stables was a high-walled garden, where Margaret supervised the growing of herbs and flowers. As she passed the stable, Kate saw Wat talking to the smith and waved. He bowed his head, grinning at her, and then ran ahead to open the front door.