A Rose for the Crown: A Novel

by Anne Easter Smith

  Young Johnny took charge of trapping and gathering food and was rewarded with praise from Kate and Joan. He knew where to find rabbits and hares, and although he was not yet much good with a bow and arrow, he could use a slingshot to bring down pigeons. Geoffrey’s mouth was permanently turned down at the corners, and his tear-stained, freckled face appeared every now and then from a hiding place somewhere upstairs. Only Matty behaved as usual, toddling from person to person, trying to understand why no one played with her and no one laughed anymore. To get attention, she would fall down and set up such a fuss that someone would have to go to her. It wrung Kate’s heart to hear her sister call for her mother. While Kate ministered to her father, Matty turned to the welcoming arms of Joan.

  In their grief, the family lost track of time. When Fenris lifted his angular head and began to growl one busy noontime, Ightham was the furthest thing from Kate’s mind. She was not expecting Ralph when Geoffrey answered the rapping on the door, but she ran forward to greet him, peeling sticky dough from her fingers. The puzzled groom stared at the glum faces and mumbled a “Good morrow to ye” to no one in particular.

  The sad tale gave the gruff man a lump in his throat. He noticed that the high-spirited girl he had brought home not a fortnight earlier had been transformed.

  “You be all grown up, Mistress Kate. I hardly recognize you.”

  “Aye, Ralph. I am needed here more, in truth. But I promised Master Haute I would be gone only two weeks.”

  Parting from her family—especially from her father—was unbearable for Kate. He clung to her hand as she and Ralph moved off down the lane, making a pathetic picture slipping and sliding on the ice as he tried to keep up with the horse. He finally let go when his pattens skittered out in front of him and he landed on his tailbone, cursing roundly. Kate smiled through her tears when she saw he was unhurt. He scrambled to his feet.

  “Pray have a care, Father! You must be strong for the family. I shall return as soon as I can, I promise.”

  She leaned round once more to wave farewell to the small group. Johnny was already stomping off to the orchard with his rabbit traps. Joan shooed Geoff into the barn to collect some eggs. The wheel of fortune was turning, she knew, and life would go on.

  ANNE WAS WAITING for them as the shadows lengthened in the Mote’s courtyard. The day was bitingly cold, with the north wind promising more snow on the morrow. Kate saw her friend standing in the doorway to the great hall, where she had been keeping watch for an hour or more. Elinor told her to keep the door closed, so Anne peered through the grille every five minutes.

  She heard a shout from the stables and knew Kate and Ralph had arrived safely. She could not wait for Kate to see the transformation of the hall, which was now bedecked with holly, evergreens, ivy and mistletoe for the Yuletide festivities. The new tapestries Elinor had ordered for the walls had arrived just as Kate left for the farm. The brightly colored wall hangings, depicting scenes of the hunt and courtly love, were as fine as any in Kent, so her mother boasted. Elinor was in good spirits for the Christmas feasting. Anne secretly thought her mother had seemed glad to see the back of Kate, but such a hateful idea could not possibly be true.

  The horse came through the gateway arch, and Ralph dismounted, and held out his arms to Kate. Snow had been shoveled away from the center of the courtyard in anticipation of the Twelfth Night guests, some of whom had already arrived. Kate’s feet were so cold that she could barely feel the rough cobblestones. She thanked Ralph warmly for his good horsemanship, and he touched his forelock in acknowledgment.

  “Courage, mistress, and good health,” he called over his shoulder, but any reply Kate might have made was smothered in Anne’s fond embrace. She found herself pulled inside the warm hall and her frosty cloak whisked away.

  “See what we have done, Kate. See the new arras. Mother is so proud. Do you like them?” She tugged at Kate’s hand and led her round all the wall hangings.

  Kate gazed about her. The hall had always impressed her, but with its new trappings, it looked more magnificent than ever. She remembered how small the farm had seemed when she first returned and now she realized she had forgotten the spaciousness of the hall. Anne chattered on, delighted to have her friend back. She failed to see the melancholy in Kate’s expression despite her exclamations over the decorations.

  Richard was in his privy chamber, where he was dictating a few hurried letters to Brother Francis before joining the guests. The chaplain was a man of letters and had Richard’s ear in all the business at the Mote. A somewhat dour man, Francis was nevertheless loyal and dispatched his duties with competence. There were times when Richard could not resist a boyish desire to shock the holy man and would be rewarded with lemon-sour faces from both Francis and Elinor. He would pay later with Elinor, he knew, but he considered teasing no more than good sport.

  Hearing his daughter’s excited voice, he dismissed Francis, rose from his seat and lifted the heavy arras that stopped the draught from coming through the embrasure from the hall. When he saw Anne and Kate embracing, he gave a shout of delight and went out to meet them.

  “’Tis Kate returned, my dear!” he called up to Elinor in the solar, who was showing a guest couple their sleeping quarters.

  Richard, too, had noticed the difference in Elinor during Kate’s absence, but he had not given Elinor the benefit of the doubt. He cared not a whit for her opinion of Kate. He liked the girl, she was good for Anne, and that was all that mattered to him. It gave him satisfaction to be charitable to his family, no matter how distant the kinship. He was pleased Kate had obeyed him and returned on the day he had designated.

  Unlike Anne, who was still gleefully talking about the festivities of the past fortnight, Richard noticed Kate’s changed demeanor immediately. He went to her and kissed her gently. “Why, Kate, no smile for me? No bold remarks? What ails you, sweetheart?”

  It was then that Kate, who had for so long held back her grief to stay strong for her father and family during those terrible days, burst into tears and sobbed into his thickly padded chest. He allowed his solid frame to comfort her, and she felt safe in its protection. Anne stood helplessly by, her small features now a picture of concern. As Kate’s sobs finally waned, she pulled herself away and wiped her nose on the sleeve that covered the back of her hand. Richard extracted a linen kerchief from his sleeve, and Kate gratefully blew her nose.

  Elinor arrived on the scene and stood stiffly by Richard, wondering what could have provoked Kate to such histrionics.

  “Such unseemly behavior, in front of the guests,” she muttered.

  Richard chose to ignore Elinor’s spite. Putting his arm around Kate, he led her to his big chair at the high table. With a look Elinor dared Anne to follow. Poor Anne had no choice but to remain where she was.

  Kate unburdened herself. “Mother is dead. She died the day following Christmas, and we buried her, along with the baby boy who died inside her. ’Twas the child that killed her. It was a fearful death—such pain, such suffering—and how we all miss her.”

  She began to cry again, her sobs bouncing off the vaulted arches and echoing through the house. Even Elinor’s heart was softened. She shuddered at the thought of Martha’s pain and crossed herself.

  “Martha dead?” Richard could not believe it. She had been about his age. It seemed impossible that only a score of months had passed since he had joyfully renewed his connection with her. Elinor, shaking her head and wringing her hands, turned to Anne, who was crying as she watched her friend in such distress.

  “I knew it, I knew it! Martha was not well when she came here, I could feel it in my bones. I thought to myself, ‘She will not survive this little one but by a miracle.’ ”

  She moved up and put her hand on Kate’s shoulder. “Kate, I am heartily sorry for you and your father. What a terrible sadness at this blessed season.” Her voice was surprisingly gentle. Kate was taken aback and smiled gratefully at her.

  Richard nodded, acknowledging hi
s wife’s gesture with raised eyebrows. He eyed her warily, unsure if Elinor was truly sympathetic, for she had never had one kind thing to say to the girl. He knew her ill humor had begun when more children were denied her. Perhaps her heart had been touched by the pregnant Martha.

  “I thank you, madam. My father does grieve bitterly, in truth, and I fear for my brothers and Matty. But my father’s niece is seeing to Mam’s duties, and Johnny is a man now, helping Father with the farm. All will be well, certes, but I sorely wanted to stay.”

  “Nay, Kate.” Richard was firm. “I have no doubt you will be missed, but you have a new life here with us. Anne needs you, too. Besides, I promised your mother I would take care of you no matter what came to pass at home. And take care of you I shall.

  “However, we cannot delay the Feast of the Kings tomorrow. ’Tis too late to forestall the guests—indeed, many of them are already here.” He indicated several bystanders at the other end of the hall, who had tactfully withdrawn there. “Will you forgive us our revelries for one day, poppet? Then, I promise you we will say masses for Martha’s soul in all sorrow and humility in the days that follow.” Richard tipped the reddened, tear-stained face towards him. “And, sweetheart, ’twill do you good to have something to lift your spirits.”

  Kate nodded. She slipped off Richard’s knee, curtsied prettily to Elinor and put out her hand to Anne, who ran to her friend and embraced her. The two girls walked out of the room and up to their chamber.

  Richard clapped his hands and ordered more wood for the fire, torches to be lit and mulled wine for the company, for it was getting dark and an icy wind was finding its way into the draughty hall. Then he gently drew Elinor onto his vacated lap and gave the embarrassed lady a smacking kiss.

  RICHARD WAS RIGHT. The festivities of Epiphany helped lift Kate’s spirits. She hummed as she helped rearrange the chamber, pushing the pallets she and Anne were sleeping on under their tester bed, which they had surrendered to guests. Breakfast consisted, as usual, of bread, cheese and ale, but even at that hour the aromas filtering through from the kitchens beyond the hall promised a feast worthy of a king, if not three.

  By midmorning, the families from surrounding manors had braved the driving snow to share the Hautes’ hospitality. Some came in carriages—lumbering wooden carts with four posts and a roof, the sides filled in by heavy curtains—the occupants wrapped in blankets and furs. Most came on horseback, their cloaks white with snow and their noses blue with cold. There was a flurry of activity in the courtyard, as stable boys ran in and out to take horses to the stables across the moat and richly clad gentlefolk hurried through the portal into the warm hall.

  At the kitchen end of the room, several lackeys waited to take wet cloaks and hang them up to dry near the shimmering heat of the brazier in the central hearth. Will Makepeace and several hired musicians plucked harps and lutes, strummed gitterns, rang bells and piped recorders and gemshorns. Guests tapped their feet in time and two children jigged up and down.

  The great hall was awash with color. Damasks, satins and velvets of red, green, blue and yellow clothed men and women alike—the men, like peacocks, outdoing their ladies either in sweeping long gowns or in short, belted doublets padded and pleated both front and back to give the appearance of extra girth and wider shoulders. Even the gentlemen’s hose were brightly colored—some having different-colored legs—and they ended in long pointed shoes. Many of the dresses and gowns were trimmed with beaver or fox fur, and the ladies’ headdresses varied among jeweled bands with flowing veils, soft velvet hats and elaborate butterfly hennins.

  Kate and Anne wore miniature versions of the butterfly, and their dresses were just as rich in fabric and color as those of the older ladies around them. Elinor was resplendent in black velvet, the cuffs, hem and low V-neck collar trimmed with white rabbit fur. Richard wore a long murrey gown trimmed with gold ribbon, his enormous puffed and slashed sleeves trailing almost to the ground. A large gemstone adorned his hat, and rings graced every finger and both thumbs. Kate had to acknowledge her guardians were an imposing couple indeed. She herself had chosen an emerald-green satin for her gown. Its square-cut neck, long, tight sleeves, low-waist and small train were simple but elegant, and she knew she was attracting some attention despite her youth.

  Once all the guests had arrived, the steward marshaled his troops to prepare the room for the feast. Servants set up tables, covering them with spotless linen cloths and providing each table with trenchers and serving bowls. Most of the guests had brought their own cups, knives and spoons; even a wealthy family like the Hautes did not have such a large store of table implements. Servants ran in with pewter bowls of scented water for washing hands. Each member of the company in turn ceremoniously dipped his fingers in the bowl and wiped them on special white napkins.

  Kate and Anne were to share their mess with a large man and his buxom wife. Kate was not looking forward to it. She thought she and Anne would probably end up with very little to eat, judging by their neighbors’ girth.

  Brother Francis was droning an interminable blessing when Richard impatiently waved at him to cut it short. The chaplain sat down again at the second table a little disgruntled but just as anxious as the company to sample Alfred’s creations and the Hautes’ hospitality. Elinor’s aspirations to emulate the nobility served her well when it came to entertaining, and Richard’s generosity was well known in that part of Kent.

  The guests turned their attention to the food, and murmurs of approval met the different dishes that appeared as if by magic from the kitchens. The first course consisted of an aromatic frumenty, a thick soup made of boiled almond milk and wheat flavored with pieces of rabbit meat. Next pike, trout, bream and sturgeon, some fresh from the stewpond and each glazed a different color, were brought in on platters decorated with leaves and herbs.

  Roasted pheasants cleverly adorned with their own glorious plumage, a whole roast pig, a lamb and a haunch of venison were all brought forward to applause, the portions served into every mess and smothered in rich sauces. The meat had been cured with many herbs and spices and so much verjuice that it fell off the bones.

  After what seemed to be an endless procession of pies and pasties filled with larks, thrushes and other small birds, savory custards and blancmanges, Kate caught a glimpse of the final course. Despite eating more than she had in her life, her mouth watered when she saw it. Edgar solemnly preceded the subtlety of marzipan and spun sugar in the form of St. George and the Dragon that was slowly carried down the hall on an enormous platter balanced on the shoulders of four of the kitchen lads. Bright orange sugar flames belched from the dragon’s mouth, and where St. George’s lance had pierced the beast’s side, wine dribbled out like blood. The guests applauded and Alfred, who followed the masterpiece, bowed low left and right. Bowls of oranges, preserved damsons, nuts, raisins and comfits were placed on the tables, and when the subtlety reached the head table, Richard rose to his feet to propose a toast.

  “Health to all here tonight and good fortune in the year ahead.” His voice rang down the hall, and the guests raised their cups and drank.

  When the tables had been pushed back, Edgar called for the music to begin for dancing. Kate and Anne were flushed from the small amount of wine Richard had allowed them with dinner, and both looked anxiously at the young men who were standing farther down the hall, eyeing them as possible dance partners. Instead, it was an older gentleman who approached Kate and invited her to take his arm. She felt Elinor’s eagle eye on her and so tried to look demure, but she could not resist a jaunty tilt of the head and a daring arch of an eyebrow. Then believing Martha to be hovering somewhere above her, pleading with her to mind her manners, she stopped her flirtation. She drew herself up to her full height and tried to look as stately as the other ladies moving down the length of the hall. Her partner seemed amused, and he bowed and introduced himself.

  “Thomas Draper, mistress. I am come from Tunbridge as a guest of Dame Elinor. May I know your
name?”

  “I am Kate—Katherine Bywood, an it please you, sir, companion to Mistress Anne Haute. I live here,” she said proudly, expecting the smelly old man to be impressed.

  “Ah, yes, Dame Elinor did mention you. May I compliment you on your choice of gown, Mistress Kate? I am a mercer, you see, and I know quality when I see it.” He was pleased to see the effect his flattery had on his young partner.

  In truth, Thomas had been staring at Kate all evening, unnoticed by her. There was something about the combination of innocence and sensuality that had caused his heart and other parts of his anatomy to come out of the doldrums. And he could swear she was flirting with him. He was right. Kate felt so safe with the old dodderer that she could not resist trying out some of the looks she had observed passing between other ladies and gentlemen at the feast. It was amusing to have someone ogle her, even someone of his advanced years, and soon her good intentions to Martha’s memory were forgotten as she flashed a smile here and fluttered her eyelashes there. Thomas was enchanted. The dance was over too soon for him. She flitted away like some emerald bird.

  There was movement now at the doorway. Stamping snow off their boots, a group of mummers advanced into the hall. Edgar banged his staff on the flagstones and begged the company to “Make way for St. George!” A cheer went up as the players pranced around the hall in their costumes—a youth dressed up as a fair maid, a knight in white armor emblazoned with a red cross, and two men in a dragon suit, the front one rearing up and pawing the air. To set the scene, Will and his musicians began to sing the carol of St. George.