A Rose for the Crown (10 page)

Elinor made a note to enquire further of the young Hautes in the not-too-distant future. Perhaps young Martin, with an inheritance in the offing, would make a match for Anne. But then, George had the Norfolk connection. . . . Plenty to think upon. She motioned to a server to bring in the next course and listened politely as the men talked politics and interjected an “Oh” or a “Is that so?” in relevant places. She found the discussions about rivalry between York and the king tedious, though she noted that Richard showed no fear in divulging his Yorkist allegiance to Martin. The two Haute kinsmen had met for the first time at Baynard’s Castle, York’s London residence, and had struck up an easy friendship while waiting for an audience with the duke. And if Martin was garrisoned in Calais, Richard must be certain he was Warwick’s man and so a Yorkist. Elinor understood policy enough to know the earl of Warwick
had the honor to be Captain of Calais and, together with his powerful Neville family, was a staunch supporter of the York cause.

“Do you believe the witch of Anjou will take the Act of Accord lying down?” Richard now asked Martin in a low voice.

Martin chuckled. “I fear she will not lie down for anyone now my lord of Somerset is dead.” Indeed there was talk that her son, Edward of Lancaster, was actually Somerset’s conceived in desperation by Margaret to give England an heir. “In truth, cousin, I do not trust her and fear more bloodshed at her hand. Will you join with the duke, if it comes to a fight?”

“Aye,” replied Richard grimly, tearing into a thighbone of chicken. “I cannot offer much in the way of fighting men. My manor is small. But what I have I will gladly pledge. Pray God, it comes not to civil war.”

“You have no son to inherit?” Martin asked, changing the subject.

At this implication, Elinor’s attention returned to the conversation. She bristled like a hedgehog preparing its defence. Richard recognized the signs and steeled himself for her rejoinder, wiping his mouth with the linen napkin and dipping his fingers into the bowl of water offered him by the ewerer.

“I fear the good Lord has not blessed us with a son, sir,” Elinor snapped. “I have prayed with Brother Francis to St. Antony of Padua, but he hears us not. Anne is our only child, and we are of a mind to wait for a grandson.”

Richard patted her arm kindly. “’Tis a sore subject with Elinor, Martin. Forgive her prickles.” He spoke over her head to his cousin and winked. “’Tis not for the lack of trying.”

Elinor clicked her tongue and pursed her lips with distaste, glancing at the chaplain, who sat impassively at the opposite end of the table.

As the evening wore on, the two men began to feel the effects of their fatigue and the heady wine Elinor had ordered from the cellar in honor of their guest. Kate and Anne were bored by conversation about the merits of one kind of armor over another, about fighting for a cause they did not understand and about the price of good cloth in London. Kate muttered something to Anne, who slipped quietly from her seat and tiptoed round to her father’s chair and in turn whispered in his ear. Richard was surprised and delighted by his daughter’s independence. He caught her
round the waist with his big arms and lifted her easily onto his lap. Then he clapped his hands and called down the hall.

“Will, Will Makepeace, we will have music to please this lovely creature!”

Will set his stool in front of the head table and picked up his harp. Then, without warning, Richard leapt to his feet, dropping poor Anne unceremoniously into his empty chair. “Play, minstrel, while I go and fetch the surprise for my two girls.” And he strode from the hall.

Will began to stroke the strings, and Kate’s eyes shone, anticipating the song to come. Elinor, caring not a whit for music, carried on a conversation with Martin, who listened politely with his eyes but lent his ears to Will’s fine voice. A few minutes later, Richard returned carrying something covered by soft, brown velvet and an exquisitely carved wooden casket. He placed the box in front of Kate and the covered object in front of Anne, back in her own seat next to Kate.

Will tactfully stopped playing as Kate picked up the casket and touched the carving with her fingers, her expression radiant. Anne lifted the fabric from her gift and gazed on a rosewood harp with a figure cunningly wrought in the neck. Reverently she put out her hand to touch the dark wood and the lovely figurehead carved on the neck. Kate put down her gift to finger the harp also. Anne clapped her hands in delight and put her arms around her father’s waist, murmuring her thanks into his doublet. Kate, too, hovered behind Anne to thank him.

Will was approaching the table, admiration for the craftsmanship of the harp written on his face.

“I see I chose well, harper.” Richard’s bright blue eyes were merry.

“Master, mine seems but a toy by its side,” Will acknowledged and turned to look at Kate, who was once again stroking the instrument. “I beg you to allow my pupil to show you what she has learned.” He smiled at Anne.

Anne shook her head vehemently, blushed to the roots of her hair and sat down quietly. Richard frowned, disappointed. Seeing his displeasure, she pushed the harp towards Kate. “You play it, Kate,” she stammered. “Kate plays much better than I do, doesn’t she Will?”

Will inclined his head in assent. “’Tis true, Master Haute. Mistress
Kate has been quick to learn.” He hoped he had been diplomatic where Anne was concerned.

Kate looked at Richard questioningly and without needing any more encouragement than a nod from him, picked up the instrument. Checking to make sure that it was tuned, she sat down on Will’s stool and ran her fingers over the strings. The sound floated through the hall, giving her courage to open her mouth and sing.

“Lollay, lollay, little child
Why weepest thou so sore . . .”

Her voice had purity, clarity and sweetness. It rose and fell, her interpretation of the song capturing the imagination of every listener in the hall. Even Elinor listened, grudgingly. Richard’s mouth curved into a satisfied smile, while Martin sat riveted to his chair. He knew at once he wanted this young woman in his life. Perhaps she would be a suitable match for young George. He resolved to find out Kate’s lineage. He presumed she was Richard’s ward and as so might come with a handsome dowry.

T
HE
C
HRISTMAS SEASON
was fast approaching. It was time to ask Richard’s permission to journey back to the farm to make good on her promise to be there for the birth of her mother’s new child. Kate wondered where the time had gone. Anne was sad at the thought of not sharing the festivities of the season together. She envied Kate’s happiness when she talked of her family—and especially of her mother. Anne loved her father deeply, and he was kind to her, but for Elinor she had very little affection and much fear. She wished she could go with Kate and experience family life as she imagined it at Bywood Farm. But she knew Elinor would never countenance her visiting a “peasant” household for an extended period, and she did not want to leave her father for the holiday.

Richard graciously promised to make all the arrangements for the journey. Kate would ride pillion with Ralph, one of the grooms, and if the weather held, she would be home in just a few hours. He requested
she return the day before Epiphany. He wanted her to be with Anne to enjoy the entertainment he would offer at Twelfth Night. Kate acquiesced, although two weeks seemed hardly enough time to become reacquainted with her family.

Two days later, she was on her way. A few wayward snowflakes caused Ralph to look anxiously at the leaden sky, but Kate was too excited even to think of postponing the journey. The big horse shook its head and snorted in anticipation of an outing, exhaling clouds of steamy vapor into the icy air. Kate was bundled up in a new heavy wool cloak, the hood almost covering her face to keep out the cold, and her hands were wrapped in a rabbit-fur muff, a gift from Anne for the journey. She sat sidesaddle in front of Ralph, his big arms holding her and making her feel quite safe. She turned and waved to Anne and Richard, who were standing on the gatehouse bridge to see her off.

T
HE SOFT SNOW
was piling up in the Bywood farmyard as Ralph brought the horse to a standstill by the bale of hay John used for a mounting block. Smoke was curling from the chimney in the slate-gray afternoon, and the illuminated windows cozily beckoned them in. The snow had muffled the hoofs so not even Fenris had heard the approaching riders until Kate pushed back her wet hood and called, “Mother, Father, I am home! Where is everyone?”

A moment later, the front door was wrenched open and Geoffrey came running out, followed by Johnny and a barking Fenris. Ralph dismounted and easily lifted his charge onto the snowy ground just in time for her to be bowled over by her brothers and the dog in a flurry of snow, brown jerkins and blue cloak. Squeals and laughter mingled with the dog’s excited yapping until Martha arrived on the scene, bidding the boys behave and welcome their sister inside where it was warm. She sent Johnny to help Ralph stable the horse and held out her arms to her eldest child, her eyes filled with happy tears.

Kate froze for a moment at the sight of her mother then ran into those familiar loving arms. She would not let her mother see the shock on her face. Martha’s once unlined features were haggard and drawn, her eyes ringed with dark shadows and, except for her distended belly, she was
nothing but skin and bone. As Kate hugged her, she could feel every bone in her mother’s back. She pulled away, not realizing that she, too, was crying. Looking up into Martha’s face, she knew her mother was not well.

“Aye, Kate, I be not as hale as when you left me.” Martha sighed, and went to sit down on the bench by the fire. “This babe be like a bag of horseshoes in my belly, and when it kicks I could swear it be wearing them. I am right glad you be here, sweeting, to lend a hand with the boys and your father. How long . . . ? ” She trailed off, seeing Kate lower her eyes and make a pother of untying her mantle and hanging it by the fire.

There Kate saw a strange woman sitting by the hearth, turning a rabbit on a spit. “How do you do, mistress. I am Kate,” she greeted the woman warmly. The woman grinned up at her, showing a gap where one of her front teeth had been.

“I be Joan, your cousin from Maidstone. How do?” She went back to her task, not looking for an answer. Conversation must not be her strong point, Kate noted.

Kate turned back to the room, noticing how small it seemed after Ightham’s great hall. She remembered it much bigger, she thought with surprise. It also looked bare without wall hangings, carved beams and carpets. She felt a tinge of disappointment as she stared around her.

Johnny and Ralph appeared in the doorway, and Martha began fussing around her guest. Ralph would gladly sleep on a pallet near the fire and be on his way in the morning, he said. Martha hovered over him and brought him a jug of ale and a cup. Kate ran from Geoff to Johnny, giving them hugs, which they suffered bravely, but they groaned when she remarked how much they had grown. She went lightly up the stairs to see if Matty had woken from her nap. She hardly recognized the loft. John had partitioned off the children’s beds from his and Martha’s with a wall, and a door insured privacy. Matty was snug in Kate’s old bed, her cradle empty and ready for the new baby, when it came. She was waking as Kate arrived, and upon seeing her sister, she sat up in bed and lisped happily, “Katy, Katy.”

Kate scooped up her curly-haired sister and planted great kisses on her mouth and cheeks. Then she carried her downstairs to show her to Ralph. The boys were staring at Ralph across the table as he tossed off
cups of ale in quick succession, and he grinned back at them. Matty toddled fearlessly toward him, talking gibberish as she went.

Kate took in the scene: Martha bending over a pot at the hearth, her face looking rosier in the kinder light of the flames; Johnny and Geoff, the one serious and still, the other grinning and swinging his legs under the table; and Matty, dandled on Ralph’s knee, grabbing at the cup on the table. Her heart felt so full that she thought it would burst. Only her father was missing, and he would be home soon from trapping rabbits, Martha said. All the elegance of Ightham could not compare with the love inside the Bywoods’ modest home, and she wished she had been able to bring Anne here to witness it.

John walked unsuspecting into this domestic scene carrying two rabbits he had snared and a woodcock, slowed by snow, that he had shot with his bow.

Martha ran forward to take them and pointed at Kate. “Look, John, Kate be home! Our daughter be home!”

Before John could say a word, Kate was in his arms, snuggling her head against his shoulder. He stroked her hair, which she had taken out of its wet coif, and his eyes were glistening with tears. “Aye, so she be, Martha, so she be,” was all he could say.

“F
ATHER
, F
ATHER
, let me pull it now!” Geoff jumped up and down around his father, who was pulling the giant Yule log home from the orchard through the snow.

Johnny elbowed his brother out of the way. “No, I be the oldest, ’tis my turn first. Let
me,
Father!”

John stopped, adjusted the rope around the log so that two ends were made and said, “’Tis too heavy for just one of you. But I reckon two of you could do it. It be the time of peace, boys, and time to put fighting aside.”